فصل 34

34

The War of All Things

Neither girl could look at the other. They just stared at Vanessa, dead and beautiful in her frozen grave.

“We’re sisters,” said Sophie, a strange flatness in her voice.

“But not,” said Agatha softly. “Family but not family. Blood but not blood. Together but apart.” She could feel a wave of emotions trapped behind her heart, too big and powerful to let in. “That’s why I saw Sader in my dreams like he was my father,” she rasped. “Because he always reminded me of your father. Somewhere, I knew I was Stefan’s daughter all along.” Both of them were quiet, watching each other’s blurred reflection in the iced tomb.

“Sophie?” Agatha finally looked at her. “We have to go. We have to go right now.” Sophie didn’t meet her eyes. Her muscles were tense, her entire body on edge.

“Did you hear me?” Agatha pressed. “We have to g—”

“It doesn’t change anything, Agatha,” said Sophie coldly, still staring at her mother.

“What? Sophie, it changes everything—”

“No,” she retorted. “It proves I was Evil from the start. That my mother was never Good and cursed me to relive her miserable little life, rotting away alone while you get a happy ending with Tedros the same way my father gets a happy ending with Honora. Good gets Good; Evil gets nothing. Except I have the chance to change my ending. Now, more than ever, Rafal is my only hope to not end up alone. To not end up like her.” She shoved past Agatha and started jostling random tombs. “Bloody hell! There has to be another door somewhere.” Agatha watched her, stunned. “Sophie, don’t you get it? Choosing Rafal only makes you more like her. Your mother did Evil in order to force love and look what happened! Choosing Rafal will only leave you more alone in the end—” “Aggie, you’re acting like I care about your opinion,” Sophie spat, pounding on graves. “You heard what Sader said. There is no love between us. There is no bond. You’re Good. I’m Evil. And now we’ll see who makes it to The End first. Either Tedros gets you to Camelot or Rafal and I seal our Never After. Only one of us wins our fairy tale.” “Sader also said he believed in us,” Agatha said, accosting her. “He died for us—” “Just like my mother died knowing she’d never found love,” Sophie said, elbowing her away. “Evil souls don’t find love. First lesson at the School for Evil. Evil souls are meant to end up with no one.” “I won’t let that happen to you,” Agatha fought back.

“Really? Because you, Tedros, and I will be a happy threesome? Because I’ll be your Evil little pet?” Sophie hissed, punching tombs. “Don’t you get it? My soul is broken! I’m messed up, sick in the head, rotten to the core! I’m damaged. I’ll never find the kind of love you did because I’ll never be happy inside. All these years, I wanted to be like the mother I thought I had—an angel of Good and light—and instead, I see I was always like her. Unlovable down to the pit of a bad, bad soul.” “You aren’t her,” Agatha said, tailing behind. “Deep down, you’re nothing like her—” “Are you deaf? Did you hear her story?” said Sophie, hitting tombs faster now. “I made friends with you so I could get a prince, just like my mother made friends with Honora to get my father. I tried every trick my mother did to find love—love spells, beauty potions, wishing on stars—only to end up hated and alone, while my best friend gets everything. And just like my mother, I’m going to end up dead in a frozen dungeon, with all these other cowards, who were too weak to accept they were Evil.” She whirled to Agatha, splotched with rage. “So you better believe, if I get out of here, I’ll do anything it takes to keep my true love, no matter how Evil. Anything.” A high-pitched ping! rang through the Brig.

All the steel placards on the tombs lit up with blinking, bright blue arrows that pointed towards a glowing tomb, before its coffin door magically popped open.

Lady Lesso’s recorded voice blared from all sides: “The student exit has been opened. Kindly exit the dungeon with the rest of your class and return to school. The student exit has been opened. Kindly exit the dungeon with the rest of your class and return to school.” Agatha gaped at the lit-up coffin.

“Now go and open the door.”

Sader’s last words. He must have put a charm on it to unlock once they’d gotten close enough— Her thoughts broke off because Sophie was already sprinting towards the glowing grave.

“Sophie, wait!” Agatha said, racing after her. She couldn’t let her get to Rafal— But Sophie was already thrusting herself into the empty coffin and shoving through a false snow wall at the back of the grave. Agatha tried to grab Sophie from behind, but Sophie flung her away and Agatha reeled off-balance. She recovered and lunged after Sophie through the wall, propelling into the freezing block of white.

As she came out the other side, Agatha shook the snowflakes out of her eyes and hair to see she was in a dark, leaky tunnel, sloping steeply uphill. Sophie was way ahead, almost to the door at the end. Agatha hurtled after her, hearing the echoes of Sophie’s stuttered breaths and rustling leather catsuit as she wrestled the handle. When it wouldn’t budge, Sophie threw her shoulder against it as hard as she could, before Agatha tackled her against the door, slamming it open with a tumultuous groan as both girls tumbled through— Agatha’s head cracked hard against a stone floor. By the time she wobbled to her knees, eyes blearing open, Sophie was gone. Agatha lurched up to the big, empty room lit by a weak green torch. A room she’d been in before.

The Exhibition of Evil.

She hustled towards the museum’s exit, not wanting to let Sophie get too far ahead— A sharp hiss slashed through the silence. Agatha froze on her heels.

Slowly she turned and spotted a small, dark shadow huddling on the floor beneath Sader’s last painting of Gavaldon.

“Reaper?”

The bald, mashed-up creature hissed at her again before it glared up at Sader’s painting with copper-yellow eyes.

Agatha rushed towards him and scooped him into her arms—

He bit her wrist and she dropped him with a yelp. Reaper turned back to Sader’s painting, his slit-like pupils locked on the scene.

