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A ruckus of such magnitude was bound to bring onlookers, but first onto the scene was Mr. Hiln, faun lecturer of Awful Ancient Practises who took one sniff of the sulphur-filled air and wrinkled his nose, recoiling.

The students in front of him were swiping at gently smoking cloaks, rubbing at burns and counting limbs.

A black horse was looking very unhappy at life.

Meredith stroked her transparent stone and moaned, despairingly.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked.

Anar gave him a look. Some stupid questions were too daft even for sarcasm.

Rave emerged from under the nightmare’s belly, huffing, “where were you five bleedin’ minutes ago? ‘Staff on hand to protect students’ my arse! Big Ears just saw Alice Crowley off in a hundred pieces no thanks to you!”

Mr. Hiln’s eyes grew wide. “Alice – Aleister?”

“Look at my tail!” Rave swung it towards the teacher.

“Y-yes, er, your tail… how unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? It’s throbbin,’ sunshine! We need medical aid here. Hellfire can’t be cured with a dab of a wet paper towel. Nobody putting any TCP on it, neither, I hate that stinky stuff.”

“Of course! He’s… he’s gone?” the faun turned about, just in case.

“Lucky for you! But the suckie ran out of magic.” He jerked his green, scaly thumb at the tearful looking succubus sat behind Anar.

The faun had seen and heard enough. “Come with me to the first aid room. I’ll see to it that the suck- er, Meredith, is it? Yes, Meredith will be issued another amulet immediately. Special circumstances and all that.”

“But we’ll miss the Dark… oi! What?” Rap jumped as the scythe poked at his bony shoulder under his half-burnt patchwork cloak. His witchy hat was still smoking. Anar was scowling at him. “Ohhhhh… we’re wagging. Genius! Yes, ouch, owwww, take us to first aid, oh no we’re going to miss out on the Dark Pledge to Lucifer, what a shame, we were SO looking forward to it, weren’t we? Maybe next year. Maybe…”

“We were?” Rave asked, getting a similar prod. “Yeah, we were! I’ll be glad when we put that scythe back in the armoury, that’s sharp that is. You can’t be trusted with pointy things, Anar, I saw your old school reports…”

Destroyer followed the cloven-hooved hairy lecturer down the spooky, cobwebbed and spirit-visited corridors, along an unfamiliar torchlit passageway until they reached the rather mediaeval-looking medical wing.

When the teacher had left them to the nurse’s care, Meredith could contain her composure no longer and she confronted the aardvark, leaving Rap and Rave to point to all the bits of them that hurt and needed healing salve, Rap’s concerned questions about testing on animals and organic, ethically-sourced ingredients, falling on deaf elk ears as the antlered first-aider slathered pink cream over the Hellfire burns.

“What just happened, Anar? Seriously, you just sent the King of the Underworld packing! I thought we were toast. Nothing I did touched him. Nothing! He laughed at me, Anar. Aleister Crowley laughed at me, and you managed to chop him in pieces!”

Anar shrugged, awkwardly, “my magic worked better, somehow. My amulet is really strong. I dunno…”

Meredith pushed her pretty face into his, pressing on his snout, her lips curling, her small bright white teeth bared, her eyes boring into him with an intensity he hadn’t expected, “what amulet, Anar?” she growled.

He instinctively reached up to his neck.

There was only T-Shirt.

He thrust his hands into his pocket, but he knew it would be useless.

There was no amulet.

Lex’s pixie had stolen it from around him.

Aleister had come swaggering in with his fancy wall of fiendish flame expecting Anar to be defenceless and begging for mercy, everyone knew his dumb lizard familiars couldn’t wield any power to help him. They were just for show. He had nothing. He would be a crying, terrified mess.

And yet Anar had summoned up magical energy enough to not only bring the demonic member of the Infernal Royal Household to his knees, he had successfully banished him back to Hell completely.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t tell Meredith about his natural magic. She’d hate him! His hand, still deep in his pocket, felt the odd ridges on the teardrop-shaped object nestled within. “I had this…” he said in a small voice.

She retreated out of his face, still demanding an explanation that was satisfactory. Watching closely, Anar pulled out a flat object that fitted into the palm of his hand. It was milky and translucent, much like her now fully-depleted amulet that was hanging around her slim, swan-like neck. “And just what is that, exactly?” she asked, crisply.

“It’s a scale from a magical creature,” he said, offering it up for her inspection.

“Where did you get that? Do you know how dangerous that sort of magic is?!” she was still cross, but couldn’t help running a dainty, black-polished fingertip over its surface, feeling the odd bumps beneath. It felt like a seashell. “A scale…”

“It got us out of a scrape, though, right?”

