The School for Good and Evil

  “Evers win,” the wolf grinned.

  Strange, Agatha thought. Why does he want his own side to lose?

  “Only two more pairs until your turn!” Kiko whispered.

  Agatha’s heart skittered. She couldn’t focus with her mind whiplashing between Sophie and Tedros, between excitement and guilt. Talent . . . Think of a talent . . . She could neither Mogrify, since the teachers’ counterspells were still in place, nor could she do any of her favorite spells, since they were all Evil.

  “I’ll just call a bird or something,” she murmured, trying to remember Uma’s lessons.

  “Um, how will the bird get in?” Kiko asked, nodding at the locked doors.

  Agatha broke her freshly polished nail.

  With her talents still locked in the Doom Room, Anadil tried to curse open the doors, only to find the magic too strong to break, and suffer a stinkbug swarm as punishment. Then Hort took the stage for his face-off with Beatrix. Since the Trial, Hort had been rising in the ranks, chasing a Circus spot he promised would finally earn him “respect.” But now he spent most of his four minutes onstage grunting and wheezing, trying to pop hairs from his chest.

  “I’ll respect him if he sits down,” Hester grouched as Nevers let out a few boos.

  But just as time ran out, Hort spewed a violent grunt and cracked his neck. He moaned and his chest swelled up. He groaned and his cheeks puffed up. He wrenched, he lurched, he jerked, and with a primal scream, he exploded out of his clothes.

  Everyone slammed against their seats in shock.

  Hort sneered down, blanketed in dark brown fur over hulking muscles, sharp-toothed snout wet and long.

  “He’s a . . . werewolf?” Anadil gasped.

  “Man-wolf,” Hester said, squelching thoughts of the Beast’s corpse. “More control than a werewolf.”

  “See?” Hort the Wolf snarled at all of them. “See?”

  His expression suddenly changed and with a flatulent poof! he deflated into his scrawny, hairless body and dove behind the stage to cover himself.

  “I take back the part about control,” Hester said.

  Still, Evil thought they had it won, until Beatrix flounced onstage in a peach prairie dress, clutching a familiar white bunny, and sang a song so catchy and sweet that she soon had all the Evers singing along:

  I can be rude

  I can act low

  That doesn’t mean I can’t grow

  But who’s always been there

  Who’s always been true

  I’m the one who’s been Good to you

  Not a fair-weather friend

  Or a flash in the pan

  Tedros, don’t I deserve your hand?

  “They’ll be so perfect at the Ball, won’t they?” Kiko sighed to Agatha.

  And as she watched Tedros finally join the sing-along, amused by such earnest devotion, Agatha had to smile too. Somewhere in there, Beatrix had a speck of Good. All it took was talent to show it.

  Agatha blinked and saw Tedros grinning right at her, as if confident she’d produce a talent far superior. A talent worthy of Camelot’s son. It was the same look he had given Sophie once upon a time.

  Before she failed him.

  “Never Hester versus Ever Agatha!” said the white wolf after Hort was punished with porcupine needles.

  Agatha wilted. Her time had run out.

  “Without Sophie, Hester’s our last hope,” Brone hiccupped, spawning a fresh batch of butterflies.

  “She doesn’t seem to think so,” frowned elephant-eared Vex, watching Hester slump to the stage.

  Soon they saw why, for when Hester unleashed her demon, it only managed a sooty firebolt before fading into her neck. She coughed painfully, clutching her heart, as if the poor effort had drained her.

  But if Hester went down without a fight, her teammates had no intention of doing the same. Like all villains, when defeat loomed, they simply changed the rules. And as Agatha took the stage, frantically trying to think of a talent, she heard whispers—“Do it! Do it!”—then Dot’s voice—“No!”

  She turned just in time to see boys huddled over a red Spells textbook. Vex raised his glowing red finger, shouted an incantation—Agatha went stiff and collapsed unconscious.

  The only sound in the Theater was a stalactite slowly cracking on the ceiling.

  It fell.

  Tedros tackled Vex by his flappy ears. Brone snatched Tedros by the collar, threw him into a chandelier, and students dodged falling candles that ignited the aisles. Everboys leapt into the Never pews, while Nevers ignited and launched dead butterflies at them from under Brone’s seat.

