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

by Chainani, Soman

  With her mind on balding scalps, hidden warts, and more witch symptoms to come, Agatha could barely focus on failing her turn. Still, she managed to feign confusion, deafness, and dyslexia and made sure the Dean saw her disappointed pout when she earned second-to-last place. (Dot accidentally swung out the window, beating her to the bottom.)

  “But I shouted so loudly!” moaned Sophie, scratching her neck as she walked Agatha down the hall. “Aggie, you have to do well in the next one or you’ll be on guard tonight!”

  Agatha nodded, forcing a dejected look. When Sophie turned, she stooped and tried to peek under her shawl—

  Sophie turned back and Agatha hunched over. “Sorry, fart coming.”

  “At least let’s leave with our dignity!” Sophie gasped.

  They were late to Defense Against Boys, meaning Agatha had to sit far across the room from Hester and Anadil, who looked desperate to talk to her. But Lady Lesso seemed to read Agatha’s thoughts, for as Sophie walked in, the former Curses & Death Traps professor stood at the door with narrowed violet eyes, scouring every inch of her—

  “Do I have a pimple?” Sophie murmured, biting her quill pen as she sat, only to jump up from her frozen chair. Frowning, she sat back down and scanned the chilled rock-candy room that replicated Lady Lesso’s old Evil classroom, down to sugared icicles dangling from the ceiling. Then she saw Agatha gawking at her, looking as if she’d been stabbed. “Aggie, you’re acting very strange,” Sophie said, discarding her bitten pen.

  Agatha heaved for air—

  Sophie’s front teeth had gone black.

  “Just c-c-c-old in here—” Agatha stammered—

  “And here you gave me goonish looks over this shawl,” Sophie humphed, turning away.

  Agatha waved frantically at Hester and Anadil, mouthing “Symptoms! Symptoms!” until she saw Sophie peering and pretended to be swatting at flies. Warts, falling hair, rotting teeth . . . Would she even make it to Tedros before the witch came?

  Perhaps the Dean knew she’d made her point with Professor Dovey, for she wasn’t in the room to supervise Lady Lesso’s class. Instead she sent Pollux, who sat in back, butterfly on shoulder, making odd sniffing sounds, as if waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Boys are vile, dirty creatures, which is why Nevergirls do not marry them,” Lady Lesso said, giving Evergirls repellent looks as she clacked through the aisle. “But that is no reason to kill them.”

  “Unless they attack, of course,” Pollux said.

  Lady Lesso raised her eyes as if she smelled a skunk, then lowered them. “Killing stains your soul permanently, whether you are an Ever or a Never. You may kill only for the purest self-defense or to slay your Nemesis and find peace. Neither are conditions you will experience in this school.”

  “Unless there’s a war, you mean,” Pollux huffed.

  “Perhaps it is time for another extermination,” Lady Lesso said to no one in particular.

  The dog didn’t interrupt again. Still, Lady Lesso gave Agatha a concerned frown as she passed and put her near the end of the challenge order, as if to ensure she’d know what she needed to fail.

  “For your challenge, you’ll be defending against rogue Mogrifs. The boys may no doubt rely on shape-shifting in order to invade, so you must be prepared to do the same,” said the teacher, tightening her braid. “But be warned, transformation lets us access our deepest instincts in order to survive. If you are stained by unforgivable Evil, the process can be corrupted.” Her purple eyes sliced into Pollux. “Let this be a warning to all of you who speak so casually of war.”

  To defeat the phantom Mogrifs, each girl had to morph into an animal themselves. A year ago, their Forest Group leaders had taught them how to Mogrify into an animal of their choice using visualization. It was a relatively easy spell, hence taught in the first year, along with Water and Weather spells (though Mogrifying involved the extra wrinkle of bursting out of one’s clothes). Now the challenge seemed to be to find the right Mogrif to subdue their male opponents.

  Pitted against a viper, Hester took nasty bites as a crab before her nimbler mongoose subdued it; Beatrix’s ungainly pelican abandoned its fight against a piranha; Dot’s piglet fled the moment she saw the ram charging for her. (“I thought boys like cute things,” she oinked, scurrying back to her heaped clothes.)

