The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes (22 page)

“I didn't have a choice!” Agatha insisted.

Tedros scowled and turned away. “You could have taken my hand. You could have stayed here and let her go home.” He looked down at the last page of the book beneath the Storian—his own shadow slumping into darkness alone. “Don't say you didn't have a choice. You
had
a choice.”

“A choice a boy could never understand.” Agatha looked at his back turned to her. “All my life, I was a freak, Tedros. No one let their pets near me, let alone their kids. As I got older, I holed up in a graveyard because I could forget the things I didn't have. Like someone to talk to. Or someone who wanted to talk to me. I started to tell myself that being alone was real power. That we all die eventually and rot to maggots, so what's the point anyway . . .” She paused. “But then Sophie came. Four o'clock on the dot after school. I'd wait for her by the door every day, ‘like a dog' my mother said, longing for that hour before sunset we'd have together. I'd watch her as the sky went dark—the way she fidgeted, like she didn't want me to go home either, even if she pretended I was a Good Deed. She made me feel loved for the first time in my life.” Agatha smiled, hearing the lightness in her voice. “And I knew everything would be okay in the end, no matter how our stories turned out. We'd have each other in our trapped, pointless little village, always each other, and that was the happiest ending I could imagine. Because she was my friend, Tedros. The only friend I'd ever known. And I couldn't imagine a life without her.”

Tedros didn't move, his back still to her. Slowly, he turned, his face soft.

“Then why did you wish for me?”

Agatha looked down. She held the words as long as she could, afraid to say them out loud.

“Because now I need more than a friend.”

Silence fell, broken only by soft sniffles that Agatha knew must be hers, even though they sounded far away.

She felt Tedros' arm on hers and looked up into his luminous blue eyes.

“I'm here, Agatha,” he breathed. “Right here.”

Agatha felt tears stinging. “She'll never forgive me for it,” she rasped, shaking under his warm touch. “Sophie's becoming a witch again. She'll kill us both.”

Tedros' eyes flashed. He charged for the window, drawing his sword—“We need the princes—”

“No!” Agatha said, grabbing him by the shirt.

“But you said—”

“We can end this. We can . . . rewrite our story.” Agatha's mouth parched. Her face went pink. “S-s-she'll go home. Like you wanted her to. No one has to die.”

Tedros' face slowly calmed, understanding.

Holding his gaze, Agatha pried Excalibur from his calloused fingers, its golden hilt sinking into her hand. She saw the fear in Tedros' eyes, felt the sweat of his palm, and let her hand stay against his a moment longer. Their eyes stayed locked as Agatha stepped back, blade pointed towards him. Tedros watched her, nostrils flaring, neck veins pulsing, like a tiger on edge. “Trust me,” she whispered, gripping the sword tighter. . . .

Then she swiveled to the Storian over the table and slashed it free from its chains. Tedros lunged towards it in surprise—

The enchanted pen plunged with relief to the storybook, conjuring a new last page. From its nib spilled a brilliant painting, a vision of prince and princess in their tower chamber, hands on each other, poised to seal “The End” with their kiss. Tedros froze, gazing at the painting. He heard the sword clink to the ground behind him. Slowly he turned to see Agatha's cheeks burning fiery pink.

“You'd stay here forever?” Tedros' throat bobbed. “With . . . me?”

Agatha reached out a shaking hand and touched him, mirroring the storybook painting.

“The Storian will only write ‘The End' if I mean it,” she said quietly. “And everything in my heart tells me it's with you.”

Tedros' eyes misted. “It's always the princess who gets her fairy tale ending,” he said, taking in Agatha's face. “This time, it feels like it's mine.”

The silence thickened as Agatha pulled him in by the waist, the sound of the Storian grazing the page behind them. He could see their two shadows coalesce in the Storian's shining steel . . . feel her shallow breaths as she drew him against her. Tedros' muscles softened as his princess gripped him tighter . . . tighter . . . bringing his lips to hers—

He jolted back. There was a black shadow in the pen's steel.

Tedros whirled around—

Nothing but the pen.

“She's here,” he breathed, backing away. “She's here somewhere—”

“Tedros?” Agatha frowned, confused—

Tedros hunted behind bookshelves. “Where is she! Where's Sophie!”

“She's not here!” Agatha pressed, reaching for him—

He drew away sharply. “I c-c-can't—not if that witch is alive—”

Agatha's eyes flared. “But she'll be gone forever!”

“She's a
witch
,” Tedros seethed. “As long as Sophie's on this earth, she'll find a way to tear us apart!”

“No! You can't hurt her! Tedros, this is the only way—”

“I let her live last time because of you, and she
took
you,” Tedros shot back. “I can't make the same mistake, Agatha. I can't lose you again!”

“Listen to me!” Agatha said, glowing scarlet. “I'm willing to give up everything I know for you! Never see my home again! Never see my mother again!” Agatha clasped his shoulders. “She's not part of our story anymore. That's why you told me to come tonight. Because you don't want to hurt her. Because you know
I'm
enough.” She held him tighter, staring into his eyes. “Let her go home. Please, Tedros. Because I won't let you touch her.”

Tedros peered at her oddly again. “I forgot how strange you are.”

Agatha tackled him in a hug, tearing with relief. “A strange princess,” she whispered against his chest. “About time we had one of those.”

“Who tells strange stories.”

“Like what,” Agatha smiled, tilting up to his kiss. . . .

“That I told you to come tonight,” said the prince.

Agatha lurched back from him, smile gone.

The only sound in the chamber was the sound of an invisible girl's sniffles suddenly stopping.