All Agatha’s questions of how her cat had gotten into the school, where he’d been the past few weeks, or why he was in Evil’s museum fell away. Because right now, Reaper wanted her to look at the painting on the wall. As she leaned in towards the canvas, Agatha saw why.

The scene was different than it was before.

It was darker, with only a needlepoint of light left in the top corner. And where the shadows of villains once closed in on Gavaldon as the villagers burned storybooks in fear, now there were actual villains coming through the trees as they battled the young and old heroes back. The only thing separating the villains from Gavaldon was a thin, hole-riddled shield, about to break.

Agatha bolted straight. Once a vision of the future, Sader’s painting was now magically tracking the present. She was watching the war between Good and Evil as it unfolded . . . and Good was losing.

Urgently, her eyes scoured the scene for Tedros, but Sader had always painted with hazy, impressionistic brushstrokes, no detail to the faces at all.

I have to get to Sophie, she panicked.

But how? Sophie had too much of a head start—

Reaper meowed again, still fixed on the painting, as if whatever answers she was looking for were inside its frame.

What hadn’t she seen?

She put her nose closer to the canvas, her fingers running across the oily surface . . . until they stopped.

The empty anvil from which she’d drawn Excalibur was tucked beneath the canopy of Mr. Deauville’s book shop, far away from the action of the war.

Reaper growled, urging her on.

Of course, Agatha thought.

The School Master had enchanted the sword to hide it in Sader’s painting . . .

Which meant he had to enchant the anvil too.

And if he enchanted the anvil . . . then maybe . . .

Heart rattling, Agatha slowly slid her right hand through the tight, wet surface of the painting until she watched her fingers appear in the painting . . .

She felt the cold, hard metal of the real anvil under her palm.

Her hand wasn’t just inside the painting. Her hand was in Gavaldon.

A portal.

Reaper curled around her leg, ensuring he’d be along for the ride. Agatha smiled down sadly.

“Thanks for helping me, Reap,” she whispered, prying him off. “I’ll be back for you when it’s safe. I promise.” As her cat whimpered, Agatha grabbed the anvil tighter and pulled herself headfirst into the painting. Her whole body was swallowed into hot, wet darkness, before her face poked through another tight, wet barrier and into cold night air. Still levitating horizontally, Agatha grabbed hold of the anvil with her second hand and yanked the rest of herself through the portal wall, the heel of her last clump popping out before she collapsed onto sooty cobblestones.

When Agatha raised her head, the first thing she saw was hordes of screaming villagers fleeing for cover. Trapped in the stampede, Agatha rolled like a log under Mr. Deauville’s awning, just missing being trampled, before she ducked behind the anvil. Peeking over it, she could see people of Gavaldon cramming into the church, shuttering themselves in shops, and chaining themselves in cottages. Once upon a time, she’d witnessed the same scenes as parents tried to protect their children from the School Master. Now, it wasn’t just the children they were hiding from him.

Agatha rose from behind the anvil, gazing out at the Woods, a half mile away.

It was exactly as she’d seen in Sader’s painting. Flames streaked through the distant trees, illuminating legions of zombie villains as they battled old heroes and students out of the Woods, backing them towards an invisible barrier that separated the forest from Gavaldon. From inside the town, Agatha couldn’t see the enchanted shield the way she’d seen it inside the Woods. She only knew it was there because an ogre slammed a stymph out of nearby trees, sending it whizzing into the shield and ricocheting to the ground, toppling the young rider on its spine.

Agatha squinted harder, trying to make out faces through the trees, but like Sader’s painting, all she saw was a blur of bodies and fire. Scared, Agatha searched for the sun, but couldn’t find it through the clouds of smoke.

How much time was left? Twenty minutes? Fifteen? Less?

All at once, it overwhelmed her. She’d never find Sophie in time. She’d never make her destroy that ring. She’d die here, useless and cowering, beneath a storybook shop. Panic ripped through her blood— Don’t give up.

Cinderella’s voice echoed inside of her like a heartbeat.

For the both of us.

Air slowly came back into Agatha’s lungs. Her mentor was right. Either she helped her Good friends win this war . . .

Or she would die with them.

But first she had to get past that shield.

Steeling with determination, she sprinted towards the Woods. As she tore through town, she passed a father sending his wife and son up a ladder to hide in a chimney . . . a mother and daughter sealing themselves in a barrel . . . and one of the Elders, herding children into the schoolhouse, with Radley amongst them, balancing a fishbowl as he scooted inside. Agatha scanned the scattering villagers for Stefan or Honora, but there was no sign of either of them.

Hurtling past the mills and lake into grassy fields, Agatha started to hear the sickening roar of the war: clashing metal, crushing stymph bones, and girls’ and boys’ screams. Soon, she could make out a few faces, lit by the burning forest—Beatrix atop her stymph, still shooting arrows; Ravan fighting a troll, fist-to-fist; Kiko being chased by a zombie witch—but most of the war was still camouflaged by trees and the blue-black sky. As she got closer to the trees, Agatha began to glimpse small holes in the air: hundreds of them, each no bigger than a grapefruit. No one had ever seen the shield from inside Gavaldon, magically diverted before they could reach it, but Agatha could see the gaps in the barrier now, which meant she could figure out exactly where the shield was. Racing towards these holes, she noticed that the colors outside the holes were brighter and more vibrant than the colors inside them, and for a moment, she marveled at how thin the line between stories and ordinary life really was.

Skidding up to the shield, she reached out her fingers and felt the bubbly, invisible surface between the holes. Before the war, each fairy tale that Evil had rewritten in its favor had punctured holes in the shield over the Reader World, just as it had punctured holes in Readers’ faith in Good. But with Good’s greatest heroes still alive, none of these holes were big enough to let the shield fall yet, nor let Evil pass into their protected realm. Which left only one question . . .