  Agatha slowly came to onstage and looked up to see Nevers and Evers throwing shoes at each other across a burning aisle, clumps, boots, and high heels flying through smoke like missiles.

  Where are the guards?

  Through the haze, she glimpsed wolves beating up Nevers and fairies dive-bombing Evers, fueling flames with fairy dust. Agatha wiped her eyes and looked again. Wolves and fairies were making this fight . . . worse?

  Then she saw one fairy in particular, biting every pretty girl he could find.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “I didn’t either,” the white wolf answered.

  In a flash, Agatha understood.

  She flicked her glowing finger and a whip crack of lightning exploded through the aisle, shocking everyone still.

  “Sit down,” she commanded.

  No one disobeyed, including wolves and fairies who slunk into the aisle, ashamed.

  Agatha carefully studied these guards of both schools.

  “We think we know what sides we’re on,” she spoke into the silent Theater. “We think we know who we are. We tear life apart into Good or Evil, beautiful or ugly, princess or witch, right or wrong.”

  She gazed at the biting fairy boy.

  “But what if there are things in between?”

  The fairy looked back at her, tears welling.

  Make a wish, she thought.

  Terrified, the fairy boy shook his head.

  All you have to do is make a wish, Agatha pleaded.

  The fairy boy welled tears, fighting himself . . .

  Then, just as with the fish, just as with the gargoyle, Agatha began to hear his thoughts.

  Show them . . . came a voice she knew.

  Show them the truth . . .

  Agatha smiled sadly at him. Wish granted.

  She thrust out her hand and ghostly blue light burst upward from the fairies’ and wolves’ bodies, which froze completely still.

  Shocked, students squinted at human spirits, floating in blue light above the frozen bodies. Some of the spirits were their age, most were wizened and old, but all wore their same school uniforms—only the ones in Good’s clothes hovered above the wolves’ bodies, with the ones in Evil’s above the fairies’.

  Dumbstruck, students whipped to Agatha for explanation.

  Agatha looked up at bald, black-robed Bane, floating above the fairy boy’s body. The boy who bit pretty girls in Gavaldon, now a few years older, once-plump cheeks sunken and stained with tears.

  “If you fail, you become a slave for the opposite side,” Agatha said. “That’s the School Master’s punishment.”

  She took in an old white-haired man over the white wolf, soothing a young girl’s spirit above a fairy.

  “Eternal punishment for an impure soul,” Agatha said, as the young girl wept into the old man’s arms. “This, he thinks, will fix these bad students. Putting them in the wrong school will teach them a lesson. It’s what this world teaches us. That we can only be in one school and not the other. But that leaves the question . . .”

  She looked across the phantoms, all as frightened and helpless as Bane.

  “Is it true?”

  Her hand lost steadiness. The phantoms flickered and plunged back into their fairy and wolf bodies, which came back to life.

  “I’d set them all free if I could, but his magic is too strong,” A
gatha said, voice cracking. “I just wish my talent had a better ending.”

  As she slumped down the stage steps, she heard sniffles and looked up to see wolves, fairies, children on both sides dabbing their eyes.

  Agatha sank next to Kiko, whose makeup was a runny mess of pink and blue. “I used to hate those wolves,” she wailed. “Now I want to hug them.”

  Across the aisle, Agatha saw Hester smile through tears. “Makes me wonder whose side I’m on,” Hester said softly.

  Evil’s 9th candle extinguished above her.

  With a miserable sigh, Hester stood. Instantly a gush of boiling black oil exploded from the ceiling. She closed her eyes just as it smashed into her—

  It struck fur instead.

  Hester turned to see three wolves shielding her, bodies seared by steaming oil. Panting with pain, they glowered into the air, informing the School Master they’d seen enough of his punishments.

  In the silent theater, everyone stared at each other as if the rules of the game had suddenly changed.

  “See, he has to be Good,” Kiko whispered to Agatha. “If he was Evil, he’d have killed them!”

  “F-F-i-i-nal duel,” the white wolf stammered, sensing his luck. “Never Sophie versus Ever Tedros. With Sophie absent, we’ll proceed to Tedros.”

