Page 7 of Wicked Ends

The scarred witch leans in. “You’re alone, Smith. No one’s coming.”

I look her dead in the eyes. “I never needed anyone to handle assholes like you.”

She shoves me forward, hard. I catch myself, and glare over my shoulder. She just smirks, satisfied.

I hesitate for a split second, scanning the hall. More witches scattered around, all of them staring at me with that hungry, hateful look. Helena’s fan club.

Taking a deep breath, I walk forward on shaky legs.

Behind me, the witches follow, their hands still at my elbows. We cross the threshold. The doors close behind us with a loud boom that makes me flinch.

I take one last glance back, just in case the witch was lying, in case Lucien and Soren are about to bust in, all dramatic rescues and mayhem. But the doors stay shut.

It’s just me.

The hall is cold, and the candles don’t do much to warm it up. It smells like candlewax and mildew and the faint odor of magic being used for very, very bad things.

At the end of the hall, a circle of witches waits. I spot Helena, her mouth curled in a smile like she already won her prize.

There’s a particular kind of vibe you get in places where bad things are about to go down. The Great Hall of Serpentine Academy has that vibe, multiplied by a hundred.

Candles are literally everywhere, kind of what you’d expect to see in a Satanic panic news special report. The flames throw grotesque shapes on the walls and making every face in the room look a little more monstrous.

Some look excited, others just blank. A few glance at me with open pity, but it’s the kind of pity you reserve for roadkill that’s still twitching.

In the center of the room, there’s a circle drawn on the floor in something dark. Let’s just hope it’s paint, but with these people, who even knows? At the center of the circle stands Helena Wickersly, in her black robe.

My personal escort shoves me forward again.

“Bring her here.” Helena’s command rings through the cavernous room.

The witches obey, marching me right up. The closer I get, the more my survival instincts scream at me to run.

“You’re just in time,” Helena says. “The gathered are ready to witness history.”

“Wow, history,” I say. “Well, that changes everything.”

Not so much as a snicker.

Nobody here is rooting for me.

Helena gestures, and the witches holding me let go, stepping back to the edge of the circle. I’m alone in the middle, spotlighted by all those flickering candles.

I stand my ground, willing myself to be still, refusing to give Helena the satisfaction of seeing me shake.

Helena raises her hands, and the room goes even quieter. “Tonight, we restore order. Tonight, I claim the position of Regent of the Blood Moon Coven. I claim the Accord, and the power it brings.” She looks straight at me. “And I take it from the source.”

No one moves.

She steps closer, just outside the circle, her eyes locked on mine. “You were never meant to survive this, Rose. You were always meant to be a tool.”

“Funny, the only tool I see here is you, Helena.”

Helena’s smile drops. Without warning, she backhands me, almost knocking me to my knees, but I hold on and stay standing, barely. Once the shock is gone, I feel a sear of pain across my cheekbone.

She gestures, and a couple of her witches step forward, carrying a silver bowl and a wicked-looking dagger. It feels pretty familiar, and I remember my first day at Serpentine, when I stood in the room with another Wickersly sister who liked to play with sharp things.

Fucking witches.