فصل 9

Chapter 9

Symptoms Returned

“How big was the wart?” Anadil kneeled in the nook behind the Honor stairwell, lined with blue rosebushes. “You sure you saw it?” Agatha nodded, biting her nails to stop their shaking. “She says she forgives me. She says she wants to go home—” “It’s too late.” Crouched next to her, Hester crushed a rose. “Don’t you remember? Once the symptoms start, she can’t control her Evil. You have to kiss Tedros before she transforms into a witch or we’re all dead.” Agatha shook harder, flooded by memories of Sophie’s bald, murderous hag—slaying wolves, annihilating towers, and unleashing hell upon students. Back then there were warnings that preceded her transformation: bad dreams, bursts of anger . . . then the first wart. This time, Agatha hadn’t noticed them, but they’d been there again. The nightmare scars under Sophie’s eyes at the wedding. Her punishing glare in Sader’s office. Her dark smile at the Welcoming. She’d denied it all, thinking her friend had changed. But Sophie hadn’t forgiven her wish for a prince, and she never could.

Now that prince was her only hope.

“How long?” Agatha looked up at Hester. “How long until she turns?” “The Beast was just a warning,” Hester said, thinking hard. “She hasn’t hurt anything real yet.” “There’ll be more symptoms first,” Anadil agreed. “But Hester’s right. We’re safe until she hurts something.” Dot swooped in, chomping on rose-shaped yams. “Does that mean Agatha can come to Book Club tonight?” “It means Agatha can still kiss Tedros tonight,” Hester growled, yanking Agatha towards the crowded hall. “But we have to act normal. No one can know she’s seeing him—” “Wait a second—” said Agatha.

“Hester, one kiss and we’re back to Good and Evil,” grinned Anadil, cozying up to her friend as they wove through girls. “Henchmen Training, Death Traps, and maggoty gruel . . .” “Hold on—” Agatha started.

“Never be so happy to see a Doom Room reopen,” Hester smirked to Anadil.

“Both of you, listen—”

“Book Club’s discussing Princeless but Fabulous,” Dot said, clacking behind, mouth full of yams. “I’d hate for her to miss it—” Agatha whirled. “Is it ever possible to get in a word with you three?” “That’s why a coven isn’t four,” said Hester. “Another reason why you need to kiss Tedros.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He didn’t say how to see him!” Agatha barked before scanning for eavesdropping butterflies. She lowered her voice. “Only that I should cross the Bridge.” “Halfway Bridge?” Anadil said. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear?” “Maybe he said ‘fridge,’” said Dot, returning the waves of two passing Evergirls. “Is there a magic fridge in the kitc—eeeyiii!” She grabbed her blue harem pants, which Hester had just ripped. “What was that for?” “For trying to be an Ever and Never at the same time, you underfed twit,” Hester hissed, and turned to Agatha. “Dot’s right. He couldn’t have said ‘Bridge.’” Agatha grimaced. “But that’s what he—”

“Suppose it’s a trap?” Dot asked, turning the torn piece of pants to spinach.

Hester and Anadil both stared at her.

“Listen,” Dot said, whipping back her hair. “I have self-esteem now, so if you act like cretins, I’ll move in with Reena and—” “Glimmers of intelligence, hasn’t she,” muttered Anadil.

“Inspired and fleeting,” Hester grumped, and turned back to Agatha. “It could be the Dean’s ploy. Can’t exactly forge a princeless school if her Captain’s longing for a prince, can she? For all you know, she conjured Tedros to catch you trying to see him.” “Mmmm, imagine if they found out their Great Girl Hope tried to abandon them for a boy,” Anadil purred, eyeing girls streaming by. “You’d be served at supper with a nice béarnaise sauce.” Agatha’s blood chilled. “Do I still go to Tedros tonight?”

“You don’t have a choice, do you?” Hester said softer, squinting over her shoulder. “You certainly can’t sleep next to her.” Agatha swiveled to see Sophie hurrying towards her with a nervous look, as if scared to be alone after the last class. Three butterflies whooshed past her towards Agatha and the witches— “But I’m in her room!” Agatha gasped, turning back. “How do I get out without her or Beatrix see—” Hester and Anadil were already retreating, glowing fingers to lips. With naughty grins, they blew smoke off their fingertips, red and green wisps, which danced towards Agatha and coalesced into four bold letters . . .

