Page 29 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Irene

Irene was no stranger to pain. It had been her constant companion in life, leaking into her veins in a steady and unrelenting stream.

She’d had her hefty dose of emotional pain growing up.

By the time she turned eighteen, her mom had broken her heart more times than she could count.

With the emotional pain came the physical pain.

Not directly from her mom, but a by-product of the life she had given Irene.

Five broken bones. A couple of black eyes. More stitches than she could count.

When Irene first fell into Blackwood, she had reveled in her new life devoid of pain. She thrived on it. No more acute sting. No more throbbing dull ache. She was free of it. Free to live her life without the constant looming threat of pain at her doorstep.

So when her eyelids fluttered open and she regained consciousness back in the maze, the first thing she felt was fear. Not because she had passed out or because she was lost. Not even because of the terrifying creature that had tried to attack her or the destructive smoke she had been running from.

It was the pain. She felt it everywhere. Her head throbbed, shooting straight through her eyes and into her skull. The gaping hole in her abdomen ignited a current of pain up and down her stomach.

Something had changed inside her.

Someone had turned on the goddamn switch.

Irene pushed herself onto her feet. She inhaled a steadying breath, applying pressure on the wound at her torso. And then, despite the terror she was feeling, she did the one thing that seemed impossible to do.

She kept moving.

As the minutes dragged by, the only sounds she heard were the cadence of her own breathing and the rustle of the wind.

A few times, she thought she heard one of the others nearby, the fluttering sound of a familiar voice drifting through the breeze, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, fading into the night.

She was considering resting for a moment when something sharp nicked her arm. She glanced down, noticing a tiny cut on the side of her elbow.

She took a tentative step forward and—

Slice.

Another cut. Irene jumped, turning to her left, and spotted a tendril covered in thorns slithering back into the hedge.

“Playing games?” Irene muttered, feeling a bit foolish for talking to a plant. “Good. I love games.”

She summoned a fireball into her palm and tossed it straight toward the hedge, scorching the plant with fiery embers. She smiled in satisfaction as she watched the leaves burn to a crisp, reduced to nothing but ash.

Then, almost instantaneously, ten sharp branches sprouted from the hedge, all aimed directly toward her.

She froze for a moment, considering her options, until her mom’s voice echoed in the back of her head, shouting the only viable solution like a blaring alarm.

Run.

So she did.

Irene ran and ran, ducking under pointed ivy and dodging spiked thorns attempting to wrap themselves around her arms. She sliced through the angry branches obstructing her path, cutting through them with blinding shards of silver light.

But the maze was relentless in its pursuit of revenge.

Right when her body was moments away from giving up, when she was considering letting the maze take her, she spotted something glimmering on the horizon.

At the end of the path, tucked behind shadows, was an archway.

Hope surged through her veins as she picked up her pace.

The maze must have sensed her newfound optimism, because it doubled down on its attacks, shooting out sharp vines covered in thorns at a blinding and dizzying speed.

Irene could barely see through the mess of leaves and ivy in front of her, frantically slicing through them, but she didn’t care.

She was only a few paces away. A few more feet.

She knew she had already won.

Irene dove forward, jumping past a pointed vine snaking toward her ankle, and stumbled through the archway. She landed on her hands and knees, the arch sealing itself behind her with an ominous thud.

For a moment—everything stilled.

Silence pierced the air. No more hedges. No more dirt. The space around her was dimly lit, the warm flicker of candlelight casting shadows upon the walls. It took her a second to realize where she was, mainly because of how different it looked.

It was Bonestrod, but the main hall had been transformed—the wooden floors were now a crisp white marble, an emerald-hued rug splitting the floor in half.

The narrow spiral staircase leading up to the second floor had been replaced by a wide set of stairs with dark wooden railings that traveled up the steps and surrounded a balcony.

A chandelier made of bone and crystal dangled precariously above her.

But the main thing was how sweet the air smelled. Almost sickly. Like morsels of sugar were floating in the air.

“Ms.Bamford.” Headmaster Silas’s booming voice echoed above her. “What a remarkable entrance. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Irene’s eyes snapped up to find Silas standing at the balcony, gloved hands clasped over the railing.

“That’s fairly ironic, coming from the man who decided it would be a good idea to kidnap a bunch of students and throw them into a monster-infested maze.”

Silas chuckled. “Fair enough.” He beckoned her forward. “Come upstairs. The others are waiting for you.”

Irene pushed herself onto her feet, wincing as a sharp pain traveled up and down her body.

She slowly limped up the marble steps, the sound of her heeled boots echoing throughout the vast hall.

She continued to apply pressure to the wound on her stomach, the fabric of her nightgown soaking with blood.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she followed the sounds of hushed whispers and the crackle of a fire.

To her right, tucked within a dimly lit study, was a group of familiar faces.

Wren and August stood next to one another, their faces pulled into sullen, almost identical frowns.

Emilio and Olivier sat on a burgundy chaise lounge, knees angled toward one another.

Masika stood behind them, her arms crossed and mouth pursed.

A few others were scattered throughout the room.

Jocelyn Foster. Tristan Abbot. Georgia Lynn. Carter Rowland.

Ten total.

Which meant two nominees were missing.

“Thank you for joining us, Ms.Bamford.” Silas leaned against the hearth, hands clasped over the head of his walking stick. “Your fellow contestants here were growing a bit impatient.”

Masika’s eyes landed on Irene, traveling down to her stomach. She let out a small gasp when she noticed the wound. “Irene. You’re hurt.”

“Oh, just a little cut.” Irene grimaced, limping closer. She narrowed her gaze toward Silas. “You’d better explain yourself.”

