فصل 21

Chapter 21

Red Light

By now, the three witches considered Agatha a good friend, despite their generally poor abilities to make good friends. Thus one might expect Hester, Anadil, and Dot to grin, wave, or, at the very least, make room for Agatha as she entered Good Hall for History on the last day before the Trial. But as Agatha squeezed next to them in her school uniform, eyes red and sleepless, the witches acted as if seeing their new friend was the worst possible thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?” Hester hissed. “And why can we see you—” “She knows,” Agatha hissed back.

The witches spun to her. “Knows?” Dot blurted.

“How much?” breathed Hester.

The double doors flung open behind them and the Dean breezed in, revised textbook in hand, and gave Agatha a puckish smile as she ascended the stage.

“Pleasure to see our Captain has returned from her training. I’m sure it’s been time well spent,” she said smoothly. “I hear Sophie isn’t feeling herself?” Agatha withstood the sting and glared back at her. “She’s looking for something as we speak.” All the girls in the hall swiveled to the Dean, befuddled by this exchange.

“Oh dear. Time is of the essence, with both your lives at stake tomorrow,” replied Evelyn innocently. “Suppose it’s something she can’t find?” “She’ll find it,” Agatha spat as girls whiplashed back to her. “You don’t know Sophie.” “And you know her, of course,” said the Dean, eyes twinkling. “Warts and all.” Agatha bleached white as confused girls in the hall gibbered around her.

“Everything,” Hester gasped. “She knows . . . everything.”

“Tonight at supper, we’ll have our Trial eve festivities, featuring our play pageant, announcement of the Trial team, and a proper feast to wish our combatants luck against the boys,” the Dean declared from her brother’s old wooden lectern. “But this morning, we still have one history lesson left to prepare us for the Trial—” “She couldn’t possibly know Sophie’s a boy,” Dot whispered to Agatha and the witches. She glimpsed two butterflies over Anadil’s shoulder and turned them to brussels sprouts. “For one thing, how could she know we used Merlin’s spell?” “She taught us about Merlin’s spell, didn’t she?” Agatha said, remembering the Dean’s cryptic smile that day. “She practically dared us to find it.” “Maybe it was part of her plan all along,” echoed Anadil. “Get Sophie and Agatha apart, then hide the Storian so they have to go in the Trial.” “She could have just locked them up somewhere,” Hester said, shaking her head. “Why go through all this trouble to get Sophie into the boys’ castle?” Her black eyes narrowed, clouding over. “Unless . . .” “Did you talk to Beatrix?” Agatha pressured Anadil, seeing more butterflies fly off the Dean’s dress towards them. “She has to tell us where the pen is!” “Don’t think she’s the one who hid it,” Dot piped up. “I pretended to be studying for Tryouts with a few Evergirls and asked her the properties of snakeskin. She hadn’t the faintest clue it makes you invisible. None of the Evers did. Whoever used that cape in your room had to be a Never!” Hester looked up at her as if suddenly interested in what she had to say, but Agatha waved Dot off. “Beatrix is lying,” Agatha insisted. “It has to be her!” “Well, Baldy’s not telling us anything, and tonight’s your and Sophie’s last chance to escape,” Anadil snapped.

“And you’re 100% sure it’s Evelyn who was responsible for Sophie’s symptoms?” said Hester, frowning at Agatha.

“If you saw Sophie’s face when she grew hairy legs and an Adam’s apple, you’d stop questioning whether she’s Good,” Agatha retorted.

Hester scratched her demon, grumbling.

“Look, we’re arguing for nothing,” Agatha exhaled. “Sophie was in the School Master’s tower, remember? She flashed her lantern there two nights ago! She’s probably close to finding the Storian as we speak.” “Then why didn’t she light her lantern there last night?” Hester prodded. “Why didn’t she light her lantern at all?” Agatha ignored her as she watched the Dean open her book for the day’s lesson. She’d barely slept a wink, asking herself the very same question.

