The House Arcane

So much talent. The words seeped through Duncan’s mind, a whisper no one else could hear. The party around him buzzed, tasseled caps and shapeless gowns discarded on every available surface in the great hall. Expensive gin flowed from the open bar into grinning mouths, pulsing through the throng of graduates—the beating heart of the Monmouth Architectural Academy.

Duncan dug his fingernails into the lime wedge at the rim of his glass, pressing crescent-shaped scars into its skin. So much raw, delicious talent.

“Quit fidgeting, will you?” Robin’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “You’re murdering your garnish.”

At her choice of words, Duncan dropped the lime.

“And where’s mine?” Robin flicked the steel placard pinned to Duncan’s lapel. “They should have handed them out to everyone by now.”

He swallowed. He had not planned well enough for a conversation with her. The pin had been carefully affixed to his blazer by the chancellor of Monmouth himself—not at this party, but at a smaller gathering hours before. The other chosen who had been there wore pins on their own lapels, and now mingled with the partygoers like herding dogs amongst sheep.

He watched Robin stand on tiptoe in her leather oxfords, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. Waiting expectantly, he knew, for a fancy pin that would never grace her own lapel. ‘Alumnus,’ read the single word etched across his own.

Despite the sweat dampening his collar, Duncan couldn’t help a smile at her. Robin always wore mens shoes and red lipstick, on account of her mother disliking both. In their four years at school together, Duncan often felt that she was the only flash of modernity in the midst of Monmouth’s ancient thrall.

The building they stood in now was the oldest and most infamous on campus. It had long been condemned to rot before the Academy’s founders bought the land around it, declaring it the heart of their new campus. “What better way to birth a school of architecture,” the chancellor had said to the tabloids, “than with an impossible restoration.”

Duncan’s eyes drifted above Robin’s head, where a halo of newspaper clippings hung framed on the wall: ‘Worldwide Architects Flock To House Arcane, Monmouth Academy’s Crown Jewel’— ‘Arcane Envy: What’s Monmouth’s Restoration Secret?’

A hand appeared on Robin’s shoulder from behind. Panicked, Duncan lashed out to snatch it away, only to grind to a halt halfway through the motion.

This was a person’s hand, made of flesh—nothing more. A silver ring perched on one of its fingers. Robin’s face flashed with confusion, then settled into a scowl when she recognized the hand on her shoulder.

“Easy on the G&T’s, Dunc!” chuckled the sandy-haired man, even as Robin swatted him away. Duncan hastened to retrieve his glass from where he’d dropped it on the carpet—the mutilated lime was nowhere to be found.

“What do you want, Ralphie?” Robin demanded. “Don’t touch me!”

The man grinned, and Duncan caught sight of the lapel pin that matched his own. Alumnus. One of the chancellor’s chosen few. The two men locked eyes for a knowing, sickening moment.

“I heard you got assigned an on-campus stewardship,” said Ralphie.

Robin’s head snapped up, and Duncan willed his face to convey an apology. He’d meant to tell her the news first. The memory of the chancellor’s clammy hand patting his lapel earlier this afternoon, the weight of the alumnus pin, and the voice in his head…all of them had begun at once.

“Congrats, man! I’m headed to Prague myself. Three-year stewardship restoring this old cathedral…but hey, can’t beat the ol’ alma mater, eh? Which building are you assigned to?”

The voice in Duncan’s head hummed in pleasure.

“Th-this one.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “You’re stewardship is here? In House Arcane?”

You see? At least the lady’s not afraid to speak my name.

Duncan clenched his hands to quell the tremor that had begun there. “The upper story needs the wood paneling restored. It’s…it’s my assignment,” he added dumbly.

“Why do you two know your stewardship locations already?” Robin demanded, glaring pointedly between their matching pins. “What about the rest of us?”

A spoon clinked demandingly against glassware, and all heads turned to see the chancellor perched on the daias in the center of the room. In his hand was a sheaf of paper.

Ralphie clapped Robin on the shoulder, “Looks like you’re about to find out, dollface. I’ll be back for you.” He winked at Duncan before disappearing into the crowd, ignoring Robin’s raised middle finger.

