Page 7 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Five

Rose

I wake up with my face stuck to the dirty floor of the fourth floor hallway, a puddle of drool gluing my cheek to the wood. Great. Perfect. Apparently, I fell asleep waiting for my ghost situationship who may or may not be permanently erased from existence.

The walk back to my room is a blur through my gritty eyes, and they don’t get much better after I splash cold water on my face. I look exactly how I feel, like absolute garbage.

By all rights, I should skip class today.

Hell, I should be looking for any escape from this place, not worrying about my attendance record.

But that's the thing about being surrounded by supernatural psychopaths who can track you with blood magic.

Running isn't really an option. Besides, I've seen what happens when I don't comply with Ash’s requirements, and I’m certain that display at the assembly was a pretty mild showing of what he can actually do.

I throw on clean clothes, brush my hair, and head out the door. My stomach growls, but there's no time for breakfast. Not that I have much desire to fight my way to the donuts in the dining hall, anyway. If there’s a chance he will be there, I’m heading the other way.

The hallways are filled with students chatting and laughing like it's just another day. Like we didn't all witness a coup d'état. Like I wasn't forced to my knees in front of everyone.

"Did you study for the test?" a girl asks her friend as they pass me.

"Not enough," her friend replies with a groan. "I was up till two binging shows."

Maybe pretending everything is normal is the only way to survive. Or maybe they're just privileged magical trust fund babies who don't care who's in charge as long as their futures remain secure, just like Soren said.

I trudge into the classroom and stop in the doorway.

Speaking of the devil (well, close enough) there's Soren at the front of the room, lounging against Professor Winn's desk.

His shirt is only half-buttoned as usual, showing off the black symbols tattooed across his chest. His dark eyes find me immediately, and that familiar smirk curls his lips.

My stomach does a spectacular flip-flop routine. I remember our little chat from last night, his promise not to visit my dreams "until I ask."

As if I'd ever ask.

I slide into a seat at the back of the room, making sure I look away from his gaze.

A few other students trickle in, filling the seats around me.

I notice Thorne across the room, her blonde hair perfectly styled, impeccably dressed in a soft white cashmere sweater and houndstooth pencil skirt.

She catches me looking and gives me a sugary smile that does not get anywhere near her eyes.

Harry sits beside her, his bulky frame looking way too big for the small desk chair.

"Good morning, everyone," Soren says, pushing off from the desk. "For those who haven't had the pleasure, I'm Professor Malric. I'll be taking over this class since Professor Winn has, shall we say, moved on to new opportunities."

Moved on. That's one way to put it.

"Today we're continuing with the familiar summoning ritual that Professor Winn began preparing you for last week." Soren's eyes study the room, lingering on me for a bit too long. "I’ll assume you've all done the readings and exercises?"

A chorus of confirmations fill the room. I sink lower in my seat. I have no idea what he's talking about. Between time-traveling to watch my ancestor get murdered, and being claimed by a psychotic warlock, I must have missed that particular assignment.

"Excellent." Soren claps his hands together. "Then let's begin. Who would like to go first?"

Several hands shoot up, including Thorne's.

"Miss Hawthorne," Soren nods to her. "Please demonstrate."

Thorne stands, smoothing her skirt as she walks to the front of the class. She gives Soren a smile with an arched eyebrow that's a little too friendly before turning to face us all.

"The familiar is an extension of our magic," she explains, as if she's the professor now. "It chooses us as much as we choose it.”

She closes her eyes and begins to whisper an incantation. Nothing happens at first, then a shape materializes out of nowhere, growing more solid and distinguishable as it forms, until Thorne’s familiar is right in front of her.

A pure white raven.

It flutters around Thorne's head before settling on her shoulder, with a series of clicking noises. Several students clap in appreciation.

"A white raven," Soren says, nodding. "Purity and intelligence. Interesting."

Thorne smiles, stroking the bird's feathers. “I’ve always felt a connection to ravens.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.

The next few students go in succession. Harry summons a python that coils around his arm, which seems fitting for someone so slimy.

A quiet girl in the front row calls forth a sleek black cat with a cute pink nose, and round, yellow eyes.

A boy with glasses manifests a falcon that perches on his arm.

With each successful summoning, my dread grows. I have no idea how to do this. I haven't meditated, set intentions, or done whatever magical foreplay was supposed to prepare me for this moment. And now Soren's turning toward me, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.

"Rose," he says, and the way my name rolls off his tongue makes me feel things in all the inappropriately wrong places. "Would you like to try?"

No. No, I would not like to try.

"Sure," I say, standing up.

I walk to the front of the room, aware of every eye on me. Soren is close enough that I can feel his warmth. He steps back, giving me space, but I can feel his attention on me still.