“You’re almost Trial team leader!” Hort beamed, hurrying Filip to their first class. “So remember. I help you and you help me. Deal?” Sophie didn’t answer, legs heavy, breath dodgy, and keenly aware of a pimple on her forehead. At sunrise, she’d wandered back to the dungeons, managing only an hour of sweaty sleep before Tedros woke her up, freshly bathed in a cut-off shirt and holding a hunk of buttered bread.

“Thought Aric would have my head for showing up at breakfast, but no one said a thing. Think they’re all afraid of Filip the Barbarian after last night,” the prince said, grinning at his cell mate. “Come on, butterfly boy, eat up.” Eyes coated with sleep, Sophie squinted at the bread’s oily coat of butter. Her cavernous stomach was rumbling as usual, demanding anything edible, but even as a boy, she had her limits. She moaned and pulled the sheets back over her shorn, fluffy hair.

“Well don’t whine later,” Tedros said, biting into the loaf himself. “Better get moving if you want a bath, Fil. Only ten minutes before class.” Sophie groaned like a wounded ape.

“I know I was a bit of an ass when we first met, but I’m glad we’re mates now,” she heard Tedros say across the room. “And glad you won’t be bunking my challenges anymore. Need to win today so I can get in that tower tonight. If I find the Storian myself, maybe Manley will give me a spot on the Trial team.” Beneath the covers, Sophie felt nauseous. “So you can kill Sophie.” “So I can protect you from her.”

Sophie sat up, eyes wide.

“Along with everyone else,” the prince said, as he slipped on his uniform shirt.

Sophie saw Tedros’ bare back to her for a moment, the skin glowing healthily again, a bit more meat on him than yesterday. Suddenly she was aware of the muscles in his shoulders . . . the unfreckled, gold tan . . . his minty bath smell. . . .

“Filip!”

Hort’s nasal voice snapped her out of her daze.

“Do we have a deal?” he goaded her as they turned towards Evil Hall.

Sophie’s cheeks burned cherry red. Agatha was waiting for her, girls’ lives were depending on her, and she was daydreaming about her would-be killer?

“Deal,” Sophie said forcefully to Hort, picking at her uniform’s snug breeches. “You need to help me get back on Storian duty tonight.” “That’s my Filip. Boys spreading rumors you spared Tedros from punishment last night, and I knew it couldn’t be true. Tedros wagered all of us on this Trial, including you. Least we can do is teach Prince Handsome a lesson—” “No. This is about my ranks, not anyone else’s. Leave him alone.” Hort stopped dead in the hall. “You did spare him last night!” Sophie turned to Hort, her sharp-jawed, princely face ice-cold. “Don’t think it’s any of your business, frankly.” Hort gaped at Filip as if he’d been stabbed. Then he swallowed and forced a smile. “B-b-but—but we’re still best friends though, right, Filip?” Sophie simpered. “Of course,” she said, not looking at him as she walked ahead.

“Good man,” Hort gushed, skipping to catch up. “Just making sure you know who your real friend is.” Sophie nodded distractedly, trying to focus on Agatha, Agatha, Agatha, even though all she could think of was a prince.

“For our last lesson before the Trial, I thought perhaps I should give you a window into my own history,” said Evelyn Sader, her voice resounding through Good Hall.

Agatha and Hester stopped whispering and looked up at the stage, surprised. The last person they expected to shed light on the Dean’s past was the Dean herself.

“The Storian never chose to write my story, an omission it will no doubt correct in time. For it is my own survival over a savage boy that brought me back to lead all of you,” Evelyn went on, lording over her audience of girls. “Now, for the first time, history will reflect the truth.” She ran her fingers over her textbook open on the lectern, and her sultry, disembodied voice echoed over the hall: “’Chapter 28: Notable Female Seers.’”

A three-dimensional, ghostly vision of the old School for Good and Evil faded in over the book page, hovering in mist.

“Guess we should have kept reading,” Hester murmured to Agatha.

