Chapter 13
Thirteen
Rose
The next morning, the quad is packed. Someone has cleared the snow, leaving a muddy, scarred battlefield in front of the main building. On the second floor balcony, Jasmine Wickersly presides like Catherine the Great, surveying the crowd below her.
Helena did mandatory assemblies. Apparently, our new headmistress prefers mandatory bloodsport.
Soren and Lucien are on either side of me, and Lucien looks like he’s two seconds from bodily throwing me over his shoulder and running for the hills. Soren is quieter than usual, which is disconcerting. I’m used to being annoyed by his banter, this silence makes me nervous.
On the quad, the first of Jasmine’s so-called trials is already underway.
Dueling, no spells off-limits. The first two idiots to volunteer are rich boys from the Crescent Moon legacy line, both of whom have more brawn than brains, and their magic is all for show, sparks and posturing and macho bravado.
The first blast knocks one of them flat on his ass, the other laughs, and then the real violence starts.
“Is this allowed?” I mutter.
Soren grimaces. “No rules. As per Headmistress Wickersly.”
On the balcony, Jasmine lounges against the balustrade, bored at first, but as the blood starts to flow she perks up. She’s got a drink in hand, it’s even got a little pink umbrella in it. Every so often, she says something to the snake wrapped around her neck.
I watch the fight, wincing every time a particularly brutal blow lands.
The two boys are going at it hard, one of them bleeding from a gash on his cheek, and the crowd eats it up.
I spot Thorne near the front, her blonde hair tightly braided, arms folded, eyes like icebergs.
She’s loving every second of this. Harry stands beside her, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly not enjoying this half as much as Thorne.
The duel ends when one of the boys, let’s call him Chad, because I can’t for the life of me remember his actual name, lands a direct hit to the other’s face.
There’s a sickening crunch, and blood spatters the snow.
Chad raises his arms in victory, but he’s shaking, and his lip is split wide open.
The loser doesn’t get up. Two faculty members drag him away, leaving a trail of red in the mud and snow.
There’s a hush as Jasmine raises her hand for silence.
“Is that all?” she calls, voice amplified by nothing but pure, uncut crazy. “I was told this school was special. I was expecting a show.” She leans forward, the snake flicking its tongue at the crowd. “Next!”
The crowd stirs, nervous. No one wants to be next, but no one wants to look like a coward, either.
Thorne is the first to step forward. “I’ll go,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Jasmine claps, delighted. “Ah! Super!” She surveys the crowd. “Who will face her?”
For a moment, no one moves. I see the calculation on every face, wondering if they should dare. Thorne is good. Really good. No one wants to be on the receiving end of her power.
Jasmine raises a hand and points her finger at a second girl, a wispy thing with dark hair and a mouth set in a hard line. The girl unwillingly steps forward.
Thorne and the other girl square off, boots sinking into the muddy earth. There’s no warning or hesitation, just an explosion of magic. Thorne goes on the offensive immediately, her spells sharp and brutal. The other girl holds her ground, deflecting and parrying, but it’s clear who’s winning.
Jasmine is riveted. She leans forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms above the balustrade, eyes never leaving Thorne.
Lucien watches too, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Soren leans in, whispering in my ear. “You think she’s compensating for something?”
“Like what?”
“Tiny, tiny heart.”
Thorne’s duel is a massacre. She toys with her opponent, then lands a hit that sends the girl skidding across the quad. The crowd gasps. The girl tries to get up, but Thorne is already on her, pinning her to the ground with a binding spell that looks like it’s hurting.
“Finish it!” Jasmine calls, and Thorne obliges.
The spell she uses leaves the girl writhing on the ground, clutching her head and screaming. Blood leaks from her ears, staining the snow red. Faculty rush in to pull her away, but Thorne stands there, soaking in the applause.
Jasmine is ecstatic. She throws her head back and laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. The snake uncoils itself and slithers down her arm.
Thorne walks off the field, face flushed, hair still perfect. She locks eyes with me as she passes, and there’s nothing there, nothing at all to suggest she feels anything but good about what she just did. No empathy, no regret. Just triumph.
Jasmine calls the next pair, but the mood has shifted. The next duel is lackluster, two terrified boys who barely know how to throw a hex. Jasmine loses interest quickly.
After a few more matches, Jasmine stands. “That’s enough for today. I’m not impressed. Maybe tomorrow you’ll do better.” She sweeps her gaze over the crowd, and for a split second, her eyes land on me, and she smiles.
