The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani
The flood blasted through the window and two hundred students cascaded out of the tower, into freezing midnight air, and splashed to the moat below.
Instantly the war resumed in the putrid sludge, but with faces and clothes covered in it, the students couldn’t see each other in the weak dawn light. Hester shoved Anadil’s face in slime thinking her an Ever, Beatrix punched Reena in the jaw thinking her a Never, Chaddick suffocated the closest thing to him—Tedros, it turned out, who responded by sinking his rotted teeth into his best mate’s neck. With rules broken so rampantly, the students began to change from pink to black, black to blue, ugly to beautiful, beautiful to ugly, back and forth, faster, faster, until no one had the faintest idea who was Good and who was Evil.
None of the foes noticed that far into the bay, a girl in pink climbed the School Master’s tower, brick by brick, pulling herself up by Grimm’s arrows. And that far beneath, a prince climbed after her, silhouetted in moonlight. Upon closer look, a prince of raven hair, iron will, dodging a cupid’s arrows in a billowing blue—
Gown.
Upon closer look, not a prince at all.
30
Never After
Clawing through the silver brick window, Sophie gritted her teeth.
Good always wins.
Her Nemesis was right. As long as the School Master lived, as long as the Storian was in his hands, then she would never achieve vengeance. There was only one way to ruin Agatha’s happy ending.
Destroy both pen and its protector.
With a snarl, Sophie pulled herself into the School Master’s tower, flung out her glowing finger—
It dimmed.
The empty stone chamber was aglow with hundreds of red-flamed candles lining the edges of the bookcases and shelves. Red rose petals swathed the stone floor under her feet. Strums of a phantom harp softly swelled into a tender song.
Sophie scowled. She had come for a war and found a wedding. Good was even more pathetic than she thought.
Then she saw the Storian.
Across the room, it hovered unguarded over her and Agatha’s fairy-tale book on the shadowed stone table.
Through falling petals and flickering candles, Sophie skulked towards the deadly sharp pen. As she neared, the pen’s script smoldered against steel. Eyes blazing, breath shallow, she reached to seize it, but the pen lurched and lanced her finger. Sophie withdrew in shock.
A single drop of her blood dripped down the Storian, filling the grooves in the deep script before trickling to its lethal nib. Alive to its new ink, the pen burned hot red and plunged to the book, furiously flipping pages. Her whole fairy tale unfolded before her eyes in dazzling paintings and flashes of words: sighting Tedros at the Welcoming, cowering from her prince at the Trial, witnessing him propose to Agatha, luring Good’s army to war, even climbing by arrows to this very tower—until the Storian found a fresh page and spilled blood outlines in a single sweep. Rich color magically filled them in and Sophie watched a brilliant painting of herself take shape, there in this tower as she was now. Ravishing in a pink ball gown, her painted self gazed into the eyes of a handsome stranger, tall, lean, in prime of youth and beauty.
Sophie touched his face on the page . . . twinkling blue eyes, skin like marble, ghostly white hair . . .
He wasn’t a stranger.
She had dreamt of him her last night in Gavaldon. The prince she picked from a hundred at a castle ball. The one who felt like Ever After.
“All these years I waited,” said a warm voice.
She turned to see the masked School Master glide towards her from across the room, rusted crown crooked on his head of thick white hair. Slowly, his body unsnarled from its hunch, until it stood tall and erect. Then he took off his mask, revealing alabaster skin, chiseled cheeks, and dancing blue eyes.
Sophie buckled.
He was the prince from the painting.
“You’re y—y-young—”
“This was all a test, Sophie,” the School Master said. “A test to find my true love.”
“Your true—me?” Sophie stammered. “But you’re Good and I’m Evil!”
The School Master smiled. “Perhaps we should start there.”
