Page 29 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Twenty-Seven

Rose

I slam my dorm room door so hard it almost comes off its hinges.

The burning humiliation of kneeling in the snow before Ash, forced down by my own treacherous body, replays in my mind like a horror movie.

And of all the people to be there to see it—Thorne and Harry.

I want to throw up. I want to tear off the arm bearing the mark and burn it.

I want to scream until my throat bleeds.

"Drake?" My voice cracks as I call out to the empty room. "Drake, are you here?"

Silence answers me. I’m not upset, not anymore. I know he can't spend every second watching over me, and maybe that's for the best. I wouldn't want him to have seen what just happened, anyway.

I sink to the floor, back against the door as tears burn hot behind my eyelids, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying won't help anything. Crying won't break the contract or kill Ash, or get me out of this hellhole.

"Fuck!" I slam my fist into the floor, and the resulting pain gives me something to think about besides the memory of Ash's smug face, his voice commanding me to kneel, my body doing as he said, even as my mind tried everything it could to stop him.

Powerless. I felt powerless.

Pretty fucking ironic for someone who supposedly has power enough that all the covens fight over it.

The mark on my arm throbs, and I scratch at it, wondering if I could cut it out of my skin. Probably not. It would just reappear somewhere else, or kill me in the process. Either way, not a good outcome.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the tears to stay put. I'm tired of being a pawn. Tired of being passed from one coven to another like property.

"Hank," I whisper, focusing on the connection to my familiar. "I need you, buddy."

That familiar green glow appears on my dresser, turning quickly into Hank's small shape. He blinks his bulging eyes at me, then hops down to the floor, making his way over with purposeful little jumps.

"Hey there."

Hank climbs onto my knee, settling himself comfortably.

"Ribbit," Hank replies.

“You’re the only one who is always here for me, Hank.”

He croaks.

"I know," I say, as if I understood him perfectly.

"Drake's different. He comes back. Usually.

" I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "But I can't keep waiting for him to show up and save me, can I?

And I can't keep pretending that Soren or Lucien can protect me either.

Not from Ash. Not from the contract. Fucking Abigail. She sure screwed things up for me."

I let the anger build, stoking it like a fire. Anger is better than fear or despair. Anger can be useful.

"I've spent all this time reacting," I tell Hank.

"Running from one crisis to the next, letting them control the board.

That ends today." I lift Hank carefully and set him on the dresser before standing up.

"I can't beat Ash in a direct confrontation.

He made that painfully clear. So I need to be smarter. I need information."

Pacing the small room, I try to think. Who might know something useful? Who might have overheard something important? There are other people here, people who move through the academy unnoticed. People who might hear things they're not supposed to hear.

People like Ollie.

"What do you think, Hank? Worth a shot, right?"

Hank blinks at me.

"Alright then." I scoop Hank up and place him in my hoodie pocket. "Let's go find Ollie."

I open my door carefully, peering out to check if the coast is clear. The last thing I need is to run into Thorne or Harry or, God forbid, Ash himself. The hallway is empty, most students still outside taking selfies in the snow.

I slip out and make my way through the dormitory building, keeping my head down. I'm not sure where Ollie would be at this time of day, but I figure my best bet is to check the main building where most of the classrooms are located.

As I cross the quad, I can't help scanning for Ash, for Lucien, for anyone who might have witnessed my humiliation. But the snow falls steadily, covering the spot where I knelt. Nature, at least, is kind enough to erase the physical evidence, even if the memory remains burned into my brain.

The main building is quiet since it’s the weekend. I wander the halls, checking classrooms and storage closets, listening for the sound of cleaning. Finally, I spot him at the end of a corridor, mopping the floor with careful, methodical strokes.

"Ollie," I call softly, not wanting to startle him.

He jumps anyway, nearly dropping the mop. His eyes dart around nervously before settling on me. "Miss Smith," he whispers, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to appear and scold him for talking to me. "You shouldn't be here."

"I'm not going to get you in trouble," I promise, approaching slowly. "I just want to talk."

Ollie fidgets with the mop handle. "I'm working," he says, though there's no real conviction in it. "If they see me not working..."

"Five minutes," I plead. "Please, Ollie. I need help, and I don't know who else to ask."

His shoulders slump slightly. "Five minutes," he agrees reluctantly. "But not here. Too many eyes."

He leads me to a supply closet off the main hallway, checking to make sure no one sees us enter. The space is cramped but clean, shelves lined with cleaning products and stacks of paper towels.

"What is it?" Ollie asks. "Is it about what happened outside? With Mr. Ash?"

"You saw that?"

Ollie nods, his eyes sympathetic. "Everyone saw. I was cleaning the windows in the east corridor."

Great. Just great. Even the cleaning staff witnessed my public shaming.

"I need information, Ollie," I say, getting straight to the point. "About Helena Wickersly. About Ash. About the Blood Moon Coven. Anything you might have heard or seen that could help me."

Ollie's eyes widen with alarm. "I don't know anything," he says quickly. "I just clean. I don't listen to their conversations."

"But you must hear things," I press. "People don't notice staff.

They talk like you're not even there, right?

" I lean in closer. "Ollie, please. They're using me.

Draining my magic through this." I push up my sleeve to show him the blood mark.

"I need to find a way to break free. If there's anything you've heard, anything at all, any small thing. .."

Ollie stares at the mark. "I'm sorry, Miss Smith. I really am. But I don't know anything that would help you." He wrings his hands. "I just keep my head down and do my job. That's how I survive here."

I'd pinned too much hope on this long shot. "It's okay," I say, trying to hide my dejection. "I understand. It was worth a try."

I turn to leave, but Ollie's voice stops me.

"Wait." He hesitates, then continues in a rush. "There was one thing. Probably nothing important."

I spin back toward him. "What is it?"

"I was cleaning Headmistress Wickersly's office last week," he says. "She was on the phone, very angry."

"What did she say?" I prompt when he pauses.

Ollie frowns in concentration. "She was arguing with someone about her sister. She said that she knew her sister was plotting against her."

"Victoria? Yeah, that makes sense. Kind of an extreme sibling rivalry going on there, you know, with the coup and all."

Ollie shakes his head. "No, not Victoria. She called her..." He closes his eyes, straining to remember. "Jasmine. That was it. She said, 'Jasmine always was Father's favorite.'"

I blink in surprise. "Jasmine? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Ollie confirms.

"Helena has another sister?" I mutter, more to myself than to Ollie. "Why hasn't anyone mentioned her before?"

Ollie shrugs. "Like I said, probably nothing important."

But something tells me it might be very important indeed.

"Thank you, Ollie," I say sincerely. "This could be helpful."

His eyes dart nervously to the door. "My five minutes are up, Miss Smith. I need to get back."

"Of course." I step back, giving him space. "I appreciate you talking to me. Really."

"Be careful," he warns as he cracks open the closet door to check the hallway. "After what happened today."

Ollie slips out of the closet, returning to his mop without a backward glance. I count to thirty before following, heading in the opposite direction.

As I walk back toward my dorm, I’m lost in thought. Jasmine Wickersly. A third sister. Could she be an ally? The enemy of my enemy and all that. The Wickersly sisters must be ancient, given that Victoria had been headmistress for over a century.

Hank croaks in my pocket, reminding me of his presence.

"Yeah, I know," I tell him quietly. "It might be nothing."

I pick up my pace, eager to get back to my room where I can think in private. Maybe Drake will be there by now. Maybe he'll know something about this mysterious third Wickersly sister.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this new information yet. But at least now I have something. A potential crack in Helena's armor.

And sometimes, a name is all you need to start unraveling secrets.