“Mmm?”
“I have to tell you something.”
Sophie slowly raised her eyes.
Bloodcurdling screeches exploded in the hall, sending both girls cowering. Agatha whirled to the door and yanked it open—thick smoke flooded into the room as shadows of fleeing girls and butterflies ripped past, neon-haired nymphs floating behind them, shrieking alarm like banshees.
“What’s happening!” Sophie gasped, grabbing Mona’s arm.
“The princes! They broke the shield!”
Sophie and Agatha spun to each other, stunned.
Pollux’s voice blared from a distant bullhorn—“All girls to the gallery! Use the breezeways, not the foyer! I repeat—do not use the foyer!”
Agatha and Sophie sprinted after Mona towards the breezeway from Honor to Valor, choking on acrid smoke.
“Where is it coming from?” Sophie wheezed, waving it away. The blue breezeway in front of her was clogged with bodies, butterflies swarming above them.
“Come on!” Agatha said, dragging her back towards the stairs. “We’ll get there through the foyer—”
“But Pollux said not to use it!”
“Since when do we listen to Pollux?”
As they staggered through smoke down the Honor stairs, Agatha caught a glimpse of Halfway Bay through the glass walls. In the far distance, filthy, armed princes flooded through a hole in the shield over the Woods gates and onto the shores of the School for Boys. Agatha froze, dread rising. After last night, the timing couldn’t be coincidental. Sophie bumped her from behind and Agatha struggled blindly down the last flight into the foyer—
All the smoke was seeping into the towers from here. The domed sunroof had been shot through and shattered, each of the G-I-R-L walls impaled with hundreds of fire-tipped arrows. Nymphs floated in a circle around the four tower staircases, shooting water spells to extinguish the small fires, while a scattering of dead butterflies smoldered on the ground, caught in the crossfire.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Sophie said, gripping the glass railing. “Why would they shoot the foy—”
But as the fires cleared, the girls saw that each of the dripping-wet arrows had been speared to something: paper scrolls that had been taken away, leaving parchment scraps under the arrow tips.
“Sophie, look.”
Sophie followed Agatha’s eyes to a shadowed patch of floor behind the stairs. There was a fallen scroll, thoroughly singed, but still intact. As the nymphs swept up the ashes and pulled out arrows around the foyer, Agatha quickly hopped over the banister and grabbed it. The scroll was sealed with a wax snake, the color of blood. Sophie landed beside her and looked over her shoulder as Agatha unrolled the scroll’s scorched edges, the two girls hidden behind the stairs.
Sophie clutched the page so tightly her knuckles blued.
“Agatha?” she breathed, looking up. “What were you going to tell me?”
But Agatha was still staring at the scroll.
The dark cast in her eyes returned. The blush faded from her cheeks. The graveyard girl was back, a wish forgotten. She looked up at Sophie, sad and empty.
“I should have listened to you,” she said, voice cracking.
Sophie paused carefully. “You went to him?”
Agatha smeared away tears, unable to look at her.
“And he attacked you, didn’t he,” Sophie said.
Agatha cried harder. “How’d you kn-kn-kn—”
“I warned you,” Sophie whispered. “I warned you what boys do.”
Agatha collapsed into her arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry. . . .”
Sophie hugged her tight, shoving away her guilt.
It wasn’t Evil stopping their kiss last night. No, it was all for Good.
Her friend had come back to her.
From the School Master’s window, Tedros watched Aric’s red-hooded henchmen police the mob of princes at the rip in the bubbly, purple-tinged shield, letting in only the biggest or best armed. Standing beside him, Aric clenched his jaw.
“With all due respect, master, this Trial is a coward’s game,” he snapped. “With our numbers, we should storm their castle—”
“Not after last night. Those girls are far too cunning for us to fight on their turf,” said Tedros. “Besides, the girls would have their teachers fighting with them. A Trial puts us on even ground.”
“Even ground!” Aric snarled. “I broke the princes through the shield because you assured me a war—”
“This is about saving our school from two girls intent on destroying it. Not cheap, villainous carnage!”
