فصل 24

Chapter 24

Villains Unmasked

Tedros broke from Filip and jumped back, the prince’s face wildly red. “No no no no—” he stammered, whirling to Agatha. “It was an accident—” But Agatha had her finger raised, glowing bright gold at the elfish, fluffy-haired boy beside him.

“Agatha, listen to me,” Filip begged, retreating against a blue willow— “You snake,” Agatha hissed, advancing on him. “You lying snake.” Tedros instinctively shielded Filip, pointing his own glowing finger at Agatha. “Leave Filip alone, Agatha. Your fight is with me.” But Agatha still wasn’t looking at him. She was glaring daggers at Filip, her finger burning brighter. “You tried to kiss him! You tried to stay here with him and send me home!” “It’s not true!” Filip cried—

Tedros spun to his square-jawed friend. “You know each other?” “You were there in the School Master’s tower that night. You attacked us. You set him against me!” Agatha spewed at Filip.

“And you promised me you wouldn’t see him!” Filip fired, pitch wavering. “I couldn’t lose you, Agatha! Not without trying to win you back!” “So you tried to get us home on a lie?” Agatha lashed.

“Why are my princess and best friend talking?” gaped Tedros, delirious— “I had to show you your wish was wrong,” Filip assailed Agatha, fighting tears. “That a best friend means more than a boy.” Agatha shook her head angrily, thinking of the dreams she’d cursed, the heart she’d maligned, trying to tell her the truth about her friend all along. “Can’t you see?” she said, voice cold. “The more you try to stop us, the more my wish for him is true.” Filip fell back a step, cut to the core.

“I really don’t understand what’s happening,” Tedros croaked, eyes wide.

“You’d choose him over me?” Filip rasped to Agatha, his dimpled chin quivering. “After I risked my life to save us?” “Is that what kissing him was?” Agatha mocked. “An attempt to save us?” “He kissed me!” Filip screamed.

“H-h-hold on—it was a bad moment—” the prince fumbled. “We’re friends—like you and S-S-Sophie—” “Some friend,” said Agatha, glowering at Filip.

“You have to believe me, Aggie,” Filip stressed. “I chose you, even if Tedros could want me, even if I could be his forever—” “It was so dark—and his face looked different—” Tedros moaned, slumping onto a rock. “Any boy would make the same mistake—” “You said you wanted to forget this place,” defended Filip. “You said you wanted our happy ending back!” “Happy! Because of you, a boy is dead!” Agatha yelled. “Because of you, we could both still die!” “I just wanted us to go back to the way we were. Before we ever came here. Before we ever met a prince!” Filip implored. “I just wanted us back to real friends.” “Real friends let each other grow up,” Agatha seethed, neck searing red. “Real friends don’t hold each other back from love. Real friends don’t lie.” Tedros launched off his rock. “That’s it!” he spat at Agatha. “I don’t care how you two know each other, whether you’re long-lost cousins, secret pen pals, or hiking buddies in Mount Honora, but Filip isn’t your concern anymore, all right?” he snarled. “So go find your treasured Sophie before I change my mind about killing you.” Agatha goggled at him before spurting a laugh.

“What’s so funny!” Tedros barked.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Agatha marveled. “You still think he’s your friend.” “My best friend,” retorted the prince. “And for the first time, I finally understand why you’d choose Sophie instead of me. Because Filip knows me. He backs me up and fights for me in a way no girl ever could. I always thought love was about a girl . . . but a friend like Filip is deeper than love. Because I’d choose as Good a friend as him over you, again and again and again.” “Let me tell you about Filip,” said Agatha witheringly. “Filip’s about as Good a friend as Lancelot was to your father.” Tedros bared teeth and drew his sword. “What did you say?” Agatha searched his face, softening. “Never could tell between Good and Evil, could you?” Tedros’ whole body stiffened, dread slithering through him. He turned to see Filip backing past Agatha, out of shadowed grass and against the glittering willow tree. Now, in the frosty, spangling light, Tedros could finally see his best friend’s face, terrified, trembling. . . .

Only it was no longer a face he knew.

