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decided to join our ranks today. Set her free from sin. Make her a temple of your glory, a warrior of your kingdom, and a defender of our brethren against the demons who try to take us over. Send your Holy Spirit to dwell within her and help her in these troubled times to resist the lures of evil. We ask this of you through Christ the Lord.”
    I nearly jerk back when he steps away; what is this mumbo jumbo about warring and demons and whatnot? I squint at the man. Despite the severity of his features, he doesn’t seem to be a cult leader, but then again, wasn’t Lucifer the most beautiful of angels?
    The priest makes a small cross on my forehead with his thumb, leaving a damp mark on it.
    “We anoint you with the oil of salvation, that Christ our Savior may strengthen you. Do you, Morgan, accept your place amongst us?”
    I look back down, noting in passing the spots of mud on the priest’s black shoes. Does he expect me to be honest, or is this a rhetorical question? Because, to be quite frank, I have no inkling of staying here, at least not past my eighteenth birthday, which is in less than a year. Nor do I want to go to any war!
    My silence stretches for a long minute until I hear people shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Sweat beads on my forehead as I try to decide what my best course of action is.
    On the one hand, I’m going to be stuck here for a while still, so why not give them the answer they expect and do my best to remain as inconspicuous as possible? On the other, if I say yes, I may be doomed to remain with them or die. Which is not exactly my current life goal.
    Just go with the flow
, my guardian angel chimes in.
You can figure out how to deal with the consequences later.
    “Yes,” I say out loud.
    “Amen,” the priest says, laying a hand on my head in benediction before stepping aside.
    Before I can get back up, however, another pair of feet enters my line of vision—black steel-toed cowboy boots. I snap my head up and find myself staring straight up into Arthur’s nostrils.
    “Rise, and come make your pledge of allegiance,” he says.
    Great,
now
what did I get myself into? I follow him to the edge of the altar, a large, rectangular block of stone with strange design patterns carved into it, similar to those I’ve seen on the mantelpiece back home. The odd characters spiral around a large black jewel set into the center of the stone itself.
    “Raise your hand before us all,” Arthur commands.
    Casting furtive glances at the sea of faces turned to me, I raise my hand in the air.
    “Over the altar,” Arthur adds quietly, raising a few chuckles from the crowd.
    “Right,” I say, shifting positions.
    In a silvery flash, Arthur pulls out a knife and pricks my palm with it.
    “Ouch!” I exclaim, pulling away in outrage. “What did you do that for?”
    A burst of laughter erupts at my reaction, and Arthur grabs my hand before I can escape.
    “Trust me,” he whispers through clenched teeth.
    “Why should I?” I reply in the same way.
    Arthur doesn’t bother to reply and instead forces my injured hand on the gem. Reflexively, I clutch the smooth stone as he keeps pressing my hand down.
    “Do you swear,” he says, “on pain of death, never to reveal what you will see and learn here to the laity, nor to disclose our location to anyone outside our order?”
    I struggle against his hold, but his grip only gets stronger.
    “Let me go, you maniac,” I whisper harshly. “I take it back. I don’t want to be a part of your swag crew.”
    “You can’t take it back,” Arthur says, keeping my hand firmly anchored to the large precious stone below. “Swear it if you have the slightest desire to survive this.”
    “Is that a threat?” I ask.
    The temperature around us seems to drop below freezing level. Even the students have stopped fidgeting and are watching us with bated breath.
    “It’s a fact,” Arthur says, sounding genuinely worried. “Now make the bloody oath.”
    Biting my