Page 21 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Nineteen

Rose

The campus is busy the next day with staff darting around carrying armfuls of exotic blooms, people wearing white gloves polishing every surface until it gleams, and a woman with a clipboard and the tightest bun I’ve ever seen, barking orders like a tiny general.

All in preparation for Family Day, where rich parents come to make sure their money is being well spent on their precious offspring.

Meanwhile, I'm trying not to think about the ghost who promised to stay, but vanished before morning. Again.

I watch as two men struggle to carry an ice sculpture of a serpent.

Because what this place needs is more snakes, like the people here aren’t snaky enough.

The sun catches it just right, and I have to admit it’s quite beautiful, even if it’s a little sinister.

All this for a bunch of parents who'll spend exactly two to four hours pretending to care about their kids' education when really they're just here to network with other powerful assholes.

"Careful with that!" Clipboard Lady shrieks as the ice serpent wobbles precariously. "That cost twelve thousand dollars!"

Twelve thousand dollars. For ice. That will melt.

I shake my head and pull my hood up over my head. At least classes are canceled for the day while everyone prepares for tomorrow's extravaganza. Small mercies.

Hank shifts in my pocket, his small frog body barely weighing me down. At least someone sticks around.

Unlike Drake.

I woke up alone again this morning, the space beside me cold and empty again. No explanation, just gone.

"You wouldn't leave me, would you, Hank?" I murmur, patting my pocket gently.

A soft croak answers me, and I smile despite myself. I'm talking to a frog regularly, but it beats talking to myself. But honestly, he's more reliable than most of the people in my life right now.

I need to get out of here, away from all this Family Day nonsense. The decorations and preparations are just reminding me of everything I don't have. No mom to fuss over my hair. No dad to pretend he's interested in my classes. No one at all.

"Let's go for a walk," I tell Hank. "Before I start feeling sorry for myself and do something stupid."

November in New England is making itself known with every biting gust of wind.

I pull my hoodie tighter around me, wishing I'd grabbed Lucien's coat before leaving my room. But I left it draped over my desk chair this morning, not wanting to wear something that reminded me of him and that kiss that's been playing on repeat in my head. And if Drake noticed, he didn’t mention or ask about it. Kinda glad he’s not the jealous type.

Students mill around campus in little groups, some helping with preparations, others taking advantage of the free day to lounge around. I walk toward the wooded area at the edge of the grounds. It's quieter there, fewer reminders of tomorrow's event.

I'm almost at the tree line when I hear it.

"Well, if it isn't Charity Case."

I stop, tensing up automatically at the sound of Thorne's voice, loaded with her particular brand of sugar-sweet poison. I turn slowly to face her and her perpetual shadow, Harry.

Thorne stands with her arms crossed, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, not a strand out of place. She's wearing a green cashmere sweater set and a pleated miniskirt, knee-high socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Harry looms behind her, bulky and smirking, in a matching green sweatsuit.

"Hello to you too, Thorne," I say, sounding bored. I don’t bother to acknowledge Harry.

"Harry thinks it's a little early for the trash to be taking itself out," Harry says, referring to himself in the third person as always, which never stops being weird and creepy.

"Heading out to practice trying not to look pathetic for tomorrow?" Thorne asks, her smile big and bright. "Or are you just trying to find somewhere to hide during Family Day? That must be so embarrassing for you, having no one come to visit."

I should walk away. I really should.

"At least I'm not desperately trying to impress a father who probably sees me as nothing more than an acquisition," I shoot back. “Did he arrange a corporate merger for you yet, oh sorry, I mean a marriage?”

Thorne's perfect smile falters for just a second before returning, sharper than before. "Daddy's flying in on his private jet just for me. What's your mother taking? Oh wait, she's dead, right?"

The words hit exactly the way Thorne wants them to, making my lungs seize. Hank stirs in my pocket, agitated.

"Harry heard she was a junkie," Harry adds, grinning. "That true, Charity Case? Mommy OD in some flophouse?"

"Shut. The fuck. Up," I warn.

"I bet that's why you're so desperate for attention from the professors," Thorne continues, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Daddy issues, mommy issues, damn girl, you've got the full set. It's actually impressive how completely unwanted you are."

"I said shut up." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

"Maybe she's hoping Professor Malric will adopt her," Thorne stage-whispers to Harry. "Or maybe she wants to call Lucien 'Daddy'. You saw them kissing out by the willow tree. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Harry saw everything," Harry confirms with a leer. "Harry thinks the charity case gets around."

Something inside me snaps. I call up my magic, feeling a rush surge through me from the ground, up through my legs and feet, and into my hands. The grass at Thorne's feet turns brown and tinder-dry, then bursts into flames. She shrieks, stumbling backward into Harry, who catches her with a grunt.

"What the fuck!" Thorne yells, kicking an ember on her shoe.

I stare at what I've done, a mix of satisfaction and horror washing through me. I didn't mean to do that. I didn't even know I could do that. Well, that’s not completely true. I actually did mean to do it, I just didn’t know it would work.

Harry helps Thorne put out the little sparks clinging to her socks.

"You crazy bitch," Thorne hisses, her pretty face twisted with rage. "You're going to pay for this. Wait until Headmistress Wickersly hears that you attacked me with magic outside of class."

My stomach drops. Helena Wickersly would love nothing more than an excuse to make my life even more miserable.

"You started it," I say, but my voice lacks conviction. We both know it doesn't matter. In this place, power and privilege always win. Also, setting someone on fire is probably considered worse than bitchy words, honestly.

Thorne smooths her hair, her composure returning now that she has the upper hand again. "I'm a Hawthorne. My father is one of the academy's biggest benefactors. You're nothing but a whore who?—"

"Is there a problem here?"

