Agatha dug her nails into the stem, kicked her legs for momentum and flung herself off the thorn, over the gates, and shielded her head before she landed hard on her tailbone in a pine shrub. Any elation at being alive was scrubbed out by her throbbing backside. She lumbered to her feet to chase Sophie once more—
Agatha froze.
Sophie glared back at her from the shores of Halfway Bay.
Before Agatha could move, a pink spell slammed into her chest, flattening her to the ground.
The shock of being attacked with a stun spell by her best friend gave way to an onslaught of pain. It was as if she’d been stomped on by an elephant or bashed in the chest by a streaking comet. For a second, she forgot who and where she was. All she could think about was air and finding a way to get it inside of her, but her lungs were paralyzed, rejecting her breaths. She tried to inhale through her mouth, but her ears were ringing with a tone so shrill and piercing that she clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, waiting for it to end. It only got louder, compounded by crippling nausea. Every second brought a new surprise, like a house of horrors, until she realized the biggest, most obvious problem of all: she couldn’t move.
She tried to crack open her eyes and see what was behind her, but her head felt like it’d been hacked open with an axe. Her field of vision was upside-down and shaky, her eyes watering too much to see any more than a dim, blurry fog. All she could make out through the quaking darkness was a blur of green coming off Halfway Bay—
And a black shadow, upside-down, running through it towards the old Evil castle.
Agatha could feel her heart trying in vain to pump blood to her muscles. Sophie . . . she had to follow Sophie. . . .
Only she was still nailed to the dirt.
How long do stun spells last?
She’d seen students recover from them easily in Yuba’s class and during the past two Trials. That’s why the teachers never taught a counterspell: stunning was so innocuous that even the most belligerent first year couldn’t wreak havoc with it. So what had Sophie possibly done to make this spell so noxious and hateful . . .
Magic follows emotion.
Agatha’s breaths shallowed. Sophie had hit her with everything raging inside of her: fury, frustration, revenge . . . she’d turned an ordinary spell into a missile of hate.
And there was only one counterspell to hate.
Magic follows emotion.
Agatha pictured her beautiful, brave prince in the Stymph Forest, fighting a deadly School Master. She focused on valiant Lancelot, who just wanted to go home to his one true love. She thought of noble, incorrigible old heroes, rushing into battle to repel old villains, who were starting to gain the upper hand. She looked up into the sky and watched the faint plumes of smoke blowing in from a shield over Gavaldon she couldn’t let break . . .
They need me.
They need me to destroy the ring.
Gold heat surged to her fingertip and a rush of air inflated her chest. With a cry of pain, she curled up into a fetal position and lurched to her knees.
For the first few paces, she could only crawl, her vision so misty and poor that she almost floundered straight into the bay’s lethal slime. Squinting up the hill at the old Evil castle, she could see Sophie propelling through the main doors. Agatha knew how vast the inside of Evil castle was; if Sophie got too far ahead, she’d never find her before nightfall—
Panicked, she glanced up at the sky over the bay and saw the needlepoint glow sinking east.
A couple hours at most.
Agatha willed her way to her feet, her hands and arms still locked up, her legs still spasming with pain. She limped past the bay, lumbered up the muddy hill towards the castle entrance, and shambled through the wide open doors. She’d find her. . . . She had to find her . . .
Her feet staggered onto the stone floor of the foyer before she slid down a wall of old portraits, drained of strength.
The castle was dead quiet, with the only sound a leaky drip that trickled down the portrait frames.
Sophie was long gone.
Head hammering, Agatha scanned the deserted halls off the foyer . . . the stairs in the anteroom leading to the towers . . .
I can’t move. Not anymore.
How can I find her if I can’t move?
She leaned against the wall, trying not to panic, trying to see straight—
Voices.
She heard voices. Carrying softly from the other side of the tall double doors at the end of the stair room.
Nauseous with pain, Agatha squirmed forward on her stomach like a seal, her hands and arms still paralyzed. Pouring sweat, she shoved her face to the doors and peeked through the gap between them.
