The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani
Baring teeth, Tedros glared back. “I made you no promises.”
Sophie stared at him, stunned. Her eyes cast down. “I see.”
Slowly she looked back up.
“Then I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
She thrust out her glowing finger and the boys’ swords turned to snakes. As Everboys fled, Tedros kicked dust at the hissing coils. He spun to see Sophie wipe tears, then pull her cape around her and hurry away.
Hester ran to catch up—“Feel better?”
“I gave him a chance,” Sophie said, walking faster.
“You’re even now. It’s over,” Hester soothed.
“No. Not until he keeps his promise.”
“Promise? What promise—”
But Sophie had already raced ahead into the tunnel. As she fled through twisted branches, she sensed someone watching. Through tears and trees, she couldn’t see the face on the balcony, just a milky white blur. Her stomach sank—she found a break in the leaves—
But the face was gone, as if it was just a dream.
The next morning, Good woke to slippery lard all over the floors. The morning after, Everboys screamed after putting on coats laced with rash powder. On the third morning, the teachers found framed underpants replacing Beauty’s portrait on the Legends Obelisk, the sides switched in the Theater of Tales, and candied classrooms flooded with stinky green goo.
With the fairies unable to catch the vandals in the act, Tedros and his Everboy mates formed a nighttime guard, patrolling the halls from dusk until dawn. Still, the culprits eluded capture and by the end of the week, the bandits had filled the Groom Room pools with stingrays, warped the hall mirrors to taunt passersby, released overfed pigeons in the Supper Hall, and enchanted Good toilets to explode when students sat on them.
Enraged, Professor Dovey insisted Sophie be brought to justice, but Lady Lesso said it was highly doubtful one student could manage to cripple an entire school without help.
She was right.
“It doesn’t feel good anymore,” Anadil grouched after supper in Room 66. “Hester and I want to stop.”
“You got your revenge,” said Hester. “Let him go.”
“I thought you two were villains,” Sophie said from her bed, eyes glued to Nightmares Be Gone.
“Villains have purpose,” Hester snapped. “What we’re doing is just thuggery.”
“Tonight we’re putting pox in the boys’ breeches,” said Sophie, flipping the page. “Find a spell for it.”
“What do you want, Sophie?” Hester pleaded. “What are we fighting for?”
Sophie looked up. “Are you going to help or should I turn us all in?”
Tedros soon had all 60 boys on his nighttime guard, but Sophie escalated the attacks. The first night, she made Hester and Anadil brew a potion to turn the Good lake to Evil sludge, forcing the magical wave to migrate to the sewers. The brew left their hands red with burns, but Sophie made them return at dawn to lace Ever linens with lice. Soon, the girls attacked so frequently—putting leeches in the Evers’ supper punch, unleashing locusts during Uma’s lecture, sending a charging bull into Swordplay, cursing the Evers’ stairs to scream bloodily with every step—that half the Good teachers canceled their classes, Pollux stumbled on sheep legs into his own traps, and the Evers only felt safe traveling in packs.
Professor Dovey slammed into Lady Lesso’s office. “That witch must be failed!”
“There’s no way for a Never to enter your school, let alone attack it day and night,” Lady Lesso yawned. “For all we know it’s a rogue Ever.”
“An Ever! My students have won every competition in this school for two hundred years!”
“Until now.” Lady Lesso smiled. “And I have no plans to give up my best student without proof.”
While Professor Dovey sent unanswered missives to the School Master, Lady Lesso took careful notice of Sophie’s growing distance with her roommates, the fact Sophie was no longer shivering in her iced classroom, and her brutal desecration of Tedros’ name on her book covers.
“Are you feeling all right, Sophie?” Lady Lesso asked, barring the ice door after class.
“Yes, thank you,” Sophie replied uncomfortably. “I should be goin—”
“Between your winning Class Captain, your new fashions, and your nighttime activities . . . it’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t know what activities you’re referring to,” Sophie said, sidling past her.
“Have you been having strange dreams, Sophie?”
