Chapter 6: August - Twisted Vows

August had intended to be better prepared. He had planned every minute detail of their first encounter. He had turned the moment over and over in his head. He’d spent fucking centuries waiting for her, yet somehow she’d managed to take him by surprise. Twice. Because not only had he not meant to run into her in the corridor—he sure as hell hadn’t expected to see her in Housemaster Russo’s class. Next to his seat.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” he’d said, keeping his gaze fixed on Housemaster Russo. “I had a bit of a . . . hiccup . . . on the way to class.” And now the aforementioned hiccup was seated a few feet away from him. August had become completely derailed when he’d bumped into Wren in the corridor. So much so that he’d had to hide in the stairwell until the panic in his chest settled and he could catch his breath. If Edith knew just how easily the catalyst had rattled him . . . just how quickly he’d been unmoored by her . . .

His sister would probably kill him all over again.

Housemaster Russo sighed and waved him on. “Yes, fine. Just take a seat, Mr. Hughes.”

August nodded and slowly made his way to the back of the class. The students he passed averted their gazes, eyes downcast and breaths held. August stifled a chuckle. He couldn’t help but find their obvious terror the tiniest bit amusing. He’d been working on his reputation for centuries now—cementing himself as a threat for his own self-preservation. Because what was the easiest way to alienate himself from everyone? What was the best deterrent to ensure nobody tried to get close to him and uncover his secrets?

Fear.

But whatever amusement he was feeling quickly died when he approached the empty seat next to Wren, her glacial blue eyes landing on him with unwavering defiance.

“You again . . .” Wren fidgeted in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “Great.”

“Trust me, darling.” August slid into his seat next to her. “I’m not exactly elated to see you, either.”

Wren scoffed. August kept his gaze planted on the front of the classroom, but he could feel her glare settle upon him. “I have not given you a single reason not to like me,” she muttered defensively.

“Other than insulting me every chance you get?” August tilted his head. “Sure. You’ve been a delight.”

He was acting like a prick, he knew that, but he was just so damn frustrated with himself. How had he managed to mess up this badly? He was meant to befriend the girl, get close to her, not make an enemy of her. Was he truly that useless, that remarkably unlikable, that he managed to instill such deep loathing in her in a matter of seconds?

“All right, class.” Housemaster Russo clapped her hands and the shutters on the windows slammed shut. Luckily, there were a few lanterns surrounding the students, and the faint orange glow from their flames kept the room from being completely engulfed in darkness. “As you all know, the Hunt, Blackwood’s yearly corporeal scavenger hunt, begins tomorrow, and makes up nearly half of your grade for this class.”

“Scavenger hunt?” August heard Wren whisper beside him. He didn’t think she was addressing him, so he didn’t respond, keeping his mouth clamped shut.

Russo continued. “Like last year, the Hunt will be kept within Blackwood’s perimeters and will consist of three corporeally focused challenges. Your main objective? Locate the three jewels hidden on campus. Your second objective? Accurately complete the corporeal spell that you’ll need to cast in order to unlock the jewels. Third objective?” Russo smiled and her teeth glimmered in the dimly lit classroom. “Don’t kill your partner in the process.”

At this, Wren stiffened. August could practically sense her shoulders go rigid. Her breath caught in her throat. “Partners?” she whispered, this time angling her chin toward August. So she was talking to him. “Does that mean . . . Are we . . .” But Wren’s question was answered by Russo before August could get a word in.

“Mr. Hughes. Seeing that you’re seated next to our newest student—and given your extensive experience—you will be partnered with Ms. Loughty.”

August couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Russo raised her brows in mock surprise. “Is there a problem, Mr. Hughes?”

August inhaled a long, steadying breath. Compose yourself, August berated himself silently. He needed to play it cool. Not make a scene. “I can’t possibly work with her. She’s barely been here a week—”

“And?” Russo interjected with a sigh.

“That hardly seems fair,” August added, aware of Wren’s searing gaze burning the side of his face. “I’m clearly at a disadvantage.”

“I am not a disadvantage,” Wren protested, catching August by surprise.

August sighed, turning to face her. “You’ve never even cast corporeal magic before. Actually, come to think of it, have you cast any magic?”