Each new second, every pore of Filip’s features shape-shifted with the tiniest changes, like a sand sculpture burnishing, grain by grain. Filip’s sloped nose softened and rounded to a button, his eyelashes thickened and grew out luxuriously, his elfish ears shrank and pinned back, his eyebrows arched like delicate brushstrokes. Changes spread down his body, faster and faster, like a spell unraveling at the seams. Filip’s thick, veiny muscles sleeked to creamy skin, his floppy hair flowed out in cascading blond ringlets, his hulking legs thinned and smoothed, his hips regained their curves . . . until there, in icy moonlight, a beautiful blond girl cowered and shook in a boy’s black-and-red cloak, gaping plaintively like a scared cat.

Tedros collapsed against a tree. “Why does everyone lie to me?” he whispered. “Why is everything always a lie?” “Not everything,” Agatha said quietly.

Sophie backed up from Tedros, trying to smile.

“Don’t kill m-m-me, Tedros,” she stuttered. “See? Still Filip, still your friend . . . just different . . .” She saw Tedros staring at her, his blue eyes glazed and frozen over, as if reliving every moment of the scene that just happened, parsing every word. Little by little, a golden glow dawned over him, like a warmth awakened inside, melting the darkness and edges.

Sophie slouched with relief—

But then she saw Tedros wasn’t looking at her at all.

He was looking at his ghostly, dark-haired princess, standing beneath a sparkling willow.

“Y-y-you . . . you loved me the whole time?” he said softly.

Agatha nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“And everything you said in the tower was true?” said Tedros, eyes wet.

Agatha nodded, crying harder.

“Why didn’t I kiss you?” Tedros said, voice cracking. “Why didn’t I trust you?” “You’re . . . so stupid,” Agatha wept, shaking her head. “Why are boys so stupid?” Tedros smiled through tears. “Maybe a world without princes is a good idea after all.” Agatha choked a laugh, finally letting her heart flutter unashamed.

Standing between them, Sophie stood helpless, watching true loves reunited . . . more invisible than she’d ever been.

A blast of purple light flew past Tedros like a warning shot— Lady Lesso stormed out of the trees, smoking finger raised menacingly at Tedros. “Agatha, Sophie, get away from him now!” she hissed, backing towards the south gate. “I’ll hide you in the Woods until it’s safe!” Neither girls nor boy moved.

“What are you doing!” she spat at Sophie and Agatha. “The other boys will be here any sec—” But now Lady Lesso’s eyes widened, for Agatha was backing away from Sophie towards the prince, who took her protectively into his arms. Clutching each other, Tedros and Agatha glared at Sophie in her boy’s uniform, standing in tree shadow, all alone.

“What’s . . . what’s happening . . .” Lady Lesso said, head whipping between the two girls.

“I thought stopping your wish was Good, Aggie,” Sophie wept, voice faltering. “I thought I was doing Good.” Sophie saw even Lady Lesso retreat from her now, violet eyes chilling with understanding. “A boy killed . . . students hurt . . . a Trial to the death . . . because of . . . you?” “Come on,” said Tedros, taking his princess’s arm. “Let her fend for herself.” “I didn’t want to be like my mother. I didn’t want to end all alone,” Sophie begged Agatha, cheeks wet. “I never meant to hurt anyone—” “Let’s go, Agatha,” Tedros said harder.

Agatha looked up at her prince, as pure and devoted as he was in her dream . . . then at Sophie, sobbing repentantly across the willow glen.

No tricks. No more secrets.

This time the choice was for real.

A jet of red fire rocketed into the middle of the glen, sending Agatha and Tedros reeling back in a cloud of red smoke. Dazed, they swiveled to see red and white fireworks blast through the sky from every direction, ricocheting out of control, like a raining meteor shower. Instantly, the fireflies on the boy’s scoreboard combusted to flames, scorching all the remaining names, TEDROS’ and FILIP’s included. . . . With a deafening crack, the board erupted in a blinding fireball. Across the forest, the girls’ scoreboard detonated in another shattering explosion, billowing black plumes of smoke over the west gate.

“What’s happening?” Agatha breathed, ears ringing.

