Page 21 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Olivier

He needed a drink. Or perhaps a lobotomy. Honestly, either would do.

Olivier was certain that if he’d had the ability to knock himself out and simply lie there, sprawled like some squashed bug, he would have skipped with glee and hopped on the opportunity.

But even if he downed the entire bottle of enchanted whiskey he kept hidden beneath the floorboards of his bedroom, hell-bent on destroying his liver, he’d emerge the next morning bright-eyed and clearheaded, cursed with the ability to heal himself even if he’d rather not.

The rest of the ceremony had gone by in a dizzying blur. Once Headmaster Silas had announced that the Decennial was going to be a competition, he had gone on to explain how it would work, which only confused everybody more.

“The Decennial will still consist of four trials spanning the next few weeks, but this time…each trial is not merely a moment to showcase your magical abilities but a chance to outshine the other nominees and eliminate them from the running. There will be two nominees per House. If you are selected, you will receive a letter tomorrow morning. Now, as a reminder, just because there will be multiple participants does not mean there will be multiple winners. There will be only one. That has not changed.”

The hall had erupted into chaos the moment the ceremony ended.

Olivier’s attention had latched onto Wren, who seemed to be on the precipice of having a nervous breakdown.

He’d even seen her attempt to approach the podium to speak to Silas, pushing her way through the crowd, but he’d quickly lost sight of her.

He’d retreated to his room with Emilio shortly after, desperate to make sense of everything.

“What are you going to do if you’re chosen?” Emilio asked. He was sitting on the floor, resting his back against Olivier’s nightstand, nervously fussing with a loose thread on his sweater.

“Dunno.” Olivier shrugged, pounding his fist against the loose floorboard.

It sprang open with a satisfying pop. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.

” It was a lie, of course. He most certainly had.

But what could he tell Emilio? That he was grasping at the tiny shred of hope still left inside him?

That he might actually stand a chance of stopping the Forgetting before it could swallow him whole?

There was no need to worry Emilio. And either way, Olivier was more concerned about him getting the nomination and making the irreparable decision to cross over to the Other Side. About losing him forever.

“Well, this changes everything. We actually stand a chancenow!”

Olivier ignored the wave of panic flooding through his body as he uncorked the bottle of whiskey and took a hearty swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Maybe. Maybe not. There are still hundreds of Blackwood students far more qualified.”

Emilio scowled. “There are six Houses. Two chosen from each House means twelve nominees. Say what you will—but that raises our chances.”

A sudden knock on the door caused the two of them to jump.

Emilio glanced up. “Were you expecting anybody?”

“No.”

Another knock. A bit more forceful. The sound of patience dwindling.

“Yes, I hear you!” Olivier called out. He flicked his wrist and the door flew open. He tilted his head in surprise when he spotted Wren on the other side. “What on earth are you—”

“Can you believe this?!” Wren slammed the door behind her and stormed into the room like a sudden wildfire.

Quite frankly, she looked like an absolute wreck.

Tufts of hair stuck out of her braid at odd angles, her face splotchy.

“A competition…who in their right mind thought it would be a good idea to do this? They are changing tradition! Rewriting the laws that govern the afterlife!”

“Uh…” Olivier dangled the bottle of whiskey in front of her. “Care for a drink?”

She snatched the bottle from his hand and threw back a swig—quite impressively, Olivier had to admit. When she was done, she tossed the bottle back to him and slumped onto the floor.

“It’s ridiculous,” she continued, slightly out of breath. “ Unprecedented skills? What a load of bullshit. How could they just spring this on us without warning?”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Olivier muttered teasingly, taking another swig.

She shot him a glare. “This isn’t right. And you know it.”

He did. The whole thing felt strange. But before he could chime in, a swirling cloud of bloodred smoke funneled into the room, spreading over them like evening mist. And then, in the blink of an eye, Irene and Masika were standing before them.

“Hello,” Irene said in a nonchalant tone, as if relocating into somebody’s room uninvited and without warning was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. “I see we’re throwing a little Decennial party without us.”

“Is that whiskey?” Masika beamed, scurrying over to Olivier and taking a seat next to him.

“You two cannot just materialize in here,” Olivier snapped. “There is a door. Civilized people knock.”

“Well, it’s quite easy to pop in uninvited when there are no protective wards around your room.” Irene sauntered over to his bed and elegantly sprawled on the mattress, propping herself up with her elbow. She offered him a playful wink. “You might want to look into changing that.”

“It was her idea,” Masika whispered, a pleading look in hereyes.

Olivier sighed. “Fine. Take it.” He handed her the bottle of whiskey and she squealed in delight.

Irene’s eyes slithered over to Wren. “Is there a reason you look even more neurotic than usual?”

Wren frowned. “Am I seriously the only one concerned about what’s happening?

Don’t you all think it’s the tiniest bit strange that they’ve changed the rules of the Decennial the evening after a new student crosses through Blackwood off schedule and surrounded in shadow magic? It all seems a bit…convenient.”

Olivier tensed. He supposed he hadn’t thought about it that way, but now that he’d heard it out loud…

“It does seem odd,” he muttered. “Though Silas did explain that the shadow magic was from the Demien Order and not Louise.”

“Right,” Masika added. “He said someone was casting the spell against her.”

