“Every time you do a Good Deed with true intention, your soul grows purer. Though lately, my Good students have been doing them as if they were chores, preferring to cultivate their egos, arrogance, and waist size! Let me assure you, our winning streak can end at any time!”
“Not if the School Master controls the Storian,” said Agatha.
“Agatha, the School Master has absolutely no role in how the stories play out,” Professor Dovey said impatiently. “He cannot control the Storian.”
“He seemed pretty good at magic to me,” Agatha replied.
“Excuse me?”
“He can split into shadows. He can make a room disappear. He can make it all seem like a dream, so surely he can control a pen—”
“And how might you know all this?” Professor Dovey sighed.
Agatha saw Tedros smirking.
“Because he showed me,” she said.
Tedros’ smirk vanished. Professor Dovey looked like a kettle about to steam. Students glanced nervously between her and Agatha.
Their teacher smiled tightly. “Oh, Agatha, what an imagination you have. It will serve you well when you’re waiting for someone to rescue you from a ravenous dragon. Let’s hope he arrives in time. Now, the three keys to Good Deeds are creativity, feasibility, and spontaneity—”
Agatha opened her mouth, but Professor Dovey silenced her with a glare. Knowing she was on shaky ground, Agatha pulled out parchment and took notes with the rest.
Before Surviving Fairy Tales, the students of both schools found themselves summoned to an assembly in the Clearing.
As soon as Agatha popped through the tree tunnel, Kiko grabbed her—“Tristan changed his hair!”
Agatha glanced over at Tristan, leaning against a tree. His hair was blond now, drooping over one eye. He reminded her of someone.
“He said he did it for Beatrix!” Kiko wailed, hair still hideously red.
Agatha followed Tristan’s eyes to Beatrix, who was jabbering to Tedros. Tedros couldn’t have been less enthused and puffed at the blond bangs drooping over his—
Agatha coughed. She looked back at Tristan, puffing at his droopy blond bangs. Then at Tedros, who had two shirt buttons undone and his tie loosened with its golden T. Then at Tristan, who had undone two buttons and loosened his tie with its golden T.
“What if I’m blond like Beatrix?” Kiko hounded. “Then will Tristan like me?”
Agatha turned. “You need to find a new crush immediately.”
“ATTENTION.”
She looked up to find the entire faculty fanned between the two tunnels, including Castor and Pollux, whose heads had been reunited on their canine body.
Professor Dovey stepped forward. “There’s been some—”
“MOVE YOUR HIDES, YOU LAZY COWS!” Castor barked.
The last Nevers hurried from their tunnel, with Sophie stumbling out last. She gave Agatha a confused look across the Clearing. Agatha shrugged back.
Professor Dovey opened her mouth to resume—
“PRESENTING CLARISSA DOVEY, DEAN OF THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF GOOD DEEDS,” said Castor.
“Thank you, Castor,” said Professor Dovey—
“ANY INTERRUPTIONS OR MISBEHAVIOR WILL BE SWIFTLY PUNISHED—”
“THANK YOU, CASTOR!” Professor Dovey shrieked.
Castor stared at his feet.
Professor Dovey cleared her throat. “Students, we have called you here because there have been some unfortunate rumors—”
“Lies, as I call them,” said Lady Lesso. Agatha recognized her as the teacher who had ripped down Sader’s painting in the Gallery of Good.
“So let us be clear,” Professor Dovey continued. “First, there is no curse on Evil. Evil still has the power to defeat Good.”
“Provided Evil does their homework!” Professor Manley growled.
Nevers muttered, as if they didn’t believe this for a second.
“Second, the School Master is on no one’s side,” said Professor Dovey.
“How do you know?” Ravan shouted.
“Why should we believe you?” Hester yelled as Nevers catcalled—
“Because we have proof.” Professor Sader stepped forward.
Nevers went quiet. Agatha’s eyes widened. Proof? What proof?
Then she noticed Lady Lesso looked especially sour, confirming this proof did in fact exist. Was the proof the answer to the riddle?