Hanging high above the midpoint between moat and lake, Agatha climbed arrows stabbed in silver brick, dodging new blows as Grimm flew around the School Master’s spire. As the cupid pulled another arrow into his bow, she lunged for the next shaft but it broke and tumbled off the tower. Her head swiveled. Grimm flashed yellowed shark teeth, aimed his arrow at her face—
He stiffened like a stunned bird and fell from the sky into dark waters below.
Agatha spun and saw Hester’s red fingerglow dim in her direction, her body bound by chains in deep sludge. In moonlight, she could see Hester’s face, filled with regret for spurning the chance to end this war. Around her, Evers had wrenched control of the battle. Villains struggled against their binds, restored to ugliness, while four Everboys pinned down Hort’s howling man-wolf with punches and kicks.
Agatha felt the last arrow splinter under her hand.
“Help—” she puffed, legs kicking. The arrow broke—
And froze to hard ice catching her grip.
Agatha turned and saw Anadil’s distant green fingerglow pointed at the frozen arrow.
Then, above her head, the next silver brick turned dark brown. Agatha smelled rich, sugary sweetness and her hand stretched up and dug right into taut chocolate. Pulling herself up by fudge, she glanced back across the bay.
Dot’s blue light glowed proudly.
As the next brick above turned chocolate, Agatha reached up with a smile.
It seemed the witches had changed sides.
“I was there all along,” the School Master said, cold, beautiful face smoldering in first rays of sun. “Leading Agatha to you on the night I kidnapped you. Ensuring you didn’t fail in your first days at school. Opening the doors at the Circus. Giving you a riddle whose answer would bring you to me . . . I interfered in your fairy tale because I knew how it must end.”
“But that means you’re—” Sophie fumbled. “You’re Evil?”
“I cared for my brother very much,” the School Master said tensely, peering at the schools’ raging war. “We were entrusted the Storian for eternity because our bond overrode our warring souls. As long as we protected each other, we would stay immortal and beautiful, Good and Evil in perfect balance. Each as worthy and powerful as the other.”
He turned. “But Evil cannot be but alone.”
“So you killed your own brother?” Sophie said.
“Much as you tried to kill your dearest friend and beloved prince,” the School Master smiled. “But no matter how much I tried to control the Storian . . . Good now emerged triumphant in every new tale.”
He caressed the symbols on the pen’s skin. “Because there is something greater than the purest Evil, Sophie. Something you and I cannot have.”
At last Sophie understood. Her fire cooled to grief.
“Love,” she said softly.
“It is why Good wins every story,” the School Master said. “They fight for each other. We can only fight for ourselves.
“My only hope was to find something stronger, something that would give us a chance. I hunted every seer in the Woods until one gave me my answer. One who told me that what I needed would come from beyond our world. And so I searched all these years, careful to keep the balance, as my body and hope weakened . . . until at last you’ve come. The one that can tip the balance forever. The one more powerful than Good’s Love.”
He touched her cheek.
“Evil’s love.”
Sophie couldn’t breathe, feeling his frigid fingers on her skin.
The School Master’s lips curled into a smile. “Sader knew you would come. A heart as dark as mine. An Evil whose beauty could restore my own.” His hands moved to her waist. “If we unite with each other to seal the bond of Evil. If we marry for the purpose of hurting, destroying, pu
The School Master’s breath glazed her ear. “Never After.”
Looking up at him, Sophie finally understood. He had her same maleficent coldness, the same pain raging in his eyes. Long before Tedros, her soul had known its true match. Not a shining knight, fighting for Good. Not someone Good at all.
All these years she had tried to be someone else. She had made so many mistakes along the way. But at last, she had come home.
“A kiss,” the School Master whispered. “A kiss for Never After.”
Tears trickled down Sophie’s cheeks. After all this, she would have her happy ending.
She gave herself to the School Master’s grip and he pulled her into his arms. As he clasped her neck, leaning in for her fairy-tale kiss, Sophie gazed up tenderly at the prince of her dreams.
But now his face cracked at the edges.
