Chapter 7: Wren - Twisted Vows

Early-morning fog drifted over the grounds as Wren made her way to the old shed. She’d hardly slept the night before. Anticipation buzzed in her chest. A restlessness that had kept her eyelids open and her mind racing. Not that it mattered. Sleep had become more of a formality, now that she was dead. She no longer felt exhaustion like a living human would. Lack of sleep in the afterlife meant a distractable mind and weakened magical abilities—and given the fact that Wren hardly had any magical abilities to begin with, she wasn’t entirely worried about weakening them.

Wren shivered as a sudden breeze danced through the air, blanketing her skin in goose bumps. She wrapped her trench coat tightly around her body, bundling herself for warmth. Around her, the crooked oak trees that dotted Blackwood’s campus shivered, their gnarled branches creaking and groaning as they swayed with the wind. Deep orange and yellow leaves coated the ground, crunching beneath Wren’s knee-high black boots. Despite hating the place, Wren had to admit there was something eerily beautiful about Blackwood. A strange sense of comfort in its isolation.

But that comfort was quickly snipped as Wren spotted the old shed up ahead. It sat nestled behind a copse of trees, a decrepit structure shrouded in shade. It was made of old, chipped wood, with a circular iron handle attached to the door. Wren approached it tentatively, suddenly aware of how far she was from the main grounds. Is there anybody else nearby? Wren wondered. And would they hear me if I screamed?

She supposed it was too late to worry about that now. Plus, she had to meet with August if she wanted to get a good grade on this assignment and properly acclimate to Blackwood. He had the map for the Hunt, after all.

Wren inhaled a sharp, steadying breath and opened the door.

Stepping forward, Wren entered the dimly lit shed. Its windows were shuttered, so only slivers of morning light broke through the cracks in the old wood. Mounds of dust hovered in the air, itching Wren’s nose and the back of her throat. She blinked, attempting to adjust to the darkness, but all she could see were shapes and shadows. She could technically summon light, but she had no idea how to even begin casting that spell. She hadn’t quite learned how to fully connect with her magic, despite the books she’d read and the lectures she’d listened to. After her elemental and corporeal class, Wren had attended various classes that allowed her to explore the other magical affinities taught at Blackwood—defensive, illusionary, psyche and spacial. She’d even practiced a bit with Maya like she had promised, and had managed to properly construct an illusion of the girl, though it had flickered and dissipated in a matter of seconds.

She supposed that was the one thing she could agree with August on—there was a major difference between reading about magic and actually practicing it. But Wren could already feel herself growing stronger. She’d kept practicing through the night and into the morning, even without Maya, summoning small elemental spells on her way to class and attempting to relocate in and out of Pettyworth. It was only a few feet, but still, Wren could sense her connection improving.

“Suppose it’s worth trying again . . .” Wren muttered now, lifting her right hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to summon something. A faint flicker. The tiniest ember. When she opened her eyes, she saw it. A wisp of light dancing against her palm. A chuckle of relief fluttered out of Wren as the light grew brighter, building in her hand. There was something invigorating about connecting with her magic. Wren felt it inside. The spark igniting in the core of her soul. Truthfully, it was the closest to feeling alive that she had experienced since arriving at Blackwood.

But just as Wren was about to push further, expanding the light, a voice echoed in front of her.

“Someone’s been practicing.”

Wren let out a shriek, unable to stifle her surprise, and spun on her heels.

Leaning against the shed wall, casual and arrogant as ever, was August. He wore a smirk of amusement, arms crossed over his chest. He’d forgone the black vest he’d had on the last time she’d seen him, wearing only his white button-down shirt and black pants. There was a dark reddish-brown stain on the collar of his shirt, though Wren couldn’t bring herself to point it out. Deep down, she knew it was blood. But she had no interest in knowing whose blood it was, or how it had gotten there.

“You couldn’t have announced yourself?” Wren sputtered, attempting to seem as calm and collected as she possibly could, despite having already embarrassed herself.

“And miss out on your bloodcurdling scream of terror?” August cocked his head and chuckled. “Absolutely not.”

