Page 3 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Emilio

Emilio Córdova pressed the burning tip of the wax candle against his forearm and frowned.

He could smell his flesh burning. He could see his brown skin melting into a sunken welt, blistering and wrinkled.

He could even feel a gentle nudge, a gossamer pressure, like the delicate brushing of a feather.

With a sigh, he lifted the candle and watched the wound heal almost instantly.

Another pointless attempt to feel human, once again thwarted by the unchangeable fact that Emilio was not alive. He had to keep reminding himself of that. He even wrote it down on scraps of paper and taped them to his bedroom wall.

You are not alive.

It was all about acceptance. That was what they told him, anyway.

But how could Emilio accept the fact that he had accidentally died at the ripe age of seventeen?

He could still remember the party. The strobe lights, multicolored and flashing against the perimeter of the room.

The bass pounding in his chest. The bitter taste of the pills on his tongue and the sweet release that came after.

But the sweet release had been too sweet.

And there he was.

Dead.

The worst part was he had no idea why he hadn’t crossed over to the Other Side. Sure, he had his flaws, but was that really enough of a reason to subject him to eternal unrest? He didn’t think so. But he supposed his circumstances weren’t all terrible.

He’d always wished for magic to be real.

“You have to stop doing that to yourself,” said a familiar voice from above, in a thick French accent that rang in the air with a melodic swing.

Emilio glanced up at the balcony wrapped around the second floor of the Library and spotted Olivier sitting with his long legs dangling from the railings.

“It’s never going to change. You’ll always heal. ”

Emilio hadn’t expected to bump into anybody else tonight.

It was past curfew on the night before the Decennial opening ceremony, which meant most students wouldn’t risk getting caught.

Emilio, however, knew better than to delude himself into thinking he stood a chance at the nomination.

Either way, he had formed a bit of a habit of sneaking into the Library after hours, drowning in ancient scrolls and towering stacks of textbooks.

It was his guilty pleasure. His favorite high.

The intoxication of knowledge. Despite having only been at Blackwood for a year, he often felt like he knew the academy better than most, memorizing every fact he could get his hands on.

Like how Blackwood’s central location in purgatory made it a nexus of magic.

And how the Ether—purgatory’s liminal passageway for lost souls—existed in a plane beyond their comprehension, accessed solely through the portal tucked within the Opal Chamber.

How the academy held the delicate balance of the afterlife precariously within its brick buildings and vast halls.

There were, however, blank spots. Certain topics that seemed rather hazy, with no concrete information accessible to students.

Emilio had always been curious to learn more about the origins of Blackwood—how the academy came to be.

But there was nothing, really. Other than a basic explanation that it simply was always there, hovering in the heart of purgatory, a vital thread in the complex web that made up the afterlife.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Olivier’s warm voice brought him back to reality.

“My only thought is that you need to stop spying on me.” Emilio gathered his textbooks and shoved them into his satchel, ignoring the shrill of panic blaring inside his chest. It was something that happened often, especially around Olivier.

It was endearingly human. And, at the present moment, utterly inconvenient.

“I’m not spying. Might surprise you, but you’re not the only one who enjoys some peace and quiet.”

Olivier snapped his fingers and materialized in front of Emilio in a puff of black smoke.

“Shit—” Emilio cursed under his breath and let out a shaky exhale. “I told you not to do that anymore. You have functioning legs. Use them.”

Olivier frowned and blew a tendril of soft blond hair away from his eyes. “But that’s not nearly as exciting. Plus, I worked hard to learn how to cast a relocation spell. I may as well use it to my advantage.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?” Emilio eyed him warily. “Using me to your advantage?”

“Whatever do you mean, my love?”

“I’m not giving you the answers to Calligan’s exam. I’m not doing that again.”

Olivier pouted like a heartbroken toddler. “Come on, Emilio. Is this not what best friends do? Help each other in moments of crisis?”

“We”—Emilio gestured to the space between them—“are not best friends.”

“Good friends?”

Emilio crossed his arms.

“Acquaintances?”

There was an audible sigh from Emilio’s throat.

