Page 5 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Four

Rose

Sunlight has the audacity to stream beautifully golden through my window like this is some kind of Disney movie and not a magical prison I’ve been conscripted into.

All it needs is a bluebird on the windowsill, singing its little heart out.

The goat painting looks even worse in daylight.

I tried taking it down, but it was super-glued to the wall. Fantastic.

My body protests every movement as I roll out of bed. Three hours of sleep after a ghost visitation isn’t exactly restorative. My succulent has officially given up, brown and crispy on the nightstand, so much for my mythical magical potential.

As I’m blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I notice a leather-bound book on the desk that definitely wasn’t there when I crashed.

The cover is embossed with a crescent moon, and it’s titled The Serpentine Academy Student Handbook - A Guide to Excellence in Magical Education.

The book is heavy for a student handbook, and the cream-colored pages are thick.

No expense spared here, it seems. The first page has a welcome message in handwritten script.

Welcome, Initiate. Your journey into the mastery of magic begins here. Within these pages, you will find the wisdom and warnings necessary for your survival, and your success, at Serpentine Academy.

Survival. That’s not ominous at all.

I flip through the sections, noticing that Code of Conduct takes up forty pages. No unauthorized spell casting in dormitories. No summoning without supervision. No black magic before breakfast. That last one might be a joke, but with this place, who knows?

The dress code section makes me laugh out loud.

“Students shall maintain an appearance befitting their station as representatives of magical excellence.” I look down at my gin-stained shirt from yesterday, that I slept in last night.

Yeah, that ship has sailed, crashed into an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

Then there’s a whole chapter on Prohibited Areas too. The fourth floor is off limits. The crypts beneath the chapel require special permission. The headmistress’s private quarters will result in ‘severe consequences’ if breached.

I turn the pages, taking note of all the places I’m not supposed to go. There are a suspicious number of them. The restricted section of the library, the old greenhouse, something that doesn’t even have a description, just a skull symbol. Cute.

The section on holidays is interesting. As expected, they celebrate the usual sabbath like Samhain, Beltane, the solstices.

During Yule the campus is closed, though the book mentions that exceptions will be made for students in need of accommodations during the break.

So, students without anyone to go home to, like me.

Pages and pages detail the various departments. Elemental Magic, Necromancy, Divination, Alchemy, Shielding. Not sure what that last one is. Each has its own area, its own rules, its own warnings about what happens if you screw up.

Halfway through, I find the section on governance. The Crescent Moon Coven oversees everything, naturally. There’s an organizational chart that lists all the councils and committees, all leading up to the top position. Currently held by Victoria Wickersly, headmistress.

There’s a brief mention of a Helena Wickersly, thanking her for her loyal service to the Serpentine Academy and the Crescent Moon Coven. Victoria Wickersly, current headmistress, is mentioned as her sister.

At the back, there’s an index of common curses and their antidotes that’s way too detailed to be theoretical. The last page has emergency protocols for various disasters such as magical fires, psychic attacks, or the academy being breached by enemy factions.

I close the book and toss it back on the desk, then lean back, trying to process it all. My mother kept me from all of this. Protected me from this world. Part of me is grateful. Part of me is pissed. If she’d prepared me, maybe I wouldn’t feel so completely out of my depth.

The book lifts off the desk without me touching it, hovering three feet in the air like it’s possessed. I stare at it, frozen, while it slowly rotates like a lazy ceiling fan.

What the fuck?

It drops, hitting the desk with a thud that probably woke up half the floor. My hands are tingling, that same electric feeling from when I broke that asshole’s fingers at the bar. Except I wasn’t even angry this time.

I flex my fingers, watching tiny sparks dance between them like fireflies. This is new. This is very new. And it feels dangerous. Like there’s a live wire under my skin just waiting for an excuse to electrocute someone.

The sparks fade, but the tingling remains. Mom’s binding spell, whatever she did to keep me small and safe, is definitely unraveling. Part of me wants to see what’s underneath. The other part remembers the ghost’s warning about ending up dead or worse.

A knock at the door startles me. Three soft taps, almost polite. I check myself in the mirror—still wearing yesterday’s clothes, clearly winning at life—and open the door.

The man who tried to undress me with his eyes last night, Soren something or other, stands in my doorframe like he was born to make doorframes look good. He’s holding an apple, red and shiny as fresh blood.

“Breakfast,” he says, offering it to me. “Bet you haven’t eaten yet.”

His black eyes do that shifting thing, flashing silver for a moment. This close, I can feel something coming off him, radiating out towards me. Not magic exactly, but something that puts me on guard.

“An apple,” I say flatly. “Really?” Like he doesn’t look like temptation personified already.

“Sometimes the obvious choice is the right one.” He rolls the apple between his fingers, and I absolutely do not watch the way his hands move. “Besides, you need to eat. Can’t have you fainting during your initiation.”

“My what now?”

“Initiation. Tonight. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

I eye the apple. It looks normal enough, but this man is offering me fruit while looking at me like I’m a five-course meal. “What’s in it?”

“Vitamins. Fiber. A crisp, refreshing taste.” He steps closer, just enough that I have lean back. “Not everything is a trap, Rose.”

“In my experience, that’s exactly what people say right before everything becomes a trap.”

He laughs. “Fair point. But if I wanted to trap you, I wouldn’t need fruit.”

His presence fills my doorway, makes the small space feel smaller. I wonder if he can sense the way my heart rate has just kicked up, if he knows exactly what effect he’s having.

“Rose.”

Lucien’s voice cuts through whatever was building between Soren and me. He stands in the hallway, immaculate again in his tailored coat, looking at Soren like he’s something scraped off his expensive shoe.

“Lucien.” Soren doesn’t move from my doorway. “Perfect timing, as always.”

“I wasn’t aware you had business with Miss Smith this morning.” Lucien’s tone could freeze hell.

“Just being neighborly.” Soren tosses the apple up, catches it. “Someone should make sure she’s properly welcomed.”

“That would be my responsibility.”

“Would it?” Soren’s voice drips false innocence.

The temperature in the hallway drops about ten degrees. Lucien moves closer, and suddenly I’ve got two supernatural men having a pissing contest in my doorway. The testosterone is thick enough to choke on.

“The headmistress asked me to inform Miss Smith about tonight’s ceremony,” Lucien says, his red eyes never leaving Soren’s face. “You’re interfering.”

“Interfering implies she doesn’t want me here.” Soren glances at me, eyebrow raised. “Do you want me here, Rose?”

They both look at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to pick a side in whatever this is. The smart thing would be to close the door on both of them. The petty thing would be to take Soren’s apple just to see Lucien’s jaw clench harder.

“What I want,” I say slowly, “is coffee and about twelve more hours of sleep. What I’m getting is two guys measuring dicks in my doorway before noon.”

That’s when I see him, the ghost, standing further down the hallway, translucent arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall.

He’s watching the whole scene with an expression somewhere between amusement and disgust. When he catches me looking, he shakes his head slowly, like he’s saying, “See what you’ve gotten yourself into? ”

They’re both still standing there, waiting for something. For me to choose, maybe. To invite one in and shut the other out. The ghost has moved closer, visible over Lucien’s shoulder now, and the whole situation is so absurd I actually laugh.

“Goodbye,” I say pleasantly, and shut the door in all their faces.

I lean against it, listening to the muffled sounds of continued arguing in the hallway. I hold the apple up to the light. It’s gleaming and perfect and definitely just an apple, right?

My stomach growls, and I take a bite. It’s perfectly crisp, sweet with a hint of tartness.

If it’s poisoned, at least I’ll die on a full stomach.