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"You know what look you want, right?" Rap fussed, as they moved together down the many stairs into the study halls.

Anar shrugged, evasively.

"Remember," the gentle raptor continued, "less is more. Understated evil is the way to go. Those other knobs will go with massive wings and curly ram's horns, or some such rubbish. You don't want that!"

Anar brushed his cloak of dust that had descended from the aged ceiling. The Holy College was a very modern building under the charmed illusion of falling into ruin. It was awfully convincing. "Ok, mate, I'll bite. Why don't I want that?"

Rap hissed quietly in his long, grey ears, as though he were giving away trade secrets, "big wings are difficult to frame in photos! You'll look daft in the Yearbook. And the horns? They'll ruin your hairstyle..."

Rave snorted. Being a hairless lizard was so much better than being a hairy mammal, much simpler. Low maintenance.

"You've got a point, there," Anar agreed as they slowed down, creeping towards the skull archway that signposted the demonic studies section of the building.

The clack of bare talons on silky smooth marble rang clear in the hushed corridors. They would be a little late, but that was ok, that meant they wouldn't be followed and antagonised by the spiteful human kid. Anar wasn't sure how many times he could be subjected to 'demon donkey' before he cracked.

The class this year comprised of 25 students of all shapes and sizes, from across the globe. London was home to the only academic society that had direct connections to the Underworld. They catered for a varied selection of studies, and demon training was not a particularly popular one. Necromancers were the cool kids. Satanic priests the swats. Succubi were the girls who were bitter about not making it in ballet or gymnastics. Poltergeists the class clowns. Then you had the Hell-Hound handler division who were simply insane. You had to be a couple digestives short of a packet to want to wrangle a creature the size of a small pony with a mean streak to match. All of hell's security was trained here, the biggest draw being the authorised use of magic in active duty. One shifty look and you were nothing but a greasy puddle on the floor. The paperwork for having your body reinstated once unfortunate things had happened to it was legendarily complicated - another of Hell's specialties: terms and conditions. Small print, too. Failure to read it always ended in woe. Nothing happened down there without multiple forms signed in triplicate, and a large bribe to speed up processing. Contracts of all kinds could be pored over by a minion for a price, letting you know exactly what you were signing up for, and if it was worth it. There wasn't a government worth its salt that didn't have a team of legal experts who had passed their exams under this College's expansive, splintered, crumbling roof.

But if shady business was your thing, this was the career for you. Money and power, what a heady combination! From a lowly pen-pusher, to the lofty heights of the upper floors of the Hell Afterlife Services building, where the fate of the world was really decided. Wars, banking, technology and the ongoing misery of every living thing started there. Demons still answered calls via pentangles and spells, but they also ran the stock markets with greedy, beady eyes.

Anar wasn't particularly interested in any of it. He'd set his heart on being a model. He had good hair, a straight snout, unkinked ears and long limbs. He wasn't the tallest, sure, but he was an aardvark not a giraffe. He could work for United Colors of Benetton. Or Calvin klein. Jetting around and strutting on a catwalk, he would be good at that!

The class turned to look at him and his big scaly pals as they slunk into the room. They turned back again, uninterested, facing the lecturer.

Except for one. He was always scowling. Anar thought Rave was a grump, but this guy took the biscuit. He had dark eyes, and a snub nose with a constantly downturned mouth. He sagged like a pro, oozed around effortlessly as though his legs had no joints. His dark brown hair was cut in a choppy style and Anar could smell the mousse from here. Whoever this evil sod was, he came from elite stock, and he did not like the aardvark one tiny bit.

"... this is not negotiable. If you meet a lecturer in halls or corridors, you will be expected to present your proper form, and bow. You will spend more time in it, than out; this will be your preferred body, your first choice. Soon, you will forget what you looked like without it. When you embrace your form and choose not to go back, this will be an important milestone for you in your journey to the Underworld."

There was murmuring, nodding, solemn promises uttered. They'd waited for this moment, to realise their full hideous potential, and they would willingly stay that way forever.