Charred flesh wormed through his luminous skin. Behind him falling roses turned to maggots and red candles lit up hellish shadows. Outside, the dawn sky fogged infernal green and the Good castle blackened to stone. As the School Master’s decaying lips touched hers, Sophie felt her vision blur red, her veins burn acid, her body rot to match his. Skin blistering, she held her prince’s eyes, begging to feel love, the love that storybooks promised her, the love that would last an eternity . . .
But all she found was hate.
Devoured by a kiss, she saw at last she would never find love in this life or the next. She was Evil, always Evil, and there would never be happiness or peace. As her heart shattered with sadness, she yielded to darkness without a fight, only to hear a dying echo, somewhere deeper than soul.
It’s not what we are, Sophie.
It’s what we do.
Sophie tore herself from the School Master’s grip and he spilled back into the stone table, sending the Storian and storybook smashing into the wall. In the fallen Storian, she glimpsed her half-rotted face, split cleanly from forehead to chin. Breathless, she fled for the window, but there was no way down the tower.
Through eerie green fog, she saw the far shore. Gone were the weapons, the spells, the two sides. The sludge pits overflowed with blackened bodies, children punching anyone in sight, slamming faces into muck, tearing at skin and hair, writhing and clawing for mercy. Sophie stared at this war she had started, Good and Evil fighting now for nothing at all.
“What have I done?” she breathed.
She turned to see the School Master stir on the floor.
“Please,” Sophie begged. “I want to be Good!”
The School Master raised red-rimmed eyes, skin shriveling around his thin smile.
“You can never be Good, Sophie. That’s why you’re mine.”
Slowly he slithered towards her. Terrified, Sophie shrank against the window as he reached rotting hands to grab her—
From behind, soft, warm arms suddenly wrapped her like an angel’s and pulled her into the night sky.
“Hold your breath!” Agatha cried as they fell—
In tight embrace, the two girls smashed face-first into crushing cold water. The glacial lake robbed their lungs, numbed every inch of skin, but still they didn’t let go. Their entwined bodies plunged to arctic depths, and kicked towards sunlight. But just as their hands stabbed for air, Agatha saw the black shadow ripping straight for them. With a silent scream, she thrust out her glowing finger and a giant wave rose, swelling them away from the School Master and crashing them to Evil’s barren shore.
Agatha willed herself onto her knees in the moat and heard the screams of war around her, rabid, slime-drenched children without faces or names, pummeling each other like beasts.
Then in the distance, a body rose from the sludge.
“Sophie?” she croaked.
The ooze sloughed away and Agatha dove for the bank in horror.
She glanced back to see the old, decayed School Master calmly wade towards her, Storian in hand. Gurgling, she scraped over wrestling torsos for the shore, oily black hands clawing at her face, sludge sinking her like quicksand. Agatha turned to see the School Master gliding through it, unnoticed by his warring students. Gagging on muck, she pulled herself over the black mob into dead grass, lurched to her feet to run—
The School Master stood in front of her, flesh crumbling off naked skull.
“I expected more from a Reader, Agatha,” he said. “Surely you know what happens to those who thwart love.”
Agatha flushed with fight. “You’ll never have her. Not as long as I’m alive.”
The School Master’s blue eyes filled with blood.
“And so it is written.”
He raised the Storian like a dagger and hurled it at Agatha with a deafening scream.
Trapped, Agatha closed her eyes—
A body collided with hers and took her to the ground.
Agatha’s eyes opened.
Sophie lay beside her, Storian speared through her heart.
The School Master let out a cry of shock.
The war around them ceased.
Bloodied students turned in stunned silence to see their rotted, malevolent leader, frozen over the body of the witch who saved a princess’s life. The body of one of their own.
Sunken in sludge, Evers’ and Nevers’ faces melted to terror and shame. They had betrayed each other and lost to the real enemy. In foolish vengeance, they had surrendered the balance they were entrusted to protect. But as eyes found the School Master, their young faces hardened with purpose. Then all at once, the silver swan crests on both Good’s and Evil’s uniforms turned blinding white and came alive, shrieking, flapping.
