There were plenty of ways to entertain herself at first. She wrote poems (“It’s a Miserable Life” and “Heaven Is a Cemetery” were her best), drew portraits of Reaper that frightened mice more than the real cat did, and even tried her hand at a book of fairy tales, Grimly Ever After, about beautiful children who die horrible deaths. But she had no one to show these things to until the day Sophie knocked.
Reaper licked her ankles as she stepped onto her squeaking porch. She heard singing inside—
“In the forest primeval
A School for Good and Evil . . .”
Agatha rolled her eyes and pushed open the door.
Her mother, back turned, sang cheerily as she packed a trunk with black capes, broomsticks, and pointy black witch’s hats.
“Two towers like twin heads
One for the pure,
One for the wicked.
Try to escape you’ll always fail
The only way out is
Through a fairy tale . . .”
“Planning an exotic vacation?” Agatha said. “Last time I checked, there’s no way out of Gavaldon unless you grow wings.”
Callis turned. “Do you think three capes is enough?” she asked, bug eyes bulging, hair a greasy black helmet.
Agatha winced at just how much they looked alike. “They’re exactly the same,” she muttered. “Why do you need three?”
“In case you need to lend one to a friend, dear.”
“These are for me?”
“I put two hats in case one gets squashed, a broomstick in case theirs smells, and a few vials of dog tongues, lizard legs, and frog toes. Who knows how long theirs have been sitting there!”
Agatha knew the answer but asked anyway. “Mother, what do I need capes, hats, and frog toes for?”
“For New Witch Welcoming, of course!” Callis trilled. “You don’t want to get to the School for Evil and look like an amateur.”
Agatha kicked off her clumps. “Let’s put aside the fact the town doctor believes all this. Why is it so hard to accept I’m happy here? I have everything I need. My bed, my cat, and my friend.”
“Well, you should learn from your friend, dear. At least she wants something from life,” Callis said, latching the trunk. “Really, Agatha, what could be a greater destiny than a Fairy Tale Witch? I dreamed of going to the School for Evil! Instead, the School Master took that idiot Sven, who ended up outwitted by a princess in The Useless Ogre and set on fire. I’m not surprised. That boy could barely lace his own boots. I’m sure if the School Master could have done it over, he’d have taken me.”
Agatha slid under her covers. “Well, everyone in this town still thinks you’re a witch, so you got your wish after all.”
Callis whipped around. “My wish is that you get away from here,” she hissed, eyes dark as coal. “This place has made you weak and lazy and afraid. At least I made something of myself here. You just waste and rot until Sophie comes to walk you like a dog.”
Agatha stared at her, stunned.
Callis smiled brightly and resumed packing. “But do take care of your friend, dear. The School for Good might seem like a festoon of roses, but she’s in for a surprise. Now go to bed. The School Master will be here soon and it’s easier for him if you’re asleep.”
Agatha pulled the sheets over her head.
Sophie couldn’t sleep. Five minutes to midnight and no sign of an intruder. She knelt on her bed and peered through the shutters. Around Gavaldon’s edge, the thousand-person guard waved torches to light up the forest. Sophie scowled. How could he get past them?
That’s when she noticed the hearts on her windowsill were gone.
He’s already here!
Three packed pink bags plopped through the window, followed by two glass-slippered feet.
Agatha lurched up in bed, jolted from a nightmare. Callis snored loudly across the room, Reaper at her side. Next to Agatha’s bed sat her locked trunk, marked “Agatha of Gavaldon, 1 Graves Hill Road” in scraggy writing, along with a pouch of honey cakes for the journey.
Chomping cake, Agatha gazed through a cracked window. Down the hill, the torches blazed in a tight circle, but here on Graves Hill, there was just one burly guard left, arms as big as Agatha’s whole body, legs like chicken drumsticks. He kept himself awake by lifting a broken headstone like a barbell.
Agatha bit into the last honey cake and looked out at the dark forest.
Shiny blue eyes looked back at her.
Agatha choked and dove to her bed. She slowly lifted her head. Nothing there. Including the guard.
Then she found him, unconscious over the broken headstone, torch extinguished.
Creeping away from him was a bony, hunchbacked human shadow. No body attached.
The shadow floated across the sea of graves without the slightest sign of hurry. It slid under the cemetery gates and skulked down the hill towards the firelit center of Gavaldon.
Agatha felt horror strangle her heart. He was real. Whoever he was.
And he doesn’t want me.
Relief crashed over her, followed by a fresh wave of panic.
Sophie.
She should wake her mother, she should cry for help, she should— No time.
Feigning sleep, Callis heard Agatha’s urgent footsteps, then the door close. She hugged Reaper tighter to make sure he didn’t wake up.
Sophie crouched behind a tree, waiting for the School Master to snatch her.
She waited. And waited. Then she noticed something in the ground.
Cookie crumbs, mashed into a footprint. The footprint of a clump so odious, so foul it could only belong to one person. Sophie’s fists curled, her blood boiled—
Hands covered her mouth and a foot booted her through her window. Sophie crashed headfirst onto her bed and whirled around to see Agatha. “You pathetic, interfering worm!” she screamed, before glimpsing the fear in her friend’s face. “You saw him!” Sophie gasped—
Agatha put one hand over Sophie’s mouth and pinned her to the mattress with the other. As Sophie writhed in protest, Agatha peeped through the window. The crooked shadow drifted into the Gavaldon square, past the oblivious armed guard, and headed directly for Sophie’s house. Agatha swallowed a scream. Sophie wrenched free and grabbed her shoulders.
“Is he handsome? Like a prince? Or a proper schoolmaster with spectacles and waistcoat and—”
THUMP!
Sophie and Agatha slowly turned to the door.