“When our teachers return, they will punish you for all you’ve done,” Aric spat—
Tedros slammed him against the windowsill, Aric’s head dangling over it. “Remember your place, you savage. I let you into this school. And I can show you out.”
Aric stared at him, eyes wide.
Tedros pulled him up and looked away. In silence, the two boys watched more feral princes climb through the hole in the broken shield.
“You must be quite the magician to crack it,” said Tedros finally. “Lady Lesso cast that shield herself.”
Aric didn’t reply.
“Aric, I want only the best fighting with you and me,” Tedros said, turning to him. “Whoever wins can have my treasure, as promised.”
Aric gave him a simpering smile. “As you wish, master.”
A shadow moved on the wall and Aric swiveled to see Tristan hovering near the chained Storian. Aric bared jagged teeth like a dog and Tristan cowered.
“Oh leave him alone,” Tedros sighed. “I need his help on guard. Especially after last night.”
His eyes drifted across the bay to the girls’ school, glittering like a sapphire city. He could see the last of the smoke plumes dissipating from its four towers. The Trial announcements had been delivered.
“She was lying about Sophie being there the whole time?” Tedros asked.
“There is doubt in your voice, master.”
“It’s just the way she looked at me . . . touched me . . . like she meant it . . .”
“She attacked you. And her witch was there to finish the job,” growled Aric. “Why do you think she freed the pen? Your death would seal their story and spread its lesson far and wide. A world without princes. A world with girls as masters—and boys as slaves. The End.” The captain glared at Tedros. “If I hadn’t arrived to save you . . .”
Tedros looked down. “I am aware.”
“It is a difficult thing to admit. A son reliving the mistakes of his father. Both your loves . . . lost to another.”
Tedros slowly raised his head.
“What would he have done?” Aric said, violet eyes searching him.
Tedros turned away, rage ripping through his chest once more. He looked down at the barbarous princes marching into his castle.
“She attacked me,” he whispered, as if finally believing the words were true.
“He attacked you?” Hester said to Agatha, sitting with Anadil, Dot, and the rest of the girls on the gallery floor, waiting for the Dean and teachers to arrive.
“Convinced I’d brought Sophie to kill him,” Agatha said sourly. “Tried some strange spell—swear it looked pink, but it came too fast to see. Barely missed me before his henchmen came.”
“Henchmen?” Dot gawked. “Tedros?”
“And a pink spell?” Anadil said, her three rats looking just as befuddled. “Let’s hope you didn’t see it right. If a boy’s using a pink curse, must be serious black magic. Lucky it missed.”
Rumors of the Trial had spread fast, with girls heatedly debating who would be picked to compete against the boys. With Sophie in the bathroom washing ash off her face (“Death threat or no death threat, I’m not getting blackheads”), Agatha took the chance to tell the witches everything that happened since nightfall.
“He’s the Evil one, not Sophie,” Agatha said, thinking of her prince’s searing eyes, his hunt for vengeance.
“That dream was warning me.”
“So Sophie isn’t turning?” Hester asked, dumbfounded.
Agatha shook her head.
“And there’s no wart?” said Anadil.
Agatha looked down, ashamed.
“But you swore you saw one!” Hester hissed. “And what about the Beast? What about the cat—”
“For the last time, none of that was me!” Sophie scowled, plopping down between them. “And this is the first time I’m hearing of a wart. Our heads on the chopping block over a . . . wart?”
The girls gaped at her—except Agatha, who couldn’t meet her eyes.
“We almost lost each other last night, Aggie,” Sophie said, softening. “But you have to believe me. As long as we’re friends, I’m happy. As long as we’re friends, there is no witch.”
“Should have stolen the Storian when I had a chance,” Agatha mumbled angrily, still staring at her clumps. “No doubt I’d mean my wish now. You and I’d be long gone.”
Sophie blushed with surprise.
“Look, this doesn’t make sense,” Hester snapped. “We saw that pigeon dead—”
“I don’t care what ooga booga you saw,” Sophie shot back. “Someone obviously wanted you to think I was Evil. Someone who wants Agatha against me.”
