Immortal Consequences(111)

“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 he was.

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.

51

Masika

Masika landed at the foot of a mountain. She blinked through the snow as she tried to regain her senses, hands reaching out toward the sheer wall. The face of the mountain seemed to stretch up into the heavens, the ground beneath her a treacherous landscape of snow and ice.

Flakes of snow melted on her lips as she gathered herself, spinning on her heels to get a complete look at her surroundings. She thought there might be an obvious path, a signal pointing her in the right direction, but there was nothing. She braced herself and began to walk along the perimeter of the mountain.

Sharp shards of ice and snow pelted her skin, flurries clouding her eyes. The howling wind echoed all around her, a resounding shriek that filled her skull.

After what felt like an eternity of trekking through the dense snow, Masika saw a faint glimmer in the distance. It hovered against the flurry of snow blurring her vision, a distant orange light rocking back and forth.

As she approached the light, her vision cleared. It was a lantern. It hung from a wooden post, swaying in the wind, the rusted metal creaking with every sharp movement. Masika grabbed the lantern, grateful for the warmth radiating from its single flame, and shined it toward the mountain.

And that was when she spotted the arched door carved into the rock.

A flood of relief rushed through her.

Luckily, the door wasn’t locked and she was able to swing it open, stumbling inside the base of the mountain as a gust of wind propelled her forward.

The more she peered around the unfamiliar corridor, the more it became apparent that the lantern wasn’t just an aid but a necessity. It was nearly pitch-black, nothing but the light from the flame to break apart the darkness. The space smelled faintly of burning wood, of a fire burning nearby, which encouraged her to move forward.

As the path in front of her began to widen, hope sprang up inside her. At the end of the corridor sat a large, circular room carved into the base of the mountain.

The walls shot up straight toward the sky, appearing to be as tall as the mountain itself. A roaring fire burned at the center of the room, the snap of embers crackling through the silence. In front of the fire were a tattered red rug and a leather couch, chunks of ice and rock scattered across the floor.

She scurried to the fire and knelt down, extending her hands toward it. Relief instantly washed over her.

Once she had been sufficiently warmed up, she began to inspect her surroundings, eyes carefully scanning the room. Seconds later, she spotted the teacup placed in the center of the rug.

The illusionary elixir.

Masika jolted onto her feet and grabbed the teacup. She was pressing it against her lips when a voice rang out behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A teasing glint. A familiar Texan twang.

Masika’s entire body went rigid as she glanced over her shoulder. Birdie and Russo stood side by side, only a few yards away from her.

Except something was different.

They weren’t wearing their usual Housemasters’ cloaks. In fact, they weren’t wearing any of their usual clothes. They each wore black pants with knee-high leather boots, a crimson tunic tied around their torso. Birdie had a leather harness strapped around her waist, silver daggers dangling by her side. Russo had a long saber strapped against her shoulder and a glittering emerald dangling from a silver chain around her neck.

Had Masika already drunk the elixir? Was this the illusion? But when she glanced down at the teacup, the black liquid remained.

Birdie stepped closer.

“This is very much real, Ms. Sallow.”

Panic shot through Masika as the words left Birdie’s lips. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the Housemaster’s voice that unnerved her, but it was clear that something wasn’t right.

Masika looked between them. “Is this part of the Decennial?”

“No,” Russo replied, the word laced with disgust. “We’re not part of that sadistic competition.”

“We’re here to help you,” Birdie explained softly. “We have a way to break the soul vow. A way for you to get out of the competition with your soul still intact.”