Page 13 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Masika could still remember being placed in Ivory House.

It had been her first evening in Blackwood and she had been sent to Headmaster Silas’s office for her initiation ritual.

She had assumed it would be some ominous test—her mind conjuring up images of creepy occult practices and spooky ritualistic sacrifices.

But when she arrived at the office, she had been handed a single candle and given simple instructions: Hold the candle in your hand and blow on the wick.

When she placed her hand around the wax candle and blew softly, a bright purple flame burst from the wick, nearly singeing her eyebrows.

And that was it.

She was officially in Ivory House.

“Oh! Nick is flagging me down.” Liza’s voice pulled Masika back to the present. “I’m helping him set up with the rest of the Decennial Ball Committee.” She let out a squeal of excitement. “Have you two asked anybody yet?”

Masika glanced over Liza’s shoulder and spotted Nick Aronson out by the Library, his ash-blond hair ruffling in the wind. He wore his usual white shirt and dark-wash jean jacket, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He lifted his hand and offered them a cordial wave.

“Uh…no.” Masika let out an awkward chuckle. “And I don’t really know if I’m going—”

“Oh, we’re going. ” Irene wrapped her arm around Masika’s shoulder. “I plan on drinking wine until I black out and then going skinny-dipping in the Main Yard fountain.”

Liza recoiled but quickly masked her disdain with a nervous smile. “Right…well…I’ll see you two at the opening ceremony!” She stepped past them. “And good luck with Calligan’s exam today!”

Masika watched Liza zigzag her way through the sea of bodies, her auburn ponytail swishing behind her. The second the crowd of bustling students swallowed her up, Irene let out a long and dramatic snore.

“Thank God. You know, I’ve met turnips more interesting thanher.”

“You should give her a chance. Liza isn’t the worst friend to have around.”

Irene shrugged. “Who needs friends?”

Arguing was pointless. Irene was an impenetrable fortress of solitude and isolation.

She kept her circle small. Practically nonexistent.

In fact, Masika was probably her only real friend.

If she could even call herself that. Honestly, the only thing that led Masika to believe Irene wasn’t completely devoid of feelings was the fact that she’d personally witnessed tiny cracks in her iron mask.

Small glimmers of humanity lurking beneath the surface.

The moments of doubt. Of fear. Like the time Irene had come stumbling into Masika’s room in the middle of the night drenched in her own sweat, whimpering about her mother coming to get her.

Masika had to coax her down for hours, brushing her damp hair out of her face until Irene slowly dozed off.

She must have been sleepwalking, but even in her delirious state, she’d known where to go.

She had known to find her friend.

As they approached the wide stone steps that led to Ivory House, Masika spotted a figure lurking in the distance. Housemaster Violet was watching them from the porch, gloved hands clasped tightly over the iron railing and lips pursed in disapproval.

“Word spreads fast around here,” Irene whispered, averting her gaze to the ground.

“You think she knows?”

“Look at her. That’s a death stare if I’ve ever seen one. Looks like she’s eaten a lemon.”

Masika glanced up and winced. Violet’s eyes were two rusted blades piercing into her face. She definitely knew. And as they walked up the steps, Masika held her breath, silently preparing for their inevitable punishment.

“Good morning.” Violet regarded them with a subtle yet knowing nod. “Perhaps the two of you should go upstairs and freshen up for the day.”

“Freshen up?” Irene echoed. “That’s…it? You have nothing else to say to us?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Violet brushed a strand of black hair away from her face and wrapped her brown tweed coat tightly over her chest. “Anyway, I’m off.

Try not to get into too much trouble today, girls.

” Her mouth lifted into a tight-lipped smile as she descended the steps and made her way toward the Main Yard.

Irene scoffed. “What the hell was that? She barely gave us a slap on the wrist.”

“I don’t know.” Masika had to admit—it was a little weird.

Housemaster Violet, who was in charge of watching over the students of Ivory House and taught all classes on spacial magic, was notoriously strict.

Which meant her apathy toward their obvious rule-breaking was odd, to say the least. “Maybe she already knows we met with Silas.”

“Great. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire school finds out by the end of the day.”

Irene flicked her wrist and the double doors sprang open.

Shimmering velvet fabrics in rich jewel tones adorned the main hall of Ivory House—swooping chaise lounges and sprawling rugs with designs that mimicked peacock feathers.

A massive glittering chandelier dangled from the black slanted ceiling, illuminating the space along with a row of melted candles set upon dark wooden desks, each of which emanated a purple flame.

Just as in all the other buildings in Blackwood, invasive vegetation crawled over the walls, slithering across the floor like snakes.

At the far end of the room was a floor-to-ceiling window that gave a clear view of the Main Yard—the large quad, which housed impressive stone sculptures and an intricately carved stone fountain.

Masika had spent countless hours staring out of that window.

Waiting.

“You good?” Irene waved a hand in front of her face.

“I’m fine.” The words slipped out with ease. Masika had mastered the art of appearing fine. And not just while at Blackwood. Even in her old life, the words had come easily to her. A way to mend the dark, splintered cracks.

I’m fine. I’m just tired. Everything is fine.

“All right, well…I’m going to head upstairs and gather my things.” Irene walked to the spiral staircase. “I’ll meet you down here after.”

Masika nodded, though she had already begun to walk toward the window, her mind drifting elsewhere.

It happened to her every so often. Like a dense fog taking root in her brain.

Sometimes she thought her father was to blame, a lingering by-product of his genetics finally catching up with her.

And sometimes she thought it was something else, something bigger than her father, something bigger than Catherine.

She pressed her hand against the cool glass.

Outside, a couple sat under an oak tree, sprawled on a tartan blanket, papers scattered in front of them. They stuck out against the monotony—a glimmer of life among the dead.

There had once been a time when Masika thought she had found that spark. That thing that would motivate her to cling on to her humanity. But she had been so blinded by her own infatuation that she hadn’t noticed the seed blossoming inside Catherine’s heart.

The darkness.

And though Masika had hoped she would be enough to brighten the darkness, to subdue Catherine’s ravenous appetite, she had always known, deep down, that nothing would be enough.

She had always been destined to love her and lose her.