Anar gulped. He'd not even really filled out his form, not completely. It was too awful a task. He'd picked his tail and some teeth, that was about it. He was winging the rest.

Ha. Winging.

The catalogues of officially recognised demonic accessories were thick, full of every choice imaginable, and a few that weren't. Demons were a chaotic bunch. You wanted tentacles, you could have them, anywhere you fancied, in fact. Multiple eyes, mandibles, antennae, hooves; you could flick pages at random and stab a fingernail to make your pick. Anar almost wished he'd done that instead of neglecting another piece of his homework.

He joined the line of eager students and flipped open the flap to his Nike backpack, pulling out his tattered sheet of chosen numbers. If he hadn't made a choice, would the lecturer choose for him? Would he be a laughing stock? His stomach churned with anxiety.

"Pssst!"

His ears flicked. Rap was hissing at him from the corner of the room.

Rave was pretending to be really interested in a skeleton of a bird in a glass case.

Rap was pointing at his backpack and nodding.

Anar shrugged, "what?" he mouthed, aware the line was going down.

Rap smacked his forehead with his hand. He pointed at the backpack again, hopping from foot to foot now, his tail swishing.

Ahead, colours swirled, mist and magic floating as the air in the room crackled. Horns, wings, spikes, claws, scales, hooves, fur... the gathered class turned in front of the tall mirrors, their faithful pixies and sprites chittering approvingly.

The human unfurled his expanse of wings, admiring himself with a rare smile. His tail was studded with nubs. His skin a reddish hue. A pair of tall, spiralling horns reached upwards.

The lecturer coughed. Anar couldn't remember his name, he dubbed him Mr. E. Ville because it was funny and humour kept him sane, but it was probably something unpronounceable unless you had a mouthful of marbles. He meekly handed over his sheet; covered in Coke stains, torn at the edges where it had been crumpled up in disdain, and immediately saw the disappointment on the old demon's wrinkled brow.

There was a pause.

Click click click

Rap barged in, digging into his backpack rudely. "Wrong form, master," he smiled sweetly, giving Anar a look that said he was in big trouble later. The raptor handed over a fully filled in sheet that actually looked really good, all things considered.

Anar's mouth creaked open a little. He hastily shut it, again. "Thank you, Rap," he said, tightly, giving his pal a slight nod.

Anar stepped forward into the chalk circle, held his breath, and closed his eyes.

The first thing he felt was a tugging on his back. The weight of his new appendages. Then he was aware of something in his hair. His horns. He tensed, feeling wild panic washing over him. He wanted them gone, right now, they didn't feel right, none of this was right, he hated it, all of it! Soft scales touched his hand, and he allowed Rap to come to his rescue again, leading him away to the mirrors.

"I knew you'd wuss out," he whispered to his mammalian pal, "and I knew you'd probably choose something rubbish, too, knowing you."

Anar slowly opened his eyes. He winced, visibly. His eyes were a little yellow, with a faint glow. His two horns were small, black, smooth and curved forwards slightly. His wings were modest, bat-like, a classic look for a minion of Hell. His tail wasn't too long, with a sleek, spade-shaped tip. His nails were dainty and manageable. His teeth were sharp but uniformly sized. No big jutting tusks that caused him to dribble or slur.

He did not like it, but it could have been so much worse.

Rap was beaming. The little raptor was clearly very pleased with his design. Rightly so! He'd done what familiars did best: prevented Anar from making a complete fool of himself!

"Is that the best you could do, donkey demon?"

"My name," Anar mumbled, "is Anarchy."

The human scoffed, "your name is as stupid as your face!"

Rave swaggered over, nostrils flaring, "say the word. I'll turn him into a turkey twizzler!"

"He's just an idiot," Anar frowned, walking away.

"I know you are, but what am I?" the human taunted.

His faerie familiar tinkled with laughter.

"Why won't you let me eat him?" Rave rumbled. "I'd be doing the world a favour."

