Page 13 of Wicked Chains
The silence that follows makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to grief.
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.
My neck screams in protest as I peel myself off the floor, and going by the bright morning sun I can see through the smudged, dirty windows, I've been here all night. I check my phone, it's 7:42 AM. Class starts in less than twenty minutes.
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 whathappens 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 chancehewill 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.”