How am I supposed to get through? Agatha thought, panicking.

Through the shield, she could see snatches of heroes past the trees, trying to hold the line against the Dark Army. If the villains pushed them back any farther, they’d have them cornered against the shield— Suddenly, Agatha glimpsed a flash of golden hair and broad shoulders.

Tedros?

He was already gone.

There was no time to think about her prince. If she wanted to help him, she had to get through the shield and find Sophie.

Agatha refocused and reached a hand through a hole, probing its edges. Breaking barriers was a personal talent. She’d gotten through the one on Halfway Bay every time she’d tried; surely she could get through this one too. But there was no gatekeeper to fool, nor any way to get through holes this small or— Something nipped her finger.

Agatha recoiled in surprise and saw one of Anadil’s black rats planted on the Woods’ side of the shield, tiny claws clasping the edges of the hole for support. “Rat 3,” Agatha remembered, the only one still perky enough to get this far, for the other two had yet to recover from retrieving Dovey’s wand and zip-lining chocolate fog. Now, Rat 3 tittered sternly at Agatha through the hole, ordering her to pay attention, before it started crawling through the hole into Gavaldon . . .

The instant its nose crossed the plane between the Woods and the Reader World, the rat was assaulted by a fiery shock that sent it flying to the ground.

Through the shield, Agatha watched Rat 3 jerking in the dirt, still alive despite the magical shockwave.

So the shield won’t let it through, she thought. She slipped her own hand through the hole again easily. But then why does it let me?

Agatha shook off the thought. What does it matter? The hole’s still too small for me to fit int— Something bit her again.

Agatha looked at Anadil’s rat, who’d crawled up the shield again despite its obvious pain, and was still glowering at her. Agatha glowered right back. What did the little pest want— She gasped.

Little.

It’s showing me how to get through.

Mogrify.

It wants me to mogrify.

And there was only one animal Agatha knew how to be.

Instantly she closed her eyes and visualized the spell, feeling her fingertip glow hot gold. In a flash, she shrunk to the ground, her clothes flopping on top of her, before she crawled out from under them, a skinny black cockroach. Antennae quivering, Agatha the Roach skittered up the side of the shield, leaving her clothes behind, and scooted through one of the holes, before she followed the rat down the side of the shield and into the Woods.

The second Agatha pattered through the first trees, a green fireball scudded past her, nearly incinerating her and the rat. Petrified, she chased after Anadil’s pet, zipping through the war in full flight; but as a cockroach, she was so small that all she could see were crashing feet and falling bodies and the glow of flaming arrows and magical spells shooting back and forth above her. She needed to look for Sophie, but with all the fighting around her, she’d never find her as a bug— An arrow sheared over her tiny carapace. Spooked, Agatha accelerated behind the rat, leading her intently towards a pine bush. Agatha motored through the bush behind him, pine needles pricking her thorax, and came out the other side. She stopped cold.

Handsome, dark-skinned Nicholas was facedown in mulch, a giant gash through the back of his head. As the roar of war echoed beyond the bush, Agatha gazed at the young Everboy, her insides crumbling. Valiant, sweet Nicholas . . . dead? Because of her fairy tale? Sadness and guilt rushed through her, big bug eyes filling with tears— Anadil’s rat hissed.

Agatha turned to see it glaring at her and pinching at Nicholas’ uniform.

It wants me to take his clothes.

There was no part of Agatha that could do what she was about to do, and yet she had no choice.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

Sick to her gut, she reverted back to human form and forced herself to change into Nicholas’ uniform, while she crouched behind the pine bush. As she shoved on his big boots and pulled on his cloak, the rat nudged over Nicholas’ bow and quiver of arrows, which lay by his side. Agatha leaned in and touched her shaking hand to Nicholas’ black hair.

Find Sophie, she gritted.

Find her now.

From the rat, she took his weapon into hand and rose from the bush, suited in all black, her eyes darkening and jaw clamped. With a deep breath, Agatha plunged into war.

The air was so dark and foggy, filled with the smoke of flying arrows and burning zombie corpses, that at first she could only see shadows. Taking cover behind a tree, she squinted and made out Hort and Peter Pan twenty feet away, both trying to fend off Captain Hook with sticks, rocks, and whatever else they could find on the ground. Meanwhile, Tinkerbell frantically showered fairy dust over Hook, trying to fly him away, but the Captain spun and sliced into her wing with his blade, sending Tink plummeting to the ground. As Tinkerbell crawled through the grass, looking for a place to hide, Hook stabbed harder at Peter and Hort. Hort tripped backwards over Peter’s feet trying to defend him and Hook bashed him aside, bolting towards Pan— Behind a tree, Agatha knew she only had one shot to save him. With her fingerglow, she lit her arrow tip on fire and aimed it right at Hook’s heart. As he launched towards Peter Pan, hook ripping towards his neck, Agatha let the arrow fly— It missed Hook’s heart but speared his cheek instead, lighting his face on fire.

As Hook staggered back in surprise, trying in vain to put out the flames, Hort and Peter didn’t even look to see who’d saved their lives. Both ran for cover, as Agatha watched Hook succumb to the fire and collapse into the dirt.

One down. Even if it was by accident.

Agatha stepped out from behind the tree, another arrow drawn. She searched the trees for Sophie, but all she could find were more students and mentors trying to fight off zombie villains, who seemed to be exclusively targeting the famous heroes now: Gretel and Hester against the witch, Red Riding Hood and Dot against the wolf, Jack and Anadil against the giant. . . . With every second, the Good heroes were losing more ground against their villains, steadily being pushed out of the trees towards Gavaldon’s shield. The battlefield around them was littered with fractured stymphs, dead villains, and moaning students, nursing wounds and broken limbs.

