“The usual, and make it snappy,” said Mal, drumming her fingers on the counter.
“Room for month-old milk?”
“Do I look like I want curds? Give me the strongest, blackest coffee you’ve got! What is this, Auradon?”
It was like he’d seen her dreams, and the thought made her ill.
The runty creature grunted, wiggling the boil on his nose, and pushed a dark, murky cup toward her. She grabbed it and ran out the door without paying.
“YOU LITTLE BRAT! I’LL BOIL YOU IN THE COFFEEPOT NEXT TIME!” the goblin shrieked.
She cackled. “Not if you can’t catch me first!”
The goblins never learned. They had never found Princess Aurora either, but then again, the dimwits had been looking for a baby for eighteen years. No wonder Maleficent was always frustrated. It was so hard to find good help these days.
Mal continued on her way, stopping to smirk at the poster of King Beast admonishing the citizens of the island to BE GOOD! BECAUSE IT’S GOOD FOR YOU! with that silly yellow crown on his head and that big grin on his face. It was positively nauseating and more than a little haunting, at least to Mal. Maybe the Auradon propaganda was getting to her head, maybe that’s why she had dreamt she was frolicking in some sort of enchanted lake last night with some pretentious prince. The thought made her shudder again. She took a gulp of her scalding, strong coffee. It tasted like mud. Perfect.
In any event, she had to do something about this blister on the wall. Mal took out her paint cans and sprayed a mustache and goatee on the king’s face and crossed out his ridiculous message. King Beast was the one who had locked them all up on the island, after all. That hypocrite. She had a few messages of her own for him, and they all involved revenge.
This was the Isle of the Lost. Evil lived, breathed, and ruled the island, and King Beast and his sickly sweet billboards cajoling the former villains of the world to do good had no place in it. Who wanted to make lemonade from lemons, when you could make perfectly good lemon grenades?
Next to the poster she sprayed a thin, black outline of a horned head and a spread cape. Above Maleficent’s outline, she scrawled EVIL LIVES! in bright green paint the color of goblin slime.
Not bad. Badder. And that was much better.
If Mal lived above a shop, Jay, son of Jafar, actually lived inside one, sleeping on a worn carpet beneath a shelf straining under ancient television sets with manual dials, radios that never worked, and telephones that had actual cords attached to them. His father had been the former grand vizier of Agrabah, feared and respected by all, but that was a long time ago, and the evil enchanter was now the proprietor of Jafar’s Junk Shop, and Jay, his only son and heir, was also his sole supplier. If Jay’s destiny had once been to become a great prince, only his father remembered it these days.
“You should be on top of an elephant, leading a parade, waving to your subjects,” Jafar mourned that morning as Jay prepared for school, pulling a red beanie over his long, straight dark hair and choosing his usual attire of purple-and-yellow leather vest and dark jeans. He flexed his considerable muscles as he pulled on his black studded gloves.
“Whatever you say, Dad!” Jay winked with a mischievous smile. “I’ll try to steal an elephant if I come across any.”
Because Jay was a prince, all right. A prince of thieves, a con man, and a schemer, whose lies were as beautiful as his dark eyes. As he made his way through the narrow cobblestone streets, dodging rickshaws manned by Professor Ratigan’s daredevil crew, he took advantage of their frightened passengers ducking under clotheslines weighed down by tattered robes and dripping capes to filch a billfold or two. Ursula chased him away from her fish and chips shop, but not before he had managed to grab a handful of greasy fries, and he took a moment to admire a collection of plastic jugs of every size and shape offered by another storefront, wondering if he could fit one in his pocket.
Every manner of Auradon trash was recycled and repurposed on the island, from bathtubs to door handles, as well as from the villains’ own formerly magical accoutrements. A shop advertised USED BROOMS THAT DON’T FLY ANYMORE BUT SWEEP OKAY, and crystal balls that were only good as goldfish bowls these days.