Inside the dark Theater of Tales, Lady Lesso and Professor Clarissa Dovey were kneeling on the stone stage, hovering over the giant crack, revealing the deep, frozen Brig of Betrayers beneath. Thick, glowing blue mist billowed from inside the glacial dungeon, lighting up the Deans’ faces. From her vantage point at the west doors, Agatha could make out Dovey using her wand to melt one of the ice tombs on a dungeon wall, as Lady Lesso tried to extract Professor Emma Anemone from inside it by hacking at the ice with the tip of her stiletto heel.
“Do the part around her mouth last, Lesso dear,” said Dovey over Professor Anemone’s muffled shouts. “I could do without hearing Emma speak until absolutely necessary.”
Dovey’s silver bun of hair and beetle-winged, green gown were drenched, no doubt the result of having been freed from her own ice tomb. Yet, her smile was as luminous as ever, as if she’d forgotten her frozen torment the moment she was reunited with her friend and fellow Dean.
Meanwhile, in the back corner of the misty blue pit, Agatha could make out a new addition to the Brig—Aric, tied up and gagged, thrashing on the dungeon’s deep, snow-coated floor. Despite his muscles and height, there was nothing intimidating about him now as he whimpered and shivered on his side, “CREEP” still scarred into his forehead.
“Mother, please!” he garbled into his gag, but Lady Lesso ignored him.
“Couldn’t we seal him in his dormitory, like we did the other Evil teachers?” Professor Dovey asked, frowning at her sputtering wand. “We just need to keep them out of the way until the war is won—”
“Aric will stay in the Brig,” said Lady Lesso.
“Mother, I’m sorry!” he cried, trying to chew through his gag, but Lady Lesso still wouldn’t look at him.
“He is your son, even if he is vile,” Professor Dovey appealed. “And to leave your son in the Brig all alone seems rather—”
“I’m beginning to doubt my decision to free you,” Lady Lesso snapped.
Professor Dovey pursed her lips and refocused on melting the tomb, only to see her wand fizzle again. “Goodness, what did Merlin do to my wand? If I hadn’t been frozen stiff, I’d never have let that rodent take it from me—”
“Then I would have taken it from you myself,” said Lady Lesso, tightening her braid.
Professor Dovey stared at her.
“Who do you think let the rodent in the Brig, Clarissa? Who do you think showed it where you were!” Lady Lesso groaned. “Really, I hope old age doesn’t sap my brain as much as it has yours.”
“If it does, I’ll be there to remind you what you just said, dear.”
“You’ll be dead, Clarissa.”
The sound of the two Deans bantering made Agatha want to run to them and tackle them both in a hug, but her arms were still numb and her body crumpled on the floor, too weak to kick open or pound on the door. She tried to scream, but no voice came out, clotted inside her throat.
Helpless, she watched her Good fairy godmother lean over the side of the pit with Lady Lesso and finally pull Professor Anemone from her ice grave, while Aric flailed and sniveled below.
“I still don’t see how a Beautification professor is going to help us during war,” Lady Lesso panted, as she and Professor Dovey heaved their colleague onto the stone stage before collapsin
g on their sides.
“Emma is a friend, Lady Lesso,” Clarissa puffed, dabbing at sweat. “A friend who actually had the courtesy of telling me her first name.”
“Even my son doesn’t know my first name and I prefer to keep it that way,” said Lady Lesso. “Though if I had a name as bloodless as Emma, that would be reason enough.”
Even Professor Dovey chortled.
The wild-haired Beautification professor sat up in a soggy heap and pulled out a pocket mirror, blinking wide eyes at her streaked makeup and sallow complexion. “Is this what it’s all come to? Mighty Good reduced to a shadow of its former self?”
“A shadow we will fight for, Emma,” Clarissa declared, dragging her up towards the east doors, across the theater from where Agatha was watching. “Now hurry! We have to get to the Stymph Forest and help Merlin. The sun is almost set—”
“Wait,” said Lady Lesso.
She paused at the edge of the glowing Brig, glaring down at her son, tied up on the snow-covered floor of the dungeon. “Clarissa, are you sure no one can open the Brig except Evil’s Deans?”