Suddenly, in the far distance, Agatha glimpsed Aric rushing at Professor Dovey with a jagged knife. The old Dean tried to shoot him with a spell, but the young Dean was coming too fast. He tackled her to the ground, knocking her out cold. Gripping Dovey by her silver hair, he kneeled over her senseless body— Agatha bleached white. If she tried to shoot Aric from here, she’d have to be dead on-target or she’d hit Dovey instead. She’d barely even managed to hit Hook and he’d been twenty feet away. Instinctively she started dashing towards Aric, fumbling for an arrow, trying to get close enough to get a better shot. But it was too late. Aric raised his knife over Professor Dovey’s throat, about to finish her. Agatha screamed— From behind, Lady Lesso charged in and dove on top of Aric, knocking him off wounded Clarissa. Agatha choked with relief, but now Aric was on top of his mother, the two of them flailing for the dagger in the dirt. Agatha ran faster, trying to get within shooting range— As Lady Lesso clasped the dagger, Aric punched her in the back of the neck and surged over her. His mother collapsed onto her stomach, but lurched forward, grappling Aric by the ears. Both flushed red, mother and son fighting for the knife, the gleam of metal swerving from one to the other, until Aric kicked it away. Agatha aimed her arrow from afar, trying to get a clear shot at Aric’s head, but he and Lesso were both crawling madly towards the dagger now, jabbing and elbowing past each other. Lady Lesso swiped the blade first, but Aric leapt on top of her. His mother flipped over, clutching her son by the throat, their faces touching, the knife trapped between them— Aric’s eyes shot wide as he let out a stunned cry.

Standing over him, Professor Dovey stabbed a broken stymph bone deeper into his back.

Aric’s big muscles went limp and he collapsed on top of his mother, blood seeping out of his mouth.

Lesso shoved her son off her, wheezing for breath. Flat on her back, the Evil Dean clutched Professor Dovey’s wrist and smiled weakly at her best friend.

Agatha dropped her arrow and throttled towards Lesso and Dovey, thankful they were both safe— Something crashed into Agatha and yanked her behind a tree.

“Where is she!” Hester barked over the chaos. “Where’s Sophie!” Agatha shook her head. “I don’t know!”

Hester seized Agatha’s shoulders. “Look.”

Agatha followed her eyes through the trees to a fleck of light, half-buried into the horizon.

“Ten minutes. That’s all we have. You have to find Sophie—” Hester commanded.

“Where’s Tedros?” Agatha breathed.

“Merlin’s trying to keep kids alive as long as he can,” Hester said, pointing at the wizard, darting from wounded student to wounded student, treating their injuries with dust from his hat.

“Where’s Tedros?” Agatha pressed.

They heard a high-pitched scream and whirled to see Pinocchio chased by twenty ogres and trolls across the Woods. Just as the villains snagged him, a horde of animals burst from the forest and slammed into the zombies, dislodging Pinocchio from their grip. Princess Uma swung down from a tree and pulled the old hero up to safety in its branches, alongside Yuba and the White Rabbit, while Uma’s animal army fought the zombies below.

Another yell rang out and Agatha twirled to see Lancelot battling Rafal near the first line of trees. The knight’s shoulder was drenched with blood, but he was deftly deflecting the young sorcerer’s spells, despite his snarls of pain.

Agatha paled.

Tedros wasn’t with him.

“Agatha, listen to me,” Hester hissed. “Hook’s dead. Ani killed Briar Rose’s fairy and I killed my zombie-mother, pretending like I was happy to see her. All that’s left is Jack’s giant, Riding Hood’s wolf, and Cinderella’s stepmother. We’ll do everything we can to keep that shield from falling. But you have to find Sophie—” “WHERE’S TEDROS!” Agatha demanded.

“HE’S FINE. PRINCE LOSER IS FINE,” Hester lashed. “Lance is keeping him away from the School Master, all right?” She pointed across the forest at Tedros, brandishing Excalibur and barreling at ogres the way he once barreled at Lancelot on the moors, while Chaddick flew over the prince on a stymph, taking out wounded ogres with fiery arrows. “But you don’t have time to help him or check on him or get anywhere near him, so don’t even try it,” Hester berated. “We need you to find Sophie now. Ten minutes, Agatha.” Agatha met her eyes. “Ten minutes.”

“Hurry,” Hester begged before running to help Dot and Riding Hood.

On a breath, Agatha tore in the opposite direction, eyes peeled for Sophie, as she leapt over fallen students and zombies. A boom echoed behind her and she spun to see Jack’s giant fall to the ground, leveled by Kiko, Beatrix, and Reena who’d firebombed him from the height of the trees, while Anadil, Jack, and Briar Rose distracted him from below. Behind them, the wolf was advancing on Red Riding Hood, with Dot seemingly hurt on the ground. But just as the wolf’s jaws closed over Red Riding Hood’s head, Dot thrust out her glowing fingertip and turned the wolf’s jaws to chocolate. His chocolate teeth sunk into Red Riding Hood, crumbling down to the gums. When he recoiled in shock, Hester had a fire-tipped arrow waiting for him.

Agatha heaved relief, scanning for Sophie. The old heroes were safe for now. The shield wouldn’t fall— Her eyes bulged.

Cinderella was frozen near the shield, seeing her undead stepsisters for the first time. Agatha watched Ella’s face melt to happiness, taking in the beloved sisters she’d once loved more than anyone else. It didn’t matter that they were spear-wielding zombies or that they were on Evil’s side. Like a moth to fire, Ella drifted towards them, hands up in peace. The closer she drew, the more her stepsisters’ gnarled faces softened in turn, their grip on their spears weakening, as if they too felt the stirrings of old love for their sister, erasing all new orders to hurt her. Cinderella slowly held out her arms towards them, a beautiful glow spreading across her face . . .