Wren rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. If he wanted to act like a petulant toddler, then fine, but that didn’t mean she had to stoop to his level. She’d be the mature one. She let out a sigh and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Well, you’ve had your fun, so now we can get straight to business.” She extended her hand impatiently. “Come on, then. Hand it over.”

August raised a brow.

“Excuse me?”

“The map,” Wren added slowly. “For the Hunt.”

“I’m aware of what you’re asking for,” August clarified, stepping toward her. The shed wasn’t large by any means, and that single step nearly eliminated the space between them. They were uncomfortably close. Close enough that Wren was instantly enveloped by the warm scent that seemed to cling to August—amber and musk and something vexingly sweet. “I’m just wondering what on earth makes you think I’m going to give it to you.”

Wren scoffed.

“We’re partners.”

August shrugged. “Unwillingly.”

“Partners all the same!” Wren shot back, crossing her arms indignantly. “You cannot hog the map. You promised—”

“Settle down, Loughty.” August raised his hands in feigned innocence. “You’re right. I did say we’d do this together. But I’m not going to simply turn over the map and send you off without another word.” August shoved his hands into his pockets and chuckled. “You wouldn’t last an hour.”

Frustration flared in Wren’s chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You think the Hunt will be that easy? That you can just waltz out there, follow the map, and find the jewels?” August’s voice dripped with condescension. “I hate to break it to you, darling, but it’s going to require a bit more effort than that.”

“What are you talking about?” Wren asked, exasperated. “Housemaster Russo said—”

“I know what Russo said,” August interjected swiftly. “But what she didn’t mention is how disturbingly competitive Blackwood students can be. How they won’t hesitate to strike you down just to get a better grade. How they’ll weed out their competition by snapping necks and slitting throats.”

Wren shivered. August was being deadly serious. She could tell by the venom in his voice. The intensity in his gaze. Not to mention that the students August was referring to included himself. He was the one with the lethal reputation, after all.

“I mean . . .” Wren forced a nonchalant chuckle. “Isn’t that what I have you for?”

At this, August’s brows rose in surprise. “I’m not here to be your personal bodyguard, Loughty. You have to be able to hold your own.” He reached behind his back, unsheathing something attached to his waistband, and Wren had to stifle her gasp of surprise when he showed her what it was.

“Take this,” August instructed.

“What the hell do I need a knife for?” Wren asked, aghast. She stared down at the dagger August had produced from behind his back, flinching. “And why do you casually have that on you?”

“Like I said. Blackwood students are competitive.” August flipped the dagger in his hands, the blade swishing between his fingers with ease. “And you have to be prepared to defend yourself. I can’t have you incapacitated for the next few weeks.”

“Incapacitated?” Wren echoed incredulously. “But . . . it’s not like this is a competition. Housemaster Russo said that each pair would have their own set of jewels to find.”

“Have you not been paying attention?” August snapped. “Everything is a competition here. The higher your ranking in class, the more likely you are to be nominated for the next Decennial. And what’s the easiest way to boost your chances?”

Wren swallowed the knot in her throat. “By making the students around you do poorly.”

“Exactly.” August nodded. “For instance, let’s say . . . theoretically . . . if you pushed me off a building—”

“Which is becoming less and less theoretical by the minute . . .” Wren muttered under her breath, though August continued, either oblivious to her threat or simply pretending to be.

“—the injury would more than likely land me in the infirmary for . . . oh, I don’t know . . . a week? Maybe two?” August shrugged, mildly amused at the thought. “Depends on which building, I suppose.”

“Okay, I get it.” Wren sighed. “The longer you’re stuck in the infirmary, the more you fall behind. But I still don’t get what the hell you expect me to do with that.” She gestured to the dagger in August’s hand. “If someone tries to snap my neck or push me off a building, that thing is hardly going to help!”

“You’re right.” August inched closer. “But it’s something. I can’t have you completely defenseless. Here.” August flipped the dagger in his hands, pointing the sharpened blade toward his stomach and angling the hilt toward Wren. “Practice.”