“Last but not least,” said Professor Dovey, “the School Master’s primary responsibility is to protect the Storian. For that reason, he remains in his well-fortressed tower. Thus, regardless of the tales you may hear, let me assure you: no student has ever seen the School Master and no student ever will.”
Eyes fell on Agatha.
“Ah, is this the storyteller?” Lady Lesso leered.
“It’s not a story!” Agatha shot back. She saw Sophie shake her head to say this was an ill-advised battle.
Lady Lesso smiled. “I’ll give you one more chance to redeem yourself. Did you meet the School Master?”
Agatha looked at the Evil teacher, purple eyes bulging like marbles. Then at Professor Sader, smiling at her curiously. Then at Sophie across the Clearing, miming wart gluing, mouth zipping . . .
“Yes.”
“You lie to a teacher!” Lady Lesso lashed.
“It’s not a lie!” a voice shouted.
Everyone turned to Sophie. “We were both there! We were in his tower!”
“And I bet you saw the Storian too?” Beatrix sneered.
“Matter of fact, we did!” Sophie retorted to laughter.
“And did it start your fairy tale too?”
“It did! It did start our fairy tale!”
“All hail the Queen of Fools!” Beatrix proclaimed to roars.
“Then you must be the Grand Empress.”
Beatrix turned to Agatha, arms akimbo.
“Ugh. The ‘Mistake,’” Beatrix groaned. “Good has never been so wrong.”
“You wouldn’t know Good if it crawled up your dress!” Agatha yelled.
Beatrix gasped so loudly Tedros cracked a grin.
“Don’t talk to Beatrix that way!” a voice said—
Agatha turned to find blond-haired Tristan—
“Beatrix?” Agatha exploded. “You sure you don’t want Tedros? He’d love to marry himself!”
Tedros stopped smiling. Dumbstruck, he glanced between Agatha, Tristan, Beatrix . . . He lost patience and punched Tristan in the mouth. Tristan drew his dulled training sword, Tedros whipped out his, and they clashed in public duel. But Tristan had been studying Tedros in Swordplay, so they both used the exact same ripostes, the same retreats, even the same fight calls, until no one knew who was who—
Rather than intervene, Swordplay professor Espada twirled his long mustache. “We’ll dissect this thoroughly in class tomorrow.”
The Nevers had a more immediate response.
“FIIIIGGGHHHHHT!” Ravan roared.
Nevers rushed Evers, steamrolled stunned wolves, and dive-bombed into the dueling swordsmen. Whooping Everboys charged in, inciting an epic playground brawl that splattered Evergirls with mud. Agatha couldn’t help but laugh at girls brought to their knees by dirt, until filthy Beatrix pointed at her.
“She started it!”
Screaming Evergirls charged after Agatha, who climbed a tree. Nearby, Tedros managed to reach his head from under boys and saw Sophie spring past. “Help!” he yelled—
Sophie stepped on his head as she ran to help Agatha, who was being pelted with pebbles by Beatrix. Then she caught Hort out of the corner of her eye.
“You! Give me back my wart!”
Hort scooted around the brawling mass, Sophie in pursuit, until she got close enough to pick up a fallen branch and hurl it at his head—Hort ducked and it hit Lady Lesso in the face.
Students froze.
Lady Lesso touched her cold, gashed cheek. Staring at the blood on her hand, she grew eerily calm.
/> Her long red nail rose and pointed at Agatha.
“Lock her in her tower!”
A swarm of fairies seized Agatha and dragged her past smirking Tedros towards the Evers’ tunnel—
“No, it’s my fault!” Sophie cried—
“And this one.” Lady Lesso stabbed her bloodstained finger at Sophie. “To the Doom Room.”
Before Sophie could scream, a claw covered her mouth and pulled her past petrified classmates into the darkness of trees.
Sophie couldn’t live through torture! Sophie couldn’t survive true Evil!
As fairies flew her upstairs, Agatha welled panicked tears and glanced down to see teachers surging into the foyer.
“Professor Sader!” she cried, clinging to a banister. “You have to believe us! The Storian thinks Sophie’s a villain! It’s going to kill her!”
Sader and twenty teachers looked up, alarmed—
“How do you see our village?” Agatha yelled as fairies wrested her away. “How do we get home? What does a princess have that a villain doesn’t!”