“But who?” Agatha asked. “The Dean needs us to be friends to fight the boys—”
“Maybe it was Lesso or Dovey who conjured her symptoms,” Dot said, turning an exhibit plaque to avocado. “They always thought Agatha should be with Tedros.”
“Maybe it was Anemone or Sheeks,” Anadil said, tying her rats’ tails together. “They want back to Good and Evil even more than us.”
“Or maybe it was someone who wants me gone,” Sophie said, eyes veering to Hester. “Someone who wants to be Class Captain.”
Hester answered with a violent fart, refusing to dignify the charge with words.
“Look, it doesn’t matter who it was. We’re all on the same side now. Against Tedros,” Agatha said, taking Sophie’s hand. “And we’re not going into his Trial.”
Sophie warmed inside. It’d been so long since they felt like friends. “Aggie’s right,” she said. “We have to stop the Trial from happening.”
“We?” Hester leaned against a glass case. “I think a Trial against boys sounds delicious.”
“About time we had a little bloodshed,” said Anadil, entangled rats yipping agreement.
“I’d quite like a slave,” Dot chimed.
“This isn’t a game, you idiots! If we lose, Agatha and I die!” Sophie barked. “The Dean has to refuse—”
Butterflies skimmed under the gallery door, which swung open as the Dean arrived, groomed and coiffed as ever, followed by disheveled, grim-looking teachers. Professor Dovey and Lady Lesso looked grimmest of all.
“As you’ve heard, the boys demand a Trial,” the Dean proclaimed, the torches magically spotlighting her ravishing face. “And though the teachers see otherwise, I see no reason to deny their terms.”
Sophie and Agatha choked.
Agatha whirled to Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey, who both looked at her equally scared, as if they knew last night had gone all wrong, even if the ever-present butterflies would preclude them from knowing how.
“Class challenges will continue until the Trial, with the eight highest-ranked students chosen for the team.” The Dean’s shiny eyes fell upon Sophie and Agatha. “Our Captains’ two spots are guaranteed, of course, given it is their lives that are in the balance.”
Both girls went a shade whiter. “But there’s no way to beat boys, Aggie! They’re faster, stronger, meaner—” Sophie whispered. “We have to get home now or we’re dead!”
“There is no way home!” Aggie hissed back. “Tedros still has the Storian!”
Sophie moaned and slumped against her.
Then Sophie slowly straightened, eyes wide.
Agatha saw her face and recoiled in horror. “Sophie, you can’t possibly be thinking—”
“You said it yourself! Our wish will work now!” Sophie whispered. “We can write ‘The End’—forever this time! All we need is that pen!”
“Are you insane! There’s an army of boys thirsting to kill us! And even if by dumb luck we get past them, Tedros will never let us near that tower! There’s no way—”
“There has to be, Agatha,” Sophie pressed her. “Or we both die before a very big audience.”
Agatha felt sick to her stomach. Around her, she saw the other girls whispering to each other, absorbing the reality of a lethal contest against boys.
“For those of you plotting poor ranks to avoid selection for the team, you should rethink,” the Dean said as a few butterflies floated back into her dress. “After all, your rankings will determine your third-year tracks, with the lowliest of you poised to become animals or plants.” Girls stopped chattering, as if the Dean had overheard their schemes. “Finally, given the unfortunate failure of Lady Lesso’s shield, nymphs will take over nighttime guard duties at the perimeter.”
Lady Lesso stared at her pointy steel shoe tips, her pale cheeks pinking.
“All classes and events will proceed normally,” the Dean continued, “including our school play, to be unveiled on Trial eve.” She smiled at Professor Sheeks, who didn’t smile back. “Clubs and extracurricular activities should go on as usual—”
“Book Club tonight!” Dot chirped loudly, waving at her friends. “Book Club in the Supper Hall—”
Anadil’s shoe rammed her bottom, and Dot yelped.
“Given the current state of the castle, classes will resume tomorrow,” the Dean finished, the torches dimming behind her. “I encourage you to rest for the difficult weeks ahead. The boys will not go down without a fight.”
Murmuring girls followed the teachers out. Professor Dovey and Lady Lesso hovered behind for Agatha, clearly desperate to speak to her, but the Dean ushered them away with the rest.