“Oh, fine. I won’t need them anyway.” Olivier sauntered toward the open window, expertly hopping over the thick vines wrapped over the floor. “If this is your way of coping, then so be it. But we both know you’d lose your mind in this godforsaken place if you didn’t have me around.”

Emilio considered responding but bit his tongue, throwing the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. He had begun to make his way toward the door when Olivier scurried back and grabbed him gently by the wrist.

“Wait.”

The word came out in a breathless whisper.

Emilio tensed at the feeling of Olivier’s hand pressed against his wrist. In another life, he was certain Olivier would have felt his pulse beating erratically beneath his fingertips.

The flutter of nerves coursing through his veins.

But now? There was nothing. Only a gaping emptiness vibrating between them.

“Don’t go,” Olivier whispered. “I’m not trying to bother you. I…I really am trying to be your friend.”

“Why?”

Olivier shrugged. “Because I think you’re…good. And that quality is hard to come by around here.”

Emilio shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Emilio slipped his hand away from Olivier, ignoring the hollowness left in its wake. “If I were actually good, then I wouldn’t have ended up here. Clearly, I must have done something to deserve this.”

“You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to understand why Blackwood chose you.” Olivier’s green eyes scanned Emilio’s face. “My advice is to accept your situation as an inevitable conclusion. There was nothing you could have changed. Nothing you could have done differently. It simply just…is.”

“That’s awfully philosophical of you,” Emilio grumbled with a snort. “When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise,” Olivier announced proudly. “You just choose not to listen.”

It was true that Emilio often tried his best to ignore Olivier and push him into the periphery of his mind.

It wasn’t anything personal. Emilio had just promised himself he wouldn’t try to make friends.

He was dead. What was the point? And if he had any intention of securing the Decennial nomination in future cycles, he had to focus on studying and not listening to Olivier’s fantastical and often repetitive tales.

Not that Olivier wasn’t entertaining. He was a breath of fresh air amid the empty void that consumed most of Emilio’s days. A supernatural fog shrouded the environment of Blackwood, a gray undercurrent seeping into every crevice of their world.

But not Olivier.

He was sunshine. A crack in the darkness.

A simmering flame in a cold and unforgiving tundra.

Maybe Olivier made Emilio feel normal. Like a real, tangible person and not just some floating entity stuck in a vessel of flesh.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

There was no need to inflate Olivier’s ever-growing ego.

Deep down, Emilio knew that Olivier was the closest thing he had to a friend.

He knew if it came down to it and they were told to split up into pairs, their eyes would meet and a silent understanding would wash over them.

And with no words spoken, just a single nod of the head, each of them would instantly know what the other was thinking.

Tied together by a connection. A mutual understanding.

I see you. You see me.

“…and I know I’ve been nagging more than usual, but really I’m just growing apprehensive about the Decennial”—Olivier was talking, though Emilio had accidentally drowned him out with the ramblings of his own thoughts—“and that you’ll be considered for the nomination and leave me behind.”

Emilio leaned in closer, suddenly alert. “You think I’m being considered for the nomination? What makes you say that?”

“Your marks, obviously. Everybody knows you’re nearly top of the class.” Olivier shrugged. “Not to mention all the Housemasters absolutely adore you.”

Emilio flushed and glanced at the floor.

“But I’m terrible at reaping assignments.

” He wasn’t being modest. His reaping skills were mediocre, at best. His last few assignments into the Ether had ended in near disaster, and he would have failed miserably had Olivier not been there to clean up his mess.

“And it’s only my first Decennial. I’m not going to be chosen on my first one. ”

Olivier waved a dismissive hand and wandered back to the window.

Emilio followed, glancing at the yard sprawled just beyond the foggy glass.

A blanket of mist obscured the grounds, but he could vaguely make out the dormitories looming in the distance, the glimmer of distant candlelight illuminating the various arched windows.

“Your reaping will improve with time. What you have, what makes you unique, is your ability to retain copious amounts of information like some living and breathing encyclopedia.” Olivier chuckled and crinkled his nose.

“Perhaps living and breathing aren’t the appropriate terms, but you get what I’m saying. ”

“So what?” Emilio shrugged. “Knowledge won’t get me anywhere.”