Good Curses Evil

by Stephanie S. Sanders

  “He got his Plot,” Chad said. “It’s not good.”

  “Really?” Jezebel asked. “Tell us about it!”

  Chad took one look at me and my twitching eye and said, “Maybe later.”

  It took about an hour for us to arrive at a port where Cook’s pirate ship—The Horrid Knave—was docked, waiting to carry us down the coast to Mistress Morgana’s snobby school. I’d spent the entire trip in silence, contemplating my terrible Plot.

  “Uh, Rune?” It was Jezebel.

  “Uh-huh?” I asked. My eye had never stopped twitching.

  “We have to get on the ship, Rune,” she said. I didn’t respond.

  “Is it really that bad?” Wolf asked Chad.

  “Yeah,” he said, throwing one of my arms across his shoulders, “it is.”

  Vaguely, I registered the fact that my friends were hauling me out of the wagon and up a wooden plank onto The Horrid Knave. A motley crew of Cook’s scalawags manned the sails. I could hear a slow, steady chant rising from below deck that would allow the rowers to keep the ship moving steadily down the coast. Then there was rocking. Then there was puking. (Did I mention I get a little seasick?) Then I was walking back down a plank and onto dry land again.

  I didn’t really come to my senses until we arrived at Mistress Morgana’s. I’d been there before, but my memory never did the place justice. It was a towering medieval castle complete with gargoyles and a moat—the place was a villain’s dream! Even as we approached, a drawbridge was being lowered.

  I wondered how Morgana got away with having so many windows until we crossed the bridge and I realized they were all heavily curtained with black velvet. We mounted the expansive stone steps, and the entire student body sprawled on the landing. In the distance, I could hear the eerie, mournful howling of the werewolf students as they transformed beneath the full moon. Then Master Dreadthorn swept past with a swirling of his dark cloak.

  One of the Crooks, a troll, was whining about being hungry. As Master Dreadthorn passed he “accidentally” knocked the Crook off the landing and into the moat. After grappling with the moat monster—which was a kind of giant squid—the poor kid hauled himself up the shore, dripping with foul mucky water and shooting a scathing look at Master D.

  The Dread Master didn’t even break stride as he marched purposefully up to the double oak doors. He’d just raised his hand to the enormous iron knocker when the door opened and a woman stepped out to greet us.

  I’d seen her before on our last visit, but I’d forgotten how gorgeous Morgana was. Her lips were bloodred, her hair was long and blond, and she wore this green sparkly dress that matched the shade of her catlike eyes.

  “Welcome, my dear Veldin!” she said in a British accent, opening her arms to invite us all in.

  “I prefer Master Dreadthorn, if you don’t mind,” he said stiffly, brushing past Morgana. The rest of us shuffled in behind. I noticed immediately that the Morgana students were nowhere to be found.

  I was about to mention this to the others but didn’t get a chance because Morgana was organizing everyone for a tour. This was mostly for the Crooks who hadn’t been to Mistress Morgana’s school before. We started in the entrance hall, where portraits of famous alumni hung on the walls. She named them off for us, as if we hadn’t studied them in Dad’s history class. He looked even more offended than the rest of us.

  “And this,” Morgana said, pointing to an enormous painting of Jezebel’s dad, “is our dear friend Count Dracula. I believe his niece or someone like that goes to your school, Veldin?” she asked.

  “I’m his daughter!” Jezebel answered. I could tell that Morgana had known that perfectly well.

  “Of course you are, dear. Of course. I’m just a little surprised that a villain as great as Dracula would have a daughter at a school for wayward villains,” Morgana answered. I thought I saw Jezebel’s cheeks flush, which was pretty weird considering she didn’t have a heartbeat.

  Master Dreadthorn narrowed his eyes as Morgana went on and on about how she and the count (Dracula) were such good friends. As far as villains go, the count was at the top of the list. Plus he was rich. He donated gold to both villain schools, but the fact that the count adored Morgana and pretty much ignored Master Dreadthorn didn’t do much for my dad’s feelings toward Morgana. He loathed the woman.

  “My dad went here,” Wolf Junior piped up. “But I don’t see his picture on the wall.”

