The School for Good and Evil: The Complete 6-book Collection

“To my room,” Agatha ordered the fairies flying her.

“But you’re hurt!” Tedros said, shivering—

“We tell anyone what happened and things will be worse than they already are,” said Agatha.

The fairies pulled them apart. “Wait!” Tedros yelled—

“Tell no one!” Agatha called back, receding towards pink spires.

“Will you be at the Circus?” Tedros shouted, dragged towards blue—

But Agatha didn’t answer as he and his fairies diminished into twinkles of light.

As her own fairies lifted her into dark sky, she looked out at the silver tower shadowed over the bay, heartsick and numb. The School Master had warned them. He had seen who they were.

She wrapped Tedros’ bloody shirt around her as fairies flew her higher, higher into knifing wind. But as Agatha gazed up at lantern-lit windows, aglow with silhouettes dressing for proposals, guilt and shock burned to anger.

Villains are the ones closest to us.

Villains in the cloak of best friends.

Oh, yes, she’d be at that Circus.

Because Sader was right.

This was never Sophie’s fairy tale.

It was hers.

“So there was no attack after all?” Professor Anemone asked, sipping steaming cider.

Standing at her study window, Professor Dovey looked out at the School Master’s tower, burnished red in sinking sun. “Professor Espada said the boys found nothing. Meanwhile, Tedros spent half the night uselessly scouring the grounds. Perhaps that was Sophie’s tactic. Rob our best players of sleep.”

“The girls barely slept either,” Professor Anemone said, dabbing cider off the swan on her camel-fur nightrobe. “Let’s hope they look decent for their proposals.”

“What is he so afraid of us seeing?” Professor Dovey said, peering at the tower. “What is the point of us preparing students for these trials if we cannot be there for them?”

“Because we won’t be there for them in the Woods, Clarissa.”

Professor Dovey turned from the window.

“It is why he forbids us to interfere,” Professor Anemone said. “No matter how cruel children are to each other, nothing can prepare them for how cruel their stories can be.”

Professor Dovey was quiet for a moment.

“You should go, dear,” she said finally.

Professor Anemone followed her eyes to the sunset and jumped. “Goodness! You’d be stuck with me all night! Thank you for the cider.” She swept to the door—

“Emma.”

Professor Anemone looked back.

“She scares me,” said Professor Dovey. “That girl.”

“Your students are ready, Clarissa.”

Professor Dovey managed a smile and nodded. “We’ll hear their victory cries soon enough, won’t we?”

Emma blew a kiss and closed the door behind her.

Professor Dovey watched the sun smothered by the horizon. As the sky went dark, she heard a lock snap behind her. Quickly, she shuffled to the door and yanked at it—then blasted it with her wand, shot it with her finger. . . . But it was sealed shut by magic greater than hers.

Her face contorted with nerves, then slowly relaxed.

“They’ll be safe,” she sighed, trudging into her bedchamber. “They always are.”

At 8:00 p.m. on the night before the Ball, the students entered the Theater of Tales to see it had been fully enchanted for the occasion. Above each side floated a chandelier of ten swan-shaped candles, burning white over Good and blue-black over Evil. Between them hovered the steel Circus Crown, brilliant in flame light with seven long, sharp spires, awaiting the night’s winner.

Evergirls arrived first, primed for their Ball proposals in colorful evening gowns and nervous smiles. As they entered the west doors, waving flags with white swans and banners blaring TEAM GOOD!, glass flowers spritzed them with fragrance and crystal friezes came to life.

“Greetings, fair maiden, will your talent win us the Crown?” puffed a crystal prince as he fought a dragon spewing scalding mist.

“I hear this Sophie child is quite formidable. Can you defeat her?” interjected a crystal princess next to him on a glittering spinning wheel.

“I didn’t make the team,” Kiko admitted.

“Always one who’s left behind,” the prince said, stabbing the dragon through.

Through the east doors, roaring Nevers shoved in, waving hideous signs scrawled TEAM EVIL! while Hort flapped a black swan flag so eagerly it broke stalactites off the ceiling, sending Nevers stampeding for cover. As he lunged for a seat, Hort took in the scorch marks on walls, contorting to shadows of monsters eating peasants and witches cooking children, while nearby pew friezes had come alive, with woodcut princes shrieking as carved villains stabbed them, spurting black sap everywhere.