Sophie stopped cold.
“What kind of dreams would be strange?”
“Angry dreams. Dreams that get worse every night,” Lady Lesso said behind her. “You’ll feel as if something is being birthed in your soul. A face, perhaps.”
Sophie’s stomach clamped. The terrible dreams had persisted, all ending with a milky, blurry face. The past few days, streaks of red appeared at the face’s edges, as if it was being outlined in blood. But she couldn’t recognize it. All she knew was she woke up every day angrier than before.
Sophie turned. “Um, what would a dream like that mean?”
“That you are a special girl, Sophie,” Lady Lesso cooed. “One we should all be proud of.”
“Oh. Um . . . I may have had one or two—”
“Nemesis Dreams,” Lady Lesso said, violet eyes flashing. “You’re having Nemesis Dreams.”
Sophie stared at her. “But—but—”
“Nothing to be concerned about, dear. Not until there’s symptoms.”
“Symptoms? What symptoms? What happens if there’s symptoms?”
“Then you’ll finally see the face of your Nemesis. The one who grows stronger as you grow weaker,” Lady Lesso answered calmly. “The one you must destroy in order to live.”
Sophie blanched. “B-b-but that’s impossible!”
“Is it? I think it’s quite clear who your Nemesis is.”
“What? I don’t have anyone that—”
Sophie lost her breath.
“Tedros? But I love him! That’s why I did it! I have to get him back—”
Lady Lesso just smiled.
“I was angry!” Sophie cried. “I didn’t mean any—I don’t want to hurt him! I don’t want to hurt anyone! I’m not a villain!”
“You see, it doesn’t matter what we are, Sophie.”
Lady Lesso leaned so close she just had to whisper.
“It’s what we do.”
Her pupils flicked over Sophie’s face. “But no symptoms yet, I’m afraid,” she sighed and swept to her desk. “Close the door on your way out.”
Sophie fled too fast to bother.
That night, Sophie didn’t attack the Evers.
Let him go, she told herself, pillow over her head. Let Tedros go.
Over and over she repeated it, until she had erased the meeting with Lady Lesso from her memory. As the words soothed her to sleep, she felt the stirrings of her old self. Tomorrow she’d be loving. Tomorrow she’d be forgiving. Tomorrow she’d be Good again.
But then another dream came.
She ran through mirrors reflecting her smiling face, long gold hair, and luscious pink gown. Through the last mirror was an open door and through the door, Tedros waited for her, kingly in his blue Ball suit beneath Camelot’s spires. She ran and ran to him but grew no closer, until deadly sharp briars, swollen purple, began to snake towards her true love. Frantic, she willed herself through the last door to save him, losing a glass heel and lunged for his arms . . . The prince melted to a milky, red blur and threw her into thorns.
Sophie woke enraged and forgot all about letting go.
“It’s the middle of the night! You said it was over!” Anadil fumed, following her into the tunnel—
“We can’t keep doing these things without a purpose,” Hester seethed.
“I have a purpose,” Sophie said, whirling around. “You hear me? I have a purpose.”
The next day, the Evers arrived at lunch to f
LIAR.
Stunned, the wolves and nymphs howled for the teachers and immediately formed a boundary between the two halves of the Clearing. Tedros stormed up to the border between two wolves.
“Stop it. Now.”
Everyone followed his eyes to Sophie, sitting serenely against a snowy tree on the Nevers’ side.
“Or what?” she simpered. “You’ll catch me?”
“Now you really sound like a villain,” Tedros sneered.
“Careful, Teddy. What will they say when we dance at the Ball?”
“All right, now you’ve lost it—”
“Here I thought you were a prince,” Sophie said, walking towards him. “Because you promised to take me to the Ball right in this very spot. And a prince never breaks his promise.”
Gasps rose from both sides of the Clearing. Tedros looked like he’d been kicked in the gut.
“After all, a prince who breaks his promise”—Sophie faced him between two wolves—“is a villain.”
Tedros couldn’t speak, cheeks splotched red.
