Immortal Consequences(54)
Olivier fought the panic creeping up his throat, the unwavering pressure digging its claws into his skin. August was right, and Olivier hated him for that. Ever since it had become clear to him that he actually stood a chance of reaching Ascension, he’d been overcome with a terrifying sense of desperation. He would do anything, whatever it took, to make sure he didn’t end up roaming the Ether for the rest of eternity. That he wouldn’t be torn away from the familiar halls of Blackwood. From the life he had created.
From the people he had met.
“Aren’t you worried about the others growing suspicious?” Olivier asked. “It might raise a few questions if the two of us are suddenly friendly with one another.”
“I don’t give a damn what the others think.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of your anarchist attitude.”
“Look, Olivier. While we all seemed to agree the other day that we’ve become unfortunate acquaintances, we also cannot delude ourselves into thinking there still won’t be alliances formed. The others are doing it, so we may as well have a united front.”
“And what happens when the others are eliminated? What happens then to our alliance?”
August’s face darkened.
“Then…we’re on our own.”
At least he was being honest. Olivier knew that the second their alliance wasn’t convenient for him, August wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate him from the running. However, a question still plagued him.
“But why me?”
August sighed and dug the edge of the fountain pen into the desk, carving a thin and elegant A into the wood.
“I don’t know. You’re smart. Talented. Cunning.”
“—handsome, beautiful, ravishing—”
“Humble,” August added with a smirk.
Olivier chuckled. “Fine. Yes. I get it. I’m brilliant and you’d be an idiot not to have me on your side. But…I don’t intend to leave Emilio behind. Where I go—he goes. That isn’t changing. That isn’t ever changing.”
August nodded, rising from his seat. “I wouldn’t dream of tearing you two apart.” He gathered his textbooks back into his hands. “You should tell him…by the way. He deserves to know.”
“Tell him…” Olivier’s voice trailed away as the realization washed over him. “Oh.”
“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“There’s no need to worry him.” Or at least that was what Olivier told himself. What good would come out of Emilio’s knowing that his memories had begun to fade? There were only two options: stop the Forgetting by winning the Decennial—or succumb to it.
And until the first option was no longer viable, he intended to keep Emilio sheltered from that burden.
August nodded sullenly. “If you say so.”
He turned to leave, but Olivier had one more nagging question he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Why didn’t you go to her?”
August tensed, hands pressed against the desk and shoulders hunched. His eyes snapped up toward Olivier.
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, August. We both know I’m talking about that pesky little redhead of yours.”
August’s face remained eerily blank, his lip twitching momentarily. When he spoke, his words were slow, his voice rough against Olivier’s ears.
“Listen to me very carefully, Olivier. Alliances aside, there are still boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. That shouldn’t be tested.” He leaned in closer, his gray eyes darkening like two storm clouds. “Call her my little redhead again and I’ll cut your tongue out and force it down your throat. Understood?”
Olivier flinched, unable to stop the shock from bleeding over his face. He nodded his head and willed his mouth to stay shut.
August smiled, a terrifying yet beautiful smile.
“Good. I’ll see you around…partner.”
He stalked off, crossing through the Library like a silent shadow. The other students watched nervously, shielded by their textbooks and reading lamps.
Despite August’s threats, a thought still lingered in Olivier’s subconscious, a realization that made something inside him stir. If August was looking for alliances, that meant he doubted his ability to win the Decennial on his own. That he was worried enough to seek out help.
It meant that the notorious Augustine Hughes was, miraculously, afraid.
22
Irene
Irene had just ended her final class of the day, Spacial Theories and Relocation Methods, when the pain took a turn for the worse. It traveled up and down her side like an unrelenting current, tearing at her muscles and igniting her nerves. She cursed furiously under her breath as she pushed through the crowded staircase, ignoring the other students’ curious stares and grating whispers.
She pushed open the swinging door that led to the upstairs bathroom and stumbled toward the sink. Her hands gripped the porcelain basin, fingers clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. She glanced up at the mirror and scowled at her own reflection. How could she have allowed this to happen? None of the other contestants had been wounded as badly as she had.
And now she had a disadvantage. She was weak.
She lifted the hem of her dress and inspected the bandage.
It had been rather easy to snag a few medical supplies—too easy. Most newbies were unfamiliar with the warning signs of psyche magic, the tingling sensation that started at the base of their neck and traveled down their spine. So when Irene had cornered one of the newer students and planted a mind-alteration spell, he didn’t even have time to register what had happened. It was nothing dramatic. Just a simple manipulation of his subconscious. She’d convinced him to sneak into Housemaster Violet’s office and steal a sewing kit and rubbing alcohol, which she had used to haphazardly disinfect and stitch up her wound. She wasn’t about to slowly bleed out and be eliminated from the Decennial due to a bad infection.