  Morgana wrinkled her nose as if Wolf smelled bad (which he kind of did, but it still wasn’t very nice). “We only hang portraits of important alumni,” she answered curtly. “I don’t believe eating pork and scaring little girls in red capes really qualifies someone.”

  Wolf growled.

  By the time we’d climbed up and down a gazillion steps and met all the teachers, I was famished. So famished, in fact, that I’d nearly forgotten my Plot. Then we arrived back at the entrance, where tables had been set up, but instead of food, they were filled with flickering lanterns.

  “It’s such a lovely night,” Morgana said. “Let’s take a stroll.”

  Everyone groaned loudly at the idea of walking around outside. However, one look from Dreadthorn and most of the students were smart enough to shut up—except one. The stupid troll Crook hadn’t even dried yet when the Dread Master hoisted him up by the back of his cloak, carried him outside, and flung him back into the moat. Some kids never learn.

  Morgana and Master Dreadthorn each picked up a lantern and motioned for us to do the same.

  “This way,” Morgana said.

  We followed them back outside, where a dark trail disappeared into a dense wood. The troll kid sloshed along beside us—silent now—as we followed the path beneath the skeletal trees.

  “Are we there yet?” Wolf muttered next to me. “I’m starved.”

  “Yeah, I could do with a bite myself,” Jezebel said. She turned to look at me in an appraising sort of way.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said, eyeing her nervously.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “I was just going to ask if you had any chocolate on you.”

  “Here.” Chad passed out a few gingerbread men to tide us over. We had to cover their mouths to muffle the screams so the Dread Master wouldn’t catch us snacking.

  On we trudged for what seemed like an eternity. The fall evening had turned cool beneath the orange glow of the harvest moon.

  The sound of teeth chattering came from somewhere nearby, and I thought it must be the troll kid. I was about to tell him off when I realized it was Chad, cowering in fear next to me and jumping every time a branch snapped or an owl hooted.

  “Don’t be a baby. You’re embarrassing yourself,” I said, even as I pulled my cloak tighter. I mean, I wasn’t afraid or anything. Villains do not get afraid walking through dark, disturbing woods with tree-bark eyes and scratchy leaf voices and groping, gnarled branch-hands. I was just cold.

  Finally, we emerged from the woods and into a well-lit clearing. I sighed with relief as the feeling of dread … uh … cold faded. Before us stretched an enormous black swamp and six ultralong tables that had been set with china plates, fine silverware, and elaborate centerpieces.

  “Ah! He must have known I’d be here. Why else would he go to such trouble?” Jez said, looking particularly haughty.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  She gestured to the decorations.

  All around the clearing, skulls had been set on spikes with little flickering candles inside them, making the empty eye sockets glow. I also noticed skulls on the tables, hollowed out like bowls and containing various exotic foods. It looked expensive—and slightly repulsive.

  Most of Master Dreadthorn’s students were staring with their mouths open like a bunch of slobbering morons. Morgana looked smugly satisfied. And now I could see what Jez had been talking about. Black cards had been placed on every table. An elegant silver script announced:

  The harvest moon festivities, provisio
ns, table service, and skulls were made possible by a generous donation from Count Dracula.

  “Uh, Jez,” Wolf said, “I’m not sure all this is for you.”

  “What?” she asked dangerously.

  “I don’t think your dad—ouch!”

  I pinched Wolf and whispered, “Let. It. Go. Do you see her face?”

  We both turned to see Jez baring her teeth at us.

  “Never mind,” Wolf said.

  Standing to either side of the tables were the students of Mistress Morgana’s. I’d forgotten they were required to wear uniforms here. They looked like rows of toy soldiers. The boys wore black trousers, white shirts, black cloaks, and funny little velvet berets. The girls wore similar outfits, only with skirts instead of pants. This worked for most of the kids, but the trolls, giants, and other non-humans (who were usually clad in cut-offs or loincloths) looked positively ridiculous.

  Morgana’s school used the same Educational Villain Levels as our school. I could see the poor Crooks balancing heavy trays of food and standing by to wait on the others. They had no berets at all. The rest of the ranks were sorted by hat color. Green for Rogues, blue for Fiends, red for Apprentices, and the school Masters wore gold, except for Mistress Morgana. Apparently, the dress code didn’t apply to her.

