Demonic possession was bad news. Of course, anyone who said that deserved a Captain Obvious award, but their existence was less obvious. Thanks to the Veil, most people thought vampires and werewolves were just ancient myths, Cthulhu just a fictional character, and that demons only existed in religious texts. But demons were real. And hungry. Humans had this precious thing called life energy. It wasn't just a source of magic, but also of thoughts, emotions, and feelings. When humans felt despair, it became volatile. And when it was volatile, demons could feed on it.

Their mind magic implanted dark thoughts into people; thoughts of violence, depression, and self-harm. Not even animals were spared, as we just saw. But normally, they were more subtle.

When they possessed people, their possessions were better described as "this person behaves slightly weirdly" than "that person has scary black mind control eyes anyone can see". Anything visibly supernatural went against the Veil. This wasn't normal.

I stood around, frozen like an idiot with no idea what to do. All I knew about monsters was what I read in Mom's old books and what she told me. And since she left our family when I was eight, that wasn't much. If I did anything wrong, I might get myself and others killed.

What should I do? What should I do?

Panic clouded my mind and I missed how the cat had run into the parking lot. Quick as a cheetah, it jumped through the school's wall into the basement like an immaterial ghost.

"Don't go away!" I yelled and ran towards the wall.

I was too slow. I hurt my fist punching the wall.

How? Just how did it pass through that wall? I knew that aether could phase through matter like those weird neutrinos, but this thing had a solid body. Maybe it was made of ectoplasm?

Still, nothing I can explain to the police. While I could explain it to the Council, that didn't mean I wanted to. If I wanted to help, I was on my own. With great power comes great responsibility, as Uncle Ben said. I had to conquer my fears and become a fighter if I didn't want to die. And I had to become a thinker.

What options did I have? Call the police? There was a chance the Veil wouldn't allow that and even if I did, what guaranteed that they'd believe me or that they knew what to do?

Call practitioners? Who exactly? I had no phone numbers and most of them lived away from human civilization. I wasn't sure if I was even part of them or if they saw me as a mundane with my lack of magical proficiency.

Go home, forget it, and search for another school? That seemed like the smart option. But who assured me that I was safer elsewhere? What about Simon or Isa? Who ensured they'd survive if whatever lurked in this basement wasn't stopped?

And, power or not, I at least knew some common monster weaknesses which was better than nothing. Assuming this cat was someone's familiar, I might even find another practitioner who was also searching for it and could offer advice.

I opened the door to the creepy basement, but not before hearing a voice I knew.

"Hey, what happened to you guys?"

Isa. She was near a bunch of frightful students who looked like they had seen a ghost.

Now, she searched for me.

Not good. As a naturally curious person, she'd eventually stumble upon whatever was in the basement if I didn't investigate it first.

I walked in through the door, slammed it shut, scrambled down the stairs, and hurried through a long white corridor full of doors. I expected a basement like this to smell of dust, not to be so clean and well-lit. Or large. This cat could be anywhere!

I opened one door, closed it, opened the next, closed it again; rinse, and repeat.

First door: Old science lab

Second door: A dumping place for old textbooks.

It was nowhere! And I was running out of time!

Okay, calm down Marissa. If this was one of those Veil breaches, let's hope for a low-letter D-ranking.

I didn't find the cat, but I found a storage room with a baseball bat. Despite being old, it still had pine tar around its handle, giving me an easy grip. Three strikes and any monster I hit was out.

I found something else in that room. Between a pile of cardboard trees, paintings, and other old-school play props, I pulled out a ragged, open black cloak with sleeves and a hood attached that would have looked better on a Medieval priest than on me.

I took out a hair tie to tame these brown bushes of mine before pulling over the hood. It was long enough to conceal my eyes if I didn't mind the loss of peripheral vision. There was a reason magic users loved cloaks. They couldn't disguise you from facial recognition or friends, but they helped you in dark alleys when aether messed with cameras for you. As much as I wanted to save the kitten, I didn't want to be seen.

