Chapter 22 Irene
IRENE
Later in the afternoon, once Irene had finished attending to her Ascended duties—assisting in various corporeal and defensive classes, given Birdie’s and Russo’s continued absence—she received a letter.
Or, rather, a letter nearly smacked her right across the face.
She’d been walking down one of the winding corridors of the Ascended Quarters when the golden envelope had quite literally materialized out of thin air, darting toward her with lightning precision.
She’d barely raised her hand in time, snatching the letter out of the air before it could hit her.
She’d blinked, stunned, watching as the letter writhed in her hands, as though attempting to yank itself free from her grip.
Even when she’d finally managed to rip the envelope open, it continued to flutter in agitation, desperate to be free of her grasp.
The handwriting was thin and elegant, in bloodred ink.
Irene Manette Bamford,
Please meet me promptly in the Opal Chamber.
Sincerely,
Housemaster Marigold
P.S. Apologies for the letter. It can be a bit…enthusiastic.
Now, standing beneath the watchful eyes of the gargoyles and grotesques lurking in the upper corners of the Opal Chamber, Irene found her patience dwindling.
She was in no mood to deal with Samira’s incessant rambling, nor was she particularly interested in enduring Everly’s pathetic attempts at intimidation.
“Where the hell is she?” Everly grumbled, tapping her foot against the marble floors. The sound of her maroon Mary Janes echoed throughout the rather empty hall, resounding like a rhythmic drum.
Samira yawned into her palm, glancing up at the ceiling with a dazed look. The whites of her eyes were glassy and red, a strange webbing of veins. Irene leaned in closer, inspecting the girl carefully.
“Are you high?”
Samira’s eyes widened a fraction. She bit back a smile. “No?”
Irene rolled her eyes. “Christ…” She let out a scoff. “How you got chosen as a candidate is beyond me.”
The smile dropped from Samira’s lips. She leaned in closer, and their sudden proximity sent a jolt of tension through Irene’s limbs.
“You really shouldn’t underestimate your competition, Irene.”
There was something about her words…something painfully familiar. Irene could hear a faint chuckle drifting in her mind. A familiar rumble of laughter. The pungent smell of brine. The Ether’s intoxicating property. Masika’s amber eyes beaming in amusement.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Underestimating everyone else.”
Irene blinked, yanking herself out of the memory. Samira was still staring at her, but more with curiosity than hostility. As if she were eager to carve Irene open and see what she might find inside.
“What?” Samira chuckled. “What the hell is that face for?”
“Nothing.” Irene swallowed her panic, pushing back the unwanted memories of Masika with it. Luckily, the doors to the Opal Chamber swung open before Samira could utter another word.
Housemaster Marigold entered the room, a long, billowing cloak splayed over her shoulders and cascading to the floor. She offered them a tight-lipped smile as she approached, gesturing for them to follow.
“Come on, girls. I’ve got something to show you.”
They followed after her, silent but watchful as Marigold led them to the back of the Opal Chamber. A particularly strange-looking statue stood against the southern wall—a half-lion, half-dragon creature with glowing yellow eyes. It was there that Marigold came to a halt, spinning to face them.
“Everyone ready?”
“For what?” Everly snapped, annoyed.
Marigold beamed. “I’m glad you asked.”
She placed her hand upon the head of the statue and suddenly—
Irene screamed. One moment she was standing there, both feet planted firmly on the floor, and the next she was sent flying up in the air, soaring higher and higher over the Opal Chamber. Samira and Everly shrieked, flailing about in a panic. Irene’s eyes snapped up and her stomach flipped.
They were heading straight for the ceiling.
She opened her mouth to scream, bracing herself…but the collision never came.
Somehow, they had gone through the ceiling, as if it had been nothing but an illusion, entering what appeared to be a vertical tunnel. Cold air rushed all around her. The others were still screaming, though Marigold looked simply bored, glancing down at her watch as they rose higher and higher.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
Irene stumbled and jerked backward as her feet hit solid ground, struggling to regain her balance.
Samira and Everly appeared beside her, nearly colliding as they came to a sudden halt.
Marigold, however, was the picture of grace as she floated to a delicate stop, her feet instantly regaining their forward momentum, as if she’d simply strolled right into the room.