She and Tedros sensed a low, dull rumble behind them, growing louder . . . louder. . . .

Faces draining blood, they slowly looked up.

The enchanted haze over the castles broke like mist, revealing the boys’ and girls’ schools overrun with roaring, descending bodies like swarming ants. Charging girls leapt onto broken Halfway Bridge from the balconies, wielding weapons and glowing fingertips, clamoring at the edge of the severed gap. Across the bay, hundreds of rabid boys and mercenary princes thundered onto the Bridge from the other side, lethally armed and bellowing for blood.

“They know I’m here,” a voice said behind Agatha and her prince.

Agatha looked up at Lady Lesso, her violet gaze fixed on the castles.

“I broke the terms,” her teacher rasped. “Trial’s over.” Agatha swallowed. “What does that mean?”

They peered up at four hundred boys and girls raring to kill each other, separated only by a hole in a bridge.

“War,” said Tedros. “It means war.”

Over their heads, the willow branches began to glimmer brighter like blue tinsel until the glimmer detonated like a storm cloud, sweeping down over the trees. In the moon’s glow, they saw the sparkles were butterflies, thousands of blue butterflies, that had given the willows their neon glow. Like locusts, they swarmed through the glen in a violent gale. Agatha shielded her face, while Tedros hacked uselessly at them with his sword and stumbled to the ground— A loud gasp suddenly flew behind them, and Agatha spun to see Lady Lesso pulled off the ground by a cloud of butterflies.

“Evelyn—” Lady Lesso said, horror-struck. “She heard everything—” “Wait!” Agatha cried, trying to hold on to her—

Panicked, Lady Lesso pressed her lips to Agatha’s ear as the butterflies dragged her off. “Kiss him, Agatha!” she whispered. “Kiss him when the time comes!” And then she was ripped away, as butterflies kidnapped her back to school, her last pleas to Agatha drowned out by the roars of war.

Agatha froze in the moonlit glen, gulping shallow breaths.

“What did she say?” a voice spoke.

Agatha looked down at Tedros staggering up, golden hair mussed.

“Agatha?” said another voice.

Agatha turned to see the last of the hellish red smoke dissipating through the trees, Sophie revealed behind it.

“What did Lady Lesso say?” her friend asked, face tense.

Agatha stared at Sophie across the willow glen, a moonlit stage, boys’ and girls’ war cries echoing far away like a chorus.

Overhead, the treetops suddenly began to rustle and sway, a heavy, crackling sound tearing towards them— Agatha recoiled in shock as the School Master’s silver tower crashed through into the willows. The moving tower glided into the moonlight and skidded to a stop, rupturing the ground with its force—splitting Tedros on one side, Sophie on the other, across a long, ragged crack in the ground, with Agatha straddling the fault line between them.

From the tower’s window, a last throng of butterflies fluttered down behind the three students, magically congealing into form as they touched ground. Like an actress on cue, Evelyn Sader stepped into the Clearing’s spotlight, her long nails clutching a red cherrywood storybook that Agatha knew.

It was her and Sophie’s fairy tale.

“’Trial,’” the Dean cooed. “Such a delicious word. So many relevant meanings. An experiment in service of a conclusion, for instance. Or a test of faith and stamina. Or a difficult moment in one’s own life. And yet . . . I prefer the more formal definition.” She paused dramatically, taking in Sophie and Tedros on opposite sides, dark brows knitted over her forest-green eyes. “A formal court before witnesses to determine guilt.” Her eyes moved to Agatha in the middle. The Dean smiled cryptically.

“Now the real Trial begins.”

With her sharp nail, Evelyn slit open the sewn binding atop the book’s spine. The gleaming Storian ripped free, glowing furious red, as The Tale of Sophie and Agatha magically floated out of the Dean’s hands and into the moonlight. The pen flung the floating book open with its razor-steel nib, spilling ink across pages as colorful scenes filled in the gaps in the story. At last the pen slowed on a final page, taking its time as it painted Agatha between Tedros and Sophie. . . .

Only this Sophie didn’t look like the Sophie in front of Agatha now.

The Sophie on the page was a bald, warted old witch.

