The School for Good and Evil (24 page)

“You said it was important!” Tedros barked.

“The Nevers said she cheats with Agatha!” Beatrix said.

“Sophie’s not friends with Agatha! Agatha’s a
witch
—”

“They both are! Agatha turns into a cockroach to give her answers!”

“A
cockroach
? You’re not just petty and jealous, but completely insane!”

“They’re
both
villains, Teddy, they’re using you!”

“
You’re
the one listening to Nevers! You know why Sophie lost those challenges? She wanted to keep me safe! If that’s a villain, then what are
you
—”

With wind rumpling her curtains, Agatha couldn’t hear the rest, but soon the door thumped and Tedros traipsed away. Agatha tried to go back to sleep, but found herself staring at the pink paper flower shivering on her marble night table, like a rose on a grave.

She yelped, clobbered by an idea.

All the rooms in the hall looked dark except for the Trial Evers’, who were staying up until dawn to prepare for the following night. In her lace dressing gown, Agatha tiptoed barefoot up the pink glass stairs, eyes pinned upward for fairies or teachers.

Five floors down, Tedros glared up at her through the spiral gap, suddenly wondering if Beatrix had told the truth.

Leaving his boots at the bottom, he followed Agatha through the breezeway to Honor’s fourth floor, occupied entirely by the Library of Virtue. Crouching in knee-high black socks, he peeked in to see her disappear into the gold coliseum of books, two stories high and impeccably kept by a leathery tortoise, fast asleep on a titanic library log, feathered pen in hand. As soon as Agatha found what she needed, she sneaked out past the reptile and the prince, who failed to get a glimpse of the book in her hands. Her steps diminished in the sea-blue breezeway and soon she was gone.

Tedros clenched his teeth. What murderous plan did the witch have? Was Sophie in on it and planning to betray him? Were the two villains still
friends
? The prince lurched to his feet, heart thundering—then heard an odd scratching sound.

Turning, he saw the feathered pen magically finish writing in the tortoise’s log, and fall back into the snoring creature’s hand. Eyes narrowed, he moved in to peer at the log.

Flower Power:
Plant Charms for a Happier World (Agatha, Purity 51)

Tedros snorted. Berating himself for doubting his princess, he went to retrieve his boots.

The rules of the Trial by Tale were few and precise. At the moment the sun went down, the first two challengers would enter the Blue Forest. Every fifteen minutes, another two would enter according to their pre-Trial ranks, until the last pair entered more than three hours after the first. Once inside, Nevers could attack Evers with their talents and any spell learned in class, while Evers could defend themselves with approved weapons or counterspells. The School Master’s conjures would hunt them both. There were no other rules. It was the challenger’s duty to recognize mortal danger and drop his enchanted handkerchief; the moment it touched ground, he would be safely removed from the Trial. Upon the first glint of sunrise, the wolves would call the end and whoever returned through the gates would be named the winner. There had never been more than one. Quite often, there were none at all.

Winter arrived with naughty timing, blowing glacial gusts into the Clearing just as the challengers entered. Everboys each carried a blue kite-shaped shield matching their navy cloak and a single weapon; most had chosen bows and arrows (blunted by Professor Espada to stun, rather than injure), though Chaddick and Tedros had opted for heavy training swords. Nearby, Evergirls quietly practiced their animal calls and tried to look as helpless as possible so boys would take them under their wings.

Across the field, the Trial Nevers hunched against bare trees in their cloaks, eyeing unchosen students crowd in from the tunnels. The unpicked Evers were ready for a slumber party, with pillows, blankets, baskets of spinach mousselines, creamy chicken crepes, bell pepper skewers, elderflower custard, and pitchers of cherry grenadine. Meanwhile, the unpicked Nevers hovered near their tunnel in slippers and nightcaps, ready to flee at their team’s first sign of humiliation.

While the wolves passed out the enchanted silk handkerchiefs—white for Evers, red for Nevers—Castor and Pollux lined up the competitors in order of their entrance. Because they fared worst in the pre-Trial challenges, Sophie and Kiko would enter exactly at sundown. Brone and Tristan would enter 15 minutes later, then Vex and Reena 15 minutes after that, and the pairs would continue until Hester and Tedros entered last.

At the back of the line, the prince took his white handkerchief from the wolf.

“Won’t be needing this,” he muttered, and stuffed it in his boot.

