Page 5 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Irene

Irene Manette Bamford had no problem breaking the rules. In fact, she firmly believed rules weren’t meant to be followed. They were merely suggested guidelines that could be bent and manipulated at her will.

They were malleable.

Flexible.

Take a lock, for example. In a practical sense, a metal lock was installed with the intention of keeping people out.

The unspoken rule, the one Irene had no intention of following, was that someone shouldn’t break into a lock that doesn’t belong to them.

That, without a key and without holding ownership of the lock, someone shouldn’t manipulate the metal with nothing but a spark of magic and the brush of a finger.

Which was exactly what Irene was doing at the present moment.

Or, rather, what she was trying to do. It seemed Housemaster Calligan had reinforced the metal lock with some sort of protective ward that was stopping her from accessing the physical properties of the lock itself.

Irene furrowed her brow and clenched her teeth to relieve the pressure building at her temples.

When the protective ward wouldn’t budge, she dropped her hand in frustration.

Her plan, which was supposed to be straightforward and simple, was going to have to be a bit more complicated than she’d originally hoped.

With the extra protective ward, Irene was now going to have to dismantle the barrier.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t—quite frankly, there weren’t many things Irene couldn’t do.

But she held no interest in spells that fell under the realm of defensive magic.

Her interests lay elsewhere—in corporeal magic.

In the kind of magic that could rip apart limbs and tear open flesh.

However, this unfortunate turn of events was an irritable reminder that it was of paramount importance for Irene to diversify her interests.

Because to be the best, and Irene had to be the best, she couldn’t just be good at corporeal magic.

She would have to master all the varying forms of magic taught at Blackwood whether she deemed them important or not.

If she wanted to ensure her nomination for the Decennial, she needed extra reinforcement.

And the details of tomorrow morning’s exam were precisely the kind of reinforcement Irene was after.

If only she could open the damn lock.

Irene was moments away from hurling a fireball at the door when the air shifted with another presence. The familiar pressure rumbled in her chest. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning.

She didn’t hesitate.

In one swift motion, Irene grabbed the knife strapped against her waist and plunged it into the stomach of the unsuspecting student standing behind her. A gurgled gasp of disbelief echoed in front of her as her gaze lifted to meet a pair of familiar goldeneyes.

Masika’s eyes.

“Oh.” Irene giggled in delight. “Whoops.”

“Whoops?” Masika glared at her in annoyance. “You stabbed me.”

Irene sighed.

“Well, I obviously didn’t know it was you.”

“I don’t understand why you insist on carrying this stupid thing around, anyway.

” Masika ripped the knife out of her stomach, streaks of blood splattering onto her burgundy flats.

The wound instantly began to heal beneath the ripped fabric of her sweater.

“Clearly, it’s not going to do you any good.

It seems a bit theatrical, in my opinion. ”

“It might not do any damage, but it’s still an inconvenience.” Irene snatched the knife out of Masika’s hands and slid it back into the sheath at her waist. “And you know me, Masi. I love some good drama. Keeps things interesting.”

“That you do.” Masika’s honey-colored eyes drifted toward the office door with suspicion. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you’re lurking outside Calligan’s office past curfew?”

“He put some sort of energy barrier around the lock,” Irene muttered. “Damn bastard is beyond paranoid.”

“Wonder why…” Masika motioned Irene aside with a flick of her wrist. “Let me take a look at it.”

Masika approached the lock with narrowed eyes, her deep-brown skin illuminated by the amber glow of the flickering candelabra next to her.

She tucked a curl behind her ear and bit the inside of her cheek as she lifted her open palm and closed her eyes.

Golden sparks erupted from her skin, drifting into the air like mounds of dust. The particles shimmered, joining together to form iridescent golden threads that slithered over the surface of the lock.

“There you are.” A smirk lifted onto Masika’s lips.

“Seems like Calligan put a pesky little molecular ward around it. It’s a bit more complex than your usual energetic barrier spell.

