Page 10 of Wicked Bonds
That’s when I see him, the ghost, standing further down the hallway, translucent arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. He’s watching the whole scene with anexpression somewhere between amusement and disgust. When he catches me looking, he shakes his head slowly, like he’s saying, “See what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
They’re both still standing there, waiting for something. For me to choose, maybe. To invite one in and shut the other out. The ghost has moved closer, visible over Lucien’s shoulder now, and the whole situation is so absurd I actually laugh.
“Goodbye,” I say pleasantly, and shut the door in all their faces.
I lean against it, listening to the muffled sounds of continued arguing in the hallway. I hold the apple up to the light. It’s gleaming and perfect and definitely just an apple, right?
My stomach growls, and I take a bite. It’s perfectly crisp, sweet with a hint of tartness.
If it’s poisoned, at least I’ll die on a full stomach.
Five
Rose
I’m not saying the Serpentine Academy’s main hall has seen a public execution or two for sure, but it definitely has public execution energy.
I stand dead center, ringed by other students. Most are witches, but there’s a sprinkling of ‘other’, judging by the fangs, the faint waterlogged smell of one pale girl, the guy in the back whose shadow does not agree to stay attached. They all watch me with the same hopeful malice of piranhas underneath a sinking boat.
At the front, Lucien, posture perfect, hair like a shampoo commercial for the damned. Next to him is Soren, and behind them, Headmistress Wickersly, who has the vibe of a high-end dominatrix and the resting bitch face to match.
The headmistress lifts her hand. The crowd hushes. “Miss Smith, please step forward.”
I’m already as forward as it gets, but I shuffle across the marble floor an inch anyway, my sneakers making decidedly un-magical squeaks. Every eye follows.
The student body is arrayed around the perimeter of the Great Hall, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and buzzing with barely suppressed glee. Most are in black. A few wear deep red, which apparently marks them as the in-crowd. There’s a definite lack of diversity in the hair and skin color, and the crowd gets blonder and blonder as I scan the line.
“Rose Smith,” says Wickersly, “you are bound by tradition, oath and by blood. Do you understand the nature of this obligation?”
I glance over her shoulder at the banner hanging behind the Coven, a crescent moon, silver on black.
“I was not aware I had a choice,” I say, because if you can’t sass your way out of a supernatural contract, why did you even get up today?
The crowd snickers, then hushes again when the headmistress’s eyes sweep the room like she can stop your heart by looking at you too hard. She’s a witch, so maybe she can.
Lucien’s face betrays nothing. Soren gives me a slow, two-thumbs-up that is equal parts supportive and sarcastic. His mouth curls at the corner, like he’s rooting for me to get vaporized but also wants to see if I can survive it.
Headmistress Wickersly stretches a hand toward me. She’s not making a show of it, but the pressure is there, like a tide rising, threatening to drown me if I don’t keep my head above water.
“Step up,” she says, and the crowd leans in, eager for blood or spectacle.
I plant my feet and look her right in the eye. Let’s get this over with.
She nods once and begins the ritual.
Wickersly raises both hands, palms up. The air tastes strange, like I’ve been licking batteries. Her voice is quiet, but it carries across the space.
“Rose Smith. Do you accept the honor and the responsibility of becoming a student of the Serpentine Academy?”
I swallow, suddenly aware that the hair on my arms is lifting, every cell in my body ready to sprint for the door. “Fine. I accept.”
The headmistress turns her right palm up to the ceiling. “The blood.”
Lucien steps forward, producing a ceremonial dagger that is black and etched with runes that glow red. He offers it to me hilt-first.
I hesitate, then quickly grab the handle, pricking my index finger on a hidden barb.Bastard.
A single drop wells up, dark and beading. A Coven member holds my hand over the shallow bowl another witch presents. The drop lands and blooms out in the swirling amethyst purple liquid.
