The Last Ever After (42 page)

 

 

From the very first class, screams of young Evers and Nevers rang through the hall. An ogre chased Reena with an axe during Weapons, a witch burned a hole in Vex's thigh during Spells, Jack's giant threw Chaddick down the stairs in Talents, and Red Riding Hood's wolf
ate
half-feathered Kiko before Pollux made him choke her out. Meanwhile, Aric's Hand-to-Hand Combat sessions produced so many gashes and concussions and broken bones that the fairies set up a makeshift infirmary in the foyer, supervised by Beatrix, who scurried about in a panic, dispensing healing elixirs and spells out of old library books.

As the days went on, Sophie began to relish the students' misery and the growing number of bodies in the infirmary, as if her heart, once fueled by love and hope, was now only fueled by other people's pain. She woke up craving the first
screams of the morning and felt forlorn when the day's training ended and the students limped back to their rooms. By the third night, she was staying up late to make her own draws of who would fight each other the next day.

“Think I'll put Beatrix against Hook,” she said, perched in the windowsill, as she scribbled onto a piece of parchment.

Rafal eyed her across his chamber as he changed shirts. “The point of training is to prepare the Dark Army for war. Not batter young students, who won't be on the front line.”

“That wasn't my decision,” Sophie murmured.

“Our students are Evil's future, Sophie. We have to protect them until they're fully trained—”

“And that's what I'm doing. I'm training them.”

“By breaking their bones and spirits? I'm not sure they see it that way.”

“I'm not sure I care,” Sophie murmured.

“Says the girl who used to care desperately what other people thought of her.”

Sophie looked up. “I care what you think.”

The young School Master smiled. “I think you're forgetting that once upon a time, you were in their shoes.”

Sophie frowned and went back to her list. “Actually, I don't care what you think.”

Rafal was about to say something, but Sophie preempted him. “You put me in charge, didn't you?” she clipped, without looking up. “If you have doubts, then replace me.”

She heard the young School Master sigh, but he spoke nothing more.

The truth was, deep down, Sophie wished she could feel bad for her fellow classmates. But she felt nothing. It was as if a part of her heart had simply switched off. She didn't know when it had happened. When Tedros' kiss turned rotten? When she learned Agatha had used her to get closer to her prince? Or was it when she finally looked at herself in Evil's crown and felt strong and in control for the first time in her life? Perhaps it was all of these and more . . . a lifetime of rejections by Good, casing her heart inch by inch until it sealed to stone.

And indeed, with each passing day, she noticed her skin was paler, her voice steelier, her muscles harder, with her ice-blue veins almost translucent through her skin, matching the chill inside of her. Though still in her young body, she felt like one of the old, dead-eyed zombies, drained of humanity. Even her kisses with Rafal had changed. His lips no longer felt cold.

By the fifth day, Sophie had disbanded the infirmary, since students had started faking injuries to avoid having to fight. Even the most intrepid Nevers trudged into the ring with their hands up, offering no resistance before their zombie opponent punched them, slashed them, or blasted them across the castle. Sophie was furious at first, but she knew the young students would eventually pay the price for such cowardice.

And indeed, when Beatrix accosted her in the hall after lunch, face shining with tears, screaming that a student had been killed, Sophie couldn't help but feel whoever it was had deserved it.

“Saw it from our window—it was an ogre . . . threw
someone off the belfry . . . into the bay—” Beatrix gasped.

“It's what happens when you don't fight back,” said Sophie, without stopping.

Beatrix grabbed her arm. “But aren't you going to see whose body it is? It must have come from Castor's class—”

“There won't be a body if it was thrown into the bay. Slime would eat it right up,” said Sophie airily. “I suppose it erases the need for a funeral.”

Beatrix gaped at her, trembling. “All you ever wanted was to be Good. And now . . . you're as bad as
him
.”

Sophie pulled Beatrix's hand off her arm and walked away. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

It turned out the student thrown off the belfry wasn't a student at all, but Beezle, who'd been cheering for an ogre in his fight against Ravan, only to stumble into the middle of the ogre's charge and end up head butted over the railing. (Castor led a short memorial before first session the next day in which no one shed a tear.)