Her eyes once more met his and she frowned, disapprovingly, “you should never use things like this, even in defence! We were just lucky the magic didn’t turn on us! Wild magic, natural magic, it’s all so unpredictable. And strong! Don’t let anyone catch you with that, even if it is empty now.”

“It’s ok,” he blurted, reassuringly, his ears drooping low, “I told Miss Hinkling that it was from a Komodo Dragon.”

“Hmph! Better than a real dragon, at any rate. Enough power in one scale to bring about the end of the world…” she warned.

“Dragons don’t exist,” he countered, feebly.

“That’s what they want you to believe! Someone in my family saw a dragon once. Said they go around removing any trace of their existence, shape-shifting, meddling in the affairs of mortals. They hunt down things like that,” she nodded at the pearly trinket, “if it’s convincing enough. Whisk them away and then remove any memory you had of them.”

He stood, dumbfounded. He should have asked Meredith about dragons!! “Ok,” he squeaked.

The elk nurse broke the awkwardness between them by brandishing his tub of pink cream and asking them where it hurt.

With one final frown, Meredith lifted lace and displayed her angry red scorch marks upon her back, from where Destroyer had been sent skidding into the fire and she had been burned.

The nightmare himself was mysteriously absent. Anar pondered on calling him back to receive some treatment, but decided against it. Destroyer was an unusual magical beast and knew how to look out for himself. If he needed to go, then so be it. Hallowe’en was all fun and games until your friends got hurt.

“Alexis went running to his great-grandad, huh? Sounds about right for a snivelly git like him,” Rave rumbled after helping Rap pull on what remained of his embroidered cultist robe.

“Meredith reckons he might get thrown out.”

“Brilliant! Serves him right,” the big raptor sniffed, “making me go down there and save you.”

“You were awesome, Rave, I never thought I’d actually be happy to see you.”

Green eyes blazed, “cheeky mammal!”

“It got us out of the Dark Pledge, anyway. Now to go get Sharon back.”

“Sharon?” Meredith asked, quickly.

“His stone,” Rave rolled his eyes, “Anar thinks he’s clever, naming his amulet after Sharon Stone. He’s a couple spoons short of a cutlery set…”

“Yes, of course, what with your magical scale empty and everything.”

Rap gasped, “you told her about your…?”

“Why am I not surprised?’ Rave sniffed. “all that fuss about keeping it secret. His mouth is as big as his ears.”

Anar coloured, hotly, “my magical scale gave me the magic I used in the fight with Aleister. No arguments!” he added as he could see the objections already being formed on his friend’s faces. Any moment now, one of them would say ‘dragon scale’ and it would be all over.

Meredith set back her shoulders and flipped her glossy hair, “I have a bone to pick with that backstabbing human, too. Send ME into Hell, will he? I’ll knock him into next Tuesday!”

“It was your own fault,” Rap snipped, “going off with him!”

“Look, I’ve already apologised to Anar,” she huffed.

The raptors straightened up to their full terrible height. It was rather surprising to realise now how much they stooped when they were around their aardvarkian pal. The two swaggering, lumbering troublemakers were actually big and tall and wildly dangerous. They snorted puffs of hot steamy breath, needle-like teeth glistening.

“I’m sorry,” she said, firmly, “for what I did to your dear friend. I’m sorry you had to come and rescue us. Thank you.”

“Weeerrrlll… we accept, we suppose. But we don’t trust you. Not that anyone can be trusted around here,” Rave sunk back down to his usual slouch.

Rap nodded, “exactly, and if you go around saying Anar’s part dragon th…”

A fit of mad coughing erupted, and Anar went a funny colour. The air had left his lungs, and the room began to spin. He sagged, groaning.

“Have you been kissing him again?” Rap demanded, placing a hand on his grey head and rubbing his back.

“What? No? I told you, I haven’t stolen any of his soul, I only had the smallest taste…” Meredith eyed her long-eared cutie suspiciously. She was sure he had started coughing on purpose as a distraction. What had Rap said? Something he shouldn’t, she’d put money on it! “What am I not supposed to go around saying?”

But she was ignored as the elk nurse came over, asking health-related questions, only for Anar to wave him away, insisting he was fine. “Probably just need a coffee,” he wheezed. “And a cigarette.”

With a swish of his long, black cloak, and a pull of his hood, Anar grabbed his scythe and headed for some fresh air. “Meredith needs a new amulet,” he said, firmly. “Let’s go.”

“Sure thing, mate,” Rap smiled, following obediently. Rave followed on and Meredith quietly trailed behind, thanking the first aider for his healing salve. She was feeling better, already, and Anar seemed to have made a miraculous recovery from whatever had been wrong with him ten seconds ago.