Aric stormed down the catwalk.
Females can't be trusted.
He'd learned that lesson young. In the distance, he could see Tristan's ginger hair and pale legs fleeing into the castle.
What a waste of a man. Shouldn't even be called a ma—

He stopped.

Slowly Aric kneeled down to the ground and looked at a broken brick on the catwalk railing, dripping with fresh blood.

Aric's finger lit up, and he blasted a flare into the castle to call his men.

He didn't remember Agatha bleeding.

Hidden under the table, Sophie watched Agatha retreat from Tedros, his blue eyes dimming.

“You
t-t-told
me to come,” Agatha stammered. “You told me to cross the bridge—”

“We blew
up
the bridge, so you can't have crossed it,” Tedros shot back. “Only a
witch's
magic could have gotten you here.”

“But I—I saw you, Tedros! In the classroom—in the wind—”

“What?”
Tedros scoffed.

“I saw—your—your—” Agatha's voice faded away, replaced by the Dean's echo.

“Sometimes we see what we want to see.”

A phantom. Her heart had birthed a phantom, just like all the other girls'.

And she'd believed her phantom was real.

Slowly Agatha looked up at her prince, his finger raised at her, glowing gold.

“You never came,” she whispered.

“How did you get here, Agatha?” Tedros said, blocking the Storian from her with his body. His lit finger stayed pointed at her, visibly shaking. “How did you cross the bridge?”

Agatha backed up, her own finger glowing to defend. “By trusting you—” she breathed, head spinning.
The arrows. The Wanted signs. The princes at the gate
.

“This was never about me—” she said. “This was about revenge on Sophie—”

“Don't you see? You thought you knew your heart last time too,” Tedros pleaded. “I'm doing this for you, Agatha. For
us
.”

“Why can't you trust me?” Agatha choked. “Why does she have to die?”

Tedros gazed at their lit fingers, each pointed at the other.

“Because one day you might change your mind again,” he said softly.

His eyes lifted, racked with pain.

“One day you might wish for her instead of me.”

“Please, Tedros,” Agatha begged. “Please let her go—”

“What if I tried to hurt you right now?” Her prince's eyes were wide, scared. “Would she show herself? Would she save you?”

“She's not
here
! I choose you, Tedros!”

“Choosing me isn't enough this time, Agatha.”

Tedros looked right through her, like he did in her dream.

“This time I'm making sure of it.”

Agatha gasped.

In a flash, Sophie saw her chance and blasted a pink spell between them—Agatha lunged, thinking it was Tedros'; Tedros dodged, thinking it was Agatha's. Instantly, ten red hoods launched through the window, arrows drawn at Agatha. Agatha retreated in shock, surrounded on all sides. She glowered at Tedros, cheeks blotched with fury—

“You're an
animal
,” she hissed. “I'll never choose you. You hear me?
Never!
”

She shot a spell and the window's dawn light magically went out, plunging the tower into darkness. A moment later, the light came back—but Agatha was gone.

Tedros swiveled to the window, but the rope and catwalk were deserted, his princess lost. Rage cooled in his blood. He could have had happiness right then and there. He could have had The End. But he'd let his obsession with a witch poison it once more. Now he was alone with the pen, his Ever After ruined by his own hand.

“She told the truth,” he whispered. “I'm—I'm a fool—”

“Not quite.”

Tedros turned. Aric looked down at the Storian as it finished a rich-hued painting in the storybook: a vision of Tedros and Agatha shooting spells at each other, surrounded by armed henchmen. Only as Tedros stepped closer, he saw there was someone else in the painting . . . someone else beneath the table, smiling gleefully under her invisible cape. . . .

Tedros and Aric's eyes slowly moved beneath the table, Sophie long gone.

“Agatha was lying all along, master,” Aric said. “They were both here to kill you.”

Tedros fell silent, staring at the painting, mouth open with shock. He saw his ashen face reflected in the Storian, waiting for his next move. He looked away.

“The princes,” he rasped. “It's—it's time you let them in, isn't it?”

Aric grinned. “I'd say it is.”

Tedros listened to him and his henchmen go.

“Aric.”

He heard his captain stop behind him.

“Tell them the bounty isn't just for one head anymore.”

The prince turned, scarlet red.

“It's for
two
.”

As the sun broke, a frantic, big-eyed fly squeezed under the locked Theater of Tales door in the boys' castle and to their Tunnel of Trees, blocked entirely by rocks. Wheezing with panic, the fly sputtered and skirted around rock after rock until it made it back to the Clearing.

Dripping tears, Agatha's fly flew up the girls' towers, towards her room atop Honor's blue turret, terrified for what she'd find. Grazing the open window and chipping her wing, she crashed to her friend's bed—the friend she'd betrayed to boys, the friend she'd traded for a prince, the friend she'd vowed was a deadly witch—

But racing up the sheets, Agatha froze in horror. For she'd seen what she'd wanted to see, from finish to start.

Sophie smiled as she slept, like the most peaceful of nights.

Her neck creamy and bare, not a wart in sight.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

Art to come

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

S
unlight glinted off the glass clock painted with a waltzing princess and witch. It was well past seven now, dawn come and gone, replaced by a cold December morning.

Lying in bed, fully dressed, Sophie watched Agatha sleep. Beatrix had gone down to breakfast. The two of them were alone.

Sophie's ankles and wrists still stung where the spiricks had pinned her; her calves throbbed from her invisible race out of the boys' school: to the teachers' old balcony over the Clearing, past the two Everboy guards and down its buttress, into the girls' tunnel of trees, and back to her room while Agatha's fly still struggled in the boys' rock-packed tunnel. She'd shoved the cape with Hort's uniform under Beatrix's bed and slid beneath her sheets just as she heard Agatha buzzing through the window—