The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes

by Chainani, Soman

  Agatha whirled to see the School Master hunched over the Storian as it magically painted the last page in a storybook atop the white stone table. Agatha watched the School Master frown deeper and deeper as the enchanted pen finished its ending, his billowing blue robes draped over his body, his gleaming silver mask covering all of his face except his shiny blue eyes, full lips, and thick, ghostly white hair. The sight of him so present, so alive, made the hair stand up on the back of Agatha’s neck, but she knew he couldn’t see her.

  The School Master leered harder as the pen finished its last stroke, completing its vision of a giant gruesomely stabbed by a prince, clutching his fair princess—

  “The End,” he growled, and magically dashed the book against the wall.

  With a puff of smoke, the Storian conjured a fresh storybook from its nib, flipped the green wooden cover to the blank first page, and the School Master watched it begin a new tale.

  “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Thumbelina . . .”

  Shadows of butterflies fell over the page, and he turned to see a red-winged swarm float through the window and magically congeal into Evelyn Sader, still ten years younger. Only unlike the kind-looking, bright-faced Evelyn in her false history, this Evelyn had the same mischief and malevolence in her eyes that Agatha recognized.

  “You are forbidden here, Evelyn,” the School Master hissed. He stabbed his finger, erasing the patch of floor beneath her in slashing white streaks—

  “My brother is lying to you,” Evelyn said calmly.

  The School Master froze his spell, leaving Evelyn on a small stone patch of floor, surrounded by white oblivion.

  “I know you’re Evil, Master. Evil as your brother was Good,” Evelyn said, unyielding under his glare. “And I come to tell you that you’ve chosen the wrong Professor Sader with whom to invest your future.”

  The School Master slowly lowered his finger, and the floor filled in around Evelyn, putting her back on solid ground.

  “I know what it is you seek, Master,” Evelyn continued, slinking towards him. “A heart that will reverse the curse on Evil . . . that will commit any sin in the name of your love . . . a heart that is worthy of Never After . . .”

  She put her hand on his chest, her green eyes burning into his.

  “And that heart is mine.”

  The School Master stared at her, frozen still . . . before his lips curled and he turned away. “Be gone, Evelyn. Before you make an even greater fool of yourself.”

  “August tells you the one you seek is from Woods Beyond. That is why you pollute our school with these vile Readers.”

  The School Master tightened, his back to her.

  “It is a death trap, Master,” said Evelyn. “I know my brother’s heart. He leads you not to your true love—but to the one who will slay you.”

  The School Master spun to her. “You are only jealous of your brother’s powers, like a third-rate henchman. You have no power to see the future—”

  “I have the power to hear the present, and that is far stronger,” Evelyn said, undaunted. “I can hear words, wishes, secrets—even yours, Master. I know what it is people seek, what they desire, what they would give their lives for. I can change the course of anyone’s story and end it the way I wish.”

  “The laws of our world forbid interfering in the tales of the Storian without incurring our own destruction,” the School Master said, grimacing at the pen. “It is a lesson I have no intention of learning twice.”

  “Because you still believe in the power of the pen. You try to end Evil’s slaughter without taking action yourself. You try to control a pen that seeks only to punish you for killing your brother.” Evelyn’s face lost its hard edges. “But I know your heart, Master, and surely you know mine. For only you and I know what Evil is truly capable of—Evil far greater than any story has ever seen. Kiss me, and you’ll have love on your side, love as hateful as Good’s is true. A Never After so enduring, so poisonous that Good has no weapon to defeat us. Kiss me, and we shall destroy Good, one story at a time—until the pen has no power left at all.”

  The School Master lifted his shining blue eyes to her. “And you believe without doubt that you’re my true love?” he said, slowly leaning in . . . “That you’re the one my soul seeks?”

  Evelyn blushed in his grip, ready for his kiss.

  “With every shred of my dark heart.”

  The School Master smiled wickedly and pulled back. “Then prove it.”