Eerie noises, lonely howls and high cackling laughter floated through the rooms. Long robes, horned faces and flashes of teeth could be seen as the spectral visitors floated through, looping and whooping and knocking things over.

The students and most staff were still in the theatre; after the Dark Pledge there would be spooky theatricals, magic and mischief to enjoy until they were free to wander the streets of outer London, or, if they were lucky enough, travel into the inner city for some more fancier frights.

True to his word, Mr. Hiln had signed off on paperwork for a fresh amulet, the Magic Allocation Office official glooping around as only a sentient slime can, handing it over after it had been named in their presence and the form updated accordingly.

“So, these pretty necklaces, they lose their colour as they run out of magic?” Rap asked, chattily. “Clever. Is there no way of charging them up?”

The slimy blob quivered in a negative gesture.

“Only the Council of Sorcerer’s have the power to replenish them,” Meredith explained. “That’s why it’s so important to only use them for emergencies. Mr. Hiln would have had to explain why I had run out of my magic, probably via a phone call to the MagiCentre, for this to have been permitted. Special circumstances, he said. Probably grateful it wasn’t him having to deal with Aleister. Getting me a new amulet is child’s play compared to taking him on.”

“I bet Anar’s not got much left in his after all those spells he’s been chucking about,” Rave frowned.

Anar shrugged, dismissively, “ah, whatever. I don’t even remember half of what I’ve done with mine.”

Rap admired the elf’s pretty golden stone, “only because you didn’t bother filling out your slot sheet,” he reminded him.

“True.” Anar stood, pensive. He really needed to get his amulet back from Alexis’s clawed grip. Was the annoying human expecting him? “Do you reckon Lex will know what happened to his ole great-grandad?” he asked with the twisted start of a smile. “I bet he thinks I’m burnt offerings right now. He’s going to be made up when I turn the corner alive and well.”

“You be careful! You don’t have any magic left to use against him,” Meredith warned.

“No. I got something even better. I got two dinosaurs and a scythe.” He spun the long, graceful blade in his grey grip.

“D-dinosaurs?”

“Yep.”

Rap and Rave clicked their sharp talons on the cold, hard floor.

“I’m not arguing. I’m not. From now on, I’m just accepting whatever you say. It’s easier on my brain.”

The theatre was dim and cold, the splendid glass chandeliers hung down, glittering, but had been turned to their lowest setting to help create a suitable Hallowe’en ambience. The vast, crimson velvet-swagged stage was full of props and weapons as evil clowns rolled around on unicycles throwing knives at a spinning board. Upon it, a shrieking student was slowly rotating, watched by a clapping audience. Each thud! was accompanied by fresh wailing and more cheering. A clown ran out of throwing knives and gracefully dipped down to collect a crossbow.

“I’m royalty! You can’t do this!” the student complained with a nasally whine.

The clown with the crossbow, a chubby, pink, curly-wigged pig with white feathered wings and a row of spikes going down his back, waved his weapon around happily, loading it up with a hard pull of the springed mechanism. “Who’s ready?” he snorted.

The packed crowd went wild. This was entertainment! A disgraced pupil being tormented and tortured, pinned, helpless upon a splintered board, having pot-shots taken at them! Someone threw popcorn. Another a half-eaten toffee apple.

“Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” they chanted, giddy with excitement.

A knife had caught Alexis’s sleeve and a smear of his blood seeped into the wood he was strapped to. His eyeliner had ran, his pale makeup now a big blotchy mess, his black lipstick mixing in so he looked bruised. “You’ll all be sorry!” he shrieked. “if I die, there’ll be Hell to pay!”

The crossbow was raised, and the painted pig pushed with a trotter, rolling across the stage as he took aim. The arrow-tipped bolt slammed into the wheel and blasted a chunk off.

But there was no scream.

The human form hung, limp, slack-jawed.

The audience froze, mid chomp of their sweets. The clowns stopped pedalling.

With a BANG! The doors at the back of the theatre were flung open and a dark, hooded figure was silhouetted, lit from the burning braziers in the passageway behind. In their grip, the unmistakable shape of a long, sharp scythe.

“Oh shit,” someone murmured. “it’s Death!”

With a sudden burst of movement, the theatre audience leapt out of their seats, pushing and shoving each other to get out of the arena, to make a swift exit from the scene of murder. Tails swished, wings rustled, seats were bent and bashed. Growls and threats uttered as they all rushed out the fire doors at the side of the venue, climbing over each other, desperate to get away.

“CROWLEY…”