The cultured, clipped voice cuts through the air, sliding between me and Thorne. Lucien walks up beside us, appearing so suddenly that Harry actually jumps.

Thorne's expression shifts instantly, a sweet smile replacing her sneer. "Lucien! No problem at all. Just chatting with Rose here about Family Day preparations."

"Indeed." Lucien's crimson eyes flick from Thorne to Harry to me. "It sounded less like chatting and more like harassment, Miss Hawthorne."

"She attacked me," Thorne says venomously, pointing at the scorched earth around her feet. "Used magic against me for no reason."

"No reason?" Lucien repeats, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "I find that difficult to believe. Miss Smith may be many things, but she is rarely unprovoked."

Harry shifts uncomfortably. "Harry thinks we should go."

"You know what, Harry? I think that's an excellent idea.

" Lucien's voice remains perfectly pleasant, but there's a dangerous edge to it now.

"Before I feel compelled to inform Headmistress Wickersly about certain extracurricular activities taking place in the woods after curfew.

I believe there was quite the gathering last weekend.

Alcohol, substances of questionable legality, a lengthy and noisy little orgy… "

The color drains from Thorne's face. "You wouldn't."

"I assure you, Miss Hawthorne, I would. I imagine your father would be quite interested to hear about your rather salacious social life."

Harry's eyes widen. "Harry didn't know about that."

"Shut up, Harry," Thorne snaps.

"So," Lucien continues smoothly, "I suggest you both return and forget this little incident ever happened. Unless you'd prefer to escalate matters?"

Thorne's eyes narrow to slits. "Fine. But you should be careful, Lucien. People are noticing how much special attention you give to our little Rose here. It would be a shame if Helena found out about your inappropriate relationship with a student.”

"Is that a threat, Miss Hawthorne?" Lucien asks, his voice dropping several degrees.

"Just an observation." Thorne tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Come on, Harry. I need fresh air. It stinks here."

As they walk away, Thorne throws one last sneering glance over her shoulder. "Watch your back, Charity."

I stand there, arms crossed tightly over my chest. I’m relieved that Helena won't be informed about my magical outburst, but I’m annoyed that Lucien stepped in, and worried about Thorne's parting threat.

"I didn't need your help," I say once Thorne and Harry are out of earshot.

"Clearly," Lucien replies dryly, glancing at the charred grass. "You had the situation completely under control."

"I could have handled it." I kick at the ground, trying to scuff away the evidence.

"Perhaps. But now you don't have to deal with Helena Wickersly on top of everything else." He studies me. "You should be more careful with your magic, Rose. There is a reason the covens want it, but it’s unpredictable until you know how to control it properly."

"No shit," I mutter. "Look, thanks, I guess. But now Thorne is going to cause problems for you too."

Lucien shrugs. "I am not concerned about Helena Wickersly or the idle threats of a spoiled, immature witch."

"Well, you should be. Helena's been looking for any excuse to assert her authority over everyone. And now Thorne thinks we're..." I trail off, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

"Involved?" Lucien supplies. "And would that be so terrible?"

"That's not the point." I shake my head. "The point is, I don't need you fighting my battles for me. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it my whole life."

"Whether you want my help or not is irrelevant," Lucien says. "It will be there when you need it."

"Why?" I demand, suddenly frustrated. "Why do you care what happens to me? I thought you were just Victoria Wickersly's lapdog. Now you're Ash's. So what's your angle here? What do you want from me?"

Lucien is quiet for a moment, looking out over the campus grounds where the preparations continue. When he finally speaks, what he says surprises me.

"I honestly don't know."

It catches me off guard.

"Maybe you've bewitched me, Rose Smith," he continues with a wry smile. "Perhaps you've cast some spell that compels me."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Right. I can barely pull together a summoning. I highly doubt I've bewitched you."

"And yet." His eyes meet mine. "Here I am."

Hank chooses that moment to poke his head out of my pocket, croaking softly. Lucien glances down.

"Your amphibian companion seems to be enjoying our conversation."

"Hank's just being nosy," I say, gently nudging the frog back into my pocket. "He’s my little chaperone."

"Speaking of proper supervision," Lucien says, his tone shifting back to disapproval, "you're out here without a coat again. It's November in New England, Rose. The temperature is barely above freezing."

I roll my eyes. "Stop worrying about me. I'm a grown woman. I can decide for myself whether I need a coat or not."

"Oh, I'm very aware that you're a grown woman," Lucien says, and the way his gaze travels over me makes me feel hot all over, despite the cold air. "That doesn't change the fact that you're being deliberately careless with your health."

"You know," I say, finding my footing again, “you're weirdly fixated on how warm I am."

"You would be amazed at the things I've seen people die from over the centuries, including exposure to the cold," he replies. "Stubbornness ranks quite high on the list, as well."

Lucien checks his watch, an elegant timepiece that looks like it’s quite old, and quite valuable. "I have matters to attend to before tomorrow's festivities. Try to stay out of trouble for the remainder of the day, if that's possible for you."

"No promises," I say.

He shakes his head. "I would expect nothing less." His eyes meet mine one last time. "Don't forget about my coat, Rose. If you’re not going to wear it, perhaps you can return it to me, in my quarters. Later."

As he walks away, all perfect posture and sinewy grace, I can't help but stare. That sounded a lot like an invitation. Even as I tell myself I shouldn't be thinking about taking his coat back to his room, about what might happen if I did, I know the thought will bother me for the rest of the day.

Hank squeaks judgmentally from my pocket.

"I know," I tell him. "But in my defense, my life is a complete disaster right now, so I think I'm entitled to make questionable decisions."

Another croak.

"You're right. Let's go inside before I do something stupid like chase after a vampire working for my enemy."