Page 63 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Emilio

He’d been walking through the densely packed snow for what felt like hours, arms wrapped tightly around his chest and eyes lowered, when he came across the body.

Fresh snow blanketed her limbs like powdered sugar, obstructing the side of her face and engulfing the outline of her body.

But Emilio recognized her bronze skin and dirty-blond hair.

The periwinkle gown she had worn to the ball.

The tattoo of a compass etched into the skin of her wrist.

Josie.

He collapsed onto the ground as his knees gave out beneath him. Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he flipped her over, revealing a face full of bulbous veins and a sickly rash. Her eyes were wide open, jaw askew, white foam still dripping from the corner of her mouth.

The illusion had consumed her.

And destroyed her.

A teacup dangled from her hand, the remnants of the illusionary elixir still lingering at the bottom.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out.

His heart ached; he knew that part of her had probably wanted this. Because what was an eternal existence without the person she loved? It was the same way he was certain that if Olivier didn’t return, if he didn’t survive, then he had no intention of saving himself.

Her body slowly began to disintegrate, feathering away into tiny particles of magic and ash, until Jocelyn Foster was nothing more than a mass of swirling particles drifting in the wind.

Emilio staggered away from the place where her body had been, desperately holding back the urge to vomit. She’s gone. The thought made his head spin as he continued to move forward, pushing through the snow. He might have collapsed from the sheer panic had he not spotted the lake in the distance.

He came to a halt, squinting to get a better look…and that was when he saw it.

The teacup sat at the center of the frozen lake, pressed against the thin ice, as if silently challenging him.

Go on, it seemed to say. You won’t do it.

But he would. Even if his hands trembled as he took the first step onto the frozen water beneath him.

Even if his breaths turned uneven and his chest swelled with panic.

He had to do it.

He picked up his pace, angling his face away from the bitter wind, until he was standing atop the ice.

The closer he got to the teacup, the more the panic seemed to take hold.

Once he drank the elixir, there was no going back.

He would have to dismantle the illusion or perish. There were no other options.

His mind drifted to Olivier. To the way he had looked at Emilio before crossing through the arch.

He should have been braver. He should have closed the space between them and finally summoned the courage to tell Olivier how he felt— completely.

How he desperately and recklessly loved him.

How he would do anything to stay with him, even if it meant setting aside his dreams of the Other Side.

Because if there was anyone worth staying for, anyone worth enduring eternity with… it was Olivier.

But he had been too afraid, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. And now there was no changing what had already been done.

Emilio’s hands trembled as he picked up the teacup. With one final breath, he readied himself and chugged back the liquid, letting the illusion take him.

Time froze. The wind stilled. Even Emilio’s panic dissipated, replaced by a velvety warmth spreading through him like running water. And when he opened his eyes, he found himself somewhere he thought he’d never see again.

His home.

The faded yellow walls, delicate white trim adorning the edges.

His father’s leather chair tucked in the corner of the living room and facing the television, the imprint of his body still embedded in the leather.

The glass coffee table Emilio had cut himself on when he was four, the portrait of his grandmother and the dingy microwave that beeped in the middle of the night.

And then a voice.

“Emilio! Come in here!”

His legs moved robotically beneath him. One step. Another. And then he was standing in the kitchen, looking up at his mother behind the sink. She was wearing her favorite dress, the light blue one with the white flowers, her bare feet against the tile floor.

“There you are. I was calling for you.”

Emilio shook his head. He knew better. This is all just an illusion.

The delicate wrinkles on her face, the trickle of the water hitting the base of the sink, the cracks in the walls.

None of it was real. How could it be? There was no conceivable way to get his mom back.

To get this life back. And though he wanted nothing more than to lean into the illusion, to let himself sink into it and wrap himself around it, he knew illusions weren’t meant to be listened to.

They were meant to be destroyed.

He summoned the runes from his fingertips. Dismantling illusions wasn’t his strong suit, but he knew enough to get by. Enough to save himself.

“Amor, enough of that.” His mom chuckled, and the sound of her laughter fluttered like a wind chime. “Come help me.”

“I can’t.” Emilio gritted his teeth as the tears prickled behind his eyes.

He shouldn’t interact with the illusion, shouldn’t indulge it, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’d spent every night at Blackwood dreaming of seeing his mom one last time, of hearing her voice again.

If only he could stay for a few minutes. Just a bit moretime.

“There he is!” A booming voice echoed behind him. Emilio flinched, dropping his hands, the runes disintegrating.

His dad stood with a newspaper tucked beneath his arm. The morning light pooling in through the window illuminated his brown skin and the scruff of his gray-speckled beard. He looked so real—so painfully human.

