“Rapunzel was a 4 at best,” said Chaddick, hanging off a brick like a mountaineer. “But this Martine was a solid 9.”
“Too bad she ended up a horse,” said Nicholas.
“Wait until they put Agatha on the wall. She’ll end up a—”
“What? What will I end up?”
Chaddick turned to Agatha. He gawped open-mouthed.
“A cat?” Agatha grinned. “I seem to have eaten your tongue.”
“Oooh,” Nicholas chimed, and Chaddick kicked him off the pillar.
Smiling so wide it hurt now, Agatha sauntered up the Valor stairs towards the Supper Hall. She glided through royal blue arches for the gold double doors, ready to face the mirror inside, ready to feel what Sophie had felt all her life—but just as she reached for them, the doors opened in her face.
“Excuse me—”
Agatha heard the voice before she saw him. Slowly she looked up, heart thundering.
Tedros stared at her, looking so confused she thought she had somehow petrified him with a villain spell.
He coughed, as if trying to find his voice. “Um. Hi.”
“Hi,” Agatha said, smiling stupidly.
Silence.
“What’s for supper?” she said even more stupidly.
“Duckling,” he squeaked.
He coughed again.
“Sorry. It’s just, you look . . . you look so . . .”
Agatha suddenly felt a strange feeling. It scared her.
“I know—not me—” she blurted, and fled around the corner.
She lunged into a corridor and cowered under a portrait frame. What did they do! Had they exchanged her soul when they gave her a new face? Had they replaced her heart when they gave her a new body? Why were her palms drenched? Why was her stomach fluttering? Where was the insult for Tedros she always had on her lips? What in heaven and earth could possibly make her smile at a boy? She hated boys! She always hated boys! She wouldn’t smile at one even if forced to at swordpoi—
Agatha realized where she was.
The portrait she was under wasn’t a portrait.
Sweating with dread, she stood to face the hall’s giant mirror, ready to see a stranger.
Agatha closed her eyes in shock.
She opened them again.
But the bath pools—bottles—blond hair—
She shrank against the wall, panicked.
The wish—the wand—
But it was all part of her fairy godmother’s ruse.
For the nymphs hadn’t done anything to Agatha at all.
She glimpsed her greasy black hair and bug eyes and dropped to the floor in horror.
I’m still ugly! I’m still a witch!
Wait.
What about Albemarle? What about Reena, Chaddick . . . Tedros?
They were mirrors too, weren’t they? Mirrors that told her she wasn’t ugly anymore.
Slowly Agatha rose, inching back into her reflection. For the first time in her life, she didn’t look away.
Beauty can only fight the truth so long, Agatha.
All these years she had believed she was what she looked like. An unlovable, dark-hearted witch.
But in the halls, she had believed something different. For a moment, she had unchained her heart and let light rush in.
Gently Agatha touched her face in the mirror, glowing from the inside.
A face no one recognized because it was so happy.
There could be no turning back now. The bread crumbs on the dark trail were gone. Instead, she had the truth to guide her. A truth greater than any magic.
I’ve been beautiful all along.
Agatha burst into deep, cleansing sobs, never surrendering her smile.
She didn’t hear the screams of someone far away, woken from her worst dreams yet.
24
Hope in the Toilet
Students at the School for Good and Evil thought magic meant spells. But Agatha had found something more powerful in a smile.
Everywhere she went, she noticed slack-jawed stares and baffled whispers, as if she’d conjured sorcery deeper than students or teachers had ever seen. Then one day, on her way to morning classes, Agatha saw she too had been bewitched. Because for the first time, she found herself looking forward to them.
The other changes were just as sly. She noticed she didn’t gag at the scent of her uniform anymore. She didn’t dread washing her face now or mind taking a minute to brush her hair. She got so caught up in Ball dance rehearsals she jumped when the wolves howled to end class. And where she once mocked her Good homework, now she’d read assigned pages and keep reading, entranced by stories of heroines who outwitted lethal witches, avenged their parents’ deaths, and sacrificed their bodies, freedoms, even lives for true love.