  Agatha’s heart chilled as the scene evaporated around her, replaced by the open, grassy field of the Clearing at lunchtime. But instead of its usual quiet decorum, with Evers sitting together on one side and Nevers on the other, now the Nevers gaped in astonishment as Evers assaulted each other in civil war—Everboys punching and beating each other with sticks, Evergirls in hair-pulling, nail-clawing catfights, teachers, wolves, fairies trying uselessly to pull them apart—as bloodred butterflies swarmed over the scene. Agatha saw a younger-looking Professor Dovey sprint past her, accosting Lady Lesso, who’d just come from Evil’s tunnel of trees—

  “It’s Evelyn,” Professor Dovey panted. “Her butterflies are eavesdropping on my students’ conversations and whispering them back in the halls! Every minor grievance, insult, jealousy aired solely to incite chaos!”

  “One of the lessons I teach Nevers is that they should insult each other to their faces. Avoids such dramatics,” Lady Lesso purred.

  “You are Evil’s Dean! It is your responsibility to control her—”

  “And Ever discipline is your responsibility, Clarissa,” Lady Lesso yawned. “Perhaps you should speak to her brother. He’s the one responsible for her placement here.”

  “August refuses to speak to her or answer my questions. Please, Lady Lesso!” begged Professor Dovey. “A teacher cannot interfere in students’ stories! It’s only a matter of time before Evelyn meddles with your students too!”

  Lady Lesso frowned at her Good colleague, deliberating. . . .

  The scene melted away, and Agatha found herself in Lady Lesso’s old frozen classroom, with Evelyn Sader standing before Evil’s Dean at her ice-carved desk.

  “I will not ask you again,” said Lady Lesso glacially. “You will cease spying on students, Good or Evil, or be removed from this school.”

  Evelyn smirked through gap teeth. “And you expect me to take orders from you? A Dean who sneaks into the Woods to see the son she hides?”

  Lady Lesso blanched, violet eyes wide. “What did you say?”

  “Misses you, does he?” said Evelyn, skulking towards her. “Perhaps he’ll grow up to be as weak as his mother.”

  Lady Lesso looked stunned for a moment before recovering her icy snarl. “I have no son.”

  “That’s what you told the School Master, didn’t you?” Evelyn returned, prowling closer. “You know there’s a curse on Evil in the Woods. You’d do anything to keep yourself safe here at school. But no teacher of Evil is allowed to retain attachments outside these gates—and certainly not its Dean. So you too vowed that you gave up your child and dedicated your soul to the pursuit of cold-blooded Evil.” Evelyn loomed over Lady Lesso, gilded nails digging into her frozen desk. “But every night you still sneak to that cave where you keep him. Every night you pretend he’ll always have a loving mother, instead of telling him the truth. But mark my words, Lady Lesso . . . one day your son will hate you even more because of it. Because soon you’ll have to pick between yourself and him. And we both know who you’ll choose.”

  “Get out!” Lady Lesso leapt up, spitting. “GET OUT!”

  But Evelyn was already sashaying away, butterflies following her in a slash of red.

  Lady Lesso sat alone in the cold, empty classroom. Her cheeks reddened as she began to shake uncontrollably, welling tears. She heard voices and quickly wiped them away before the next class of Nevers surged in . . .

  Agatha could barely breathe as the scene dissolved, returning her to the School Master’s tower. Thi
s time, the School Master was alone with August Sader.

  “Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey insist your sister be evicted immediately,” said the School Master. “And given my deans’ inability to agree on anything at any time, I believe I must fulfill their wishes.” He peered out the window at his schools. “I’ll need you to take over Evelyn’s classes in Evil as soon as she is gone.”

  “As you wish, Master,” Professor Sader replied behind him.

  The School Master turned. “And you offer no defense of your own sister? You are the one who insisted she teach here.”

  “Perhaps she’s just here before her time,” Professor Sader said with a mysterious smile. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

  Eyeing him carefully, the School Master raised his finger. Professor Sader started to disappear in streaks of white—only to suddenly fill back in.