The Dean smiled down at her students. “Welcome to my fairy tale.” She blew on the phantom scene, and it burst into shimmering shards, sweeping over the girls with a crackling swish. Agatha covered her eyes from the glare and again felt herself falling through air, before her feet gently hit the floor. She opened her eyes to find herself in Good Hall again, the three witches and all the other girls of her school gone. Now the air in the cathedral hall was gauzy and thick, like a hazy film over the scene; the walls were less briny and calcified, and the pews were packed with girls in pink pinafore dresses and boys in blue Everboy uniforms.

Agatha slowly looked up to see Evelyn at the wooden lectern, ten years younger, bright faced and warm. Only instead of the twitching, fluttering butterflies on her dress being blue, now they were scarlet red.

“Once upon a time, I taught here in the School for Good, while my brother, August, taught in the School for Evil,” her present voice narrated over the scene.

Agatha furrowed, incredulous. Professor Sader had claimed exactly the opposite in his book—that Evelyn had taught in Evil, and only because he’d asked the School Master to let her.

“But my brother had long been envious of my powers,” the Dean’s voice decreed, “and plotted to take my school for himself.” Agatha frowned deeper. This is lies, she thought. And yet, as she looked at handsome, attentive princes-to-be and smiling, fair maidens absorbed in the lesson, the moment felt so . . . true.

“Soon enough, my brother spawned his attack . . .”

The hall windows shattered and a hazel-green fog swept in, blasting students out of the pews. Terrified Evers fled for the doors as the fog lassoed Evelyn and evicted her through the window, her red butterflies flurrying after her— “And I vowed to return upon his death,” Evelyn declared, “promising that one day girls would be safe from men’s lies and brutality . . .” Agatha’s jaw tightened as screaming Good students crashed out of the hall, the scene feeling more and more visceral. She thought of the way Dovey and Lesso had each branded August Sader as delusional and dangerous during her first year at school. . . . Had he made those changes in the tortoise’s textbook to cover his own history? Had he been the one lying all along?

As green plumes filled the conjured hall, phantom Evers fleeing past her, Agatha closed her eyes, head battering, blinded to what was real and what wasn’t anymore— Until something very real prickled the tip of her nose.

Agatha opened her eyes to see a single white swan feather floating past her through the smoke and stampeding Evers, towards the far muraled wall of Good Hall.

Agatha followed the white feather towards the mosaic painting of the silver-masked School Master, the Storian hovering over his outstretched hand. The swan feather drifted into the wall and pinned against the painted Storian, like a quill pen waiting to be used. Agatha reached up instinctively, her fingers grazing the feather. . . . The tile beneath the feather receded sharply into the wall and vanished. All at once the tiles in the column beneath vanished too, revealing a vacant strip in the wall, just large enough for her to slip through. Heart thumping, she squeezed her way into the hole . . .

. . . only to find a dimly lit chamber with a smaller white-marble door waiting for her. Agatha opened the door to see a dimmer passage and a smaller white door, then more dimmer passages and smaller doors, dimmer, smaller, smaller, dimmer . . . until at last she crawled on her knees through a tiny porthole into pitch-blackness.

Agatha staggered up in cold, infinite dark, clasping her goose-pimpling arms. She focused on her rising fear and felt her fingertip heat up, flickering to light.

“Where am I?” she gasped.

“In the part of her memory Evelyn wants no one to see,” replied a voice she knew.

Slowly Agatha held up her fingerglow like a spotlight.

Professor August Sader smiled back at her.

With her last chance to find the Storian at stake, Sophie knew she’d have to win most of the day’s five challenges.

She felt palpable relief after she won the first two, with Hort magically brittling her opponent’s blade in Weapons’ axe-chopping contest, then distracting people away from Sophie’s hiding spot in Survival’s massive game of hide-and-seek. But even with Hort’s help, she’d barely beaten Tedros, who back at full strength managed the second rank in both.

As Sophie entered Professor Manley’s charred classroom, focused on the next challenge, she felt the prince hang his arm over her broad shoulders.

“Cheating again, I see, Filip.”

“Perhaps if I find the Storian, it’ll stop your stupid Trial,” Sophie shot back.

