“Arranged,” said the middle, following the Eldest out.
“Eight o’clock,” said the youngest, trailing behind him. “Only Sophie.”
“How do you know she’ll be safe!” Agatha panicked—
“All arranged,” the Eldest called back, and locked the door behind him.
The two girls stood in dumb silence before Sophie let out a squeal.
“See? I told you!” She slid down the frieze and smushed Agatha in a hug. “Nothing can ruin our happy ending.” Humming with relief, she packed her creams and cucumbers in her pretty pink suitcase, for who knew how long it’d be before they’d let her friend visit with more. She glanced back at Agatha’s big dark eyes fixed out the window.
“Don’t fret, Aggie. It’s all arranged.”
But as Agatha watched the villagers sift through ruins, glowering bloodshot at the church, she remembered the last time her mother said the Elders “arranged” things . . . and hoped this time they’d have better results.
Before sunset, the Elders allowed Stefan to come, who Sophie hadn’t seen since he locked her in. He didn’t look the same. His beard was overgrown, his clothes filthy, his body sallow and malnourished. Two of his teeth were missing, and his left eye socket was bruised blue. With his daughter protected by the Elders, the villagers had clearly expelled their frustrations on him.
Sophie forced a sympathetic look, but her heart twinged with glee. No matter how Good she tried to be, the witch inside still wanted her father to suffer. She looked over at Agatha, chewing on her nails in a corner, pretending not to listen.
“Elders said it won’t be long,” Stefan said. “Once those cowards in the forest realize you’ve been hidden, sooner or later they’ll come looking. And I’ll be ready.” He scratched at his blackened pores and noticed his daughter wincing. “I know I’m a sight.”
“What you need is a good honeycream scrub,” Sophie said, digging through her bag of beauty products until she found its snakeskin pouch. But her father was just staring out at the demolished town, eyes wet.
“Father?”
“The village wants to give you up. But the Elders will do anything to protect you—even with Christmas coming. They’re better men than any of us,” he said softly. “No one in town will sell to me now. How we’re going to survive . . .” He wiped his eyes.
Sophie had never seen her father cry. “Well it’s not my fault,” she blurted.
Stefan exhaled. “Sophie, all that matters is you get home safe.”
Sophie fiddled with her pouch of honeycream. “Where are you staying?”
“Another reason I’m unpopular,” her father said, rubbing his black eye. “Whoever’s after you blasted the other houses in our lane, but left ours alone. Our food store’s all gone, but Honora still finds a way to feed us every night.”
Sophie gripped the pouch tighter. “Us?”
“Boys moved to your room until all’s safe and we can finish the wedding.”
Sophie spurted him with white gobs. Stefan smelled it and instantly started scrounging through her bag—“Anything here the boys can eat?”
Agatha could see Sophie about to faint and stepped in. “Stefan, do you know where the Elders will hide her?”
He shook his head. “But they assure me the villagers won’t find her either,” he said, watching Sophie whisk her bag as far across the church from him as she could. Stefan waited until she was out of earshot. “It’s not just the assassins we have to keep her safe from,” he whispered.
“But she can’t last long alone,” Agatha pressed him.
Stefan looked through the window at the woods shutting Gavaldon in, dark and endless in the fading light. “What happened when you were out there, Agatha? Who wants my daughter dead?”
Agatha still had no answer. “Suppose the plan doesn’t work?” she asked.
“We have to trust the Elders,” Stefan said, averting his eyes. “They know what’s best.”
Agatha saw pain cloud his face. “Stefan suffered worst of all.” That’s what her mother had said.
“I’ll fix this somehow,” Agatha said, guilt squeezing her voice. “I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”
Stefan leaned in and took her face into his hands. “And it’s a promise I need you to keep.”
Agatha looked into his scared eyes.
“Oh good grief.”
They turned to see Sophie at the altar, bag clenched to her chest.
“I’ll be home by the weekend,” she frowned. “And my bed better have clean sheets.”
As eight o’clock approached, Sophie sat on the altar table, surrounded by dripping candles, listening to her stomach rumble. She’d let her father take the last of her butterless bran oat crackers for the boys, because Agatha had practically forced her. The boys would gag on them, surely. That made her feel better.
Sophie sighed. The School Master was right. I am Evil.
Yet for all his powers and sorcery, he hadn’t known there was a cure. A friend who made her Good. As long as she had Agatha, she’d never be that ugly, horrible witch again.
When the church darkened, Agatha had resisted leaving her alone, but Stefan forced her. The Elders had been clear—“Only Sophie”—and now was not the time to disobey their orders. Not when they were about to save her life.
Without Agatha there now, Sophie suddenly felt anxious. Was this how Agatha used to feel about her? Sophie had treated her so callously back then, lost in her princess fantasies. Now she couldn’t imagine a future without her. No matter how hard it was, she’d endure the days ahead in hiding—but only because she knew she’d have her friend at the end of it. Her friend who had become her real family.
But then why had Agatha been acting so strange lately?
The past month, Sophie had noticed a growing distance. Agatha didn’t laugh as much on their walks, was often cold to the touch, and seemed preoccupied with her thoughts. For the first time since they met, Sophie had started to feel she had more invested in this friendship.
Then came the wedding. She had pretended not to notice Agatha’s hand, dripping, trembling in hers as if wanting to slip out. As if gripping a terrible secret.
“Maybe I’m not as Good as you think.”