Beneath the witch, the pen wrote a single line:

“The villain had been hidden all this time.”

Agatha and Tedros slowly looked up at Sophie, milky beautiful in the moonlit glen.

“You see, Agatha, you thought I conjured Sophie’s symptoms. That I was the villain.” Evelyn sat on a stump at the glen’s dark fringe. “When it wasn’t me at all, was it?” “Agatha, I’m not a witch . . . you know I’m not a witch . . .” Sophie scoffed.

But Agatha took a step back from her friend, crossing into Tedros’ side of the glen. Sophie’s face reddened with surprise.

“You think I can still be Evil?” Sophie breathed. “That I could hurt you?” Agatha’s hands were shaking. “Witches ruin fairy tales, Sophie. Witches lie to get their endings.” Sophie appealed to Tedros. “I was a good friend to you, wasn’t I? A friend like that could never be a witch! Tell her!” “A good friend? A friend built on lies isn’t a friend,” Tedros blazed across the divide. “The School Master went to the ends of the earth to find someone as Evil as him. Now we see why he picked you, Sophie. You’ll always be Evil as long as you live.” “I’m not E-E-Evil! I’m trying to be Good! Can’t you see? I’m trying!” Sophie cried. “The School Master was wrong! He was wrong about me!” Agatha stared at the terrifying hag in the storybook, as she backed farther towards Tedros. “The Storian doesn’t lie, Sophie. . . .” “No—Aggie, please—” Sophie said. “You know the truth—” Devastated, she ran to Agatha across the cracked glen—but a blistering pain in her neck made her cry out, before more pain seared through her wrist and forearm.

Agatha and Tedros cowered from her, eyes wide, and Sophie’s stomach went ice-cold. Slowly Sophie raised her arm and saw it marred with two gruesome black warts. More warts sizzled through as her skin started to wrinkle like curdling milk, mottling with liver spots.

“No . . . it’s her . . . it’s the Dean . . .” Sophie choked, but she couldn’t see Evelyn at the fringe. “She’s doing this to me!” Agatha retreated next to Tedros, fingers both raised at Sophie with matching gold glows, as Sophie’s blond hair fell out in clumps, her back swelled to a hump, and her legs spindled to bony sticks.

Agatha shook her head, torn between pity and anger. “It was you, Sophie. It was always you.” “I’m sorry . . . for everything I did . . .” Sophie wept, writhing in pain. “But I’m not this!” “You can’t be here anymore, Sophie,” Agatha said, misting up. “We’ll only be happy apart.” Tedros looked at his princess, stunned.

“Agatha, no!” Sophie screamed.

The Storian suddenly glowed redder, sensing The End.

Agatha hesitated, as her friend’s teeth blackened and dissolved, her hair shedding faster, faster. Agatha’s face softened with anguish— “We’ll be happy as long as we live, Agatha,” Tedros pressured. “But we have to do it now.” Agatha nodded, tears in her eyes.

“YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!” Sophie begged—

“I can’t, Sophie,” Agatha said, holding Tedros. “I can’t believe you anymore.” “NO!” Sophie cried, charging for her, but more pain sent her buckling.

Agatha gripped Tedros tighter as Sophie shriveled with a howl, her warted scalp gleaming, her face gnarling to an old, Evil hag’s— “Now, Agatha,” Tedros said, for Sophie was crawling towards them across the crack.

“Agatha, I don’t want to be like her,” Sophie pleaded. “I don’t want to end like my mother!” She reached out her shriveled hand for her only friend . . .

Agatha met her eyes with deep, terrible sorrow. Then she turned away.

Sophie recoiled, watching Agatha in Tedros’ arms. “No . . . not this . . .” Sophie gasped— Tedros’ blue eyes pierced Agatha’s with a promise. “Forever.” Agatha heard her wish for him, echoing louder in every heartbeat, begging her to trust it.

This time she listened.

Agatha gave herself to her prince.

“Forever.”

Tedros clasped her cheeks and kissed her, their lips touching for the first time. Agatha’s head went light, a blinding glow coursing through her veins. As his warmth spilled through her, Agatha heard Sophie’s animal scream recede behind her, softer, softer, into silence. Holding Tedros closer, Agatha felt her heart floating, time expanding, fear crumbling to ash, as if at last she’d found her Ever After, as if at last she’d found an ending that couldn’t be taken away. . . .