“Evil’s Deans and their superiors, and only then from the outside. Neither me nor my Good colleagues could open it,” said Dovey, looking at Aric sadly. “Nor can we once you seal it. Even if we wanted to.”
Aric spat out his gag. “Please! I won’t hurt you, Mother!” he sobbed, pulling at his binds. “Please don’t leave me alone again! I’ll be nice from now on. . . . I’ll be a good son . . .”
Lady Lesso’s glare wavered, taking in his terrified face.
“Are you sure, Lady Lesso?” Professor Dovey asked. “Surely he can change. Surely a mother’s love . . .”
“That’s the difference between Good and Evil, Clarissa,” the Evil Dean said softly. “We know that love isn’t always enough for a happy ending.”
She looked at her son, jaw clenching.
Aric read her face. “Mother, no!”
Lady Lesso thrust out her finger and the ceiling of the Brig started closing as Aric screamed in horror, with a desperate childlike wail that filled the theater.
For a moment, Lady Lesso started shaking, her eyes glistening with tears. Then she felt Clarissa’s hand take hers, so tight and warm. The Evil Dean steadied herself, wiping her cheek.
“Come on, girls,” she said sternly, turning away from Aric’s cries. “Merlin needs us—”
Pink light ripped past her and crashed into the Brig, magically stalling its walls. The impact tore a chunk of ice off Professor Anemone’s old tomb, which fell and bashed Aric in the head, knocking him out.
Shell-shocked, Lady Lesso, Professor Dovey, and Professor Anemone slowly turned to see Sophie standing at the east doors, her fingertip glowing pink.
“You’re not going anywhere, Lady Lesso,” she said, dead cold.
Agatha choked outside the west doors.
She could see the ring gleaming on her friend’s finger . . . the ring she had to destroy to save her prince’s life. . . . Thinking of Tedros, Agatha hobbled up for the door handle, wanting to throw herself inside—
But what if she startled the teachers? What if Sophie used the moment to attack them?
She wouldn’t have the strength to fight or help them if things went wrong. Despairing, Agatha held herself back.
“Take Emma and go to the Stymph Forest, Clarissa,” said Lady Lesso.
“Lady Lesso—” Professor Dovey started.
“Now,” Lady Lesso commanded.
Clarissa didn’t argue. She grabbed Professor Anemone’s hand and hurried out of the theater through the east doors.
Alone in the Theater of Tales, Sophie and Lady Lesso faced off in the green torchlight.
“You said you wanted me to be a legendary queen,” Sophie boiled, shaking with rage. “You said you wanted me to make Evil great again. You said you wanted me to be happy.”
“And I do,” said Lady Lesso.
“Then how could you betray me and the one boy who makes me happy?” Sophie snarled, prowling towards her.
“Because in all of your years at my school, Sophie, I’ve only seen you happy in the company of one person,” said Lady Lesso calmly, holding her ground. “And it isn’t Rafal.”
“Well, in case you weren’t paying attention, Tedros and I aren’t exactly getting alon—”
“It isn’t Tedros either.”
Sophie stopped her advance.
“With Agatha, your soul is complete, Sophie,” said Lady Lesso. “Without her, you’ll never be at peace.”
Agatha’s eyes widened through the door, matching Sophie’s expression.
“But you said she’s my Nemesis,” Sophie scoffed. “You told me to kill her if I could—”
“Because I knew you couldn’t,” said Lady Lesso. “Agatha is your Nemesis. But only because you’ve always believed she has the happy ending you deserved. Everything you’ve done in your fairy tale has been to try and take that happy ending, whether trying to get Tedros for yourself or trying to replace him with Rafal. But what if you had that fairy tale all wrong, Sophie? What if a boy was never your happy ending? What if your happy ending was inside you all this time?”
The Dean gazed at her. “Then Agatha isn’t your Nemesis at all, is she? For a Nemesis is someone who gets stronger as you get weaker, while you and Agatha make each other stronger. Each of you has taught the other about real love. Without you, Agatha could never have opened herself to Tedros. And without Agatha, you could never find the true ending to your fairy tale—which is to let her go to Camelot with Tedros and know that her happiness is yours too. Don’t you see, Sophie? Your only Nemesis in your story is yourself. Because to find true love with another soul, like Agatha has, first you have to find it within. To find a happy ending with someone else, first you have to find it alone. Just as Agatha once did before she met you.”