At the front of the line, Sophie clenched her red kerchief, ready to drop it the moment she entered. She wished she had paid more attention during the fitting. Her tunic drooped at the bosom, the cloak dragged on the ground, and the blue hood fell so far over her face it looked like she had no hea—

How could she think about
clothes
! Frantic, she scanned the crowd. Still no sign of Agatha.

“We’ve heard rumors that unqualified students may try to
sneak
into the Trial,” Pollux said next to Castor, an imposing two-headed shadow in waning light. “This year we’ve taken extra precautions.”

At first, Sophie thought he was referring to the wolves guarding every inch of gate. But then Castor lit a torch and she saw the gates were no longer made of gold—but of giant black and red spiders, crisscrossing magically with stingers poised.

Her heart sank. How could she sneak Agatha in now?

“If anyone cheats, they deserve to die.”

She turned.

“And I don’t put it past any of those villains,” Tedros said, golden cheeks ruddy with cold. He took her hand, still gripping her kerchief. “You can’t, Sophie. You can’t drop it.”

Without Agatha feeding lines, Sophie just nodded helplessly.

“When we team up, they’ll do anything to take one of us out—Evers, Nevers, School Master too,” said her prince. “We need to
protect
each other. I need you to have my back.”

Sophie nodded.

“You don’t have anything to say?”

“A kiss for luck?” she squeaked.

“In front of the whole school?” Tedros cocked a smile. “That’s an idea.”

Sophie lit up and thrust out her lips with relief. “A long one,” she sighed. “Just in case.”

“Oh I’ll give you a long one,” he grinned. “When we win. Right before I carry you into the Good castle.”

Sophie gagged. “But—but—suppose we don’t—”

Tedros gently pulled the red silk from her trembling fingers.

“We’re Good, Sophie,” he said tucking it deep in her coat pocket. “And Good
always
wins.”

In his clear blue eyes, Sophie saw Hester reflected behind her, hood lowered like the Grim Reaper.

In a flash, the wolves shoved her and Kiko to opposite ends of the North Gate. Hairy spiders hissed in her face and she lost her breath. Panicked, her eyes lurched to the School Master’s tower, lording over the Forest. In the last shred of sun, she could see his silhouette, watching from the window. Sophie whipped around looking for Agatha to save her, but all she saw was the sky fall dark over the Forest. From the School Master’s tower came a blast of silver sparks that veiled the Forest in a blurring haze—

“FIRST PAIR READY!” Castor boomed.

“No—wait!—”

Paws grabbed Sophie from behind and flung her into spiders. Hundreds of furry pincers probed her skin as she screamed. Clicking with permission, they magically parted, leaving her alone in the Forest’s torch-lit threshold. Wolves howled. Spiders sealed behind her.

The Trial had begun.

21

Trial by Tale

T
errified, Sophie spun towards Kiko. They had to stay together—

But Kiko was scampering east towards the Blueberry Fields, peeping back to make sure she wasn’t following.

Quickly Sophie took the west trail towards the Blue Brook, where she could hide under its bridge. She had expected the Forest to be pitch-dark and made Hort teach her a fire spell during breakfast. But tonight the trees fluoresced with an ice-blue, blacklit sheen, glazing the Forest in arctic glow. Though the effect was ominous, she breathed relief. A flaming torch would have made her an easy target.

As she waded into the Fernfield, Sophie felt electric-blue fronds kiss her neck. Her body relaxed. She’d imagined a nonstop siege of horrors. But the Forest was quieter than she’d ever seen it. No skulking animals. No ominous howls. Just her in an ethereal meadow, wind strumming blades like harp strings.

As she waded through head-high ferns, she thought of Agatha. Did a teacher catch her brewing a plan? Did Hester intercept her?

Sophie felt pinpricks of sweat.

Or is Agatha afraid to help me?

For if she won with Tedros, no one could deny her switching schools. She could rule Good as their beneficent Captain. She could have her prince for Ever After and the life of a queen. Sophie gritted her teeth. If only she hadn’t made that promise about going home! If only she could win this Trial alone, then she wouldn’t have to keep it!

She stopped in her tracks.
But I can!
Look at me! I’m doing just fi—

A scream echoed. White sparks sprayed into the sky. Kiko had surrendered.

Sophie’s legs jellied. How long would it take Kiko’s attacker to find her? What was she thinking? She couldn’t last here! She yanked the kerchief from her pocket, unleashed vermillion red, and—

CRACK!
Something dropped from above and landed at her feet. She stared down at a scroll of parchment, wrapped with a strip of fabric.

Fabric glowing with angry green frogs.