“I understand the element of pain can take some adjustment. But I assure you, it is simply a part of the Decennial tradition—”

“I think tradition went out the bloody window when you made this a competition,” Josie snapped.

Silas sighed, rubbing his temples. “Yes. You’re right. This Decennial has been…less than ideal. But everything we’re doing, everything we have done, has been for the greater good. To ensure balance within the afterlife.”

“Get to the point,” grumbled Carter.

Silas cleared his throat.

“As some of you might already know…the Demien Order has been growing bolder in their tactics to recruit Blackwood students. We’ve had more close calls the past few months than we’ve had in decades. Ever since…we’ve noticed a disturbance in the Ether. A shift in the balance, if you will.”

“What does this have to do with us ?” Olivier asked, exasperated.

“After much discussion, the Council agreed that we needed to create a task force. A defense against our enemies to ensure that we keep Blackwood and its students safe. And though our current group of Ascended are some of the strongest and most brilliant students we’ve ever had…

we realized there was something missing.

A leader. Someone who could help guide the Ascended and create the ultimate defense against the Demien Order. ”

Silas acknowledged the group with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

“And that’s where you all come in.”

“Us?” Emilio asked, voice wavering. The poor boy looked like he was moments away from being sick.

“Well…” Silas smirked. “One of you, at least. You see, we wanted to ensure that whoever we chose was truly the best of the best. There was no room for error. So…in order to guarantee that the student we chose was the right candidate for the job, the Council decided to make the Decennial a competition among the twelve best students Blackwood has to offer.”

“But…what if the winner doesn’t want to join the Ascended?” Emilio asked softly. Irene didn’t miss the way Olivier tensed beside him, his jaw flexing and fingernails digging into the fabric of his pants. “We’re supposed to be given a choice.”

“Of course,” Silas said. “And that choice will still be yours. If the winner decides to cross over to the Other Side, then the honor of becoming a leader within our Ascended will fall upon the runner-up.”

“That doesn’t explain this. ” Irene gestured to her wound. “Why aren’t we healing?”

Silas’s eyes roamed over the group with deliberate precision.

“Pain has always been a part of the Decennial trials. Even when we’ve only had one nominee.

It was a way to ensure that our chosen champion could perform adequately under pressure.

But now, in this competition, the element of pain will be used as a way to eliminate nominees.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your wounds are no longer healing magically.

Which means that if you are injured with what would in life be considered a fatal wound, you will be eliminated and your body will be transported to the infirmary, where some of our Ascended will work to repair your wounds. ”

“Is that where Nick and Liza are?” Masika asked. “I…I saw Nick’s body disintegrate—” Her voice caught in her throat, as though she was choking back tears, but she quickly composed herself with a sharp breath.

Silas nodded, solemn. “Nick Aronson and Liza Mendez were unfortunately eliminated. We have transported their bodies to the infirmary, where they will reside for the remainder of the competition. I’m afraid it might take a while, given the… extent …of their injuries.”

“This is sadistic,” muttered Wren under her breath.

Silas sighed. For a moment, he seemed genuinely remorseful.

“This is necessary. The balance and safety of the afterlife are of paramount importance. And isn’t this what you all wanted?

A chance to be part of something great? An opportunity to break away from the monotony of your routine?

To escape the inevitable consequences tied to your duty as reapers of lost souls? I am offering you freedom. Power.”

He was right. And as Irene glanced around the room, taking in the faces of the other students, she knew they were thinking the same thing.

The pain didn’t change anything.

They all still wanted to win.

“Now.” Silas clasped his hands together. “There is the matter of keeping all of this information private.” He snapped his fingers, and a piece of parchment materialized between his hands. A golden sphere of light emanated from the center of the page.

“A soul vow,” whispered Emilio, jaw going slack. “I’ve read about those. They’re binding contracts. If you break the vow…your soul becomes untethered from Blackwood. You can no longer remain on campus…you’re forced to wander the outskirts of purgatory for the rest of existence.”

“It’s for everybody’s safety,” Silas explained, an apologetic smile on his face.

He let go of the paper and it levitated in front of him, suspended in midair.

He flicked his wrist, and a fountain pen appeared beside the piece of parchment.

“In the weeks that follow, I must ensure that this information stays between us. I cannot have the other students knowing that the Demien Order currently poses a threat. It would only cause a panic. Disrupt the balance that remains. I must ensure that we keep a level of order.”

“So what exactly are we signing?” Tristan asked, tightening his protective grip on Josie.

“This soul vow will bind you to the Decennial,” Silas explained. “If you sign, you are agreeing to remain silent about any private information you learn throughout the competition and to solidify your cooperation for the remaining trials and festivities.”

Irene let out a disgruntled sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.

” She stalked toward the soul vow, ripping the pen out of the air.

Her arms and chest surged with magic, golden light trickling up and down her limbs.

She signed her name, the words shimmering like speckles of gold.

When she was done, the light vanished, her name disappearing with it.

She tossed the pen at Wren. “Go on. Don’t act like you weren’t going to sign it next anyway.”

Wren exchanged an uncertain glance with the others before walking toward the piece of parchment.

She signed her name.

It went on like that for a few minutes. A moment of hesitation. Another name signed.

Emilio was the last to sign his name, and once he did, the soul vow curled into itself and vanished.

“I know this all might take some adjustment,” Silas began, walking across the room.

“But you should all be immensely proud of yourselves. You have been chosen for a reason. You each possess a unique quality, something that made you stand out among the rest of your peers. And now you have the chance to cement yourself as a true leader…the one who will save Blackwood fromruin.”

Silence enveloped the group as Silas paused in the doorway, turning to face them. The glow of firelight danced across his features, washing his angular face in amber streams of light.

He smiled—a dazzling and wicked smile.

“Welcome to the Decennial.”