Agatha slouched miserably as she watched them go, just as desperate for their help. She heard the witches chattering ahead.
“I bet Yara could beat the boys,” said Dot. “Seen her muscles?”
“Yara?” Hester scoffed, batting away a butterfly. “No one’s seen her for days. For all we know, a crog ate her.”
“You really think she’s half stymph?”
“She’s half something,” Anadil murmured, rats following her through the frosted door.
Agatha shambled ahead as Sophie sidled up beside her.
“Look, we still have ten days to get the pen, Aggie,” Sophie prodded, seeing her friend’s morose face. “One wish, and we’re safe from boys forever.”
Agatha frowned deeper, and Sophie knew why.
After last night, the chance of getting that pen was as slim as their chance to win a Trial.
“They’ll never get it now,” Tedros grunted, holding down the floundering Storian with his foot. Tristan replaced the missing brick, sealing the pen beneath the tower’s floor.
They could still hear the Storian thrashing.
“Help me move the table,” Tedros said, and Tristan eagerly pulled his side of the heavy stone table over the loose brick, muffling the pen. As Tedros adjusted the table, Tristan stealthily dug his boot tip into the brick, leaving a scratch mark.
“There.” Tedros glowered at Sophie and Agatha’s open storybook on the table. “Let them try to write ‘The End’ now.”
“SLAVES?” Ravan’s voice echoed outside. “IF WE LOSE WE END UP SLAVES?”
Tedros leaned out the window and watched Everboys, Neverboys, and scores of new princes mobbing the catwalks between towers, as Aric’s henchmen confronted them with clubs—
“CAN’T BARTER AWAY OUR LIVES IN SOME COCKAMAMIE TRIAL!” Chaddick bellowed, hurling stones uselessly at the School Master’s tower.
“You promised war!” yelled a new prince, stabbing his finger up at Tedros.
“War! War! War!” boys and princes howled as they battered the henchmen back into the towe
rs.
The prince chewed on his lip. “Take away Good and Evil, and boys just want treasure and blood.”
“Look, they need you down there,” Tristan offered. “You have to make it a real school again. Like the girls did.” He sneaked a glance at the marked brick. “Plus you might want a nap—or a bath, even—”
“Do I smell that bad?” Tedros said, sniffing himself.
“N-n-no—” Tristan’s cheeks glowed as red as his hair—
Yowls echoed below as they watched a henchman flee from Hort, who chased him with fistfuls of flaming rat poo, hissing like a weasel. Tedros sagged, discouraged.
Suddenly the prince’s eyes flared wide. “Tristan, you’re right! They do need me!”
Tristan lit up with relief, practically shoving the prince towards the window—until Tedros shot his gold glow into the castle to call Aric.
“But I can guard alone!” Tristan insisted.
“Let Aric do it.” The prince heaved the heavy coils of blond hair off the floor and flung them out the window. “You and I have a job to do.”
“A j-j-j-job?” Tristan sputtered—
“Come on.” Tedros shoved him towards the rope. “We’re bringing the teachers back.”
Located on the first floor of Charity Tower, the girls’ Supper Hall was circular like a bull ring and brightly lit, crammed with glass tables of different shapes. Dot had chosen it specifically for Book Club meetings because the enchanted pots in the kitchen provided punch and sandwiches, while the Dean’s eavesdropping butterflies stayed away, put off by the clattering plates, assaulting aromas, and overlapping conversations.
At precisely half past eight, Dot hustled down the stairs, expecting a healthy crowd after Shame: The Secret Life of Prince Charming brought in a bevy of new members the week before. Hester had mentioned a meeting with Agatha and Sophie after supper, but Dot couldn’t be bothered. With her teeth brushed, makeup retouched, and discussion questions prepared, Dot cleared her throat and grabbed the door—only to notice a sign posted on it.
BOOK CLUB CANCELLED INDEFINITELY
DUE TO STUGGLES WITH ANOREXIA,
EVER – WAN-NABE DISORDER,
AND IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME
DOT
Dot screeched, throwing open the door. “What in the—”