“You sure did a good job of finding the Storian last night,” Tedros puffed.

“Kept you alive, didn’t I?” Sophie retorted—

“Tedros, Filip, stop your flirting,” Manley growled, entering behind them.

All the boys looked at Tedros and Filip, who stiffened awkwardly and separated.

Flustered, Sophie placed behind Tedros in the next two challenges, distracted by thoughts as to whether the prince was, in fact, flirting with her— Of course he wasn’t flirting with me, she harangued herself. I’m a boy, you idiot. A boy!

“He’s taking your top ranks, Filip,” Hort grouched as they headed to last class. “Whoever wins last Tryout wins the day. You might lose your team leader spot, Filip! We have to sabotage him—” “I said no,” Sophie lashed so sharply Hort jumped.

With the Blue Forest off-limits until the Trial the next night, the 80 boys in Forest Fitness converged inside Evil Hall and found Albemarle perched atop a rotting chandelier.

“A simple race around the castle,” the woodpecker directed, peering down at them over his spectacles.

Sophie watched a fluorescent yellow line magically shoot across the brick floor, between her legs, out the hall, and down the stairs.

“First one to follow the yellow brick road all the way back to this hall wins first rank.” Albemarle rustled a small ledger from under his wing and squinted hard at it. “Based on the tally, Filip has a slim lead over Aric and Chaddick for the team leader spot and the right to choose the tenth member of the Trial team. But it’s still anyone’s race.” Sophie eyed Aric, Chaddick, and the fleet of snarling boys, all crouched to a runner’s lunge.

“Ready . . . ,” Albemarle chirped. “Set . . .”

Sophie felt Hort’s grip on her bicep and his wet breath in her ear. “Run, Filip. Run for your life—” “Go!”

Seventy-nine boys thundered like bulls towards the door—

Sophie, however, remained in place, buffing her ragged nails until she heard the deafening crash. Nonchalant, she crawled over the mass of moaning bodies at the door, wondering how boys had ever survived this long in nature if they didn’t even have the common sense to take turns going down stairs. By the time the first boys recovered, Sophie had already returned to the finish line, barely breaking a sweat.

“Seems Filip really wants Storian duty, doesn’t he?” smirked Castor, tramping in behind the last groaning boy.

Sophie sighed with relief, blowing up her floppy hair. Somehow she’d find that pen tonight. She’d unearth each and every brick if she had to— “And yet Filip didn’t show up for his duties last night,” the dog sneered rabidly at her. “If you think something else matters more than finding the pen that keeps our world alive, Filip, by all means, hop to it.” Sophie straightened. “No—I just—”

“Vex, you were closest to the door. You’ll take Storian duty instead,” Castor snapped.

“No, no, no!” Sophie cried, aghast. “I’ll do it!”

“See, Filip will do it,” Vex piped, clearly unenthusiastic about a sleepless night of searching— “Not if Filip’s Trial team leader, he won’t,” Castor grouched, peering at Albemarle’s ledger. “Even more reason Filip needs his rest tonight, if we don’t want this lot to be slaves.” He glowered menacingly at his new, elf-faced team leader. “Try to leave your bed tonight, and I’ll chain you to it.” Sophie stifled a scream, heart imploding. The Storian! She’d just lost her chance at the Storian!

She spun away from the dog, hyperventilating. How can we go home?

Adrenaline blasted through her boy muscles. She had to call Agatha. Light a red lantern in her window and Agatha would know to get here now. Sophie wheezed for breath, sweat pouring down her ribs. Don’t panic! Agatha would find a way. Agatha always saved her. They’d flee this castle together and hide in the Woods until it was safe to return—safe to find the Storian and get home— “One more thing, Filip,” said Castor. “As official Trial team leader, you earned the right to choose a friend to join you in fighting Sophie’s team. . . .” Sophie couldn’t hear the dog anymore . . . just her pummeling heart, pleading for Agatha . . .

“All those boys who think they’ve been a good enough friend to Filip to deserve a spot in the Trial, step forward now,” growled Castor.

