Page 43 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Olivier

Emilio slumped to his knees as he finished reaping his target soul, a shaky breath rattling his chest. Olivier looked on with sympathy. It was the same nauseating exhaustion he felt coursing through his own limbs—like his muscles had been coated in concrete, his head wrapped with iron chains.

Olivier approached him and gently placed his hand upon his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

Emilio flinched. “I’m…I’m fine.”

Olivier knew he was lying, concealing his true feelings for Olivier’s benefit.

He’d felt it since the earthquake. Emilio was terrified.

It made Olivier feel irritatingly helpless.

There must be something he could do to help Emilio.

Words he could string together to fix whatever had broken inside him.

He’d been seconds away from making a terrible joke in the hope of making Emilio laugh when an arched door materialized in front of them. It was made of red brick and thorned ivy, golden beams of light swirling beneath the surface.

“Well…” Olivier helped Emilio onto his feet. “Looks like we’re done.”

Emilio hesitated, staring up at the door with a sullen expression.

“August never came back for us.”

“I’m sure he tried.”

“Doubt it.”

“To be fair, I can’t seem to locate him either,” Olivier said. It was true. He’d attempted quite a few times since they got separated, and hadn’t been able to find August. It was as though Olivier’s internal map had been messed with. “Everything is hazy. Probably one of Silas’s tricks.”

Emilio sighed.

“Maybe.”

God—he looked so drained. So exhausted. Olivier had an almost uncontrollable urge to wrap his arms around Emilio and hold him together.

But something about the strangely detached look in Emilio’s eyes led him to believe that what he really needed was space.

And though it physically pained Olivier to be away from him, he would happily distance himself from Emilio if it would make him feel better.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.” He gestured toward the door and mustered a strained smile. “Afteryou?”

Emilio nodded feebly and stepped forward. He offered Olivier one final look before opening the door and walking through it. Olivier followed after him, perhaps only a few seconds behind, and crossed through the door.

He passed the threshold, appearing back in Blackwood. It took him a moment to orient himself, a bit dazed from the crossing. He looked around and realized he had been transported a few yards from the main gates.

Emilio, however, was nowhere to be found.

Panic instantly sparked inside him.

Calm down, Olivier. There was no need to worry. The door probably transported everyone to a different area in Blackwood, and Emilio must simply be across campus somewhere.

Or maybe it’s another trick.

No. They had completed the trial. They had done everything they were supposed to do.

The only thing Olivier could do now was make his way back to the Opal Chamber and wait for the remaining nominees. He was certain Emilio would be there. He was certain he was perfectly—

A loud crackling sound interrupted his thoughts. Like a distant clap of thunder.

In his periphery, he noticed a blurry haze of movement flickering through the fog, the vague outline of something, or someone, crossing through the entry gates and stumbling deeper into the grounds.

The rational part of his brain told him to ignore the disruption, to stay focused and head to the Opal Chamber.

But Olivier Dupont had never known himself to be a rational person.

He picked up his pace and walked in the direction of the noise. At first, there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary. The night was quiet. The dormitories looming in the distance, still and dark. Maybe he’d simply imagined it.

But then something shifted in the darkness. A figure.

It drifted toward Bonestrod. Olivier trailed after it, cursing under his breath as he tried his best to keep up. He ran, careful not to trip over the tangled roots sprouting from the ground, until he was only a few yards away from the steps of Bonestrod.

And then—the figure stopped.

It looked right at him.

Olivier conjured a shard of light from his hand, illuminating a straight path in front of him. For a few seconds, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at, and then the light subsided and the image became clear.

August was cradling Wren’s limp body in his arms, her head lolling back and forth like a rag doll’s. Her skin was ashen and pallid. Her body stiff. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she looked…dead.

“Help me.” August’s voice was hoarse, marred by a tone of anguish that sent a shiver up Olivier’s spine. “I need to set her down. Please.”

Olivier nodded, swallowing back his panic, and helped August carry Wren inside Bonestrod. As they gently placed her upon the floor, Olivier couldn’t help but notice that August was shaking, his eyes bloodshot and wide. Olivier wasn’t certain what had happened, but it clearly had cost August.

Olivier reached out to smooth a strand of hair away from Wren’s cheek, but the second his fingers brushed her skin, he recoiled in terror.

“She’s freezing,” he whispered. “Like she’s been submerged inice.”

“I know.” August wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and pushed his curls away from his face. “I need you to hold her steady while I try to bring her back.”

“Try to— what? ” Olivier stared up at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean you need to bring her back? Bring her back from where?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” Olivier gripped August by his collar, pulling him closer. “You need to tell me what the hell happened back there. I want to help. But what you’re saying right now, what you’re insinuating…it’s impossible.”

August shut his eyes.

“She’s dying.”

Olivier paled. “But she’s already—”

“I know.” The muscles in August’s jaw leapt. “I’m aware. But there are different kinds of death. We’ve experienced our mortal death, but this…this is something different. Her soul is fading. It’s…I don’t know how to explain it, okay?”

Olivier shuddered. “When did this happen?”

“I found her like this in the Ether. I think… something was draining her soul.” A wave of nausea recoiled in Olivier’s stomach. “It vanished when I found her.”

They were running out of time. Olivier could sense it.

The stench of death permeated the air around them.

He pocketed the myriad of questions he had for later and did what he was told, lifting Wren’s head gently onto his lap.

He slipped his own coat off and placed it over her chest in a futile attempt to warm her up.

“What do I do now?” Olivier asked, aware of how frantic he sounded. “Tell me what to do.”

“Just keep her steady.” August rolled up his bloodstained sleeves. “Her body will likely try to reject the process. I need you to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“Reject what?”

“I’m going to give her a piece of my own soul.”

Olivier’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry. Did I just hallucinate or did you say you’re going to give her a piece of your own soul?”

“It’s a simple extraction.”

“A simple— no. ” Olivier shook his head in disbelief. He wouldn’t entertain this. “What on earth are you talking about? That’s not even possible. And even if it were, it could destroy you, August.”

“Good thing I’m not asking for your permission, then.”

Olivier gawked at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

The idea was insane. It was a complete abomination of magic, treading the dangerous and fine line between them and the corrupt nature of shadow magic.

Blackwood students knew how to extract the souls of those lost within the Ether, but Olivier had never heard of anybody extracting their own soul, much less only a fraction of it.

Though he supposed most people hadn’t been audacious enough to try something so immensely dangerous.

Then again—most people weren’t August.

“Fine.” Olivier shut his eyes and released a sharp breath. “Let’s say, theoretically, you go through with this. What happens if you extract your entire soul? And not whatever fragment you intend to give to Wren? What happens then? Do you just…cease to exist?”

August paused, breath hitching slightly, and then he simply shrugged, as if Olivier had asked him what he intended to have for breakfast the next day.

“Suppose I’ll just have to try not to do that.”

Olivier wanted to wipe the brazen look off his face.

“You’re insane,” he muttered. “You know that, right?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Olivier bit the inside of his cheek. He knew there was no changing August’s mind. That he would do this with or without Olivier’s help. And despite August’s track record of being a world-class prick, Olivier wasn’t prepared to sit around and watch him destroy his own soul.

“Okay.” Olivier pressed his hands firmly on Wren’s shoulders. “I have her.”

August let out a breath of relief. He placed his own hand upon Olivier’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Olivier chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

August scooted closer to Wren, placing his hand delicately atop her forehead. He looked shattered—eyes wide and pleading. And before Olivier could say anything else, August’s gaze hardened with bone-chilling determination.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered, voice steady, “don’t let go.”

And then he plunged his hand through his chest and into his own soul.