فصل 13

13

Too Many Boys

Normally teachers at the School for Good and Evil taught multiple sessions, but Lady Lesso had given Sophie only one, which the Dean had filled with students who knew Agatha and Tedros best. But as the next class began, Sophie wandered through Hansel’s Haven, no closer to finding out who the spy was or how the two Evers planned to get in.

It can’t be Hort, even though he’d won the challenge, for he’d always hated Tedros and had no incentive to help him.

But who then? Who would risk their lives to help Good slay Rafal? Who would risk their lives to help Good win her back?

She roamed past classrooms, peeking through doors at teachers preparing students to ambush Agatha and Tedros. In Uglification, Professor Manley led students in a Camouflage Challenge that magically blended them into school furnishings in order to surprise the enemy; in History, Rafal lectured the students on ways intruders had once tried to break into the School for Good and Evil; in Special Talents, Professor Sheeks hosted an open-sparring tournament where students deployed their special talents against each other; and out in the Blue Forest, Aric forced students through a boot-camp obstacle course, while fairies stung anyone who lagged behind.

Standing on the third-floor balcony, Sophie marveled at Aric, hulking and sweat-soaked in his sleeveless shirt, barking orders at his students. For a murderous, cretinous thug, he was sickly good-looking.

Her face reddened. Did I just have that thought?

Aric suddenly looked up at her, as if he was inside her head, and gave her a knife-edged smile.

A hand touched her and Sophie screamed.

“Glad to know I’m still scary,” Rafal smirked.

Sophie stared at her handsome young beau, his shirt strings untied. “Sorry . . . was just . . .” Rafal glanced down and saw Aric in her sightline. The young School Master stopped smiling. “How did class go?” Sophie noticed Hort over his shoulder, as Beatrix flirted with him in a corner.

“Sophie?”

“Mmm?”

Rafal caught her glancing at Hort. Sophie instantly looked back at Rafal. “Oh! Lovely! Class was just lovely,” she blithered.

The School Master frowned. “Look, I have to go in, but I’ll see you at lunch. We have a private spot on the balcony—” But now Sophie was staring at Reena and Ravan as they walked by, both wearing white swan pins that said “Bring Good Back!” with Tedros’ handsome face painted on them. The prince was painted so heroically, so dashingly, that Sophie’s heart ignited— Rafal spun and the two kids’ pins instantly reverted to black swans with Rafal’s young face and the words “Evil Rules!” He narrowed his eyes and turned to Sophie.

“You seem distracted,” he said icily.

“Me? No, no—” Sophie forced a cough. “Just tired. You know, still recovering from being sick . . .” Rafal’s gem-blue eyes sliced into hers, as if shaking down her soul, and Sophie’s stomach twisted. She kissed him on the cheek, squeezing his arm. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” Rafal searched her face a long moment . . . then softened. “Don’t be late. I’ll be waiting for you.” He touched his cold fingers to her lips.

Sophie watched him head into his classroom, making sure to give him a bright smile and wave as he went inside . . .

The moment his door closed, she took off like a hare, scampering straight out of Hansel’s Haven, desperately in need of a place to think.

Rafal was right. She was distracted, suddenly unable to pay attention to her one true love, the true love whose ring she was wearing, the true love she’d fought her whole story to find. And she was distracted by the same thing that had distracted her from the day she was born— Boys.

Too many boys.

Sophie shut the frosted door behind her and stood in cold, gray sunshine on the roof of the old Honor Tower. Slouching against black glass, she looked out at the Endless Woods beyond the slimy green bay, hidden beneath weakly lit skies that made morning look like dusk. With a deep breath, she pulled herself up and headed towards Merlin’s Menagerie, the topiary tribute to King Arthur that had always been her and Agatha’s favorite spot to think— Her eyes widened.

The hedges of the menagerie no longer reflected King Arthur’s story—but his son’s instead. Sophie moved through the garden, taking in scenes of barechested Tedros meeting Agatha for the first time, Tedros asking Agatha to the Evers Snow Ball, Tedros rescuing thorn-gashed Agatha from the Endless Woods . . .

Why would the School for Evil celebrate a Good love story? she thought, studying Agatha in Tedros’ arms. Old pangs of jealousy stirred and she tried to hold them down, reminding herself that Tedros wasn’t her true love anymore. He was Agatha’s. Like Rafal is mine.

