A World Without Princes

  Slowly the Beast turned to Agatha and smiled bloodstained teeth.

  “No!” Sophie screamed—

  In a flash, the Beast launched across the room onto Agatha’s desk and slashed claws across her with a hateful roar. Then it leapt back into Sophie’s heart in a single bound, snuffing its infernal light.

  Sophie fainted and crumpled to the floor.

  No one moved. Agatha’s chest pounded so loud, whiting out her vision until it ebbed just long enough for her to see what the Beast had magically slashed on her in gruesome pink scars.

  UNFORGIVEN

  With an ugly, slurping sound, the scars shriveled and vanished into her skin.

  Agatha touched shaking fingers to her healed chest and slowly looked up.

  On her knees, Professor Anemone had Sophie in her arms and gently revived her with a glowing finger. As her teacher shepherded to her seat, Sophie panted and shivered in her grip. “I didn’t do it—” she choked as she sat, barely audible. “It wasn’t me—”

  “Shhh, Agatha knows you’d never attack her, dear. In the heat of a moment, your soul just mistook her for a boy,” the Dean soothed, caressing her and Agatha’s shoulders. “Still, a model performance, despite its carelessness.” She paused and smiled at the class. “Who’s next?”

  Professor Anemone gave the Dean a rancid glare and left the room.

  At her desk, Sophie was quaking just as much as Agatha, neither able to look at the other. As unnerved students took turns, barely killing their phantoms, Agatha saw the rest of the class give her darting glances, as if they trusted the Dean’s explanation and she should too.

  Sophie looked up through tears. “Aggie, you believe her, don’t you? I forgive you—I swear—”

  But Agatha was staring at Hester, who had the same ominous face she’d worn in the bathroom, warning her wish wouldn’t go unpunished.

  “Please let’s get the Storian,” Sophie said, voice breaking.

  Agatha slowly turned to her.

  “We’ll both mean our wish now,” Sophie begged. “You said you wanted to go home.”

  Agatha felt no relief. Only the deepening dread that it was too late to go home.

  “Agatha,” said a voice.

  Agatha’s eyes lifted over Sophie to see the Dean against the window.

  “You’re last, dear.”

  Agatha lost time in those moments, unsure how she made it from one point to another, until she stood before the Dean at the front of the room, listless and scared. Her chest simmered with heat, as if the slashed message had drawn under her skin and tattooed inside her. For the first time, she didn’t hear the voices of Good, telling her to believe her friend. Instead, she heard the witches’ voices, telling her that for the second year, there’d been no Great Mistake in why she’d come to school.

  Because she’d wished for the right ending after all.

  The Dean thrust her finger at Agatha and yanked smoke from her with so much force that Agatha toppled backwards. Billowing high, the blue wisps pooled in the air like a suspended cloud, about to reveal its phantom. . . .

  Then the mist turned black.

  The Dean’s eyes widened. Thick as thunderclouds, the smoke began to swirl, faster, faster, funneling to deathly black fog. Agatha scrambled back. “What’s happeni—”

  Lightning exploded from the cyclone and black wind ripped from its vortex, knocking girls to the ground and smashing the Dean into the sour-candy desk. The wind tore across the taffy before it blew all the butterflies off the Dean’s dress and blasted them like a cannon through the window. Swirling and howling with vengeance, the black gale snatched the door off its hinges and pinned girls against the wall, leaving only Agatha untouched. Sophie tried to crawl towards Agatha to save her, but the wind threw Sophie across the room into the door. Then with a last burst of force, it picked Agatha up and sucked her screaming into its cloud.

  Gasping, spinning, Agatha felt and saw nothing but black walls of wind, rising higher on all sides, shielding her view of the room. The wind bashed her from wall to wall with hellacious force, shredding and swallowing her Captain’s crown, the roars growing louder, louder, splitting her ears—until all at once the winds died away, leaving her in a quiet eye of darkness.

  The black walls around her started to thicken with dimension and light, morphing into the same ghostly shadow on all four sides . . . masks . . . giant silver masks . . .

  Tedros’ searing blue eyes gleamed through each, glaring down from every direction.

  “Tonight,” he boomed, voice resounding. “Cross the Bridge.”

  Dwarfed beneath him, Agatha faltered for voice. “But—but—”

  Tedros vanished. The black winds ripped back into her heart with a thunderclap, leaving Agatha back in the silent classroom without a hair out of place.

  Girls slowly looked up from their disheveled heaps to see the room blown to smithereens, except for Professor Anemone, Professor Dovey, and Lady Lesso gawping through the doorway. The door magically slammed in their faces.

  “Who was it?” The Dean staggered up, a windswept mess. “Who’d you see?”