  “One last thing, August,” said the School Master, recalling him. “The one I seek . . . you swear on your own life she is not one of our world?”

  Professor Sader didn’t blink. “I swear on my life.”

  The School Master smiled and turned away. “By the way. Do let Lady Lesso know that her privileges to travel beyond the school gates have been revoked.”

  Professor Sader erased from his tower behind him in a brilliant flash of white.

  Agatha covered her eyes until the white light dimmed and peeked through her fingers to see Evelyn back in front of the School Master.

  Evelyn looked past him to see hundreds of students gathered in the windows of Good and Evil, along with the teachers of both schools, like an audience in wait of an execution.

  “And you choose my brother over me?” she said, sneering at the spectating masses. “You choose a man who will destroy you over a woman who will save you?”

  “Your brother does not lie,” said the School Master quietly.

  Evelyn twirled to him. “He would sacrifice more than truth to see you dead. He would sacrifice his life.”

  The School Master gazed at the Storian thoughtfully. “My brother put a piece of his soul into the students’ crests, ensuring that they are protected from me,” he said at last. “I, too, prefer not to take chances without insurance.”

  He turned back to Evelyn. “But I’m afraid your time at this school has come to an end for now.”

  Evelyn grabbed him by the shoulders. “And what if you’re wrong? What if I am your true love?” she pleaded frantically. “What if you die for your mistake?”

  The School Master looked down at her hands clawing him. “Such devotion . . .” He grinned into her forest-green eyes. “Surely I can’t deny you all hope.”

  Slowly he reached towards his chest and drew out a ghostly wisp of bright blue smoke, like a glowing sliver of his heart. Clasping it in his fist, he placed it against Evelyn’s heart and watched it sucked inside. Evelyn looked down in shock as all the red butterflies on her dress magically turned blue.

  “My insurance, Evelyn.” The School Master caressed her cheek, amused. “For if I am wrong, then one day you may return to this school.” He pulled away sharply. “And bring your true love back with you.”

  Evelyn gasped—

  The School Master blasted her out of the tower in a comet of blue light, which raged high over the Woods and ebbed into the horizon.

  Agatha stared into the School Master’s lethal blue eyes as the scene suddenly evaporated in a cloud of smoke—

  Agatha coughed, waving her hands from the noxious fog as screaming Evers fled past her. She was back in the phantom, hazy Good Hall—back in Evelyn’s tampered history—

  Which could only mean one thing.

  Agatha spun to see Evelyn Sader storming towards her across Good Hall, her face flushed with wrath. Only this Evelyn was ten years older. This Evelyn’s butterflies were blue instead of red. This Evelyn wasn’t a phantom at all, charging lethally towards the girl who’d just invaded her memories. . . .

  “That’s why you’re in our fairy tale—you’re using us somehow—” Agatha cried, retreating. “You’re—you’re bringing him b-b-back—”

  Evelyn shot her with a flash of blue light as the hall melted back to the present, the witches running towards Agatha as she collapsed to the floor, too late to save her.

  Agatha.

  Agatha.

  Agatha.

  Sophie gaped at Tedros and Hort, both asking to be her teammate in the Trial against herself.

  I need Agatha now, Sophie thought, trembling. She couldn’t get anywhere near that Trial.

  Castor kicked Hort forward with his paw. “Each of you has one chance to tell Filip why you deserve to be his choice.”

  Hort glared at Tedros so horribly he looked like he might burst into flames. “I should fight with Filip because I’m not a fair-weather friend who was only nice to him when I didn’t get whipped.” He pouted at Sophie, pale lips quivering. “Plus I’m Filip’s best friend. He said it himself.”

  Sophie stared at Hort, who’d lost all his fury and now just looked like a pitiful rat.

  “Well, maybe I’m not Filip’s best friend,” a new voice said behind him. “But I’ll keep him alive.”

  Sophie slowly looked up.