“Yes,” Wren shot back. “As a matter of fact, I just did in my elemental class. Three different elements.”

August raised a brow. Hmm. Three elements on her first attempt was rather impressive, not that he was going to admit that out loud. “Doesn’t matter. Elemental magic and corporeal magic are completely different. They tap into different parts of your abilities. Elemental magic is tied to sense memory, while corporeal magic requires anger. Fury.”

“Yes, I know that,” Wren shot back, flushing. “I’ve been reading. I know what I’m doing.”

August groaned. “Reading and executing are two very different—”

“Enough.” Russo’s voice cut through their conversation, drawing August’s attention back to the front of the classroom. He’d nearly forgotten they were in the middle of class, with dozens of other students watching. “This isn’t up for discussion, Mr. Hughes. You have plenty of experience to guide Ms. Loughty through the Hunt. Unless you doubt your own abilities . . .”

August scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Then sounds like you’ll be just fine,” Russo replied with a tight-lipped smile.

The rest of the class went by in a blur. Russo handed out the maps for the Hunt, and August reluctantly folded his into neat squares and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants. When the class ended, he didn’t bother looking back at Wren, storming out of the room before she could even attempt to speak to him.

As he walked through the shimmer and back into the corridor, he thought that he’d managed to duck out of the room fast enough that Wren couldn’t catch up with him.

That was, until he heard a shrill and familiar voice echo behind him, a lilt of annoyance in every word.

“Hey! Wait up!”

August shut his eyes and inhaled sharply. He pushed his tongue against the roof his mouth, summoning his last shred of patience. “I have somewhere to be, newbie.”

Wren appeared beside him, chest rising and falling rapidly as she steadied her breathing. She must have sprinted out of the classroom to catch up with him. “Shouldn’t we plan where we’re going to meet tomorrow?”

“I can do this on my own,” August bit out.

Wren scoffed indignantly.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t need your help with the Hunt,” he muttered, fussing with the silver ring wrapped around his index finger. “I’ll find the jewels. I’ll give you credit.” He forced his lips into a mocking smile. “Happy?”

“No,” Wren huffed, struggling to keep up. August picked up his pace, not bothering to glance back at her. “I’m—Ugh. Can you stop being a dick for, like, half a fraction of a second and listen to me?”

August stopped so suddenly that Wren nearly ran straight into his back. August turned slowly, peering down at her.

“Watch yourself,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

There was the faintest flicker of fear in her eyes. August had to give her credit—she was stubborn as hell. “Or what? You’re going to pluck my eyes out, or whatever it is you do to everyone else here? I’m not scared of you, August. Hell—we don’t feel pain, so what does it even matter?”

August stepped closer. He was aware of their sudden proximity, the strange tension vibrating between them. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch it—touch her. His fingers burned at the mere thought.

“It’s not about pain, Loughty.” He needed her to understand this. To hear every word. To fear him. Because if she spoke like that to the wrong person, to someone other than him, her bravery might get her a snapped neck or slit throat. “I could land you in the infirmary. You’d be there for weeks. Unconscious. Comatose. Unable to do anything except lie around, useless. You’d fall behind in all your classes. You’d lose all hope of ever getting out of this hellhole and saving your precious memories from the Forgetting.”

Wren mulled his words over. She bit the inside of her cheek, her breathing slow and steady. For a moment, August thought his words had truly resonated with her. That the fear had once and for all sunk in.

But then she lifted her chin, gaze unflinching, and said, “So do it.”

August chuckled. The nerve of this girl. Maybe she really was the catalyst.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he muttered back with a smirk.

Wren rolled her eyes.

“Listen,” she said through a sigh. “I don’t want to work with you just as much as you don’t want to work with me, okay? You’re not exactly my first pick for a class partner. But I’m trying to acclimate to this godforsaken place, and you are not going to be the reason I get stuck in reformatory.”

Reformatory. The second the word fluttered out of her lips, August flinched, unable to stifle his reaction. A chill ran down his spine and his chest tightened, the familiar traces of panic building inside of him.

“Did you get a warning?” he asked, dipping his voice lower.

