Slowly the prince’s face weakened, as if finally seeing himself through his friend’s eyes. “You don’t know me,” he said quietly.
Sophie could feel the branch wobbling, then realized it was her own shaking legs. “What if this is all a mistake?” she rasped. “What if Sophie just wants to go home with her friend?”
Tedros’ jaw clamped as he looked away, fighting himself.
“What if she just wants their happy ending back?” Sophie said.
Tedros’ body slacked deeper, like a shell about to crack—
Then his face hardened again like a mask.
Sophie followed his eyes past her, to the top of a girls’ tower looming over the Blue Forest, directly in line with their tree. Tedros squinted at Honor’s open-air rooftop, lit up by torches and dissipating fireworks in the sky.
“Come on, let’s go,” Sophie said quickly, knowing what was on the Honor roof—
But Tedros didn’t move, peering at a menagerie of hedges once dedicated to the father he revered . . . now remade in the image of the mother who’d abandoned him.
“Tedros, whatever it is, it isn’t worth looking at,” Sophie hassled—
Tedros tore a big blue leaf off the tree and turned it to ice with his gold fingerglow. Holding it up to his eye, he magically melted the ice’s edges until it curved like a binocular lens, magnifying his view.
“Tedros, please,” Sophie entreated.
But he’d already found the last sculpture near the balcony, framed by a wall of purple thorns. The vision of his mother drowning her baby prince with inexorable hate. A mother who wanted her only son dead.
“It’s not true,” spoke Sophie softly, seeing through his lens. “You know it’s not.”
Tedros said nothing, staring at the scene, shallow breath fogging the air.
“You want to know why those girls have to die?” he said. “For the same reason my father left a price on my mother’s head.”
He turned to his friend, eyes wet. “Because it’s the only happy ending left.”
The hope drained from Sophie’s face like a dimming light. “Now you really sound like a villain,” she breathed.
The two boys glared at each other, chests touching on the branch, tears in both their eyes.
Tedros shoved by Filip and started climbing down the tree.
“Go hide if you want,” he said. “But I’m finding those girls.”
Sophie watched him stiffly, sweat chilling as it dripped down her back. Everything in her wanted to run and cower under the bridge until sunrise, to save her own life.
But she couldn’t let him find Agatha.
Legs shaking, she followed the prince.
Agatha knew many things about Sophie, from her favorite color (primrose pink) to the strawberry birthmark on her ankle to the way she always blushed red before she laughed. But most of all, Agatha knew Sophie would have one and only one tactic to survive this Trial.
Hide under the bridge.
Knowing Tedros would be hunting her from the moment she entered the Forest—even spying from a tree, for all she knew—Agatha mogrified into a black lynx cat and carried her clothes in her mouth as she slunk through the Fernfield. As she reached the Blue Brook, waters babbling quietly beneath the gray stone bridge, she reverted back to human and dressed in the blue mint bushes before sneaking onto the brook’s shadowy banks. The waters were pitch dark under the bridge, but she couldn’t light her fingerglow for fear of attracting boys.
“Sophie?” Agatha whispered, wading into the frigid knee-high water, fish flurrying away from her. For all she knew, Sophie had turned herself into a stingray. “Sophie, it’s m-m-me,” she hissed, teeth chattering —
An ice-cold hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her down into the water. Gasping to the surface, Agatha opened her mouth to scream for help—and saw Hester, Anadil, and Dot gaping back at her, faces camouflaged with mud, hidden waist high in water beneath a hollowed-out part of the bank. Agatha could have collapsed in relief.
“Told you she’d come here,” Dot humphed to the witches before offering Agatha two handfuls of sardines turned to spinach and Swiss chard. Agatha tended to think of vegetables as rabbit food, but she was too hungry to care. “Where’s Sophie?” she snarfled, mouth full of spinach—
“Thought she’d be with you,” frowned Anadil, rats peeping out of her collar, their furry faces camouflaged too. “Instead we’re all here trying not to die while that wench is off fighting on the wrong side.”
“Not for long. Yuba’s spell will wear off any second,” Agatha said, tensing. “We have to find Sophie before she turns back into a girl.”