Closing her textbook, Agatha gazed out at fairies decking the Blue Forest with starry lanterns for the Ball. It was beautiful, really, what Good could do. She wouldn’t have been able to admit that a few weeks ago. But now as she lay in bed, aglow in lantern light, she thought of her room in Gavaldon and couldn’t remember how it smelled. Suddenly she couldn’t remember the color of Reaper’s eyes . . . the sound of her mother’s voice . . .
Then it was two days before the Ball. The Circus of Talents would take place the next night, and Pollux came round to classrooms, head ferried on the shell of a gaunt turtle, to announce the rules.
“Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! By order of the School Master of the School for Good Enlightenment and Enchantment and the School for Evil Edifi—”
“Just get on with it!” Professor Anemone yawped.
Pollux glumly explained that the Circus was a talent competition between Good and Evil, where the top 10 Evers and Nevers would each take the stage to present their talents. At the end of the contest, the winner would receive the Circus Crown and the Theater of Tales would magically move to his school.
“Of course, the Theater hasn’t moved in ages,” Pollux sniffed. “Firmly entrenched by now.”
“But who’s the judge?” Beatrix said.
“The School Master. Though you won’t see him, of course,” Pollux puffed. “Now as to attire, I suggest you wear clothes of humble, demure col—”
Professor Anemone kicked his head out the door. “Enough! Proposals coming tomorrow and the only thing you should be thinking about is your prince’s face!”
As the teacher circled the room, Agatha watched girls accept proposals with eyes closed, noses scrunched in concentration, as Pollux moaned outside.
Her stomach plunged.
With her ranking, she’d definitely make the Circus team! A talent show? She had no talents! Who would propose to her once she humiliated herself in front of the whole school! And if no one proposed to her—
“Then you’re a witch and you fail,” Millicent reminded her when she still couldn’t see a face.
Agatha spent all of Uma’s class with her eyes closed, but all she could glimpse was a milky silhouette that crumbled every time she reached for it. She slogged back into the castle, discouraged, and noticed a few students buzzing in the stair room. She sidled up to Kiko.
“What’s going—”
She took a breath. The angel-painted V on the wall was now defaced with violent streaks of red—
“What does it mean?” Agatha said.
“That Sophie is going to attack us again,” a voice answered.
Agatha turned to Tedros in a sleeveless blue shirt, sweaty and glowing from Swordplay. He suddenly looked self-conscious.
“Uh, sorry . . . need a bath.”
Fidgeting, Agatha glued her eyes to the wall. “I thought the attacks were over.”
“I’ll catch her this time,” Tedros said, glaring at the wall beside her. “She’s poison, that girl.”
“She’s hurt, Tedros. She thinks you made a promise.”
“It’s not a promise if it’s made under false pretenses. She used me to win the Trial and she used you too.”
“You don’t know the sl
ightest thing about her,” Agatha said. “She still loves you. And she’s still my friend.”
“Blimey, you must be a better soul than me, because I don’t know what you see in her. All I see is a manipulative witch.”
“Then look closer.”
Tedros turned. “Or look at someone else.”
Agatha felt sick again.
“I’m late,” she said, scrambling for stairs—
“History’s this way.”
“Bathroom—” she called back—
“But that’s a boys’ tower!”
“I prefer boys’ . . . toilets—”
She ducked behind a sculpture of a half-naked merman, heaving for air. What’s happening to me! Why couldn’t she breathe around him? Why did she feel nauseous every time he looked at her? And why was he staring at her now like she was a . . . girl! Agatha stifled a scream.
She had to stop Sophie’s attack.
If Sophie recanted, if she begged Tedros for forgiveness, there was still hope he’d take her back! That was the happy ending to this fairy tale! Then there’d be no more strange looks, no more sick stomachs, no more fears she’d lost control over her own heart.
