Page 27 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Emilio

Emilio wasn’t meant to be the hero. He wasn’t one for grand adventures and daring escapes. He enjoyed simple things—a cup of coffee in the morning and a stroll in the afternoon. He liked routine. The simplicity of an easy life.

The one time he’d allowed himself to deviate from this routine, he’d ended up dead.

Which meant that Emilio now not only detested danger, but had an aversion to it.

He would do whatever it would take to stay within the safe bubble of his world full of old books and warm candles.

Full of evenings spent lost within the dark shadows of the Library.

So—how the hell he’d ended up thrown into a monster-riddled maze was beyond him.

“We have to keep moving.” Olivier walked forward, face set in determination.

The area of the maze they’d wandered into was quiet, the hedges rising up around them.

Emilio had no idea where they were—or where to go next.

“I think we outran the smoke, but there’s no telling how far away it is,” Olivier continued.

“If we keep moving, maybe we can stay ahead of it.”

Emilio planted his feet firmly on the ground. “No. I don’t— wait. ”

Olivier stumbled to a halt.

“What is it?”

“I just—” Emilio shook his head, attempting to steady his breathing. “I need a second.”

The smoke had come out of nowhere. Even while he had been running from it in his panicked state, Emilio had been able to see how destructive it truly was, devouring everything in its path, scorching the ground until there was nothing left but ash.

They’d outpaced Irene, losing sight of her seconds after they started running, but judging by the fact that they had yet to stumble upon her, Emilio assumed she’d gone left.

Georgia and Carter hadn’t reappeared either, and Emilio hoped that whatever way they’d turned, they’d managed to escape unscathed.

As they’d run, the smoke had gradually dissipated, until the towering wave had become nothing but a small cloud that vanished into thin air, fading into the maze behind them.

Emilio’s teeth chattered as he wrapped his arms around his chest, willing his body to cooperate. Of course. Now Olivier was going to know just how weak and pathetic he was. Just how painfully useless.

“Emilio.” Olivier stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…I’m fine.” Emilio winced at the sound of his own voice. He sounded the furthest thing from it.

Olivier sighed and closed the space between them.

“Listen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

Emilio scratched the back of his neck. “Easier said than done…”

Olivier stared at him intently. There was a tense silence.

And then, before Emilio could even attempt to brace himself, Olivier cupped his face with both hands.

“Emilio Córdova,” he said slowly. “I give you my solemn vow that I will not let anyone harm even a single hair on that beautiful head of yours. Understood?”

Emilio’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him, but he kept his composure.

“Understood.”

Olivier nodded, satisfied, and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Now…this is merely a trial. Which means there has to be a way to solve it. An exit we aren’t seeing.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as finding an exit.” Emilio ran a hand anxiously through his hair. “Something tells me finding the way out of this maze doesn’t have to do with the direction we walk in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Emilio shivered as a cold breeze blanketed his skin in goose bumps. “I just have this feeling that we’re missing something. That it isn’t as simple as walking around and finding an exit.”

A sudden commotion stole their attention—a loud shriek followed by thrashing noises, like the sound of a struggle.

Emilio startled, head whipping around as he attempted to locate the source of the noise.

When his eyes landed on Olivier, they shared a fleeting look, a brief moment of hesitation, and then they wereoff.

The farther they ran, the louder the noise became. It seemed to be coming from somewhere to the left of them, perhaps on the other side of the hedge. When they rounded the corner, one voice became clear.

“Stay back”—a grunt of exertion—“you heinous bitch. ”

Emilio recognized that voice.

“Josie,” he whispered.

“You know her?” Olivier asked incredulously.

Emilio nodded. “Jocelyn Foster. We have a few classes together.”

A second voice echoed over the chaos.

“—don’t provoke them, Josie!”

Olivier’s head snapped up. “That’s Tristan.”

“We have to help them.”

“We should…” Olivier let out a nervous chuckle. “ Or we could just keep moving.”

Emilio blanched. “You can’t be serious.”

“This is a competition, Emilio. People are going to be eliminated.”

Olivier was right. Emilio knew that if he had any hope of crossing over to the Other Side, he needed to win. And if there was any chance of him somehow coming out on top, then he would have to set aside his empathy, no matter how difficult.

