Page 35 of Wicked Ends
“I’m not yours.” My voice lacks conviction.
“The mark says otherwise.” His hand comes up to brush a snowflake from my cheek.
I step back, needing distance. “Let’s get back to training.”
We resume, but something has shifted between us. Our magic responds differently now, mingling together when it meets, rather than repelling. When my shield collides with his energy, the resulting sparks form intricate patterns in the air, beautiful and ephemeral, like the northern lights shimmering in the space between our bodies.
“You’re getting better,” he observes after an hour of this. “But it’s not enough.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“It’s not about confidence.” Ash runs a hand through his hair, damp from the snow. “It’s about reality. Jasmine is unhinged and powerful. Even I’m careful around her.”
“So what do I do?”
“Keep training. Keep harnessing your power.” He pauses. “And trust no one completely.”
“Not even you?”
His smile is humorless. “Especially not me.”
Eighteen
Rose
If you ever want to know what the soundtrack to hell sounds like, guaranteed it’s Jasmine Wickersly’s voice, magically amplified to eardrum-shattering volume, bouncing off every stone and windowpane at Serpentine Academy first thing in the morning.
“Attention!” Jasmine’s voice screeches. “Assembly on the quad. Attendance is not optional.” Her laugh ricochets off the walls.
I’m halfway through brushing my teeth when it happens, and I almost choke on my toothpaste. I spit, rinse, and yank my hair into a messy bun, throw on clothes then grab my boots, and head for the door. The hallway is full of dazed students, some still in pajamas, all with the same ‘please let this be a bad dream’ expression. Nobody’s talking, the whole place is as silent as the grave.
Outside, the quad is covered in patchy snow from last night, and the cold air stings my cheeks. Jasmine’s already at the top of the stone steps, looking like a deranged Snow Queen, dressed head to toe in white and silver to match her hair. Ash stands offto her right, arms folded, expression unreadable. He’s watching everything. So is the mark on my arm, which stings every time his gaze swings my way.
Lucien and Soren find me in the crowd.
“Any idea what fresh hell this is?” Soren mutters, sticking close.
Lucien shakes his head.
Jasmine waits until the entire school is assembled. There are a couple stragglers, including one girl still wearing fuzzy pink bunny slippers, but Jasmine doesn’t care. She claps her hands, the sound cracking like a gunshot in the quiet morning air.
“Welcome, welcome!” she shouts. “Today’s trial will test your intelligence, your courage, and your ability to be the best. You will compete in an obstacle course of my own design. There will be traps. There will be danger. There will be consequences, because hey, that’s life!” She cackles.
A ripple of panic goes through the crowd. I see Harry in the back, looking like he might wet himself. Thorne, though, is front and center, chin up and positively glowing.
Jasmine gestures toward the quad. Over the night, some kind of course has been set up with pits full of what looks like black ooze, and ground covered in shards of glass. There are also ropes, swinging platforms, and at least one area where the grass is smoldering with burning embers despite the snow.
“Who will be the first?” Jasmine croons.
Thorne’s hand shoots up so fast I’m surprised her arm doesn’t dislocate. “I’ll go.”
Jasmine beams. “Brava, Miss Hawthorne. Show us all what you’re made of.”
Thorne steps forward, and for a split second I see that she’s nervous. But she masks it quickly and gives Jasmine a nod.
Jasmine waves her hand. A wave of magic rolls across the quad, and the obstacle course glows with sigils. The crowd leans forward, hungry for the spectacle but also desperate not to be next.
Thorne takes off at a run. She clears the first set of rope nets with ease, barely touching the ground, as if it were a normal gym class obstacle course. For a second, it looks like she might actually ace this. But the next obstacle is less innocent. The second trap is a barrage of flying glass shards, and she throws up a shield, but a couple still get through, slashing her arm. Blood spatters the white snow, but Thorne doesn’t slow down.