As vendors laid out rotten fruit and spoiled vegetables under tattered tents, Jay swiped a bruised apple and took a bite, his pockets bulging with pilfered treasures. He waved a cheerful hello to a chorus of hook-nosed witches gathered at a slanted balcony—Madam Mim’s granddaughters, who, while relieved to be out of his sticky fingers’ reach, swooned at his greeting nonetheless.
Maleficent’s henchmen, large boar-like men in leather rags with the familiar aviator-style caps pulled down over their eyes, snuffled an almost unintelligible hello as they passed him on their way to work. Jay deftly took their caps without their noticing and shoved them down the rear of his trousers, planning to sell them back to the guys the next day like he did every week. But he resisted the urge to trip them up as well. There just wasn’t time to do everything in one day.
Looking for something to wash down the sour taste of the apple, Jay caught sight of a familiar face taking a sip from a paper cup bearing the Slop Shop logo and grinned.
Perfect.
“What in Lucifer’s name?” Mal cried as the cup disappeared from her fingers. She hesitated for a second before realization hit. “Give it back, Jay,” she said, hands on her hips, addressing the empty space on the sidewalk.
He snickered. It was so much fun when Mal was mad. “Make me.”
“Jay!” she snarled. “Make you what? Bruise? Bleed? Beg? Thief’s choice, today.”
“Fine. Jeez,” he said as he slunk out from the shadows. “Mmm, pressed hot mud, my favorite.” He handed her back her cup, feeling wistful.
Mal took a sip and grimaced. “Actually, it’s disgusting, you can have it. You look hungry.”
“Really?” He perked up. “Thanks, Mal. I was starving.”
“Don’t thank me, it’s particularly awful today. I think they threw some raw toads into the brew this morning,” she said.
“Bonus! Extra protein.” Amphibians or not, Jay drained it in one shot. He wiped his lips and smiled. “Thanks, you’re a pal,” he said in all honesty, even though he and Mal weren’t friends, exactly, although they were partners in crime.
Like his, Mal’s jeans and jacket pockets were stuffed with all manner of junk, shoplifted from every storefront in town. A knitting needle was sticking out of one pocket, while the other contained what looked like a sword handle.
“Can I trade you a teapot for that old sword?” he asked hopefully. Everything his father sold was stuff Jay had stolen from somewhere else.
“Sure,” she said, taking a rusty kettle in exchange. “Look what else I got,” she said. “Ursula’s necklace.” She rattled it in the air. “I nabbed it this morning when the old sea witch waved hello.”
“Sweet.” He nodded. “All I got was a handful of fries. Too bad it can’t capture anything anymore, let alone a mermaid’s voice.”
Mal huffed. “It’s still valuable.”
“If you say so.” He shrugged.
Jay and Mal were in a constant competition for who was the more accomplished thief. A clear winner would be hard to call. You could say they had bonded on their love of swiping things, but they would tell you that bonds of any kind were for the weak.
Even so, they fell into step on the walk to school. “Heard the news?” he asked.
“What news? There’s no new news,” she scoffed, meaning nothing new ever happened on the island. The island’s old-fashioned fuzzy-screened televisions only broadcast two channels—Auradon News Network, which was full of do-gooder propaganda, and the DSC, the Dungeon Shopping Channel, which specialized in hidden-lair décor. “And slow down, or we’ll get there on time,” she added.
They turned off the main road, toward the uneven, broken-down graveyard that was the front lawn of Dragon Hall. The venerable school for the advancement of evil education was located in a former mau
soleum, a hulking gray structure with a domed ceiling and a broken-down colonnade, its pediment inscribed with the school’s motto: IN EVIL WE TRUST. Scattered around its haunted grounds, instead of the usual tombstones, were doomstones with horrible sayings carved into them. As far as the leaders on this island were concerned, there was never a wrong time to remind its citizens that evil ruled.
“No way, I heard news. Real news,” he insisted, his heavy combat boots stomping through the root-ripped graveyard terrain. “Check it out—there’s a new girl in class.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m totally serious,” he said, narrowly avoiding stumbling over a doomstone inscribed with the phrase IT IS BETTER TO HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL THAN TO BE LOVED.
