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

Tedros smashed through the doors at the charge of his mob and, with a beastly cry, raised his sword over Sophie’s back—

“Death to the wi—”

Then he saw the waltz in full bloom.

Sophie twirled to him, Agatha in her arms. Tedros dropped his sword.

“Poor Teddy,” Sophie said, silencing the music. “Every time he finds his princess, turns out she’s a witch.”

Tedros looked at Agatha, stunned. “You’re with . . . her?”

“She’s lying!” Agatha screamed, flailing to break Sophie’s grip—

“How do you think she survived her fall? Why do you think she tried to stop your attack?” Sophie said, hugging her tighter. “Yes, Teddy, I’m afraid your Ball date is also mine.”

Tedros followed Sophie’s eyes to the banner over the hall. Evers bleached behind him.

“Don’t listen to her!” Agatha shrieked. “It’s a trap!”

“Agatha, it’s okay, darling. You can tell him,” Sophie said. She turned to Tedros, exasperated. “She wanted to wait until she had a sword to your throat.”

Tedros looked at Agatha, eyes wide.

“It isn’t true!” she cried. “I have proof!” She swiveled. “Hester! Dot! Tell them!”

But Hester, Dot, and the rest of the Nevers were glaring at the Good army, wielding deadly weapons for a massacre. Hester looked back at Agatha and said nothing.

Agatha saw the light in her prince’s eyes dim. Behind him, armed Evers turned their weapons from Sophie to her.

“No! Wait!” She broke free and fell into Tedros’ arms. “You have to believe me! I’m on your side!”

“Really!” Sophie mused. “Then how is it that your prince locked you in one tower . . . and here you are in another?”

Agatha felt Tedros’ arms harden. She looked up to his bloodless face.

“Answer her,” he said.

“I came to help you—I climbed down—”

“Climbed!” Sophie cackled. “Down that tower!”

Tedros followed her eyes to the sky-high spires of Good.

“There were a-a-arrows—” Agatha stuttered—

“I don’t know why she’s being so bashful,” Sophie said, scratching her head. “She came up with every step. The pranks on Good, your meeting in the Woods, the Circus attack . . . all part of Agatha’s master plan to make you think she was Good. Oh, except for that lovely new smile. That was all black magic.”

Agatha couldn’t breathe.

“Only the best Evil can disguise as Good,” Sophie said, glaring at her. “Agatha’s even better at it than I.”

Eyes wide, Tedros pulled away from Agatha.

“Princesses wouldn’t question my authority,” he said, glowing red.

“Teddy, wait—” Agatha begged—

“Princesses wouldn’t question if I was a man.”

“Look what she’s doing to you—”

“I knew you were a witch,” he said, voice cracking. “I knew it all along.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Agatha wept.

“My mother asked my father the same question,” Tedros said, battling tears. “But I won’t make his mistake.”

His eyes darted to Excalibur between him and her. The prince lunged for it but Agatha grabbed the sword first and leapt to her feet, thrusting out. Evers pulled weapons in horror.

“See?” Sophie grinned. “Sword to throat.”

Agatha looked at her, then at Tedros, staring at his own sword in his face. She dropped it. “No! I was just—I didn’t mean to—”

Tedros swelled with blood.

“Prepare to attack!”

Agatha backed up. “Tedros, listen to me!”

Tedros grabbed Chaddick’s bow—

“Tedros, wait—”

“I’m worse than my father.” Tedros looked up, eyes glistening. “Because I still love you.”

He pulled an arrow at her heart.

“No!” Agatha screamed—

“Fire!”

Evers launched stones, darts, oil at the defenseless Nevers as Tedros unleashed his arrow for Agatha—

Sophie flicked her lit finger just as it speared her chest. The weapons all turned to daisies and floated to the ground.

Cowering Nevers looked up, stunned to be alive. Hunched amid them, Agatha slowly turned.

“Learned that from my favorite princess,” Sophie said softly.

Agatha crumpled to the ground in sobs.

Tedros glanced between them, dread flooding his face. Sophie unleashed a devilish smile.

“Never very good at those challenges, were you, Teddy?”

“No!” Tedros fell to his knees, grabbed weeping Agatha in his arms. She pushed him away.

“Now that’s an ending. Prince tries to kill his princess,” Sophie reveled. She picked up the daisy meant for Agatha’s heart and gave it a rapturous sniff. “Lucky Evil was here to save the day.”

From the floor, Tedros gazed up at her, heartbroken.

“Which begs the question, of course . . .” Sophie licked rotting lips.

“What happens when Evil becomes Good?”

This time, when she smiled, Tedros saw gleaming white teeth. He backed up in shock.

In front of his eyes, Sophie’s warts magically sloughed, her deep wrinkles smoothed, until her creamy peach skin glowed with youth. Her hair blossomed out of her shiny skull in a cascade of blond ringlets, and her lips thickened with juicy sheen. Agatha slowly peeked through her hands to see Sophie’s eyes blaze emerald green, her shriveled body bloom, until the grand villainess loomed over her in her pink ball gown, more radiant and ravishing than ever before.