And yet, ten minutes later, she was still drifting through hedges and poring over every inch of Tedros and Agatha’s romantic memorial, unable to tear herself away, before she arrived at the final sculpture of the prince and princess, wrapped in their first kiss beneath a willow.

Strange, wasn’t it, Sophie thought, moving closer. She’d kissed Agatha . . . Agatha had kissed Tedros . . . and yet, she’d never kissed Tedros. And she never would. Because he was the enemy now, he was the villain . . . and besides, she had her own boy to kiss . . . a boy so much fairer and smarter and better than the one Agatha was kissing right in front of her . . . So why was she on tiptoes, then, inhaling the smell of their minty kiss, touching a gold-ringed finger to her friends’ locked lips— Her fingertip burst into a violent, blistering rash.

Sophie choked in surprise.

The bloodred pox chased up her hand, her arm, her shoulder like a carnivorous animal, sizzling so hot she couldn’t breathe . . .

Seconds later, Sophie barreled through the old Valor breezeway like a rhinoceros, crashing through students leaving fourth session, who plastered against walls at the sight of her. Hurtling up the spiral stairs, she threw open the door to the Dean’s office, her entire body covered in raging blisters, the rash surging up her neck towards her face— Professor Manley and Lady Lesso calmly looked back at her, both teachers silhouetted at the window.

“Told you someone would get hurt, Bilious,” sighed Lady Lesso.

“Only if they were stupid enough to touch an Evers’ love story,” Manley growled at Sophie. “Get to the Groom Room at once and soak in the steam bath.” “But Dean Sader incinerated the Groom Room!” Sophie breathed in pain.

“Only the Girls’,” said Lady Lesso. “Use the Boys’.”

Sophie hightailed for the stairs, Rafal’s ring knifing into her swollen finger— “Sophie?” Manley called out.

She turned.

“Your love for Rafal has inspired all of Evil,” he said, softening. “Teachers included.” Sophie smiled tightly and ran away.

By the time Sophie made it to the Boys’ Groom Room, four flights down, the rash had devoured her entire face, with her skin and eyelids so inflamed she could barely see. Thankfully the boys’ spa looked deserted. Peering through tearing slits, she scanned the Midas Gold sweat lodge, peasant-themed tanning room, gymnasium with Norse hammers, saltwater lap pool, and steaming Turkish baths, smelling of sulfur and sweat. Her left eye suddenly ballooned thicker, sealing up tight, and she stumbled like a cyclops towards the steamiest bath before she slipped on its rim and careened headfirst into scalding water, her dress inflating like a parachute— Instantly the red pustules began to recede.

Bubbles flowed over her numb, swollen face, restoring her skin little by little until she felt water jets blast her clear cheeks and Rafal’s ring loosen on her finger. With a relieved breath, Sophie flung to the surface, whipping her hair like a mermaid out of the sea and opened her eyes with a smile.

Hort glowered at her through steam.

“If it isn’t Little Miss Liar.”

Sophie blanched and scrambled back like a crab to escape.

“Scared, are you?” Hort taunted.

“No, I’m just not in the habit of taking steam baths with random boys,” snapped Sophie, pulling out of the tub.

“Random boy?” Hort smirked. “I was your best friend last year, remember? The best friend who helped you survive boys’ classes, who helped you beat Tedros, who you promised to take into the Trial, only to take Tedros instead—” “Nice chat,” Sophie babbled, hurrying away—

Only then did she notice the red cluster of pox on her arms, still healing.

“Couple more minutes and they’ll clear up,” Hort said behind her. “Leave now and they might scar forever.” Sophie glared at him through the mist, shirtless in his black shorts, his pale, toned chest flushed pink from the heat.

“Couple more minutes,” she muttered, sliding into the tub as far away from him as she could.

“Perks of being top-ranked. Can work out whenever I want and the teachers don’t say much,” said Hort, picking at a small pimple on his arm. “Now I see why Tedros was obsessed with this place. Narcissists must love it here. Lucky they had that woodpecker keeping track of time or Prince Pretty Face would never have left. Bird’s probably locked up with the other Good teachers by now, of course. Nymphs too. You should see who’s stuck working the Laundry.” “I don’t get it. Why is there still a Groom Room in an Evil castle?” “Ask your new boyfriend,” Hort spat. “Uses it more than anyone. Clearly trying to look good for you.” “Rafal uses the Groom Room?”

