Immortal Consequences(123)

Until he came across a page on rejuvenation spells. On mending and healing souls.

But there was a caveat he hadn’t considered. A requirement he wouldn’t satisfy.

He needed to remove his own humanity.

“No,” Olivier whispered, a sob rattling in his chest. “No, no, no.”

There had to be a way around it. A way to bypass that rule. But the more Olivier read, the more he understood that there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to remove his own humanity to save Emilio—he would do it in a heartbeat—but he didn’t know how. The text didn’t explain the process.

Beside him, Emilio moaned. It was the softest noise, barely audible. His eyes moved beneath his closed lids.

“I’m sorry,” Olivier whimpered. He pressed a kiss onto Emilio’s forehead as a sob racked his body.

If Emilio wasn’t going to make it, then Olivier was going to stay with him. Until the very end. Even if that meant relinquishing his spot in the final trial and damning his soul for all eternity. He didn’t care anymore.

But then Emilio’s eyes fluttered open slightly. He was whispering something.

“What did you say?” Olivier said, leaning in closer.

“The…page…，” Emilio breathed out, dipping in and out of consciousness.

“What page?”

Emilio coughed and blood spluttered onto his lips. “The…page…four hundred thirty-nine…look at…the theory…”

Olivier frantically scanned the pages of the old text until he found page 439. But it didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t helpful. It was some ancient shadow magic spell known as soul infiltration. Based on Emilio’s notes in the margin, it seemed to be a spell that allowed one person to inhabit the soul of another. Almost like possession.

Olivier squinted when he spotted something scribbled in red.

It was Emilio’s handwriting. He had written, clear as day, six simple words. A question.

COULD SOMEONE ELSE BE INSIDE LOUISE?

But before Olivier could ask Emilio what he meant, how this information was helpful, the door of the room flew open.

It took him a moment to register what he was looking at.

Housemaster Birdie and Housemaster Russo stood in the doorway. They were both out of breath, as though they’d been running.

“Quickly,” Russo gasped. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Olivier shook his head. “I don’t understand—”

“We can try to save him,” Birdie interjected with a quick glance over her shoulder. “But you both need to leave with us. Now.”

58

Wren

Once, when Wren was twelve, she fell from a tree in her backyard and broke her wrist. It shattered, bones splintering upon contact with the ground beneath her. Her mother had been furious. She’d told Wren countless times not to climb the tree, but Wren, being the kind of person she was, hadn’t listened. She’d wanted to prove to herself that she could do it. Or maybe she’d simply wanted to do the opposite of what she’d been told.

That night, when her mother tucked her back into bed, she’d looked deeply into Wren’s eyes and told her, “Your actions have consequences. You have to think before you act. There are no second chances when it comes to life and death.”

Though it had been sound advice—her mother had been wrong.

Death had given Wren a second chance at life, a path toward redemption. A chance to prove to herself, to her mother, to everybody around her, that she could listen to the rules.

That she could be good.

But now that second chance had been taken away from her. As she walked into the Opal Chamber, her shoes clattering against the marble floors, she thought back to her mother’s warning.

There are no second chances.

Irene was already waiting inside. She was leaning against one of the pews, arms crossed, a restless energy surrounding her. She nervously tapped her boot, her gaze momentarily crossing Wren before returning to the floor.

And then there was August.

He watched her, eyes inscrutable. But his lips lifted a fraction when he saw her. A smile.

She stopped in front of him. “August.”

To her surprise, he reached out his hand and laced his fingers through hers.

“Loughty.”

“Oh God,” Irene muttered under her breath. “You finally decided to get together? A day before your mutual destruction? Jesus Christ. How fucking Shakespearean of you two.”

Wren lowered her voice to a whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?”

“I…I went to Lou’s room. Something wasn’t right. It was a disaster. Like someone had destroyed it, or…or ransacked it looking for something.”

“She could just keep a messy room.” August chuckled, shrugging. “I’m sure she’s not the only one.”

“No, it’s not—” Wren cursed under her breath, tugging him closer. “August. Listen to me. I know what I saw. It was…it was bad. There was writing all over the walls. She had…she had written something in blood—”

“What?” August’s mocking smile quickly dissipated. “What did she write?”

“My name.”

August’s entire demeanor shifted. His gray eyes darkened with an expression that sent a chill down Wren’s spine. But before she could tell him more, the doors to the chamber swung open and Headmaster Silas entered the room.