“Leave—Leave now—” Agatha warned, but the Evers were all paralyzed, staring past Sophie.

Cringing, Agatha turned.

Hester looked back at her, dress now pink. Magically her thin hair sprouted to long thick tresses, her sallow face gained fullness, her tattoo restored to magnificent red. Next to her, Anadil’s white hair went chestnut brown, her red eyes sea green, while Dot’s rotund body grew hourglass curves. In reflective balloons, Hort watched his jaw square, his chin dimple, his dumpy black robes melt to a blue Everboy coat. Ravan saw his oily skin clear, Brone lifted his shirt to see rippling muscles, Arachne ran fingers over two new eyes, Mona touched smooth ivory skin . . . until all around, transformed villains gaped at each other in Good’s uniforms.

Sophie grinned down at Agatha. “I told you Evil can be beautiful, didn’t I?”

“Retreat!” Tedros yelled, backing into his army.

“We’re not finished, Teddy,” Sophie thundered. “You and your army invaded a Ball. You and your army attacked a defenseless school. You and your army tried to kill a room of poor students, trying to enjoy the happiest night of our lives. Which leaves another question . . .”

“Retreat now!” Tedros cried—

“What happens when Good becomes Evil?”

Screams exploded behind Tedros.

Agatha swiveled to see Beatrix screech with pain as her back hunched with a crack. Then her hair went white, her face pockmarked to an old crone’s, and her pink dress sagged to black over shriveled bones.

Behind her, all the Evers’ gowns and suits slowly rotted to Evil’s black smocks. Chaddick grew metal spikes all over his body, Millicent sobbed as her skin turned green, Reena shrieked and itched at her scab-covered cheeks, Nicholas staggered around, one-eyed and humped. One by one, the Evers who attacked the villains all turned ugly, Agatha the only one immune from punishment . . . until at last Sophie leered back at Tedros, bald, scrawny, hideously scarred, in front of his army of villains.

“All hail the Prince!” she cackled.

Beautiful Nevers pointed at the ugly Evers and joined her in a chorus of triumphant laughter, annihilating a legacy of defeat.

Agatha grabbed a fallen sword and pointed it at Sophie. “Your war is with me! Let them go in peace!”

“By all means, darling,” Sophie smiled. “The doors are open.”

The repulsive Evers flooded for them. All except shriveled, scraggy Tedros, now blocking their way.

“Please, Teddy. End this war,” Agatha pleaded.

“I can’t leave you,” the prince croaked.

Agatha looked into his sad, beastly eyes.

“This time you have to trust me.”

Tedros shook his head, too ashamed to fight—

“Retreat!” he choked to his school. “Retreat now!”

With an anguished cry, he led the monstrous Evers for the doors. The doors slammed in their faces.

“All of you should really learn your rules,” Sophie sighed.

Tedros and his army turned, trembling.

“The Evil attack, the Good defend,” Sophie said. “You attacked . . .” She smiled. “Now we defend.”

She sang three high notes. Agatha suddenly heard grunting outside, louder, louder, until her eyes bulged with recognition.

“RUN!” she screamed—

The doors burst open and three colossal rats smashed into Tedros’ paralyzed army, Grimm at their reins. The snarling, shrieking rats, big as horses, bucked fleeing Evers into walls, knocked them down stairs, hurled them through the glass window into the moat below. Before Valor boys could draw their swords, the rats trampled them like toy soldiers.

“And here I thought my talents would go unnoticed,” Anadil said to Dot, gobsmacked. A thorn dart whizzed between them. The girls turned to see Tedros and ugly Evers frantically grab weapons.

“Fire!” Tedros howled.

Dot dove from a hail of arrows as beautiful Nevers fought back with curses and the two schools clashed in weapon-to-spell combat. As darts flew, swords deflected lightning, and fingers on both sides lit up with colors, the rats ripped free from Grimm’s reins, flinging Ava into a chandelier, gashing a bite into Nicholas’ back. Grimm swiftly took flight and hunted Agatha through the hall with flame-tipped arrows. She sprang behind a pillar, pointed her glowing finger just as he let one fly. The arrow turned to a flytrap and snapped on yowling Grimm’s hand. Agatha swiveled to see hideous Beatrix, Reena, and Millicent quailing next to her.

“If you can turn arrows to flowers,” Beatrix said tearfully, “can you turn us pretty again too?”

Agatha ignored her and peeked from behind the pillar into the roaring carnage. Colored spells rocketed between the two sides, littering the floors with stunned bodies. Against the window, two rats cornered gaunt Tedros and his shivering mates, flashing razor-sharp teeth.

Agatha whipped to the girls. “We have to help them!”

“There’s no point,” Millicent mewled.

“Look at us,” said Reena.

“We have nothing to fight for,” Beatrix sniffled.