“Oh, that’s his name now? Suppose he needs a new name to go with the new face so you’re not reminded of the old one. Nice try, but I’ll stick with ‘School Master.’” “He’s no older than you or me,” Sophie defended.

“Keep telling yourself that. Can’t speak too poorly about the man though. Gave my father a proper tomb when I begged him to. I mean, it wasn’t Necro Ridge with the best villains, where Dad shoulda been buried, but Vulture Vale was good enough. Especially considering the School Master don’t like me much. You know, since I was in love with you and all. But at least he had the decency to let my dad rest in peace.” “See, he’s not so bad, is he?” Sophie soothed. “And now your father finally got the grave he deserved. Because he had a noble, persistent son who made sure of it.” Hort nodded, hiding a sniffle.

“Meanwhile, seems like you’ve been spending a fair amount of time in the Groom Room yourself,” Sophie ribbed. “Almost as Tedros-like as your imitation of him.” “Well, I should know him better than anyone, shouldn’t I?” Hort retorted, hardening.

“Huh? Why would you know anything about Tedros?”

Hort snarled. “Either you’re lying again or you’re as stupid as you look. You ditch me first year for him when you were a girl. You ditch me second year for him when you were a boy. You lie and cheat and steal for him while he treats you like crap, and I help you and care for you and worship you like a queen while you treat me like crap! What does that guy have that I don’t? What makes him so lovable and me so unworthy? Know how many times I’ve asked myself that question, Sophie? How many times I’ve studied him like a book or sat in the dark picturing every last shred of him, trying to understand why he’s more of a person than me? Or why the moment he’s gone, you take a ring from the School Master—or Raphael or Michelangelo or Donatello or whatever you want to call him to make yourself feel better—just because he looks like you want him to look and says what you want to hear? When you could have had someone who’s honest and kind and real?” His black, beady eyes lanced right through her.

Sophie checked her arm, desperate to get out of this tub, but her blisters were still raw. “First of all, don’t call me stupid, Hort. Second of all, please believe me when I say I’m sorry for last year, okay? I still don’t know why Tedros’ name came out of my mouth instead of yours. I’m done with him . . . I really am. I don’t know what else to say—” “As if I’d believe anything you said anyway,” Hort snorted. “I’ve already killed you and kissed you more times in my head than you deserve.” Sophie stared at him.

Hort sighed, flicking the water. “But I learned my lesson. No one wants Old Hort. So meet New Hort instead. Modeled right after your cool, manly prince. The Hort chicks dig.” “But that Hort isn’t real at all,” said Sophie, frowning. “That Hort isn’t you.” “Well, whoever it is . . .” Hort raised his gaze. “Finally got your attention, didn’t he?” Sophie fell silent.

“Yikes, getting pruney,” Hort deflected, assessing his wrinkled fingers. He started to push out of the tub. “Besides, your new boyfriend’s probably waiting for you.” Sophie watched him get out, water sliding down the curves of his back.

“Hort?”

He stopped, still facing away from her. The only sound in the room was the drip of his shorts onto the carpet.

“Do you still love me?” she whispered.

Slowly Hort turned to Sophie with a sad smile, looking like the raw, openhearted boy she once knew.

“No.”

Sophie averted her eyes. “Oh good. Yes. Glad to hear it,” she chimed, fussing with her dress before looking up. “You know, with my new boyfriend and all—” But Hort was gone.

For a long time, Sophie stayed in the steaming pool, sweating and gazing at the spot where he’d been, even after her arm was well healed, even after her skin had shriveled dry. And only when she heard the shriek of fairies rip through the castle did Sophie realize then that she hadn’t just missed the start of lunch.

She’d missed it completely.

As midnight came and went, Sophie sat calmly in the School Master’s window, her hair still wet, her ebony dress bunched at the knees as she pressed bare toes against the wall. She looked out at the fluorescent green bay, reflecting the shadows of two black castles, both dark and quiet.

How quickly things changed in a fairy tale.

