Page 8 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)
Six
Rose
My stomach growls so loudly I'm pretty sure they can hear it in the next classroom over.
Right on cue, the frog in my hands makes a sympathetic croak.
I check the time on my phone and sigh, because I've officially hit that level of hunger where eating becomes non-negotiable, which means I have to brave the dining hall and all the stares that will come with my new green companion.
"You know what?" I tell the frog as we head toward the dining hall. "You're coming with me because I don't know how to dismiss you. But maybe try to be less... uh, froggy? If that's possible."
The frog blinks its bulging eyes at me.
I could skip lunch, but my stomach protests immediately at the thought.
The dining hall is packed when I arrive, and it’s not my imagination that the noise level drops noticeably as I enter, then rises again with whispers and snickers. I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders.
"Just ignore them," I mutter to the frog, who seems entirely unconcerned with the social dynamics of bitchy baby witches.
I scan the room quickly, and my eyes catch on a familiar figure seated at the staff table.
Lucien, looking impeccable as always in his typical black suit, not a single dark hair out of place.
He's surrounded by other faculty members, but he's not engaging with them.
Instead, his crimson eyes are fixed directly on me. Or, more accurately, my new companion.
When he notices me looking back, the corner of his mouth twitches upward. I narrow my eyes at him, and turn away, making my way to the food line.
The girl in front of me glances back, does a double-take at the frog, and quickly moves forward, creating more distance between us.
The lunch today is a choice between short rib penne or seared tuna and broccolini.
I go for the pasta, it looks too good to resist, and right now I could use some carbs.
My stomach growls again, and the server gives me a sympathetic smile as she spoons a generous portion onto my plate, then freezes when she spots the frog.
"It's my familiar," I explain, like that makes it any better.
"Of course," she says politely, though her smile has gone stiff. "Would your... familiar... like anything?"
The frog croaks.
"I think he's good," I say, grabbing a bottle of water with my free hand.
Now comes the fun part: finding somewhere to sit. The dining hall is arranged with long tables, most of them already full of chattering students. I spot one with a few empty seats and head that way, pretending not to notice the stares following me.
I set my tray down and slide onto the bench. The conversation at the table stops immediately. Four students—two guys, two girls—all stare at me, then at the frog sitting beside my plate.
"Is that thing going to be here the whole time?" one of the girls asks, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
"That 'thing' is my familiar, so watch it," I say, though I'm not sure why I'm defending the frog. It's not like I was thrilled about it either.
"It's going to contaminate the food," the other girl says. "Frogs carry salmonella, you know."
"That's reptiles," I correct her. I watched a lot of Discovery channel. "And I don't think magical familiars carry diseases, you know?"
"It's still disgusting," one of the guys says, pushing his plate away. "I've lost my appetite."
One by one, they gather their things and stand up. The last girl gives me a look that could spoil milk before flouncing away to join another table.
"Well," I say to the frog, "more room for us."
The frog blinks at me, then hops closer to my plate. I pull it back.
"Oh no you don't. This is my lunch. I don't even know what frogs eat."
I dig into my pasta, which is amazing, not that I’d expect anything less here at Serpentine Academy, not with the collective net worth of the student body. After a few bites though, I realize I'm still talking to the frog.
"Sorry about them," I tell it, lowering my voice. "They're just stuck-up snobs who think they're better than everyone. Don't take it personally. I don't."
The frog tilts its head slightly, almost like it's listening.
"I'm used to it," I continue between bites. "My mom and I moved around so much, never stayed in one place long enough to make friends." I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. "And now I'm trauma-dumping on a frog."
"Ribbit," says the frog, which is neither helpful nor comforting.
I glance over at the staff table. Lucien is still watching me, his expression unreadable now. When our eyes meet, he raises one dark eyebrow. I look away quickly.
"You know what the worst part is?" I say to the frog. "I'm talking to you because you're literally the only one in this place who hasn't either betrayed me or disappeared."
The frog hops onto my wrist, its skin cool and damp against mine. I expect to be grossed out, but it's not as slimy as I thought it would be. More like... moist. Which isn't much better, but I'll take what I can get.
"I should probably name you," I say, studying it. "Can't keep calling you 'the frog.'"
The frog stares back at me with those bulging eyes. It's not exactly cute, with its lumpy, spotted skin and wide mouth, but there's something oddly endearing about it.
"How about Hank?" I suggest.
The name comes to me suddenly, a memory from years ago.
Hank was the night manager at that run-down motel in Florida, the one where the frog had given me my amphibian phobia.
But Hank himself had been kind to me. He was an old guy with leathery skin from too many years in the sun, and he'd slip me free sodas from the vending machine whenever he spotted me wandering around the parking lot, pestering the tourists.
The frog—nay, Hank—croaks, which I decide to take as approval.
"Hank it is, then." I offer him a tiny piece of meat from my plate. "Nice to meet you, officially."
Hank sniffs at the offering, then gulps it down.
"Whoa, slow down there, buddy. I don't want you choking on my watch. That would be just my luck, wouldn't it? 'Charity Case Kills Familiar On First Day.' I can see the group chat now."
For the first time since I summoned him, I feel a strange sort of connection to this weird little creature. We're both out of place here. Both adapting as best we can.
"We're going to be okay, Hank," I say, not entirely believing it myself.
Hank croaks again, then hops onto my shoulder, perching there like he belongs. His weight is surprisingly comforting.
"Just don't pee on me," I warn him. "We're not that close yet."
I finish my lunch quickly, aware that I'm still the center of attention for many in the dining hall. I don't care. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I’ve got bigger problems these days.
I'm just about to leave when the atmosphere in the room shifts. It's subtle, a ripple that moves through the dining hall. My skin tingles with warning before I even look up.
Ash stands in the doorway, tall and striking. His green eyes scan the room, and I know exactly who he's looking for.
Me.
My heart rate doubles instantly. Hank must sense my panic because he smooshes himself against my neck, as if trying to hide.
"Time to go," I whisper to him, gathering my things as quickly and casually as I can.
I stand, keeping my head down, and walk toward the side exit. If I can just make it out before he spots me?—
"Rose."
His voice carries across the room, silencing every conversation nearby. I stop short, my back to him, then I make what is probably a terrible decision to keep walking, pretending I didn't hear him. The door is just a few steps away.
"Ms. Smith." His voice is closer now, the formal address at odds with the intimate way he says my name. "A moment of your time, please."
It's not a request.
I tighten my grip on my tray and speed up, pushing through the side door with my shoulder, out into the hallway beyond. I dump my tray at the return station and keep moving, fast but not running.
"Come on, Hank. We're getting out of here."
Hank hunkers down, my partner in crime fleeing from the big bad. For the first time since he appeared, I'm genuinely glad for his company.
"Don't worry," I tell him as we turn the corner, heading for the stairs. "I won't let him hurt you."
Maybe having a frog for a familiar isn't so bad after all.