  “What I had with Agatha was the deepest love I’d ever had,” said Tedros, their eyes locking. “But Filip showed me something even deeper, like the bond of a brother I’ve always wanted. He isn’t like us princes—rash and uptight and with our heads up our bums. He’s honest and strange and thinks a lot and has real feelings. Boys never have real feelings… at least not ones that they don’t toss off or hide. But he’s a boy in the way a real boy’s supposed to be, built of honor, valor, and heart. And maybe for the first time, he’s made me understand why only death will separate Agatha from Sophie.” Tedros gazed at Filip’s stunned, elfish face. “Because I’ve never felt as loyal to someone, boy or girl, as I feel about him.”

  No one in Evil Hall made a sound.

  Sophie teared up, staring at her once-prince. All her life, she’d just wanted a boy to want her. How could she ever know it’d be as a boy herself?

  “Tedros or Hort, Filip?” Castor said, stepping between the boys.

  Sophie tore eyes from Tedros. What was she doing! She had to call Agatha right now!

  “TEDROS OR HORT?” Castor roared, scowling at her.

  Sophie steadied her breaths, squelching Tedros’ echo. Agatha would be on the way soon.

  It doesn’t matter what I say. It won’t happen. The Trial won’t happen.

  But if it did . . . if somehow it did . . . the prince whose mission it was to kill her was now asking to be let in!

  Hort.

  HORT.

  SAY HORT!

  The name came smoothly, soundly off her tongue, and she heaved relief, raring to light a lantern and call her best friend—

  But as she looked up at Hort, the weasel’s smile disappeared, replaced with a look of such horror and betrayal that Sophie knew it wasn’t Hort she’d named at all.

  Slowly Sophie turned.

  Tedros smiled back, glowing with gratitude and affection—glowing with the promise to protect Sophie the Boy from Sophie the Girl.

  Only it wasn’t Tedros’ glow that stopped Sophie’s heart.

  It was the glow over his shoulder . . .

  . . . seeping through the window of the boys’ hall . . .

  . . . blaring far across the bay from the girls’ tower . . .

  . . . the glow of a red lantern, blazing with alarm . . .

  And that’s when Sophie knew she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  22

  Last One In

  Feels like home.”

  Ripples of water strummed beneath the boy’s words, like harp strings to a song.

  * * *

  Art to come

  * * *<
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  Agatha opened her eyes to sun spilling across the surface of a familiar lake, the water shivering and spangling in a warm breeze. For a brief moment it stilled, reflecting her dumpy black dress and ghostly pale face, next to a golden-haired boy in a blue Evers’ coat.

  “H-h-how did we get here?” Agatha breathed, looking up at him.

  “There’s my princess,” Tedros said, gazing out at the water. “Old Agatha would have flushed like a tomato, asking ‘Where’s Sophie?’”

  Agatha flushed like a tomato. “Where is she! Is she safe?” she blurted, swiveling to a blinding glare of gold light, erasing everything around the lake. “Is she here—”

  “Been meaning to ask you,” Tedros said, flicking a blade of grass into the water. “From the moment we met, you despised me—called me a murderer, a puffed-up windbag, a donkey’s behind, and who knows what else . . .” He flicked another blade, not looking at her. “What made you change your mind?”

  “I don’t understand—where are we—” said Agatha anxiously, scanning the fiery gold walls of light hemming them in, like the black walls of wind that had once hidden her prince’s phantom. “What happened to our story—”

  “That’s what we’re both trying to figure out, isn’t it? It’s why I need the answer, Agatha,” Tedros said, still looking ahead. “I need to know what you saw in me.”

  The red seeped out of Agatha’s cheeks. Once upon a time, she’d been here on this same shore, flicking matches instead of grass, asking Sophie what her friend saw in her.

  “It was one moment,” Agatha said softly. “That’s all.”

  Her prince finally met her eyes.

  “It was the way you looked at Sophie after she abandoned you in last year’s Trial,” she said. “The heartbreak in your face. As if all you’d ever wanted was for someone to protect you the way you protect them.”

  Tedros growled and turned away. “You make me sound like a girl.”

  Agatha smiled to herself. “It’s what made me see a boy.”