With students and teachers now swarming the defaced wall, Agatha sprinted up to Merlin’s Menagerie, where the hedges were finally returning to their old glory after the fire. She raced to the last sculpture of young Arthur, nestled in a pond, muscular arms pulling sword from stone. Only now she wasn’t seeing Arthur but his son, winking at her. Agatha flushed with horror and leapt into ice-cold water.
“Let me through!” she barked, storming up to her reflection on the Bridge. “I have to stop Sophie before she—” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Where’s me?”
A ravishing princess grinned back at her with dark upswept hair, in a magnificent midnight-blue gown with delicate gold leaves, a ruby pendant around her neck, and a tiara of blue orchids.
Guilt speared Agatha’s stomach. She recognized that grin.
“Sophie?”
“Good with Good,
Evil with Evil,
Back to your tower before there’s upheaval.”
“Well, now I’m definitely Evil so let me pass,” Agatha ordered.
“Why’s that?” said the princess. “Because you still insist on that haircut?”
“Because I’m having thoughts about your prince!”
“It’s about time.”
“Good, so let me thr— What?” Agatha scowled. “But that’s Evil! Sophie, he’s your true love!”
The princess smiled. “I warned you last time.”
“What? Who warned when—”
Then Agatha remembered the last time she was here.
He’s yours.
Her eyes bulged—“But that means—that means you’re—”
“Definitely Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, we have a Ball to get ready for.”
And with that, Princess Agatha vanished from her reflection, leaving the barrier intact.
“Um. That’s your sixth piece,” Kiko said, watching Agatha stab another slice of cherry pie.
Agatha ignored her and stuffed it in her mouth, swallowing away guilt. She’d tell Sophie. Yes, she’d tell Sophie everything and Sophie would laugh hysterically and put her in her place. She a princess? Tedros her true love?
“You going to eat that?” Agatha snarfed, mouth full.
“And I thought you were making progress,” Kiko sighed, sliding over her piece.
As she devoured it, Agatha refocused on sneaking into the School for Evil. During the first attacks, the teachers had besieged the Good Towers with anti-Mogrif enchantments, since they figured Sophie was breaking in as a moth, frog, or lily pad. But Sophie had still found a way into Good.
So there has to be another route, Agatha thought. Without thinking, she found herself hustling from the Supper Hall to the place she always went to when she needed answers.
Agatha immediately noticed the new addition to the Gallery of Good. Tedros’ bloodied Trial tunic had its own case, labeled TRIAL OF THE CENTURY alongside a brief account of Tedros and Sophie’s ill-fated alliance. She could see dozens of fingerprints on the glass, no doubt the fossils of ogling girls. Nausea rising, Agatha darted to the School History exhibit, with dozens of maps tracking the additions of new towers over the years. She tried to study them for a hidden passage, but soon her eyes bleared and she found herself drifting to the familiar corner nook.
She moved past all the Reader paintings to the one with her and Sophie, haloed by a lake. Her eyes misted at the sight of them together, once upon a time, the best of friends. High in the School Master’s tower, the Storian would soon write their ending. How far would it take them from that sunlit shore?
She looked at the painting next to it, the last one in the row. The dark vision of children hurling their storybooks into a bonfire while flames and smoke clouds devoured the Woods around them.
The Reader Prophecy, Lady Lesso had said.
Was this Gavaldon’s future?
Her temples throbbed, trying to make sense of it all. Who cared if children burned books? Why was Gavaldon so important to Sader and the School Master? What about all the other villages?
“What other villages?”
She had long dismissed the School Master’s words as an unfinished thought. The world was made of villages like hers somewhere beyond Gavaldon’s woods. But why weren’t they in this gallery? Why weren’t their children taken?
As her neck prickled red, her focus veered back to the smoke clouds closing in on the painted children. Because now she saw they weren’t clouds at all.
