“I’m glad we became friends.” Olivier mustered up a smile. “Even if it took us a few decades.”
Masika chuckled. She laced Olivier’s fingers through hers and gave his hand a squeeze. “Friends, huh? What happened tounfortunate acquaintances?”
Olivier shook his head, smiling, but tears burned behind his eyes. “I think I preferfriends.” And then a thought occurred to him, and he couldn’t help himself, continuing with a sharp intakeof breath. “Oh, and by the way, I know you’re like the ruler of the afterlife or whatever now—but please…do us all a favor and just make up with Catherine already. She’s crazy about you.”
And then the Headmaster of Blackwood Academy did the unthinkable.
Sheblushed.
Olivier smiled, pleased.
That’ll do.
He turned back toward the door, facing it with wild determination.
There was a weighted silence. A moment of hesitation.
“So…should we place bets?” Olivier asked casually.
Emilio snorted.
“You want to bet on our souls?”
“I don’t know.” Olivier laced his fingers through Emilio’s, gripping the boy like a lifeline. “It could be fun. We could make it a bit naughty. Loser has to strip naked.”
Emilio let out a cackle of laughter.
“Olivier Dupont. You cannotseriouslybe flirting at a time likethis.”
“Oh, my dear Emilio.” Olivier smiled. “It’salwaysa good time to flirt.”
When the two boys walked through the door, crossing into the unknown, there were no tears to be shed. No sadness. Not even an inkling of fear. There were only smiles on their faces and the promise ofmore. More time. More laughter.
And, most of all, hope.
55
In a sunlit valley, on a warm summer day, Olivier Dupont and Emilio Córdova crossed into eternity.
Together.
56
MASIKA
Masika Sallow, the Headmaster of Blackwood Academy, stood atop Bonestrod and took in the view. Half of Elysium Hall was missing—blown to pieces, as if someone had taken a bite out of its side and spat out the chunks. Blood and ash stained the grounds, fluttering in the air like fallen snow. But that cleanup would be easy. A simple fix.
There were other broken things far more difficult to mend. Things she wasn’t quite sure ever would be mended.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Masika recognized their soul like a little pinprick in her chest. She wondered if she’d ever get used to that. The way her mind seemed to be connected to every piece of Blackwood all at once; the beating heart of the school resounding in her chest—thump, thump, thump.
“I lied.”
Masika turned to face Catherine Clarke. Her braids had come partially undone. Her face was a soot-streaked mess. But she looked beautiful. Broken and wrecked—but beautiful.
“When we spoke the other night.” Catherine stepped closer, and it suddenly felt as though they were standing at a precipice, every word tumbling out of Catherine shoving them closer to the edge. “You asked me what I see when I look at you now. Do you remember that?”
A gentle breeze ran through Masika’s curls. It felt like laughter. A familiar but lost sound.
