Immortal Consequences(49)

It was the pain. She felt it everywhere. Her head throbbed, shooting straight through her eyes and into her skull. The gaping hole in her abdomen ignited a current of pain up and down her stomach.

Something had changed inside her.

Someone had turned on the goddamn switch.

Irene pushed herself onto her feet. She inhaled a steadying breath, applying pressure on the wound at her torso. And then, despite the terror she was feeling, she did the one thing that seemed impossible to do.

She kept moving.

As the minutes dragged by, the only sounds she heard were the cadence of her own breathing and the rustle of the wind. A few times, she thought she heard one of the others nearby, the fluttering sound of a familiar voice drifting through the breeze, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, fading into the night.

She was considering resting for a moment when something sharp nicked her arm. She glanced down, noticing a tiny cut on the side of her elbow.

She took a tentative step forward and— Slice.

Another cut. Irene jumped, turning to her left, and spotted a tendril covered in thorns slithering back into the hedge.

“Playing games?” Irene muttered, feeling a bit foolish for talking to a plant. “Good. I love games.”

She summoned a fireball into her palm and tossed it straight toward the hedge, scorching the plant with fiery embers. She smiled in satisfaction as she watched the leaves burn to a crisp, reduced to nothing but ash.

Then, almost instantaneously, ten sharp branches sprouted from the hedge, all aimed directly toward her.

She froze for a moment, considering her options, until her mom’s voice echoed in the back of her head, shouting the only viable solution like a blaring alarm.

Run.

So she did.

Irene ran and ran, ducking under pointed ivy and dodging spiked thorns attempting to wrap themselves around her arms. She sliced through the angry branches obstructing her path, cutting through them with blinding shards of silver light.

But the maze was relentless in its pursuit of revenge.

Right when her body was moments away from giving up, when she was considering letting the maze take her, she spotted something glimmering on the horizon.

At the end of the path, tucked behind shadows, was an archway.

Hope surged through her veins as she picked up her pace. The maze must have sensed her newfound optimism, because it doubled down on its attacks, shooting out sharp vines covered in thorns at a blinding and dizzying speed. Irene could barely see through the mess of leaves and ivy in front of her, frantically slicing through them, but she didn’t care. She was only a few paces away. A few more feet.

She knew she had already won.

Irene dove forward, jumping past a pointed vine snaking toward her ankle, and stumbled through the archway. She landed on her hands and knees, the arch sealing itself behind her with an ominous thud.

For a moment—everything stilled.

Silence pierced the air. No more hedges. No more dirt. The space around her was dimly lit, the warm flicker of candlelight casting shadows upon the walls. It took her a second to realize where she was, mainly because of how different it looked.

It was Bonestrod, but the main hall had been transformed—the wooden floors were now a crisp white marble, an emerald-hued rug splitting the floor in half. The narrow spiral staircase leading up to the second floor had been replaced by a wide set of stairs with dark wooden railings that traveled up the steps and surrounded a balcony. A chandelier made of bone and crystal dangled precariously above her.

But the main thing was how sweet the air smelled. Almost sickly. Like morsels of sugar were floating in the air.

“Ms. Bamford.” Headmaster Silas’s booming voice echoed above her. “What a remarkable entrance. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Irene’s eyes snapped up to find Silas standing at the balcony, gloved hands clasped over the railing.

“That’s fairly ironic, coming from the man who decided it would be a good idea to kidnap a bunch of students and throw them into a monster-infested maze.”

Silas chuckled. “Fair enough.” He beckoned her forward. “Come upstairs. The others are waiting for you.”

Irene pushed herself onto her feet, wincing as a sharp pain traveled up and down her body. She slowly limped up the marble steps, the sound of her heeled boots echoing throughout the vast hall. She continued to apply pressure to the wound on her stomach, the fabric of her nightgown soaking with blood. When she reached the top of the stairs, she followed the sounds of hushed whispers and the crackle of a fire.

To her right, tucked within a dimly lit study, was a group of familiar faces.

Wren and August stood next to one another, their faces pulled into sullen, almost identical frowns. Emilio and Olivier sat on a burgundy chaise lounge, knees angled toward one another. Masika stood behind them, her arms crossed and mouth pursed. A few others were scattered throughout the room. Jocelyn Foster. Tristan Abbot. Georgia Lynn. Carter Rowland.

Ten total.

Which meant two nominees were missing.

“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Bamford.” Silas leaned against the hearth, hands clasped over the head of his walking stick. “Your fellow contestants here were growing a bit impatient.”

Masika’s eyes landed on Irene, traveling down to her stomach. She let out a small gasp when she noticed the wound. “Irene. You’re hurt.”