For a moment, Wren simply stood there, blinking. “I’m sorry?” She tried to laugh but no sound came out. “You’re not seriously asking me to stab you . . . right?”

“I’m not asking,” August replied casually. “I’m telling.”

“No.” Wren shook her head. “There’s no way.”

“You have to practice,” August muttered through a sigh, as if her refusal to stab him was nothing more than an annoyance. “Get used to the feeling. I can’t have you freezing up if someone attacks you—”

“This is ridiculous!” Wren choked out, taking a rigid step backward. “I’m not going to stab you, you absolute lunatic.”

August rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. It’s not like it’s going to hurt. And I’m not asking you to slice my head clean off.” He made a small jutting motion with the knife. “Just a surface wound. It’ll heal in a few minutes.”

Wren stood there, contemplating whether or not she could actually go through with it. She knew August was serious—and, though she didn’t want to admit it, right. If the students at Blackwood were truly as cutthroat and devious as he was making them out to be, then Wren needed a way to defend herself. She was already at a disadvantage magically, and without a weapon, she’d be virtually defenseless.

The thought alone was terrifying.

Wren inhaled a quivering breath. She realized then that August hadn’t torn his gaze away from her, silently watching as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek and weighed her options. But he didn’t rush her. He didn’t utter a word. He simply stood there, blade still pointed at his stomach, waiting.

“I’ve never stabbed anyone before,” Wren said softly. She reached her hand out, ignoring the way her fingers trembled.

August smirked.

“Well,” he murmured beneath his breath. “It’s always an honor to be someone’s first.”

Wren scowled, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks. But before she could say anything else, August placed his free hand on Wren’s wrist, his touch achingly gentle, and guided her hand toward the hilt. Slowly, Wren wrapped her fingers around it, holding the dagger steady. She kept the pointed tip of the blade aimed at August’s stomach, though she didn’t push forward.

“Now what?” Wren whispered, breathless.

August placed his hand over Wren’s. She tried to ignore the warmth of his skin. The way her body seemed to instantly come to life the moment he touched her. She watched, enraptured, as he guided the blade toward himself just an inch.

“Good,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Now just . . . push it.”

For a moment, Wren didn’t move. Her limbs felt frozen, as if she’d hardened into stone. But then something seemed to come over her. A strange sense of determination. Her whole life had already been taken from her . . . snatched in the blink of an eye. The last thing she wanted was to find herself defenseless again. Helpless to endure whatever torment the other students were prepared to inflict on her.

No.

Not in this lifetime. Not in this new eternity.

Wren inhaled a sharp breath . . . and pushed.

There was a bone-chilling snap as the blade tore through skin and flesh. Wren had thought there would be more noise, but the dagger moved through August’s stomach more easily than she had anticipated. Cleanly.

August kept his eyes anchored on her. He didn’t look away, didn’t bother glancing down at the literal knife plunged into his stomach. The blood pooling through his white shirt. He just stared at Wren as if she were the only thing that mattered. As if she were the only thing that existed.

Finally, August broke the silence.

“See?” His voice was deep and gravelly. “Easy.”

Wren swallowed. She knew she should pull the knife out now, but her hand remained glued to the hilt. “Y-yeah. It . . . it wasn’t that bad.”

August must have sensed Wren’s hesitance. Instead of instructing her to remove the dagger, he tightened his grip and yanked it out himself. Instantly, blood splattered from the wound, further staining his white shirt. But he didn’t seem at all concerned by the gaping hole in his stomach.

“Come on.” He wiped the blade on the leg of his pants and tucked it into the pocket of Wren’s coat. “Follow me.”

Wren stood there, dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. That she’d managed to go through with stabbing August. It took her a few seconds to snap out of her dazed state, but once she finally regained the ability to speak, she cleared her throat and asked, “Where the hell are you going?”

August came to a halt at the door to the shed. As he turned to face Wren, he lifted his hand and a swirling vortex of crimson flames burst from the center of his palm. He smirked, the corner of his lips lifting a fraction. Wren couldn’t help but notice how terrifyingly beautiful he looked bathed in the glowing light of the flames.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time,” he said. “Let’s start the Hunt.”