Even Hester’s demon looked worried now.
“There’s more,” said Agatha ominously.
Keeping her voice low, she recounted everything she’d glimpsed in Evelyn’s memory, until the witches were practically hyperventilating.
“Bringing the School Master back?” Dot shrieked. “How?”
“Keep your voice down, you imbecile!” Anadil spat. “Look, it doesn’t make sense. Even a seer can’t bring a ghost back from the dead for more than a few seconds—”
“Unless she’s found another way,” Hester pondered, eyes lifting to Anadil. “Only she needs help to do it.”
Agatha’s spine prickled, remembering Evelyn’s cryptic words before the nymphs came, implying the dean wasn’t the only Evil in this story. But who else then? Who could help her fulfill such a deadly plan? Who would end up the villain?
She thought of the tortoise’s message, warning her of this Trial . . . the recipe in the Dean’s office, flaunting a spell she’d led them to . . . Evelyn’s wicked smile, knowing exactly where Sophie was all this time . . .
“She wanted Sophie and me to come into this Trial apart,” Agatha said, suddenly understanding. “That was her plan all along. She wanted Sophie to go in with the boys.”
“But why?” asked Dot. “Why would she want Sophie fighting with Tedros?”
Hester had that mulling, thoughtful look again before she glowered up at Agatha. “It’s the last time I’m going to ask you this, Agatha. You’re sure Sophie’s Good?”
Agatha looked up at the boys’ scoreboard, FILIP’s name glowing in firefly lights.
“The old Sophie would be hiding right here to save her own skin. All of us know it,” she said, almost to herself. “But Sophie’s out there instead, staying with the boys.” Agatha gazed up at Hester. “Making sure they don’t find me.”
Hester exhaled, finally convinced. “Then you have to find her before she turns back into a girl, all right? Find Sophie and hide with her until sunrise. Leave fighting the boys to us. If you win the Trial, we’ll get another chance to find the Storian. It has to be in that tower somewh—”
She stopped cold, eyes narrowing.
Agatha heard the voices now too.
“Millie, we should hide here,” said Beatrix, from the bank above them.
Her bald head came into view as she stepped her blue slipper down into the water and waded in shivering, her sapphire cloak floating behind her like a cape. “The boys will think we’re here like cowards,” Beatrix said. “If we wait under the bank, we can attack them first.”
Millicent treaded in behind, dirty red hair tied up. “I still say we mogrify and wait in a tree.”
“And end up naked in a forest if we have to revert back?” Beatrix groused, scanning the banks for a hiding spot. “That won’t be noticeable—”
Her voice petered off as she glimpsed her own reflection in the dark brook. Only there was something reflected next to it . . . a pair of eyes . . . no, two pairs . . . three. . . .
She looked up with a gasp—Agatha put her hand over her mouth and pinned her against the bank with Anadil, while Hester and Dot held down Millicent.
“Where’s the Storian!” Agatha barked, ungagging her.
“In case you missed it, we’re on the same team,” Beatrix spat—
“Where’d you hide it!” Agatha hissed.
“Why couldn’t Sophie find it!”
“First off, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Second, since when did Princess Agatha turn into a bullying henchman!”
“The snakeskin cape under your bed—the boy’s uniform—you were in the boys’ castle—”
“The only thing under my bed is a trunk of makeup and hair extensions, which I miss quite much, if I have to be honest—”
“You’re lying,” Agatha harassed. “We know the Dean sent you!”
“The Dean barely knows me, no matter how much I suck up,” Beatrix retorted. “Came into this Trial top ranked, and she hasn’t paid the slightest attention. Figure if I win the Trial, she might actually learn my name.”
Agatha stared in surprise. She searched Beatrix’s face until her grip finally loosened, and Beatrix wrenched free.
“Come on, Millie. Let’s go hunt boys,” Beatrix snapped, tramping down the brook, her freckled friend hastening to catch up.
Agatha gawked at the brook waters glassily, lost in thought. She looked up at Hester, skin pale.
“Hester, if that boy’s uniform wasn’t Beatrix’s . . . then whose was it?”
But Hester wasn’t listening, nor were Anadil or Dot. All three were gaping past her, paralyzed.