“New girl? From where, exactly?” Mal asked, pointing to the magical dome that covered the island and shrouded the sky, obscuring the clouds. Nothing and no one came in or out, so there wasn’t ever a whole lot of new.
“New to us. She’s been castle-schooled until now, so it’s her first time in the dungeon,” said Jay as they approached the wrought-iron gates, and the crowd gathered around the entrance parted to let them through, many of their fellow students clutching their backpacks a little more tightly at the sight of the thieving duo.
“Really.” Mal stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean, ‘castle-schooled’?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“A real princess too, is what I’ve heard. Like, your basic true-love’s-kiss-prick-your-finger-spin-your-gold-skip-the-haircut-marry-the-prince-level princess.” He felt dizzy just thinking about it. “Think I could lift a crown off her somewhere? Even a half-crown…?” His father was always talking about The Big Score, the one fat treasure that would free them from the island somehow. Maybe the princess would lead them to it.
“A princess?” Mal said sternly. “I don’t believe you.”
Jay wasn’t listening anymore. “I mean, think of the loot she’d have on her! She’s got to have a ton of loot, right? Hope she’s easy on the eyes! Better yet, on the pockets. I could use an easy mark.”
Mal’s voice was suddenly acid. “You’re wrong. There weren’t any princesses on the island, and certainly not any who would dare to show their faces around here.…”
Jay stared at her, and in the back of his mind he heard alarm bells and had a faint memory of an awesome birthday party concerning a princess…and some sort of scandal that involved Mal and her mother. He felt bad, remembering now that Mal hadn’t received an invitation, but he quickly suppressed the icky emotion, unsure of where it came from. Villains were supposed to revel in other people’s sadness, not empathize!
Besides, when it came down to it, Mal was like a sister, an annoying, ever-present pest, and a pain in the…
Bells. Ringing and echoing through the island from the top of the tower, where Claudine Frollo was tugging the rope and being pulled up along with it as she rang in the official start of the Dragon Hall school day.
Jay and Mal shared a smirk. They were officially tardy. The first thing that had gone right all morning.
They passed through the crumbling and moss-covered archway and into the main tomb, which was buzzing with activity—members of the Truant Council putting up signs for a Week-Old Bake Sale; the earsplitting sounds of the junior orchestra practicing for the Fall Concert, the sea witches leaning over their violins.
Frightened students scrambled to get out of their way as Mal and Jay walked past the dead ivy–covered great hall toward the rusting double doors that led to the underground class-tombs. A tiny first-year pirate who ran with Harriet Hook’s crew got lost in the shuffle, blocking their path.
Mal came to a halt.
The boy slowly lifted his head, his eye patch trembling.
“S-s-so s-s-sorry, M-m-m-mal,” he said.
“M-m-m-MOVE IT,” Mal said, her voice high and mocking. She rolled her eyes and kicked the torn textbooks out of her way. The boy scampered toward the first open door he saw, dropping his fake hooked hand in his haste and sending it rolling away.
Jay kept his silence, knowing to tread lightly as he picked up the hook and stuffed it inside his jacket. But he couldn’t help asking, “Why not just throw a party of your own instead of sulking about it?”
“What are you talking about?” said Mal. “As if I care.”
Jay didn’t reply; he was too busy hugging himself tightly and wishing he’d thought to bring a warmer jacket instead of a sleeveless vest as the temperature dropped the usual twenty degrees as they ventured down the cold marble stairs to the damp basement gloom of campus.
Mal had gone silent for a moment, and Jay assumed she was still brooding on what happened ten years ago, when she suddenly snapped her fingers and said, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “You’re absolutely right, Jay. You’re a genius!”
“I am? I mean, yes, I am,” replied Jay. “Wait—what am I right about?”
“Having a party of my own. There’s a lot to celebrate, after all. You just said there was a new princess in our midst. So I’m going to throw a party.”
Jay goggled at her. “You are? I mean, I was just kidding. Everyone knows you hate…”
“Parties.” Mal nodded. “But not this one. You’ll see. It’s going to be a real howler.” She grinned. “Especially for the new kid.”