By the afternoon, Sophie was making her rounds as usual and noticed for the first time that the New students were actually performing
better
. Whether Beezle's death had scared them into action or they'd had enough of losing or their survival instincts had finally kicked in, the young Evers and Nevers fought back with a vengeance against the old villains, using an array of black magic that Sophie had never seen. Vex cast himself into a noxious wind to beat off the wolf, Kiko turned part of the floor to acid, burning a hole in a witch's feet, while Chaddick morphed into a deadly germ and infected
his troll opponent. All three of them still lost in the end, but by the morning of the sixth day, the School for New had their first victory, when Beatrix summoned crows that pecked out Cinderella's stepsisters' eyes. The zombie-girls managed to recover them from the pesky birds, so they'd no doubt have their revenge on Beatrix later . . . and yet, Sophie wondered. Where had the students learned such black magic? Certainly not from the School Master, who'd restricted the teaching of sorcery at the School for New, either because he didn't trust the young Evers and Nevers with it or because he viewed such sorcery as a direct threat to his own.

So it had to be a teacher
, Sophie thought. And yet, none of them took credit for the rise in the students' performance. Instead, they thought
she
was responsible for it. Once doubtful of her training methods, now all the teachers gave Sophie approving looks.

All the teachers, that is, except for one.

Sophie waited until a break between sessions to knock on the door of Professor Dovey's old room. When the locked door magically opened, the pumpkin treacle walls were still intact from the Good old days, but now they were cracked from end to end, like a mirror that might shatter at any moment.

Lady Lesso was poring over a scroll at Professor Dovey's old sour-plum desk, the plums all rotted to black pulp.

“Interesting choice of rooms,” said Sophie, sitting on one of the students' desks and glancing around.

She heard sniffling, oddly guttural, and looked up to see Lady Lesso hastily wipe her nose and adjust herself at the desk.

“I didn't choose it,” she said, eyes still on her scroll. “As the senior faculty member, I let the others pick their rooms first. Professor Dovey's was the only one left.”

“You must miss her,” said Sophie smoothly. “Clarissa was your best friend.”

Lady Lesso raised her violet eyes. “I'm not sure you've earned the right to call a Dean by her first name.”

“A
former
Dean,” Sophie said. “And I am her superior as I am yours, so I can call anyone what I like. I'd call you by your first name too if I knew it, Lady Lesso. You aren't a teacher to me anymore. You're an
employee
.”

“My, my.” Lady Lesso grinned at Sophie's pale face and stone-mouthed expression. “It's like looking in a mirror at my younger self. Even sound like me.”

She went back to her scroll, producing another strange sniffle that made her readjust her chair. “Regardless, since
no one
knows my first name and Professor Dovey is frozen at the bottom of a dungeon, I suppose this is all rather irrelevant. Though I'm quite envious of Clarissa, given she doesn't have four hundred students to supervise now, with Young, Old, Ever, and Never all attending class in one castle. So if you don't mind, I'll get back to my lesson plan before next session starts—”

“Speaking of your lesson plan, what
is
it you're teaching them exactly?” Sophie asked. “You're the only teacher who locks her door during training so that I can't stop by.”

“Nor can my son, and given the School Master has made it abundantly clear he'll let Aric kill me, locking my door seems
the least I can do. As for what I teach them, I'm preparing them for war, just as you instructed, my
queen
.”

“Is that so? I've stood outside your door after class ends and never once has a young student come out looking like they've been in a fight.”

“Because teaching them to fight means teaching them to protect themselves,” Lady Lesso glared. “Particularly when the fight is an unfair one.”

Sophie smiled wryly at the Dean. “It was you, then, wasn't it? You taught them black magic to fight against the old villains.” She paused, confused. “And yet the old villains were still in the classroom the whole time.”

“I put them to sleep while I taught the others,” said Lady Lesso. “A simple mist of Sleeping Willow. When they woke up, it was as if they were never in class at all. Surely you remember the effects of it from your first-year Trial.”

Sophie's jaw clenched. “You had no right to disobey orders!”

“It worked, didn't it?” Lady Lesso replied swiftly. “The young students are brimming with confidence. The old villains have been forced to raise their level, since the new students are giving them a fight. The teachers now fully support you as their leader. Even Rafal no longer looks as if he'd made a mistake in letting love guide him.”

