She suddenly heard chatter and shrank behind a wall. A wolf came into view, leading a group of Nevergirls down the Vice staircase. Agatha heard them twitter about their first classes, catching the words “Henchmen,” “Curses,” “Uglification.” How could these kids be any uglier? Agatha felt the blush of shame. Looking at this parade of sallow bodies and repugnant faces, she knew she fit right in. Even their frumpy black smocks were just like the one she wore every day back home. But there was a difference between her and these villains. Their mouths twisted with bitterness, their eyes flickered with hate, their fists curled with pent-up rage. They were wicked, no doubt, and Agatha didn’t feel wicked at all. But then she remembered Sophie’s words.
Different usually turns out Evil.
Panic gripped her throat. That’s why the shadow didn’t kidnap a second child.
I was meant to be here all along.
Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t want to be like these children! She didn’t want to be a villain! She wanted to find her friend and go home!
With no clue where to even look, Agatha hurtled up a staircase marked MISCHIEF to the landing, which split in two scraggy stone paths. She heard voices from the left, so she dashed right, down a short hall to a dead end of sooty walls. Agatha backed against one, petrified by voices growing louder, then felt something creak behind her. It wasn’t a wall but a door blanketed in ash. Her dress had wiped enough clean to reveal red letters:
THE EXHIBITION OF EVIL
It was pitch-dark inside. Coughing on must and cobwebs, Agatha lit a match. Where Good’s gallery was pristine and vast, Evil’s sparse broom closet reflected their two-hundred-year losing streak. Agatha examined the faded uniform of a boy who became Rumpelstiltskin, a broken-framed essay on “Morality of Murder” by a future witch, a few stuffed crows hanging off crumbled walls, and a rotted vine of thorns that blinded a famous prince, labeled Vera of Woods Beyond. Agatha had seen her face on Missing posters in Gavaldon.
Shuddering, she noticed flecks of color on the wall and held her match to it. It was a panel in a mural, like the one of Ever After in the Good Towers. Each of the eight panels showed a black-robed villain reveling in an inferno of infinite power—flying through fire, transmuting in body, fracturing in soul, manipulating space and time. At the top of the mural, stretching from the first panel to last, were giant letters set aflame:
N E V E R M O R E
Where Evers dreamt of love and happiness, the Nevers sought a world of solitude and power. As the sinister visions sent thrills through her heart, Agatha felt the shock of truth.
I’m a Never.
Her best friend was an Ever. If they didn’t get home soon, Sophie would see the truth. Here they couldn’t be friends.
She saw a snouted shadow move into her match light. Two shadows. Three. Just as the wolves pounced, Agatha wheeled and whipped Vera’s thorns across their faces. The wolves roared in surprise and stumbled back, giving her just enough time to scramble to the door. Breathless, she dashed down the hall, up the stairs, until she found herself on Malice Hall’s second floor, hunting for Sophie’s name on the dormitory doors—Vex & Brone, Hort & Ravan, Flynt & Titan—Boys’ floor!
Just as she heard a door open, she sprinted up the back stairs to a dead-end attic filled with murky vials of frog’s toes, lizard legs, dog tongues. (Her mother was right. Who knew how long these had been sitting here.) She heard a wolf slobbering up the steps—
Agatha climbed out the attic window onto the soaring roof and clung to the rain gutter. Thunder detonated from black clouds, while across the lake, the Good Towers twinkled in perfect sunshine. As the storm drenched her pink dress, her eyes followed the long, twisted gutter, shooting water through the mouths of three stone gargoyles that held up its brass beams. It was her only hope. She climbed into the gutter, hands struggling to keep grip on the slippery rails, and craned back to the window, knowing the white wolf was coming—
But he wasn’t. He stared at her through the window, hairy arms folded over red jacket.
“There are worse things than wolves, you know.”
He walked away, leaving her agape.
What? What could possibly be worse than—
Something moved in the rain.
Agatha shielded her eyes and peered through the sparkling blur to see the first stone gargoyle yawn and spread his dragon wings. Then the second gargoyle, with a snake’s head and lion’s trunk, stretched his with a gunshot crack. Then the third, twice as big as the others, with a horned demon head, man’s torso, and studded tail, thrust out jagged wings wider than the tower.
Agatha blanched. Gargoyles! What did the dog say about gargoyles!
Their eyes turned to her, viciously red, and she remembered.
Orders to kill.
With a collective shriek, they leapt off their perches. Without their support, the gutter collapsed and she plunged into its water with a scream. The tidal wave of rain slammed her through harrowing turns and drops as the loose beam lurched wildly in the rain. Agatha saw two gargoyles swoop for her and she swerved in the gutter slide just in time. The third, the horned demon, rose up high and blasted fire from its nose. Agatha grabbed onto the rails and the fireball hit in front of her, searing a giant hole in the beam—she skidded short just before she plummeted through. A crushing force tackled her from behind and the dragon-winged gargoyle grabbed her leg in his sharp talons and hoisted her into the air.
“I’m a student!” Agatha screamed.
The gargoyle dropped her, startled.
“See!” Agatha cried, pointing at her face. “I’m a Never!”
Sweeping down, the gargoyle studied her face to see if this was true.
It grabbed her by the throat to say it wasn’t.
Agatha screamed and stabbed her foot into the burnt hole, deflecting rushing water into the monster’s eye. It stumbled blindly, claws flailing for her, only to fall through the hole and shatter its wing on the balcony below. Agatha held onto the rails for life, fighting terrible pain in her leg. But through the water, she saw another one coming. With an ear-piercing screech, the snake-headed gargoyle tore through the flood and snatched her into the air. Just as its massive jaws yawned to devour her, Agatha thrust her foot between its teeth, which smashed down on her hard black clump and snapped like matchsticks. Dazed, the monster dropped her. Agatha crash-landed in the flooding gutter and gripped the rail.
“Help!” she screamed. If she held on, someone would hear and rescue her. “Helll—”