The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy

by Nikki Loftin

  I couldn’t tell him about Principal Trapp. He wouldn’t believe me. But I could ask him a question, the question that had been plaguing me all day. “Bryan,” I asked, “do you think I’m evil?”

  “Um, what?” He half-smiled, thinking I was kidding. “There you go again, imagining crazy stuff. Of course you’re evil. I’ve been telling you that for years. Stupid, too.” He crossed the floor to the doorway.

  “No, seriously,” I said, scraping my plate into the sink. I watched the peas, the instant mashed potatoes, and the fish sticks—Molly’s gourmet cooking—slide down the drain. “Do you think, maybe, a person who did what I did . . . becomes evil? I mean, once you do something really bad, does it change you, somehow? Permanently? So other people can tell?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I waited two, three, four seconds, and looked up.

  He wasn’t even in the room anymore. I could see him though the open doorway, setting up his gaming system. He pointed the video game controller at the television screen, clicking the buttons fiercely.

  I knew it didn’t matter what he thought. It only mattered what the principal thought.

  I slipped out the kitchen door, grabbed Bryan’s skateboard from the corner of the garage, and jumped on. I was still grounded, but I didn’t think anyone would notice; I could hear another television blaring inside Molly and Dad’s room.

  I had to think.

  The neighborhood was dark, except for pools of light around the street lamps. It was dumb to be skating at night, but I figured the worst that could happen is I would get hit by a car and die. Something a lot worse could happen at my school—probably was going to happen the next day, unless I agreed to turn to the dark side.

  The cool breeze blew through my hair, and I sped up, pushing off from the asphalt like I might leave the ground, fly. If I just kept going, I could run away. I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this stuff. I could get picked up by the cops, maybe tell them my parents were abusing me, so they wouldn’t take me home. It seemed like the perfect plan for about ten seconds, until I realized that meant Andrew wouldn’t have anyone to help him avoid the soup pot.

  I had to come up with a plan. What did I have, though? A head witch who thought I was especially evil and capable of being a super-witch myself. Not a positive, in my book. One friend who knew mostly what was going on. A few people in the kitchen who didn’t trust me, but would do anything they could to help me trick the witch.

  My stomach growled, trying to get its two cents in. I was hungry, since I hadn’t eaten.

  I had a resistance to magic. Surely that would help somehow? But I got that from eating the sand, not from anything I did.

  A thought tickled the back of my brain, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. I’d reached the drainage ditch at the far edge of the playground, though, and something else caught my attention. The ditch was full of water, even though it hadn’t rained in weeks. Weird.

  I looked past the ditch to the mounds of earth that shielded the school from sight. There was a new mound, just as the kitchen staff had said. A new pile of dirt. I squinted, trying to make out what I was seeing. Ignoring the whisper of the leaves that stirred around me like sleeping snakes, I picked up the skateboard and walked across the grass.

  I leaned down near the mound and felt the ground. It was damp. More than damp, it was seeping water. Maybe a sprinkler head had broken off, or a pipe had burst underground. Probably a burst pipe, I thought, wishing that were what I really thought it was.

  Because the water, when I touched my fingers to my lips, was salty. It tasted like tears, like the mound was weeping, enough tears to fill the ditch. I backed away and slipped on the lip of the ditch. Yesssss, the leaves whispered. Tearssss . . .

  I scrambled against the slope, but dropped the skateboard. It rolled down and disappeared under the black water. The wind stopped, and I thought I heard a door inside the school open.

  I ran all the way home, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  WITCH MATERIAL

  That night, I dreamed of my mother. She was dressed in white and she had Vasalisa’s dark eyes. The tubes from the hospital snaked down the sleeves of her gown. She didn’t speak, but her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

  I knew what she thought. I was the one who should have died. I should suffer. Not Gustav, not Otto, not Vasalisa. For what I’d done to her, I should feel pain every day. “I do,” I said to her. “Every day.”

  I tried to move toward her, to hold her up, but I tripped and pulled her down instead. Just like that day over a year before, she screamed, her legs folding under her. The sick, cracking sound of her bones twisting and breaking filled my mind. When I lifted her up, though, it wasn’t Mom. It was Principal Trapp, with her green eyes and her flashing face. “I’ll be your mother,” she said, and reached out to stroke my hair. “A beautiful, golden girl should have a mother like me. It’s only right.”

  I felt her fingers in my hair even after I woke up. I looked at the clock by my bed: 5:00 a.m.

  I tiptoed to the kitchen, grabbed the phone and the directory, and slipped outside to call Andrew.

  There were seventeen Fortners in the phone book. Twelve of them yelled at me for calling before sunrise, asking for Andrew. I didn’t care, I just dialed faster. I didn’t have long before Dad would open the garage door and see me hunched down outside. A light came on inside and pooled on the lawn, a sure sign that Dad was in his bathroom. I dialed faster. Andrew’s life depended on me not screwing this up. One ring, two, three . . .

  “Hello?” A man’s sleepy voice on the line.

  “Yes, I’m sorry for calling so early. This is Lorelei Robinson. I’m trying to reach Andrew Fortner.”