Sophie looked up and saw a white dove high above the trees. The dove tried to fly down—

CRACK!
A barrier of flames exploded across the sky if it got even close to the trees. The faculty had taken no chances.

Sophie urgently pulled open the scorched scroll—

Sophie slumped with relief. A tulip! No one would ever find her! Oh, how could she doubt Agatha? Sweet, loyal Agatha! Sophie guiltily balled the red kerchief back in her pocket and followed the dove.

To get to the Tulip Garden by trail, she’d have to cross the Turquoise Thicket, then the Pumpkin Patch, and finally the Sleeping Willow Bosk. As she followed Agatha out of the ferns into the dense Thicket, phosphorescent leaves lit up the trail with wintry blue light. Sophie could see every scratch and scar on the lucent trunks, including the gash Vex had made above her head.

Wind suddenly swept through and leaves flickered over the trail. She couldn’t see Agatha through the treetops. Sophie heard muffled grunts—human? animal?—but she didn’t stop to find out. Kiko’s scream thundering in her head, she fled down the trail, snatching at her dragging cloak. Tripping over shrubs and stumps, she ducked stabbing boughs, flung through tentacles of blue leaves, until she glimpsed pumpkins and an impatient dove between two shining tree trunks—

Someone stood between them. A little girl in a red cape and hood.

“Excuse me?” Sophie called. “I need to pass.”

The red-headed stranger looked up. It wasn’t a child at all. She had cloudy blue eyes, rosy blush on her wrinkled, spotted cheeks, and thick gray hair pulled into two ponytails.

Sophie frowned. She loathed old women.

“I said I need to
pass
.”

The woman didn’t move.

Sophie marched towards her—“Are you deaf?”

The crone dropped her red cloak and revealed a hawk’s dirty, bloated body. Sophie shrank back, heard an earsplitting caw and swiveled to two more old bird-women moving towards her.

Harpies
.

Agatha had taught her—
Sweet-talkers? Blind walkers?

Then she saw their gnarled talons, tapping, sharp as blades.

Child eaters.

They pounced with terrible screams and Sophie ducked under a wing as the shrieking monsters dove after her, ugly faces contorted with rage. She raced through bushes to hide, but every corner of the thicket was spotlit blue. Harpies snapped at her neck and she fumbled for her pocket, touching red silk—her cloak snagged her foot and she crashed in mulch. Claws sank into her back and she screamed as she was lifted off ground, flailing for her kerchief. The Harpies opened their jaws to her face—

The thicket went dark.

Shrieks of confusion—claws released her and Sophie plunged into dirt. In blackness, she scrambled through gouging twigs until her hands found a log and she hid behind it. She could hear talons scraping blindly through dirt, furious grunts growing closer. Sophie sprang back and slammed into a rock with a cry. The monsters heard her and lunged for her head—

The thicket lit back up.

The Harpies craned their beaks to see Agatha the Dove hovering high, wingtip glowing orange. Agatha waved her wing and the thicket went dark. Agatha waved it again and the thicket went light. Dark then light, dark then light, until the Harpies got the point and two flew for Agatha, who squawked fearfully in place—

“
Fly!
” Sophie screamed, but Agatha flailed and thrashed as if she’d forgotten how. Twin monsters gnashed for the helpless dove, tearing higher, faster, until they had her in claws’ reach—

Flames exploded across the barrier with a cruel crack and they fell, charred feathers and flesh.

The last Harpy gawked at their smoking bodies. Slowly it looked up. Agatha smiled and waved her glowing wing. The thicket lit up. The monster swiveled—

Sophie smashed its head with a rock.

In the Forest’s silence, she panted and bled, alone on the ground, legs shaking under her cloak.

Sophie glared into the sky.

“I want to switch places!”

But the dove was already halfway to the Pumpkin Patch. Sophie could do nothing but follow miserably, hand gripping her kerchief inside her pocket.

Across the silent patch, pumpkins fluoresced a thousand shades of blue. Sophie stepped onto the dirt trail that snaked through the lit orbs, mumbling to herself that these were pumpkins, only pumpkins, and even a School Master couldn’t make one scary. She rushed ahead to keep up with Agatha—

Dark silhouettes on the trail. Two people in front of her.

“Hello?” Sophie called.

They didn’t move.

Heart thundering, Sophie stepped closer. There were more than two. Ten at least.

“What do you want!” she screamed.

No answer.

She inched closer. They were seven feet tall, with spindly bodies, faces like skulls, and crooked hands made of . . .

Straw.

Scarecrows.

Sophie exhaled.

