. . in all of the Woods . . .”
He stopped in front of Japeth.
“. . . whose blood can do . . .”
He smeared Sophie’s blood across his brother’s chest.
“. . . this.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Sophie jolted.
Her blood had started to magically disperse across Japeth’s body in thin, shiny strands, branching and crisscrossing down his skin like a network of veins. The strands of blood deepened in color to a rich crimson and grew thicker, knotting into roped netting that sealed his body in. The ropes squeezed tighter, cutting into his skin like whips, deeper and deeper, until Japeth was corseted by Sophie’s blood, his flesh stretched raw. He clenched his whole body in agony, his muscles striating as he tilted his head back, mouth open in a choked scream. Then, all at once, the ropes binding him turned from red to black. Scales spread across them like a rash, as the ropes began to undulate and move with soft shrieks like baby eels, replicating across the gaps in his chalky flesh, scim after scim after scim until at last . . . Japeth stared back at her, his suit of snakes as strong and new as the first time Sophie had seen it.
There was no doubting what she’d just witnessed.
Her blood had restored him.
Her blood had restored a monster.
Her blood.
Sophie went limp under her own binds.
The Map Room was silent.
“See you at supper,” said the king.
He walked out the door.
The Snake followed his brother, but not before putting his mother’s dress on the table and giving Sophie a last glare of warning.
As he walked out the door, the scims flew off Sophie with piercing shrieks and chased after Japeth, the door slamming shut behind them.
Sophie was alone.
She stood amongst the torn wedding books, her hand still seeping blood.
Her mouth trembled.
Her lungs felt like they were caving in.
It had to have been a trick.
Another lie.
It had to be.
And yet, she’d seen it with her very own eyes.
It wasn’t a trick. It was real.
Sophie shook her head, tears rising.
How could something so hellish come from her?
She wanted this Snake dead in the worst possible way . . . and instead she’d restored him to life? After all she’d done to protect her friends from him? After all she’d done to change? And now she was the lifeblood of the worst kind of Evil?
Heat rushed to her face, a furnace of fear. A witch’s scream filled up her lungs, clawing at her throat. A scream that would kill everyone in this castle and crumble it to ash. She opened her mouth to unleash—
Then . . . she held it in.
Slowly she let the scream slither back into the recesses of her heart.
“Past is Present and Present is Past.”
That’s what the new king said.
That’s why he was always one step ahead: because he knew people’s pasts . . .
And Sophie’s past was Evil.
Evil that for so long had been her weapon.
Evil that was the only way she knew how to fight back.
But Rhian was too smart for that.
You can’t beat Evil with Evil.
Maybe to win a battle, but not the war.
And no matter what, she would win this war. For Agatha. For Tedros. For her friends.
But to win, she needed answers. She needed to know who the Lion and the Snake really were. And why her blood had melded magically with theirs . . .
Until she found those answers, she’d have to bide her time.
She’d have to be smart. And she’d have to be careful.
Sophie gazed at the white dress on the table, her lips curling.
Oh, yes.
There were other ways to be a witch.
After leaving Avalon, Agatha planned to sneak into a neighboring kingdom and find food and a place to sleep. She needed time to think about the Lady of the Lake’s strange drawing . . . time to stash a crystal ball that was weighing her down . . . time to plot her next moves. . . .
That all changed when she got to Gillikin.
It was past twilight when Agatha crossed into the Ever kingdom, home to the Emerald City of Oz. She’d snuck in on a wheelcart of visitors from Ginnymill who’d come traveling up the coast (Agatha stowed herself under their luggage). By the time they reached the yellow brick road on the outskirts of Emerald City and dismounted in a market jammed with noisy tourists, the sky was dark enough for Agatha to slip out and blend into the crowd.
A week ago, Agatha had read reports of Gillikin plagued by the Snake’s attacks—fairy-eating wasps, carriage bombs, and rogue nymphs—that paralyzed the kingdom. The Fairy Queen of Gillikin and the Wizard of Oz, once rivals vying for power, had been forced into a truce, both appealing to Tedros of Camelot for help. Now, with the Snake supposedly dead at Rhian’s hands, Gillikin had pledged its alliance to Camelot’s new king and its thoroughfares bustled once more, the people of the Woods no longer afraid to go about their lives.
Agatha had chosen to come to Gillikin for a few reasons: first, because it was the nearest Ever kingdom to Avalon and home to the invisible fairies who had once sheltered her from the School Master’s zombies; and more importantly, because it was a melting pot