Sophie shook her head, rage building. “Alone? You think my happy ending is alone? I thought you and me were alike. I thought you were Evil.”
“And I am. Certainly more Evil than you,” said Lady Lesso. “Except the difference between me and you is that I know what Evil means.”
Sophie smirked bitterly. “Being a spy for Good?”
“Accepting Good as our equal,” said Lady Lesso.
Sophie’s smirk erased.
“That’s what Evil’s love really is, Sophie,” said the Dean. “Knowing that Good has the right to thrive and fight for happiness, just as much as we do. Because in the end, Good and Evil are two sides of the same story: every Good comes from Evil and every Evil from Good. Just as your mother’s death made you want to find real happiness. Just as Agatha’s Ever After with a prince will help you find yours on your own. That is the balance that sustains our world. The balance that let the School Master stay young all those years, loving his Good brother as his equal, even if he was his enemy . . . before he forgot the power of that love. Just like you have forgotten too.”
“What would you ever know about love? Look what you did to your own son!” Sophie mocked, blotching red. “All because you were scared he’d kill you—”
“Not me,” Lady Lesso said, smiling sadly. “I was never scared he’d kill me. I was scared he’d kill the one real love I have in this world.”
Sophie stared at her, disarmed.
“Why do you think I was Merlin’s spy in the first place?” said the Dean. “Because it meant when the time came, I’d get to set Clarissa Dovey free. My best friend. My Agatha.”
Sophie ashened. “You . . . you betrayed Evil for a friend?”
“Like you must, when the time comes,” said Lady Lesso. “Because that friend’s happy ending will be your own, if you can let yourself find peace in being alone. That’s how this storybook will close. That’s your real ending, Sophie. And that’s a Never After worth fighting for.”
Sophie’s face froze, her lashes blinking faster.
At the west doors, Agatha watched them, her head lightening, her muscles unlocking, as if Lady Lesso’s words
had taken away her pain. She could see Sophie’s big emerald eyes, gazing at the Dean, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of her old friend inside of them.
But then Sophie’s pupils hardened, the yellow fire returning, and she sneered back at Lady Lesso. “I don’t have a friend anymore,” she hissed. “I have love. I have real love that will last forever. I’ll never be alone.”
“If only you could see yourself as you are now, Sophie,” said Lady Lesso, her voice tender and maternal. “Because you’ve never been more alone.”
Sophie bared her teeth and fired a blast of pink glow at the Dean’s head, but Lady Lesso deflected it easily, ricocheting the spell into Sophie, who stumbled towards the edge of the pit. Losing balance, she held out her hand towards Lady Lesso, as she teetered backwards—
Lady Lesso didn’t take it.
Sophie plunged into the dungeon mist, landing on her ribs in the cold sweep of snow.
Balled up on her side, all Sophie could hear were here own frigid breaths and the echo of Lady Lesso’s footsteps clacking away through the east doors.
She rose gingerly, back aching and looked up at the walls of ice tombs, fogged over by the warm air seeping in from the theater. Still shaken by her run-in with the Dean, she squinted down long rows of glowing blue graves, extending right and left beneath the stage into dark oblivion. Clawing her hands into the shards of Professor Anemone’s old tomb, she stood on tiptoes, looking for a way out of the Brig, but the walls were at least eight feet high.
“Help . . . ,” a voice whispered. “Help me . . .”
Sophie turned to see Aric, hands and feet bound, stirring in a dark corner of the Brig. His temple was streaked with blood where the ice had bludgeoned him.
“Please . . . ,” he croaked. “I’ll get us out of here. . . . Just cut me loose . . .”
Sophie had no fondness for the boy, but she didn’t have much choice.
Without hesitating, she bent down and burnt away his binds with her glowing fingertip. Aric stretched his legs, growling with pain.
“Give me a boost off that broken tomb, so I can get to the stage,” he said. “I’ll pull you over once I’m up there.”