They were shadows.
Hulking and black. Creeping from the burning Woods into the village.
And they didn’t look human.
Suddenly her own shadow on the wall was growing, gnarling. Agatha whirled in horror—
“Professor Sader,” she exhaled.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a painter, Agatha,” he said, clutching a suitcase that matched his shamrock suit. “Reactions to my new addition have been rather poor.”
“But what are those shadows?”
“Thought I’d check up after I found some thorns missing from the Exhibition of Evil. Sometimes villains act exactly as you’d expect,” he sighed and headed to the door.
“Wait! Why is that your last painting?” Agatha pressed. “Is that how Sophie and my fairy tale ends?”
Professor Sader turned back. “You see, Agatha, seers simply cannot answer questions. Indeed, if I were to answer your question, I’d age ten years on the spot as punishment. It is the reason most seers look so terribly old. It takes a few mistakes to learn how not to answer them. Thankfully, I myself have made only one.”
He smiled and started to leave again.
“But I need to know if Tedros is Sophie’s true love!” Agatha cried. “Tell me if he kisses her!”
“Have you learned anything from my gallery, Agatha?” Sader said, turning.
Agatha eyed taxidermied animals around him. “That you like your students well stuffed?”
He didn’t smile. “Not every hero achieves glory. But the ones that do share something in common.” Apparently he wanted her to guess what this was.
“They kill villains?” she said.
“No questions.”
“They kill villains.”
“Think deeper, Agatha. What links our greatest heroes?”
She followed his glassy gaze to royal blue banners draped from the ceiling, each celebrating an iconic hero. Snow White encased in her coffin, Cinderella slipping into the glass heel, Jack slaying the towering giant, Gretel shoving the witch into the oven . . .
“They find happiness,” she said lamely.
“Ah, well. I have stuffing to get back to.”
“Wait—”
Agatha focused on the banners and steadied her mind. Deeper. Beneath the surface, what did these heroes have in common? True, they all shared beauty, kindness, triumph, but where had they started? Sno
w White lived in the shadow of her stepmother. Cinderella was a maid to two stepsisters. Jack’s mother told him he was stupid. Gretel’s parents left her in the Woods to die. . . .
It wasn’t their endings they shared in common.
It was their beginnings.
“They trusted their enemies,” Agatha said to her professor.
“Yes, their fairy tales all started when they never expected it,” Sader said, silver swan glinting brighter on suit pocket. “After graduating from our school, they went into the Woods expecting epic battles with monsters and wizards, only to find their fairy tales unfold right in their own houses. They didn’t realize that villains are the ones closest to us. They didn’t realize that to find a happy ending, a hero must first look right under his nose.”
“So Sophie has to look under her nose,” Agatha snapped as he walked away. “That’s your advice.”
“I wasn’t talking about Sophie.”
Agatha stared at him, speechless.
“Tell them there’s no need to worry,” he said from the door. “I’ve already found a replacement.”
It closed behind him.
“Wait!” Agatha ran, throwing it open. “Are you going somewh—”
But Professor Sader wasn’t in the corridor. She sprinted into the stair room, but he wasn’t there either. Her teacher had, quite simply, disappeared.
Agatha stood between the four staircases, stomach sinking. There was something here she was missing. Something that told her she had this whole story wrong. But then she heard words drumming in her head, demanding her attention.
Under your nose.
That’s when she saw it.
The trail of chocolate crumbs up the Honor stairs.
The specks of chocolate snaked up three flights of blue glass, through the seashell mosaic of the dormitory floor, and abruptly stopped in front of the boys’ lavatory.
Agatha put her ear to the pearl-encrusted door and lurched back as two Everboys came out of their room across from her.
“Sorry—” she stammered. “I’m, uh, just—”
“That’s the one that likes boys’ toilets,” she heard as they shuffled past.
With a sigh, Agatha pushed through the door.
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