FAIL

Butterflies smashed through the letters, zigzagging in vain, searching for something to hear.

“Are the witches going to help us get the Storian?” Sophie puffed, bounding up behind her.

Agatha turned and almost screamed. Sophie had covered her neck with a puppy-patterned shawl.

“It’s Kiko’s,” Sophie sighed morosely. “But it’s glacial in this place, and you know how I catch colds, low body fat and all. Neck’s itching like mad, though—fabric must be ogrishly cheap—” She saw Agatha gaping at the scarf, dead pale. “As if you’re the Empress of Haute Couture,” Sophie frowned. “So? What’s our plan for tonight?” Legs shaking, Agatha clung to her own plan. The witches were right. Fail the rest of the day’s challenges, and she’d be safe with her prince before any more symptoms arrived.

With Hester and Anadil in different classes for second session, Agatha felt even more terrified sitting next to Sophie, who kept scratching under her shawl.

Like Professor Anemone, Professor Dovey was supervised by the Dean, whose presence prevented the former Good Deeds instructor from accosting Agatha. But Professor Dovey seemed to know exactly what was on Agatha’s mind, because she kept giving her forceful stares as she rehashed the rankings system.

“And perhaps that bears repeating,” she said loudly at her sugarplum desk, “failing students will guard the Woods gate on their own without teachers—” “They know all this, Clarissa,” the Dean moaned.

“Meaning they are completely unsupervised in the Forest—”

“Clarissa!”

Professor Dovey moved on, throwing Agatha a last urgent look.

Princeless Power was just a disguised version of Professor Dovey’s old course on Good Deeds, with the only difference the jelly-bean painting on a pumpkin candy wall, depicting Agatha’s face with a speech bubble: Boys Are Born Slaves!

Agatha held herself back from smashing it. It wasn’t enough that her best friend was turning into a deadly witch? Now she was a poster girl for male slavery? Professor Dovey seemed to share the same revulsion, for she ignored the Dean’s tightening jaw as she spoke.

“A boy is no more meant to be subjugated than a girl. True, girls have compassion and sensitivity that most boys do not. It is why, at times, boys and girls appear completely incompatible—” In her caramel chair, Agatha threw Sophie quick glances to make sure more warts hadn’t popped up or her teeth hadn’t fallen out. But other than still looking itchy, Sophie was fair and lovely as ever. Agatha craned to see if there were more warts under the shawl. . . . Sophie caught her and Agatha pretended to be picking her nose.

Sophie slid a note over. Should we use the Bridge tonight?

Agatha smiled vaguely. To get to Tedros, she had to somehow bomb this challenge without arousing Sophie’s suspicions.

“In order to survive, boys learn to project strength over emotion,” Professor Dovey went on. “It is the reason they desire softness in a girl. By staying soft, you let them be vulnerable for the only time in their lives. Understanding a boy is your greatest hope to tame him.” “And make him a slave,” the Dean interrupted, crossing her legs. “As we all know, boys respond best to beatings and the withholding of food.” “Boys respond to encouragement and common sense, Evelyn,” Professor Dovey retorted. “And a faith in the love between princess and prince.” The Dean’s creamy cheeks colored and the classroom walls shook. “Clarissa, what girls need is the right to be happy without savage, execrable pigs—” “What girls need is the right to know what makes boys worthy of love. What girls need is the right to choose their own endings, not their Dean’s,” Professor Dovey seethed, voice rising. “What girls need is the right to know why that Dean shouldn’t be here at all!” The Dean launched to her feet. Candied arms magically surged from the walls behind Professor Dovey and flung her out of the classroom with such force the door blew shut behind her, spraying pumpkin flakes all over the desks.

Agatha went white, forcing herself to stay in her chair. Girls goggled in shock around her.

“Now then,” the Dean said, turning to the class. “Shall we proceed with the challenge?” Murmuring, the girls settled in, as if Professor Dovey had it coming for such blatant disrespect. Agatha struggled to look dismissive too, knowing her fairy godmother would want her to get to her prince at all costs. But what had her teacher meant? Did she know Dean Sader from the past?

She suddenly noticed Sophie next to her, whole hand up her shawl now, scratching vociferously, having missed the entire incident.