  Agatha’s eyes lowered to the Dean’s blank dress, emptied of butterflies. She couldn’t hear everything, it turned out. Agatha glowered back at her, defiant.

  The Dean’s face melted into a slow, cryptic smile and a 20 burst into smoky maggots above Agatha’s head. “For failing the challenge completely,” the Dean declared, magically restoring her own looks as she awarded the rest of the ranks (Dot wrestled a putrid-smelling 19). A thousand blue butterflies hatched from the Dean’s dress seams like cocoons and flew into a new pattern.

  Agatha sat down, catching girls’ suspicious looks at their crownless Captain. Meanwhile, Hester and Anadil both had the same anxious expressions, demanding she answer their questions after class.

  “It was Tedros, wasn’t it?” a trembling voice said next to her.

  Agatha didn’t move.

  “Aggie?” Sophie’s voice squeaked. “What did Tedros say?”

  Agatha hesitated, then lifted her eyes to her friend’s bloodless face—

  Her heart stopped.

  There was something on Sophie’s neck. Just under her collar.

  A black wart.

  “Aggie?” Sophie shifted and her collar obscured it. “What’d you see?”

  Agatha wheezed for voice.

  “Well?” Sophie said, face darkening.

  Agatha hid her shaking hands—“You were r-r-right,” she stuttered, trying to look ashamed. “He—he said he’d never c-c-come for me.”

  Sophie gaped at her in disbelief. “He . . . did?”

  Slowly her emerald eyes hardened into suspicious, knife-edged disks. Agatha held her breath, feeling them cut into her soul, feeling them hang a noose around her lie, about to pull tight. . . .

  “I told you, Agatha,” Sophie breathed with quiet fury. She clasped her friend’s hand. “I told you boys are Evil.”

  Agatha stared at her, stunned.

  “Don’t worry, Aggie. Nothing can stop us if we work together,” Sophie vowed, Captain’s crown sparkling. “We’ll get the pen from him. We’ll get our happy ending back. Just like last time.”

  Heart hammering, Agatha gazed past her at Halfway Bridge, leading into fog.

  This time, she knew it wouldn’t be together.

  “Tonight?” Sophie smiled at her hopefully.

  Agatha smiled back in terror, hearing her prince’s voice as her own.

  “Tonight.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  9

  Symptoms Returned

  “How big was the wart?” Anadil kneeled in the nook behind the Honor stairwell, lined with blue rosebushes. “You sure you saw it?”

  Agatha nodded, biting her nails to stop their shaking. “She says she forgives me. She says she wants to go home—”

  “It
’s too late.” Crouched next to her, Hester crushed a rose. “Don’t you remember? Once the symptoms start, she can’t control her Evil. You have to kiss Tedros before she transforms into a witch or we’re all dead.”

  Agatha shook harder, flooded by memories of Sophie’s bald, murderous hag-slaying wolves annihilating towers, unleashing hell upon its students. Back then there were warnings that preceded her transformation: bad dreams, bursts of anger . . . then the first wart. This time, Agatha hadn’t noticed them, but they’d been there again. The nightmare scars under Sophie’s eyes at the wedding. Her punishing glare in Sader’s office. Her dark smile at the Welcoming. She’d denied it all, thinking her friend had changed. But Sophie hadn’t forgiven her wish for a prince, and she never could.

  Now that prince was her only hope.

  “How long?” Agatha looked up at Hester. “How long until she turns?”

  “The Beast was just a warning,” Hester said, thinking hard. “She hasn’t hurt anything real yet.”

  “There’ll be more symptoms first,” Anadil agreed. “But Hester’s right. We’re safe until she hurts something.”

  Dot swooped in, chomping on rose-shaped yams. “Does that mean Agatha can come to Book Club tonight?”

  “It means Agatha can still kiss Tedros tonight,” Hester groused, yanking Agatha towards the crowded hall. “But we have to act normal. No one can know she’s seeing him—”

  “Wait a second—” said Agatha—

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

  “Hold on—” Agatha started—

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

  “Both of you, listen—”

  “Book Club’s discussing Princeless but Fabulous,” Dot said, clacking behind, mouth full of yams. “I’d hate for her to miss it—”

  Agatha whirled. “Is it ever possible to get in a word with you three?”

  “That’s why a coven isn’t four,” said Hester. “Another reason why you need to kiss Tedros.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He didn’t say how to see him!” Agatha barked before scanning for eavesdropping butterflies. She lowered her voice. “Only that I should cross the Bridge.”

  “Halfway Bridge?” Anadil said. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear?”

  “Maybe he said ‘fridge,’” said Dot, returning the waves of two passing Evergirls. “Is there a magic fridge in the kitc—eeeyiii!” She grabbed her blue harem pants, which Hester had just ripped. “What was that for?”

