Page 14 of Wicked Chains
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.
The next few students go in succession. Harry summons a python that coils around his arm, which seems fitting for someone so slimy. A quiet girl in the front row calls forth a sleek black cat with a cute pink nose, and round, yellow eyes. A boy with glasses manifests a falcon that perches on his arm.
With each successful summoning, my dread grows. I have no idea how to do this. I haven't meditated, set intentions, or done whatever magical foreplay was supposed to prepare me for this moment. And now Soren's turning toward me, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.
"Rose," he says, and the way my name rolls off his tongue makes me feel things in all the inappropriately wrong places. "Would you like to try?"
No. No, I would not like to try.
"Sure," I say, standing up.
I walk to the front of the room, aware of every eye on me. Soren is close enough that I can feel his warmth. He steps back, giving me space, but I can feel his attention on me still.
"Just clear your mind," he says quietly. "Let your magic reach out. Your familiar already exists, you're just introducing yourself formally."
Right. Clear my mind.
Easy.
I just need to forget about murderous covens, controlling psychopaths, disappearing ghost boyfriends, and the fact that an incubus is watching me with eyes that have seen way too much of… me.
Even if it was just in my dreams.
I close my eyes and extend my hands like I saw the others do. I have no idea what incantation to use, so I just wing it, concentrate. I think about my magic, still so new and unfamiliar to me. I imagine it extending outward, searching for something that wants to be found.
And… I’m standing here like an idiot, hands out, waiting for a magical pet that isn't coming. I hear whispers starting, a few snickers.
But then I feel warmth. A tingling sensation in my fingertips that spreads up my arms. Something is happening.
A soft green glow emanates from my palms. Unlike the bright, steady light of the other students, mine blinks erratically, with no pattern or rhythm. The glow expands, contracts, then condenses into a small ball.
The ball begins to change shape. It's small and lumpy and?—
"Ribbit."
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
Sitting in my palms is a frog. Not even a cool frog, like a red-eyed tree frog. It’s just a regular, old frog, spotted green and brown, with bulging eyes that glare up at me accusingly, as if this wasn't its idea either.
The classroom erupts.
"A frog!" Thorne cackles. "Oh, Charity! How fitting!"
"Harry thinks that's fucked," Harry adds, high-fiving Thorne. "Guess we know what Charity is on the inside now."
My cheeks burn. I want to drop the frog, to run from the room, to disappear. But the frog just sits there, blinking up at me with those stupid googly eyes, completely unaware of my humiliation.
"Interesting," Soren says, in a much different way than he said to Thorne. "Frogs are symbols of transformation, Rose. They live between worlds, water and land."
"Between worlds," Thorne mimics in a falsely sweet voice. "Just like our Rose! Not quite a witch, not quite anything."
More laughter. The frog in my hands gives an indignant croak, as if defending me.Thanks, buddy.
I try to set the frog down on Soren's desk, but the damn thing hops right back into my hands.
"Looks like you've made a friend," Soren says, his eyes have that silver flash that appears when he's feeling particularly demonic.
"I hate frogs," I mumble.