Everboys, Neverboys, and foreign princes burbled and buzzed to each other, but only one boy stepped out from the mass.

Sophie ricocheted to attention, seeing Hort’s stupid grin.

Of course. This was the deal the weasel wanted.

Sophie inhaled, trying to slow her heartbeat. Let the cretin in, for all she cared. She’d never go into that Trial. One red lantern and Agatha would be here to get them home. She started to nod at Hort, desperate to get out of this hall and light the alarm— Until another boy stepped forward.

“I’d like to be considered too,” said Tedros.

“Professor Sader?” Agatha rasped, finger glowing brighter as she stepped towards him in the pitch-black void.

Wearing his usual shamrock suit, her silver-maned, hazel-eyed history teacher gazed back at her as if he was still alive. “We only have a few minutes, Agatha, and I have much to show you.” “But how—how are you here—” Agatha breathed—

“Evelyn made the mistake of letting you into her tampered memories,” said Professor Sader, seemingly floating in the darkness. “As soon as you doubted their truth, you opened the door to what lay behind them.” “So what I saw in the tortoise’s book was right?”

“No history is the complete truth, Agatha. And after your time at this school, you should know far better than to trust what you find in any book. Even mine.” “But why did you make the School Master bring your sister to teach here ten years ago? And why did he banish her—” “We don’t have time for questions, Agatha,” her teacher said sternly. “What you are about to see are Evelyn’s own memories, untampered, undiluted, and buried so deep that she will surely know when they are accessed. But we must take that risk. For this is your only way to understand why she is in your fairy tale. And the only way to understand the truth about the enemy you face.” Agatha couldn’t get words out, tears burning her eyes. She didn’t want to see anything. She just wanted to stay here in darkness with him, where she felt so safe— “I must leave you now, Agatha,” said her teacher gently. “But know I am watching you, every step of your story. And there is a long way left before you find its end.” “No, please—” Agatha choked. “Don’t leave!”

Professor Sader flashed to light in a silent blast, and Agatha shielded her face . . . before feeling herself tumbling through blinding white space until her feet touched ground.

Agatha opened her eyes to find herself facing a shelf crammed with books, the air clearer than in Evelyn’s corrupted stories, the hues richer and more vibrant, as if the haze had finally been lifted from the truth. She peered at the colorful spines on the shelf—Hansel and Gretel, The Princess and the Pea, The Juniper Tree—and knew instantly where she was.

Agatha whirled to see the School Master hunched over the Storian as it magically painted the last page in a storybook atop the white stone table. Agatha watched the School Master frown deeper and deeper as the enchanted pen finished its ending, his billowing blue robes draped over his body, his gleaming silver mask covering all of his face except his shiny blue eyes, full lips, and thick, ghostly white hair. The sight of him so present, so alive, made the hair stand up on the back of Agatha’s neck, but she knew he couldn’t see her.

The School Master leered harder as the pen finished its last stroke, completing its vision of a giant gruesomely stabbed by a prince, clutching his fair princess— “The End,” he growled, and magically dashed the book against the wall.

With a puff of smoke, the Storian conjured a fresh storybook from its nib, flipped the green wooden cover to the blank first page, and the School Master watched it begin a new tale.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Thumbelina . . .”

Shadows of butterflies fell over the page, and he turned to see a red-winged swarm float through the window and magically congeal into Evelyn Sader, still ten years younger. Only unlike the kind-looking, bright-faced Evelyn in her false history, this Evelyn had the same mischief and malevolence in her eyes that Agatha recognized.

“You are forbidden here, Evelyn,” the School Master hissed. He stabbed his finger, erasing the patch of floor beneath her in slashing white streaks— “My brother is lying to you,” Evelyn said calmly.

The School Master froze his spell, leaving Evelyn on a small stone patch of floor, surrounded by white oblivion.

“I know you’re Evil, Master. Evil as your brother was Good,” Evelyn said, unyielding under his glare. “And I come to tell you that you’ve chosen the wrong Professor Sader with whom to invest your future.” The School Master slowly lowered his finger, and the floor filled in around Evelyn, putting her back on solid ground.

