Twelve marks. I have twelve marks, and the twelve powers that go with them. How did this happen? I’ve never heard of anyone having twelve marks before. The highest number of marks I’ve heard about was a guy who got eleven last year. He was a hero around my community for months; everyone was talking about him. I try not to think of anything more and let my mind circle around the facts, as I walk up the dozens of high steps to another pair of big doors. I push open the doors to a large hallway, and I shut them behind me. Shivering from the cold, as my wet dress sticks to me, my long hair drips water onto the floor. Every drop echoes as it hits the ground in the otherwise silent hallway. I move quietly down the corridor, hating how my shoes sound squishy against the shiny, pristine floor.

“Here,” a woman says, making me jump as she steps out of the shadows at the side of the hallway. I can’t see what she looks like as she has a black cloak on, and the large hood is covering her face. She hands me a folded, black cloak much like the one she is wearing, and I happily take it from her as I’m freezing.

I pull the cloak around my shoulders and pull the hood up, still cold but not shivering as badly now that I’m under the thick material. The woman steps back, mixing into the shadows again. Probably hiding to freak the new students out for fun; I know I would.

The corridor is surprisingly modern, nothing like I would expect an ancient manor on an island to look like. Modern chandeliers hang from the ceiling above me, casting a soft glow. The white walls are pristine and dark-wood floors look newly polished. The walls are covered in a mixture of ancient artifacts. There is everything from a giant sword, to what I’m guessing is a fish hook. There is also a strange looking, massive claw in a glass box. What could that be from? All along the wall are weapons, paintings, and various other things. I’d have to come take a better look at the other objects some time.

I’ve seen photos of this island before. I know it’s located just off the coast of Scotland, and that it looks like a wreck from the outside. I’m sure that’s some kind of ruse to keep humans out, as well as having the protection wards spelled into the island by the first of the marked to settle here.

I keep walking towards the open doors at the end of the corridor. There are massive, dark-wood stairs on either side going up to the next level, and when I look up, the stairs wind all the way up to the top of the manor. At the top, is a glass dome where I can see the stormy, grey skies outside. There must be at least five levels from what I can see.

I’m just about to go through the large doors, when I stop as I hear doors open behind me. I turn to see Kelly walking in, and she shakes her head at me as our eyes meet. Even from this distance, I can see her eyes are filled with tears. Her dress is soaking wet, clinging to her small frame and wet, blonde hair is plastered against the sides of her face.

“Please move into the hall,” a man says from behind me in a sharp voice. Turning I see a guy not much older than me holding the door open.

“But, can’t I just wait for my friend?” I ask as I turn to look at him.

He shakes his head. “Move on,” the man says, his tone leaving no room for argument. I glance once more at my friend before turning and walking into the hall.

The room is massive, and filled with students all dressed in black robes sitting down on chairs located on either side of the room. The hall has dozens of little balls of glass lights hanging from the ceiling, they are all a mixture of yellows and reds. I know they aren’t any kind of marked magic, but they have a certain magical effect on the room.

The floor is the same dark wood as the corridor, and the walls are gold and white panels. The twelve marks are drawn on each section of the walls that are gold, six on each side like the doors. My eyes glance at the twelfth mark, seeing it painted in black against the gold.

The twelfth mark looks like a sphere, with an arrow going through it. The arrow splits the sphere in half. Unless my new power is cutting things in half, the mark is no help in figuring out what the power is. No wonder nobody has figured it out before.

A throat clears, and I pick up my pace, realising how slowly I’m moving due to gaping at the room around me. There is a gold, marked path in the middle of the students for the new entrants to walk down. I can see the other new students at the front of the hall as I get closer, behind them are three large, glass windows that overlook the rough sea. I can see the crashing waves in the water from here.

I walk faster down the middle of the students, not glancing at anyone, but I feel their stares on me. The room is so quiet that I can hear my every footstep in my wet shoes. I bite my tongue softly, feeling heat flush to my cheeks. I try and force myself not to think about the fact there are so many students here, and soon, every single one of them will know I have all twelve marks. At the end of the path, is a small stage where all the new students are sitting on seats. I lift my cloak and dress as I walk up the few steps, and I take the next empty seat in the line. When I sit down, my eyes go straight to Kelly who has just walked in. I watch her like everyone else as she wipes her eyes and quickly walks to the stage. She takes the seat next to me and I slide my hand into hers.

“How many marks?” I ask softly. She shakes her head, and I know that’s not a good sign. I knew her tears could only be for one reason.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, and her blue eyes look up at me.

“Says you, who got twelve marks,” she replies sarcastically, forgoing the whisper. Her voice echoes around the quiet room. I cringe from the volume, but I know she didn’t mean it. She’s just worried about her dads’ reaction to her own marks.

I realise that the other students must have heard as the whispers start instantly. I feel myself getting warm from all the eyes on me. Great, well everyone knows now. I lift my eyes to the crowd of students, and everyone is staring with shocked and disbelieving faces.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Kenzie. I got two marks, just two,” Kelly says quietly, pulling my attention from the crowd. I squeeze her hand. I go to tell her that it will be okay, when I see three robed figures walking towards us.