“But you’re not a villain and neither am I,” Sophie said, eyes guilty. “So all you have to do is keep your promise and we can be ourselves again. Tedros and Sophie. Prince and princess.”
With a tentative smile, she held out her hand across the wolves to him.
“Good for Ever After.”
The Clearing was dead silent.
“I’ll never take you to the Ball,” Tedros spat. “Never.”
Sophie withdrew her hand.
“Well, then,” she said softly. “Now everyone knows who’s responsible for the attacks.”
Tedros felt Evers’ blameful stares burning through him. Ashamed, he trudged out of the Clearing, as Sophie watched, heart in her throat, fighting the urge to call him back.
“This is about a Ball?” said a voice.
Sophie turned to glowering Hester and Anadil.
“This is about what’s right,” she said.
“You’re on your own,” Hester snarled, and Anadil followed her away.
Sophie stood, circled by stunned students, teachers, wolves, and fairies, listening to her own shallow breaths. Slowly she looked up.
Tedros glared down at her from inside the glass castle. In the weak sun, his milky face had a glint of red.
Sophie met his eyes, steeling her heart.
He’d love her back. He’d have to.
Because she’d destroy him if he dared love anyone else.
23
Magic in the Mirror
Buried under lace pillows, all Agatha could hear was the echo of four terrible words.
GET YOUR OWN LIFE.
What life? Before Sophie, all she could remember was darkness and pain. Sophie had made her feel normal. Sophie had made her feel needed. Without Sophie, she was a freak, a nothing, a . . .
Agatha’s stomach dropped.
A witch never has her own fairy tale.
Without Sophie, she was a witch.
For six days, Agatha stayed shut up in her tower, listening to the screams of Evers terrorized by new attacks. All joint-school activities had been canceled indefinitely, lunch and Forest Groups included. Was this all her fault? Didn’t witches leave fairy tales in ruins? As the screams outside grew more panicked, her guilt screwed tighter and tighter.
Then the attacks stopped.
Huddled in common rooms, Evers held their breath. But when Saturday and Sunday went, Agatha knew the storm had passed. Sophie would come to say sorry any minute now. Gazing at the rose-tinted moon, Agatha hugged her pillow and prayed. Their friendship would survive this.
Fairies jingled outside the door and she swiveled to see a note slid under it. Chest pounding, she dived out of bed, swooped it into sweaty palms—
Dear Students,
With the Snow Ball six days away, this week’s challenges will see if you are prepared. Despite recent interruptions, there will be no further cancellations. Our traditions are what separate Good from Evil. Even in the darkest of times, a Ball may be your best chance to find a happy ending.
Professor Dovey
Agatha groaned and buried herself under pink sheets.
But as she gave in to sleep, she began to hear words . . . Ball . . . purpose . . . happy . . . They tumbled in darkness, echoing deeper, deeper, until they planted in her soul like magic seeds.
Ravan tiptoed towards Room 66, swan crests of six shivering Nevers glinting in darkness behind him.
“If the attacks stopped, maybe she’s dead,” Vex said.
“Maybe villains don’t do Evil on Sundays,” said Brone.
“Or maybe Sophie got over that stupid prince!” Ravan lashed.
“You don’t ever get over love,” Hort moped in dirty long johns. “Even if they steal your room and your pajamas.”
“Sophie shouldn’t even have let herself love!” Ravan shot back. “First time I told my dad I liked a girl, he slathered me in honey and sealed me in a bear den for a night. Haven’t liked one since.”
“First time I told my mother I fancied someone, she baked me in an oven for an hour,” Mona agreed, green skin paling. “I never think about boys now.”
“First time I liked a boy, my dad killed him.”
The group stopped and stared at Arachne. “Maybe Sophie just had bad parents,” she said.
With solemn nods, the Nevers skulked to Room 66, hidden in shadow. Holding their breaths, they each found a piece of door and pressed their ears to it.
They didn’t hear anything.