Their lips finally released, as prince and princess broke apart, each panting for breath. They looked up at their open storybook in the light of the moon, a vision of their sealing kiss splashed across the page, a witch vanished from their story . . . two last words penned beneath . . .

THE EN

Evelyn Sader had her fingertip under the pen’s sharp nib, blood dripping as if she’d pricked it on a spindle— The D left unwritten.

Agatha’s eyes slowly lowered to the ground in front of her.

A bald, wrinkled witch gaped up at her and Tedros from the grass, her decayed face a mess of tears. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, Sophie melted back into her own young, beautiful skin, and the witch was gone, replaced by a betrayed, broken-hearted girl.

Agatha’s heart caught in her throat, gawking at the friend she’d left behind . . . still right here. A friend who’d just witnessed a kiss that failed to banish her home, loveless and alone.

But there was no appeal in Sophie’s eyes, no forgiveness. Just a blank distance, as if she no longer knew the dark-haired princess in front of her.

Doom rising, Agatha looked up at the Dean.

“Some might consider conjuring witch symptoms and then blaming them on a poor innocent girl as conduct unbecoming of a Dean. But then again, I do have a weakness for good endings,” Evelyn simpered as a crowd of butterflies took the flailing Storian from her finger and restrained it in midair. She sucked the blood off her fingertip, eying the halted pen. “Funny thing about endings, you see. The story isn’t quite over until the Storian writes ‘The End.’ And as you can see, you are in fact, one letter short. Meaning, we haven’t reached ‘The End’ after all.” Evelyn smiled at Agatha. “And now that you’ve had your ending, dear princess, it seems Sophie should have a fair chance, don’t you think? After all, it is her fairy tale too.” Sophie gazed up at her, eyes big as emeralds.

“Give us the pen,” Tedros spat, pulling his sword—

Evelyn stabbed her finger at him, and a willow tree magically grabbed him by its branches and lashed him against the trunk.

Tedros struggled angrily. “What are you—” A branch gagged him.

“You see, Agatha, my butterflies led you both back to school because I heard a wish worthy of ending your fairy tale. But it wasn’t your wish,” the Dean said, circling Agatha. “It was Sophie’s.” “W-w-w-what?” Sophie spluttered.

“Oh yes, you made a wish too, dear,” said the Dean. “Don’t you remember?” A butterfly fluttered off her dress, a disembodied voice playing back as its wings pulsed neon with every word: “I wish I could see her again,” echoed Sophie’s voice. “I’d do anything. Anything.” Agatha remembered the words . . . spoken near a grave . . . the two of them in each other’s arms. . . .

“My m-m-mother?” Sophie gasped, suddenly brightening. Then the light in her face dimmed. “But my mother’s dead . . . nothing can bring her back. . . .” “And yet you’re in your own fairy tale, dear,” the Dean offered. “Wishes are powerful things if you’re willing to do anything for them.” Agatha’s heart stopped. She stared at the Dean, her big bug eyes widening.

“The villain had been hidden all this time.”

But it wasn’t Sophie. Or Evelyn. It was—

“NO!” Agatha launched towards Sophie. “Sophie, no! She’s using yo—” Willow arms snatched her, gagging the princess with her prince on the tree trunk.

Sophie ignored Agatha’s garbled cries. Her eyes lifted back to the Dean’s. “What do I have to do?” Evelyn leaned over, sharp nails caressing Sophie’s face. “Only be true to your wish, Sophie. Be willing to pay any price to see her again.” Agatha screeched through her gag, but couldn’t get words out— “What price?” Sophie frowned.

“Agatha kissed a prince, Sophie. She tried to banish you forever and made you watch,” Evelyn said darkly. “You have no one anymore. No prince. No friend. No father. No one to go home to. No one to trust.” Sophie looked into her eyes, crestfallen.

“Isn’t seeing the only person who loves you worth any price?” Evelyn coaxed.

