Page 10 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)
Nine
Rose
By seven, the campus comes to life with a bell so loud it shakes the windows. I pull on my clothes from yesterday. There are no uniforms so I’m not sure what they think I’m going to wear considering I wasn’t supposed to bring anything.
The hall is already packed. The other students, witches, mostly, plus the ‘other’ population, move in packs of threes and fours, making me keenly aware of walking alone.
I shuffle along with the rest, straight into the dining hall.
It’s less Hogwarts, more corporate wellness retreat, with wide, tinted windows, daylight bulbs, and a spread of food so excessive it almost feels grotesque.
It looks harmless enough, but I doubt anything at Serpentine Academy is innocent, even the food.
Do you dare eat the eggs? The strawberries?
The mysterious puddings in tiny silver cups?
The only empty seat is at the end of a table where Soren is holding court. He’s already surrounded by a fan club, three girls and a boy, all competing to see who can laugh the loudest at his jokes. He locks eyes with me and crooks his finger, inviting me.
“Rose!” he says, like we’re old friends. “Join us.” The guy next to him, who looks like he walked out of a 90s Calvin Klein ad, gives me a once-over that lingers a second too long.
“I just need caffeine.”
One of the girls, impossibly pretty, blonde of course, and wearing a tailored blazer, sniffs. “Help yourself,” she says, pointing to the coffee and tea bar. “No one’s stopping you.”
I don’t bother replying, leaving them to grab a mug from the stack.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, black, and try to ignore the way Soren’s eyes follow every movement.
The last thing I want to do is sit there with the demon’s pack of fawning puppies.
I wonder how many of their dreams he helped himself to last night.
So despite the growling in my stomach and the tempting smell of bacon and maple syrup, I take my coffee and leave.
I don’t care that it’s not a takeout cup, and that we probably aren’t supposed to take them out of the dining hall.
That’s the least of the things this school should be concerned about.
I march across the quad, mug in hand, until I find a bench under a tree that looks as old as the building, or older, with its towering height and sprawling branches.
It’s cold, despite the bright, golden morning, and the air is tinged with wood smoke.
The coffee tastes like it was brewed in a dirty sock, but I drink it anyway.
I’m halfway done when I feel that telltale tingle along my scalp, and I know someone’s about to fuck up my morning.
Lucien slides onto the bench beside me. He doesn’t look at me, just stares ahead at the quad like he’s posing for a brooding statue contest. He’s perfected the art of looking both bored and dangerous.
“You skipped breakfast,” he says. Not a question.
I ignore him and take another scalding sip. “Didn’t feel like it.” Before he can lecture me about the most important meal of the day crap, I ask, “Shouldn’t you be burning up right now? Disintegrating?”
“Daywalking is one of the benefits of being associated with the academy and the Coven. But thanks for your concern.”
I snort. “Anytime. Now can I drink my coffee in peace? Please? This is giving stalker, to be honest.” I let the silence hang, hoping he’ll get bored and leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he sits with the immovable patience of a mountain.
We watch the rest of the campus. A few students toss a frisbee and nearly decapitate a squirrel. A couple of girls in matching pea coats walk together hand in hand.
“You have a class schedule,” he says eventually, still not looking my way. “Your first is Magical Theory.”
“Riveting.” I hug my mug tighter, staring down at the dregs at the bottom. “I look forward to not failing spectacularly in front of an audience.”
“You won’t fail.” He says it flat, no trace of doubt.
I feel my eyebrows climb. “Wow. Faith in the new girl?”
Lucien stands. “I’ll walk you to class.”
His tone let’s me know I don’t really have a choice. But I also don’t know where anything is yet, and I’d rather let him show me than take my chances asking someone else.
I leave the mug on the bench and follow him.
He cuts a clean path through the crowd, everyone parting to let us through without daring to meet his eyes.
The looks I get though are something else, sizing me up, trying to decide if I’m bait, a threat, or already claimed.
I walk half a step behind Lucien, not out of deference but because that’s the only room he leaves.
His stride is hasty, and I have to hustle to keep up.
Inside, the classroom is typical, the front wall lined with chalkboards and one of those rolling ladders.
The seats are stadium-style, each desk with an inset tablet.
There’s nothing magical about the teacher, unless you count the fact that she appears to be about twelve.
She wears a tweed jacket over a t-shirt that says ‘Believe in Yourself’ in glittery rainbow letters.
Lucien pushes me gently forward and then disappears into the shadows at the back of the room, like he’s just going to chaperone from a safe, broody distance.
I pick a spot in the second row. The students around me don’t engage, but they don’t ignore me either.
One girl with two tight blonde braids and a sweater vest gives me a once-over but says nothing.
The guy next to her, handsome in an angular, fox-like way, leans over and whispers in her ear with a smirk, then looks at me like he’s waiting for a reaction.
I stare right back, my face blank, until he gets bored and starts chatting to the girl again.
The teacher takes attendance, her voice crisp and crackling with energy.
“Welcome, all. I’m Professor Winn. Yes, I know, I look like a child, but if you attempt to call me anything except ‘Professor’ you will regret it,” she says, already scribbling something on the board, her handwriting is aggressively curly and rounded.
The class begins, an hour about the sources of magic.
I half-listen, half-sketch in the margins of my digital tablet, drawing little coffins and moons and once, the face of Soren with devil horns.
There’s a quiz at the end, “to benchmark our starting points.” I finish it, but I’m sure I didn’t get anything right.
My brain is still running over the mortifying events of last night, and the fact that every six seconds I feel someone’s eyes on me.
At the end of class, the teacher calls my name. “Rose Smith, stay behind please.”
As the other students file out, blondie with the braids gives me a sidelong glance that I ignore.
Professor Winn looks at me over the rim of her glasses, and I realize she’s not actually as young as I thought. She just has one of those faces, and her eyes are old and sharp. I wonder what she is, witch or vampire, or other. It’s not readily apparent.
“Miss Smith,” she says, “I understand you’re new to the intricacies of magic, and of this place.”
I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral.
She sets her pen down and stares me down. “Your file said you had unusual circumstances. That your magic was dampened. Is that accurate?”
I shrug. “If by dampened you mean permanently broken, then yeah.”
She smiles, not in a way I trust. “Magic has a way of resurfacing. Sometimes violently. Sometimes not at all. In rare cases, it morphs into something the user never anticipated.” She folds her hands, the tips of her fingers tapping against each other.
“Are you experiencing anything out of the ordinary, Rose? Strange dreams? Inexplicable urges?”
I choke a little and try not to think about the dream from last night, or the ghost. “No more than usual,” I say. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Only if you let it be.” She leans in. “This academy is not a place for the ordinary. Nor is it designed to protect you from yourself. If you have questions or concerns, bring them to me directly.” She makes sure I’m looking.
I nod. “Sure thing, Professor.” I get up, and she’s already pounding out an email on her desktop.
So many offers to ‘help’ me, but I don’t trust a single damn one.