ROUGE

In a forest the daylight no longer passed through, where the trees were so ancient they had neither beginning nor end, there lived a young mortal called Red. She lived alone and needed no one.

No one ever came near her in any case. The villagers she sold her catch to had little love for her. They spoke to her only to haggle over the venison she brought to market every Monday — hers was the only meat to be had through the hard winter months.

Red lived in a cabin that had belonged to her mère-grand. The only mother she had ever known had lost her life, devoured by an enormous wolf. The girl, barely eleven, had avenged her by gutting the animal. She still slept on its tanned pelt.

Since she had been orphaned, five years earlier, her days had been nothing but the flat repetition of precise gestures. On waking, clean her tools: machetes, knives. Whittle her arrows, straight, evenly weighted. Then strip herself of all scent — wash meticulously, rub herself down with pine sap.

Before dressing, braid her tangled brown hair: not a strand was to fall across her eyes. Always the same clothes — a dress of heavy cloth with pockets, wool pulled tight against the cold. The bow across her back, the satchel on the other side. And last of all: the cloak.

Her blood-red hood had earned her the name Red. Her real name was Mildred.

She always hunted at dawn, before her prey woke. She was skilled at it; she had had to be — her survival depended on it.

That day, she was turning sixteen. No one would wish her a happy birthday.

She felt a hundred, all the same. The other girls her age had nothing of the sort on their minds. Most of them, pushed along by their parents, had begun keeping company with boys in search of a future husband: above all, don’t dawdle.

A few buntings pecked at the seed she tossed them through the window.

“The ball season opens in spring and runs until the beginning of winter, every Wednesday and Friday,” she recited for them, in the pinched voices of the village ladies.

She had never been invited. In any case, the thought of dancing with one of the village boys turned her stomach.

I’d sooner skin myself alive than play the seductress, she thought, as she stepped on a letter that had been slipped under the door. The envelope was red, and her nickname — Red — had been written across it in a fine hand.

“They must be desperate, if they think to include me in their little romps,” she said aloud, to herself, without deigning to open it.

It was not until much later, at nightfall, that she took any real interest. She had just poured herself a glass from a bottle her mère-grand had kept in the cellar. She had promised herself she would not open it before her sixteenth birthday.

Glass in hand — she had barely wet her lips — she picked up the envelope still lying by the door. She turned it over in her fingers for a while, studying the delicate stroke of the handwriting.

The red of the paper was perfect. It was exactly the shade of her cloak. She took a good mouthful, and it warmed her from the inside. It was the first time in her life she had drunk alcohol, and it lightened her mind quickly.

She tore the envelope open.

Arcadium, the twelfth of November, in the year of the Lupus.

Mademoiselle Red,

It is with the greatest pleasure that I have the honour of informing you, on behalf of the Arcadium, that you have been officially selected to join our distinguished academy for the coming cycle of one year.

Note that your presence has been required, not requested.

Each year the Arcadium admits a strictly limited number of students drawn from the finest vampiric, demonic, witch, divine and elemental bloodlines.

Mortals have, as a rule, no place among them; you therefore constitute a rare exception. Each year we permit only one of your kind within our school.

Our Council has given particular attention to your physical aptitudes, to your instinct, and to the singular events concerning you.

Though you are devoid of any magical power, your capabilities and your resilience justify your exceptional admission.

Kindly show yourself worthy of the chance you have been offered.

Your arrival is expected on the third day of the new moon.

I. Suitable transport will present itself at nightfall. (It is pointless — indeed dangerous — to attempt to evade this summons.)

II. You will find the list of objects and effects to bring with you on the reverse of this letter.

Upon your arrival you will be received by our Director, Grand Master Aleister Crowsley, who will personally oversee your integration within the Academy.

We congratulate you on this exceptional admission.

We look forward to counting you among us, though pleasure is never guaranteed.

Yours with distinguished consideration,

Maestra Lilith SegurAssistant to the Grand Master the Academy of the Arcadium

She turned the letter over.

1. Dress and uniform

The Academy provides:

I. Three complete uniforms (black wool, shirt, skirt/trousers, boots, insignia according to bloodline)

II. Runic gloves for combat classes

You must bring your own coats and outdoor clothing.

To be brought by the student:

I. One ball gown for the Celebration of Selêna Magna (the opening ball, on the fifth of December)

Suggested colours: silver, black, or brilliant white.

II. One ball gown for the Night of Sacer Facere (the end-of-year ball)

Suggested colours: black, emerald or silver.

2. Weapons and equipment

Permitted:

I. One personal non-magical weapon (sword, knife, machete, bow, and so forth)

II. Weapon-cleaning kit

Forbidden:

I. Any weapon steeped in pure silver (hazardous to certain bloodlines)

II. Undeclared lethal toxic plants

3. Books & school supplies

To be provided for:

I. A leather notebook

II. Blank parchment

III. Black ink, cuttlefish or Leviathan

IV. A quill (goose, phoenix, corvid) or a stylus

Cauldrons and ingredients for the poisons and potions classes are furnished by the academy, as are the instruments for the class in song and enchantment.

Please note that students with “particular” requirements for remaining alive are asked to bring what their survival demands. Blood, mortal soul in vapour and all singular foodstuffs are nonetheless available at the academy; you need not bring your own.

“What in the world is this?” Red exclaimed, her voice ricocheting off the cabin walls, with no one there to hear it.

Someone was playing a bad joke on her. In the village, some said she was cursed; she had heard the ladies murmuring as she passed. No doubt they wanted her taken for a monster. A child’s rite of passage, perhaps — slip a letter to the village madwoman.

She paid it no further mind and turned back to her drink, which she finished in one go before pouring herself another. Red was not especially fond of other people. She never thought about them, nor about her own solitude. But today she would have liked someone, anyone, to share this bottle with.