  “For trying to be an Ever and Never at the same time, you underfed twit,” Hester hissed, and turned to Agatha. “Dot’s right. He couldn’t have said ‘Bridge.’”

  Agatha grimaced. “But that’s what he—”

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

  Hester and Anadil both stared at her.

  “Listen,” Dot said, whipping back her hair. “I have self-esteem now, so if you act like cretins, I’ll move in with Reena and—”

  “Glimmers of intelligence, hasn’t she,” muttered Anadil.

  “Inspired and fleeting,” Hester grumped, and turned back to Agatha. “It could be the Dean’s ploy. Can’t exactly forge a princeless school if her Captain’s longing for a prince, can she? For all you know, she conjured Tedros to catch you trying to see him.”

  “Mmmm, imagine if they found out their Great Girl Hope tried to abandon them for a boy,” Anadil purred, eyeing girls streaming by. “You’d be served at supper with a nice béarnaise sauce.”

  Agatha’s blood chilled. “Do I still go to Tedros tonight?”

  “You don’t have a choice, do you?” Hester said softer, squinting over her shoulder. “You certainly can’t sleep next to her.”

  Agatha swiveled to see Sophie hurrying towards her with a nervous look, as if scared to be alone after the last class. Three butterflies whooshed past her towards Agatha and the witches—

  “But I’m in her room!” Agatha gasped, turning back. “How do I get out without her or Beatrix see—”

  Hester and Anadil were already retreating, glowing fingers to lips. With naughty grins, they blew smoke off their fingertips, red and green wisps, which danced towards Agatha and coalesced into four bold letters . . .

  FAIL

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

  “Are the witches going to help us get the Storian?” Sophie puffed, bounding up behind her. “How are we breaking into the boys’ school?”

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

  “It’s Kiko’s,” Sophie sighed morosely. “But it’s glacial in this place, and you know how I catch colds, low body fat and all. Neck’s itching like mad, though—fabric must be ogrishly cheap—”

  She saw Agatha gaping at the scarf, dead pale. “As if you’re the Empress of Haute Couture,” Sophie frowned. “So? What’s our plan for tonight?”

  Legs shaking, Agatha clung to her own plan. The witches were right. Fail the rest of the day’s challenges, and she’d be safe with her prince before any more symptoms arrived.

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

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

  “And perhaps that bears repeating,” she said loudly at her sugarplum desk, “failing students will guard the Woods Gate on their own without teachers—”

  “They know all this, Clarissa,” the Dean moaned—

  “Meaning they are completely unsupervised in the Forest—”

  “Clarissa!”

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

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

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

  “A boy is no more meant to be subjugated than a girl. True, girls have compassion and sensitivity that most boys do not. It is why, at times, boys and girls appear completely incompatible—”

  In her caramel chair, Agatha threw Sophie quick glances to make sure more warts hadn’t popped up or her teeth hadn’t fallen out. But other than still looking itchy, Sophie was fair and lovely as ever. Agatha craned to see if there were more warts under the shawl . . . Sophie caught her and Agatha pretended to be picking her nose.

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

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

  “In order to survive, boys learn to project strength over emotion,” Professor Dovey went on. “It is the reason they desire softness in a girl. By staying soft, you let them be vulnerable for the only time in their lives. Understanding a boy is your greatest hope to tame him.”

  “And make him a slave,” the Dean interrupted, crossing her legs. “As we all know, boys respond best to beatings and the withholding of food.”

  “Boys respond to encouragement and common sense, Evelyn,” Professor Dovey retorted. “And a faith in the love between princess and prince.”

  The Dean’s creamy cheeks colored and the classroom walls shook.
“Clarissa, what girls need is the right to be happy without savage, execrable pigs—”

  “What girls need is the right to know what makes boys worthy of love. What girls need is the right to choose their own endings, not their Dean’s,” Professor Dovey seethed, voice rising. “What girls need is the right to know why that Dean shouldn’t be here at all!”

  The Dean launched to her feet. Candied arms magically surged from the walls behind Professor Dovey and flung her out of the classroom with such force the door blew shut behind her, spraying pumpkin flakes all over the desks.

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

  “Now then,” the Dean said, turning to the class. “Shall we proceed with the challenge?”

  Murmuring, the girls settled in, as if Professor Dovey had it coming for such blatant disrespect. Agatha struggled to look dismissive too, knowing her fairy godmother would want her to get to her prince at all costs. But what had her teacher meant? Did she know Dean Sader from the past?

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

  Agatha went a shade whiter and refocused on failing.

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

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

  As she sat down, Sophie swept clumps of fallen hair off her dress. She glanced up and saw Agatha staring and shuddering as if she were ill. “Oh it’s easy as cake, Aggie,” Sophie said, combing out more loose hair. “Just listen to my directions and you’ll be fine.”