Sader smiled. “Questions. Always in threes.”
Teachers chuckled and dispersed. (“Seen the Storian?” Espada mused. “She’s the one who eats candy,” Professor Anemone explained.)
“No! You have to save her!” Agatha begged, but the fairies dragged her to her room and locked her in.
Frantic, she scaled her bed canopy past paintings of lip-locked heroes and lunged for the broken ceiling tile. . . . But it wasn’t broken anymore. Someone had sealed it tight.
Blood drained from Agatha’s cheeks. Sader was her only hope and he refused to answer questions. Now her only friend would die in that dungeon, all because a magic pen had mistaken a princess for a witch.
Then something flashed in her head. Something Sader said in class.
If you do have questions . . .
Breathless, Agatha emptied her basket of schoolbooks.
A gray wolf, stoic and efficient, tugged Sophie by a long chain fixed to a tight iron collar around her neck. Skirting the dank sewer walls, she couldn’t fight her leash; one wrong step and she’d slip off the narrow path into roaring sludge. Across the rotted black river, she saw two wolves drag moaning Vex from the direction in which she was headed. His eyes met hers, red-rimmed, hateful. Whatever happened to him in the Doom Room had left him more a villain than when he entered.
Agatha, Sophie told herself. Agatha will get us home.
She bit back tears. Stay alive for Agatha.
As she approached the sewer’s halfway point, where sludge turned to clear lake water, she felt the wall’s solid stone become rusty grating. The wolf kicked the door open and shoved her in.
Sophie lifted her head to a dark dungeon, lit by a single torch. Everywhere she looked were tools of punishment: breaking wheel, rack, stocks, nooses, hooks, garrote, iron maiden, thumbscrews, and a terrifying collection of spears, clubs, rods, whips, and knives. Her heart stopped. She turned away—
Two red eyes glowed from the corner.
Slowly a big black wolf rose from shadows, twice the size of all the other wolves. But this one had a human’s body with a thick, hairy chest, sinewy arms, bulging calves, and massive feet. The Beast cracked open a scroll of parchment and read in a deep growl.
“You, Sophie of Woods Beyond, have hereby been summoned to the Doom Room for the following sins: Conspiracy to Commit Untruth, Disruption of Assembly, Attempted Murder of a Faculty Member—”
“Murder!” Sophie gasped—
“Incitement of Public Riots, Crossing of Boundary Lines During Assembly, Destruction of School Property, Harassment of Fellow Students, and Crimes Against Humanity.”
“I plead not guilty to all charges,” Sophie scowled. “Especially the last.”
The Beast seized her face in his claws. “Guilty until proven innocent!”
“Let go!” Sophie screamed.
He sniffed her neck. “Aren’t you a luscious peach.”
“You’ll leave marks!”
To her surprise the Beast released her. “It usually takes beating to find the weak spot.”
Sophie looked at the Beast, confused. He licked his lips and grinned.
With a cry, she lunged for the door—he slammed her to the wall and cuffed her arms to hooks above her head.
“Let me go!”
The Beast slunk along the wall, hunting for just the right punishment.
“Please, whatever I did, I’m sorry!” Sophie wailed.
“Villains don’t learn from apologies,” the Beast said. He considered a cudgel for a moment, then moved on. “Villains learn from pain.”
“Please! Someone help me!”
“Pain makes you stronger,” said the Beast.
He caressed the tip of a rusty spear, then hung it back up.
“Help!” Sophie shrieked.
“Pain makes you grow.”
The Beast picked out an axe. Sophie’s face went ghost white.
He walked up to her, axe handle in his meaty claw.
“Pain makes you Evil.”
He took her hair in his hands.
“No!” Sophie choked.
The Beast raised the axe—
“Please!”
The blade slashed through her hair.
Sophie stared at her long, beautiful gold locks on the black dungeon floor, mouth frozen open in silence. Slowly she raised her terrorized face to meet the big black Beast’s. Then her lips quivered, her body hung from its chains, and the tears came. She buried her shorn, jagged head in her chest and cried. She cried until her nose stuffed up and she couldn’t breathe, spit caking her black tunic, wrists bleeding against her cuffs—
A lock snapped. Sophie lifted her raw, red eyes to see the Beast unhook her from the wall.