Instantly the tiny birds ripped free, blasted into the twilit sky, and coalesced into a glittering silhouette. The School Master’s face drained of blood as he looked up at a luminous ghost, a familiar face of snowy hair, ivory cheeks, and warm blue eyes. . . .
“You are a spirit, brother,” the School Master scowled. “You have no power without a body.”
“Yet,” said a voice.
He turned to see Professor Sader limp from the Woods through the school gates, bloodied by thorns. Trembling, Sader gazed up at the ghost in the sky.
“Please.”
From the sky, the Good brother dove and smashed into Sader’s willing body.
Sader shivered, hazel eyes wide, then slumped to his knees, eyes closed.
Slowly his eyes opened, sparkling blue.
The School Master backed up in surprise. The skin of Sader’s arms softened to white feathers, shredding his green suit away. Terrified, the School Master turned into a shadow, fled across dead grass towards the lake, but Sader flew into the air after him, human arms now giant white swan wings, and swerved down and snatched the shadow in his beak. With a searing bird’s screech, he tore it apart, raining black feathers over the battleground below.
From the sky, Sader looked down at Sophie in Agatha’s arms, tears welling in big hazel eyes at the first and last thing he would ever see. Then, his sacrifice done, he dissipated to gold dust and was gone.
Faculty stormed from the castles, freed from the School Master’s curse. Professor Dovey stopped short first, then the others behind her. Lady Lesso’s jaw quivered as Clarissa gripped her hand. Professor Anemone, Professor Sheeks, Professor Manley, Princess Uma all had the same scared, powerless faces. Even Castor and Pollux couldn’t be told apart. All bowed their heads in mourning, knowing that they were too late for even the mercy of magic.
In front of them, the children gathered around Sophie, dying in Agatha’s arms. Agatha tried in vain to staunch the wound, a mess of tears.
Tedros dove beside them. “Let me help,” he said, taking Sophie in his arms.
“No—” Sophie wheezed—“Agatha.”
Speechless, Tedros left her to his princess’s arms.
Agatha pressed Sophie to her chest, hands soaked with her blood.
“You’re safe now,” Agatha said softly.
“I don’t??
“You’re not Evil, Sophie,” Agatha whispered, touching her decayed cheek. “You’re human.”
Sophie smiled weakly. “Only if I have you.”
Her eyes flickered with life.
“No—not yet—” Sophie struggled—
“Sophie! Sophie, please!” Agatha choked.
“Agatha—” Sophie exhaled her last breath. “I love you.”
“Wait!” Agatha screamed.
Icy wind snuffed the last of the torches and the blackened Good castle vanished behind dark fog.
Sobbing, shaking, Agatha kissed Sophie’s cold lips.
Black feathers shivered on the dead ground between the children’s feet. As they stared in horror, Agatha lay her head on Sophie’s silent heart and wept into terrible silence. Beside their two bodies the cold, bloody Storian dulled to gray, its work finally done.
As the teachers took children into their arms, Agatha stayed holding the body, knowing she had to let go. But she couldn’t. Cheek wet with Sophie’s blood, she listened to the sobs rise around her, the wind rake through wartorn sludge, her shallow breaths wither against a corpse.
And the beat of a heart.
Color returned to Sophie’s lips.
Glow warmed her skin.
Blood faded from her chest.
Her skin restored to its beautiful whole and with a shocked breath, her eyes opened, emerald clear.
“Sophie?” Agatha whispered.
Sophie touched her face and smiled.
“Who needs princes in our fairy tale?”
Sun exploded through fog, coating the two castles in gold. As the grass around it greened, the Storian blazed with new life and soared back to its tower in the sky. Across the shores, children’s robes, black, pink, blue, melted to the same silver, dissolving their division once and for all.