  Morgana made her way between the rows of tables, with Master Dreadthorn next to her. We all followed gracelessly behind in no particular order. I noticed that as Morgana passed, her perfect rows of students bowed in unison.

  “Suck-ups,” I said under my breath. “I’m glad we don’t have to wear stuff like that.”

  “I dunno, Rune,” Wolf said, nodding toward my dad.

  I could see the way the Dread Master’s eyes flicked from Morgana’s orderly rows to his own unorganized mob. I worried that changes might be coming for the students of Master Dreadthorn’s School for Wayward Villains—changes involving berets and color coordination.

  No tables had been designated for us. Apparently, we were supposed to mingle with Morgana’s students. Luckily, I managed to find a place with extra openings, so Jezebel, Chad, and Wolf all sat with me. Across from us, Morgana’s students were still standing, their tidy cloaks fluttering in the cool night breeze.

  “What are they waiting for?” Jez whispered to me. I just shrugged.

  Morgana stopped at the head of all the tables, where a platform had been raised with a special table for the teachers. She stood next to Master Dreadthorn, whose black eyes seemed to burn with a variety of emotions. I was pretty sure I saw anger, embarrassment, and jealousy, to name a few.

  “Be seated,” Morgana said in her tinkling voice.

  Her students sat as one. Then the Crooks brought out the food and stood obediently near the trees, waiting to refill drinks or to pick up dropped napkins. Whenever a Crook was slow (or even if one was too attentive), he or she was given demerits—which meant extra cleaning duties on top of all the Crook’s regular chores. Apparently, anyone ranking above a Crook at Morgana’s school could give them demerits, not just the Masters. So the poor kids were heaped with indignities as the older generation sought to take petty revenge for the years they’d spent as Crooks.

  I thought I saw them watching our own Crooks with longing. The rest of Morgana’s students, however, stared down their pointy noses at us like we were leftover sheep liver.

  “So,” a girl across from us said. I could tell she was a Fiend by her hat color. I could tell she was a vampire by her features. “Is it true you have to do something good to get into Dreadthorn’s?”

  “I guess,” Jezebel answered, since the girl seemed to be talking to her.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “Uh … I don’t really like to talk about it,” Jez said. She’d been drinking grape juice and trying to pass it off as blood in the dim candlelight. She eyed her glass nervously.

  “I heard what she did,” another kid piped up. It was a boy a few seats down from us. He might have been a warlock like me. “My dad hangs around in the same cave as her dad sometimes. Anyway, turns out Little Miss Dracula likes chocolate milk,” he said in a mocking voice.

  “It was hot cocoa,” Jez said, staring at her plate.

  “Gross!” the girl across from us said. “No wonder your dad disowned you.”

  “He did not disown me! In fact, he donated the land for Master Dreadthorn’s school.”

  “He donated land for our school too. Hmm … a wasteland and a dungeon for his daughter, and a castle on the sea for perfect strangers. Sounds like your dad doesn’t really care about you, kiddo.”

  This was hardly true since Dracula was immortal and had donated the land about three hundred years before Jezebel was even born. On the other hand, he really was a jerk to Jezebel most of the time, so the vampire girl did have a point.

  “That’s not true!” Jez said, but they’d already moved on.

  “What about you, dog-boy?” the warlock kid asked. “Did your dad really dress up like a little old grandma?” Everyone at the table giggled.

  “It was a disguise!” Wolf Junior said.

  “But Grandmama,” the vampire girl said. “What a big hairy butt you have!” Now the whole table erupted in laughter.

  “Just ignore them,” I said. Chad and I were both holding Wolf Junior back by his tail as he tried to scramble across the table.

  “Down, boy!” the girl said. “If you can sit, I’ll give you a nice biscuit. Sit boy. Sit!” More laughter.

  “Shouldn’t you be howling at the moon with the other dogs?” the boy asked.

  “I’m not a werewolf, moron!” Wolf said.

  “You look like one to me,” the vampire girl said, smirking.