  Agatha was baffled as to how to do any worse. So when Lady Lesso conjured a breast-beating bear in front of her, she just stood and scratched her head. “I—I’ve forgotten—”

  “Forgotten how to Mogrify?” Pollux said suspiciously. “The girl who spent a significant portion of her first year as a cockroach?”

  “Readers have minds like sieves,” sighed Lady Lesso, trying not to look pleased. “Surely no one can match such incompetence.”

  “Guess I’m on guard tonight,” Agatha said, plopping next to Sophie.

  “B-b-but that means we can’t get the Storian!” Sophie paled, revealing even blacker teeth.

  Agatha gripped her seat.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Sophie said, sagging. “You’re usually so good at challen—” Her face lit up. “Wait! What if I fail too, Aggie! Then I could guard with you! We could break into the boys’ school and get home!”

  “No!” Agatha cried. “Sophie, that’s a terri—”

  But Sophie was already bouncing to the front of the room, determined to lose her battle. Seeing Agatha’s face, Lady Lesso likely guessed Sophie’s plan, for she produced an obese pigeon as her opponent. Sophie turned into a plushy pink cat and shirked from it, enduring its weak pecks.

  “O mighty beast,” Sophie mewled, as if auditioning for the school play. “I am no match for thee!”

  Agatha caught Hester’s jumpy look across the room. If Sophie was on guard with her tonight, how could she escape to her prince?

  “Mercy, you brute!” Sophie’s cat cried to the waddling pigeon. Dramatically flinging her paw to her head, Sophie stepped into her piled clothes and visualized herself human, ready to claim last place—

  Only nothing happened.

  Sophie’s cat frowned and tried the spell again, but if anything, now her paws were furrier. The pigeon flew up and alighted on her head. Girls giggled, except for Agatha, who knew just how capable Sophie was of putting on a show.

  “I can’t—” Sophie gasped to Lady Lesso. “I can’t change back—”

  “Just concentrate!” Lady Lesso snapped, giggles around her turning to howls.

  But whether eyes open or eyes closed, Sophie couldn’t turn herself human. “It’s not me—” she choked. “Something’s stopping it—” The pigeon peed on her. “Helppppp!” Sophie yowled, drowned out by the class’s roars. Even Agatha had to snort.

  “Enough idiocy!” Lady Lesso groaned, shooting a spell at her to end this charade—

  But Sophie’s cat gaped back at her, unchanged. This time when Sophie tried to talk, all that came out was a meow.

  The laughter stopped.

  Red-faced, Lady Lesso stabbed her finger again to turn Sophie back. Sophie meowed louder. Lady Lesso’s eyes widened, and she swiveled to the butterfly on Pollux—“Find Evely—”

  But the door was already open and the Dean surging in, finger outstretched. Muttering a strange incantation, she pointed at Sophie, who started to morph back to human. But before Agatha and the rest of the class could unclench, the process stopped short, leaving Sophie trapped somewhere between cat and human, hissing with pain.

  Lady Lesso blanched. “Something’s wrong—”

  Finger thrusting, the Dean muttered faster, but Sophie’s body ricocheted from human to cat, cat to human, in a violent tug of war, as she wheezed alternate wails and meows.

  “Evelyn, it’s getting worse—” Lady Lesso pressed—

  The Dean pointed harder at Sophie, but every time Sophie’s body tried to grow, it shrank back down. Sparks flew around her as Sophie morphed faster and faster, soul caught between forces, into a fiery, formless blur. The curious pigeon fluttered too close a
nd vanished into the haze.

  Agatha’s head went light, her friend shape-shifting wildly, past human, past animal . . . until at last Agatha saw something inside Sophie win. In the blur of flames, a shadow grew clearer . . . skin shriveled and decayed . . . warts black and swollen . . . bald head gleaming . . . rising from fire reborn. . . .

  Agatha closed her eyes in shock—

  The Dean flung forth both hands and shot a blast of light—Sophie flew against the wall and crashed behind the desk.

  Slowly Agatha opened her eyes to eerie silence. As curls of smoke rose over the frozen countertop, she and the rest of the girls slowly peered over it.

  “I—I must have blacked out,” Sophie said, blinking long lashes and back in her clothes. “All I remember is trying to change back—and something stopping me—” She glanced around for the unseen pigeon. “But I didn’t hurt it! Surely that means I’m on guard now!”

