Page 10 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Olivier

It was a known fact that Olivier Dupont could not sit still.

He was easily agitated, constantly fussing with the blond hair that fell over his eyes or fidgeting with the cuffs of his coat.

Neither of these habits was entirely surprising, seeing that Olivier appeared to exist in a perpetual state of restlessness.

His father, who bore witness to Olivier’s many quirks and ever-present disquiet, would often joke that perhaps death would be the only permanence heavy enough to sedate his son.

It turned out death only made everything worse.

Presently, it didn’t help that Olivier had just witnessed something that was, for all intents and purposes, impossible.

He’d never seen shadow magic before. He’d heard rumors.

Read books. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the newbie shrouded in tendrils of shadows.

The way the world seemed to shudder, as though the very particles of the afterlife had split open and cracked in half.

Students couldn’t access shadow magic. That was an indisputable fact. Yet this girl, this seemingly innocuous girl, had just done the impossible. She’d summoned shadows the moment she entered Blackwood.

“Olivier!” Emilio shook him roughly by the shoulders. “Snap out of it.”

Olivier blinked. He glanced around the rooftop and noticed they were alone. “Where are the others?”

“They already went downstairs! I tried to get your attention, but you were—” Emilio gestured vaguely in his direction. “Out ofit.”

“Right.” Olivier cleared his throat and tugged on his collar. “Off we go, then.”

He bolted across the rooftop, pushing the door open with what Emilio would probably call unnecessary dramatic flair.

He could hear the others downstairs. A cacophony of whispers and nervous pacing.

And as Olivier and Emilio descended the spiral staircase, he caught sight of the rest of the group scattered across the entry hall.

Wren stood like a stone pillar, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Irene and Masika seemed, unsurprisingly, bored by their current company.

August, whose voice dominated the room, leaned against the double doors with a sense of eerie calm.

“We go back to our dorms and say nothing,” he instructed. “Keep quiet.”

“Keep quiet?” Wren echoed. “Have you lost your mind? We just saw a new student cast shadow magic!”

“Not to mention we have no idea who that person was who relocated her away from the gates,” Masika added. “For all we know, it could have been a Demien. Headmaster Silas needs to be made aware of this… now. ”

It was the obvious course of action. They were out of their depth. Yet something about Masika’s suggestion clearly displeased August, who turned to look at her with a withering frown.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And why not?” Wren sighed, exasperated. “If anybody knows what to do next—it’s him.”

“Because Augustine here has a vendetta against our great and noble Headmaster,” Irene mused. “Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t have a—” August shook his head. “Look. I just don’t think we should involve Silas when we’re not even sure what we’re dealing with.”

“ Who we’re dealing with,” Masika corrected. “Don’t you get it? We have no idea who actually just entered Blackwood. That girl could be working for the Demien Order!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Irene muttered. “She just died. We all saw her fall into Blackwood with our own eyes.”

“And we also saw her cast shadow magic,” Emilio reminded her, tentatively edging closer.

Irene’s eyes snapped toward Emilio. “No one asked for your opinion, newbie.”

“Easy,” Olivier warned. Irene watched him with an amused grin, as if silently egging him on. Begging him for a fight. And he would give her one. If she opened her mouth and spoke to Emilio like that again.

“All I’m saying is that we can’t ignore what happened just because we think it’s impossible,” Emilio explained carefully.

“We’ve been told that Demiens are the only ones capable of harnessing shadow magic…

but maybe they’re not. Maybe this new student accidentally unlocked something during her crossing. ”

“Well, that’s profoundly unhelpful,” Irene sighed. “Sounds like we have no idea what we’re talking about and we should probably involve somebody who does. Like, oh, I don’t know, the Headmaster of the school?”

August slammed his palm against the door. “Enough!”

The force of his voice reverberated in the space between them, casting an uneasy silence upon the group.

“Don’t you all realize what would happen if we went to Silas?” He looked around the room, eyes dark and downcast. “We’d effectively be turning ourselves in.”

Wren let out a gasp. “No nomination…we’d be barred from the Decennial.”

