Page 20 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Emilio

“Holy…shit.”

Emilio stood frozen at the entrance to the banquet hall, unable to stop himself from gawking. He’d seen his fair share of gaudy displays of magic since entering Blackwood, yet he still found himself utterly transfixed by the sight in front of him, jaw hanging open in awe.

The banquet hall had been transformed for the Decennial opening ceremony.

Long, sweeping banners spanned the length of the domed ceiling, representing the colors of the various Houses—crimson for Pettyworth, amethyst for Ivory, sienna for Litterman, indigo for Chambers, forest green for Fiddle and gold for Holsterd.

Enchanted sparklers hovered in the air, miniature fireworks exploding every few seconds.

An elevated platform sat at the far end of the hall, adorned with six chairs, one for each Housemaster.

A dark wooden podium stood at the front of the stage, lined with golden runes shimmering with ancient magic.

Behind the podium loomed an imposing throne made from rich mahogany, the Blackwood emblem carved into the backrest. Glittering candelabras flickering with inky flames and a black lace runner decorated each dining table, falling over the mahogany like translucent cobwebs.

A large upright piano and a violin played a haunting classical tune, though nobody was actually playing them.

The keys and strings moved on their own, the violin suspended in the air, as though they were being played by ghosts.

As if that weren’t enough, the stone cherubs that usually adorned the corners of the walls had come to life, floating around the room and giving instructions on where students should sit. When one approached Emilio, he couldn’t help but let out a yelp of surprise.

The stone cherub frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I—you—I—” Emilio sputtered helplessly.

Behind him, Olivier placed a hand on his shoulder. Emilio could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “The polite thing to do is to speak to the sentient statue, Emilio. Go on. You can do it.”

Emilio swallowed the knot in his throat. The cherub continued to stare at him expectantly.

“H-hello,” he managed to croak out.

The cherub nodded, pleased. “Hello. Emilio Córdova and Olivier Dupont. Litterman House. Please follow me to your corresponding table. If you lose me in the shuffle, simply find your House banner.”

The cherub spun around, floating through the crowd of students and deeper into the hall.

Thankfully, Emilio managed to shake off his temporary paralysis, following the cherub with Olivier right on his heels. They pushed through the crowded hall, shoulders bumping into other students as they passed.

“This isn’t natural,” Emilio whispered to Olivier, silently praying the cherub couldn’t hear him.

Olivier snorted.

“And attending school in the afterlife is ?”

“It’s a statue,” Emilio hissed. “It shouldn’t be alive. ”

“Technically”—the cherub swiveled around, nearly colliding with Emilio, who let out another strangled yelp of surprise—“I’m not actually alive. I have been enchanted with carefully programmed sentience, and after today’s celebration, I will be transformed back into nothing but stone.”

Emilio blinked helplessly as the cherub’s serene face stared back at him.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Of course. My…apologies.”

“No trouble.” The cherub’s stone features shifted into a smile. “Anyway, we have arrived at your table. Please take a seat and await the commencement of the opening ceremony.”

Emilio scooted onto the long bench, face flushed from the ridiculous interaction. Next to him, Olivier chuckled unabashedly, tossing his head back as he let out a cackle.

“Oh, that was priceless. You should have seen your face.”

Emilio frowned.

“Shut up.”

Most of the students had already taken their seats at their corresponding House tables, chatting among themselves as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Emilio scanned his surroundings carefully, his eyes landing on the one dining table separated from the rest of the students.

The Ascended.

There were fifty or so seated at the table, each wearing the infamous golden ring that marked them as part of the academic elite. Their iridescent eyes gleamed like a blanket of stars, their faces angled toward one another as they spoke in hushed whispers.

A chill ran up and down Emilio’s spine and he quickly averted his gaze, glancing around the hall.

He spotted Irene and Masika seated next to each other, both of them wearing expressions of curated indifference.

August was leaning against the far wall, swishing a silver goblet of wine in his hand, looking as brooding and aloof as ever.

Wren was seated with the rest of Pettyworth House, anxiously tugging at the end of her braid and gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

Desperation clouded her eyes. A restlessness that made it seem as though she was seconds away from charging the stage.

Emilio was about to lean in toward Olivier and share his observation when the doors to the hall burst open, a tense silence sweeping over the students.

Olivier leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming his thighs. “Let the show begin…”

Headmaster Silas strode into the room, the sharp sound of his footsteps rattling against the vast walls. The Housemasters of Blackwood Academy trailed behind him in a sea of black cloaks and stoic faces—Birdie, Russo, Wesley, Marigold, Violet and Calligan.

Silas approached the podium without a sound.

Emilio held his breath, his palms dampening with sweat.

There was something about the Headmaster of Blackwood that made him inexplicably nervous—a sense of authority that filled the room and overwhelmed his senses.

The students around him sat up in anticipation, eyes fixed on the center of the stage, their faces riddled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“I’m thrilled to see all of you here with me today.

” Silas’s voice soared through the air, amplified by a projection enchantment.

“You are all the backbone of this fine institution. The reason Blackwood Academy continues to exist, strong and resilient as ever.” He paused, leaning against the podium.

“You are the reapers of lost souls. The bright light guiding them into their eternal slumber. And without you, the afterlife would fall into oblivion. So I thank you, each and every one of you, for your continued work.”

A crackle of applause rang throughout the room.

Silas continued. “As you all know, the Decennial offers students the opportunity to graduate from their eternal duty and make a choice. Either solidify their position here at Blackwood as an Ascended, a sacred and noble title that would release them from their reaping duties and offer them unabridged access to their magic, or take the leap and put their souls to rest permanently in the Other Side.” He let the words linger in the air as he stepped around the podium, eyes scanning the students.

“As tradition holds, the nominee would be chosen tonight at the ceremony. And after successfully completing all four trials…the choice would be theirs.”

This was it.

He was going to announce the nominee.

Emilio held his breath, his eyes roving among the other students, taking in their reactions. He noticed that Wren had shifted forward in her chair, as though she was moments away from standing up. Almost as if she was anticipating the nomination. Almost as if she already knew that she was going to—

“However,” Silas’s voice rang out, “this Decennial will be…different.”

A chorus of whispers rippled through the students. Wren had gone impossibly still, her face drained of color.

Emilio leaned in toward Olivier. “What’s going on?”

“I—” Olivier shook his head, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “I have no idea.”

Silas lifted his hand and the room fell into silence once more.

“Sometimes change is necessary, allowing for new traditions to be forged. And this Decennial, it came to our attention that the level of magical skill among the students was unprecedented.” His lips curled into a smile as he leaned in closer, placing his hands firmly against the edge of the podium.

“And unprecedented skills require unprecedented action.”

Time itself seemed to freeze. It was the final gust, the catalyst pushing all of the pieces together. And somehow, Emilio knew. It was an innate feeling, an unconscious understanding, that this moment would, irrevocably, change everything.

“This Decennial is no longer merely about celebrating a single student. It is no longer about showcasing their specific talents and proving them through tests.” Silas’s words echoed throughout the vast hall. “This time…it’s a competition.”