Agatha went a shade whiter and refocused on failing.

Magically conjuring dozens of green beanstalks from the treacle ceiling, Dean Sader explained that for the Faith Flying test, each student, blindfolded and abandoned high on a stalk, would use the directions shouted out by her classmates to swing across the other trunks and return to her desk. Whoever swung back to their desk the fastest would receive top rank.

Beatrix had every girl in class cheering her to her desk. Arachne and Reena loudly directed each other to the finish, as did Millicent and Mona. Terrified of another Evil episode, Sophie carefully obeyed the shouts of her classmates eager to stay on Sophie’s good side after the Beast incident, and won the challenge in record time.

As she sat down, Sophie swept clumps of fallen hair off her dress. She glanced up and saw Agatha staring and shuddering as if she were ill. “Oh it’s easy as cake, Aggie,” Sophie said, combing out more loose hair. “Just listen to my directions and you’ll be fine.” With her mind on balding scalps, hidden warts, and more witch symptoms to come, Agatha could barely focus on failing her turn. Still, she managed to feign confusion, deafness, and dyslexia and made sure the Dean saw her disappointed pout when she earned second-to-last place. (Dot accidentally swung out the window, beating her to the bottom.) “But I shouted so loudly!” moaned Sophie, scratching her neck as she walked Agatha down the hall. “Aggie, you have to do well in the next one or you’ll be on guard tonight!” Agatha nodded, forcing a dejected look. When Sophie turned, she stooped and tried to peek under her shawl— Sophie turned back and Agatha hunched over. “Sorry, fart coming.” “At least let’s leave with our dignity!” Sophie gasped.

They were late to Defense Against Boys, meaning Agatha had to sit far across the room from Hester and Anadil, who looked desperate to talk to her. But Lady Lesso seemed to read Agatha’s thoughts, for as Sophie walked in, the former Curses & Death Traps professor stood at the door with narrowed violet eyes, scouring every inch of her— “Do I have a pimple?” Sophie murmured, biting her quill pen as she sat, only to jump up from her frozen chair. Frowning, she sat back down and scanned the chilled rock-candy room that replicated Lady Lesso’s old Evil classroom, down to sugared icicles dangling from the ceiling. Then she saw Agatha gawking at her, looking as if she’d been stabbed. “Aggie, you’re acting very strange,” Sophie said, discarding her bitten pen.

Agatha heaved for air.

Sophie’s front teeth had gone black.

“Just c-c-c-old in here—” Agatha stammered—

“And here you gave me such goonish looks over this shawl,” Sophie humphed, turning away.

Agatha waved frantically at Hester and Anadil, mouthing “Symptoms! Symptoms!” until she saw Sophie peering and pretended to be swatting at flies. Warts, falling hair, rotting teeth . . . Would she even make it to Tedros before the witch came?

Perhaps the Dean knew she’d made her point with Professor Dovey, for she wasn’t in the room to supervise Lady Lesso’s class. Instead she sent Pollux, who sat in back, butterfly on shoulder, making odd sniffing sounds, as if waiting to be acknowledged.

“Boys are vile, dirty creatures, which is why Nevergirls do not marry them,” Lady Lesso said, giving Evergirls repellent looks as she clacked through the aisle. “But that is no reason to kill them.” “Unless they attack, of course,” Pollux said.

Lady Lesso raised her eyes as if she smelled a skunk, then lowered them. “Killing stains your soul permanently, whether you are an Ever or a Never. You may kill only for the purest self-defense or to slay your Nemesis and find peace. Neither are conditions you will experience in this school.” “Unless there’s a war, you mean,” Pollux huffed.

“Perhaps it is time for another extermination,” Lady Lesso said to no one in particular.

The dog didn’t interrupt again. Still, Lady Lesso gave Agatha a concerned frown as she passed and put her near the end of the challenge order, as if to ensure she’d know what she needed to fail.

“For your challenge, you’ll be defending against rogue Mogrifs. The boys may no doubt rely on shape-shifting in order to invade, so you must be prepared to do the same,” said the teacher, tightening her braid. “But be warned, transformation lets us access our deepest instincts in order to survive. If you are stained by unforgivable Evil, the process can be corrupted.” Her purple eyes sliced into Pollux. “Let this be a warning to all of you who speak so casually of war.” To defeat the phantom Mogrifs, each girl had to morph into an animal herself. A year ago, their Forest Group leaders had taught them how to mogrify into an animal of their choice using visualization. It was a relatively easy spell, hence taught in the first year, along with Water and Weather spells (though mogrifying involved the extra wrinkle of bursting out of one’s clothes). Now the challenge seemed to be to find the right Mogrif to subdue their male opponents.