  The phone made shuffling noises. I heard a woman complain, “What time is it?” and then a boy’s voice.

  “Lorelei? What are you calling for? It’s not even six.” It was him. I took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out.

  “Andrew, I don’t have long. I need you to know. The principal is a witch, too. She magicked your parents, and all the other kids in the school. The only reason you and I aren’t still eating as much as the others is—”

  “The sand,” he interrupted. “You said that. But then you said they were going to refuel. What did you mean?”

  “Andrew,” I whispered, hearing footsteps behind me. “They’re fattening up the students to eat them.” The line buzzed between us as the words sank in.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. They put me to work in the kitchen once they figured out that I knew.”

  “Are they planning to eat you?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word. “Don’t come to school today, Lorelei. Stay away. I’ll help you run away, if your parents won’t listen—”

  “Andrew,” I broke in. “They’re not planning to eat me. Principal Trapp’s trying to recruit me. Says I’m evil, like her.”

  “Evil? You’re not—”

  “Maybe I am. That doesn’t matter,” I said. The footsteps were closer. “I’m not worried about me. Andrew . . . they’re planning to eat you.”

  The line buzzed again, and then I heard laughter, soft and bitter on the other end.

  “Of course they are. I’m the fattest, right? I’d make the perfect meal. Plenty to go around.” His words reminded me of what Ms. Morrigan had said on the school tour—there had to be a lot of students, or there wouldn’t be enough to go around.

  “Andrew, it’s you who can’t come to school today. Stay home. Lie to your parents; tell them you’re sick. The witches’ powers are fading, so they have to eat someone soon. Really soon. The kitchen staff says they’re planning to eat you tomorrow. They’ve got the soup pot set up in the lounge—”

  The phone was wr
enched out of my hand.

  “Lorelei?” It was Dad, dressed in his jacket and tie, his expression all business. “Have you forgotten what grounded means? And who are you talking to?”

  Twenty seconds later, Andrew was off the line, and I was in deep trouble, but I didn’t care. I had told him what he needed to know. He would be safe. Now all I had to do was figure out a way to keep my brother out of the soup pot, too.

  On the walk to school, Bryan left me behind as usual. “Bryan?” I called out. “Wait up.”

  He surprised me; as soon as he heard my voice, he pulled out his earbuds and stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look bad. Worse than yesterday, even.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

  “Well, good thing you’re not a girl. You’re just my sister,” he joked. “Seriously. Your clothes are a mess, your face is cut up, and you have massive circles under your eyes. You’re having nightmares again.”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “I heard you. I never could sleep when you cried at night, not even when you were a baby.” He surprised me then; I felt his warm arm wrap around me. “Don’t worry about stuff so much, Lolo. You may be a pain in the butt, but you’re my pain in the butt. I’ll take care of you, like Dad said. If anyone messes with you, I’ll take ’em down.”

  And then he tried to trip me. I laughed and tripped him back—we’d played this game a thousand times. I was quicker, and sneakier, and he fell a few minutes later, face down on the grass.

  “Call 911!” he moaned. “Paramedics!”

  “Hospital food for breakfast, coming up,” I teased. A thought hit me. Mom had joked that the bone cancer wasn’t what hurt the most; it was the hospital chicken. “Practically poison,” she’d said.

  Bryan hopped up. “Miss school breakfast? No way!” He grabbed his backpack. “Race ya.”

  Poison. That was it.

  A part of me couldn’t believe what I was contemplating, but a part of me could. I mean, I was such an evil kid the head witch wanted me for her student. For her daughter. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was like her. Because I knew exactly what I was going to do.

  I turned back to the house.

  “Where are you going?” Bryan called.

  “I’m going to get some medicine,” I yelled back over my shoulder. “I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden.” I ran as fast as I could. I needed to get to the kitchen in time for breakfast.

  When I caught back up with Bryan, he was almost at the school. “What’s in the backpack, Lolo?” he asked. I shifted it on my back, hearing the faint clicking, like I had packed a pet rattlesnake for show and tell. I didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. He’d already stuck his earbuds back in. I hoped no one else asked me that question.

  “Just poison,” I whispered.

  * * *

  Ms. Morrigan met me at the kitchen door. “You’re late again.” She poked a finger at the scab on my cheek. “Lazy girl.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, trying not to meet her eyes. My backpack burned against me like it was full of coals. I had never been very good at lying, and I sure as heck didn’t want to practice on a witch who wanted me dead. So I kept as still as I could. “What am I supposed to do today?” I asked, trying for meek.

  She straightened up, but she breathed heavily doing it, like it hurt to move. “Your lucky day. I’ve put you to work making marzipan. Your favorite.”

  I sniffed the air. I could smell it already, the almond-sweet hint of my favorite dessert in the air. I had to work not to smile. This was perfect. You could hide any taste—or smell—with enough almond extract. “Great,” I mumbled.

  “Of course, if you decide to try any of it, I’ll have to make you another special meal. We’re out of crab shells, but I’m sure I can come up with something appropriate. And less tasty. ”

  I tried not to shudder, wondering what Ms. Morrigan would think was appropriate as a punishment, and less appealing than a pile of crab shells. I didn’t want to find out, but I wasn’t worried. I wouldn’t be at all tempted to eat what I was going to make that day. “I won’t eat, Ms. Morrigan,” I promised. “Not a bite.”