Sophie didn’t move, listening to Agatha’s muffled screams behind her.

“I can really see her again?” Sophie asked.

“Your wish can end your fairy tale just as much as Agatha’s,” replied Evelyn. “All you have to do is mean it.” Agatha tore against the willow tree, the branches lacerating her arms— “I’m ready,” Sophie nodded, swallowing.

Evelyn grinned toothily. Reaching towards her breast, she magically drew out a long, blue sliver of glow from her heart that lit up the night sky. As she did, the butterflies on her dress turned scarlet red. . . .

Agatha howled in horror, but Sophie’s eyes stayed on the blue light as it swirled into a hypnotic, hovering orb.

“Now close your eyes and say your wish out loud,” the Dean wheedled.

Sophie closed her eyes. “I will do anything to see my mother again,” she rasped, trying to ignore Agatha’s cries.

“Mean it,” the Dean said wolfishly. “The wish only works if you mean it.” Sophie gritted her teeth. “I will do anything to see my mother again.” Then there was silence, for even Agatha had gone quiet.

Sophie peeked open her eyes to see the orb begin to spin in midair, expelling a sweep of eerie blue light. Inch by inch, the light morphed and sculpted, taking on dimension, until Sophie staggered back, seeing a human phantom take form. Two ghostly, delicate bare feet floated above the navy grass. Sophie’s eyes slowly moved up the billowing blue robes, the pale stick-thin limbs angled from its sleeves, the long white-swan neck . . . and then a face that could have been a mirror, with ageless vanilla skin, a small rounded nose, and cool green eyes. The ghost smiled lovingly at her, and Sophie fell to her knees.

“Mother?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

“Kiss me, Sophie,” her mother said, her voice distant and foggy. “Kiss me, and bring back a life. That is the only price I ask.” “Bring back a l-l-life?” Sophie stammered.

Behind her, Agatha screamed until her voice broke—

“Just as once upon a time, you were brought back to life by your friend’s kiss. A kiss of love,” Sophie’s mother said. “But that ending didn’t last, did it? Now it’s your turn to find your real true love.” “But no one loves me,” Sophie breathed. “Not even Agatha.” “I love you, Sophie. But you don’t have to end like me,” consoled her mother. “For there is someone who loves you more than Agatha ever did. Someone who loves you for who you really are.” Agatha frantically chewed her willow-bark gag—

“Is it you? Are you my true love?” Sophie asked her mother, eyes wide.

Her mother smiled. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” said Sophie, tears running. “You’re the only one who knows who I am.” “Then kiss me, Sophie, and do not break it,” Sophie’s mother warned. “Break the kiss, and you will lose your last chance at love.” Agatha bit harder on the gagging branch, trying to snap it— Sophie stepped towards her mother’s ghost, heart hammering.

Agatha felt the willow splinter—

“Kiss me now, Sophie,” said her mother. “Before it’s too late.” Agatha spit out the gag. “SOPHIE, DON’T!” she screamed— But in the waning moonlight, Sophie pressed her lips to her mother’s, Sophie’s face softening, glowing with the faith that happiness was coming . . . that this, her very first kiss, would at last bring her the end she deserved. . . .

But then the kiss turned colder, harder, and Sophie saw her mother’s phantom face shriveling and rotting as if turning a thousand years old, its skin flaking off a maggoty, pockmarked skull. Alarmed, Sophie wanted to break away but, remembering her mother’s warning, held her lips to the icy chill, praying for love that would never leave her, love deeper than a prince’s or a friend’s. Slowly, the skin started to firm over like white marble, as the face lost its phantom glow, smoothing younger, younger . . . until Sophie jolted with recognition, and stumbled back, a boy’s real lips parting from hers.

Bare, ivory-fleshed feet stepped onto the ground, dark-blue grass prickling between the toes. The School Master raised his head, unmasked in his draping blue robes, his young chiseled face flawless and ghostly pale, his hair a shock of thick white.

Agatha and Tedros both quailed breathless against the tree, finding each other’s hands beneath their binds.