  Lady Lesso looked as if she’d swallowed her own tongue. “It means—it means your soul i-i-is—”

  “Rusty with counterspells,” the Dean said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Lesso?”

  Lady Lesso stiffened, a strange weakness distilling her usually cold eyes. She looked scared, Agatha thought, almost . . . sad. “Yes, of course,” she mumbled to the Dean.

  Agatha noticed her teacher’s eyes dart to her and dart away.

  “But I still . . . failed?” Sophie said hopefully.

  “On the contrary, first rank,” the Dean said, swishing out.

  Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Lesso quickly awarded the rest of the rankings and jetted from the room when butterflies zoomed through to signal class’s end.

  Agatha didn’t budge as girls exited, buzzing how lucky it was the Dean rescued Sophie from Lesso’s incompetence. “The teachers are just jealous of her,” Beatrix sighed dismissively.

  As the girls left the room, Agatha nervously watched Sophie, back turned to her, gathering her things. The Dean’s arrival had been lucky indeed. For the girls hadn’t seen what she had: the witch reborn, her symptoms complete. If the Dean hadn’t intervened in time . . .

  Tedros, Agatha thought, sneaking for the door. Just make it to Tedros—

  “Aggie, I won’t be on guard with you,” Sophie said behind her. “You wouldn’t go to Tedros, would you?”

  Agatha stopped dead. “What? Why would you say that?”

  “Because you keep looking at me like I’m a witch.”

  Agatha turned to see Sophie stalking towards her, eyes cold. Agatha felt her chest sweating, her legs jellying, symptoms that told her she was about to faint, the way she once did in Tedros’ arms. But just as she collapsed to a deadly witch now instead of her prince . . .

  “Your—your teeth—” she spluttered at Sophie, recovering. “They’re—they’re normal—”

  Sophie gaped dumbly. “My teeth? What are you—” Her face hardened. “Agatha, that was ink. My pen must have leaked—had it in my mouth—”

  “But your hair—” Agatha insisted. “I saw it falling out—”

  “A piece got caught on a stupid beanstalk!” Sophie barked. “And you believed I was turning into a witch again? That I’d attack you? After everything we’ve been through!”

  All Agatha managed was a croak.

  “I trust you tonight, Aggie,” Sophie said, face filled with hurt. “Even if you don’t trust me.”

  Watching Sophie go, yanking at her disheveled shawl, Agatha sagged guiltily.

  But then she remembered the wart—the wart she definitely saw . . . the wart that couldn’t be explained away. . . . As Sophie trailed away, tearing off the shawl, Agatha chased to see under it—

  A hand yanked her back.

  “Lesso’s lying,” Hester said, closing the door and sealing them alone. “You heard her. Sophie’s soul’s corrupted by unforgivable Evil! That’s why she couldn’t change back! That’s why the Beast came out of her! It explains everything!”

  “But—but what does that mean?” Agatha rasped—

  “It means this time the change is permanent!” Hester pressed. “When Sophie turns into a witch, she’ll never turn back! I told you she wanted revenge!”

  “But you said it yourself! She hasn’t hurt anything! And the symptoms aren’t getting worse at all—”

  “Oh they’re getting worse, all right. The Dean just isn’t seeing it,” Hester said, looking away. “You have to kiss Tedros tonight!”

  Agatha shook her head, still picturing Sophie’s hurt face. “I can’t. I can’t go to him, Hester. I have to trust my best friend.” She slumped, exhaling. “Probably wasn’t even a wart. Just being paranoid, like I was with her hair and teeth. We’re all just being paranoi—”

  But now Agatha saw where Hester was looking.

  Behind the desk, the phantom pigeon lay against the wall.

  Only it wasn’t a phantom anymore.

  Blood spilled towards them from its mangled corpse, across the candy floor.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  10

  Doubt

  “She’s turning into a witch! She’s turning and she doesn’t know it!” Agatha choked, rushing with Dot into the Charity breezeway.

  “Oh, she knows,” Dot snapped. “She’s just playing innocent. Why do you think she’s wearing that stupid shawl!”

  “We have to tell Lady Lesso—she’ll know what to do—”

  “No! You saw what happened with Professor Dovey. We can’t put the teachers in danger!”