“Papá?”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” his dad chuckled, patting Emilio on the back. The warmth of his callused palms was too much. It felt familiar. Solid. Like his dad wasn’t simply an illusion but flesh and blood.

“Why don’t you sit down?” his mom asked with a soft smile. “I’m almost done with breakfast.”

“I—” Emilio staggered backward. A rushing tide had swept through him, wiping away all rational thoughts from his brain. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” His dad walked over to his mom and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Look. We even saved you a seat.”

Emilio glanced between his parents in disbelief. “This…this isn’t real.”

They tilted their heads in unison. His dad’s smile faltered, but only for a second, the warmth washing over his face once more.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “Sit with us, Emilio. Please. We’ve missed you.”

“I know.” Emilio choked back the lump in his throat, stepping away from his parents until his back was against the wall behind him. “I’ve missed you too. But…I can’t do this. I have to let yougo.”

He reached out his hands and summoned the runes once again.

His head throbbed as he arranged the runes over and over, pulling them apart and reconstructing them.

He could see the seams of the illusion now—the corners that didn’t look right.

His parents glitched. Their faces melting like wax candles.

“Stop,” his mom’s voice whispered somewhere among the entropy and chaos.

“Please,” his dad begged.

But Emilio couldn’t stay. These weren’t his real parents, because his real parents were gone.

Severed from his existence by the unfairness of death.

For so long, Emilio had thought he could hold on to his parents by clinging to the past, by denying reality and shoving acceptance into the back of his mind. But he knew the truth now.

“I’m sorry.”

With those two words, the illusion became nothing but fragments of light and color, and Emilio brushed them away with his fingertips, destroying what remained.

He was thrown back onto the ground as he regained consciousness, his knees hitting the frozen lake beneath him. The cold air rushed into his lungs as he pressed his hands against theice.

He had done it. He was free. He had dismantled the illusion.

But when he glanced up, prepared to find his way back to the arch, he realized that somebody was standing in front of him.

It was Olivier.

But it wasn’t.

Bloodred eyes stared down at him. Two rows of rotten black teeth.

It was the replica of Olivier he had fought in the maze. When it spoke, its voice sounded distorted, dipped in sandpaper and coated in rusted nails.

“Tell me, my love. What’s the point of going back?”

Emilio was still on his hands and knees. His entire body trembled, not from the cold but from the terror uncoiling its claws in his chest.

“I don’t—” His voice broke, cracking painfully. “I don’t understand.”

The replica of Olivier squatted down in front of him, meeting his gaze. It tilted its head, amusement glittering in its blood-soaked eyes.

“You know just as well as I do that you don’t stand a chance of winning. You’re nothing like them. You don’t have what it takes. I can help you end it. Cut the cord. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. And I promise to make it painless.”

Emilio shook his head. “No.”

“There’s no escaping this.”

But maybe there was. Behind the replica, dotted on the horizon, was the same arch Emilio had walked through. And before he had the chance to overthink, to doubt the bravery building in his chest, Emilio jolted onto his feet and ran.

He pushed past the replica, legs burning, chest heaving. It was only a few more yards. A few more steps. He could make it. He was fast. The wind zipped by, brushing against his hair, coating his skin in its icy breath.

His mind latched onto Olivier. The sound of his voice. The warmth of his touch.

He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t—

One moment Emilio was running away from the replica, eyes fixed on the arch in the distance, and the next he was thrown to the ground, the force of the blow sending a sharp, splintered crack through the frozen lake.

The replica was on top of him. Emilio writhed helplessly. He kicked. He scratched. Anything to escape. To free himself. But the replica was stronger. It pinned his arms down, a perverse smile spread across its lips, savoring his fear, practically drinking it in.

“You’re pathetic. Weak. ”

“No,” Emilio whimpered. “I’m—I’m not.”

But even as the words left his lips, Emilio didn’t believe them.

Maybe he was weak. Soft. Frayed at the edges. But was that so wrong?

He liked that he was different from the others.

That he hadn’t allowed death to harden his heart.

That he cared. There was power in that. In caring deeply and feeling everything.

It was his act of defiance. Of looking death in the eyes and fighting back.

He wouldn’t bend against its cold hand. He wouldn’t change who hewas.

Even now.

He didn’t regret weakness.

He clung to it. He closed his eyes and thought back to his mother and father.

To the love they’d instilled in him, sewn into his heart.

He thought of Olivier. The way he made Emilio feel alive even when faced with so much death.

If it hadn’t been for Emilio’s weakness, he might never have opened himself up to the possibility of more.

He might never have found Olivier.

Emilio opened his eyes. Something cold pressed against his skin, something slick and sharp.

Metal.

He didn’t have time to register the dagger until the replica had already shoved it straight through his stomach.