Sophie said nothing.

Lady Lesso let out a long sigh. “Sophie, my dear. You think I'm working against you, when helping Evil to win has been my life's work. After all, I was the one who told you there were spies for Good plotting against you within this very school.
But ever since you returned, I've feared that your emotions are too volatile to lead our army. I could feel the young students resisting you instead of respecting you. You cannot beat young souls down into believing in Evil. You yourself only gave Evil a chance when it gave you something to fight
for
. By helping the students fight back, I empowered them for the first time since they stepped foot in their new school. I helped them see that, Ever or Never, trusting in Evil is their only hope to survive.”

Sophie looked skeptical. “So why didn't you tell me what you were doing?”

Lady Lesso leaned in. “Because I wanted Rafal and the teachers to credit the reversal in their performance entirely to
you.
”

Sophie stared at her.

“Remember what I told you when we spoke in my office,” the Dean said. “I want you to be a legendary queen. I want you to make Evil great again. And most of all, I want you to be happy. Because you deserve the life I never had. You deserve a love that's
right
.” Her eyes sparkled with warmth. “So maybe you don't see me as a teacher anymore. But I'll always see you as my student, Sophie. And when you lose your way, I'll be there in the shadows, your Evil fairy godmother, pushing you towards your destiny like a wind behind a sail. Even when you lose sight of what that destiny is.”

Sophie could see there was more Lady Lesso wanted to say, but she was holding back. Instead, they just gazed into each other's eyes, Sophie's throat tightening. It was the first emotion she'd felt in days.

Fairies shrieked through the halls.

Sophie stamped out the emotion, like the embers of a flame. “Well, I don't need your help,” she said, moving towards the door. “And I don't need a ‘fairy
godmother.
' This is my school, not yours, and if the young students are going to fight with black magic, well, now I'm going to let the old villains use weapons. Only fair, isn't it? And when you hear the students' screams, you'll know it was your doing—”

“Sophie.”

She stopped. “What is it, Lady Lesso?”

“You couldn't kill Agatha and Tedros when they came to rescue you,” Lady Lesso said quietly. “What makes you think you can kill them now?”

Sophie turned, ice-cold. “The same reason I returned to Evil. A heart can only fight the wind so long before it learns to embrace it.”

Lady Lesso watched her leave, the black train of Sophie's gown slithering behind her like a snake.

“Well said, my child,” the Dean smiled. She went back to her work.
“Well said.”

It wasn't long before young screams pierced the hallway again, much worse than before.

Sophie had made good on her promise.

29
Failed Assignments

F
ar away, in the bright sunshine of a safe haven, Agatha brainstormed ways to murder Cinderella.

Merlin had paired her with the abominable princess, just as he'd paired up each of the other young students with an old hero. Agatha knew the wizard was going to team her with that over-rouged hellion, if only because Hester, Anadil, or Hort would have put an axe through her head. (Dot wasn't an option; Cinderella would have squashed her like a fly.)

Agatha couldn't appeal the assignment, for Merlin had left the farmhouse after the group's lunch meeting and hadn't been seen since. At the outset, Agatha genuinely believed she could learn something from the former princess. First, Cinderella wasn't
as old as the rest of the heroes. Second, they'd both had Professor Dovey as a secret fairy godmother and third, given what she knew of Cinderella's storybook, hadn't they each overcome their own self-doubt to find true love?

But as open as Agatha tried to be to her mentor during their training sessions, by late in the week, the only thing she'd learned was to count to ten every time she had the urge to disembowel her.

“IT'S A WAND, YOU HOPELESS HALF-WIT,” Cinderella barked, jowls flapping. “FIVE DAYS OF THIS AND YOU CAN'T EVEN HOLD IT STRAIGHT!”

“Because you're making me nervous!” Agatha yelled, trying to steady Professor Dovey's wand at the White Rabbit, patiently leaning against a tree while he snacked on a cheese biscuit.

“IMAGINE HOW NERVOUS YOU'RE GONNA BE WHEN AN ENTIRE ARMY'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!”