  “Sophie was Good at home, Dot!” Agatha cried. “She was happy—”

  “You want to see her happy? Wait until she does to you what she did to that pigeon!”

  Thankfully, Agatha wouldn’t see Sophie the rest of the afternoon. With challenges complete for the day, their classes diverged until Forest Groups, so while Sophie had Female Talents with Anadil and Hester, Agatha hurried to History of Heroines with Dot.

  “You can’t be alone with her again!” Dot said as they neared the mass of girls filing into Good Hall. “Hide in Hester’s room after classes!”

  All Agatha could see was the pigeon’s gaping eye . . . its blood seeping towards her. . . . She stopped against a sapphire column, gulping for air. “This is all because of my wish.”

  “No, this is all because you chose the wrong ending last time.”

  Agatha looked up at Dot’s reflection in the polished glass.

  “You heard Hester. Tonight’s your last chance to do what your heart really wants,” Dot said. “Or Sophie will be a witch forever.”

  Agatha’s throat tightened, afraid to let the words out. “And if . . . if I kiss him?”

  “She’ll go home to her father safe, like you promised. The witch locked inside.”

  Agatha said nothing for a moment. Finally she turned. “How do I escape guard duty tonight? The other girl will tell the Dean—”

  “Will she?” Dot took her arm. “Just ’cause I’m popular and wear glitter doesn’t mean I’m a better student.”

  “We’re on guard . . . together?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been failing every challenge worse than you. And I’ve been trying!”

  Agatha looked at her, scared. “But even if I do escape . . . what if I can’t get into the boys’ castle—”

  “You will.”

  Agatha felt the unspoken ending in Dot’s grip.

  Because our lives depend on it.

  Good Hall had the same briny smell and humid haze as last year, its marble ballroom swathed in emerald algae and blue rust, like a cathedral that had been sunken in seawater. Chipped marble murals on the wall depicted the history of the Great War, ending in the triumph of the Evil School Master over his own Good brother. As Agatha sat down in the pews, she found it odd that the Dean hadn’t changed the murals to reflect either the School Master’s death or the Boy Eviction. Surely she’d want hi
story revised in her own image?

  Odder still, though History was the Dean’s class to teach, she failed to appear at all, leaving Pollux fumbling before half the school.

  “Our Dean had urgent business, so I offered to present a comprehensive review of Male Brutality through the ages, with pointed emphasis on the persecution of those who do not display conventionally masculine traits.”

  He pursed his lips. “But the Dean preferred you each introduce your lineage instead.”

  Agatha tried to focus on paths into the Boys’ school, but found herself tuning in to the girls’ introductions. All the students at the School for Good and Evil came from fairy-tale families, except her and Sophie, the two unenchanted Readers kidnapped from Gavaldon. Agatha remembered that Hester’s mother was the now-deceased witch who tried to kill Hansel and Gretel, while Anadil’s grandmother was the notorious White Witch, who wore little boys’ bones. But now Agatha also learned Beatrix’s grandmother was the maiden who outwitted Rumplestiltskin, Millicent was the great-granddaughter of Sleeping Beauty and her prince, and Kiko was the child of one of Neverland’s Lost Boys and a mermaid.

  While Evergirls usually mentioned both parents, the Nevers proferred only one or none at all, whether Arachne’s father, a robber of queens; Mona’s green-skinned mother, who had famously terrorized Oz; or Dot’s father, Nottingham’s sheriff who never caught his Nemesis, Robin Hood.

  “Why don’t Nevers mention both parents?” Agatha asked after Dot sat down.

  “’Cause villains aren’t born out of love,” Dot said, watching Reena rhapsodize about how her royal parents met. “We’re made for all the wrong reasons, none of which keep a family together. Lady Lesso used to say villain families are like dandelions—‘fleeting and toxic.’ Sounded like it came from personal experience. Bet Sophie’s is worse than any of ours.”

  “But Sophie had loving parents—” Agatha’s voice trailed off.

  “Stefan suffered most of all,” her mother had said about Stefan’s marriage to Sophie’s mother. Had his marriage been unhappy from the start? Had Sophie too been born “for all the wrong reasons”? Agatha looked at Dot, who seemed to intuit her thoughts.