A chill ran up and down Olivier’s spine. How could they have forgotten? The Decennial was looming just around the corner. They were less than a day from the opening ceremony. If they went to Headmaster Silas…they’d destroy any opportunity they had to be chosen.

Irene paled. “I…I didn’t think about that.”

“Which is exactly what I’m proposing we do,” August sighed. “ Think. Before we do something profoundly stupid that will ruin our chances at nomination. Now, my suggestion is we go back to the dorms and—”

It was in that exact moment that the doors to Bonestrod swung open, a gust of wind scattering rotten yellow leaves across their feet.

A triumvirate of familiar faces greeted them with identical scowls—Housemaster Birdie, Housemaster Wesley and Housemaster Russo.

Birdie, who stood at a towering six foot two, with bleached-blond hair and eyes that looked like polished turquoise, was positioned at the front of the trio.

Wesley, with his tawny hair and yellow-green eyes, assessed them nervously.

Russo, on the other hand, was stoic as ever, her face expressionless and dark eyes eerily blank.

For a moment, nobody said a word. The opposing groups simply stared at one another, as if each was waiting for the other to make the first move.

It was Birdie who broke the silence in her sharp Texan twang.

“Well, this is a goddamn mess.”

Olivier bounced his leg up and down and considered throwing himself out of the window. He’d rather wait for his broken legs to mend than deal with the suffocating tension currently permeating the air.

After the six of them had explained what they’d seen, Birdie had demanded they follow her to Memorium.

Olivier immediately felt a sense of unease at hearing the name.

It was a dreary church-style building made of granite, with stained-glass windows.

Heavy wooden doors were carved into the bottom of a tower, the right side of the building stretching up toward the sky in a sharp point.

Olivier avoided it like the plague. Memorium existed for one sole purpose—for students to pay tribute to those they’d lost to the Demien Order.

The inside of the building was mostly empty, a row of pews adorning the center of the main hall.

A large stone monument inscribed with hundreds of names sat at the far end, flanked by towering piles of tearstained letters.

Mementos left behind by students who had fled Blackwood in search of the Demien Order.

It was meant to be a place for students to process their grief.

But Olivier found it wholly depressing.

“How long have they been in there?” Emilio whispered next to him. He sat with his legs tucked into his chest and his chin resting atop his knees.

It had only been fifteen minutes. Give or take. Olivier had stopped counting.

They had called each student into the office one at a time.

Wren had been first, and when she’d finally walked out, her face had been pallid, as though she was seconds away from being sick.

August had been second. Then Irene. And now—Masika.

Olivier had no idea what they were telling them in there, but he assumed they weren’t having them over for tea.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer.” Olivier yawned, making a show of stretching his long legs in front of him.

He drummed his fingers against his thighs.

“Don’t know about you, but I’m having a wonderful time.

We got some fresh air. Had some friendly chitchat.

Witnessed a terrifying display of shadow magic that will more than likely leave us traumatized for the rest of our eternal existence.

” He shrugged and shut his eyes. “I’ve had worse nights. ”

“No talking,” snapped a nasally voice. Olivier peeked one eye open.

Everly Hawthorne. She stood in front of the office door, arms crossed and face pinched into a scowl.

Though Everly looked harmless—barely five foot two, with strawberry-blond hair fashioned into two pigtails—she also happened to be part of the Ascended.

Which meant Everly got the privilege of spending the rest of her existence bossing other students around and reveling in her upgraded magical abilities.

And, more importantly, she was spared from the immortal consequences of the Forgetting.

Olivier shut his eyes and scoured through his memories.

The small cottage sitting atop a mossy hill. His father tending to the stables. His mother sewing in the sitting room. The lavender wallpaper—no. It wasn’t lavender. It was blue. Or was it?

“You okay?” Emilio whispered softly.

Olivier’s eyes shot open. He glanced down and realized he had dug his fingernails so hard into his palms that tiny crescent indents had appeared on his skin. He quickly tucked his hands beneath his legs.

“Oh, just peachy.”