"Just clear your mind," he says quietly. "Let your magic reach out. Your familiar already exists, you're just introducing yourself formally."

Right. Clear my mind.

Easy.

I just need to forget about murderous covens, controlling psychopaths, disappearing ghost boyfriends, and the fact that an incubus is watching me with eyes that have seen way too much of… me.

Even if it was just in my dreams.

I close my eyes and extend my hands like I saw the others do. I have no idea what incantation to use, so I just wing it, concentrate. I think about my magic, still so new and unfamiliar to me. I imagine it extending outward, searching for something that wants to be found.

And… I’m standing here like an idiot, hands out, waiting for a magical pet that isn't coming. I hear whispers starting, a few snickers.

But then I feel warmth. A tingling sensation in my fingertips that spreads up my arms. Something is happening.

A soft green glow emanates from my palms. Unlike the bright, steady light of the other students, mine blinks erratically, with no pattern or rhythm. The glow expands, contracts, then condenses into a small ball.

The ball begins to change shape. It's small and lumpy and?—

"Ribbit."

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Sitting in my palms is a frog. Not even a cool frog, like a red-eyed tree frog. It’s just a regular, old frog, spotted green and brown, with bulging eyes that glare up at me accusingly, as if this wasn't its idea either.

The classroom erupts.

"A frog!" Thorne cackles. "Oh, Charity! How fitting!"

"Harry thinks that's fucked," Harry adds, high-fiving Thorne. "Guess we know what Charity is on the inside now."

My cheeks burn. I want to drop the frog, to run from the room, to disappear. But the frog just sits there, blinking up at me with those stupid googly eyes, completely unaware of my humiliation.

"Interesting," Soren says, in a much different way than he said to Thorne. "Frogs are symbols of transformation, Rose. They live between worlds, water and land."

"Between worlds," Thorne mimics in a falsely sweet voice. "Just like our Rose! Not quite a witch, not quite anything."

More laughter. The frog in my hands gives an indignant croak, as if defending me. Thanks, buddy .

I try to set the frog down on Soren's desk, but the damn thing hops right back into my hands.

"Looks like you've made a friend," Soren says, his eyes have that silver flash that appears when he's feeling particularly demonic.

"I hate frogs," I mumble.

And I do. When I was eight, my mom and I were staying in this run-down murder motel in Florida.

I woke up to find a frog sitting on my face, just staring at me.

I screamed so loud the manager came to check if we were being murdered, likely a not unusual occurrence at that particular establishment.

My mom found it hilarious, but I've had an aversion to the slimy little creatures ever since.

"Hate is a strong word," Soren replies, reaching out to stroke one finger down the frog's bumpy back. "Familiars choose us for a reason, Rose."

"Can I put it back? Return to sender?"

"Once summoned, a familiar remains connected to you. You can dismiss it temporarily, but it will always return when called, or when it feels like you need it."

"Fantastic."

"Class dismissed," Soren announces. "Practice connecting with your familiars and I’ll see you all next week."

Everyone gathers their things, some still looking my way and snickering. The frog remains obstinately in my hands, occasionally blinking those bulging eyes at me.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask Soren when the others have filed out.

"Bond," he says, leaning against his desk again. "Learn what it has to teach you."

"It's a frog," I say, nonplussed.

"It's a manifestation of your magical self," he corrects. "If you're seeing just a frog, you're not looking closely enough."

I stare down at the amphibian. It stares back, then lets out a croak that sounds a lot like a judgement.

"This is ridiculous," I say. "I spent the night sleeping on a dirty floor looking for Drake, who is still missing, by the way, not that you care. The academy has been taken over. I'm magically bound to a psychopath. And now I have to carry around Kermit here?"

"The familiar isn't a burden, Rose. It's protection. And right now, you need all the protection you can get."

"A frog is going to protect me? From what? Flies?"

"You'd be surprised." His eyes do that silver flash thing again. "Besides, I think it suits you."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

“Just an observation." He reaches out, his fingers brushing mine as he touches the frog again. "Frogs transform. They adapt. They survive environments that would kill others." His eyes meet mine. "Sound like anyone you know?"

I pull my hands away, but the frog hops along with them, determined to stay with me. "I have to go."

"Rose." His voice stops me at the door. "About last night."

"Nope," I cut him off. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough. But I hope I was clear. When you want me, you need only ask."

The arrogance of that statement, the assumption that I will want him, makes me want to throw something heavy and sharp at his head.

Instead, I walk out, frog in hand, fuming all the way back to my room. Because the worst part isn't that he’s assuming I'll want him, eventually.

It's that a part of me already does.

And he knows it.