“Not a formal one,” Wren muttered with a chuckle. “I don’t think, at least. I haven’t even looked through all the letters . . .”

August’s face fell. “You ignored your letters?”

Wren must have caught the seriousness in his tone. The tinge of fear in his voice. Because the smirk faded from her lips, replaced by a look of deep worry. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Memories forced their way into August’s mind. A blank, dark room. His father’s voice echoing all around him. Taunting him. The icy breath of fear burning in his veins. A feeling of endless doom building in the pit of his stomach. “You’re never leaving,” the voice whispered. “Never. Never. Never. Ne—”

“August?”

Wren’s voice pulled August out of the memory and back into the present. He blinked, clearing his throat. Wren was staring up at him, eyes wide and full of concern. It made his insides twist. His stomach lurch. Concern. He didn’t deserve that from her. He didn’t deserve that from anybody.

“The old shed,” he managed to say, despite the knot in his throat.

Wren furrowed her brow, taken aback. “What?”

“Tomorrow,” August added, straightening his shoulders. “Before your classes. Meet me by the old shed just north of Bonestrod. We’ll find the first jewel together.”

Wren nodded, though August could see an inkling of suspicion whirling behind her eyes.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked.

August tried to find the right words. Why? Because the last thing he ever wanted to be was the reason someone suffered the same way he had. To be the reason she suffered. But instead, all August said was “Because nobody deserves to experience reformatory.” He paused, breath hitching in his throat. “Nobody.” And with that tiny sliver of a confession, August turned away from her, battling every instinct that begged him to stay, and left.

* * *

August tore into his room like a frenetic tornado, bursting the door open with a flick of his wrist before promptly slamming it closed. He didn’t understand why he felt this way . . . why he was so easily rattled by Wren. He felt wretched. Like being near her was enough to rip apart the last remaining shreds of his sanity. Despite all that, he had to admit that a part of him was strangely drawn to her. And not just because he’d been assigned to watch out for her arrival. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the moment he saw her, the moment he laid eyes on her, it was as if he sensed a . . . tether. A connecting thread. As if his soul had been dormant all these years and had just now sprung to life by being near her.

It was ridiculous. Foolish.

August was beginning to pace when he noticed something in his peripheral vision. A full-length mirror was hung on the wall beside him, and before he even turned to look, he noticed a discrepancy in the reflection. Something wasn’t right.

There’s somebody else here.

“Hello, little brother.”

August nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face the mirror with a jolt. Staring back at him was not only his own reflection but his sister’s, as if she were standing beside him. But of course, when August glanced over his shoulder, his sister was nowhere to be seen. She only existed within the mirror. A projection enchantment made to communicate over long distances, despite being miles and miles away from one another.

“Jesus Christ . . .” August rubbed his face with his hands, groaning, and glared up at his sister. “Really, Edith? Couldn’t you just write me a letter?”

His sister raised a dark brow, petulant as ever. That ridiculous shadow crown she insisted on wearing sat delicately atop her dark hair, which she had pinned away from her face, fully exposing the inky black veins that ran along her neck.

“I needed to speak with you directly,” she said simply.

“And you couldn’t have found a less creepy way to do that?”

Edith rolled her eyes, ignoring August’s snide remark. When her gaze fell upon him once more, August noticed a shift in her expression. Her eyes grew darker, her expression morphing from one of amusement to one of finely honed inspection. Edith moved, and it was as if the reflection itself had drawn closer, as if she were approaching the surface of the mirror. When she spoke next, her voice was a breathless whisper.

“You’ve met her.”

August’s chest tightened.

“How can you tell?”

Edith’s eyes raked up and down his face, her lips curling a fraction. “Oh, come on, Augustine. You must know by now that I can read you like a book. I’ve always been able to see right through you.”

August swallowed. The thought was terrifying. He certainly hoped his emotions weren’t written that plainly across his face. That he could, somehow, keep a part of himself hidden away from his sister.

Despite having once believed in the Demien Order’s cause, August had to admit that his loyalty had been . . . faltering. He’d allowed his own anger at being thrown into Blackwood and his love for his sister to sway him into joining the Order and believing in the Soulless One’s desire for retribution. It wasn’t even that August necessarily wanted to destroy Blackwood. He simply wanted to cast his fury at what had happened to him onto something—someone. Blackwood was a representation of the control he had lost. Of the life he had lost.