There are layers to it. Like he’s crocheted the defensive magic into a specific pattern.

” Her eyes remained closed, mouth twisted in concentration. “It’s actually pretty clever.”

“More like annoying, ” Irene huffed. “Either way, I already tried dismantling it. It’s not going to be as simple as—”

“Done.”

“What?”

Masika dropped her hand and leaned against the doorframe. She swayed slightly, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. The magic had cost her—as magic always did for Blackwood students. “Go on. The ward is down.”

Irene hesitated, unwilling to accept that her friend had been able to dismantle the ward in a matter of seconds.

She knew Masika was talented—she had always been skilled at defensive magic—but Irene hadn’t realized that her skills had gotten that good.

It was unnerving. And the tiniest bit infuriating.

Their friendship worked because they existed on an even playing field.

Where Masika lacked, Irene flourished. Where Irene faltered, Masika excelled.

The scales were balanced, neither of them ever outshining the other.

But Irene couldn’t remember Masika ever mentioning that she was able to dismantle a multilayer protective ward, let alone one cast by a Housemaster.

Irene could feel the scales tipping, and she didn’t like the side they favored.

“Nicely done,” she said, careful to keep her tone light.

She stepped forward and pressed her fingertips against the door.

Silver shards splintered out of her skin and straight into the lock.

The magic coursed through her veins, an electrical current humming in her chest. She could see the atoms. Each individual particle of the lock glowing like the heart of a candle.

All she had to do was shift the core of the lock slightly to the left…

hold it carefully there for a second or so, and…

Click.

Just as quickly as the warmth of magic had spread through her veins, an icy chill trickled up her spine and into her chest. A slight wave of dizziness. She quickly brushed it off, accustomed to the familiar aftermath of using large quantities of magic.

“Finally,” Irene whispered as the door swung open. She peered over her shoulder at Masika. “Care to join me?”

“Do you really think Calligan’s exam tomorrow is going to have any sway over the nomination?” Masika asked with an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure they’ve already decided the nominee.”

“I’m not leaving anything to chance.” Irene eyed the dismantled lock with a curious expression, a seed of doubt blossoming in her chest. She cleared her throat and took a chance. “So…how did you do that, anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Dismantle the ward.” Irene gestured to the door handle. “It took you a matter of seconds.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Masika said matter-of-factly. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Irene countered. “Just asking.”

That was a lie, of course. It most certainly was a problem.

The two of them always practiced together.

They did everything together. They were a pair.

Inseparable. And now Masika was off practicing without Irene?

Developing skills beyond Irene’s capabilities?

It was alarming. And Irene had the instinctive feeling that there might be more hidden behind Masika’s nonchalant mask.

Never trust those around you, her mom’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. Even those you consider friends.

Irene rarely thought of her mom anymore.

It had been long enough for the memory of her to become nothing but a meaningless fragment in the back of Irene’s mind.

Yet sometimes her mother’s words still lingered.

Her mom had been the one to teach her to harden her heart and guard her emotions.

To keep them tucked and tidy—locked away from those who would be ignorant enough to try to use them against her.

Back in her old life, Irene had resented her mom for raising her the way she did.

Always on the run. Constantly moving. A never-ending stream of back-alley drug deals and mold-infested motels.

Irene had often wished they could put it all behind them.

Settle down somewhere, maybe even move to Korea and live with her grandparents in their home a few miles outside Seoul.

She’d never had the chance to go, spending most of her childhood following her mom’s relentless string of deadbeat lovers around New England.

She knew little of the family her mom had left behind.

The only information she had accumulated throughout the years had unknowingly slipped from her mom’s lips when the heroin seeped into her veins and loosened her tongue.

But she dreamt of it. She dreamt of holding her grandma’s wrinkled hands and walking through the tall grass and wildflowers together.

She dreamt of a life filled with laughter, a life that felt safe and secure.

A life far, far away from the one she had always known.