The Veil was a fragile thing, especially in recent years, and the Council sought to maintain it. Years ago, my mother witnessed a breach. She selflessly risked her life to protect others from monsters, but she broke the Council's sacred law. She allowed her magic to be seen. The Council did not forgive. She had to run and hide, leaving me behind with all my boiling grief and fury reserved for the Council.

I didn't know if this was true and if she was really that cloaked person in these alleged videos, but I had bigger concerns at the moment.

The robe made it hard to move, let alone fight in it, but it was a worthwhile trade. Anyone who saw my face and figured out my real name could curse me with or without a notebook.

Returning to the corridor, I gazed at dozens of rooms before I found the one that stuck out.

It had "boiler room" written over it, but green spots festered over a yellow door's surface as if it was rotten cheese. Ivy dripped out of its frame, knotting around the hinge while moss spread through the wooden texture like poison.

Yeah, I don't know about you guys, but I won't touch such a door with a ten-foot pole. Even when I pushed it down with my bat, creepy vines came out of it and tried to grab me. Ewww.

When the door opened, cold mist streamed out into the hallway. A carpet of moss covered the boiler room and grew over its machines.

Baseball bat in hand, I walked slowly, careful not to trip over my cloak's rim. Under the dim lighting, I recognized gas heaters, oil heaters, electric meters, and steel-covered pots and pipes infested with green moss which remained functional despite green spots covering them.

Behind them was a broken mirror that didn't fit in any of the storage rooms, but added to the ominous atmosphere here. There was no stationary engineer and no maintenance technician anywhere in sight to handle that mess.

What on Earth happened here? Unfortunately, my cellphone had no signal. Ectoplasm and aether weren't kind to delicate electronic circuits. Anyone familiar with ghost shows knew that these poltergeists made radios crackle, lights flicker, and TV screens drop dead.

The whole room was much larger than I imagined. Next to the machines bloomed a garden full of moss, decaying vine, black roses, and purple hedges of thorn bushes. Where did those come from? Never mind. The kitten was shivering behind a bush and I was gonna save it. No matter the cost, whatever it takes.

It was at that point that a honking bark thundered through the basement.

I took cover behind a poison purple hedge. Part of my mantle got caught in one of those ubiquitous brambles which looked like they were taken straight from Sleeping Beauty. From behind the hedge, I watched the monster.

It was a mutt the size of a red wolf with fur as black as death, hellfire-red eyes, and teeth as long and sharp as its claws. It reminded me of the Hound of Baskerville, only in real. Its growling felt like listening to the howl of a ghost and with its nose raised, the black dog picked up the scent of intruders. Intruders like me.

To say that it had black fur was accurate, but misleading. It wasn't dark in the way a panther was. It felt more like a shadowy wisp flickered around it and changed density with every step the hound made.

There were many black dogs in mythology. Particularly English mythology. Let's hope the Anglo-Saxon Pilgrims didn't accidentally bring them to America. Among the most malevolent ones was the Barghest from Yorkshire myth. Legend had it that it lived in horrid gills and preyed on lone travelers. With its red eyes and big teeth and claws, this one fit the description of a Barghest uncannily well.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was a nice one and wanted to play. But even so, who on Earth invited one to my school's basement? We had rules about bringing pets here, let alone monsters.

I drew the Otherworld's moist air through my nostrils, readied my posture, put the bat out from under my cloak, and dug my nails into its wood. If I had to fight it, did crosses and holy water work against a pagan demon? Doubted it. The Veil weakened monsters to elements antipathic to their nature. Iron, garlic, crosses, and salt were common because they were associated with protection from death and decay. About the Barghest, I only knew that its Wikipedia page claimed it refused to cross rivers, much like the vampire.

Of course, not all black dogs were the same. Some crossed rivers without problems.

The hellhound noticed me. It didn't bark, it didn't give me a chance to leave it in peace, it just lunged toward me like a wolf towards a caribou.