The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes (44 page)

“No—it's her—it's the Dean—” Sophie choked, but she couldn't see Evelyn at the fringe. “She's doing this to me—”

Agatha retreated next to Tedros, fingers both raised at Sophie with matching gold glows, as Sophie's blond hair fell out in clumps, her back swelled to a hump, her legs spindled to bony sticks.

Agatha shook her head, torn between pity and anger. “It was you, Sophie. It was always you.”

“I'm sorry—for everything I did—” Sophie cried, writhing in pain. “But I'm not
this
!”

“You can't be here anymore, Sophie,” Agatha said, misting up. “We'll only be happy apart.”

Tedros looked at his princess, stunned.

“Agatha,
no
!” Sophie screamed—

The Storian suddenly glowed redder, sensing The End.

Agatha hesitated, as her friend's teeth blackened and dissolved, her hair shedding faster, faster. Agatha's face softened with grief—

“We'll be happy as long as we live, Agatha,” Tedros pressured her. “And she'll be gone.”

Agatha nodded, tears in her eyes.

“YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!” Sophie begged—

“I can't, Sophie,” Agatha said, clasping Tedros. “I can't believe you anymore.”

“NO!” Sophie screamed, charging for her, but more pain sent her buckling.

Agatha gripped Tedros tighter as Sophie shriveled with a howl, her warted scalp gleaming, her face gnarling to an old, Evil hag's—

“
Now
, Agatha,” Tedros said, for Sophie was crawling towards them across the crack.

“Agatha, I don't want to be like her!” Sophie pleaded. “I don't want to end like my mother!” She reached out her shriveled hand for her only friend—

Agatha met her eyes with deep, terrible sorrow. Then she turned away.

Sophie recoiled, watching Agatha in Tedros' arms. “No . . . not this . . .” she gasped—

Tedros' blue eyes pierced Agatha's with a promise. “Forever.”

Agatha heard her wish for him, echoing louder in every heartbeat, begging her to trust it.

This time she listened.

Agatha gave herself to her prince.

“Forever.”

Tedros clasped her cheeks and kissed her, their lips touching for the first time. Agatha's head went light, a blinding glow coursing through her veins. As his warmth spilled through her, Agatha heard Sophie's animal scream recede behind her, softer, softer, into silence. Holding Tedros closer, Agatha felt her heart floating, time expanding, fear crumbling to ash, as if at last she'd found her Ever After, as if at last she'd found an ending that couldn't be taken away. . . .

Their lips finally parted, as prince and princess broke apart, each panting for breath. They looked up at their open storybook in the light of the moon, a vision of their sealing kiss splashed across the page, a witch vanished from their story . . . two last words penned beneath . . .

THE EN

Evelyn Sader had her fingertip under the pen's sharp nib, blood dripping as if she'd pricked it on a spindle—

The D left unwritten.

Agatha's eyes slowly lowered in front of her. . . .

A bald, wrinkled witch gaped up at her and Tedros from the grass, her decayed face a mess of tears. Then, just as it quickly as it happened, Sophie melted back into her own young, beautiful skin, and the witch was gone, replaced by a betrayed, broken-hearted girl.

Agatha's heart caught in her throat, gawking at the friend she'd left behind . . . still right here. A friend who'd just witnessed a kiss that failed to banish her home, loveless and alone.

But there was no appeal in Sophie's eyes, no forgiveness. Just a blank distance, as if she no longer knew the dark-haired princess in front of her.

Doom rising, Agatha looked up at the dean.

“Some might consider conjuring witch symptoms and then blaming them on a poor innocent girl as conduct
unbecoming
of a Dean. But then again, I do have a weakness for good
endings
,” Evelyn simpered as a crowd of butterflies took the Storian from beneath her finger and restrained it in midair. She sucked the blood off her fingertip, eying the halted pen. “Funny thing about endings, you see. The story isn't quite over until the Storian writes ‘The End.' And as you can see, you are in fact, one letter
short
. Meaning, we haven't reached ‘The End' after all.” Evelyn smiled at Agatha. “And now that you've had
your
ending, dear princess, it seems Sophie should have a fair chance, don't you think? After all, it is
her
fairy tale too.”