“I know what it is you seek, Master,” Evelyn continued, slinking towards him. “A heart that will reverse the curse on Evil . . . that will commit any sin in the name of your love . . . a heart that is worthy of Never After . . .” She put her hand on his chest, her green eyes burning into his.

“And that heart is mine.”

The School Master stared at her, frozen still . . . before his lips curled and he turned away. “Be gone, Evelyn. Before you make an even greater fool of yourself.” “August tells you the one you seek is from Woods Beyond. That is why you pollute our school with these vile Readers.” The School Master tightened, his back to her.

“It is a death trap, Master,” said Evelyn. “I know my brother’s heart. He leads you not to your true love—but to the one who will slay you.” The School Master spun to her. “You are only jealous of your brother’s powers, like a third-rate henchman. You have no power to see the future—” “I have the power to hear the present, and that is far stronger,” Evelyn said, undaunted. “I can hear words, wishes, secrets—even yours, Master. I know what it is people seek, what they desire, what they would give their lives for. I can change the course of anyone’s story and end it the way I wish.” “The laws of our world forbid interfering in the tales of the Storian without incurring our own destruction,” the School Master said, grimacing at the pen. “It is a lesson I have no intention of learning twice.” “Because you still believe in the power of the pen. You try to end Evil’s slaughter without taking action yourself. You try to control a pen that seeks only to punish you for killing your brother.” Evelyn’s face lost its hard edges. “But I know your heart, Master, and surely you know mine. For only you and I know what Evil is truly capable of—Evil far greater than any story has ever seen. Kiss me, and you’ll have love on your side, love as hateful as Good’s is true. A Never After so enduring, so poisonous that Good has no weapon to defeat us. Kiss me, and we shall destroy Good, one story at a time . . . until the pen has no power left at all.” The School Master lifted his shining blue eyes to her. “And you believe without doubt that you’re my true love?” he said, slowly leaning in. . . . “That you’re the one my soul seeks?” Evelyn blushed in his grip, ready for his kiss.

“With every shred of my dark heart.”

The School Master’s lips stopped an inch from hers. He smiled wickedly. “Then prove it.” Agatha’s heart chilled as the scene evaporated around her, replaced by the open, grassy field of the Clearing at lunchtime. But instead of its usual quiet decorum, with Evers sitting together on one side and Nevers on the other, now the Nevers gaped in astonishment as Evers assaulted each other in civil war—Everboys punching and beating one another with sticks, Evergirls in hair-pulling, nail-clawing catfights, teachers, wolves, fairies trying uselessly to pull them apart—as bloodred butterflies swarmed over the scene. Agatha saw a younger-looking Professor Dovey sprint past her, accosting Lady Lesso, who’d just come from Evil’s Tunnel of Trees.

“It’s Evelyn,” Professor Dovey panted. “Her butterflies are eavesdropping on my students’ conversations and whispering them back in the halls! Every minor grievance, insult, jealousy aired solely to incite chaos!” “One of the lessons I teach Nevers is that they should insult each other to their faces. Avoids such dramatics,” Lady Lesso purred.

“You are Evil’s Dean! It is your responsibility to control her—” “And Ever discipline is your responsibility, Clarissa,” Lady Lesso yawned. “Perhaps you should speak to her brother. He’s the one responsible for her placement here.” “August refuses to speak to her or answer my questions. Please, Lady Lesso!” begged Professor Dovey. “A teacher cannot interfere in students’ stories! It’s only a matter of time before Evelyn meddles with your students too!” Lady Lesso frowned at her Good colleague, deliberating. . . .

The scene melted away, and Agatha found herself in Lady Lesso’s old frozen classroom, with Evelyn Sader standing before Evil’s Dean at her ice-carved desk.