Pitted against a viper, Hester took nasty bites as a crab before her nimbler mongoose subdued it; Beatrix’s ungainly pelican abandoned its fight against a piranha; Dot’s piglet fled the moment she saw the ram charging for her. (“I thought boys like cute things,” she oinked, scurrying back to her heaped clothes.) Agatha was baffled as to how to do any worse. So when Lady Lesso conjured a breast-beating bear in front of her, she just stood and scratched her head. “I—I’ve forgotten—” “Forgotten how to mogrify?” Pollux said suspiciously. “The girl who spent a significant portion of her first year as a cockroach?” “Readers have minds like sieves,” sighed Lady Lesso, trying not to look pleased. “Surely no one can match such incompetence.” “Guess I’m on guard tonight,” Agatha said, plopping next to Sophie.

“B-b-but that means we can’t get the Storian!” Sophie paled, revealing even blacker teeth.

Agatha gripped her seat.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Sophie said, sagging. “You’re usually so good at challen—” Her face lit up. “Wait! What if I fail too, Aggie! Then I could guard with you! We could break into the boys’ school and get home!” “No!” Agatha cried. “Sophie, that’s a terri—”

But Sophie was already bouncing to the front of the room, determined to lose her battle. Seeing Agatha’s face, Lady Lesso likely guessed Sophie’s plan, for she produced an obese pigeon as her opponent. Sophie turned into a plushy pink cat and shirked from its weak pecks.

“O mighty beast,” Sophie mewled, as if auditioning for the school play. “I am no match for thee!” Agatha caught Hester’s jumpy look across the room. If Sophie was on guard with her tonight, how could she escape to her prince?

“Mercy, you brute!” Sophie’s cat cried to the waddling pigeon. Dramatically flinging her paw to her head, Sophie stepped into her piled clothes and visualized herself human, ready to claim last place— Only nothing happened.

Sophie’s cat frowned and tried the spell again, but if anything, now her paws were furrier. The pigeon flew up and alighted on her head. Girls giggled, except for Agatha, who knew just how capable Sophie was of putting on a show.

“I can’t—” Sophie gasped to Lady Lesso. “I can’t change back—”

“Just concentrate!” Lady Lesso snapped, giggles around her turning to howls.

But whether eyes open or eyes closed, Sophie couldn’t turn herself human. “It’s not me—” she choked. “Something’s stopping it—” The pigeon peed on her. “Helppppp!” Sophie yowled, drowned out by the class’s roars. Even Agatha had to snort.

“Enough idiocy!” Lady Lesso groaned, shooting a spell at her to end this charade.

Sophie’s cat gaped back at her, unchanged. This time when Sophie tried to talk, all that came out was a meow.

The laughter stopped.

Red faced, Lady Lesso stabbed her finger again to turn Sophie back. Sophie meowed louder. Lady Lesso’s eyes widened, and she swiveled to the butterfly on Pollux. “Find Evely—” But the door was already open and the Dean surging in, finger outstretched. Muttering a strange incantation, she pointed at Sophie, who started to morph back to human. But before Agatha and the rest of the class could unclench, the process stopped short, leaving Sophie trapped somewhere between cat and human, hissing with pain.

Lady Lesso blanched. “Something’s wrong—”

Finger thrusting, the Dean muttered faster, but Sophie’s body ricocheted from human to cat, cat to human, in a violent tug of war, as she wheezed alternate wails and meows.

“Evelyn, it’s getting worse—” Lady Lesso pressed—

The Dean pointed harder at Sophie, but every time Sophie’s body tried to grow, it shrank back down. Sparks flew around her as Sophie morphed faster and faster, soul caught between forces, into a fiery, formless blur. The curious pigeon fluttered too close and vanished into the haze.

Agatha’s head went light, her friend shape-shifting wildly, past human, past animal . . . until at last Agatha saw something inside Sophie win. In the blur of flames, a shadow grew clearer . . . skin shriveled and decayed . . . warts black and swollen . . . bald head gleaming . . . rising from fire reborn. . . .