She didn’t hear her stepmother behind her with the axe.

“No!” Agatha cried, sprinting forwards—

Cinderella turned too late.

The axe slashed down.

As the old princess fell, Agatha’s vision fogged with tears, her heartbeat dragging to a crawl.

In the fiery hell pit of the forest, a war stopped.

Even Lancelot and Rafal held their blows, watching Cinderella hit the ground only a few feet from Gavaldon’s shield.

Merlin turned from nursing injured Ravan. The wizard’s body went stiff, his eyes flying to Agatha.

Shell-shocked, both she and the wizard wheeled towards the shield over Gavaldon.

A young boy stood inside the protective bubble, watching them.

He was no more than seven or eight years old and held a storybook open in his hands.

Agatha recognized him immediately.

Jacob.

Honora’s youngest son.

He watched Cinderella dying on the other side of the thin shield, her slumped position matching the changing painting on the last page of the fairy tale in his hands.

The rewritten book slipped out of his fingers and fell to the grass.

Behind him, Agatha glimpsed a mob of shadows, led by a tall, broad man, racing towards the young boy from Gavaldon’s square. She could hear Stefan calling out Jacob’s name, telling him to get away . . .

But it didn’t matter now.

The holes in the shield over Gavaldon were magically expanding and bleeding into each other, growing bigger, bigger, bigger— All at once the shield exploded with an ear-splitting crack, detonating in a blinding flash of white light that jolted the Forest like an earthquake. Heroes young and old spilled to the ground, as stymphs careened headfirst into trees, exploding on impact. Agatha spun from the sizzling glare, her body thrown to the dirt as she covered her eyes.

Then the light seemed to fade.

Little by little, she peeked up through her fingers and saw twinkles of white raining over the Reader World like stars.

The shield between the Woods and Gavaldon was gone.

In the Woods, the heroes were slow to get up . . . but the zombies were already unfurling to their feet. . . . Agatha couldn’t see Tedros anywhere—or Merlin or Lancelot, for that matter— She swiveled back to where the shield had been. Jacob had been subsumed into the throng of villagers who’d swarmed in to save him. Honora gripped him hard against her waist, his elder brother, Adam, under her other arm, as she herded them into the safety of the crowd.

Staring at the firelit battlefield, the oldest Elder quivered at the fore of the mob, too frightened to discern who was friend and who was foe. He held out his hands in surrender, backing against his people.

“Every four years you ripped our families apart. You took our children! Isn’t that enough?” the Elder pleaded. “We’ll do anything you want. Please don’t kill us—” “I have no intention to kill you,” said a cool, hard voice.

Agatha’s spine tingled.

Slowly she turned, along with the villagers, to see Rafal, standing alone inside the boundary of the Reader World.

“Well . . . except for him,” he grinned.

The young School Master stepped aside, revealing Stefan kneeling in the grass, gagged with a stick.

Sophie stood over her father, cold-eyed and still.

“In fact, it’s not me doing the killing at all. My true love will be the one to end this story.” Rafal kissed Sophie’s hand gently, his ring on her finger gleaming against his lips. “Sacrificing her own father’s blood for love.” Agatha broke out in a sweat.

“The most dangerous person in a fairy tale is the one willing to do anything for love.” It was never the Readers that Rafal was after in Gavaldon. It was only one Reader. A Reader whose murder could undo the School Master’s slaying of his own brother.

Merlin’s words rushed back to her . . . the ones he’d spoken in the Celestium the night before the war . . . the ones that didn’t make any sense . . .

What if we have the whole story wrong, Agatha?

The day Rafal had killed his own blood, he’d proven that Evil couldn’t love and doomed his side to eternal defeat.

But now he had a queen who would kill her own blood to prove Evil could love.

An original sin erased.

The curse on Evil reversed.

An immortal School Master with no one to stop him until every last Ever was dead. Until Good was only a memory.

Just as he’d promised.

Horror-struck, Agatha looked up at Sophie standing with Rafal, his spiked white hair like icicles against the night sky. As Sophie gazed at her beautiful true love, there was nothing in her eyes but a deep green void.

Beneath her, Stefan didn’t struggle. He knew he was beaten.

Agatha felt her fingertip heat up, knowing Tedros must be nearby. Lancelot and Merlin too. Surely they could help her get to Stefan in time. Somehow they’d get Sophie away from the School Master. The wizard always had a plan— But now she saw Rafal smirking at her, his eyes on her glowing fingertip, as if she was two steps behind.

Dread rising, Agatha turned to see Rafal’s zombies restraining Merlin’s army, young and old, weapons to each of their necks. Zombie trolls and ogres broke heroes’ bows and crushed the last stymphs with their fists, splintering their bones. Trapped at spear- and swordpoint, the young and old heroes surrendered to their knees like Stefan. First, Hort and Peter together . . . then Jack and Briar Rose . . . Uma, Yuba, and Pinocchio . . . even Hester knew her demon was no match for a knife-wielding zombie witch and dropped to the dirt next to Anadil and Dot.

Petrified, Agatha searched for Tedros, but she couldn’t see him anywhere as she scanned the grove down to the last two trolls tying prisoners to a tree— Her heart stopped.

The prisoners were Merlin and Lancelot.

The knight had a gash in his cheek, a scorched thigh, and his shoulder looked worse than before as he drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to keep his head up. Merlin had been stripped of hat and cloak, and one of the ogres had hacked off his beard. Slumped in the dirt, in a filthy undershirt, the wizard stared at the sun through the trees, minutes from snuffing out. She could see the despair in his sad blue eyes, reflecting the last trickle of light. Together, they’d failed to destroy Sophie’s ring . . . failed to hold the shield . . . failed to stop the School Master from his ending. Instead, they’d given him just enough time to seal Good’s destruction forever.