“Who did all this?” he goggled, splattered with sap.

“The School Master,” Ravan said, plugging his ears from the shrieks. “No wonder he doesn’t let teachers in.”

Meanwhile, as the last Nevergirls and Everboys arrived, herded by wolves and fairies, they too felt the thrill of a room without adults. Only Tedros looked unimpressed, the last to limp through in creamy white breeches, chest gashed through the undone laces of a royal blue shirt. Face sprinkled with angry scratches, he scanned the Evers seats for someone, then slumped with disappointment into his own.

Watching him, Hester tensed. “Where’s Sophie?” she hissed to Anadil, ignoring Dot’s glares down the pew.

“She never came back from Lesso’s!” Anadil whispered.

“Maybe Lesso cured her?”

“Or maybe the symptoms got worse! Suppose she attacks Tedros!”

“But he doesn’t have any symptoms, Ani,” Hester said, gazing at the prince. “When a villain’s symptoms start, their Nemesis grows stronger!”

But slouched in his seat, Tedros just looked ashen and weak.

Anadil gaped at him. “But if he’s not Sophie’s Nemesis, then who is?”

Behind them the Ever doors opened and into the Theater glided the most beautiful princess they’d ever seen.

She wore a midnight-blue gown glittering with delicate gold leaves, long velvet train trailing down the aisle. Her lustrous ebony hair was swept up high with a tiara of blue orchids. Around her neck was a ruby pendant that dripped over fair skin like blood on snow. Her big dark eyes flaunted gold shadow, her lips a dewy rose sheen.

“A bit late in the term for new students,” Tedros said, ogling.

“She’s not new,” said Chaddick next to him.

Tedros tracked his stare to black clumps peeking beneath the gown and choked.

Smiling slyly, Agatha passed Beatrix, who turned to stone, boys who dribbled into their laps, girls who suddenly feared for their Ball dates, and nestled in next to Kiko, whose eyes were wide enough to pop.

“Black magic?” Kiko peeped.

“Groom Room,” Agatha whispered, spotting Sophie’s empty seat. She saw Tedros noticing it too. He looked back and his big blue eyes met hers.

Across the aisle, Hester and Anadil went white with understanding.

“Welcome to the Circus of Talents.”

Students all looked up to see the white wolf onstage, a fairy hovering beside him. “Tonight will consist of twenty duels, in order of ranks,” he boomed. “The 10th-ranked Ever will perform his talent, followed by the 10th-ranked Never. The School Master will anoint a winner and publicly punish the loser.”

Students eagerly scanned the Theater for him. The wolf snorted and continued.

“We’ll proceed through the 9th pair, then the 8th pair, then all the way down to the 1st-ranked pair. At the end of the Circus, whoever the School Master deems the most impressive talent will win the Circus Crown and his school will win the Theater of Tales for the next year.”

Good chanted, “OURS! OURS!” while Nevers added, “NO MORE! NO MORE!”—

“Just ’cause there are no teachers here doesn’t mean you can act like animals,” the wolf growled, fairy chiming agreement. “I don’t care if I have to beat a princess or two to get out of here faster.”

Evergirls gasped.

“If you have questions, keep them to yourself. If you need the toilet, go in your pants,” the wolf boomed. “Because the doors are locked and the Circus begins now.”

Agatha and Tedros exhaled relief. Hester and Anadil too.

Because for all the acts they’d see tonight, Sophie’s wouldn’t be one of them.

Evers won the first four Circus contests, leaving Nevers to suffer the School Master’s punishments. Brone started hiccuping butterflies, Arachne blindly chased her bouncing eye all over the theater, Vex had his pointy ears swollen to the size of an elephant’s, all victims of the Circus’ unseen judge, who seemed to delight in punishing Evil.

Watching another of Evil’s swan candles extinguish, Agatha felt ill. Only three more duels until her turn.

“What’s your talent?” Kiko nudged.

“Does wearing makeup count?” Agatha said uncomfortably, noticing Everboys still sneaking awed glances.

“Doesn’t matter how they look at you, Agatha! No prince will propose to anyone who loses to Evil!”

Agatha stiffened. Her mind was fogged with a thousand things, but only one mattered. Because if no one proposed to her . . .

You fail.

