need a few basic spells. There is no one way to do magic, of course. Some spells require visualization, some incantations, others hand flicks, foot taps, magic wands, numeric codes, or even partners! Yet there is one rule common to all spells.”
From his pocket, he pulled a shiny silver key, the bit shaped like a swan.
“Evers, right hands, please.”
Baffled Evers looked at each other, and held out their hands.
“Mmm. You first.”
Agatha frowned as he grabbed her hand, then her second finger. “Wait—what are you going to—”
Yuba magically plunged his swan key into Agatha’s fingertip—the skin went see-through and the swan sank past tissue, veins, blood, and attached to her bone. The gnome turned the bow and her bone painlessly rotated a full circle. Her fingertip glowed bright orange for just a moment, then dulled as Yuba withdrew the key. Bewildered, Agatha stared at her finger as Yuba unlocked the rest of the Evers, then the Nevers, including Sophie, who barely glanced up from scribbling in her notebook.
“Magic follows feeling. That is our only rule,” said the gnome when he was finished. “When your finger glows, it means you have summoned enough emotion, enough purpose to perform a spell. You can only do magic when you have deep need and want!”
Students squinted at their fingers, feeling, coaxing with all their might, and soon fingertips started to flicker, each person’s a unique color.
“But like a magic wand, fingerglow is just a training wheel!” Yuba warned. “In the Woods, you will look like a nincompoop if you light up every time you cast a spell. We will relock your glow once you show control.” He grimaced at Hort, uselessly thrusting his finger at rocks, trying to make something happen. “If ever.”
The gnome turned back to the group.
“In the first year, you’ll learn only three types of spells: Water Control, Weather Manipulation, and Mogrification, both plant and animal. Today we’ll begin with the last,” he said to excited twitters. “A simple visualization spell but highly effective for escaping enemies. Now, since your clothes won’t fit after you Mogrify, it’s easier if you’re not wearing any.”
The students stopped tittering.
“But I suppose we’ll do,” Yuba said. “Who wants to go first?”
Everyone raised their hand except two. Agatha, who was praying now more than ever that Sophie had a plan to get home. And Sophie, who was too busy writing her next lecture (“‘Bath’ Is Not a Four-Letter Word”) to care about any of this.
By the third day on her stump, Sophie had 30 freshly bathed Nevergirls attend “Just Say No to Drab.”
“Now Professor Manley says a Never must be ugly. That ugly means uniqueness, power, freedom! So here’s my question to Professor Manley. How do you expect us to feel unique, empowered, or free … in this?” she roared, waving the dumpy black robes like an enemy flag. The cheer was so loud that across the Clearing, Beatrix’s pen slipped and ruined her ball gown sketch.
“It’s that mentally ill Sophie,” Beatrix snapped.
“Still looking for a Ball date, is she,” murmured Tedros, aiming his next horseshoe throw.
“Worse. Now she’s trying to convince the Nevers they’re not losers.”
Tedros missed his shot in surprise.
Agatha didn’t even try to see Sophie after lunch, with Nevergirls mobbing her for style advice. She didn’t try the next day, either, when an impromptu shoe burning erupted after Sophie’s lecture on “Abandon All Ye Clumps!” and wolves ran around whipping students back to the tower. And she certainly didn’t try the next, when every Nevergirl showed up for Sophie’s talk on “Fitness for the Unfit,” except Hester and Anadil, who cornered Agatha after lunch.
“This idea keeps getting more rotten,” Anadil said. “So rotten we’re not your friends anymore.”
“Boys, balls, kisses—all your problem now,” Hester snarled, demon twitching on her neck. “As long as it doesn’t mess with me winning Captain, I could give a hog’s behind what you two do. Got it?”
The next day, Agatha hid in the Tunnel of Trees, waited for the sound of high heels on dead leaves, and tackled Sophie in a flying leap. “What is it today? Cuticle creams! Teeth whiteners! More abdominal exercises!”
“If you want to talk to me, you can wait in line with everyone else!” Sophie yelled.
“‘Malevolent Makeovers,’ ‘Black Is the New Black,’ ‘Yoga for Villains’! Do you want to die here?”
“You said show him something deeper. Isn’t this compassion? Isn’t this kindness and wisdom? I’m helping those who can’t help themselves!”
“Excuse me, Saint Teresa, but the goal here is Tedros! How is this accomplishing anything!”
“Accomplishment. Such a vague word. But I’d consider that an accomplishment, wouldn’t you?”
Agatha followed Sophie’s look out the tunnel. The crowd in front of her stump was a hundred Nevers deep. Only there was one hovering in back who didn’t look like the rest.
A golden-haired boy in a blue rugby sweater.
Agatha released Sophie in shock.
“You should come,” Sophie called as she flounced out of the tunnel. “Today’s about dry, damaged hair.”
In front of the stump, Arachne’s one eye glowered at Tedros. “Why is Prince Prettyface here?”
“Yeah, back to your side, Everboy,” Mona sniped, pelting him with tree mold.
More Nevergirls started to heckle him and Tedros shrank back anxiously. He wasn’t used to being unpopular. But just as he was booed away—
“We welcome everyone,” Sophie admonished as she swept to her stump.
Tedros came back every day that week. He told his mates he just wanted to see what Sophie was wearing, but there was more to it. With each new day, he watched her teach misshapen villains how to straighten their hunches, hold eye contact, and enunciate their words. He watched Neverboys skeptically skulk on the fringes at first, only to soon badger Sophie for advice on sleeping better, masking body odor, and managing their tempers. At first the wolves yawned through these assemblies, but Tedros could see them listening as more and more Nevers showed up for Sophie’s lectures. Soon the villains began to debate her prescriptions at supper and over dreggy tea in common rooms. They started to sit together at lunch, defend each other in class, and stopped making jokes about their losing streak. For the first time in two hundred years, Evil had hope. All because of one girl.
By the end of the week, Tedros had a seat in the front row.
“It’s working! I can’t believe it!” Agatha gushed as she walked Sophie to the Tunnel of Trees. “He might say he loves you! He might kiss you this week! We’re going home! What’s tomorrow’s topic?”
“‘Eating Your Words,’” Sophie said,