“On three,” Ravan mouthed. Nevers backed up, preparing to storm it. “One . . . two . . .”
“Drink this.”
Anadil’s voice inside. Nevers shoved their ears to the door.
“They’re—killing—me—” Sophie rasped weakly—
Sounds of vomiting.
“She has a high fever, Hester.”
“Lady Lesso said—Nemesis—Drea—”
“They’re nothing, Sophie,” Hester’s voice said. “Now go to sleep.”
“Will I—be—better for—Ball? Tedros—promised—”
“Close your eyes, dearie.”
“Dreams—they’ll come—” Sophie wheezed—
“Shhh, we’re here now,” Hester said.
It was quiet inside, but Ravan and the Nevers didn’t move. Then they heard voices closer to the door.
“Dreams of faces, high fever, obsession . . . Lady Lesso’s right!” Anadil whispered. “Tedros is her Nemesis!”
“So she did meet the School Master!” Hester whispered back. “She’s in a real fairy tale!”
“Then this whole school better watch out, Hester. Real fairy tales mean war!”
“Ani, we need to get Tedros and Sophie back together now! Before any symptoms appear!”
“But how?”
“Your talent,” Hester whispered. “But we can’t tell a soul! This gets out and all our lives are at stak—”
Her voice stopped.
Ravan wheeled to the others—
The door slammed open. Hester peered out, eyes narrowed.
But the hallway was empty.
On Monday morning, Agatha woke with a strong urge to go to class.
Stomping around her room, she shoved on her rumpled pinafore and picked lint from her greasy hair. How many days could she wait? Sophie didn’t want to apologize? Sophie didn’t want to be friends? She crushed Sophie’s paper rose, hurled it through the window—
I can have my own life!
She searched for something else to throw, then glimpsed crinkled parchment under her toes.
“A Ball may be your best chance . . .”
Agatha grabbed it into her hands and read Professor Dovey’s note again, eyes flaring.
That’s it! The Ball was her chance!
All she needed was one of those vile, arrogant boys to take
She jammed callused feet into her clumps and stomped down the stairs, waking the whole tower.
She had five days to find a date to the Evers Snow Ball.
Five days to prove she wasn’t a witch.
Ball Week got off to a bizarre start when Professor Anemone pranced in ten minutes late, wearing a white swan-feather dress with a high rump and scandalously short hem, along with purple panty hose, sparkly garters, and a crown that could have been an upside-down chandelier.
“Behold, true Ball elegance,” she preened, caressing her tail feathers. “A good thing boys cannot ask me to the Ball, or many of you would lose your princes!”
She basked in her students’ stares. “Yes, isn’t it divine. I was told by Empress Vaisilla this is all the rage in Putsi.”
“Putsi? Where is Putsi?” Kiko wisped.
“Home to a lot of angry swans,” said Beatrix.
Agatha gouged herself with a pen to not laugh.
“Because your suitors have chosen to wait until the Circus to propose, I caution you to take this week’s challenges seriously,” Professor Anemone huffed. “An exceptionally good or poor performance could very well change a boy’s mind!”
“Suppose Tedros did promise to take Sophie to the Ball?” Reena whispered to Beatrix. “Princes can’t break promises without something terrible happening!”
“Some promises are meant to be broken,” Beatrix retorted. “But if anyone tries to ruin my night with Tedros, I promise they won’t survive the night.”
“Of course not all of you will be asked to the Snow Ball,” warned Professor Anemone. “Every year, one woeful girl is failed, because boys would rather take half ranks than take her. And such a girl who can’t find a boy, even under the most propitious circumstances . . . well, she must be a witch, musn’t she?”
Agatha felt everyone’s eyes on her. Failed if a boy didn’t ask her?
Now finding a date was a matter of life and death.
“For today’s challenge, you must try to see who your date for the Ball will be!” her teacher declared. “Only when you see a boy’s face clearly in your head will you know he wants you too. Now join the person beside you and take turns proposing. When it is your turn to accept, close your eyes and see whose face appears. . . .”