Page 17 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)
Olivier didn’t hesitate. He chugged down the liquid in one swift gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
It was vile. Worse than it smelled. A wave of dizziness flooded through him, a warmth sprouting from the soles of his feet and traveling up his legs.
It felt like a million ants crawling through his skin, as if he were being submerged in jelly.
His vision blurred at the edges, brown dots clotting the air around him.
And then, after one slow and forceful blink, he was no longer inside the classroom.
It looked like a swamp of some sort, the world around him damp and full of moss.
The ground beneath his feet was a vast and empty wetland, clumps of dead plants congregated in small shrubs.
The sickly-sweet scent of illusionary magic consumed every inch of the land, strong enough that it itched Olivier’s nose.
He had to give Calligan some credit. It all felt impossibly real—the water dampening the hem of his trousers, his fingertips brushing against the rough texture of the plants…but it wasn’t. None of it was.
It was an illusion.
And he was meant to dismantle it.
Calligan had a habit of crafting theatrical illusionary exams, often leaning toward dramatic displays, so it came as no surprise when Olivier glanced down at his forearm and saw the hourglass etched into his skin in black ink.
It was moving, grains of sand slipping from the top into the bottom, signaling that the countdown had already begun.
Determined to finish first, Olivier summoned the runes from his fingertips and got to work.
They hovered in the air, crackling with violet sparks.
He worked as he moved, arranging them into different configurations.
If he shifted one of the runes in the right direction, he might see a crack in the illusion—a glimmer of something that didn’t look right, that looked out of place.
If he shifted another in the wrong direction, that crack would quickly seal, and the illusion would take back over.
His task was to discover the correct configuration and destroy the illusion.
As he moved the runes around, rearranging them in varying geometrical shapes, he wondered what Emilio would say if he were with him now.
He’d probably be complaining about the smell.
Olivier grinned as he imagined Emilio trudging alongside him with his lumpy wool sweater and his hair sticking up in that disheveled way he often wore it.
But then Olivier couldn’t help but wonder why on earth he was thinking of Emilio, of all things, at the present moment and wiped the thought away from his mind.
He lifted his sleeve and glanced down at the hourglass, surprised to see it was more than half full. Maybe he would have been worried had he not been seconds away from finalizing the rune configuration.
As he moved the last piece over to the left, fussing with it slightly, the runes began to shimmer, speckles of violet floating up into the air like loose embers.
And then a single crack split through the illusion, and then another, and another—until the bog landscape had become nothing but meaningless pieces and all Olivier had to do was brush them away with his fingertips.
He let out a gurgled gasp as he regained consciousness in the classroom. Calligan sat behind his chair, absentmindedly writing in a notebook as an enchanted spoon stirred his cup of tea next to him. Irene and Masika were nowhere to be seen, which meant they had completed the exam before him.
Shit.
Nausea clutched his throat as he slowly lifted himself onto his feet. He wasn’t sure how much magic he had expelled during that exam, but he certainly felt it. That unmistakable exhaustion. The cost they were forced to pay.
He glanced over at Keira, who was still sprawled over her desk, unconscious, her eyes twitching behind her eyelids. Her skin was beginning to grow a sickly yellow color, bulbous veins sprouting from her skin.
“The illusion is consuming her,” Olivier whispered, mainly to himself. He hated when this happened. It was a ghastly sight, though not exactly a rare occurrence. Students would often fall prey to illusionary consumption, forced to mend their bodies for weeks at a time in the infirmary.
Calligan didn’t avert his eyes from the notebook. “Afraid so.”
“Couldn’t you just wake her?”
He shook his head and looked up at Olivier. “Must let things run their course.”
“But…” Olivier attempted to form the right words. “She’ll miss the Decennial. The opening ceremony. It could take weeks.”
Calligan sighed. “But she’ll be fine, Mr.Dupont. Like I said, we have resources here to heal her. It might take a while, but…that’s simply a consequence she must face.”
Olivier shuddered. He knew all about Blackwood’s consequences. He felt them with every breath, with every waking moment. Calligan was right. Keira would be fine. She was still new…she had hundreds of years, countless opportunities still waiting for her. Olivier, on the other hand…
“Mr.Dupont.” Calligan cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…you did well. The others might have dismantled the illusion faster, but your work was precise. I would feel quite confident leading up to the opening ceremony if I were you.”
A swell of pride surged in Olivier’s chest. “Thank you.”
Calligan nodded, waving him off. “Now go. I won’t be writing you a late pass.”
Olivier bit back a smile. Maybe there was still something worth holding on to. And as he sauntered out of Calligan’s classroom, fueled by a newfound sense of confidence, Olivier couldn’t help but allow himself to feel something he hadn’t felt in months.
Something he knew was unequivocally dangerous.
Hope.