you . . . kill me?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But I have to see her!”
Professor Dovey looked up. “Agatha, you received a first rank for your performance in Animal Communication and rightfully so. Only a rare talent can make a wish come to life. And though there are different accounts of what exactly happened on the roof, I would add that any pupil of this school who would risk their life to help a gargoyle . . .” Her eyes glistened and for a moment so did the silver swan on her dress. “Well, that suggests Goodness beyond any measure.”
Agatha stared at her, tongue-tied.
“But if you disobey another teacher’s direct order, Agatha, I guarantee you will fail. Understood?”
Agatha nodded in relief.
She heard laughter outside and turned to see Tedros’ mates kicking around a pillow dummy with twig legs, coal button eyes, and black thorns for hair. An arrow suddenly speared its head, spitting feathers everywhere. A second arrow ripped open its heart.
The boys stopped laughing and turned. Across the lawn, Tedros threw down his bow and walked away.
“As for your friend, she’s doing just fine where she is,” Professor Dovey said, thumbing through more scrolls. “But you can ask her yourself. She’s in your next class.”
Agatha wasn’t listening. Her eyes were still on the dead-eyed doll, bleeding feathers into the wind.
The doll that looked just like her.
Sophie didn’t answer. In fact, she acted as if Agatha wasn’t there at all.
The last class of the day, Surviving Fairy Tales, was the only one that mixed students from Good and Evil. After Professor Dovey ordered Everboys to the Armory to turn in their personal weapons—the only way to appease Lady Lesso, furious over losing a gargoyle to Tedros’ sword—both schools reported to the Blue Forest gates, where fairies sorted them into Forest Groups, eight Evers and eight Nevers in each. As other children found their leaders (an ogre for Group 2, a centaur for Group 8, a lily nymph for 12) Agatha and Sophie were the first to arrive under the flag stamped with a bloodred “3.”
Agatha had so much to tell Sophie about smiles and fish and fires and most of all about that foul son of Arthur, but Sophie wouldn’t even look at her.
“Can’t we just go home?” Agatha begged.
“Why don’t you go home before you fail or end up a mole rat?” Sophie fumed. “You’re in my school.”
“Then why won’t it let us switch?”
Sophie spun. “Because you . . . Because we—”
“Need to go home,” Agatha glared.
Sophie smiled her kindest smile. “Sooner or later, they’ll see what’s right.”
“I’d say sooner,” a voice resounded.
They turned to Tedros, shirt scorched, eye swollen pink and blue.
“If you’re itching for something to kill, how about yourself this time?” Agatha spat.
“‘Thank you’ would suffice,” Tedros shot back. “I risked my life to kill that gargoyle.”
“You killed an innocent child!” Agatha yelled.
“I saved you from death against all instinct and reason!” Tedros roared.
Sophie gaped at them. “You two know each other?”
Agatha swiveled to her. “You think he’s your prince? He’s just a puffed-up windbag who can’t find anything better to do than prance around half naked and thrust his sword where it doesn’t belong!”
“She’s just mad because she owes me her life,” Tedros yawned, scratching his chest. He grinned at Sophie. “So you think I’m your prince?”
Sophie blushed delicately the way she had practiced before class.
“I knew it was a mistake at the Welcoming,” the prince said, studying her with dancing blue eyes. “A girl like you shouldn’t be anywhere near Evil.” He turned to Agatha with a scowl. “And a witch like you shouldn’t be anywhere near someone like her.”
Agatha stepped towards him. “First of all, this witch happens to be her friend. And second, why don’t you go play with yours before I make those eyes match.”
Tedros laughed so hard, he had to grip the gate. “A princess friends with a witch! Now there’s a fairy tale.”
Agatha frowned at Sophie, waiting for her to jump in. Sophie swallowed and turned to Tedros.
“Well, it’s funny you say that, because a princess certainly can’t be friends with a witch, of course, but doesn’t it depend on the type of witch? I mean, what exactly is the definition of a witch—”
Now Tedros was frowning at her.
“And so, um—what I’m trying to say is—”
Sophie looked between Tedros and Agatha, Agatha and Tedros . . .
She swept in front of Agatha and took Tedros’ hand.
“My name’s Sophie, and I like your bruise.”
Agatha crossed her arms.
“My, my,” Tedros said, gazing into Sophie’s tantalizing green eyes. “How are you surviving in that place?”
“Because I knew you’d rescue me,” Sophie breathed.
Agatha coughed to remind them she was still there.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said a girl’s voice behind them.
They turned to see Beatrix, under the bloody “3,” along with Dot, Hort, Ravan, Millicent, and the rest of their Forest Group. To chart all the dirty looks thrown in that moment, one would end up with something resembling a bowl of spaghetti.
“Mmmm,” said a voice below.
They looked down to find a four-foot gnome with wrinkly brown skin, a belted green coat, and a pointy orange hat frowning from a hole in the ground.
“Bad group,” he murmured.
Grumbling loudly, Yuba the Gnome crawled out of his burrow, pulled the gate open with his stubby white staff,
