The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani
Sophie didn’t hear Tedros’ response. She stood alone in the silent glen, under a blue mistletoe tree.
“We’re still here,” she grouched.
“Maybe if you had delivered my lines like I said them!” the roach retorted under her collar.
“Three hours alone isn’t so bad,” Sophie sighed. “I mean, Nevers can’t use nonapproved spells. All we can do is start a storm or turn into a sloth. What could they possibly do to me?”
Something grazed her head. She whipped around and saw a gash in the oak trunk, right where she was standing. Impish Vex straddled a branch above her, sharp stick in hand.
“Just curious to see how tall you were,” Vex said.
Doughy, bald Brone waddled in from behind another oak and checked the mark. “Yeah, she’ll fit.”
Sophie gaped at them.
“Like I said,” Vex said, wagging pointy ears. “Just curious.”
“I’m going to die!” Sophie wailed as she fled the Forest.
“Not with me there,” Agatha said, pincers curled. “I beat them all in your classes and will beat them again tomorrow. Just focus on getting the kis—” Something smacked her head.
“What in the—”
Agatha looked down at a dead roach in the grass. Four more landed beside it.
Slowly Sophie and Agatha craned up to see the Evil Towers billowing pink mist, dead insects raining off balconies into the Clearing.
“What’s going on?” Sophie said.
“Extermination,” a voice answered.
Sophie turned to Hester, arms folded against the Forest gates. “Apparently they’ve been running around our school at night. Couldn’t have the risk of plague, of course. After your friend was sick.”
Hester picked a thrashing bug off her shoulder.
“Besides, a good reminder to anything that tries to go where it doesn’t belong, don’t you think?”
She licked the roach into her mouth and glided back into the Forest, leaves crunching under her feet.
Sophie gasped. “Do you think she knows you’re a roach?”
“Of course she knows, you idiot!”
Nevers’ voices neared from the Forest.
“Go!” Agatha hissed, scrambling down Sophie’s leg. “We can’t meet again!”
“Wait! How do I survive the Tria—”
But Agatha had vanished into the Good tunnel, leaving Sophie to fend for herself.
With the fairies doing curfew inspections from the first floors up, Agatha had just enough time to sneak to the breezeways and cross to Valor. Like all the teachers, Sader’s bedchamber adjoined his study. Break its lock and she could surprise him in his bed. She didn’t care if the creep didn’t want to answer questions. She’d tie him to his bed if she had to.
Agatha knew it was a terrible plan, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t sneak into the Trial now and Sophie would never last alone for three hours. Sader was their last hope to get home.
The stairs led right to his study, the lone door on Valor’s sixth floor. There was a stream of raised blue dots across its marble. Agatha ran her finger over them.
“No students allowed on this floor,” boomed Sader’s voice. “Return to your room immediately.”
Agatha grabbed the doorknob and pointed her glowing finger at the lock—
The door creaked open on its own.
Sader wasn’t inside, but he hadn’t been gone long. The sheets in his bedroom were rumpled, the tea on his desk warm. . . . Agatha skulked around his study, its shelves, chairs, floor all suffocated with books. The desk was buried three feet under them, but there were a few open on top of the pile, lines of colorful dots highlighted by prickly silver stars in the margins. She swept her hand across one of these marked lines and a misty scene exploded out of the book to a woman’s sharp voice:
“A ghost cannot rest until it has fulfilled its purpose. For that, it must use the body of a seer.”
Agatha watched a scraggy ghost crash into the body of a bearded old man, before the mist cycloned back into the page. She touched the starred lines in the next book:
“In a seer’s body, a spirit may last only seconds before both seer and spirit will be destroyed.”
Before her eyes, two floating bodies merged, then crumbled to dust.
She ran her fingers across more of the starred lines.
“Only the strongest seers can host a spirit—”
“Most seers die before the ghost ever takes hold—”
Agatha grimaced. What was his obsession with seer—
Her heart stopped.
Prophecy, said the teachers.
Could Sader see the future?
Could he see if they got home?
“Agatha!”
Professor Dovey gaped through the doorway. “Sader’s alarm—I thought it was a roach—a student! Out of bed after curfew!”
