Immortal Consequences(29)
Calligan sighed. “But she’ll be fine, Mr. Dupont. Like I said, we have resources here to heal her. It might take a while, but…that’s simply a consequence she must face.”
Olivier shuddered. He knew all about Blackwood’s consequences. He felt them with every breath, with every waking moment. Calligan was right. Keira would be fine. She was still new…she had hundreds of years, countless opportunities still waiting for her. Olivier, on the other hand…
“Mr. Dupont.” Calligan cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…you did well. The others might have dismantled the illusion faster, but your work was precise. I would feel quite confident leading up to the opening ceremony if I were you.”
A swell of pride surged in Olivier’s chest. “Thank you.”
Calligan nodded, waving him off. “Now go. I won’t be writing you a late pass.”
Olivier bit back a smile. Maybe there was still something worth holding on to. And as he sauntered out of Calligan’s classroom, fueled by a newfound sense of confidence, Olivier couldn’t help but allow himself to feel something he hadn’t felt in months.
Something he knew was unequivocally dangerous.
Hope.
9
Irene
Irene cracked her knuckles and readied her stance, bouncing from one foot to the other. The eastern arched window bathed the wooden walls of the classroom in streams of iridescent light, like swirling colors in a pool of oil. The voices around her faded into a low murmur as the class leaned in intently, bracing themselves for what they knew would be a merciless fight. And they were right—Irene never held back.
Subtlety wasn’t exactly her style.
“Are we ready?” Housemaster Russo stood between Irene and her opponent—a tall boy with wavy brown hair and what Irene had deemed to be an extremely punchable face. Since the moment Russo called out their names, solidifying them as competitors, an indifferent look had filled his serpentine eyes, as though the whole thing was beneath him. Even now, as they prepared to begin the duel, he took the time to waggle his brows suggestively toward his friends, clearly mocking all of the formalities.
Irene smiled. “Oh, I’m ready.”
The boy chuckled, whispering something that Irene could only assume was at her expense.
Russo sighed, exasperated. “Hexley. You know the rules. I need verbal confirmation from both participants.”
The boy—Hexley—rolled his eyes. “Yes. Fine. I’m ready.”
There was nothing Irene loved more than her corporeal class. It was the perfect excuse to revel in the damage she was desperate to inflict. But she held a special place in her heart for duel days. It allowed her to focus all of that anger toward one single source. To transform all of that bottled-up frustration and resentment into pure, unadulterated rage.
The fact that her opponent was a boy in desperate need of getting his ass beat was only the cherry on top.
Russo nodded and stepped away from them, retreating toward the edge of the classroom.
She raised her hands, and the air sizzled with anticipation.
“Begin.”
Irene jumped to the left just as Hexley’s first spell came hurtling toward her, splinters of silver magic crashing against the wall behind her. The crowd of students gasped, flinching as a bookshelf toppled to the floor. Before Irene could even respond, he had sent another three basic corporeal attacks in her direction—all of which she was able to dodge without breaking a sweat, nimbly jumping out of the way at the last second.
Christ. Was he even aiming?
Irene summoned the magic into her veins, savoring the icy breath filling her lungs, the surge of power trickling through her limbs. She couldn’t even worry about the exhaustion that was surely waiting for her at the end—not when the momentary rush felt this good. Silver beads of light sparked in her palms like miniature bolts of lightning. She waited for the perfect moment, stepping to the right. She could tell by the awkwardness in Hexley’s step as he angled his body toward her that it was his weak side.
Perfect.
She threw the spell and it landed squarely on his shoulder.
Hexley stumbled backward, a large gash splitting across his shoulder and toward his collarbone. He glanced down, a moment of disbelief spreading over his face, before his eyes snapped back toward her in disgust.
“You bitch.”
Irene couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Hexley hissed.
“You boys are all the same. So easy to read. So predictable.” Irene smirked, stretching out her arm to the right, fingertips vibrating. “There’s no strategy. No patience. You’re all blunt force and desperation.”
“What is this?” He summoned another crackle of magic into his palm. “A lecture?”
“Nope.” Irene curled her fingers, and the window to the right of her shattered. The glass exploded into jagged shards, but they didn’t fall. They simply floated, waiting for Irene’s command. “A distraction.”
Hexley had barely opened his mouth half an inch to retort when the shards of glass went flying in his direction, piercing his body like a tidal wave of bullets. He went flying backward, landing on the floor with a sickening thud. Blood instantly began to pool beneath his body, staining the floorboards an unforgiving shade of scarlet. Despite their numbed pain receptors and regenerative abilities, the bodies of Blackwood students still reacted like their mortal forms used to. If wounded, their bodies would bleed and tear and break. It was their soul echoing what it had known in life. A small glimpse of the humanity that lingered. The entire class gasped, rushing over to examine the aftermath.