Page 8 of Wicked Bonds
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You really shouldn’t have come, Rose.”
“How do you know my name?” I shimmy up to a sitting position. He doesn’t reply, just glides closer to the foot of my bed.
He stands there, watching me as I grip the blanket tighter. If I had to rate my chances in a supernatural staring contest, I’d put all my money on the ghost, but that doesn’t mean I’m folding.
I clear my throat, because why not double down on impulsive idiocy. “You gonna do something, or just stand there and glare at me until I die from second hand embarrassment for you?”
He actually laughs. “That depends. Are you the type who embarrasses easily?”
I decide not to answer. Instead, I focus on the details. He’s translucent at the edges, but his eyes are sharp, colorless, and angry. There’s a faded scar that runs from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone. His clothes look like the style is at least a century out of date, and he’s wearing a waistcoat and a tie. Very Peaky Blinders.
“You the second half of the creepy welcoming committee, or are you just here to haunt me?”
“Depends which you prefer.” He smiles, and it’s less menacing this time, more tired. “They sent you here to die, you know.”
“Wow. Subtle.”
“Everyone tries to run, eventually,” he says, voice flat. “They always catch you. Sometimes they let you live. Sometimes you end up like me.”
With that, he steps backwards towards the wall, then sinks through it, disappearing.
His words hang in the air, and I know I’m not getting back to sleep anytime soon.
Four
Rose
Sunlight has the audacity to stream beautifully golden through my window like this is some kind of Disney movie and not a magical prison I’ve been conscripted into. All it needs is a bluebird on the windowsill, singing its little heart out. The goat painting looks even worse in daylight. I tried taking it down, but it was super-glued to the wall. Fantastic.
My body protests every movement as I roll out of bed. Three hours of sleep after a ghost visitation isn’t exactly restorative. My succulent has officially given up, brown and crispy on the nightstand, so much for my mythical magical potential.
As I’m blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I notice a leather-bound book on the desk that definitely wasn’t there when I crashed. The cover is embossed with a crescent moon, and it’s titledThe Serpentine Academy Student Handbook - A Guide to Excellence in Magical Education.The book is heavy for a student handbook, and the cream-colored pages are thick. Noexpense spared here, it seems. The first page has a welcome message in handwritten script.
Welcome, Initiate. Your journey into the mastery of magic begins here. Within these pages, you will find the wisdom and warnings necessary for your survival, and your success, at Serpentine Academy.
Survival. That’s not ominous at all.
I flip through the sections, noticing thatCode of Conducttakes up forty pages. No unauthorized spell casting in dormitories. No summoning without supervision. No black magic before breakfast. That last one might be a joke, but with this place, who knows?
The dress code section makes me laugh out loud. “Students shall maintain an appearance befitting their station as representatives of magical excellence.” I look down at my gin-stained shirt from yesterday, that I slept in last night. Yeah, that ship has sailed, crashed into an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
Then there’s a whole chapter onProhibited Areastoo. The fourth floor is off limits. The crypts beneath the chapel require special permission. The headmistress’s private quarters will result in ‘severe consequences’ if breached.
I turn the pages, taking note of all the places I’m not supposed to go. There are a suspicious number of them. The restricted section of the library, the old greenhouse, something that doesn’t even have a description, just a skull symbol. Cute.
The section on holidays is interesting. As expected, they celebrate the usual sabbath like Samhain, Beltane, the solstices. During Yule the campus is closed, though the book mentions that exceptions will be made for students in need of accommodations during the break. So, students without anyone to go home to, like me.
Pages and pages detail the various departments. Elemental Magic, Necromancy, Divination, Alchemy, Shielding. Not sure what that last one is. Each has its own area, its own rules, its own warnings about what happens if you screw up.
Halfway through, I find the section on governance. The Crescent Moon Coven oversees everything, naturally. There’s an organizational chart that lists all the councils and committees, all leading up to the top position. Currently held by Victoria Wickersly, headmistress.
There’s a brief mention of a Helena Wickersly, thanking her for her loyal service to the Serpentine Academy and the Crescent Moon Coven. Victoria Wickersly, current headmistress, is mentioned as her sister.
At the back, there’s an index of common curses and their antidotes that’s way too detailed to be theoretical. The last page has emergency protocols for various disasters such as magical fires, psychic attacks, or the academy being breached by enemy factions.
I close the book and toss it back on the desk, then lean back, trying to process it all. My mother kept me from all of this. Protected me from this world. Part of me is grateful. Part of me is pissed. If she’d prepared me, maybe I wouldn’t feel so completely out of my depth.