Agatha scurried past her for the stairs. “Two weeks cleaning toilets!” her teacher squawked.
Agatha glanced back to see Professor Dovey sweep her hands over Sader’s books with a frown. She caught Agatha watching and magically slammed the door.
That night, both girls dreamt of home.
Sophie dreamt she was fleeing Hester through pink fog. She tried to scream Agatha’s name, but a roach crawled from her mouth instead. At last she found a stone well and swam to its bottom, only to find herself in Gavaldon. She felt strong arms, and her father carried her to her house, which smelled of meat and milk. She needed the toilet, but he took her to the kitchen, where a pig hung on a gleaming hook. A woman drummed red nails on the counter. Tsk, tsk, tsk. “Mother?” Sophie cried. Before the woman could turn, her father kissed Sophie good night, opened the oven, and threw her in.
Sophie woke with a jolt so hard she smashed her head on the wall and knocked herself out.
Agatha dreamt Gavaldon was on fire. A trail of burning black dresses led her up Graves Hill and when she got to the top she found a grave instead of her house. She heard sounds from within and started digging, hearing voices now, nearer, nearer, until she woke to them next door—
“You said it was important!” Tedros barked.
“The Nevers said she cheats with Agatha!” Beatrix said.
“Sophie’s not friends with Agatha! Agatha’s a witch—”
“They both are! Agatha turns into a cockroach to give her answers!”
“A cockroach? You’re not just petty and jealous, but completely insane!”
“They’re both villains, Teddy, they’re using you!”
“You’re the one listening to Nevers! You know why Sophie lost those challenges? She wanted to keep me safe! If that’s a villain, then what are you—”
With wind rumpling her curtains, Agatha couldn’t hear the rest, but soon the door thumped and Tedros traipsed away. Agatha tried to go back to sleep, but found herself staring at the pink paper flower shivering on her marble night table, like a rose on a grave.
She yelped, clobbered by an idea.
All the rooms in the hall looked dark except for the Trial Evers’, who were staying up until dawn to prepare for the following night. In her lace dressing gown, Agatha tiptoed barefoot up the pink glass stairs, eyes pinned upward for fairies or teachers.
Five floors down, Tedros glared up at her through the spiral gap, suddenly wondering if Beatrix had told the truth.
Leaving his boots at the bottom, he followed Agatha through the breezeway to Honor’s fourth floor, occupied entirely by the Library of Virtue. Crouching in knee-high black socks, he peeked in to see her disappear into the gold coliseum of books, two stories high and impeccably kept by a leathery tortoise, fast asleep on a titanic library log, feathered pen in hand. As soon as Agatha found what she needed, she sneaked out past the reptile and the prince, who failed to get a glimpse of the book in her hands. Her steps diminished in the sea-blue breezeway and soon she was gone.
Tedros clenched his teeth. What murderous plan did the witch have? Was Sophie in on it and planning to bet
Turning, he saw the feathered pen magically finish writing in the tortoise’s log, and fall back into the snoring creature’s hand. Eyes narrowed, he moved in to peer at the log.
Flower Power: Plant Charms for a Happier World (Agatha, Purity 51)
Tedros snorted. Berating himself for doubting his princess, he went to retrieve his boots.
The rules of the Trial by Tale were few and precise. At the moment the sun went down, the first two challengers would enter the Blue Forest. Every fifteen minutes, another two would enter according to their pre-Trial ranks, until the last pair entered more than three hours after the first. Once inside, Nevers could attack Evers with their talents and any spell learned in class, while Evers could defend themselves with approved weapons or counterspells. The School Master’s conjures would hunt them both. There were no other rules. It was the challenger’s duty to recognize mortal danger and drop his enchanted handkerchief; the moment it touched ground, he would be safely removed from the Trial. Upon the first glint of sunrise, the wolves would call the end and whoever returned through the gates would be named the winner. There had never been more than one. Quite often, there were none at all.