Breath shallowing, Agatha turned to the stage. She needed a talent now.

“Presenting Never Ravan!” the wolf called, and the phoenix carved into the stage front glowed green.

With his oily black mane and big black pupils, Ravan peered down at yawning Evers, ready for another lame curse or villainous monologue. He nodded down at his bunk mates, who pulled drums from beneath their pews and gave him a beat; Ravan started to hop from one foot to another, then added sharp arm poses, and before the Nevers knew it, one of their best villains was . . .

“Dancing?” Hester said, gaping.

Drumbeats grew faster, Ravan’s stomps louder, and his eyes turned malevolent red.

“Red eyes for a villain,” Tedros muttered. “Groundbreaking.”

But then came a sharp crack. At first they thought it was Ravan’s feet, then they saw it was his head, for there was a second one next to the first. He stomped again and a third head appeared, then a fourth, a fifth until ten snarling heads balanced on his neck in a sickening row. Drums deafened, stomps climaxed, and Ravan leapt from the stage to a wide-legged squat, stuck out ten swollen tongues, and burst into screaming flames.

Nevers launched to their feet, whooping wildly.

“Who can beat that!” Ravan spat, restored to one head as smoke cleared.

Agatha noticed the wolf guards of Evil didn’t look impressed. Instead it was the fairies who buzzed excitedly. Perhaps they made a bet on the final score, she thought, refocusing on her missing talent. Each Never was getting better and unlike the Evers who’d won so far, she couldn’t twirl ribbons or do sword tricks or charm snakes. How could she prove herself Good?

Agatha saw Tedros stare at her again and she felt her insides twist, squeezing away her breath. All along, she had thought getting home with Sophie was her happy ending. But it wasn’t. Her happy ending was here in this magical world. With her prince.

How far she’d come from her graveyard.

Now she had her own story. Her own life.

Tedros’ eyes pinned on her, glowing, hopeful, like there was no one else in the world.

He’s yours, her reflection had promised, dressed just as she was now. She had gone to the Groom Room hoping to feel just like that princess smiling back at her on the Bridge.

But why wasn’t she smiling, then? Why was she still thinking of . . .

Sophie?

Tedros smiled brighter and mouthed through cupped hands. “What’s your talent?”

Agatha’s stomach sank. Her turn was coming.

“Presenting Ever Chaddick!” the white wolf announced, the carved phoenix now glowing gold.

Nevers assaulted Chaddick with boos and fistfuls of gruel. The Evil decorations got into the act too, with the walls’ scorch marks depicting him beaten, burned, beheaded, while villains carved into the pews shot him with splinters and sap. Chaddick, blond furry arms folded to his barrel chest, drank all this in with a placid smile. Then he drew his bow and fired an arrow into the seats. It ricocheted off pews, grazing Nevers’ ears and necks, boomeranged through walls and bled scorch marks red before it bounced off carvings, impaling each one until they moaned in chorus and went dead quiet.

Another candle burnt out in Evil’s chandelier.

Ravan’s smile vanished. Immediately he was yanked into the air by an invisible force. A pig nose exploded onto his face, a tail burst from his bottom, and he fell to the aisle with a loud oink.

“Evers win,” the wolf grinned.

Strange, Agatha thought. Why does he want his own side to lose?

“Only two more pairs until your turn!” Kiko whispered.

Agatha’s heart skittered. She couldn’t focus with her mind whiplashing between Sophie and Tedros, between excitement and guilt. Talent . . . Think of a talent . . . She could neither Mogrify, since the teachers’ counterspells were still in place, nor could she do any of her favorite spells, since they were all Evil.

“I’ll just call a bird or something,” she murmured, trying to remember Uma’s lessons.

“Um, how will the bird get in?” Kiko asked, nodding at the locked doors.

Agatha broke her freshly polished nail.

With her talents still locked in the Doom Room, Anadil tried to curse open the doors, only to find the magic too strong to break, and suffer a stinkbug swarm as punishment. Then Hort took the stage for his face-off with Beatrix. Since the Trial, Hort had been rising in the ranks, chasing a Circus spot he promised would finally earn him “respect.” But now he spent most of his four minutes onstage grunting and wheezing, trying to pop hairs from his chest.

“I’ll respect him if he sits down,” Hester grouched as Nevers let out a few boos.