“Dismissed.”
The crowd scatters, less enthusiastic than they were earlier, and most of the students are just pale and silent. Thorne’s opponent is carried away, but Thorne is immediately surrounded by her little clique, all of them fawning and fake-concerned.
Lucien touches my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just you know. Mildly traumatized.”
“In the academy handbook, they call that character building.” Soren smirks, but his eyes are serious. Too serious for him.
As the quad empties, Jasmine watches from her perch, sipping her drink, and tossing popcorn up in the air to catch in her mouth. She looks happy, or whatever passes for happy in the Wickersly family.
I realize, with a sickening feeling in my stomach, that Thorne has found her idol. And that Jasmine has found herself a monster to mold in her image.
This is starting to feel less like an academy and more like a Roman Colosseum.
After the quad clears, Lucien and Soren linger near the steps, checking on the students who caught the worst of the magical crossfire.
Soren is uncharacteristically sweet, helping a girl to her feet and dusting her off, while Lucien takes charge of the triage effort, barking orders at the faculty like he’s born to command.
I realize now that I didn’t see Ash at all, which is weird.
I try to slip away, heading for the dorms, but the universe is not done with me yet.
Ollie is waiting at the side entrance. Not the Ollie I remember, the quiet man who looked uncomfortable in his own skin. This Ollie shows none of that. His eyes are flat and reptilian, and it looks like the human act is a mask he’s about to shed.
“Rose,” he says. “Headmistress Wickersly wants to see you.”
Every cell in my body says “nope,” but I just nod.
He doesn’t even try to make small talk. We walk in silence, his steps silent on the marble floor. I try to keep my eyes forward, but every reflective surface shows me the same thing: Ollie, but not Ollie. I see him now, who he has always been.
It took me a while to realize that Ollie wasn’t who he was pretending to be, but when I saw him smiling at Jasmine at the assembly, I knew.
He had been lying to me the whole time. Helping her.
And now he doesn’t even have the good grace to apologize or acknowledge his deceit, or the part he led me to play in the events that occurred.
The hallway to Jasmine’s office is dark, with only a few candles burning in the sconces. I can hear singing from inside.
Ollie knocks once, then opens the door without waiting for an answer.
Inside, Jasmine sits behind the desk, feet up. She’s dressed in a velvet jacket over a dress that looks stained God knows what.
She greets me with a smile, like we’re old friends. “Rose! Darling. Come in.”
Ollie closes the door behind me and stands at attention by the wall, eyes ahead.
Jasmine gestures to the chair in front of her. “Sit, please. I want to look at you.”
I sit, my heart in my throat, my stomach in knots.
She stands suddenly, coming around the desk. I tense, but she just walks in circles around me, once, twice, then stops behind my chair. She leans down, her hot breath on the back of my neck, and I freeze.
“You know what I like about you, Rose?”
I don’t answer. I really don’t want to know what Jasmine Wickersly could possibly like about me.
“You remind me of myself.”
Well, that’s probably the last thing I want to hear.
“When I was young. Before the world tried to break me.” She runs a hand through my hair, gentle, almost motherly. “You’re ripe. Not ready, but close.”
Her tongue licks the rim of my ear, and I jump a little. My stomach goes from slightly nauseous to wanting to throw up right here.
Jasmine laughs again. She moves to stand in front of me, arms crossed. “I want to see what you become. I want to see if you devour the world, or if it devours you.” She touches my hair, a light brush of her fingers. “Either way, it will be beautiful.”
I swallow hard. “Is that all?”
She straightens, lips pursed. “Leave, then.”
She turns to Ollie. “See her out.”
Ollie nods, and for a split second, his face changes, and I see the serpent under the skin. The snake he really is. My breath gets stuck in my throat, and I get out of my chair fast, wanting to put as much distance between myself and both of them as possible.
Jasmine catches my arm as I pass. Her grip is stronger than it should be for such spindly fingers. “Grow stronger, Rose.” She lets go.
Ollie escorts me back to the hallway, silent as before. When we reach the end, he pauses, turning to look at me. For a split second, I see the old Ollie, the Ollie I felt sorry for, the Ollie I sneaked dinner to when he hadn’t had a chance to eat.
But he smiles, and it’s so, so wrong, and his eyes move sideways. “Mistress always gets what she wants.” And then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall.
I walk back to my room quickly.