Page 1 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

One

Rose

My mother always said magic was a curse wrapped in fancy paper. She never mentioned it could also get you fired.

I’m standing outside Tony’s Bar, unemployed and homeless as of exactly four minutes ago, clutching a fancy envelope between fingers that still smell like cheap tequila. The seal on the back, a crescent moon stamped in silver wax, glitters in the light of the neon sign above me.

Fucking witches.

I jam the letter deeper into my jacket pocket. My mother never cared that I didn’t have any real power. Magic is like a sharp knife. Wave it around and someone’s bound to get hurt. Usually you.

She taught me what she could, just enough to stay small. Stay hidden. My magic was nothing like hers, though. “There are people who would use us,” she’d say, her eyes always watching the windows even when we were on the sixth floor. “People who think power is something to be hoarded.”

When I was seven, she performed a ritual on me. I remember the sting of the athame pricking my finger, the awful taste of the tea she made me drink after. I knew enough to know that it was a protection spell.

She died a couple of months ago, before she could tell me what, exactly, I was supposed to be protecting myself from.

Since then, I’ve been surviving. Pouring drinks for handsy drunks, living in what was basically a closet with a mattress in exchange for wiping tables.

I can’t be picky. Not many respectable places let you work under the table, which I have to do since my mother made sure no records of me existed anywhere.

No bank accounts, no social security number, no identification.

I’m barely a lukewarm hedge witch, so I can’t earn money that way.

I have enough magic to keep a sad little succulent alive, enough to make a candle flicker if I really concentrate. Nothing worth noticing.

I kick at the gravel in the parking lot, watching it scatter.

I’d just snapped the fingers of some creep who tried grabbing me when I walked by.

Tony didn’t appreciate that.

“You can’t just break a customer’s fingers, Rose!” he shouted, face redder than a maraschino cherry. I hadn’t meant to. The guy grabbed me, not for the first time that night, and whoops , his fingers had bent the wrong way.

Before I even touched him. His scream cut off the jukebox mid-song, everyone staring. My fingers still tingled, like I’d touched an electric fence.

I’d looked around to see if there was another witch in the bar, because like I said, I don’t have any real power.

But nope, somehow after a lifetime of weak-ass magic I’d managed something like that.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little excited about it.

Excitement that was short-lived, because in the next minute Tony kicked me out.

So now I’ve got no job, no place to stay, and a very fancy envelope with my name on it.

I debate tearing it up right here, but curiosity’s a bitch and I’m a glutton for punishment, so I rip it open with my thumbnail. Inside is an invitation written by hand in black-ink calligraphy.

Dear Miss Smith,

You are cordially invited to attend Serpentine Academy

for the Magically Gifted.

Your unique talents have been recognized by the Crescent Moon Coven.

Attendance is nonnegotiable.

Report to the address below by midnight.

Bring nothing.

Sincerely,

Headmistress Wickersly

Nonnegotiable. Eat it.

I crush the so-called invitation into a ball, then immediately regret it and smooth the paper back out. Not because I care about their fancy stationery, but because I need the address.

Serpentine Academy.

The name tickles something in the back of my brain, something my mother said in the same breath about elitist assholes and old money magic. Great.

The envelope had been waiting for me when I showed up for my shift earlier tonight, propped against the register. Marla, the older server who works the shift before mine, had given me her signature unpleasant look when I walked in.

“Something came for you,” she’d said, sliding the envelope across the bar with one turquoise and sequined-studded nail. “Snazzy. You secretly rich or something?”

“Yeah, Marla. That’s why I’m slinging drinks in this shithole.”

She’d shrugged, already counting her tips. “Could be a court summons. You look like the type who’d have warrants.”

I’d stuffed the envelope in my pocket without looking at it.

It’s way too late tonight for a woman to be walking alone in this area, it’s about to rain, and there’s nowhere left for me to go. My entire life fits into a backpack, and I highly doubt Tony will be inclined to give me my last paycheck.

I check my watch. If I’m going to make it by midnight, I need to move.

Not that I’ve even decided to go, but what other option do I have?

Sleep in the park and hope no one tries to murder me?

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since my shift meal six hours ago.

The twenty-three dollars in my wallet won’t get me far.

No job, no place to sleep, and winter is coming. I hate that these facts matter.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, heading toward the bus stop.

As I walk to the stop, I check my reflection in a storefront window.