Jay smiled back weakly, wishing he had never mentioned it. When Mal got like this, it usually had terrible consequences. He shivered. There was a definite chill in the air—a new wild wind was blowing, and he was smart enough to worry about where it would lead.
In the Castle-Across-the-Way lived a lived a mother-and-daughter duo very different from Maleficent and Mal. Unlike the shabby Victorian confines of the Bargain Castle, this one was full soot and dust, with broken chandeliers and spiderwebs in the corners. It wasn’t so much a castle as a cave—yet another prison within the prison of the island. And for ten years, this mother and daughter had only each other for company. Banishment to the far side of the island had made Evil Queen a little odd, and Evie couldn’t help but notice how her mother insisted on making declarations just like some legendary “magic mirror.”
“Magic mirror in my hand, who is the fairest on this island?” Evil Queen asked as Evie was getting ready that morning.
“Mom, you’re not holding anything in your hand. And anyway, is that really the first thing on your mind? Not breakfast?” asked Evie, who was starving. She perused the day’s offerings—hard croissants and watery coffee from the basket the vultures left on their doorstep every day.
“Your daughter has grace but should take better care of her face to be the fairest,” her mother declared in somber tones that she called her “Magic Mirror” voice.
Fairest, prettiest, most beautiful. The thickest hair, the fullest lips, the smallest nose. It was all her mother cared about. Evil Queen blamed all her troubles on not being more beautiful than Snow White, and it seemed no matter how well Evie did her hair or put on her makeup, she would never be beautiful enough for her mother. It made Evie sick to her beautiful stomach sometimes. Like mother, like daughter—or so she’d always been told. The poison apple never fell far from the tree.
And even if Evie suspected there might be more to life than being beautiful, that wasn’t something she could ever say to her mother. The woman had a one-track mind.
“You didn’t put on enough blush. How will you ever win a handsome prince, looking like that?” her mother scolded, pinching her cheeks.
“If only there was one around here,” said Evie, who dutifully took out her compact and reapplied. There were no princes to be found on the island, as all the princes lived in Auradon now. That’s where all the world’s royalty lived—and that’s where she should live too. But it was not to be. Like her mother, she would be trapped on the Isle of the Lost forever.
Evie checked the hallway mirror one last time and adjusted her blue cape around her shoulders, the back of it embroidered with a crown in the middle. Her poison-heart necklace wi
nked red in between the soft blue folds. Her raggedy black skirt with the splashes of red, white, and blue paint went well with her forest-print-like black-and-white leggings.
“Your hair!” Evil Queen said with despair, tucking a loose strand back into her daughter’s neat V-braid, which swept her hair off her forehead. “Okay, now you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Evie, whose only goal was to survive the day. “Are you sure it’s safe to go to school?”
“No one can keep a grudge for ten years! Also, we’re all out of wrinkle cream! Pick up some from the bazaar—I don’t trust the vultures to send the right one.”
Evie nodded and hoped her mother was right.
But when she stepped out of their castle gates, she froze. Maleficent’s curse echoed in her ears. But nothing happened, and she kept going. Maybe, for once, the wicked old fairy had forgotten about it.
When Evie arrived at school that morning, everyone stared at her as she walked through the halls. She felt a bit self-conscious, and wondered if she’d ever fit in. She was supposed to check in with Dr. F, the headmaster, when she arrived. But where were the administrative chambers? Evie wondered, whirling around in a full circle.
“May I help you?” a handsome if somewhat hairy and very large boy asked when he saw her.
“Oh—I’m looking for the headmaster—?”
“Follow me,” he said with a broad grin. “Gaston, at your service…and this is my brother, Gaston.” He pointed to his identical twin, who gave her the same beaming, arrogant smile.
“Thank you, uh, Gastons.” Evie replied. The boys led her down the hall to the administrative-tombs.
“Dr. F, you got a visitor,” Gaston said reaching for the door handle.
The Isle of the Lost Page 2