Agatha closed her eyes in shock—

The Dean flung forth both hands and shot a blast of light. Sophie flew against the wall and crashed behind the desk.

Slowly Agatha opened her eyes to eerie silence. As curls of smoke rose over the frozen countertop, she and the rest of the girls slowly peered over it.

“I—I must have blacked out,” Sophie said, blinking long lashes and back in her clothes. “All I remember is trying to change back—and something stopping me—” She glanced around for the unseen pigeon. “But I didn’t hurt it! Surely that means I’m on guard now!” Lady Lesso looked as if she’d swallowed her own tongue. “It means—it means your soul i-i-is—” “Rusty with counterspells,” the Dean said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Lesso?” Lady Lesso stiffened, a strange weakness distilling her usually cold eyes. She looked scared, Agatha thought, almost . . . sad. “Yes, of course,” she mumbled to the Dean.

Agatha noticed her teacher’s eyes dart to her and dart away.

“But I still . . . failed?” Sophie said hopefully.

“On the contrary, first rank,” the Dean said, swishing out.

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Lesso quickly awarded the rest of the rankings and jetted from the room when butterflies zoomed through to signal class’s end.

Agatha didn’t budge as girls exited, buzzing how lucky it was the Dean rescued Sophie from Lesso’s incompetence. “The teachers are just jealous of the Dean,” Beatrix sighed dismissively.

As the girls left the room, Agatha nervously watched Sophie, back turned to her, gathering her things. The Dean’s arrival had been lucky indeed. For the girls hadn’t seen what she had: the witch reborn, her symptoms complete. If the Dean hadn’t intervened in time . . .

Tedros, Agatha thought, sneaking for the door. Just make it to Tedros— “Aggie, I won’t be on guard with you,” Sophie said behind her. “You wouldn’t go to Tedros, would you?” Agatha stopped dead. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because you keep looking at me like I’m a witch.”

Agatha turned to see Sophie stalking towards her, eyes cold. Agatha felt her chest sweating, her legs jellying, symptoms that told her she was about to faint, the way she once did in Tedros’ arms. But just as she collapsed into a deadly witch’s arms instead of her prince . . .

“Your—your teeth—” she spluttered at Sophie, recovering. “They’re—they’re normal—” Sophie gaped dumbly. “My teeth? What are you—” Her face hardened. “Agatha, that was ink. My pen must have leaked—had it in my mouth—” “But your hair—” Agatha insisted. “I saw it falling out—”

“A piece got caught on a stupid beanstalk!” Sophie barked. “And you believed I was turning into a witch again? That I’d attack you? After everything we’ve been through!” All Agatha managed was a croak.

“I trust you tonight, Aggie,” Sophie said, face filled with hurt. “Even if you don’t trust me.” Watching Sophie go, yanking at her disheveled shawl, Agatha sagged guiltily.

But then she remembered the wart . . . the wart she definitely saw . . . the wart that couldn’t be explained away. . . . As Sophie trailed away, tearing off the shawl, Agatha chased to see under it— A hand yanked her back.

“Lesso’s lying,” Hester said, closing the door and sealing them alone. “You heard her. Sophie’s soul’s corrupted by unforgivable Evil! That’s why she couldn’t change back! That’s why the Beast came out of her! It explains everything!” “But—but what does that mean?” Agatha rasped—

“It means this time the change is permanent!” Hester pressed. “When Sophie turns into a witch, she’ll never turn back! I told you she wanted revenge!” “But you said it yourself! She hasn’t hurt anything! And the symptoms aren’t getting worse at all—” “Oh they’re getting worse, all right. The Dean just isn’t seeing it,” Hester said, looking away. “You have to kiss Tedros tonight!” Agatha shook her head, still picturing Sophie’s hurt face. “I can’t. I can’t go to him, Hester. I have to trust my best friend.” She slumped, exhaling. “Probably wasn’t even a wart. Just being paranoid, like I was with her hair and teeth. We’re all just being paranoi—” But now Agatha saw where Hester was looking.

Behind the desk, the phantom pigeon lay against the wall.

Only it wasn’t a phantom anymore.

Blood spilled towards them from its mangled corpse, across the candy floor.