Page 10 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Eight

Rose

I slam my door shut and lean against it, trying to slow my breathing. Hank is perched on my shoulder. My hands are shaking, and I curl them into fists then cross my arms. I can’t get the sight of Ash's face out of my head, so close to mine, the look in his eyes.

"What the hell was that about?" I ask, pushing off from the door and pacing the small confines of my room. "He did all that just to show me that he could? Punishment for not doing what he said, sure, but why’d I get off so easy?"

“Ribbit?”

"I know, right? Makes no sense." I drop onto my bed, and Hank hops down to sit beside me, his little froggie body settling into the dip in the mattress. "One minute he's all 'I own you, blah blah blah,' and the next he's telling me to leave, like I’m the one cornering him. What game is he playing?"

I run my finger absently down Hank’s back.

I continue, finding it surprisingly easy to talk to this slimy little thing. "For a second there—just a split second—I thought he was going to kiss me." I shudder at the memory.

Hank makes a sound that could almost be interpreted as judgmental.

"I know! It's disgusting. He's literally the worst person I've ever met. He killed Abigail. He's keeping me prisoner. He can control me like I’m a toy." I flop back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Hank hops onto my stomach, but he’s so little that his weight is barely noticeable, and stares at me.

"Thanks for being there," I tell him, feeling only a little ridiculous for having a heart-to-heart with a frog. "I know we didn't exactly get off to a great start, but I'm glad you're here."

I might be talking to a frog, but it’s better than talking to myself. God, I wish Drake was here.

Drake. The thought of him sends a fresh wave of worry through me.

"I miss him, Hank," I whisper. "Drake. He's the only one who hasn't tried to control me or use me. And now he's gone, and I don't know if he's coming back."

Hank croaks and hops in a small circle on my stomach.

"Ash did something to him. Banished him or... or erased him." My throat tightens. "What if he's just gone? Forever?"

The thought makes me want to throw up. I've spent most of my life not letting people get close enough to matter when we inevitably left. There’s no point getting attached to people when you’re never going to see them again.

But somehow, Drake slipped past those defenses.

The ghost boy who can only be touched by me.

Who looks at me like I'm something valuable because of who I am to him, instead of what I am. I’m not something to be used, not to Drake.

Hank makes another croak, more insistent this time, and hops up to my chest, so we're almost face-to-frog-face.

"What?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows. "You trying to tell me something?"

He croaks again, and suddenly I remember what Soren said in class. About familiars being manifestations of our magical selves. About them choosing us for a reason. About how frogs live between two worlds, water and land.

Just like Drake exists between life and death.

I sit up so quickly that poor Hank tumbles off my chest, catching himself with a less than graceful hop onto the bed beside me.

“That's it.” The pieces clicking together in my mind. "Soren said familiars choose us for a reason. You chose me because you can help me find Drake!"

Hank blinks, which I’m sure is as good as confirmation.

"In class, Soren said I needed to let my magic reach out. That my familiar already existed, I just had to introduce myself formally." I look at Hank with new appreciation. "What if I can do the same thing with Drake? He exists somewhere, right? I just need to find him. To reach out with my magic."

I stand up, galvanized by this new hope. "Come on, Hank. We're going to the fourth floor."

Hank hops back onto my shoulder, and I check the hallway before slipping out, not wanting another run-in with Ash or any of his bloody coven minions. The coast is clear.

What if this doesn't work? What if Drake really is gone forever? Or worse, what if I find him, but he's changed somehow? What if Ash did something to him that can't be undone?

By the time I reach the dirty stairwell leading to the fourth floor, I’m sweating and my heart is pounding. I push open the door slowly, grimacing at the creak of the old hinges.

The fourth floor is exactly as I left it last night, depressingly empty. I make my way to the spot where I last saw Drake, where he vanished right before my eyes.

"Okay," I say, setting Hank down on a nearby retired desk. "Let me concentrate."

I close my eyes, trying to clear my mind the way Soren instructed. It's even harder now than it was in class. There's so much noise in my head, what with Ash's threats, Lucien's betrayal, Soren's—well, whatever you call that —and beneath it all, the constant fear that I'll never see Drake again.

“Come on, Rose. You can do this.” I glance over at Hank.

“Ribbit.”

I extend my hands like I did in class, feeling slightly stupid but desperate enough to try anything.

I think about Drake, his sad eyes, his half-smile.

I think about how it felt to be with him, and my cheeks flood with heat, but I continue.

I imagine my magic moving out from me, searching for him across whatever separates us.

Nothing happens.

"Damn it," I whisper, frustration building. I drop my hands and open my eyes. "This isn't working."

Hank croaks encouragingly from his perch.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," I tell him. "When I summoned you, it just happened. I didn't have to try so hard."

I close my eyes again, trying a different approach.

Instead of reaching out, I turn my mind inward, to the place inside me where my magic lives, where I can feel it when it connects with the earth, with the elements, with the universe.

The power that's been bound and claimed and fought over.

The power that's mine, regardless of the mark on my skin.

"Drake," I whisper, and my voice shakes. I picture him, not just the sharp cut of his jaw or his ink-black thick eyelashes, but the stubborn, sweet mess that he is. I want his half-smile, the way he looks at me. I want his hand holding my smaller one, the nervous breath the first time he kissed me.

I say his name again, softer, and let my magic flow, with no attempt to control or channel it. I just set it free.

The tingling starts in my fingertips, like pins and needles, then rushes up my arms in a cold wave. It’s almost painful, but I don’t fight it, though my vision swims. For a second, I think I’m going to pass out, but I wince and hang on.

Hank lets out a deep croak from where he’s still sitting, but I barely hear him. My ears are full of a distant rushing like ocean surf or blood pounding in my head. I don’t know if I’m doing this right or if I’m about to fry my brain, but I keep pushing, keep reaching.

I think about the last time I saw Drake, how distraught he looked before vanishing into thin air, and I use the pain to guide the magic. "Drake, if you can hear me, I need you. Please. Find me."

My teeth chatter, and I feel a weird double-vision, the musty fourth floor here and what I instinctively know is where Drake is trapped.

Then, impossibly, I feel a coolness against my skin, a familiar touch that makes my heart lurch.