Sophie gazed up at her, eyes big as emeralds.

“Give us the
pen
,” Tedros spat, pulling his sword—

Evelyn stabbed her finger at him, and a willow tree magically grabbed him by its branches and lashed him against the trunk.

Tedros struggled angrily. “What are you—” A branch gagged him.

“You see, Agatha, my butterflies led you both back to school because I heard a wish
worthy
of ending your fairy tale. But it wasn't
your
wish,” the Dean said, circling Agatha. “It was Sophie's.”

“W-w-w-what?” Sophie spluttered—

“Oh, yes, you made a wish too, dear,” said the Dean. “Don't you remember?”

A butterfly fluttered off her dress, a disembodied voice playing back as its wings pulsed neon with every word:

“I wish I could see her again,”
spoke Sophie's voice.
“I'd do anything.
Anything.
”

Agatha remembered the words . . . spoken by a grave . . . the two of them in each other's arms. . . .

“My m-m-mother?” Sophie gasped, suddenly brightening. Then the light in her face dimmed. “But my mother's dead . . . nothing can bring her back. . . .”

“And yet you're in your own fairy tale, dear,” the dean offered. “Wishes are powerful things if you're willing to do anything for them.”

Agatha's heart stopped. She stared at the Dean, her big bug eyes widening.

“The villain had been hidden all this time.”

It wasn't Sophie. Or Evelyn. It was—

“NO!” She launched towards Sophie. “Sophie,
no
! She's using yo—”

Willow arms snatched her, gagging the princess with her prince on the tree trunk.

Sophie ignored Agatha's garbled cries. Her eyes lifted back to the Dean's. “What do I have to do?”

Evelyn leaned over, sharp nails caressing Sophie's face. “Only be true to your wish, Sophie. Be willing to pay any price to see her again.”

Agatha screeched through her gag, but couldn't get words out—

“What price?” Sophie frowned.

“Agatha kissed a prince, Sophie. She tried to banish you forever and made you
watch
,” Evelyn said darkly. “You have no one anymore. No prince. No friend. No father. No one to go home to. No one to trust.”

Sophie looked into her eyes, crestfallen.

“Isn't seeing the only person who loves you worth any price?” Evelyn coaxed.

Sophie didn't move, listening to Agatha's muffled screams behind her.

“I can really see her again?” Sophie asked.

“Your wish can end your fairy tale just as much as Agatha's,” replied Evelyn. “All you have to do is mean it.”

Agatha tore against the willow tree, the branches lacerating her arms—

“I'm ready,” Sophie nodded, swallowing.

Evelyn grinned toothily. Reaching towards her breast, she magically drew out a long, blue sliver of glow from her heart that lit up the night sky. As she did, the butterflies on her dress turned scarlet red . . .

Agatha howled in horror, but Sophie's eyes stayed on the blue light as it swirled into a hypnotic, hovering orb.

“Now close your eyes and say your wish out loud,” the Dean wheedled.

Sophie closed her eyes. “I will do anything to see my mother again,” she rasped, trying to ignore Agatha's cries.

“
Mean
it,” the Dean said wolfishly. “The wish only works if you mean it.”

Sophie gritted her teeth.
“I will do anything to see my mother again.”

Then there was silence, for even Agatha had gone quiet.

Sophie peeked open her eyes to see the orb begin to spin in midair, expelling a sweep of eerie blue light. Inch by inch, the light morphed and sculpted, taking on dimension, until Sophie staggered back, seeing a human phantom take form. Two ghostly, delicate bare feet floated above the navy grass. Sophie's eyes slowly moved up the billowing blue robes, the pale stick-thin limbs angled from its sleeves, the long, white-swan neck . . . and then a face that could have been a mirror, with ageless vanilla skin, a small, rounded nose, and cool hazel eyes. The ghost smiled lovingly at her, and Sophie fell to her knees.

“Mother?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

“Kiss me, Sophie,” her mother said, her voice distant and foggy. “Kiss me, and bring back a life. That is the only price I ask.”

“Bring back a l-l-life?” Sophie stammered in shock.