Agatha waited for Merlin to look at her . . . to tell her what to do from here . . . to give Good a way out . . .

But Merlin never did.

Rafal leered at the hapless wizard and the rest of the kneeling hostages.

“Why can’t some souls love?” he asked, his young, sultry tone carrying into the night. “It’s a question I’ve wrestled a long time, watching Good win every single story, while souls like mine languished without a weapon to fight back. So many Nevers try to love in Good’s way, in the hope that we might find a happy ending too. Even me: I tried to love my Good brother with just as much fervor as Evil’s queen once loved a Good prince. But Evil can’t love in Good’s way, no matter how hard we try. Because our souls were never created with love. We are the discarded, the neglected, the beaten down. We are the hated, the castoffs, the freaks. Despair is our fuel; pain is our power. The love that wins Ever Afters could never be enough for us. Nothing will ever be enough to satisfy the black hole in our hearts. Unless we change what love means . . .” A cutting smile slid across his face, his eyes lifting to Agatha. “. . . and Evil finds its own happy endings.” An ogre seized Agatha from behind and bound her wrists.

At the same time, muffled yells tore through the silence and Agatha swiveled to see two trolls push Tedros next to her with hands tied, the prince barechested and gagged with his balled-up shirt. He no longer had his father’s sword.

Rafal leaned between them, his lips at their ears.

“I promised you an ending you’d never forget,” he whispered, his breath gelid on Agatha’s skin. “The Last Ever After to your fairy tale.” One troll handed Excalibur to Sophie, who instantly put it to Stefan’s throat.

The second troll pulled the axe from Cinderella’s corpse and handed the weapon to Rafal.

Rafal shoved Agatha and Tedros down to their knees side by side, before he pinned a black boot between each of their shoulder blades, first Agatha, then Tedros, crushing their faces over a fallen tree trunk, as two ogres kept their bodies from squirming.

The young School Master carefully lay the axe blade across Agatha’s and Tedros’ necks, the edge long enough to take care of both of them at once. Agatha could feel the blood dripping off the steel, along with rough speckles of rust.

“Good finds Ever After with a kiss. Evil finds Ever After with a kill.” Rafal looked up at Sophie, smoldering red patches on his snow-white cheeks. “You’ve been hurt by everyone you ever trusted, my queen. But one swing and they’ll be gone for good. One swing and our love is sealed forever.” There was a mad, lustful passion in his face now. “Because on this night, I take you, Sophie, as my Never After. From this day forward, in darkness and despair, for Evil and Eviler, to love and to hate, till death never do us part. This death I give to you. My one true love.” He pressed his axe into Agatha’s and Tedros’ necks, taking aim.

Sophie’s face was still a hard, ghostly mask. She dug Excalibur deep into Stefan’s windpipe.

“This death I give to you, Rafal. My one true love,” she pledged.

“Sophie, no!” Agatha cried out, twisting to meet her eyes. “He’s your fath—” Rafal crunched his boot down, silencing her.

“Wait,” Sophie said, sharp as a whip, stopping the young School Master cold. “I’m not finished with this one.” Rafal’s boot eased up on Agatha and he smirked at his queen, surprised. “By all means, my love . . . Unleash.” Sophie turned to Agatha, the hardness in her face warping to something deeper, scarier. “You think this man deserves the name ‘father’? A man who despises me?” Stefan tried to speak, but Sophie jammed the sword blade against his neck.

“I tried to make him love me. I tried to show him the real me. But he hated me even more. Just like Tedros. Just like everyone Good ever did,” Sophie spat at Agatha. “I am my mother. Evil to the bone. That’s all anyone will ever see.” Agatha raised her head from the log. “Except me.”

Her voice was surprisingly calm, as if rising from a place over which she had no control.

She could see the last slivers of sun glint in Excalibur’s blade.

Merlin had warned her: she would have one chance with Sophie.

Use it wisely.

She’d tried to listen to the wizard. She’d tried to have a plan . . .

But there was no plan.

There could never be a plan for her and Sophie.

There was only the truth.

She could feel Tedros struggling against his binds like he had on a pyre, once upon a time in Gavaldon, trying to help her. But this time it was she who gently touched her foot to his leg, soothing him.

No one could help her now.

This was her and Sophie’s fairy tale.

And this was The End.

Agatha looked up at her friend.

“I know what’s inside you, Sophie,” she said. “Beyond your mother. Beyond Evil. I know the real you.” “This is the real me. This has always been the real me,” Sophie retorted, tightening her grip on the sword. “The one who doesn’t have to pretend to be Good anymore. The one who doesn’t have to feel like I’m not enough. The one who doesn’t have to feel anything at all. I’m finally happy, Agatha.” “No, you’re not,” Agatha said quietly. “You’re not happy.” Sophie bristled. “About to die with your beloved prince and still thinking about me. My story will go on without you, Agatha. I don’t need you anymore or your pity, like one of your decrepit cats. I’m no longer your Good Deed.” “But I’m still yours,” said Agatha. “Because without your love, I’d never have become who I really am. So even if I die, I’ll always be your Good Deed, Sophie. And no Evil in the world will ever erase that.” Spots of pink seared Sophie’s cheeks. Her throat bobbed. “You shouldn’t have come back for me,” she rasped. “You should have lived your own life and let me have mine. None of this would have ever happened.” “I would do it all over again,” said Agatha.

“Because we’re sisters?” Sophie scoffed, fighting emotion.

Stefan gurgled, confused—Sophie dug the blade deeper.