They are all different heights, and their faces are hidden under their different-coloured cloaks, but I know who they are from the symbols on their clothing, the three headmasters of the school. I remember my older brother telling me about them, about how strict they all are, about how everyone in the school is afraid of their power, including the other teachers. The three of them stop in front of us on the stage, and the one with the green cloak speaks, his voice loud and deep.

“We welcome our new marked to our academy,” the man in the green says and takes a pause as everyone claps.

“Every year we welcome our new marked, the new generation to carry on our gifts. We will talk to every student privately and assign them their student guides for the first year as the others continue to come in,” the red cloaked man adds. I watch as he pulls out a tablet and switches it on.

“Mackenzie Crowe, please come with me,” the man in the green cloak says, turning to face me, but I still can’t see his face under the hood.

“Mackenzie’s guide will be Easton Black,” the man in the red cloak says, as he reads from a list from his large tablet. I’m too in shock from hearing that familiar name to question why I’m going first, instead of the others who were sitting waiting.

My eyes find a very familiar pair in the first two rows of students, as East stands up and pulls his hood down. Hazel eyes and soft-looking brown hair with blond highlights; his hair is messy and long, but pulled away from his face. He doesn’t need to do much to his hair, and it still looks ridiculously gorgeous, as always. His lips turn up into a sexy smile that shows off the dimples I remember so fondly.

My brother’s best friend, Easton Black, was always around when we were younger. He is also the boy I’ve had a crush on since I was thirteen, and he has never noticed me at all.

He looks every bit as sexy as I remember.

“Sexy East is your guide,” Kelly whispers, and I give her a look that says ‘shut up’, and she smiles for a second. I haven’t seen him in two years, not since he came here. Easton walks over to me at the same time I stand up. Neither of us speaks as we follow the man in the green cloak out of the room through a door near the stage. We come into another corridor with four wooden doors. The man opens the first door to the left and walks in.

“Please wait outside, Mr. Black,” the man says and Easton nods, moving to stand near the wall, but his eyes stay on mine.

“Good luck, Kenzie,” Easton says, his first words to me. Easton’s voice is made for seduction. Growing up, he always had a way with girls because of his good looks and deep voice. His voice sends shivers through me that I can’t blame on being cold.

I walk into the small room and pull the door shut behind me. The room has a big, wooden desk and two seats on each side. There are two small bookcases full of books and some green curtains on the small window in the room. I take my seat, as the cloaked man pulls his hood down and moves to his chair behind the desk. The man is older than I expected from his voice, with short, grey hair and a full, grey beard. I would guess his age at around fifty.

“I’m Mr. Lockhart, one of the three headteachers at the academy. Mr. Daniels told me of your marks that you received today. I believe he saw the twelfth?” he says.

“Yes,” I say, and he nods at me.

“May I see it?” he asks, already standing up, leaving me with not much choice but to show him the mark as he walks around the desk.

“Sure,” I reply, lifting my hair. Mr. Lockhart moves behind my chair, and the room seems to stay still for a long time as he stares at my mark. I wait quietly until he moves back to his seat and leans back in shock.

“I am lost for words, Miss Crowe. I’m sure you know that no marked has been gifted with the twelfth mark in years. The only reason we know it exists, is because it is in the Book of Marks,” he says. I remember one of my dads telling me about the Book of Marks; a large book bound in leather and printed on vellum. A book with just twelve thick pages, each with a different mark on it. The book is thousands of years old, and it’s believed that it came from Ariziadia, like the water in the cave under the academy.

“Does the book say what the mark does? What my power is?” I ask him, but I think I know the answer.

“Unfortunately, the book does not tell us what the powers of the marks are. It only shows us the design,” he answers, picking up his glasses from the table. I don’t say a word as he opens a book and pulls out a blank timetable. He quickly pencils in classes across the week. “These are your eleven classes. I have split them over the course of the week for you, but I’m afraid you will not get much time off other than Sunday.”

“Eleven classes?” I say, my voice a mixture of anger and disbelief. I can’t do that many. I’m suddenly wishing I only got one mark. At least, I’d only have to take one class.

“Yes, you will need to take all eleven. We will split them into two classes a day in the week and just one on Saturday,” he says writing down a copy of this unfair plan of his on some paper in front of him. “I’m afraid you will not get to pick any elective classes either, due to already having to take all eleven of the mark classes.”

“That’s—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“Necessary for you to learn how to control all your powers. Having so many mark powers will be a challenge for you, and you do not want to lose control,” he tells me.

I think on the stories I’ve heard about powerful marked that lost control . . . they always ended up dead. The bedtime stories for marked children were never pretty, but neither were the stories in the book of human fairy tales aunt Laura gave me. The only difference is, our bedtime stories were true.

“How long are each of the classes?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“Three and a half hours,” he answers. I groan, sliding down in my seat.

You have got to be kidding me.