Page 2 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

“Christ…” He rubbed his face in exasperation. “Look. You can still turn around. We’re only a few feet away from your room. Last thing I need is you making me seem like the bad guy for inviting you somewhere.”

A door creaked open to the left of them.

“Can you quiet down?” Maya Romero stood at the doorway, her black pixie cut sticking up in disheveled spikes. “I know the concept of rest may be foreign to the two of you, but most of us are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, Maya.” Wren offered her an apologetic grin. “We’re just going for a walk.”

“Past curfew?”

August stepped forward. “Is that a problem?”

Maya instinctively flinched. “No. But…a group of Ascended were seen out by the Main Yard. Sent at least a dozen students to reformatory.” She craned her neck forward and glanced around the corridor nervously.

“I really don’t think the two of you should be pushing your luck right before the Decennial. ”

Wren cursed under her breath. Of course. She’d been so worried about a new student arriving that she’d nearly forgotten that the opening ceremony would happen tomorrow evening. If they were caught…it could ruin her chances at the nomination.

Every ten years, the students of Blackwood Academy were considered for the Decennial Festival.

Out of the hundreds of students at the academy, only one would secure the nomination, carefully chosen with respect to their skills and talents by the school’s Headmaster and its six Housemasters.

The nominee would then participate in four trials meant to test their magical abilities.

Truthfully, the trials were more of a formality.

A tradition as old as the Decennial itself.

Not a single nominee in the entire history of Blackwood had ever failed the trials.

Though there was always the risk of being the first.

Once all four trials were complete, the nominee would be awarded a choice: formally graduate as a student and become an official Ascended, or venture into the unknown and cross over to the Other Side, putting their soul to rest.

Permanently.

The only problem was, nobody knew what the Other Side looked like. It was a gamble. A complete and total risk.

The answer for Wren had always been abundantly clear.

Granted free rein over their magic and released from their eternal reaping duties, Ascended students were housed in a special building on campus and tasked with the responsibility of helping Housemasters run their classes.

And that was precisely what Wren intended to do if she was chosen for the Decennial.

She just needed to find a way to remove August from the equation.

“We won’t get caught,” Wren promised. “You have my word.”

Maya nodded, dismissing them with a groggy wave, and shut the door. August scoffed and walked ahead while Wren did her best to match his pace.

“She should learn to mind her business,” he muttered under his breath.

“She’s actually pretty nice,” Wren countered. “You’ve heard of the word nice before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t think so. Could you use it in a sentence?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Wren rolled her eyes. “You know, you ought to learn how to be a bit nicer. Some people are starting to believe you’re a walking corpse. Nothing but a broken soul with no feelings and emotions.”

August smirked at her, though Wren swore she saw a flicker of something resembling regret flash in his gray eyes.

“No, my sweet Loughty. If I’d lost all feelings and emotions, then that would make me a Demien.

And though unlimited power does sound thrilling, I’m afraid my humanity is still very much intact. ”

For now.

Wren could imagine August as a member of the Demien Order. She’d imagined it countless times before.

Though the precise location of the Demien Order was a mystery, there were rumors that they existed somewhere just beyond the outskirts of Blackwood, hidden deep within the surrounding forest, obscured by the crooked branches and rotten leaves.

Demiens worshipped a higher power, an unknown entity known only as the Soulless One, who granted them the ability to strip themselves of their humanity and access shadow magic.

Throughout history, a number of Blackwood students had chosen to venture outside the iron gates in search of the Demien Order, prepared to sacrifice the little humanity they had left for an eternal source of power.

But becoming a Demien meant completely relinquishing that human part of themselves.

The part that stuck around even after they ended up in Blackwood.

The one that yearned for home. For connection.

It was said that the more shadow magic a Demien created, the more their soul would change, rotting and decaying until they were left more shadow than human.

No moral compass. No conscience to guide their decisions.

Shadows would corrode their soul, consuming every inch of the person they used to be.

And once they’d been completely consumed…there was no going back.

“Oh, hush that brain of yours.” August chuckled as he turned a corner. “I can practically hear the gears turning from here. I have no genuine intention of joining the Demien Order. I just like riling you up.”

“Right. I’m happy to hear you don’t plan on joining a brainwashed cult. Do you want an award or something? Maybe a parade?”

“No need.” August grinned over his shoulder as they approached the arched wooden doors carved into the entrance of Pettyworth House. “Getting to see the look on your face when I’m chosen this Decennial is the only award I need.”

“Well, that’s awfully presumptuous of you.” Wren masked her rage with an impassive smile. “Chances are you won’t even get nominated. Again. How many years has it been, old man? A hundred at the very least?” She raised her brows and smiled in satisfaction. “I’d be worried if I were you.”

“I still have plenty of time left,” August muttered defensively. “Most students don’t begin to experience the Forgetting for hundreds of years. You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

Wren shivered at the mention of the infamous transition, her sense of victory at her jab fading.

The Forgetting.

It was Blackwood’s way of keeping itself in balance, a part of the natural order.

Once a student had been in Blackwood for a couple of hundred years, they would slowly begin to lose the memories of their previous life, a sign their soul was ready to transition into its next phase.

Once a student had completely forgotten who they were when they were alive, they were permanently removed from Blackwood and sent to the Ether, where they’d reap lost souls for the rest of their existence.

It’s also why students were given weekly reaping assignments, a way to prepare for their eternal duty.

As grim as it might have seemed, it was simply the cycle of the afterlife, or so the Housemasters insisted.