“I will not ask you again,” said Lady Lesso glacially. “You will cease spying on students, Good or Evil, or be removed from this school.” Evelyn smirked through gap teeth. “And you expect me to take orders from you? A Dean who sneaks into the Woods to see the son she hides?” Lady Lesso blanched, violet eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“Misses you, does he?” said Evelyn, skulking towards her. “Perhaps he’ll grow up to be as weak as his mother.” Lady Lesso looked stunned for a moment before recovering her icy snarl. “I have no son.” “That’s what you told the School Master, didn’t you?” Evelyn returned, prowling closer. “You know there’s a curse on Evil in the Woods. You’d do anything to keep yourself safe here at school. But no teacher of Evil is allowed to retain attachments outside these gates—and certainly not its Dean. So you too vowed that you gave up your child and dedicated your soul to the pursuit of cold-blooded Evil.” Evelyn loomed over Lady Lesso, gilded nails digging into her frozen desk. “But every night you still sneak to that cave where you keep him. Every night you pretend he’ll always have a loving mother, instead of telling him the truth. But mark my words, Lady Lesso . . . one day your son will hate you even more because of it. Because soon you’ll have to pick between yourself and him. And we both know who you’ll choose.” “Get out!” Lady Lesso leapt up, spitting. “GET OUT!”

But Evelyn was already sashaying away, butterflies following her in a slash of red.

Lady Lesso sat alone in the cold, empty classroom. Her cheeks reddened as she began to shake uncontrollably, welling tears. She heard voices and quickly wiped them away before the next class of Nevers surged in. . . .

Agatha could barely breathe as the scene dissolved, returning her to the School Master’s tower. This time, the School Master was alone with August Sader.

“Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey insist your sister be evicted immediately,” said the School Master. “And given my Deans’ usual inability to agree on anything at any time, I believe I must fulfill their wishes.” He peered out the window at his schools. “I’ll need you to take over Evelyn’s classes in Evil as soon as she is gone.” “As you wish, Master,” Professor Sader replied behind him.

The School Master turned. “And you offer no defense of your own sister? You are the one who insisted she teach here.” “Perhaps she’s just here before her time,” Professor Sader said with a mysterious smile. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have a class to teach.” Eyeing him carefully, the School Master raised his finger. Professor Sader started to disappear in streaks of white—only to suddenly fill back in.

“One last thing, August,” said the School Master, recalling him. “The one I seek . . . you swear on your own life she is not one of our world?” Professor Sader didn’t blink. “I swear on my life.”

The School Master smiled and turned away. “By the way. Do let Lady Lesso know that her privileges to travel beyond the school gates have been revoked.” Professor Sader erased from his tower behind him in a brilliant flash of white.

Agatha covered her eyes until the white light dimmed and peeked through her fingers to see Evelyn back in front of the School Master.

Evelyn looked past him to see hundreds of students gathered in the windows of Good and Evil, along with the teachers of both schools, like an audience in wait of an execution.

“And you choose my brother over me?” she said, sneering at the spectating masses. “You choose a man who will destroy you over a woman who will save you?” “Your brother does not lie,” said the School Master quietly.

Evelyn twirled to him. “He would sacrifice more than truth to see you dead. He would sacrifice his life.” The School Master gazed at the Storian thoughtfully. “My brother put a piece of his soul into the students’ crests, ensuring that they are protected from me,” he said at last. “I too prefer not to take chances without insurance.” He turned back to Evelyn. “But I’m afraid your time at this school has come to an end for now.” Evelyn grabbed him by the shoulders. “And what if you’re wrong? What if I am your true love?” she pleaded frantically. “What if you die for your mistake?” The School Master looked down at her hands clawing him. “Such devotion . . .” He grinned into her forest-green eyes. “Surely I can’t deny you all hope.” Slowly he reached towards his chest and drew out a ghostly wisp of bright-blue smoke, like a glowing sliver of his heart. Clasping it in his fist, he placed it against Evelyn’s heart and watched it sucked inside. Evelyn looked down in shock as all the red butterflies on her dress magically turned blue.