  “Get in there,” she said, and shoved me toward the kitchen door. I froze, wondering if she would hear the sound of the plastic bottles in my pack, but the kitchen door swung open at that very moment and Antonio walked out, rattling two metal trays he’d carried out to clear the dishes from the tables. He bowed to Ms. Morrigan and went to work.

  I went into the kitchen and opened up my backpack.

  “What have you brought today, little spy?” Otto asked as he walked past my station and saw me lining up the bottles.

  “Poison,” I said.

  That one word brought the entire kitchen to a halt.

  “Have you chosen their evil?” Otto looked unbelievingly at the bottles and boxes on the counter. “Or is this something else?”

  “I think poison might save us.” I had to try it at least.

  Vasalisa, who had been washing dishes, swung her head toward me. “What are you thinking? The witch will kill us all!”

  “No,” I said, trying to sound more sure than I felt. “They can’t kill us all. They’re getting weaker. They have to eat soon. You said it, right?”

  “What of it? So they will eat the fat boy and replenish their power. It is how it has always been done.” She waved a hand at the bottles. “Even if they eat the last of the bone broth today, they would taste your poison. They would know—”

  “It’s not poison for the witches,” I said slowly. “It’s poison for the students.”

  The staff all took a step back. One of them made the sign of the cross. Vasalisa spat on the ground and said something in her language that sounded like a curse. “What have you done? Have you joined them, then? We will not help you.”

  “No! It’s not real poison. It’s medicine.” I held up one of the bottles. “I didn’t have time to read through all of them, but I know some of these make people throw up. They’re called emetics. Some of the others make them have to go to the bathroom,” I rushed on, noticing that none of them looked any happier as I explained.

  I had to get them to understand! More, I had to get them to help me. “You said they’re planning to eat students starting tomorrow, right? Well, if the kids eat their food with this stuff in it, and get sick, they’ll have to go home. They can’t come back tomorrow. Maybe not even the next day. So, the witches will get weaker, right? Without anyone to eat, maybe they’ll get weak enough that we can, I don’t know . . .” I trailed off. It sounded stupid, now that I said it out loud. Stupid and impossible. What had I been thinking? Every single student would have to be out for it to work.

  “Where did you get this medicine?” Otto looked more curious than angry. “There is a lot here. Enough for—”

  “My stepmonster, I mean, stepmother, Molly. She wants to be super thin, but she doesn’t want to stop eating chocolate, right? So she takes these to help with her ‘diet.’ I didn’t realize she had so many until I checked this morning, though. They’re not prescription, or anything.”

  Vasalisa’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “The dose would have to be specific. Not too much, or they might die. Not too little, or they might come back tomorrow. The school lures the children. They would not want to stay home.”

  Otto spoke up. “The witches will suspect us. They will know we have fed them something. We will all be killed.”

  “Yes,” Vasalisa said slowly. “We will.” She looked up, fierce tears shining in her dark brown eyes. “If nothing else, we will gain freedom from this life.”

  “I do not want to die,” Otto said. “I want to go home.”

  “Home?” one of the other girls said, her voice feather-soft. “I can’t remember where I lived, before. I can�
��t remember my family. Did I have a sister? A brother?”

  “I remember,” Antonio said. “I remember playing in the streets outside my home, the smell of my mami’s tortillas calling me home for lunch. I remember playing, and swimming.” Others nodded.

  I realized again how young the kitchen staff were. Most of them looked no older than eighteen, maybe twenty. They had all been taken by the witches when they were children themselves. Would they help me save the children she was threatening now? Kids who didn’t even realize they were in trouble?

  “Please,” I whispered. “I can’t do it alone.”

  Otto looked at Vasalisa.

  She nodded. “We will help.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

  POISON PLAN

  “I still do not like it, Lorelei,” Vasalisa grumbled, the same words she’d repeated for the last half hour. Lunch was only fifteen minutes away, and the trays of desserts were sitting on the warmers, ready to serve.

  For all her complaints, Vasalisa had helped a lot, crumbling the bigger pills into the dough of the pastries. I’d used an old-fashioned mortar and pestle to grind up the smaller pills into a fine white dust, and added them to the powdered sugar topping on top of the marzipan.

  The waiters had put the poisoned sweets on special silver platters, so they could make sure not to give any one table too much of the doctored food. We didn’t want to be responsible for any kids dying or anything.

  Although if a few of the mean kids like Neil Ogden ended up in the hospital, I wasn’t going to send flowers.

  It wasn’t the poisoning that Vasalisa disapproved of, though. She didn’t like the part of the plan that left me the only remaining child in a school full of hungry witches.

  “It’s okay,” I told her again. “After lunch today, I’m going to Principal Trapp’s office. I’ll just tell her I’m ready to be her, um, student.”

  Daughter. I had almost said daughter.

  “I won’t have to pretend for long. I’ll go home, and run away tonight. Once the kids are all safe, I’ll be safe, too. Right?”