Chapter 8
Eight
Ash
The summons comes less than an hour after the assembly. I get a message, handwritten, folded and delivered by a slight, reptilian-looking man I think I’ve seen working in the kitchens. But I can’t take the time to place him right now.
When I get to the headmistress’s office, I see immediately that inside, the office is different.
Victoria had everything in its place, dustless, cold, not a single book out of line.
Corporate. Helena tried to make it her own with velvet and crystal and that suffocating perfume, but there were still traces of the old regime in the corners.
Jasmine, though, she’s torn it all down.
Half the books are off the shelves, stacked in careless towers, several topped by lit candles, the wax dripping down the spines of the books and ruining the edges of the pages.
The whole place could go up in flames at any moment.
Jasmine’s in the headmistress’s chair with her patent black, high-heeled boots up on the desk, crossed at the ankle. She’s slouched back, arms folded, looking for all the world like she’s about to deal me in to a game of poker, not dictate the future of Serpentine Academy.
She looks at me with open amusement. “Happy the old witch is gone?”
“She was your sister,” I say.
Jasmine shrugs. “Everyone has a sister. Most people just don’t get the opportunity.”
I don’t bother arguing. Jasmine’s not the type to respect defiance, and I’m not in the mood to bleed tonight.
She lets the silence hang for a beat, then drops her boots to the floor with a deliberate thud. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m Headmistress. Empress, if I feel like it. You answer to me, not the old guard, not the Accord, not even the precious Blood Moon coven. Just me.”
I nod once. Jasmine watches the nod, eyes narrowed.
“The Smith girl, the magic you’re hoarding up, saving for yourself? I want you to loosen the reins.”
I arch a brow. “You want Rose to have more power?”
“Not just more. All of it.” Jasmine leans forward, elbows on the desk, gaze locked on mine. “Let her feel what she actually is. Stop choking it back. I want to see what happens. Don’t you?”
I do, in a way. I want to see what Rose could be, stripped of all restraint, all fear. But I also know what that looks like. “There are consequences,” I say. “If she figures out what she can do, or if she can’t control it.”
Jasmine waves that away like she’s brushing off a fly. “Don’t be so serious, Ash.” She tilts her head, studying her fingernails. “I thought you would have more vision. Like me.” Her eyes snap to mine.
There’s a glimmer of something beneath the mania, a plan, maybe. Or just hunger for power. “Why?” I ask.
“Why not?”
“If you want her broken, there are easier ways.”
“Broken?” Jasmine’s laugh is loud. “No, no, no. I want her whole. I want to see if the Smith line is what they say it is. The Accord was built by liars and traitors and the desperate. I should know! They lied to me. They lied about me.” She glares at me. “You know they lied about me, don’t you?”
It’s in my best interest to nod, and she seems satisfied.
“I want to hold it up to the light and see the truth. I want proof. You, Ash, are going to give me that proof.”
She stands up, suddenly restless.
“Do you know what it’s like to be lost in the woods?
” Jasmine asks, out of nowhere. She paces behind the desk, then circles back, eyes gone distant with memory.
“I was a child. My family left me there. Said it was a test. The dark was full of things that wanted to eat me, and for a long time, I wanted them to. But I was clever. I found a creature. We were friends, and I broke its neck.” She mimes the motion, a grotesque mimicking of what she did to Helena.
“I used the blood. I said the right words. And the woods opened up, and I walked right out.” Jasmine grins, eyes fixed on something I can’t see.
“That’s the secret, Ash. If you want to survive, you have to do the thing that no one else will do.
You have to be willing to let them lie about you. ”
She sits again. “That’s what I want for Rose. I want her to find her own way out. Like I did.” Jasmine leans back, boots up, and this time she’s grinning wide.
I have no idea what to say to all of that. For once, I’m at a loss. Jasmine doesn’t care. She’s already bored with me, her focus drifting to the door.
When I turn to see what she’s looking at, I see a snake as thick as my arm, scales the color of corroded copper, tongue flicking in and out as it glides across the floor.
It coils up the desk leg, then settles around Jasmine’s neck like a living scarf.
She doesn’t flinch, just begins stroking the snake’s head.
It blinks at her as she boops its snout with her index finger.
I clear my throat, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else besides here.
Jasmine ignores me now, murmuring to the snake, her mind already God knows where.
As I leave, I take one last look back.
Jasmine is reclined in the chair, feet up, one hand stroking the snake, the other waving back and forth like she’s conducting an orchestra. She’s humming, and her eyes are manic and bright.
Whatever the world thought of Victoria or Helena, whatever terrors they inspired, Jasmine is something else entirely.
Something much worse.