Behind her, Agatha screamed until her voice broke—

“Just as once upon a time, you were brought back to life by your friend's kiss. A kiss of love,” Sophie's mother said. “But that ending didn't last, did it? Now it's your turn to find your
real
true love.”

“But no one loves me,” Sophie grieved. “Not even Agatha.”

“I love you, Sophie. But you don't have to end like me,” consoled her mother. “For there is someone who loves you more than Agatha ever did. Someone who loves you for who you really are.”

Agatha frantically chewed her willow-bark gag—

“Is it you? Are you my true love?” Sophie asked her mother, eyes wide.

Her mother smiled. “You'll just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” said Sophie, tears running. “You're the only one who knows who I am.”

“Then kiss me, Sophie, and do not break it,” Sophie's mother warned. “Break the kiss, and you will lose your last chance at love.”

Agatha bit harder on the gagging branch, trying to snap it—

Sophie stepped towards her mother's ghost, heart hammering.

Agatha felt the willow splinter—

“Kiss me
now
, Sophie,” said her mother. “Before it's too late.”

Agatha spit out the gag. “SOPHIE,
DON'T
!” she screamed—

But in the waning moonlight, Sophie pressed her lips to her mother's, her face softening, glowing with faith that happiness was coming . . . that this, her very first kiss, would at last bring her the end she deserved. . . .

But then the kiss turned colder, harder, and Sophie saw her mother's phantom face shriveling and rotting as if turning a thousand years old, its skin flaking off a maggoty, pockmarked skull. Stunned, Sophie wanted to break away but, remembering her mother's warning, held her lips to the icy chill, praying for love that would never leave her, love deeper than a prince's or a friend's. Slowly, the skin started to firm over like white marble, as the face lost its phantom glow, smoothing younger, younger—until Sophie gasped with recognition, and stumbled back, a boy's real lips parting from hers.

Bare, ivory-fleshed feet stepped onto the ground, dark blue grass prickling between the toes. The School Master raised his head, unmasked in his billowing blue robes, his young chiseled face flawless and ghostly pale, his hair a shock of thick white hair.

Agatha and Tedros both quailed breathless against the tree, finding each other's hands beneath their binds.

Sophie looked up at the School Master, restored to life, more beautiful than any boy she'd ever known. “You—you did all this . . .”

“For you,” the School Master whispered. He touched her cheek with long, glacial fingers. “I told you, Sophie. You'll always be mine.”

“You don't want him!” Agatha screamed out from the tree. “Take it back, Sophie! He's Evil, Sophie! Pure Evil! You can still take it back! It isn't The End yet!”

Sophie finally looked at her, tears falling. As she met Agatha's scared eyes, reflecting a venomous villain, the moment was suddenly real. Sophie shook her head, heart breaking. Agatha was right—she had to stop this, she had to disavow this Evil, she had to take all of this back—

But then Sophie saw her friend's small hand in the strong, warm palm of a prince.

And she knew there was no Agatha anymore.

As the School Master pulled her closer into his hard, icy grip, Sophie didn't move.

Agatha blanched in shock.

“What about me?” a voice said.

The School Master turned to Evelyn, blushing anxiously. “Brought your true love back,” she preened. “Just like you asked, Master.”

“Indeed. No doubt your brother foresaw you'd be useful for this purpose.” The School Master grinned, frost-blue eyes meeting hers. “Ensuring my love returned safe and sound.”

Evelyn smiled back at him proudly. But then her face began to change . . . as the School Master's eyes inflamed red, burning deeper into hers. Evelyn seized at her heart as if it'd stopped beating, choking a last, empty breath.

“And now that purpose is fulfilled,” said the School Master, clutching Sophie tighter.

Evelyn fell to the ground, shattering to a thousand dead red butterflies. The swarm trapping the Storian shriveled and plummeted too, dropping the Storian into the School Master's ready hands.

He looked up at Agatha and Tedros bound together to a tree.

“Now where were we?”

He released the Storian from his grip, watching the pen somersault to the suspended storybook and erase the aborted last words below Agatha and Tedros' kiss. Instantly it conjured a new page, sweeping a brilliant painting of Sophie and the School Master's kiss across it, recarving once bold, erased words beneath—

THE EN—

“Sophie,
no
!” Agatha roared—