“Get out,” he growled, and hung the axe up.
When he turned, Sophie was gone.
The Beast lumbered out of the cell and knelt at the midpoint between roiling muck and clean water. As he dipped the bloody chains in, currents smashed from both directions, rinsing them clean. Scrubbing the last spots of blood away, he caught his reflection in the sludge—
Only it wasn’t his.
The Beast spun—
Sophie shoved him in.
The Beast thrashed in water and slime, grunting and flailing for the wall. The tides were too strong. She watched him gurgle his last breaths and sink like a stone.
Sophie smoothed her hair and walked towards the light, swallowing the sickness in her throat.
The Good forgive, said the rules.
But the rules were wrong. They had to be.
Because she hadn’t forgiven.
She hadn’t forgiven at all.
14
The Crypt Keeper’s Solution
The cover was silver silk, painted with the glowing Storian clutched between black and white swans.
A Student’s History of the Woods
AUGUST A. SADER
Agatha opened to the first page.
“This book reflects the views of its author ONLY. Professor Sader’s interpretation of history is his alone and the faculty does not share it. Sincerely, Clarissa Dovey & Lady Lesso, Deans of the School for Good and Evil.”
Agatha felt encouraged the faculty disapproved of the book in her hands. It gave her more hope that somewhere in these pages was the answer to the riddle. The difference between a princess and a witch . . . the proof Good and Evil were balanced. . . . Could they be the same?
She flipped the page to start, but it didn’t have words. Splashed across it were patterns of embossed dots in a rainbow of colors, small as pinheads. Agatha turned the page. More dots. She tore through fistfuls of pages. No words at all. She dumped her face to the book in frustration. Sader’s voice boomed:
“Chapter Fourteen: The Great War.”
Agatha lurched up. Before her eyes, a ghostly three-dimensional scene melted into view atop the book page—a living diorama, colors gauzy like Sader’s paintings in the gallery. Sh
e crouched to watch a silent vision unfold of three wizened old men, beards to the floor, standing in the School Master’s tower with hands united. As the old men opened their hands, the gleaming Storian levitated out of them and over a familiar white stone table. Sader’s disembodied voice continued:
“Now remember from Chapter One, the Storian was placed at the School for Good and Evil by the Three Seers of the Endless Woods, who believed it the only place it could be protected from corruption . . .”
Agatha gawked in disbelief. Sightless Sader couldn’t write history. But he could see it and wanted the same for his students. Every time she turned a page and touched the dots, living history came alive to his narration. Most of Chapter 14 recounted what Sophie had told her at lunch: that the School had been ruled by two sorcerer brothers, one Good, one Evil, whose love for each other overcame their loyalties to either side. But in time, the Evil brother found love give way to temptation, until he saw only one obstacle between him and the pen’s infinite power . . . his own blood.
Agatha’s hands swept over dots, scanning exhaustive scenes of Great War battles, alliances, betrayals to see how it all ended. Her fingers stopped as she watched a familiar figure in silver robes and mask rise out of the burning carnage of battle, Storian in hand:
“From the final fight between Evil brother and Good brother, a victor emerged beholden to neither side. In the Great Truce, the triumphant School Master vowed to rise above Good and Evil and protect the balance for as long as he could keep himself alive. Neither side trusted the victor, of course. But they didn’t need to.”
The scene flashed to the dying brother, burning to ashes as he desperately stabbed his hand into the sky, unleashing a burst of silver light—
“For the dying brother used his final embers of magic to create a last spell against his twin: a way to prove Good and Evil still equal. As long as this proof stayed intact, then the Storian remained uncorrupted and the Woods in perfect balance. And as to what this proof is . . .”
Agatha’s heart leapt—
“It remains in the School for Good and Evil to this very day.”
The scene went dark.
She turned the page urgently, touched the dots. Sader’s voice boomed—
“Chapter Fifteen: The Woodswide Roach Plague.”