Rafal hadn’t been too upset, thank goodness—she claimed she’d gotten lost in the throng on the way to lunch (“It’s like an overcrowded zoo, Rafal.”) and trapped herself in a broom closet (“So much black in this place—hard to tell the closets from the students!”). Rafal interrupted her, looking stressed: he’d barely been at lunch himself, he said, and told her he had important business in the School for Old that would keep him there until the morning. With a kiss, he left her on her own and off the hook (except for a stern visit from Lady Lesso, who’d chastised her for being no closer to finding the spy).

Sophie curled her knees to her chest and glanced at the Storian, paused over a blank page. It hadn’t drawn a new scene since early in the evening, when it painted Agatha and Tedros disappearing into a rabbit hole and Tedros fainting at the sight of a bearded old man. She’d tried to flip back in the storybook to see who this old man was and where Agatha and her prince were in the Woods, but the Storian had stabbed her when she’d tried to turn pages, nearly impaling her hand. Once a story was unfolding, it seemed you couldn’t go back.

Sophie did a few half-hearted yoga poses, trying to take her mind off the two Evers, then gave up and slumped onto the edge of the bed, looking out the window again.

Somewhere out there her best friends were writing their own side of the story. Somewhere out there they were coming to rescue her from a school she would have once done anything to be rescued from . . . coming to convince her to leave Evil and its Master behind forever . . .

Or so they think.

Because now she felt at home here in Evil. Sure, there were a few pitfalls her first day, but she was still a teacher and queen, superior to all the other students. More importantly, she was about to win Evil’s first fairy tale in two hundred years! She was about to be a legend for all time, more famous than Snow White, Cinderella, and every other old, blank-eyed, pink princess who never had a mind of her own . . .

And to think, I used to be like those fools.

But now she was ready to fight for Evil.

Kill, even.

Because unlike all Evil that came before her, she had someone to fight for.

Rafal, she thought, admiring her ring, imagining his gorgeous, snow-cold face in its reflection . . .

Only now she was seeing Hort instead, pink and warm in steaming blue mist . . .

Then violet-eyed Aric, primal and perspiring in the Forest . . .

Sophie shrank against the wall, nauseous.

After finally finding her true love, now she was fantasizing about Hort? About Aric? After everything she’d done to find love?

Rafal had to be the one, after all.

No one else loved her anymore.

Not even Hort.

I need proof, she thought. That’s all.

I need proof Rafal is the one.

Then I’ll stop doubting.

Then I’ll stop thinking of other boys.

She lifted her eyes to the dark, empty room.

Prove it, she begged her heart.

Prove he’s my true love.

The School Master’s chamber was dead silent.

All of a sudden, the ring on her finger started to move.

Slowly it slid down her finger by its own power, settling below the knuckle.

It was still for a moment, cold against her left hand. Then the ring magically melted before her eyes, the gold turning darker and darker, softer and softer, deconstructing into a circle of gleaming black liquid.

Sophie held her breath, staring at the ring of ink, warm and wet on her finger, gripping her skin like a leech— But now she saw what the ring was doing.

It was writing a first letter into her finger.

It was writing the name of her true love.

Just like she’d asked.

Sophie smiled and closed her eyes, letting her inner fairy godmother do her work.

Inky and wet, the ring calmly slashed into her skin, controlled by something deep within her. With every new letter, Sophie’s soul breathed freer, lighter, as if a crushing weight had been lifted, as if the force moving the ring was her true self, her purest self . . . until at last, the ring finished the last letter and hardened back to solid gold, leaving the name “Rafal” upon her without a doubt . . . Rafal who she’d be with forever . . .

Slowly Sophie opened her eyes and saw the name in squid-black ink.

It wasn’t Rafal’s.

She fell off the bed in shock.

Petrified, she grabbed the hem of her dress and scrubbed at the name, trying to erase it.

Still there.

She scraped with her nails, buffed it on the floor, chafed it against the wall—but the name was even darker than before. Thunderstruck, she cowered against the bed, hiding her hand in her dress, trying to calm her screaming heart.

It didn’t matter what name was there!

There was no way that name was her true love.

There was no way that name was her happy ending.

Because the name the ring had tattooed on Sophie’s skin, the name it had promised was her one true love, was the name of the prince she was supposed to kill.