Agatha nodded, biting her nails to stop their shaking. “She says she forgives me. She says she wants to go home—”
“It’s too late.” Crouched next to her, Hester crushed a rose. “Don’t you remember? Once the symptoms start, she can’t control her Evil. You have to kiss Tedros before she transforms into a witch or we’re all dead.”
Agatha shook harder, flooded by memories of Sophie’s bald, murderous hag-slaying wolves annihilating towers, unleashing hell upon its students. Back then there were warnings that preceded her transformation: bad dreams, bursts of anger . . . then the first wart. This time, Agatha hadn’t noticed them, but they’d been there again. The nightmare scars under Sophie’s eyes at the wedding. Her punishing glare in Sader’s office. Her dark smile at the Welcoming. She’d denied it all, thinking her friend had changed. But Sophie hadn’t forgiven her wish for a prince, and she never could.
Now that prince was her only hope.
“How long?” Agatha looked up at Hester. “How long until she turns?”
“The Beast was just a warning,” Hester said, thinking hard. “She hasn’t hurt anything real yet.”
“There’ll be more symptoms first,” Anadil agreed. “But Hester’s right. We’re safe until she hurts something.”
Dot swooped in, chomping on rose-shaped yams. “Does that mean Agatha can come to Book Club tonight?”
“It means Agatha can still kiss Tedros tonight,” Hester groused, yanking Agatha towards the crowded hall. “But we have to act normal. No one can know she’s seeing him—”
“Wait a second—” said Agatha—
“Hester, one kiss and we’re back to Good and Evil,” grinned Anadil, cozying up to her friend as they wove through girls. “Henchmen Training, Death Traps, and maggoty gruel . . .”
“Hold on—” Agatha started—
“Never be so happy to see a Doom Room reopen,” Hester smirked to Anadil.
“Both of you, listen—”
“Book Club’s discussing Princeless but Fabulous,” Dot said, clacking behind, mouth full of yams. “I’d hate for her to miss it—”
Agatha whirled. “Is it ever possible to get in a word with you three?”
“That’s why a coven isn’t four,” said Hester. “Another reason why you need to kiss Tedros.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He didn’t say how to see him!” Agatha barked before scanning for eavesdropping butterflies. She lowered her voice. “Only that I should cross the Bridge.”
“Halfway Bridge?” Anadil said. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear?”
“Maybe he said ‘fridge,’” said Dot, returning the waves of two passing Evergirls. “Is there a magic fridge in the kitc—eeeyiii!” She grabbed her blue harem pants, which Hester had just ripped. “What was that for?”
“For trying to be an Ever and Never at the same time, you underfed twit,” Hester hissed, and turned to Agatha. “Dot’s right. He couldn’t have said ‘Bridge.’”
Agatha grimaced. “But that’s what he—”
“Suppose it’s a trap?” Dot asked, turning the torn piece of pants to spinach.
Hester and Anadil both stared at her.
“Listen,” Dot said, whipping back her hair. “I have self-esteem now, so if you act like cretins, I’ll move in with Reena and—”
“Glimmers of intelligence, hasn’t she,” muttered Anadil.
“Inspired and fleeting,” Hester grumped, and turned back to Agatha. “It could be the Dean’s ploy. Can’t exactly forge a princeless school if her Captain’s longing for a prince, can she? For all you know, she conjured Tedros to catch you trying to see him.”
“Mmmm, imagine if they found out their Great Girl Hope tried to abandon them for a boy,” Anadil purred, eyeing girls streaming by. “You’d be served at supper with a nice béarnaise sauce.”
Agatha’s blood chilled. “Do I still go to Tedros tonight?”
“You don’t have a choice, do you?” Hester said softer, squinting over her shoulder. “You certainly can’t sleep next to her.”
Agatha swiveled to see Sophie hurrying towards her with a nervous look, as if scared to be alone after the last class. Three butterflies whooshed past her towards Agatha and the witches—
“But I’m in her room!” Agatha gasped, turning back. “How do I get out without her or Beatrix see—”
Hester and Anadil were already retreating, glowing fingers to lips. With naughty grins, they blew smoke off their fingertips, red and green wisps, which danced towards Agatha and coalesced into four bold letters . . .
FAIL
Butterflies smashed through the letters, zigzagging in vain, searching for something to hear.
“Are the witches going to help us get the Storian?” Sophie puffed, bounding up behind her. “How are we breaking into the boys’ school?”
Agatha turned and almost screamed. Sophie had covered her neck with a puppy-patterned shawl.
“It’s Kiko’s,” Sophie sighed morosely. “But it’s glacial in this place, and you know how I catch colds, low body fat and all. Neck’s itching like mad, though—fabric must be ogrishly cheap—”
She saw Agatha gaping at the scarf, dead pale. “As if you’re the Empress of Haute Couture,” Sophie frowned. “So? What’s our plan for tonight?”
Legs shaking, Agatha clung to her own plan. The witches were right. Fail the rest of the day’s challenges, and she’d be safe with her prince before any more symptoms arrived.
With Hester and Anadil in different classes for second session, Agatha felt even more terrified sitting next to Sophie, who kept scratching under her shawl.
Like Professor Anemone, Professor Dovey was supervised by the Dean, whose presence prevented the former Good Deeds instructor from accosting Agatha. But Professor Dovey seemed to know exactly what was on Agatha’s mind, because she kept giving her forceful stares as she rehashed the rankings system.
“And perhaps that bears repeating,” she said loudly at her sugarplum desk, “failing students will guard the Woods Gate on their own without teachers—”