Chapter 45 Irene
IRENE
Thankfully, Irene had managed to wake up Masika with another swift slap across the face. The pair had stumbled out of the dungeons, relocating to the first floor of the Ascended Quarters. But once they were there, neither one of them seemed to know what to do next.
The heart of the battle was still happening near the main gates, though it had begun to slowly trickle deeper north, migrating toward the Library.
Irene scurried over to the nearest window and examined the chaos below.
Only a few yards away, a horde of Demiens cut across the grounds, the group flanked by billowing shadow creatures.
The putrid scent of blood and violence was inescapable.
Most of the Blackwood students had been sequestered in their dormitories, though a few had chosen to join the Ascended, determined to protect their sacred halls.
Either way, they were vastly outnumbered.
Their one advantage was Silas and the Housemasters.
Their power rivaled that of the Demiens—teeming with ancient magic capable of destroying their souls with nothing but a flick of their wrists.
“Where do we go?” Masika coughed, shielding her eyes from the cloud of shadow magic that seeped in through the cracks in the windows. Irene winced at the strain in her friend’s voice. Her throat was clearly raw from screaming. From hours and hours of torture, suffering under Silas’s hand.
While I just stood back and watched.
“Masika.”
The word slipped out of Irene’s mouth before she could stop herself.
When their eyes met, Masika’s face softened. As if she already knew. With just one look.
“You already know I forgive you, so let’s just skip over the apologies, okay?”
But that couldn’t be it. It wasn’t enough. Irene deserved to be hated.
Scream at me. Hit me. Do something.
“I didn’t—” Irene shook her head, swallowing.
“I should never have…” But the words were a tangled heap lodged in the back of her throat.
Her gaze fell to the floor. Why couldn’t she ever say the right thing?
Why couldn’t she ever put aside her stupid fucking pride?
A hand gently brushed Irene’s chin, dragging her gaze forward.
Masika smiled. “I know, Irene. I know.”
Forgiveness radiated from Masika’s gaze, and it was suffocating. Irene didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her. But she didn’t want to push the matter further—truthfully, she wasn’t even sure she was physically capable of it—so she simply nodded and swallowed back the knot in her throat.
“I suppose…” Irene managed to croak out, “we should go find your friends. The people you were working with.”
Masika nodded. “Catherine and Dina should be out there somewhere—”
“Catherine?” Irene’s eyes widened a fraction. “The Catherine?”
Masika grew unnaturally flustered. “Uh…yeah.” She flushed and her mouth cracked into a sheepish grin. “The Catherine.”
Irene had never seen Masika smile like that before, and despite their circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile back. She wanted Masika to smile like that more often. For once—she wanted her to have the happiness she deserved.
“Well, then.” Irene gave a firm nod. “Let’s go find your girl.”
But before she could even turn away from Masika, the large double doors that stood at the entrance of the main hall swung open, a billowing gust of wind rushing through the doorway and into the hall.
The rumble of footsteps. A cacophony of startled gasps.
There was a beat of confusion. Of complete and utter disbelief.
“What…in the actual hell.”
Emilio and Olivier stood at the doorway. The duo seemed equally startled, their faces oscillating between confusion and unbridled joy. And then Emilio and Olivier were running, nearly tripping over themselves as they threw their arms around Masika. They wobbled and swayed in their embrace.
“Oh my God.” Emilio pulled back, cupping Masika’s face in his hands. “You’re actually here. You made it. You”—he stopped short, eyes narrowing as he properly took in her appearance—“look terrible.”
Masika chuckled, though Irene didn’t miss the tears welling behind her eyes. “Hello to you too.”
Olivier practically shoved Emilio aside, gripping Masika tightly by the shoulders as he peppered her forehead with kisses, while Masika let out a stream of giggles and pretended to bat him away.
“You”—kiss—“beautiful”—kiss—“woman”—kiss.
“Okay. Enough.” Masika rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed with me. I get it.”
Olivier’s eyes flitted to Irene. “Hello there.” He gave her a genuine, albeit tense smile. “Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses.”
Irene shifted uncomfortably. “It’s…uh…good…to see you.”
“Careful now, Irene.” Olivier chuckled. “Wouldn’t want me to accidentally think you like me.”
Irene scowled. “You know, this is usually the part where you would say: Oh, wow, thank you, Irene, I’m also super glad to see—” Her words snagged in her throat as Emilio stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
Irene’s entire body stiffened, though she didn’t push him away.
In fact, a tiny part of her wanted nothing more than to hug him back.
But her limbs couldn’t quite allow her to, so she settled for an awkward pat on Emilio’s shoulder.
He beamed up at her. “Thank you.”
Irene flinched. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You helped Masika. You saved her.”
Irene physically recoiled. “Okay. Don’t be dramatic.”
Emilio’s smile only deepened at her obvious discomfort. “You’re a hero.”
Irene gagged. “All right, enough, or I might just go back to plotting to destroy you all.”
Masika looked between the two boys. “I don’t understand. How did you get here so quickly?”
“We, uh…” Olivier cleared his throat. “We had some help from August.”
Irene’s eyes widened. “August?”
“He’s on our side,” Emilio explained carefully. “He only gave up his humanity to try to get Wren back. She…she was taken by the Demien Order. She’s the catalyst. The one who was prophesized to destroy Blackwood.”