Winter arrived with naughty timing, blowing glacial gusts into the Clearing just as the challengers entered. Everboys each carried a blue kite-shaped shield matching their navy cloak and a single weapon; most had chosen bows and arrows (blunted by Professor Espada to stun, rather than injure), though Chaddick and Tedros had opted for heavy training swords. Nearby, Evergirls quietly practiced their animal calls and tried to look as helpless as possible so boys would take them under their wings.
Across the field, the Trial Nevers hunched against bare trees in their cloaks, eyeing unchosen students crowd in from the tunnels. The unpicked Evers were ready for a slumber party, with pillows, blankets, baskets of spinach mousselines, creamy chicken crepes, bell pepper skewers, elderflower custard, and pitchers of cherry grenadine. Meanwhile, the unpicked Nevers hovered near their tunnel in slippers and nightcaps, ready to flee at their team’s first sign of humiliation.
While the wolves passed out the enchanted silk handkerchiefs—white for Evers, red for Nevers—Castor and Pollux lined up the competitors in order of their entrance. Because they fared worst in the pre-Trial challenges, Sophie and Kiko would enter exactly at sundown. Brone and Tristan would enter 15 minutes later, then Vex and Reena 15 minutes after that, and the pairs would continue until Hester and Tedros entered last.
At the back of the line, the prince took his white handkerchief from the wolf.
“Won’t be needing this,” he muttered, and stuffed it in his boot.
At the front of the line, Sophie clenched her red kerchief, ready to drop it the moment she entered. She wished she had paid more attention during the fitting. Her tunic drooped at the bosom, the cloak dragged on the ground, and the blue hood fell so far over her face it looked like she had no hea—
How could she think about clothes! Frantic, she scanned the crowd. Still no sign of Agatha.
“We’ve heard rumors that unqualified students may try to sneak into the Trial,” Pollux said next to Castor, an imposing two-headed shadow in waning light. “This year we’ve taken extra precautions.”
At first, Sophie thought he was referring to the wolves guarding every inch of gate. But then Castor lit a torch and she saw the gates were no longer made of gold—but of giant black and red spiders, crisscrossing magically with stingers poised.
Her heart sank. How could she sneak Agatha in now?
“If anyone cheats, they deserve to die.”
She turned.
“And I don’t put it past any of those villains,” Tedros said, golden cheeks ruddy with cold. He took her hand, still gripping her kerchief. “You can’t, Sophie. You can’t drop it.”
Without Agatha feeding lines, Sophie just nodded helplessly.
“When we team up, they’ll do anything to take one of us out—Evers, Nevers, School Master too,” said her prince. “We need to protect each other. I need you to have my back.”
Sophie nodded.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“A kiss for luck?” she squeaked.
“In front of the whole school?” Tedros cocked a smile. “That’s an idea.”
Sophie lit up and thrust out her lips with relief. “A long one,” she sighed. “Just in case.”
“Oh I’ll give you a long one,” he grinned. “When we win. Right before I carry you into the Good castle.”
Sophie gagged. “But—but—suppose we don’t—”
Tedros gently pulled the red silk from her trembling fingers.
“We’re Good, Sophie,” he said tucking it deep in her coat pocket. “And Good always wins.”
In his clear blue eyes, Sophie saw Hester reflected behind her, hood lowered like the Grim Reaper.
In a flash, the wolves shoved her and Kiko to opposite ends of the North Gate. Hairy spiders hissed in her face and she lost her breath. Panicked, her eyes lurched to the School Master’s tower, lording over the Forest. In the last shred of sun, she could see his silhouette, watching from the window. Sophie whipped around looking for Agatha to save her, but all she saw was the sky fall dark over the Forest. From the School Master’s tower came a blast of silver sparks that veiled the Forest in a blurring haze—
“FIRST PAIR READY!” Castor boomed.
“No—wait!—”
Paws grabbed Sophie from behind and flung her into spiders. Hundreds of furry pincers probed her skin as she screamed. Clicking with permission, they magically parted, leaving her alone in the Forest’s torch-lit threshold. Wolves howled. Spiders sealed behind her.
The Trial had begun.
21
Trial by Tale
Terrified, Sophie spun towards Kiko. They had to stay together—
But Kiko was scampering east towards the Blueberry Fields, peeping back to make sure she wasn’t following.