When Edith had approached him about the Order all those centuries ago, joining them had seemed so simple . . . so reasonable. Of course he’d help his sister. Of course he’d choose to believe her. But now . . . now the girl standing before him was someone August hardly recognized.

He didn’t even fully understand why the Soulless One needed the catalyst to destroy Blackwood. His sister had laid out the basics—that Blackwood was a source of corruption that needed to be cleansed, and it was only through the catalyst’s arrival that their plan could be set in motion. But how exactly Blackwood was corrupt had never been fully explained to August. Edith had kept everything rather vague. When he’d pushed the matter, she’d simply brushed him off.

“Until you remove your humanity and fully join the Order, there are some things that must remain hidden from you.”

“But . . . this feels important,” August had pressed. “Something that could help me—” But his sister had cut him off, unwilling to hear him.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Augustine.”

And that was how it went any time he tried to bring it up. More secrecy. More lies. And it wasn’t even August’s fault that he hadn’t removed his humanity yet. It was a necessary part of his undercover work. If he removed his humanity, he couldn’t be a Blackwood student. Silas would no doubt sense the change in his soul and discover that August was part of the Demien Order. Keeping his humanity was his way of ensuring that his enrollment wasn’t jeopardized. Still, Edith found a way to use it against him. To wield it as a tool to keep him in the dark.

So it was only natural for doubt to blossom inside him. How was he to blindly trust what his sister said? He supposed his trust in the Soulless One should be unwavering. That was the vow he’d taken as a Demien.

Believe in the Soulless One.

Follow the plan.

Awaken the catalyst.

And yet . . .

An image of Wren flitted through August’s mind. His chest tightened as he pictured the delicate slope of her nose. Her soft lashes brushing her skin. The teasing smirk on her lips as she branded him with another insult.

He never thought he’d find so much pleasure in hearing his name damned.

“She’s . . . different than I thought she’d be,” August admitted, finding his voice once again. “The girl. She doesn’t seem like the catalyst—”

“That’s because she isn’t,” Edith interjected, the shadow veins running along her skin darkening. “Not yet. Her soul is still fresh . . .” She shook her head, as if lost in thought. “She has so much to learn.”

August glanced down and only then realized that he had balled his hands into fists, the tips of his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. He had been squeezing so tight that he’d almost drawn blood.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, each word carefully parsed out.

“Gain her trust,” Edith replied. “Teach her. Make her strong enough. She won’t be prepared by the time the next Decennial comes around, that’s for certain . . . but the one after. In eighteen years’ time. That is when we need her ready.”

Eighteen years. It was the blink of an eye when it came to eternity. August had already waited centuries for her . . . had already spent so long dreaming of this day. What was eighteen years? It was nothing. A single moment.

August knew what his role was. Teach Wren the ropes at Blackwood. Ensure she strengthened her magical abilities and fortified her soul through her connection to her magic. Then, once nominated for the Decennial, she’d need to make it to the last trial, which notoriously took place in the Ether. There, with the help of August, Edith would have the tiniest window to slip through Blackwood’s defenses and take Wren.

August just needed to wait eighteen years.

Eighteen years of being near Wren, of speaking to her, of looking into those bloody doe eyes of hers and restraining himself from doing something monumentally stupid.

“She’ll be ready,” August replied, clearing his throat. “I’ll make sure of it.”

At his response, Edith nodded, though her gaze lingered on August with an unusual intensity. She cocked her head, eyes narrowed.

“And will you?” she asked.

August flinched.

“Will I what?”

“Will you be ready, dear brother?” Edith asked, and though there was an undertone of tenderness in the way she spoke the word brother, there was also a lethal edge to it. A dangerous quality that sent a chill down August’s spine.

He knew what his sister meant. In eighteen years, once he helped Edith infiltrate the school and take Wren, it would finally be his turn.

In eighteen years . . . August would rip out his humanity.

He would destroy his soul—once and for all.

August inhaled a sharp breath. There was no hesitation in his response.

“I’ll be ready.”