Masika scoffed. “Fuck off.”
Olivier threw his arms in the air. “See! That is exactly what I said!”
Irene winced. “Right…forgot to mention that.”
Masika’s eyes widened in her direction. “You knew too? And didn’t bother to tell me?”
“There’s been a lot going on,” Irene muttered defensively.
Olivier cleared his throat, drawing Masika’s attention again. “But…we’re too late. Wren is gone. She’s the catalyst now. A vessel for the Soulless One’s revenge. August went to go look for her. I think…I think he hopes there’s still a way to reach her. A way to stop her.”
An explosion echoed in the distance. The windows of the hall rattled a warning. Masika, who had been leaning against Olivier for support, looked around among the group. “So.” She cleared her throat. “What’s our plan?”
“Well.” Olivier clasped his hands. “We had a plan to resurrect the True Headmaster, though it completely went to shit when we got to his tomb and realized that it was, in fact, empty. So I suppose our next-best bet is to find August and try to help him snap Wren out of it. I believe he went toward Elysium Hall. We could probably meet him there on time if we relocate—”
“I’m sorry. Wait. You were planning to—what? Resurrect who?” Irene blanched, mind struggling to process what she’d just heard.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Olivier muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We failed. Horrendously. So now we just need to fight.”
“Screw that,” Irene scoffed. “Let’s make a run for it. August can handle Wren. Why do we need to get involved?”
“And go where exactly?” Olivier pressed.
“If the Soulless One and his new little puppet get their way, then who knows what will be left of the afterlife? If the Ether’s balance is disrupted by Silas’s presence alone, think about what would happen if the entirety of Blackwood was wiped away.
If thousands of students’ souls were destroyed. ”
Shit. He was right. What was the point of running if there was nowhere to run to?
“Okay, well…” Irene racked her brain, fingers drumming restlessly against her arms. “I still think the journals I have upstairs could be useful. I was working with a Demien—before. The bastard lied to me. But maybe there’s something in there that can help us.
Private Demien Order business that could give us an upper hand.
“His name’s Mateo…” Irene fished the pocket mirror out of her coat, angling it toward the group.
She opened the clasp and summoned the memory, the reflection slowly morphing into an image of Mateo she’d recorded a few days ago, back in the Main Yard.
“Silas gave me this enchanted mirror. It can replay memories. Maybe if one of us sees him, we could try to convince him to—”
“Where the hell did you get this?” Olivier snapped, cutting her off.
Irene blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility in Olivier’s voice. “Did you not hear what I said? Silas gave me the mirror.” But when she looked up, it wasn’t just Olivier who seemed suddenly troubled. Emilio was also peering down at the reflection, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock.
“Okay…” she muttered. “Why do the two of you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”
“You said you know him?” Emilio asked, voice wavering.
“Jesus Christ.” Irene rolled her eyes, groaning in frustration. “Are you going to make me repeat everything I say? Yes. His name is Mateo. He’s a Demien. He fucking used me to get information and then abandoned me the second I gave him what he wanted—”
“He isn’t a Demien,” interjected Olivier. His body had gone impossibly still.
“What are you talking about?” Irene scoffed, panic shooting up her throat. “He is. He showed me. He can harness shadow magic. He has all the Order information. He spoke with the generals on a daily basis.”
Olivier shook his head. “He isn’t. He can’t be.”
Irene let out a disgruntled sigh. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Olivier reached into one of his pockets. He unveiled a small, crinkled paper, a torn piece of parchment.
There was a drawing of a face on it.
A face Irene knew well.
“Why the hell do you have a drawing of Mateo?” Irene asked.
“Because this isn’t Mateo,” Olivier muttered. He held up the drawing next to Irene’s mirror, right beside the reflection of Mateo, the two identical faces side by side. “It’s the True Headmaster.”
“No.” Irene staggered backward, shaking her head. “No.”
“I don’t understand,” Masika muttered in confusion. “Are you saying…are you saying they’re the same person?”
Emilio let out a shuddering breath. “It certainly seems like it.”
“No,” Irene repeated, hand raised. “There’s no way. That’s not possible.”
Olivier tucked the paper back into his pocket. “Irene. I know it seems impossible, but you just saw it with your own two eyes…” But Irene wasn’t listening. Panic whirled inside her as she attempted to scrounge up any possible excuse to dismiss what she had just seen.
“Mateo can’t be the True Headmaster,” she muttered. “He…he can’t. I was with him every day. He can access shadow magic. Why would the True Headmaster have given up his humanity? Why would he have convinced me to help him destroy Blackwood’s wards so that the Demiens could storm the grounds?”
Olivier scoffed. “The better question is…how the hell did he manage to resurrect himself?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” Emilio suggested. “Maybe someone else did.”
Irene shivered at the thought.
“Look.” Masika let out a calming breath. “None of that matters right now. Wherever he is—whoever he is—he’s not here. And unless one of us knows how to magically find him, he’s the least of our concerns at the present moment.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Olivier asked.
“Who is the one person who holds the key to destroying Blackwood? The one person whose presence is essential for the Demiens’ plan to work?”
Irene groaned.
“Wren fucking Loughty.”
“Then we find her,” Masika said. “We find her and stop her.”