“Welcome to the Guard Tower.” Marigold gestured to the odd room they’d found themselves in.
One of the rounded walls was made entirely of glass, offering them a vantage point above the grounds and the forest lurking just beyond.
An unwanted knot of emotions rose in Irene’s throat as she took in the sight of Blackwood Academy laid out before her.
Late-afternoon fog swirled between the towering brick buildings and Gothic structures, deep amethyst light encasing the grounds in a dreamlike haze.
Candlelight illuminated most of the arched windows, and it was as if she were staring down at the twinkling expanse of the universe.
A shrill voice brought Irene back to the present.
“What—the—hell—was—that?”
Everly’s pigtails were in complete disarray, her face blanched. She looked like she was about to be sick. Irene stifled a laugh, while Samira let herself break out into a fit of giggles.
“That is how you access the Guard Tower,” Marigold explained, feigning innocence with a smile. “It’s really just a slightly more complex elemental spell. A manipulation of the airflow through the tunnel—”
“And you couldn’t have warned us?!” Everly interjected, aghast.
Marigold shrugged. “I think you’ll survive, Ms. Hawthorne.” She turned away, leaving Everly to seethe by herself. “All right. Everyone gather around. Come closer.” She gestured them toward the glass wall. The three Council candidates approached Marigold, looking out toward Blackwood, breaths held.
Marigold reached into her cloak and produced a small silver coin. It glinted in her palm, and Irene couldn’t help but feel a strange twist in her stomach at the sight of it. A need to hold it.
Marigold looked among the three of them. Her eyes snagged on Irene.
“Brace yourselves.”
Marigold tossed the coin.
And then Blackwood came to life.
It took a few seconds for Irene to process what she was looking at.
The light that exploded around Blackwood was blinding, appearing from one moment to the next.
Once Irene’s vision adjusted, she realized it wasn’t just an explosion of magic.
It had a shape to it. It was a circle…a dome.
An energetic barrier of crimson light pulsating around the campus.
If Irene looked closely, she could see the individual threads of magic that made up the dome, almost like an interconnected web.
She wondered what would happen if she pulled at one of those threads.
Would it all come undone?
“It’s beautiful,” Samira whispered, awestruck. “Just…beautiful.”
“Are we going to learn how to construct it?” Everly asked with fervid hunger.
“Not yet.” Housemaster Marigold tossed the coin, and the dome vanished from their vision, as if someone had reached out and popped it.
“That’s what this is for. When you join the Council, you receive your own defensive relic coin, which allows you to access the outer wards.
You’ll get there eventually.” She chuckled, slipping the coin into her cloak pocket. “Well, one of you will, at least.”
Irene’s entire body seemed to go numb. She needed to get her hands on that coin. It was her only way to access the outer defensive wards. The only way to achieve her mission and grant the Demien Order access to Blackwood. But what if she wasn’t the chosen Council candidate?
What if everything she’d done—all her sacrifices—had been for nothing?
She needed to speak to Mateo.
Luckily, Marigold bade them good night shortly after, ushering them back to the main lobby of the Ascended Quarters.
Samira and Everly didn’t seem to be in the mood for chitchat, the two of them quiet as they parted ways.
Irene wasn’t surprised. They were probably realizing the same thing she had.
Only one of them would get to feel the magnitude of that power.
Only one of them would win.
Irene summoned a relocation spell, tilting her head in confusion when she materialized right outside her room, as opposed to inside it.
As she pressed her hand upon the door, she felt the rhythmic pulse of a defensive barrier placed around her room—something to deter relocation spells from crossing through.
But she hadn’t crafted it. Only one other person could have.
And then she noticed something else. The soft murmur of voices on the other side of the door.
No. Just one voice. Mateo’s. But who could he be speaking to?
Nobody at Blackwood was supposed to know he was here.
Was he communicating with someone at the Order again?
Was there another Demien in there with him?
Irene pressed her ear to the door. She leaned in closer, attempting to piece together what he might be saying, but all she could hear was the deep rumble of Mateo’s voice, the words muffling before she could unravel them. And then—
Irene stumbled forward as the door swung open.
“Hello, Irene.”