The scarecrows lined both sides of the trail, dozens of them on wooden crosses, guarding the pumpkins with outstretched arms. From behind, glowing pumpkins lit their profiles, revealing shredded brown shirts, bald burlap heads, and black witch hats. As she walked slowly between them, Sophie saw their terrible faces—eyeholes ripped out of burlap, jagged pig noses, and sewn, lecherous grins. Spooked, she hurried forward, eyes on the path.

“Help me
 . . .
”

She froze. The voice came from the scarecrow next to her. A voice she knew.

It can’t be
, Sophie thought. She pushed on.

“Help me, Sophie . . .”

Now there was no mistaking it.

Sophie willed herself forward.
 My mother’s dead
.

“I’m inside . . .”
the voice rasped behind her, weak with agony.

Sophie’s eyes filled with tears.
She’s dead
.

“I’m trapped . . .”

Sophie turned.

The scarecrow wasn’t a scarecrow anymore.

A man she knew gazed back at her from the wooden cross. Under the black hat, his eyes were gray and pupil-less. Instead of hands, he had two meat hooks.

Sophie paled. “Father . . . ?”

He cracked his neck and carefully pried himself from his cross.

Sophie backed up, right into another scarecrow. It was her father too, wresting off his cross. Sophie whirled and all the scarecrows were her father, climbing off their stakes and walking towards her, meat hooks gleaming in chilly blue light.

“Father—it’s
me
—”

They kept coming. Sophie backed against a cross—“It’s me—Sophie—”

Far ahead, the dove looked back and saw Sophie cowering, screaming, as scarecrows stood peacefully still on the sides of the trail. Agatha yelped—

Sophie tripped on a pumpkin and fell. She spun to see her father’s face again and again, devoid of mercy.

“Father,
please
!”

The scarecrows raised their hooks. Sophie’s heart stopped—she choked a last breath and closed her eyes to slashing steel—

Water.

Cool, pristine water.

Her eyes fluttered open to a storm.

The patch was deserted. Just scarecrows on crosses, falling to pieces in rain.

Hovering high in the storm, Agatha waved her glowing wing and the rain stopped.

Sophie crumpled to the flooded path. “I can’t . . . I can’t survive this . . .”

Howls in the distance. Her eyes widened.

The next pair had entered the Forest.

Alarmed, the dove shrieked back at her and flew towards the Willow Bosk.

Shivering, Sophie staggered up and followed, shaken that a heart so haunted could still keep beating.

The long, thin trail through the Sleeping Willows sloped downhill, so Sophie could see the ghostly blue glow of the Tulip Garden at the bottom. One last push and she’d be safe among its flowers. For a moment, she questioned why Agatha hadn’t made her turn into a tree or blade of grass near the gates—then remembered that Yuba had taught them to spot enchanted trees and that grass would be trampled by night’s end. No, Agatha had chosen well. One tulip in thousands. She’d be safe till dawn.

As Sophie crept through the willows, her eyes darted around for the next threat. But the sapphire trees stood sentinel along the trail, long dangling branches glittering like chandeliers. As she drifted through, leaves shed over her in slow, beautiful rhythm, beads slipping off bracelets.

Something is here
.
Don’t be fooled
.

Wolves howled again at the gates and her stomach seized.

At least four others in the Forest now: Brone, Tristan . . . then who? Why hadn’t she learned the order! She had to get to the tulips before they found her! Sophie broke into a breathless sprint, chasing the dove ahead. She didn’t notice that the faster she ran, the faster the starry willow leaves shed, showering her in suspicious comets of light.

Then her head went heavy, her legs weak . . .

No . . .

Assaulted by leaves, she slowed to a stumbling limp.

Sleeping Willows . . .

Flying overhead, Agatha looked down and screeched.

Sophie lumbered forward, smelling the tulips . . .
Few more steps . . .

She collapsed, the flowers ten feet away.

Agatha waved her glowing wing, sparking an explosion of thunder. Sophie didn’t move. Agatha tried spells for rain, sleet, snow, but no response. Frantic, she squawked Sophie’s favorite song, a wretched ode to princes and weddings—

Sophie’s eyes peeked open.

Ecstatic, the dove kept warbling, more off-key with every note—

Agatha choked.

Blue hoods.

Two in the Thicket, two in the Pumpkin Patch, two more near the gates. She couldn’t tell who they were, but they were all frozen, carefully discerning the precise source of the song they’d just heard.

Then they started running towards the tulips.

Agatha glanced at Sophie, splayed in dirt—then at blue hoods coming to kill her—