“If I could just speak to Merlin, he'll see he shouldn't have picked me for this—”

“TOO BAD MERLIN AIN'T AROUND!”

“But why do
I
have to do it?” said Agatha, the wand shaking so much she could feel her queen's crown quivering. “Why can't someone else?”

“'Cause for some ungodly reason, Merlin thinks
you're
the one to make Sophie destroy her ring!” Cinderella blared. “I, on the other hand, think we should fillet and fry you and serve you to Evil as a peace offering.”

Both glowered at each other, fuming.

“Listen to me, you overgrown milkweed. There's no use fighting this war unless you can make Sophie shatter that ring,” Cinderella growled. “And I say the only way you can do that is by giving her the choice between living and dying. But you have to be willing to hurt her in practice, otherwise you won't believe it when the time comes. And if you don't believe it,
she
won't believe it.”

“But why do I have to hurt a rabbit?” Agatha argued, pointing at the one against the tree.

“Agatha,” said Cinderella, trying to control her temper. “If you can't hurt a rabbit, how would you hurt your best friend?”

“Can't I just stun him with a spell? Why do I have to use a wand—”

“'CAUSE SHE'S NOT GONNA BE AFRAID OF A STUN SPELL! SOPHIE WON'T BE AFRAID OF ANY STUPID SCHOOL SPELLS!” roared Cinderella. “She'll be scared of Dovey's wand if she thinks you're ready to shoot her with it, and Dovey's wand works the same way all magic does in our world: by intention and conviction—both of which Merlin seems to think you have, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

Agatha gritted her teeth and exhaled. “Once, all right? I'm only doing this once!”

Cinderella threw up her hands. “So far you've been doin' diddly-squat, so once would be an improvement!”

Agatha ignored her and slowly raised the wand at the White Rabbit once more. She pictured armies clashing around
her . . . the entire fate of this war resting on her shoulders . . .

She held her breath, gripping the wand tighter.

It's for Good.

Just once for Good.

But now, instead of the rabbit, she saw Sophie looking back at her with emerald eyes and rosy cheeks. The Sophie who'd tried again and again to be Good, only to end up Evil.

This is how it would end: standing in front of Sophie, willing to kill her . . . wanting Sophie to
believe
she could kill her . . . so she could help her be Good one last time.

Good and Evil in a single wand stroke.

Love and Hate.

Friend and Enemy.

But all Agatha could see was the Friend.

“I can't,” she whispered, lowering the wand. “I can't hurt her.”

The White Rabbit calmly finished his biscuit.

Cinderella snatched the wand from Agatha and shot a blast of light at the rabbit, slamming him so hard against the tree that he was knocked out. The old woman dumped the wand in Agatha's hands and glared at her.

“And to think, for a moment, I'd mistaken you for a
queen
.”

She tramped towards the house, leaving Agatha alone.

They weren't the only team with growing pains.

At first Dot resented being paired with old Red Riding Hood. (“Just 'cause we both like cake doesn't mean we'll get along,” she grouched to Anadil.) Things got worse when Red
Riding Hood didn't seem to have anything to teach her.

“Well, you can't outrun the wolf or beat him in a fight and he won't fall for any stupid tricks,” mulled Red Riding Hood. “Best if you just do what I did when I was your age and scream for help. Maybe there'll be a woodsman nearby.”

“That's your advice? Wait for a woodsman to possibly pass by?”

Red Riding Hood blushed, lost in her memory. “A handsome woodsman, who smells of leather and earth . . .”

“Look, Miss . . .
Hood
, the second that wolf sees you, he's going to come for you and try to rewrite your happy ending. I can't let that happen,” Dot snapped, stifling the urge to bond over their similar taste in men. “If he kills you, the School Master will break the shield into the Reader World. You heard Merlin. Doesn't need more than
one
of you heroes dead!”

Red Riding Hood tapped a finger to her lips. “Chocolate, isn't it? That's your villain talent?”

“Oh for heaven's sake, do you know how much energy it takes for me to turn a toad or mouse into chocolate? I can't possibly turn a whole wolf—”

She saw Red Riding Hood grinning. “Who said I was talking about a
whole
wolf?”