  “Werewolves transform. He’s always like that,” Chad added helpfully. Only it wasn’t really very helpful.

  Wolf Junior was about to pounce on Little Miss Snot Nose when Mistress Morgana lifted her crystal goblet and spoon, clinking them for everyone’s attention. The tables grew silent.

  “We are so pleased to have our friends from Master Dreadthorn’s School for Wayward Villains here tonight.” A round of halfhearted clapping echoed dully from the tables and was lost in the stillness of the night.

  “We are also excited because—as all of you know—this is the month of the harvest moon. And that means we will once again be drawing names for a very secret, very dangerous Plot!”

  The clapping this time was thunderous. There was even shouting and a few whistles. Then, two beefy men in black hoods entered the clearing from the far end carrying an enormous metal cauldron between them. As they made their way between the tables, a low chant began, growing louder and louder.

  “Plot! Plot! Plot! Plot!”

  I felt a familiar twinge in my eye as I was reminded once more of my own terrible Plot. But I couldn’t afford to freak out now with the Morgana kids watching. Besides, my mind had finally cleared a little and my villain instincts were taking over. I knew what I had to do. If I could get Jez and Wolf alone for a minute—

  Somebody banged the table so hard, my fork flew into my lap. Kids were no longer just chanting, they were screaming.

  “Plot! Plot! Plot! Plot!”

  It echoed from the surrounding trees. More kids pounded their fists on the tables in rhythm. The chanting grew to a climax as the two headsmen climbed the steps to the platform where Mistress Morgana and Master Dreadthorn waited.

  The chanting voices and fist-pounding were so loud now, even the ground seemed to be shaking. Mistress Morgana held up her hands for silence, and immediately the noise stopped. It was like the final drumbeat of a song. The sound echoed around and around the clearing, dying to a whisper and disappearing into the night air.

  “This cauldron contains the names of every eligible student from both my school and Veldin’s school,” Morgana said.

  I saw my father’s mouth move. Although I couldn’t hear what he said, I was pretty sure it looked like “Master Dreadthorn, you dimwit.”

  Morgana had said every
eligible student. That probably didn’t include Crooks or kids failing their classes. I wondered if I was eligible even though I already had a Plot. An impossible, horrible one. My eye twitched again.

  “Three names will be chosen by an impartial party,” Morgana continued. “If your name is called, please stand and join me and Veldin on the platform.”

  I had just enough time to wonder who the “impartial party” would be when the two burly men tipped the enormous cauldron, dumping the names into the swamp. Immediately, the surface of the water began to bubble. All of the kids rushed from the tables and down to the waterside to get a better view. Wolf, Jez, Chad, and I elbowed our way to the front, accidentally bumping the troll Crook into the water for the third time that night. He emerged, soggy and dripping, just as the swamp changed from an inky black to an eerie, glowing green.

  “Lady of the Lake, Maiden of the Mire,” Morgana said, “choose the names of those who will conspire.”

  A bony hand shot out of the lake, clutched in a tight fist. Bits of decayed gray flesh hung limply from it like an old, tattered flag. This was all that was left of the original Lady of the Lake. Apparently, Morgana had held a grudge against the woman back in England (something about the Lady giving Arthur a sword one Christmas when all Morgana got from her was a lame pair of reindeer socks). She enslaved the Lady, banishing her to this swamp where the quagmire had eventually rotted her body away, leaving just the hand behind.

  Beside me I could see Chad’s eyes open wide in awe at the sight of the grisly hand. Wolf had momentarily forgotten his quarrel with the vampires. His tongue lolled as he panted madly in anticipation. Jez had her hands squeezed into fists and her eyes shut tight as she chanted under her breath, “Countess Jezebel, Countess Jezebel, oh please Countess Jezebel.”

  The Morgana kids were taking a more proactive approach. I could hear more than one student quietly muttering cheating spells. Morgana reached out her fingers to delicately pluck the name from the gruesome hand. The entire assembly was silent, everyone collectively holding their breath.

  “The first to Plot shall be …” Morgana met the eyes of all the students, purposefully keeping us in suspense. Villains love suspense.