My dark hair’s falling out of its ponytail, my jeans have a new tear at the knee from when I hit the asphalt when Tony quite literally booted my ass out of the bar, and there’s a splash of something on my shirt, gin I think, after pulling it up to sniff.

Not exactly elite academy material. They might take one look at me and send me on my merry way.

There’s a bus that will take me close to the address on the card, so I buy a ticket, paying in crumpled cash.

I climb up the steps, nodding at the driver who ignores me, and slide into a seat near the back.

There are only a few other people riding this time of night, so I have my pick.

As I settle in, I see one more passenger getting on, weird because there was no one at the stop but me, and I’m sure there was no one behind me.

The new guy walks down the aisle between the seats, and I sneak a glance at him, long enough to clock that he’s handsome, too handsome for these parts, then quickly look away when he slows down and stares back at me.

I can feel him standing there, not moving, just watching. I exhale when he takes his seat.

The bus is half empty, the seats upholstered in blue vinyl that squeaks when I shift.

The interior stinks of diesel and stale coffee, not great, but I’m not adding anything good with my own ‘eau de dive bar’.

Overhead lights cast everything in urine yellow, and I watch the city blur past the window as we drive.

The roads get emptier as we roll out of the city limits. Buildings shrink from six stories to one or two, then to stretches of strip malls and the liminal glow of all-night gas stations.

As we leave the last streetlight behind, the forest on either side swallows up the road.

The weird guy’s eyes follow me as I stand, slinging my pack over my shoulder when the bus hisses to a stop at a patch of roadside barely wide enough for the doors to open.

I say thank you, and the driver grunts, then step into the night, shoes crunching on gravel.

The bus peels away so fast it leaves a cloud of dust.

Somewhere out there, an owl calls. These woods are thick and old, and the autumn night air is cold, but under it there is a strange, warm sensation that starts at my lower back and crawls up my spine.

Magic.

Heavy, powerful, magic.

I follow the small lane to what looks like an abandoned trailhead, marked with a small stone with a snake carved into it.

“This is how horror movies start,” I say to no one, checking my phone. No signal. Naturally.

I follow the path deeper into the trees, enveloped by the scent of the evergreens and a feeling that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. There’s so much magic here. Real magic, not the sad little sparks I’ve managed to produce my whole life.

Something rustles in the undergrowth to my left. I freeze, my heart about to break out of my ribs.

“Hello?” I call out, immediately regretting it.

Rule number one of horror movies: don’t announce yourself to the killer.

The forest chokes out the last bit of sky, the trees so tall they black out the moon, and then, without warning, the whole world opens up. It’s a clearing, like somebody took a scythe to the trees and carved out a gaping wound in the woods.

Then I see the mother of all gates, a monument to overcompensation.

Iron bars climb up, at least twenty feet of spikes, flourishes, and snarling serpents that wind up the columns like they’re alive.

The serpents have gemstone eyes that catch the barely there light and shine blood red.

Each bar is thicker than my fist, and the whole thing looks like it could survive an onslaught of Viking berserkers.

Beyond the gate, I get my first look at the academy.

Picture if a cathedral and a haunted mansion had a baby, and then that baby did a line of coke and ate every gothic Pinterest board on the planet.

That’s the building sitting at the end of the path.

Every available ledge has a gargoyle perched on it, jaws open in a silent scream.

The windows are tall and arched, and the front doors are so big they could let a parade of elephants march right in.

I laugh, a too-loud sound in the stillness.

Every hair on my body is standing up, vibrating with the type of magic I’ve only heard about.

There’s a current in the ground, under my sneakers, crawling up my calves and into my bones.

Whatever is on the other side of that gate, it’s not a joke.

And here I am, staring at the gates like an idiot, invitation balled up in my sweaty hand.

I take a step closer. The serpents on the gate don’t move, but I swear their eyes follow me.

The whole time, a single question drills itself into my brain. Why me? I’m a nobody without any ability. But the invitation was clear. Nonnegotiable. Attendance is mandatory. I don’t have the luxury of wondering why. I’m here now, and the only way out is through.

I take another step. The path is lined with crushed white moonstone that glows faintly, leading me in. Then I put my hand on the gate. The iron is wet, almost oily, and when I grip it, the serpents’ jeweled eyes flare brighter. There’s a sound like a groaning whine, and the gates begin to move.

As I step through, I glance back at the forest behind me, then up above. The clouds have cleared, revealing a full moon hanging impossibly large in the night sky. Its reddish glow casts everything in a crimson light that makes the shadows that much more foreboding.

A blood moon.

Of-fucking-course.