Chapter 3
Three
Rose
Hours pass. At least, it feels like hours. Maybe time moves differently when you’re locked in a room in magical solitary confinement. Either way, I’m tired, and if I had a spoon, I’d dig my way out through the floor, Escape from Alcatraz-style.
Instead, I try to think about what’s happening beyond my office slash holding cell. Did Lucien and Soren find Ash somewhere? Maybe he’s dead. But something tells me I’d feel it through the mark. I’d know.
At some point, impossibly, I fall asleep sitting in one of the chairs, my head on the table.
I dream about vending machines and escape tunnels behind the chips and candy bars, and when I wake up, my neck is killing me.
I flex my fingers, hearing the faint pop of joints.
I’m stiff, sore, and I really, really need to pee.
And then finally the lock clicks.
Every nerve is an alert as I prepare to face Helena, ready to gloat. But it’s not her.
Three of her witches enter, and they look pissed off to be here. Maybe Helena’s making them work overtime. Or maybe they just really hate me. Either way, I’m not getting a warm welcome.
The one in front glares at me. “Get up.”
I push slowly to my feet. “Aw, were you missing me?”
She doesn’t answer, just grabs my arm and yanks me forward. The other two witches close in on either side, not quite touching but ready to drag me if I resist.
And yeah, I considered resisting. But with my magic on lockdown and the odds most assuredly not ever in my favor, I decide to save my energy for something that doesn’t end with me unconscious and drooling on the carpet.
We march out into the hallway, my personal goon squad keeping a death grip on my elbows.
All I can hear is the squeak of the soles of my boots on the polished floor, and we’re halfway down the corridor before anyone says anything.
It’s the witch on my right, a tall, mean-faced woman with a scar on her cheek that makes her look extra murdery, who finally breaks. She leans in, her tone gleeful. “Ash is in the dungeon. He won’t be helping you now.”
I almost laugh. There really is a dungeon. Wow, all the amenities. Serpentine Academy really is the place with everything.
We round a corner, headed for the main building.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. But I don’t need them to answer. I know. My stomach drops.
“The Great Hall,” the witch in front snaps. “Helena’s waiting.”
“For what?” I push, stalling for time. Not that I have a plan.
She doesn’t bother to answer. Instead, the witch with the scar leans in again, her breath hot at my ear. “You should worry more about yourself, Rose. Because your boyfriends aren’t coming to save you, either.”
I stumble a little. “What did you do to them?”
She laughs. “Helena tossed them in a cell. Locked up tight.”
My heart crumples.
Lucien and Soren. Trapped. Maybe hurt.
I clench my fists. “They’re not so easy to break. You should remember that.”
The witch shrugs. “They all think they’re special. Until they’re not.”
We keep moving, down the stairs, through the halls. Every step makes it more real. Ash, out of commission. Lucien and Soren, locked up and probably pissed. Me, about to star in a show I have absolutely no desire to be a part of.
I keep my head up because I refuse to give these witches the satisfaction. If I’m going down, I’ll do it loud and annoying.
The walk is endless. Every hallway is empty, not a witch or familiar to be seen. Or maybe Helena cleared it out so there wouldn’t be any witnesses if things got messy.
As we approach the Great Hall, I see that the huge, heavy doors are already open, light spilling out onto the stone floor from the candles lit inside. The three witches tighten their grip, like I’m about to bolt.
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.
The bowl is placed in the center of the circle. The knife catches the light of the candles, and I feel horribly, painfully aware of second that passes, knowing it’s one second less that I have to get out of this situation.
Helena starts to chant. The words are old and laced with magic that makes the hair on my arms stand up. As she speaks, the mark on my arm throbs in time with every word.
I try to tune her out, focusing on anything else. Ash, chained up in the dungeon. Lucien and Soren, locked away after fighting like hell. Drake, maybe out there somewhere, if he can find his way back.
But mostly, I focus on staying upright.
I think of my mother. Of how she never wanted this for me. How she must have realized that this would be my inevitable end. Maybe it’s always been my destiny. My fate.
The chanting gets louder, with the witches joining in. The mark burns hotter, just as it did the day it was freshly seared into my skin.
Helena’s voice rises above the rest. She locks eyes with me, triumphant. “The Accord is mine. The power is mine. The source is mine.” She points her bony finger at me.
The witches close in around the circle, hands linked, pressing in. The knife gleams, ready for whatever sadistic ritual Helena has planned.
I look down at the bowl, at my own reflection warped in the polished silver.
At the girl who never got to become what she was.
I feel a brief moment of sadness for that girl.
The supposedly powerful witch who never got to own her own power.
I think of Soren, Lucien, and Drake and wonder if they’ll be okay. I think of Hank.
Helena steps forward, knife in hand. “Are you ready, Rose Smith?”
The candles flare, the witches chant, and I brace myself for whatever comes next.
“Go fuck yourself, Helena.”