Quickly Sophie took the west trail towards the Blue Brook, where she could hide under its bridge. She had expected the Forest to be pitch-dark and made Hort teach her a fire spell during breakfast. But tonight the trees fluoresced with an ice-blue, blacklit sheen, glazing the Forest in arctic glow. Though the effect was ominous, she breathed relief. A flaming torch would have made her an easy target.
As she waded into the Fernfield, Sophie felt electric-blue fronds kiss her neck. Her body relaxed. She’d imagined a nonstop siege of horrors. But the Forest was quieter than she’d ever seen it. No skulking animals. No ominous howls. Just her in an ethereal meadow, wind strumming blades like harp strings.
As she waded through head-high ferns, she thought of Agatha. Did a teacher catch her brewing a plan? Did Hester intercept her?
Sophie felt pinpricks of sweat.
Or is Agatha afraid to help me?
For if she won with Tedros, no one could deny her switching schools. She could rule Good as their beneficent Captain. She could have her prince for Ever After and the life of a queen. Sophie gritted her teeth. If only she hadn’t made that promise about going home! If only she could win this Trial alone, then she wouldn’t have to keep it!
She stopped in her tracks. But I can! Look at me! I’m doing just fi—
A scream echoed. White sparks sprayed into the sky. Kiko had surrendered.
Sophie’s legs jellied. How long would it take Kiko’s attacker to find her? What was she thinking? She couldn’t last here! She yanked the kerchief from her pocket, unleashed vermillion red, and—
CRACK! Something dropped from above and landed at her feet. She stared down at a scroll of parchment, wrapped with a strip of fabric.
Fabric glowing with angry green frogs.
Sophie looked up and saw a white dove high above the trees. The dove tried to fly down—
CRACK! A barrier of flames exploded across the sky if it got even clo
Sophie urgently pulled open the scorched scroll—
Sophie slumped with relief. A tulip! No one would ever find her! Oh, how could she doubt Agatha? Sweet, loyal Agatha! Sophie guiltily balled the red kerchief back in her pocket and followed the dove.
To get to the Tulip Garden by trail, she’d have to cross the Turquoise Thicket, then the Pumpkin Patch, and finally the Sleeping Willow Bosk. As she followed Agatha out of the ferns into the dense Thicket, phosphorescent leaves lit up the trail with wintry blue light. Sophie could see every scratch and scar on the lucent trunks, including the gash Vex had made above her head.
Wind suddenly swept through and leaves flickered over the trail. She couldn’t see Agatha through the treetops. Sophie heard muffled grunts—human? animal?—but she didn’t stop to find out. Kiko’s scream thundering in her head, she fled down the trail, snatching at her dragging cloak. Tripping over shrubs and stumps, she ducked stabbing boughs, flung through tentacles of blue leaves, until she glimpsed pumpkins and an impatient dove between two shining tree trunks—
Someone stood between them. A little girl in a red cape and hood.
“Excuse me?” Sophie called. “I need to pass.”
The red-headed stranger looked up. It wasn’t a child at all. She had cloudy blue eyes, rosy blush on her wrinkled, spotted cheeks, and thick gray hair pulled into two ponytails.
Sophie frowned. She loathed old women.
“I said I need to pass.”
The woman didn’t move.
Sophie marched towards her—“Are you deaf?”
The crone dropped her red cloak and revealed a hawk’s dirty, bloated body. Sophie shrank back, heard an earsplitting caw and swiveled to two more old bird-women moving towards her.
Harpies.
Agatha had taught her—Sweet-talkers? Blind walkers?
Then she saw their gnarled talons, tapping, sharp as blades.
Child eaters.
They pounced with terrible screams and Sophie ducked under a wing as the shrieking monsters dove after her, ugly faces contorted with rage. She raced through bushes to hide, but every corner of the thicket was spotlit blue. Harpies snapped at her neck and she fumbled for her pocket, touching red silk—her cloak snagged her foot and she crashed in mulch. Claws sank into her back and she screamed as she was lifted off ground, flailing for her kerchief. The Harpies opened their jaws to her face—