Agatha slowly spun.
Downstream, a burly prince had his axe to Beatrix’s throat, while a thin prince had his blade to Millicent’s. Aric stood between them, grinning at Agatha and the witches, a rusted, jagged dagger in his hand.
“Let them surrender, Aric,” Agatha rasped, trying to stay calm. “Let them drop their flags.”
“Are those the rules at the School for Good and Evil?” Aric smiled at Agatha, violet eyes storming. “Too bad I’m not a student.”
“Then you have no place here,” Agatha scowled, voice starting to shake as Beatrix and Millicent whimpered louder. “Nor do any of the princes you’ve brought in.”
“You see, my mother used to tell me that true villains only have one Nemesis. One person who stands in the way of their happiness.” With his rusted dagger, Aric combed his spikes of black hair, gleaming like raven beaks. “Only my Nemesis, it turns out, is in your school. And if war won’t bring me to them, then a bit of carnage might bring them to me.”
“Your Nemesis? That’s why you’re here?” Agatha blurted in horror, watching the princes’ axes chafe the two girls’ throats. “B-b-but who? Who at this school could warrant hurting innocent people?”
Aric paused, looking right at her. “It’s the danger of fairy tales.” He glared up at the girls’ castle, his purple eyes clouding with a strange sadness. “Sometimes one story opens another.”
He turned back to his princes. “Kill them.”
The princes raised their axes, Beatrix and Millicent about to die—
“NO!” Hester screamed. Her demon tattoo exploded off her neck, swelling bloodred to the size of a shoe. Just as the blades scraped their necks, Beatrix and Millicent gasping, Hester’s demon yanked the girls’ white flags out of their cloak pockets and flung them to the ground. Both Evergirls instantly disappeared as the axes cut through thin air, white fireworks rocketing up from their vanished bodies, singeing the princes and sending them howling to the ground.
Enraged, Aric hurled his jagged knife at Hester, only to see it turned midair to squash and boomerang smack into his face, knocking him down. “Run!” Dot cried at Agatha and the witches—
The girls all twirled to flee, but there were six more hooded boys charging out of the Fernfield for them, brandishing weapons. Agatha’s eyes flared wide. None of them were Filip . . . or Tedros.
“Go find Sophie!” Anadil barked at Agatha, huddling against Hester and Dot.
“I’m fighting with you!” Agatha shot back—
“Agatha, go!,” said Dot, boys twenty feet away. “Sophie needs you before it’s too late!”
“No! I can’t leave you to die!” Agatha cried—
“Don’t you get it!” Hester spun to her, eyes aflame. “A coven is three and you’re not in it. We don’t want you!”
Tears burning, Agatha sprinted away into blue trees, glancing back to see Hester watching her, white-faced with fear. Then Hester turned, finger glowing red, as the boys converged and Agatha lost the view.
High on the teachers’ balcony, Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey clenched teeth as they watched the boys’ and girls’ torch-lit scoreboards, their only clue to what was unfolding in the veiled Forest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Professor Dovey watched the butterflies circling above the teachers and Pollux guarding the door. There was no sign of Evelyn on any of the balconies or in the Clearing below.
A loud cheer went up from the boys’ school, celebrating BEATRIX’S and MILLICENT’S names vanishing off the scoreboard. The two girls reappeared in the Clearing, quaking and sobbing, before nymphs flew them back into the castle for magical treatment.
As the boys thundered a cocksure chant, the girls down to only six competitors, Professor Dovey sidled closer to Lady Lesso. “Your shield protects the south gate,” she whispered quickly. “You can break it and enter—”
“For the last time, Clarissa, if a teacher goes into the Trial, the terms are void,” Lady Lesso hissed. “All the boys and princes would storm our castle. It’d be a massacre—”
“Only you can get through that shield! Unless you help them, Sophie and Agatha will die!”
Lady Lesso whirled. “I intervened in students’ lives once before because of Evelyn,” she seethed accusingly. “You’ll never know the price I paid.”
Professor Dovey fell quiet a long moment before speaking again.