  “No.”

  Tedros stood. “The Circus ends now. We’ve seen Good that cannot be matched.”

  He bowed in defeat to Agatha. “There is no doubt of the winner.”

  Agatha met his clear blue eyes. For the first time, she didn’t think of Sophie.

  Both sides looked up at the gleaming Crown, waiting for it to bless the prince’s verdict.

  Instead there was a very loud knock.

  27

  Promises Unkept

  For a moment, no one was sure where the knock came from.

  But then came another. This one louder. Someone was at the Never doors.

  “The Circus is closed!” the wolf roared.

  Two more knocks.

  “I thought teachers were locked in their rooms,” Agatha whispered.

  “So it’s not a teacher, obviously,” Kiko whispered, eyes glued to Tristan.

  Agatha met Hester’s look across the aisle. Spooked, both girls turned back to the doors, shuddering from another loud knock.

  “You will not be let in!” the wolf thundered.

  The knocking stopped.

  Agatha sighed.

  Then slowly, magically, the doors creaked open all on their own.

  Into the Theater of Tales slunk a figure shrouded in a black hood. Hundreds of eyes watched the stranger glide down the aisle, footsteps quiet, snakeskin cape trailing behind like a wedding train. Smoothly, silently the black shadow ascended to the stage and stood still beneath the Circus Crown, cape scales glimmering in flame light, head bowed like a bat’s.

  The doors slammed shut.

  Pale fingers slithered from under the cape and pulled the hood back.

  Sophie glared down at her audience, nose and chin marred by warts. Patches of white speckled her dyed black hair. Her emerald eyes were now murky gray, her skin thin enough to see veins.

  Slowly she scanned the crowd, taking in scared faces with a widening sneer. Then she saw Agatha, regal in blue, and lost her smile. Sophie stared at her, gray pupils clouding with horror.

  “I see we have a new princess,” she said quietly. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Agatha returned her stare, feeling no more pity, no more desire to please.

  “But look closer, children, and see the vampire she is, come to suck our souls,” Sophie leered. “Since she doesn’t have one of her own.”

  Beneath her dress, Agatha trembled. But she withstood her withering glare until Sophie suddenly swiveled to Tedros and smiled.

  “My dear Teddy! Fancy seeing you here. I believe we still have our match to finish.”

  “The Circus is over,” Tedros spat. “A winner has been crowned.”

  “I see,” Sophie said. “Then what is that?”

  She stabbed her bony finger into the air and everyone looked up at the dangling Crown, still very much ungiven.

  “This is bad,” Hester said to Anadil. “This is very bad.”

  Tedros stood up across the aisle.

  “Just leave,” he growled at Sophie. “Before you make a fool of yourself.”

  Sophie smiled. “Scared, are you?”

  Tedros puffed his chest, trying to hold himself back. He could feel Evers’ eyes on him, just like in the Clearing when Sophie exposed his promise.

  “Show us, Teddy,” Sophie said sweetly. “Show me something I can’t match.”

  Tedros clenched his teeth, fighting his pride.

  Vex suddenly noticed a burnt “TEAM EVIL” banner on the floor. His eyes sparkled with hope.

  “SHOW US!” he bellowed, and jabbed Brone, who jumped in. “SHOW US! SHOW US!” Lusting to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, Nevers swept into their chorus. “SHOW US! SHOW US!”

  “No—stop!” Hester cried as she and Anadil spun—

  Villains snarled at them as if they were traitors and the two witches quickly joined the chant.

  But as the Nevers’ chants grew, Tedros didn’t move. Evers shifted in their seats, impatient for their Captain to take up the challenge. All except for Agatha, who closed her eyes.

  Don’t do it. It’s what she wants.

  Raucous roars rang out. Agatha’s eyes shot open—

  Tedros was crossing onto the stage.

  “No!” she screamed, but both sides’ cheers swallowed her.

