Page 29 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)
Twenty-Seven
Rose
The directive is waiting on my bed when I return, Mrs. Bright’s perfect handwriting making my mandatory attendance at the Samhain Decorating Committee sound like an honor instead of what it really is, horrible, terrible punishment.
Torture, really, if we’re honest. I don’t ‘decorate’.
Have they not seen me? I’m not exactly the tulle and tissue paper pompom type.
I pick up the cream-colored card stock, the academy crest embossed at the top all official and intimidating, and resist the urge to toss it out the window.
The last thing I need to be doing right now is hanging paper bats when I’ve got less than two years before the Coven ends my life.
The map I photographed in Wickersly’s office is just sitting there on my phone.
A hidden chamber, right under our feet, containing the original Accord that could be my only shot at freedom.
But no, let’s decorate for Samhain instead.
Let’s pretend everything’s normal while the clock ticks down on my life.
I check the time. 2:47. Just enough time to drag myself across campus and pretend I give a shit about whatever pagan harvest festival these people are planning. Because of course the academy celebrates Samhain. Can’t have a school full of witches without fully embracing all the sabbath.
The campus is especially pretty today, but I don’t appreciate it the way I might have before.
A group of earth witches are growing pumpkins directly from seeds in the main courtyard, each one swelling to ridiculous proportions while they giggle and compare whose is biggest. The whole place smells like cinnamon and that particular combination of dead leaves and apples that comes with this time of year.
I’ve always loved fall but it barely registers now.
I keep thinking about the map, about how the hidden place where they’re keeping the first blood contract should be right where the garden sits now.
The mark burns under my sleeve, always reminding me that I can never really relax or let my guard down.
Every step I take is monitored, every move calculated by the Coven to keep me contained until they’re ready to consume me.
And here I am, obediently heading to a decorating committee meeting like a good little witch.
The ballroom is in the fancy part of the academy where they hold the formal dinners and ceremonies. The doors are massive, carved with scenes of magical creatures doing magical things, and they’re propped open with iron doorstops shaped like ravens.
Inside, the space is cavernous. Chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and the floor is polished to a mirror shine.
Tables are already set up along one wall, covered in boxes of decorations that look like Halloween threw up after eating too much candy corn.
Orange and black streamers are tangled up with fake cobwebs, plastic cauldrons overflow with rubber bats, and there’s an entire box labeled SKELETON REPLICAS and all my hope hinges on the word ‘replica’. .
Then I hear the laugh, and my stomach drops somewhere around my ankles.
Thorne stands at the center of the room like she owns it. Her blonde hair catches the light from the chandeliers, and she’s wearing a tweed miniskirt and a pumpkin orange cashmere sweater, with her hair pushed back in her trademark headband.
But she’s not alone. Oh no, that would be too easy.
Harry’s there too, hulking beside her like her guard dog.
In fact, joy of joys, their whole crew is here.
They haven’t noticed me yet, too busy discussing the vital importance of color coordination for table settings.
I consider backing out slowly, maybe claiming sudden illness, but then Thorne’s head turns like she’s got witch radar for my presence.
“Oh look,” she says, voice carrying across the ballroom. “Charity Case is here.”
And just like that, every head turns to stare at me, and I realize this is going to be even worse than I thought.
I let the charity case comment hang in the air like the fart it is, watching Thorne’s perfectly glossed lips twitch as she waits for me to react.
The thing about mean girls like Thorne is that they need you to play your part.
Get angry, get defensive, give them something to work with.
If you don’t, they just look dumb, with their desperate need to feel superior.
I choose not to play today, and sweet as honey I say, “Hi Thorne. You look nice today.” I try not to barf as the words leave my mouth. Never let it be said that Rose Smith is not good at acting.
Thorne’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes go cold. “Since you’re here, you can start with the cleaning. We need someone to wipe everything down before we hang things, and we thought someone with your background might be comfortable with that work.”
The implication being I’m basically blue collar. Not wrong really, but still a douchey move on their part.
Thorne continues, pulling out an actual clipboard because of course she has one, “I’ve already organized everyone into teams. As committee chair?—”
“Who made you chair?” I interrupt, genuinely curious about the thought process required for that level of self-appointment.
She looks at me like I’ve asked why water is wet. “I volunteered. Leadership comes naturally to some of us.” She flips her hair. “If you don’t want to clean, you can work with Harry on the ambience.”
This is my punishment. Not the committee itself, but being paired with Harry, who has the intellectual capacity of a decorative gourd and about as much personality.
Thorne’s already moved on, assigning her friends to the so-called more important tasks like the entrance design and refreshment table arrangement.
I help Harry with ‘ambience’ which apparently consists of plugging in fog machines, which seems pretty ridiculous considering this is a school full of witches who could probably just summon up some mist, but I still position the machines while Thorne holds court in the center of the room, directing her minions with the precision and authority of a military operation.
I catch her as she glances over at us, probably making sure I’m not contaminating her vision of the perfect Samhain celebration with my poverty cooties.
We work in relative silence, which is fine by me. Every few minutes, Thorne’s voice rises above the general chatter with some new command or criticism. Nothing’s good enough, everything needs to be “elevated,” and she keeps using the word “aesthetic”.
Thorne claps her hands. “Everyone, gather round. We need to discuss the entrance experience.”
The entrance experience . Shoot me now.
I reluctantly join the semicircle around Thorne while she launches into a presentation that involves hand gestures and multiple references to journey mapping (what?) and guest flow. I tune out about thirty seconds in.
“Rose.” Thorne’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Since you seem to always have opinions about everything, what do you think about the color palette?”
Everyone turns to stare at me. I haven’t heard a word of whatever she’s been saying.
“It’s very… orange,” I offer.
The witches roll their eyes, and Harry titters. Thorne’s smile could strip paint.
“Orange is traditional,” she says slowly, like she’s explaining to a toddler. “Unless you have a better suggestion?”
I should keep my mouth shut. Should just nod and smile and get through this. But something about her tone, about the way they’re all looking at me.
“I think,” I say, “that we’re decorating for a holiday that commemorates the thinning of the veil between life and death at a school where the students are supposed to be witches but they’re using fake fog when we have actual magic, and arguing about color palettes and journey mapping, whatever the fuck that means, like it matters when some of us are just trying to survive. ”
The silence that follows is spectacular.
Thorne recovers quickly, her composure snapping back into place like elastic. “Well. Someone’s clearly overwhelmed. Perhaps you should take a break. We wouldn’t want another of your incidents.”
The fountain. She’s talking about the fountain.
“You know what? You’re right.” I set down the extension cord I’m holding. “I’m overwhelmed. I’m taking that break.”
“You can’t just leave,” one of the Thorne’s friends protests. “Mrs. Bright said?—”
“Mrs. Bright said mandatory participation. She didn’t say how long.” I check my phone. “I’ve participated for two hours. That seems more than sufficient considering.”
I head for the door before anyone can argue. Behind me, Thorne’s voice rises, “This is exactly what happens when they let just anyone into this academy.”
I turn back, one hand on the doorframe. “You’re right about that too. They really should have higher standards. Harry, for instance, probably shouldn’t have made it past the entrance. What with Harry’s inability to grasp basic grammar and logic.”
Harry’s face goes red. “Harry is standing right here!”
I leave them to their fog machines and fairy lights, stepping out into the hallway where the air doesn’t smell like privilege and pumpkin spice.
Two hours of my life I’ll never get back. Two hours I could have spent searching for the hidden chamber, finding the original Accord, trying to save my own life instead of hanging fake cobwebs with people who’d step over my corpse to get to the refreshment table.
But I’m free now. And I’ve got a map to study.