But just as time ran out, Hort spewed a violent grunt and cracked his neck. He moaned and his chest swelled up. He groaned and his cheeks puffed up. He wrenched, he lurched, he jerked, and with a primal scream, he exploded out of his clothes.

Everyone slammed against their seats in shock.

Hort sneered down, blanketed in dark brown fur over hulking muscles, sharp-toothed snout wet and long.

“He’s a . . . werewolf?” Anadil gasped.

“Man-wolf,” Hester said, squelching thoughts of the Beast’s corpse. “More control than a werewolf.”

“See?” Hort the Wolf snarled at all of them. “See?”

His expression suddenly changed and with a flatulent poof! he deflated into his scrawny, hairless body and dove behind the stage to cover himself.

“I take back the part about control,” Hester said.

Still, Evil thought they had it won, until Beatrix flounced onstage in a peach prairie dress, clutching a familiar white bunny, and sang a song so catchy and sweet that she soon had all the Evers singing along:

I can be rude

I can act low

That doesn’t mean I can’t grow

But who’s always been there

Who’s always been true

I’m the one who’s been Good to you

Not a fair-weather friend

Or a flash in the pan

Tedros, don’t I deserve your hand?

“They’ll be so perfect at the Ball, won’t they?” Kiko sighed to Agatha.

And as she watched Tedros finally join the sing-along, amused by such earnest devotion, Agatha had to smile too. Somewhere in there, Beatrix had a speck of Good. All it took was talent to show it.

Agatha blinked and saw Tedros grinning right at her, as if confident she’d produce a talent far superior. A talent worthy of Camelot’s son. It was the same look he had given Sophie once upon a time.

Before she failed him.

“Never Hester versus Ever Agatha!” said the white wolf after Hort was punished with porcupine needles.

Agatha wilted. Her time had run out.

“Without Sophie, Hester’s our last hope,” Brone hiccupped, spawning a fresh batch of butterflies.

“She doesn’t seem to think so,” frowned elephant-eared Vex, watching Hester slump to the stage.

Soon they saw why, for when Hester unleashed her demon, it only managed a sooty firebolt before fading into her neck. She coughed painfully, clutching her heart, as if the poor effort had drained her.

But if Hester went down without a fight, her teammates had no intention of doing the same. Like all villains, when defeat loomed, they simply changed the rules. And as Agatha took the stage, frantically trying to think of a talent, she heard whispers—“Do it! Do it!”—then Dot’s voice—“No!”

She turned just in time to see boys huddled over a red Spells textbook. Vex raised his glowing red finger, shouted an incantation—Agatha went stiff and collapsed unconscious.

The only sound in the Theater was a stalactite slowly cracking on the ceiling.

It fell.

Tedros tackled Vex by his flappy ears. Brone snatched Tedros by the collar, threw him into a chandelier, and students dodged falling candles that ignited the aisles. Everboys leapt into the Never pews, while Nevers ignited and launched dead butterflies at them from under Brone’s seat.

Agatha slowly came to onstage and looked up to see Nevers and Evers throwing shoes at each other across a burning aisle, clumps, boots, and high heels flying through smoke like missiles.

Where are the guards?

Through the haze, she glimpsed wolves beating up Nevers and fairies dive-bombing Evers, fueling flames with fairy dust. Agatha wiped her eyes and looked again. Wolves and fairies were making this fight . . . worse?

Then she saw one fairy in particular, biting every pretty girl he could find.

“I don’t want to die.”

“I didn’t either,” the white wolf answered.

In a flash, Agatha understood.

She flicked her glowing finger and a whip crack of lightning exploded through the aisle, shocking everyone still.

“Sit down,” she commanded.

No one disobeyed, including wolves and fairies who slunk into the aisle, ashamed.

Agatha carefully studied these guards of both schools.

“We think we know what sides we’re on,” she spoke into the silent Theater. “We think we know who we are. We tear life apart into Good or Evil, beautiful or ugly, princess or witch, right or wrong.”

She gazed at the biting fairy boy.

“But what if there are things in between?”

The fairy looked back at her, tears welling.

Make a wish, she thought.

Terrified, the fairy boy shook his head.

All you have to do is make a wish, Agatha pleaded.

The fairy boy welled tears, fighting himself . . .