“Because we’re more than sisters,” said Agatha, staring straight at her. “We chose each other, Sophie. We’re best friends.” Sophie looked away. “A princess and witch can never be friends. Our story will forever prove that.” “No, our story proves a princess and a witch have to be friends. Because each of us has played both parts,” said Agatha. “And we’ll always play both parts. That’s who we are. That’s why we’re us.” Sophie still couldn’t look at her. “All I ever wanted was love, Aggie,” she breathed, voice breaking. “All I ever wanted was a happy ending like yours.” “You already have one, Sophie. You’ve always had one.” Agatha smiled through tears. “With me.” Sophie finally met her eyes.

For the briefest of moments, sound and space fell away, the two of them locked in a gaze so strong that they became reflections of each other. Light and Dark. Good and Evil. Hero and Villain. Only as each looked deeper, neither knew who was who. For in each other’s eyes, they saw the answers to their own soul’s silent questions, as if they weren’t reflections at all, but two halves of the same.

A tear slipped down Sophie’s cheek, her mouth falling open to the softest of gasps, as if a fire inside her had gone out.

The young School Master looked ruffled, his hands twitching on the axe, pupils darting between his prisoner and his queen— Sophie blinked, the moment gone. She looked at Agatha as if she were a stranger, her face chilling back to its dead-numb shell. Slowly Sophie turned to Rafal.

“On three,” she said.

Rafal smiled cruelly at Sophie and slammed Agatha’s head back down on the tree.

“On three,” said Rafal, measuring the blade against her and Tedros’ necks.

Agatha went limp, her heart broken.

“One,” said Sophie.

Tedros stopped thrashing as if he knew the end had come. He pressed his bare shoulder against Agatha’s and she pulled even closer, wanting to feel every part of him as they died.

“Two,” said Rafal, both fists on the axe.

She tasted the warmth of Tedros’ breath.

“Forever,” he whispered.

“Forever,” she whispered.

Rafal raised the axe over their heads.

Sophie aimed her sword at her father’s neck—

“Three,” Sophie said.

Agatha felt the wind of the falling axe and saw Sophie swing Tedros’ sword, the sun imploding to darkness in the mirror of its steel. But as Excalibur grazed Stefan’s skin, about to rip into his throat, Sophie suddenly diverted her swing, looping the sword upwards. Her right hand came off the hilt, brushing across her left hand, sweeping the School Master’s ring clean off her finger and high into the air, the gold circle catching the last spear of light in the sky, like a bold new sun— The glare blinded Rafal and he froze the axe in shock, whirling back towards his queen. As the ring fell towards Sophie, his eyes widened in horror and he thrust out his palm, a blast of black glow scorching towards her— Clasping the sword with both fists, Sophie looked dead into the School Master’s eyes and smashed Excalibur down with all her might, shattering the ring out of the air into a million shards of gold.

Gold shimmer enveloped Sophie’s body like a shield as the School Master’s death spell ripped into her, the black cloud breaking apart on impact and dissipating like the last mists of a storm.

Thunderstruck, Rafal watched the last embers of his ring go cold, betrayal flushing through his young, beautiful face . . .

Then he began to change. His face shriveled like rancid fruit; his thick white hair sloughed off in clumps over his mottled skull; his spine hunched with sickening crackles, jerking his body into ugly contortions. Liver spots rashed across decaying skin, his blue eyes clouding toxic gray, his muscled limbs shrinking to bony sticks. With each second, he grew older and older, thousands of years old, screams of rage tearing from inside of him as his flesh boiled with heat. His clothes burned off of him, smoke spitting through his mummifying skin, until the School Master was unmasked at last, a naked corpse of blackened, hateful flesh.

His red eyes met Sophie’s. Roaring with vengeance, he staggered towards her, faster, faster, stabbing out a rotted claw for her face— His hand crumbled to dust as he touched her.

Rafal let out a monstrous cry and burst into ashes, cascading to the ground like the sands of an hourglass.

All through the trees, his Dark Army of old villains crumbled too, their weapons dropping and clinking to earth in clouds of dust.

A last gust of wind swept trails of smoke across the Forest like a curtain.

The night was quieter than the depths of a tomb.

Stupefied, Tedros ripped out his gag and scraped to his knees first, gaping into the black sky.

“We’re here,” he said, spinning around. “We’re still here. Agatha . . . we’re alive! The storybook’s closed—” His princess hadn’t moved, facedown on the log.

“Agatha?”

Slowly Agatha looked up at him. “Tedros, I think I’m going to faint.” Her prince smiled. “You catch me. I catch you.”

The color drained from Agatha’s face and she slackened into his waiting arms.

Across from them, petrified villagers freed Stefan, who tearfully embraced Honora and her two young sons. In the mulch of the Forest, young and old heroes pulled themselves off the ground, surveying the carnage of war. Hester cut Lancelot and Merlin loose, while Hort reunited the wizard with his hat and starry cloak. Meanwhile, Anadil and Dot hustled between old mentors, propping them up to their feet.

“We’ll make you a new wing, Tink,” Peter said, comforting his weeping fairy.

“Make me a new chair too,” said Hansel, frowning at a broken wheel on his wheelchair.

With his spectacles cracked, the White Rabbit depended on Yuba to guide him, while Princess Uma said a silent prayer for all the animals that had died during the war.

“Anyone seen Jack?” Pinocchio asked.

Red Riding Hood pointed to him and Briar Rose kissing behind a tree.

As Merlin tended to the wounded students, Beatrix used what few skills she’d learned leading Evil’s infirmary to help Lancelot bind his bloody shoulder.

“Gwen will never let me leave the house again,” he grumbled.

As Agatha stirred, she felt Tedros running his fingers through her hair.