“Rob,” Duncan started, but she shushed him as the chancellor began to speak.

The man went on ad nauseam about the success of the stewardship program in placing young architects in lasting, prestigious positions around the world.

“Once a Monmouth alumnus begins their stewardship,” the chancellor crooned, “they are guaranteed to leave a piece of themselves behind in the buildings they’ll touch. And wherever you’re going, rest assured, you won’t return the same. In fact, you may not return at all!”

This last bit was well received by the good-humored crowd—a little joke from their fearless chancellor, to stoke their wanderlust. How quaint! Duncan could feel the corners of his eyes pricking with the sweat from his brow.

“Are you all right?” Robin asked. “You look ill.” But the chancellor chose that moment to begin announcing stewardship assignments, and snared her attention away again. Everyone in the room listened attentively, save for those already wearing their pins. Those who knew the truth, and stood by grinning anyway.

You made your choice, the voice reminded him, even as a presence grazed the back of his neck. Duncan stepped away from the wood-paneled wall, out of reach.

“Robin Treharne,” called the chancellor, “Your stewardship will be to our very own House Arcane. A prestigious assignment indeed!”

Duncan’s blood ran cold. Beside him, Robin’s jaw was set, refusing to betray the disappointment he knew lurked beneath. She’d always wanted to see the world.

“Robin—”

An adamant wall slammed against his mind. You will not say a word to her. Will you?

Duncan strained against the voice, the unbending force of House Arcane. He caught sight of Ralphie’s feral grin from the crowd, aimed right at Robin.

After all, you’re my steward. Isn’t it your job to keep me well fed?

Duncan pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. When he opened them, Robin was gone. All around him, graduates were shouting, mingling, drinking, congratulating—the chancellor’s speech was finished.

The chancellor.

Duncan elbowed his way through the crowd, ignoring the displeased looks people threw his way. The room spun around him as bodies blurred and became familiar, foriegn. His skin seemed to crawl with the heat, and he tore at his collar.

A wizened hand grasped his arm below the elbow. “Duncan, m’boy. Everything all right?”

Duncan panted, unsure when he’d become out of breath. “Chancellor Rhys, you must reassign her! Robin—”

“Ah, yes. I understand you have a fondness for the girl. Monmouth’s methods are a bit…demanding, I can sympathize. But it’s in the name of art, m’boy! And you always knew more would be asked of you, Duncan. You're among the best and brightest.” The chancellor straightened Duncan’s lapels, grinning.

Duncan tore away, plunging back through the crowd to where he and Robin had been standing. If he didn’t intercept her quickly, the house would have its way.

She’s already mine, child.

Duncan sprinted for the library, thinking of Robin’s favorite seat by the window, built right into the wall…

The chancellor always saves me the juicy ones.

He burst through the library doors, eyes straining in the dim light. A glint on one wall caught his eye, and his lips parted in a silent scream as he beheld the blood, the sinew, the gray matter, all strewn across the wood-paneling.

Earlier that afternoon, the chancellor had told his chosen few what would await the remainder of the graduates, that true ‘restoration’ required both body and soul…but the impossibility of this carnage hit Duncan like a blow. This was their barbaric secret—now his secret…

Movement caught Duncan’s eye, and he whirled to find a figure approaching from between the bookshelves. Her arms were torn and splintered, like she’d been in a fight with a wood-paneled wall.

“Robin!”

She said nothing, approaching the carnage that was seeping into the walls and floor. She bent down to reach for something, and Duncan recoiled to see a hand with a silver signet ring sinking into the floor. Being swallowed by the floor.

Robin knelt, reaching not for Ralphie’s disappearing hand, but for the steel pin lying next to it. She rose, and as she did, a crown of carved wood roses bloomed on the wood paneling behind her head.

I changed my mind, snickered the voice of House Arcane. I like this one.

A new kind of horror crept down Duncan’s spine as he watched Robin affix the pin to her own lapel, red lips curving upward.

“Looks like I’ll be the one going to Prague.”