There were roughly five hundred students attending Blackwood Academy at any given time, and the Forgetting was a way for the school to purge itself of a student and welcome in a new one.

But it was also the reason everyone was desperate for the nomination.

The Decennial was the only escape from their inevitable end.

“Have you…” Wren searched for the right words, breath hitching in her throat.

“No,” August replied, somehow knowing what she was trying to ask. “My memories are still intact.”

“That’s a good thing…you know that, right?” Wren eyed him warily. “I know memories can be painful, but they can’t be worse than living the rest of your existence reaping lost souls on an eternal loop.”

A pained expression washed over August’s features. For a tense moment, Wren thought he might actually chip away at the wall between them, allowing her a glimpse into his past.

But then he simply let out a throaty chuckle and said, “Well, we won’t have to worry about that, will we? Considering I’m the top choice this Decennial.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

“The fact that Housemaster Marigold told me herself.”

Wren clenched her fists as an anticipated wave of fury bubbled in her chest. “Really?”

“Yep.” August stepped closer. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” she replied, challenging him by edging even closer. “Considering it isn’t true.”

“You think I’m lying?” August asked, more amused than offended.

“I know you are.”

“I’d never lie to you, darling. You’re simply lacking imagination.”

Wren groaned, losing her patience. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps you’re not considering how I got this information.” His gray eyes glimmered with satisfaction. “You’d be surprised at what a little mental push can do.”

Wren let out a breath of disbelief. “You didn’t.”

August smirked, triumphant. “Oh, but I did. ”

“You can’t use psyche magic on a Housemaster,” Wren gasped. “That’s completely out of line!”

“Oh, it’s not as dramatic as it sounds. I simply gave her a nudge. Just enough of a spark to get the information out of her.”

“You meddled with her mind. ”

August arched a brow. “And since when have you cared for the Blackwood rules? I don’t recall you being so self-righteous when you used that cloaking enchantment to sneak out past curfew last week.”

“That’s different.”

Wren didn’t need to explain herself. The truth was, she often found herself tossing and turning during the night.

Plagued by dreams of the life she’d left behind.

Wren had been in Blackwood for eighteen years.

The same amount of time she’d been alive.

But she still hadn’t been able to completely silence that voice in her mind that ached for the comfort of home.

If she let herself, she could still remember long summers walking along the shoreline, sea-foam tucked between her toes.

The crisp autumn air rustling the yellow leaves above her family’s home in midcoast Maine.

Snow days spent bundled next to the fire listening to Etta James and making ginger cookies.

Her mother, hair as red as her own, sitting by the piano. The smile lines etched into her skin from years of laughter.

“How convenient,” August mused, pulling her back to reality. “But maybe it’s time you simply congratulated me on my upcoming nomination.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a wistful sigh. “Augustine Hughes. A member of the Ascended. Has a nice ring to it.”

“You may be a top contender,” Wren said with a tinge of bitterness, “but so am I.”

He shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. But…I reap souls faster than you. Which, despite your annoying capacity to consistently get high marks, actually means something in the grand scheme of things.”

“Well. I’m sure I’m not the first girl to tell you this, but faster isn’t always better.”

“That’s not—” August broke off, stopping himself, and let out a low chuckle. “You know, Loughty, you might be the only person brazen enough to speak to me that way. Not to mention back in my old life—”

“Oh?” Wren lifted a brow in mock surprise. “Is the mysterious and elusive Augustine Hughes actually going to tell me something about his old life?”

He smirked.

“Not in this eternity, darling.”

A muted anger ran through Wren. God, he knew how to push her buttons.

“Ah.” August leaned against the doorframe. “There’s that familiar look of disdain. Did I hit a nerve?”

“You wish.”

She knew she was only satisfying his perverse desire to drive her absolutely crazy, but she couldn’t find the restraint inside herself not to indulge in her anger.

If anything, she was currently trying to decide between charging toward him and wringing his neck or using the pointed edge of her concealed dagger to jab his eye out.

Neither of which was a sensible option, seeing that no matter how hard she tried, Augustine Hughes could not be killed.

“Come on, now,” August teased. “There’s no need to get violent. We’re beyond all those silly games, aren’t we?”

“Dunno. Maybe we should test it out.”

“You could stab me,” August commented with an impartial shrug. “That always puts you in a better mood.”

“Though tormenting you does bring me great joy, you don’t need to worry.

I’m not risking my nomination just so I can snap your neck or push you off a building again.

” Wren smirked and crossed her arms. “Publicly, at least. I might consider privately maiming you every once in a while. You know, just to keep our spirits up.”

“How generous of you,” August chuckled.

Wren stepped forward in an attempt to walk past him, but he jerked his arm out, obstructing her path.

She sighed. “Do you mind?”

“You forgot to put shoes on. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

They smiled in unison at the thought.

Pain.

Wren never thought she’d miss it. The sharp prick of a paper cut.

The stabbing pressure of menstrual cramps.

The throbbing, dull ache of a migraine. She craved it.

They both did. It was why they tormented each other mercilessly, desperate to find ways to somehow, despite everything, still feel alive.

But much to their collective disappointment, they were unsuccessful every time.

Wren placed her hand against August’s arm. Her fingertips grazed his skin, and he tensed under her touch. That she knew he could still feel. That rush of…something. Of being too close to one another. Of crossing a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, let alone acknowledged.

“I think I’ll manage,” she said with a wry smile, and he dropped his arm, motioning her forward with an indolent wave of his hand. “But, as always, thank you for your concern, August.”