The first thing she saw was Merlin crouched over Cinderella, wrapping her body in his cloak. The old princess looked so peaceful and light, the way she had when she saw her stepsisters one last time.

The wizard met Agatha’s eyes and gave her the warmest of smiles, as if to reassure her that even though she was no longer alive, Cinderella had finally found her happy ending.

Agatha watched as Hort and Chaddick helped the wizard carry her away. Tomorrow, there would be a funeral, where she could say goodbye . . .

Tomorrow.

“The sun,” she choked, peering into the dark sky. “Where’s the sun?” “Waiting to rise in the morning,” said her barechested prince, helping her up. “Thanks to you.” Agatha exhaled. “Takes two for a happy ending,” she said, searching for her best friend. But Sophie was nowhere to be seen.

“You know what went through my head as the axe was coming down?” Tedros asked. “That we never had nicknames for each other, like every other couple.” “We’re not like every other couple,” said Agatha, looking at him.

“No, we’re not,” Tedros admitted. “Not every king finds a queen who’s smarter, stronger, and better than him in every way.” Agatha put her hand to his golden cheek. “You are the pretty one, at least.” Tedros grinned, leaning in. “Mmm, you might have me beat there too.” He kissed her long and soft, leaving Agatha even more wobbly on her feet. Tedros steadied her with his strong arm, bringing her into his sweaty chest. After all this, he somehow smelled better than he ever did before. She kissed him again, a blush blooming on her cheeks— Then her smile faded.

Tedros noticed and turned.

Through the trees, Sophie was kneeling beside Lady Lesso, shivering on her back, as Professor Dovey clutched her friend’s hand.

The Evil Dean’s dress was soaked with blood.

“Oh no,” Agatha whispered.

Sophie stroked Lady Lesso’s cheek, gazing into her violet eyes. The Dean was wheezing shallowly, trying in vain to say something.

“Shhh,” Professor Dovey said to her, stoic and firm. “Just rest.” The Good Dean had known the moment she’d seen the wound from Aric’s knife that magic would serve no use.

Sophie glanced up and saw Agatha, Tedros, and all the other young and old heroes gathered at a distance, watching solemnly.

“What . . . made you . . . do it?”

Sophie slowly looked down.

“Tell . . . me,” Lady Lesso said.

Sophie smiled. “The same thing that made you turn your back on Evil too,” she said. “A friend.” Lady Lesso took Sophie’s hand in hers, the Dean’s other hand still on Clarissa’s. “The Old and the New together,” she whispered. “Both in good hands.” Tears slipped down Sophie’s face. “This is my fault—”

“No,” said Lady Lesso, steeling willfully. “Never that. You’re my child. As much as my own son. You are loved, Sophie.” Her voice faltered. “Always remember. You are loved—” Clarissa touched her. “Lady Lesso, please . . .”

“Leonora.”

Lady Lesso looked up at her best friend. “My name . . . is Leonora.” Slowly the Dean’s eyes closed. She never took another breath.

Professor Dovey finally wept, draping herself over her best friend.

Sophie quietly left the two of them alone.

Agatha was waiting for her at Gavaldon’s edge.

They stood together in silence, watching Dovey hold Lesso’s dead body the way Agatha once held Sophie’s.

Sophie’s fingers clasped Agatha’s.

Agatha gently squeezed Sophie back.

“Where’s Tedros?” Sophie said at last.

“Rounding up the others so we can head to the school,” Agatha replied, watching Tedros and Lancelot in the Forest lifting Ravan, Professor Anemone, and the other injured atop the rumps of Princess Uma’s few surviving animals. “So many hurt that we’ll need the other teachers’ help.” “Come on. Let’s chip in,” Sophie said, heading towards the trees— “Not yet,” said Agatha. “There’s someone waiting for you, first.” Sophie looked over her friend’s shoulder and saw Stefan, standing in the grass, the rest of the villagers gathered at a distance.

Sophie’s heart caved in.

Stefan never said a word. He just hugged his daughter tight, as both of them sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“I never hated you. Never,” Stefan fought. “I tried to be a good father—you don’t know how hard I tried—” “You were,” Sophie sniffled. “You were a good father.”

“I love you more than anything in the world,” Stefan whispered. “You’re my child, Sophie.” Stefan saw Agatha crying now, watching him with Sophie.

“Though you’ve always made Agatha feel like one of mine too,” he said, smiling tenderly at her.

Sophie wiped her cheek. “Come on, Aggie.”

Agatha hugged Stefan too, nestling against him, as her tears stained his shirt. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything. But as she caught Sophie’s eyes, her friend clearly having the same thoughts, neither of them said a word. For in a single moment, they’d found everything they needed. They didn’t need any more. There, in the space between worlds, two girls held their father, their bodies still and serene, as if three pieces had been made whole at last.

Agatha looked up at Stefan, smiling. With a gasp, she broke away from him— For Stefan was shimmering, along with the rest of the villagers behind him. Within seconds, their bodies turned translucent, as Gavaldon started vanishing into a glare of white light.

Stunned, Stefan looked up and saw a shield streaking down from the sky— Agatha felt Sophie’s hand on hers, pulling her away from him.

“No. Stay with us, Sophie . . . ,” Stefan begged, fading faster. “Stay with your family!” “I love you, Father, but you have a new family now,” said Sophie, eyes glistening. “The one you always deserved. The one that will make you truly happy.” She held Agatha closer. “I have a new family too. One that can finally make me happy. So don’t worry about me, Father. Please. Don’t look back. Never look back.” “No . . . Sophie, no . . .” Stefan lunged out a hand for his daughter as the shield slashed between them— “Wait!”

Light slipped through his fingers.

He was gone.