As her jolly old mentor explained her plan, Dot found herself smiling wider and wider, suddenly realizing why Merlin had paired them in the first place. And indeed Red Riding Hood's plan was so good that by the time they'd perfected it four days later, Dot was pretending they'd come up with it together.

Meanwhile, Hester had been teamed with Hansel and Gretel, which was as awkward as it sounds.

“You said you didn't have a problem with them—” Anadil started.

“I meant I can be in the same house without killing them! Doesn't mean I can
train
with them!” Hester yelled.

The wheelchair-bound siblings had a similar revulsion to helping the daughter of the witch who'd tried to eat them. (“Does this one cook children too?” Hansel asked Gretel.)

Yet, despite their rocky start, the three of them soon found common ground.

“We are not friends, yes?” Hansel said to Hester. “But all of us want same thing: your mother back in grave.”

“For the last time, that
thing
is not my mother,” Hester retorted.

“Mmmm,” said Gretel thoughtfully. “And yet not-your-mother still sees you as her daughter . . .”

Hester's eyes widened, catching on.

“What?” said Hansel, glancing between them. “What I'm missing?”

But now Gretel and Hester were grinning at each other. “The plan is clear, young witch?” said Gretel.

“Crystal,” said Hester.

Gretel beamed at Hansel. “Merlin gave us smart one, eh?”

Hansel still looked lost.

“Smarter than your brother at least,” Hester cracked.

Gretel gave her a high five.

Across the oak grove, Anadil was rankling over having to
train with both Jack and Briar Rose. (“They're in love. Can't blame Merlin for wanting to keep them together,” said Dot. “They can't even take a poo apart!” Anadil miffed.)

In addition to having to deal with double mentors (as well as their geriatric displays of affection), Anadil also had double the villains to deal with: Jack's giant and Rose's Evil fairy. And for Anadil, who'd been trying so valiantly to prove she was more than just Hester's sidekick, the extra burden was worth it. It didn't matter if she had to put up with two lovey-dovey mentors. It didn't matter if she had to work twice as long and twice as hard as everyone else. Kill two villains and no one would call her a henchman ever again.

But it was Hort who had the worst pairing of all. He'd been so focused on wooing Sophie these past few weeks that he'd failed to notice that one of the old men stalking about the farmhouse was his mortal enemy.

Pan.

Pan!

At first he couldn't believe it, since Peter Pan was the boy who'd vowed never to grow up, let alone grow bald, wrinkled, and frail. But then he saw Tinkerbell perched on the old man's shoulder and his stomach went cold.

To be matched with the hero who'd slain his father during the Battle of the Jolly Roger, the hero who'd left him an orphan at the age of six, the hero who he'd shadow-dueled in daydreams all his life . . . well, it nearly stopped the poor boy's heart. And yet, after the shock subsided, he never felt rage, only an empty despair. For in his dreams, Hort had always
imagined Peter young and cocksure, a bumptious, trash-talking sprig he could kill in a fair fight. But now, watching Pan so old and ordinary, Hort lost the will to fight him at all.

Right then and there, he understood what made him different from the Evil School Master they were about to face. Because unlike him, Hort could see when a story was over and it was time to move on.

So that first day of training, he and Peter slit their palms and made a blood oath to mutual respect. Hort vowed to slay Captain Hook and put him back in his tomb. And in return, Pan promised to stand beside Hort at his father's grave when the war was done and won.

Neither Cinderella nor Agatha showed up to training on the sixth day.

While the others went out to the oak grove after breakfast, the old princess stayed in her nightgown and roasted marshmallows over the fireplace in the den. Agatha just lay in bed, curled towards the window, watching Lancelot and Tedros clash swords across the moors.

Her prince had come so far with his mother since that day they'd gone off together. He sat beside Guinevere at meals now, helped her scrub dishes, and took her on private walks in the gardens each night. In fact, his kindness towards her touched Agatha so deeply that she had to stop herself from mentioning it, for fear of making Tedros self-conscious. (She'd learned that if you compliment boys for something they've done, they go out of their way never to do it again.) But Tedros' willingness to let
go of old resentments and start anew with his mother made Agatha realize that he wasn't just a worthy prince and a loving son . . . but he'd make a wonderful king too.