“She attacked Agatha, Lady Lesso. Right there in her classroom, in a school that should have been ours to protect. And now our usurper attacks our only hope for peace, and you suggest Agatha fend for herself? That isn’t Evil, Lady Lesso. That’s cowardice,” Professor Dovey said, her voice a low hiss. “There is no School Master this time to save us from Evelyn Sader. There is only you. And whatever Evelyn’s ending is, it is worth any price to stop it.”
Lady Lesso met her colleague’s vehement eyes. Then she quickly cleared her throat and turned away. “You’re overplaying as usual, Clarissa. Agatha has my best witches at her side protecting her. Hester and Anadil are more than capable allies.”
Sparks shot past their head from the Forest, a detonation of fireworks showering their dark balcony with white light. The teachers wheeled to see HESTER’S name vanish off the scoreboard and the tattooed witch materialize in the Clearing, her face and blue cloak a mess of blood. She tried to stagger up, then buckled to her knees.
“What’s happened?” Professor Sheeks cried, barreling past Pollux’s unwieldy bear into the castle, followed by Professor Anemone and a few of the Forest Group leaders.
Professor Dovey stared at Hester trailing blood across the dead grass as the nymphs helped her into the tunnel. Hands shaking, she spun to Lady Lesso—
But Lady Lesso was already gone.
Agatha saw HESTER’s name disappear on the scoreboard, the white fireworks signaling a surrender, and felt a palpable relief. Hester was still alive.
Agatha sprinted through blue, phosphorescing tulips, doing a count of the girls still left in the Forest . . . Anadil, Dot, Yara, Sophie. . . .
And yet Sophie hadn’t been in that group of boys attacking the witches . . . nor was Tedros.
Agatha’s heart rattled faster. Was Sophie with Tedros right now? Why would Sophie be anywhere near him if she could turn into a girl any second?
A needling dread crept into Agatha’s stomach. She ignored it.
Of course she’s with him. She’s making sure he doesn’t find me, she assured herself. She’s protecting me.
But now the dread was festering, worming deeper. . . .
A snakeskin cape and a boy’s uniform, balled under a bed . . .
A wrist full of spirick marks two weeks before . . .
A friend so desperate to get her home . . .
&n
bsp; Agatha stopped dead in the pine shrubs.
A pink spell.
Her chest hammered, remembering Tedros pulling away from her in the tower, hunting madly for someone who wasn’t there.
No . . . impossible . . .
Sophie couldn’t have been there! Not the new Sophie, the best friend as faithful as Agatha once was to her! Not the Good Sophie, risking life and limb for her right now! This Sophie couldn’t have torn her and Tedros apart and then pretended to be on her side. Not even the Witch of Woods Beyond could be so Evil.
Agatha burst into a sweat.
Could she?
Boys’ yells echoed nearby, followed by an ogre’s grunts and explosions of red fireworks over the Turquoise Thicket. CHADDICK and NICHOLAS’ fireflies fizzled and extinguished on the boys’ scoreboard.
Agatha veered away towards the south gates, more desperate to find Sophie than ever.
“South gate?” Sophie followed Tedros through snowy, glittering blue willows, her black boots dwarfed by giant footsteps left by a troll or some other hellish creature. With the lumpy path, her stiff calves, and tight breeches wedging up her behind, she stumbled along like a newborn. “What’s near the south gate?”
“Pumpkin patch,” Tedros said a ways ahead, slashing a few branches out of their path. “Clearest part of the Forest. We can see Sophie and Agatha if they sneak through. If you ever catch up, that is.”
Sophie grimaced, deliberating ways to protect her best friend from Tedros when he found her. She’d have to stun him before he could hurt Agatha. She’d have to steal his red flag and drop it to the ground—
Sophie’s heart suddenly beat faster, seeing the flash of red silk in Tedros’ cloak pocket . . . his back turned . . .
This was her chance.
Sophie felt her pink fingerglow heat up, fear burning it bright. Chest pounding, she raised it slowly, pointing at Tedros’ broad back—
“Even though you’re a crap fighter, I’m glad you’re with me, Fil,” Tedros said ahead. “Always wanted a best friend to team up with. You know. Like those two girls.”
Sophie’s fingertip dimmed.