Anar carried on walking, trying to sling his backpack on his shoulder, but having difficulty now there were wings there. His next lesson wasn't for a short while, and he was really rather hungry. "Because I don't want to get into any trouble! I keep my head down, I do my work, and soon it'll all be over. I might even be able to spend Christmas at home," he added, hopefully.

"I thought you wanted to spend it with your nice uncle?" Rap argued.

"Yeah, well, I said that, but I didn't really mean it. Uncle Monty's alright, but I'll get better presents if mom and dad think I'm doing well in my studies. I want a new Walkman, with a bass boost button, and a SNES with super mario world, and a new skateboard, and a yo-yo with a clutch. Ole Monty is ancient; he probably thinks an abacus is exciting."

They passed a group of Succubi in training; their long legs bare beneath short velvet skirts, long whip-like tails slinking mischievously as they walked, dragging slowly along the boy's bodies. Rap and Rave pulled faces in distaste, but Anar was enchanted, watching them with lustful longing.

One wrinkled her pointed, pretty nose, cutely, and blew him a kiss.

"Trouble, mate, they're trouble, don't you dare," Rap manhandled him to face the way they were going.

"I wanna girlfriend..." he complained, softly.

"Well, you know what to ask Cinder Claws for, for Christmas, then, don't you? I'd recommend a girl who doesn't snack on your soul while she's snogging you, personally."

Rave swiped at his body, as he always wandered around unclothed, his mouth spitting as he slapped at his scales. "Blech! Girls! I'm infected! I've got the lurgy!"

As they approached the vending machines, they spied a male werewolf coming back from studies in the library. He gave them a friendly wave with a furry paw.

"Is that better?" Anar asked, grinning.

"Aw yeah, now you're talking..."

"Don't encourage him!" Rap tutted. "Are you really going to eat more rubbish from this thing? You should come into the food bit with me 'n him."

"I dunno. What if I get more nasty looks? What if he turns up?" Anar asked.

"Look at you! You're a demon with claws and pointy teeth, who's gonna mess with you? That succubus liked you..." Rap teased.

"You said they were trouble," he sulked.

"They are. Everyone here is trouble, in one way or another. We're trouble. Anyway, he's got a poxy pixie for a familiar, you've got us! I know who I'd choose in a fight."

"I don't want to fight..."

"You don't have to! We'll do it for you, mate."

Anar blinked. "You mean Rave will do it for me?"

"I ain't doing nuffin' for you! I don't even like you."

"We're meant to be helping him, dear."

"I'm helping myself. To breakfast. Starving!" Rave nodded his head to where the aroma of bacon and toast was wafting. "Last one there's a stinky mammal!"

"Ok, ok, I'm coming, and I'm not stinky! I'm wearing CK One I'll have you know!" Anar shouted, as his long-limbed green friends strode ahead. "Cheeky git." He almost jogged to keep up. "You can't get anything without my pass, anyway! You need me!"

"Like a hole in the head," Rave rumbled. He swept round the outside of the food queue and barged his way in, baring his massive jaws as he towered over everyone else. The next student in line went to object and Rave snorted loudly in their face.

Rap zoomed to his side, cooing over pastries.

The defeated student stepped back, intimidated, conceding their spot.

"What you waiting for, you big-eared daftie?" Rave called to Anar, "come 'ere 'n pay for our food!"

Anar pulled up his robe collar, embarrassed at the glares he was getting. Great. Just what he didn't want: a scene. Now everyone would know him as the demon student with unruly familiars. Fantastic. This was why he lived off Wotsits. He trudged forward, pass in hand, ready to pay, fighting the urge to apologise. Rudeness was tolerated. It was expected, even. All he had to do was flash his ID and the line would move on again.

Magic wielding was next on his timetable. That would be nice and easy, surely? Even Rave couldn't cause any trouble in that lesson, as he didn't have any magic. Sure, it was their first practical instruction since being given the amulets, but this was beginner stuff, with tame magic. It might even be fun! Right? Right.