Wren waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. That’s not the point. We witnessed something we shouldn’t have. That was supposed to be impossible. And it just so happens that they choose now to completely rewrite tradition?”

Irene sighed. “I cannot believe I’m saying this—and if you ever hear me repeat it under any other circumstances, please hospitalize me—but she’s right. The timing is…strange. It all feels connected in a way.”

“Connected how?” Emilio asked in a soft whisper.

Irene shrugged. “That I don’t know.”

Silence swept over them, nothing but the ticking of a clock nearby.

Wren let out a disgruntled sigh, gesturing to the bottle of whiskey. “I’ll take some more.”

Masika took one final swig before tossing the bottle in her direction. Olivier watched in fascination as Wren downed a massive amount in one gulp.

“Who knew the infallible Wren Loughty could drink like a sailor,” Olivier mused under his breath.

Wren rolled her eyes, though she had already begun to slur her words. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Olivier Dupont. ”

“Is that so?”

“All right…” Irene sat up, smoothing down her dress.

“Enough flirting. As we just established, something strange is happening. Something we’re all clearly connected to.

Given that we have an understanding, I think it’s best we remain communicative about anything else we notice that seems… out of place.”

“An understanding,” Emilio echoed. “Does that mean we’re all…friends?”

The five of them went silent. When nobody said a word, Olivier thought back to his conversation with Silas in Memorium and a smile crept onto his lips.

“I prefer the term unfortunate acquaintances. ”

The rest of the group looked around as one. Their eyes met. And then, to Olivier’s astonishment, they all smiled.

“Unfortunate acquaintances,” Emilio echoed. “I like that.”

“Me too.” Masika nudged him playfully with her elbow.

Wren giggled and tossed Irene the bottle of whiskey without warning. “How about it, Irene? You think you can stomach being my acquaintance?”

Irene rolled her eyes, though Olivier swore she was biting back a smile. “I’ve dealt with far worse, princess.”

A thought occurred to Olivier. Only five of them were here. But before he could comment on the missing piece in their group, the door swung open, as if Augustine Hughes had been summoned by mere thought.

“What the hell…” August stood at the doorway, brows knit together in confusion. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as he surveyed the room. “So, what? Are we all friends now or something?”

“Unfortunate acquaintances,” they all responded in unison, not a single moment of hesitation between them.

August blinked in surprise. “That was… very strange.”

Olivier chuckled. “Well, what’s your excuse? Why are youhere?”

August held up a notebook. “You left this in Marigold’s classroom today. I thought I’d swing by and return it.”

Irene snorted. “Likely story…”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t lie, August. It’s beneath you.” Irene smiled devilishly at him. “You were clearly following Wren. You always do.”

“Here we go…,” Masika sighed, throwing her head back.

“I wasn’t following her,” August shot back.

“You so were,” Irene teased.

“He wasn’t,” Wren interjected, attempting to stand, though she swayed awkwardly from one foot to the other. “ Actually, he was ignoring me all day. I think I hurt his feelings. Isn’t that right, August?”

His expression shifted into something strange. If Olivier didn’t know any better, he’d even use the word concerned.

“Is she…drunk?”

Wren scoffed. “She is perfectly fine.”

“Right.” August strode across the room and caught Wren by the elbow before she could topple over. “Because talking about yourself in the third person is a clear sign of sobriety. Come on. Let’s get you to your room.”

“I’m fine, ” Wren whined, though her left ankle wobbled dangerously in her shoe. She usually had no problem sauntering around the halls in those knee-high boots she always wore, but now she had taken on the appearance of a baby deer attempting to walk fresh out of the womb.

To be fair, the few sips of enchanted whiskey had started to make their way through Olivier’s system as well, sending a rather warm feeling throughout his legs and into his chest. The room had a fuzzy haze to it, like somebody had draped gauze over his eyes and lit a fire nearby.

He had the sudden urge to sing. Or take his clothes off.

Maybe both—if the occasion called for it.

“August is right,” Olivier sighed. “We should go to bed. The sooner we go to sleep, the sooner we’ll know who the nomineesare.”

“Already leaving.” Irene offered one last disparaging look toward August before snapping her fingers and vanishing in a puff of smoke.

Masika chuckled. “That girl lives for the dramatics.” And then she was gone too, disappearing the same way she’d arrived.

August helped Wren out of the room, whispering something in her ear that Olivier couldn’t quite hear. Emilio hovered by the door. Olivier wasn’t certain how long he’d been standing there.

“I should go too.”

Olivier nodded. It felt as though a colony of bees had begun to buzz in his head. “I think that’s maybe for the best…whiskey’s a bit stronger…than I thought.”

“See you tomorrow, then?”

“Right.” Olivier plopped down onto his bed and closed his eyes. “The big day…”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emilio’s voice sounded distant. Slightly muffled. “Maybe a glass of water?”

“I…feel…wonderful.”

The whiskey swept over him like a dense fog, slowly lulling him to sleep. Maybe if he hadn’t been so drunk, he might have noticed the expression on Emilio’s face. The sadness in his eyes.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the enchanted whiskey swept him away, to a place where he dreamt of sunlit cobbled streets and open blue skies and a knight with a lumpy wool sweater and the kindest eyes he’d everseen.