“My insurance, Evelyn.” The School Master caressed her cheek, amused. “For if I am wrong, then one day you may return to this school.” He pulled away sharply. “And bring your true love back with you.” Evelyn gasped—

The School Master blasted her out of the tower in a comet of blue light, which raged high over the Woods and ebbed into the horizon.

Agatha stared into the School Master’s lethal blue eyes as the scene suddenly evaporated in a cloud of smoke— Agatha coughed, waving her hands from the noxious fog as screaming Evers fled past her. She was back in the phantom, hazy Good Hall . . . back in Evelyn’s tampered history . . .

Which could only mean one thing.

Agatha spun to see Evelyn Sader storming towards her across Good Hall, her face flushed with wrath. Only this Evelyn was ten years older. This Evelyn’s butterflies were blue instead of red. This Evelyn wasn’t a phantom at all, charging lethally towards the girl who’d just invaded her memories. . . .

“That’s why you’re in our fairy tale—you’re using us somehow—” Agatha cried, retreating. “You’re—you’re bringing him b-b-back—” Evelyn shot her with a flash of blue light as the hall melted back to the present, the witches running towards Agatha as she collapsed to the floor, too late to save her.

Agatha.

Agatha.

Agatha.

Sophie gaped at Tedros and Hort, both asking to be her teammate in the Trial against herself.

I need Agatha now, Sophie thought, trembling. She couldn’t get anywhere near that Trial.

Castor kicked Hort forward with his paw. “Each of you has one chance to tell Filip why you deserve to be his choice.” Hort glared at Tedros so horribly he looked like he might burst into flames. “I should fight with Filip because I’m not a fair-weather friend who was only nice to him when I didn’t get whipped.” He pouted at Sophie, pale lips quivering. “Plus I’m Filip’s best friend. He said it himself.” Sophie stared at Hort, who’d lost all his fury and now just looked like a pitiful rat.

“Well, maybe I’m not Filip’s best friend,” a new voice said behind him. “But I’ll keep him alive.” Sophie slowly looked up.

“What I had with Agatha was the deepest love I’d ever had,” said Tedros, their eyes locking. “But Filip showed me something even deeper, like the bond of a brother I’ve always wanted. He isn’t like us princes—rash and uptight and with our heads up our bums. He’s honest and sensitive and thinks a lot and has real feelings. Boys never have real feelings . . . at least not ones that they don’t toss off or hide. But he’s a boy in the way a real boy’s supposed to be, built of honor, valor, and heart. And maybe for the first time, he’s made me understand why only death will separate Agatha from Sophie.” Tedros gazed at Filip’s stunned, elfish face. “Because I’ve never felt as loyal to someone, boy or girl, as I feel about him.” No one in Evil Hall made a sound.

Sophie teared up, staring at her once-prince. All her life, she’d just wanted a boy to want her. How could she ever know it’d be as a boy herself?

“Tedros or Hort, Filip?” Castor said, stepping between the boys.

Sophie tore eyes from Tedros. What was she doing! She had to call Agatha right now!

“TEDROS OR HORT?” Castor roared, scowling at her.

Sophie steadied her breaths, squelching Tedros’ echoing words. Agatha would be on the way soon.

It doesn’t matter what I say. It won’t happen. The Trial won’t happen.

But if it did . . . if somehow it did . . . the prince whose mission it was to kill her was now asking to be let in!

Hort.

HORT.

SAY HORT!

The name came smoothly, soundly off her tongue, and she heaved relief, raring to light a lantern and call her best friend— But as she looked up at Hort, the weasel’s smile disappeared, replaced with a look of such horror and betrayal that Sophie knew it wasn’t Hort she’d named at all.

Slowly Sophie turned.

Tedros smiled back at his best friend, glowing with gratitude and affection—glowing with the promise to protect Sophie the Boy from Sophie the Girl.

Only it wasn’t Tedros’ glow that stopped Sophie’s heart.

It was the glow over his shoulder . . .

. . . seeping through the window of the boys’ hall . . .

. . . blaring far across the bay from the girls’ tower . . .

. . . the glow of a red lantern, blazing with alarm . . .

And that’s when Sophie knew she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.