Mateo stood in front of her, arms crossed, an amused smirk on his face. But Irene didn’t bother feeling embarrassed—it was her room, after all. If he was having secret meetings in the dead of night, she had a right to know.
“Who the hell were you talking to?” Irene pushed past him and strode across the room. She slammed the door with a flick of her wrist, spinning on her heels to face Mateo, who continued to stare at her with that slightly amused grin.
“No one.”
Irene scoffed. “Liar,” she shot back. “I heard you. And why did you place a relocation barrier on my room?”
Mateo’s eyes raked her face. The self-satisfied smirk on his lips faded. “You have something to tell me.”
It wasn’t a question. Somehow, he’d sensed it the moment he had looked at her. Irene had to admit, it was a bit unnerving, though a part of her couldn’t help but appreciate how well he had come to know her.
“And now we’re changing the subject…” she muttered with a petulant roll of her eyes.
But Mateo had clearly made the decision to ignore her unrelenting questioning. He stepped closer. His blue eyes seemed to darken as he drank her in.
“You’re easy to read,” he said. “What is it?”
Irene crossed her arms. She most certainly was not easy to read, but she wasn’t about to let Mateo know he’d gotten under her skin.
“Housemaster Marigold took us to the Guard Tower.”
Mateo raised his brows.
“And?”
“She taught us how the outer wards are crafted.”
Mateo’s eyes instantly brightened. He closed the distance between them, gently placing his hands upon her shoulders.
“You can dismantle the wards?” He searched her face, waiting. But Irene shook her head and the spark of excitement in Mateo’s face instantly deflated.
“It’s not that simple,” she explained. “There’s no bypassing the outer wards without a special defensive relic given to all members of the Council. A coin. But maybe there’s a way to steal one. Break into the faculty rooms—”
“No.” Mateo dropped his hands, burying them in his hair. He began to pace back and forth, seemingly lost in thought. “If the coin holds that much power, I doubt we’ll find it hidden in some office. You’ll need your own. You’ll need to be chosen.”
“That’s a gamble,” Irene said. Not to mention an awful amount of pressure. “There’s no telling if I’ll win or not—”
“You’ll win,” Mateo interjected, coming to a sudden halt.
He turned to face Irene. The intensity in his gaze made the hairs on her neck rise.
A blanket of goose bumps shivered down her arms. “You will. That’s why I chose you, Irene.
I could have chosen Everly or Samira or any other student. But I didn’t. I chose you.”
Irene’s breaths came to her sharp and ragged.
“Why?” she whispered.
Mateo kept his gaze anchored on her. Irene was desperate to know what he was thinking.
He was keeping secrets from her, that much was clear, but there was something else.
Every time he looked at her, she saw a painful recognition in his eyes.
Grief. As if the mere act of looking at Irene was too much for him to bear.
His response finally slipped out of him, shattering the silence.
“You’re so much like her.”
Irene flinched. “Who?”
Mateo shook his head, as if confused by his own lack of self-restraint. He chuckled, a rough and bitter sound. When he looked back at Irene, the intensity had melted into something tender.
“Nobody,” he muttered softly. Irene could see the exact moment Mateo raised the wall between them again.
That impenetrable shield he refused to drop.
He made his way to the door, stopping when he placed his hand upon the doorknob.
Irene didn’t miss the way his hands trembled.
The tension in his muscles as he turned to look at her.
“You really want to know why I chose you, Irene?” He waited, and Irene felt herself nod, an almost involuntary movement.
“I saw your suffering. I saw what the world had done to you. The way it had torn you apart and spat you back out. And yet…” He smiled, but there was so much pain behind it.
“There you remained. Strong. Resilient. Determined to take what belonged to you. That is why I chose you, Irene. Because I knew, when it comes down to it, you’ll always put yourself first.”
Irene couldn’t bring herself to argue with him as he strode out of the room and left her behind.
Mateo was right. Irene put herself first. She would always put herself first. She was the kind of person who would abandon her friends for the promise of power.
The kind of person who would stomach torture if it meant getting what she wanted in the end.
Irene Manette Bamford was selfish. She was cruel. A heartless, power-hungry bitch.
And she would do whatever it took to survive.