Sophie looked up at the School Master, restored to life, more beautiful than any boy she’d ever known. “You . . . you did all this. . . .” “For you,” the School Master whispered. He touched her cheek with long glacial fingers. “I told you, Sophie. You’ll always be mine.” “You don’t want him!” Agatha screamed out from the tree. “He’s Evil, Sophie! Pure Evil! You can still take it back! It isn’t The End yet!” Sophie finally looked at her, tears falling. As she met Agatha’s scared eyes, reflecting a venomous villain, the moment was suddenly real. Sophie shook her head, heart breaking. Agatha was right . . . she had to stop this, she had to disavow this Evil, she had to take all of this back . . .

But then Sophie saw her friend’s small hand in the strong, warm palm of a prince.

And she knew there was no Agatha anymore.

As the School Master pulled her closer into his hard, icy grip, Sophie didn’t move.

Agatha blanched in surprise.

“What about me?” a voice said.

The School Master turned to Evelyn, blushing anxiously. “Brought your true love back,” she preened. “Just like you asked, Master.” “Indeed. No doubt your brother foresaw you’d be useful for this purpose.” The School Master grinned, frost-blue eyes meeting hers. “Ensuring my true love returned safe and sound.” Evelyn smiled back at him proudly. But then her face began to change . . . as the School Master’s eyes inflamed red, burning deeper into hers. Evelyn seized at her heart as if it’d stopped beating, choking a last, empty breath.

“And now that purpose is fulfilled,” said the School Master, clutching Sophie tighter.

Evelyn fell to the ground, shattering to a thousand dead red butterflies. The swarm trapping the Storian shriveled and plummeted too, dropping the Storian into the School Master’s ready hands.

He looked up at Agatha and Tedros bound together to a tree.

“Now where were we?”

He released the Storian from his grip, watching the pen somersault to the suspended storybook and erase the aborted last words below Agatha and Tedros’ kiss. Instantly it conjured a new page, sweeping a brilliant painting of Sophie and the School Master’s kiss across it, recarving once bold, erased words beneath . . .

THE EN—

“Sophie, no!” Agatha roared—

The Storian carved the final, unmistakable letter, and the storybook closed, falling gently into the grass with barely a sound.

Agatha slowly raised her eyes to see the School Master leering at her, his arm around Sophie’s waist.

“One . . . ,” he smiled.

The two schools above the Forest suddenly rotted vulturous black, neither one distinguishable from the other, both darker, scarier than the Evil of old— “Two . . .”

The gap in Halfway Bridge instantly healed, and boys and girls charged at each other, weapons drawn, accelerating towards war— The School Master grinned at Agatha. “Three.”

Agatha instantly started to shimmer, about to disappear.

“Wait!” Tedros screamed into his gag—

“It’s sending me home!” Agatha shrieked to her prince, her body fading faster. “Sophie’s kiss! It’s sending me back home—” She whirled to Sophie, hearing a town clock toll, growing closer . . . closer . . . “Sophie, help me stay! Take my hand and help me stay!” But Sophie stayed by the School Master’s side, her eyes welling with grief.

“He chose me, Agatha,” she said softly. “And you didn’t.” Agatha cried out in horror, her body almost translucent now . . .

“I do believe I owe your dear friend a favor,” the School Master smiled, prying off Sophie. “After all, Agatha did take my true love once upon a time.” The School Master pulled Tedros’ sword from the ground. Terrified, Tedros thrashed under his binds.

Agatha gasped in shock—

“Fitting,” the School Master mused, inspecting Excalibur. “Dying on your father’s sword.” He raised it high over the prince and stabbed, eyes flashing red.

“NO!” Agatha yelled, splintering to light—

As the blade split open Tedros’ shirt, Agatha seized her prince’s hand, and the sword slashed through thin air, Tedros shimmering safe in Agatha’s arms.

Vanishing home with her stunned prince, Agatha watched the School Master sneer at her and clasp Sophie in his cold, stone grip as they floated together off the ground, receding towards his tower in the sky. Sophie and Agatha locked eyes one last time, but neither screamed for the other.

Once true loves, two girls now pulled apart like strangers, each in the arms of a boy, Good with Good, Evil with Evil . . .

Both of their wishes granted.