Then, just as with the fish, just as with the gargoyle, Agatha began to hear his thoughts.

Show them . . . came a voice she knew.

Show them the truth . . .

Agatha smiled sadly at him. Wish granted.

She thrust out her hand and ghostly blue light burst upward from the fairies’ and wolves’ bodies, which froze completely still.

Shocked, students squinted at human spirits, floating in blue light above the frozen bodies. Some of the spirits were their age, most were wizened and old, but all wore their same school uniforms—only the ones in Good’s clothes hovered above the wolves’ bodies, with the ones in Evil’s above the fairies’.

Dumbstruck, students whipped to Agatha for explanation.

Agatha looked up at bald, black-robed Bane, floating above the fairy boy’s body. The boy who bit pretty girls in Gavaldon, now a few years older, once-plump cheeks sunken and stained with tears.

“If you fail, you become a slave for the opposite side,” Agatha said. “That’s the School Master’s punishment.”

She took in an old white-haired man over the white wolf, soothing a young girl’s spirit above a fairy.

“Eternal punishment for an impure soul,” Agatha said, as the young girl wept into the old man’s arms. “This, he thinks, will fix these bad students. Putting them in the wrong school will teach them a lesson. It’s what this world teaches us. That we can only be in one school and not the other. But that leaves the question . . .”

She looked across the phantoms, all as frightened and helpless as Bane.

“Is it true?”

Her hand lost steadiness. The phantoms flickered and plunged back into their fairy and wolf bodies, which came back to life.

“I’d set them all free if I could, but his magic is too strong,” Agatha said, voice cracking. “I just wish my talent had a better ending.”

As she slumped down the stage steps, she heard sniffles and looked up to see wolves, fairies, children on both sides dabbing their eyes.

Agatha sank next to Kiko, whose makeup was a runny mess of pink and blue. “I used to hate those wolves,” she wailed. “Now I want to hug them.”

Across the aisle, Agatha saw Hester smile through tears. “Makes me wonder whose side I’m on,” Hester said softly.

Evil’s 9th candle extinguished above her.

With a miserable sigh, Hester stood. Instantly a gush of boiling black oil exploded from the ceiling. She closed her eyes just as it smashed into her—

It struck fur instead.

Hester turned to see three wolves shielding her, bodies seared by steaming oil. Panting with pain, they glowered into the air, informing the School Master they’d seen enough of his punishments.

In the silent theater, everyone stared at each other as if the rules of the game had suddenly changed.

“See, he has to be Good,” Kiko whispered to Agatha. “If he was Evil, he’d have killed them!”

“F-F-i-i-nal duel,” the white wolf stammered, sensing his luck. “Never Sophie versus Ever Tedros. With Sophie absent, we’ll proceed to Tedros.”

“No.”

Tedros stood. “The Circus ends now. We’ve seen Good that cannot be matched.”

He bowed in defeat to Agatha. “There is no doubt of the winner.”

Agatha met his clear blue eyes. For the first time, she didn’t think of Sophie.

Both sides looked up at the gleaming Crown, waiting for it to bless the prince’s verdict.

Instead there was a very loud knock.

or a moment, no one was sure where the knock came from.

But then came another. This one louder. Someone was at the Never doors.

“The Circus is closed!” the wolf roared.

Two more knocks.

“I thought teachers were locked in their rooms,” Agatha whispered.

“So it’s not a teacher, obviously,” Kiko whispered, eyes glued to Tristan.

Agatha met Hester’s look across the aisle. Spooked, both girls turned back to the doors, shuddering from another loud knock.

“You will not be let in!” the wolf thundered.

The knocking stopped.

Agatha sighed.

Then slowly, magically, the doors creaked open all on their own.

Into the Theater of Tales slunk a figure shrouded in a black hood. Hundreds of eyes watched the stranger glide down the aisle, footsteps quiet, snakeskin cape trailing behind like a wedding train. Smoothly, silently the black shadow ascended to the stage and stood still beneath the Circus Crown, cape scales glimmering in flame light, head bowed like a bat’s.

The doors slammed shut.

Pale fingers slithered from under the cape and pulled the hood back.

Sophie glared down at her audience, nose and chin marred by warts. Patches of white speckled her dyed black hair. Her emerald eyes were now murky gray, her skin thin enough to see veins.