But then Josie let out a scream. A terrible, agonized scream.

The two of them weren’t close by any means, but Josie had always been cordial to him.

When Emilio had first arrived at Blackwood, she had gone out of her way to help him acclimate to his classes, offering to give him a copy of her notes.

It was a small act of kindness—but even that was rare in the afterlife.

He shook his head. “Olivier. I can’t. I can’t just leave them.”

“Christ…” Olivier cursed under his breath, the ghost of a smile lifting onto his lips. “You are too good for this world…you know that, right?”

“Debatable.”

“Come on, then.” Olivier picked up his pace. “Let’s go do something stupid.”

They took two more left turns, following the commotion, until they finally found the source.

“What on earth—” Olivier made a strange choking sound, as though his words had been sucked right out of his throat.

Emilio skidded to a halt. He almost stumbled forward, but Olivier reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back. It took him a second to fully comprehend what they were lookingat.

Josie and Tristan stood back to back, each of them facing an exact replica of themselves.

It was uncanny. The replicas were nearly identical to their counterparts, though they seemed to lack any semblance of humanity. There was something otherworldly about them, a quality that sent a shiver down Emilio’s spine.

But there was one more detail that concerned him.

They each held a sword in their hands.

The moment they stumbled upon the scene, Tristan—the real Tristan—craned his neck and met Emilio’s eye. He was covered in dirt and grime, his dark brown skin dotted with droplets of sweat.

“Olivier.” Somehow, despite their current situation, Tristan managed to break out in the most brilliant smile Emilio had ever seen. It was no wonder nearly half the student body wanted to either be him, or be with him.

Olivier let out a nervous chuckle. “Tristan, dear…seems you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament.”

Next to him, Josie attempted to kick her replica with the tip of her Mary Janes, though the replica swiftly dodged the attack before she could make contact, as though it had read her mind and anticipated the blow.

Her dirty-blond hair was stained with dried blood, the sleeves of her navy sweater rolled up, revealing the tattoo of a compass inked on her wrist.

“These bastards have been circling us for nearly an hour!” Josie snarled. Though she was smaller than the rest of them, Emilio was certain that if anyone was capable of inflicting devastating damage with their bare hands, it would be her.

“Magic doesn’t work on them,” Tristan added through gritted teeth. “So don’t bother. I already tried blowing them to pieces.”

“Have you tried…speaking to them?” Olivier offered.

Josie let out a bark of laughter. “You can try, but it’s pointless. They’re dumber than a bag of bricks.”

“Um…pardon me.” Olivier addressed the replicas with a nervous smile. “There wouldn’t be a chance we could simply talk this through? Have a civilized conversation?”

The replicas kept their eyes on Tristan and Josie, unflinching.

“I told you,” Josie sneered.

Emilio’s eyes snagged on the swords glinting in the replicas’ hands. He swallowed, revealing his own sword, which he had kept tucked behind his back.

“Maybe…maybe you need this to defeat them?” he offered warily.

As soon as the words left his lips, the replicas turned to face him with eerie precision.

It was like they had completely forgotten about Josie and Tristan, focusing their attention solely on Emilio.

The replicas stepped toward him—one rigid footfall after the other.

They showed no sign of stopping, edging closer and closer to Emilio, each of them wearing a sickening grin.

Olivier cursed and stumbled backward. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“What—” Emilio braced himself, pointing the sword toward the replicas. “Am I supposed to fight them?”

But then something strange happened. The replicas began to shift closer, their limbs fusing together, until the two replicas became one.

And then the replica’s features morphed.

Green eyes. Blond hair. Crooked smile.

No.

“Hello, my love.”

It wore Olivier’s face. That beautiful yet infuriating face. Emilio had to restrain himself from dropping the sword, summoning all the courage inside him to keep his eyes locked on the replica.

“Well, that is horrifying,” muttered the real Olivier. “And utterly unfair. It got my hair completely wrong.”

The replica dragged the edge of its sword against the dirt, head tilted. “My poor little Emilio…always so scared.”

Truthfully—Emilio wanted to cry. He wanted to fall to the ground and curl up into a ball and close his eyes until this entire nightmare was over. But he couldn’t. So he braced himself, raising the sword high above his head.

The replica swung first.