  Separated by six feet, Sophie smiled deliciously and the prince glowered back. Neither said a word as the Nevers’ chants turned to “EVIL! EVIL! EVIL!” while Evers countered with “GOOD! GOOD! GOOD!” Thunder rumbled in the distance and the cheers grew louder, angrier, drowning out the swelling storm. Tedros’ muscles tensed, his cheekbones chiseled, as Sophie’s smile widened. Agatha shook harder with fear, watching Sophie’s grin grow taunting, mocking, until finally the prince flushed with fury, his finger glowed gold, and just as it looked like he’d attack—

  He dropped to his knees.

  The hall went silent in shock.

  Nevers exploded in victory. Agatha went white.

  With a pitying sigh, Sophie swept towards the kneeling prince. She gently took his head by its flaxen hair and peered into his scared blue eyes.

  “I’ve finally been doing my own homework, Teddy. Want to see?”

  Tedros hardened. “Still my turn.”

  He ripped out his training sword and Sophie drew back. But instead of striking her, Tedros stayed on one knee, pivoted to the aisle, thrust the blade towards the crowd—

  “Agatha of Woods Beyond.”

  He laid down the sword.

  “Will you be my princess for the Ball?”

  Sophie froze. Nevers stopped cheering.

  In the dead silence, Agatha tried to find her breath. Then she saw Sophie’s face, shock melting to pain. Looking into her friend’s sunken, scared eyes, Agatha slid into an old grave of darkness and doubt—

  Until a boy brought her back.

  A boy on one knee, looking at her the way he had through goblins, coffins, pumpkins.

  A boy who had chosen her long before they both knew it.

  A boy now asking her to choose him.

  Agatha gazed back at her prince.

  “Yes.”

  “No!” Beatrix cried, and vaulted to her feet.

  Chaddick dropped to his knees before her.

  “Beatrix, will you be my princess for the Ball?”

  One by one, Everboys cascaded to knees.

  “Reena, will you be my princess for the Ball?” said Nicholas.

  “Giselle, will you be my princess for the Ball?” said Tarquin.

  “Ava, will you be my princess for the Ball?”

  Boys fell in glorious rhythm, hands held out in proposal. Each girl heard her name, each girl had her gasp, until there was only one l
eft with no one to love. Tears blinded Kiko and she wiped them away, knowing she’d be failed—only to find Tristan before her on one knee.

  “Will you be my princess for the Ball?”

  “Yes!” Kiko screamed.

  “Yes!” said Reena.

  “Yes!” said Giselle.

  Through the Theater flooded waves of breathless ecstasy—“Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!”—until the sea of love drowned even Beatrix, who mustered her best smile and took Chaddick’s hand. “Yes!”

  Watching across the aisles, the Nevers’ faces began to change. One by one, their scowls turned sorrowful, their eyes melted to hurt. Hort, Ravan, Anadil, even Hester . . . As if they too wished they could have such joy. As if they too wished they could feel as wanted. Gone was their will to fight, lost to broken hearts, and the villains shrank into silence, snakes drained of venom.

  But one snake was still rearing.

  From the stage, Sophie’s eyes never left Agatha as Tedros took her into his arms. Sophie’s pupils darkened to hot coals. Her body shivered with sweat. Black nails drew blood from her fists. From the depths of her soul, hate spewed like lava, reviving the song of her heart. With her eyes on the happy couple, Sophie raised her hands and sang at full scream. Above her, black stalactites morphed into razor-sharp beaks, cawing, shrieking with life.

  All at once, ravens smashed through the ceiling and attacked everything in sight.

  Children dove for cover, shielding ears as Sophie shrieked an octave higher. Fairies flew for Sophie but the ravens swallowed every but one, who barely escaped through a crack in the walls. With their paws to their ears, the wolves were just as exposed and the birds slit their throats with ruthless speed. The white wolf grabbed a young brown wolf into his arms, batted back ravens as his nose and ears bled, but the swarm dragged both wolves behind the stage and ended their fight. Just as the birds swooped to do the same to the students—

  Sophie stopped singing and the ravens crumbled to thin air.

  Gasping with pain, everyone slowly turned to the villain onstage. Only Sophie wasn’t looking at them.

  Evers and Nevers followed her eyes to the Circus Crown, swaying in midair, at last awakened to judgment. It fluttered down from above, drifting between Good and Evil, back and forth, back and forth until light as a feather, the sharp crown twirled with decision . . . and landed softly on Sophie’s head.