Immortal Consequences(35)

“You two cannot just materialize in here,” Olivier snapped. “There is a door. Civilized people knock.”

“Well, it’s quite easy to pop in uninvited when there are no protective wards around your room.” Irene sauntered over to his bed and elegantly sprawled on the mattress, propping herself up with her elbow. She offered him a playful wink. “You might want to look into changing that.”

“It was her idea,” Masika whispered, a pleading look in her eyes.

Olivier sighed. “Fine. Take it.” He handed her the bottle of whiskey and she squealed in delight.

Irene’s eyes slithered over to Wren. “Is there a reason you look even more neurotic than usual?”

Wren frowned. “Am I seriously the only one concerned about what’s happening? Don’t you all think it’s the tiniest bit strange that they’ve changed the rules of the Decennial the evening after a new student crosses through Blackwood off schedule and surrounded in shadow magic? It all seems a bit…convenient.”

Olivier tensed. He supposed he hadn’t thought about it that way, but now that he’d heard it out loud…

“It does seem odd,” he muttered. “Though Silas did explain that the shadow magic was from the Demien Order and not Louise.”

“Right,” Masika added. “He said someone was casting the spell against her.”

Wren waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. That’s not the point. We witnessed something we shouldn’t have. That was supposed to be impossible. And it just so happens that they choose now to completely rewrite tradition?”

Irene sighed. “I cannot believe I’m saying this—and if you ever hear me repeat it under any other circumstances, please hospitalize me—but she’s right. The timing is…strange. It all feels connected in a way.”

“Connected how?” Emilio asked in a soft whisper.

Irene shrugged. “That I don’t know.”

Silence swept over them, nothing but the ticking of a clock nearby.

Wren let out a disgruntled sigh, gesturing to the bottle of whiskey. “I’ll take some more.”

Masika took one final swig before tossing the bottle in her direction. Olivier watched in fascination as Wren downed a massive amount in one gulp.

“Who knew the infallible Wren Loughty could drink like a sailor,” Olivier mused under his breath.

Wren rolled her eyes, though she had already begun to slur her words. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Olivier Dupont.”

“Is that so?”

“All right…” Irene sat up, smoothing down her dress. “Enough flirting. As we just established, something strange is happening. Something we’re all clearly connected to. Given that we have an understanding, I think it’s best we remain communicative about anything else we notice that seems…out of place.”

“An understanding,” Emilio echoed. “Does that mean we’re all…friends?”

The five of them went silent. When nobody said a word, Olivier thought back to his conversation with Silas in Memorium and a smile crept onto his lips.

“I prefer the term unfortunate acquaintances.”

The rest of the group looked around as one. Their eyes met. And then, to Olivier’s astonishment, they all smiled.

“Unfortunate acquaintances,” Emilio echoed. “I like that.”

“Me too.” Masika nudged him playfully with her elbow.

Wren giggled and tossed Irene the bottle of whiskey without warning. “How about it, Irene? You think you can stomach being my acquaintance?”

Irene rolled her eyes, though Olivier swore she was biting back a smile. “I’ve dealt with far worse, princess.”

A thought occurred to Olivier. Only five of them were here. But before he could comment on the missing piece in their group, the door swung open, as if Augustine Hughes had been summoned by mere thought.

“What the hell…” August stood at the doorway, brows knit together in confusion. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as he surveyed the room. “So, what? Are we all friends now or something?”

“Unfortunate acquaintances,” they all responded in unison, not a single moment of hesitation between them.

August blinked in surprise. “That was…very strange.”

Olivier chuckled. “Well, what’s your excuse? Why are you here?”

August held up a notebook. “You left this in Marigold’s classroom today. I thought I’d swing by and return it.”

Irene snorted. “Likely story…”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t lie, August. It’s beneath you.” Irene smiled devilishly at him. “You were clearly following Wren. You always do.”

“Here we go…，” Masika sighed, throwing her head back.

“I wasn’t following her,” August shot back.

“You so were,” Irene teased.

“He wasn’t,” Wren interjected, attempting to stand, though she swayed awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Actually, he was ignoring me all day. I think I hurt his feelings. Isn’t that right, August?”

His expression shifted into something strange. If Olivier didn’t know any better, he’d even use the word concerned.