“You have Good to fight for!” Agatha cried as rats devoured the boys’ weapons. “It doesn’t matter how you look!”

“Easy for you to say,” said Beatrix. “You’re still pretty.”

“Our towers aren’t Fair and Lovely!” Agatha lambasted. “They’re Valor and Honor! That’s what Good is, you stupid cowards!”

They gaped dumbly as Agatha surged into battle, dashing to save the boys from the rats. Something slammed into her and flung her into a wall.

Dazed, Agatha looked up to see Sophie astride the biggest rat of all, charging for her again. Agatha tried to find a spell too late—

Beatrix jumped in front of the rat and thrust out her hand. Magical rain burst from the ceiling, soaking the floor. The rat slipped, careened into attacking Nevers, and Sophie crashed to the floor.

“Another thing about Good.” Beatrix smiled at Agatha, with Reena, and Millicent by her sides. “We need each other.”

Sophie looked up to see the Evers finding their courage to beat back the toppled Nevers. Chaddick used his body’s spikes to ram a rat through the heart, Tedros scaled another’s tail to stab its neck, while the Evers bound the cowing Nevers with their black tunics and belts—

Suddenly her own hands and feet were bound magically with vines.

“You forget we’re in a fairy tale,” a voice said behind her.

Struggling, Sophie turned to Agatha standing over her, finger glowing.

“In the end, Good always wins,” Agatha said.

Sophie slackened against her binds.

“And so it does,” she said, gazing back at Agatha.

Then Agatha saw Sophie wasn’t looking at her at all. She was staring past her at the hall’s last mural: painted masses kneeled before the Storian, glowing in the School Master’s hands like a star.

A wicked smile crept across Sophie’s face. “Unless I write the ending myself.”

She stabbed her glowing finger and the rain puddles on the floor instantly deepened, knocking Agatha and both armies off their feet. The students treaded water, trying to keep their heads above it, but the water rose higher, higher in a ceiling-high sea, until they were all about to drown. Cheeks puffed, turning blue, they spun to Sophie, blocking the shattered window with her bound body. She smirked impishly, and then let herself fall through.

The flood blasted through the window and two hundred students cascaded out of the tower, into freezing midnight air, and splashed to the moat below.

Instantly the war resumed in the putrid sludge, but with faces and clothes covered in it, the students couldn’t see each other in the weak dawn light. Hester shoved Anadil’s face in slime thinking her an Ever, Beatrix punched Reena in the jaw thinking her a Never, Chaddick suffocated the closest thing to him—Tedros, it turned out, who responded by sinking his rotted teeth into his best mate’s neck. With rules broken so rampantly, the students began to change from pink to black, black to blue, ugly to beautiful, beautiful to ugly, back and forth, faster, faster, until no one had the faintest idea who was Good and who was Evil.

None of the foes noticed that far into the bay, a girl in pink climbed the School Master’s tower, brick by brick, pulling herself up by Grimm’s arrows. And that far beneath, a prince climbed after her, silhouetted in moonlight. Upon closer look, a prince of raven hair, iron will, dodging a cupid’s arrows in a billowing blue—

Gown.

Upon closer look, not a prince at all.

lawing through the silver brick window, Sophie gritted her teeth.

Good always wins.

Her Nemesis was right. As long as the School Master lived, as long as the Storian was in his hands, then she would never achieve vengeance. There was only one way to ruin Agatha’s happy ending.

Destroy both pen and its protector.

With a snarl, Sophie pulled herself into the School Master’s tower, flung out her glowing finger—

It dimmed.

The empty stone chamber was aglow with hundreds of red-flamed candles lining the edges of the bookcases and shelves. Red rose petals swathed the stone floor under her feet. Strums of a phantom harp softly swelled into a tender song.

Sophie scowled. She had come for a war and found a wedding. Good was even more pathetic than she thought.

Then she saw the Storian.

Across the room, it hovered unguarded over her and Agatha’s fairy-tale book on the shadowed stone table.

Through falling petals and flickering candles, Sophie skulked towards the deadly sharp pen. As she neared, the pen’s script smoldered against steel. Eyes blazing, breath shallow, she reached to seize it, but the pen lurched and lanced her finger. Sophie withdrew in shock.

A single drop of her blood dripped down the Storian, filling the grooves in the deep script before trickling to its lethal nib. Alive to its new ink, the pen burned hot red and plunged to the book, furiously flipping pages. Her whole fairy tale unfolded before her eyes in dazzling paintings and flashes of words: sighting Tedros at the Welcoming, cowering from her prince at the Trial, witnessing him propose to Agatha, luring Good’s army to war, even climbing by arrows to this very tower—until the Storian found a fresh page and spilled blood outlines in a single sweep. Rich color magically filled them in and Sophie watched a brilliant painting of herself take shape, there in this tower as she was now. Ravishing in a pink ball gown, her painted self gazed into the eyes of a handsome stranger, tall, lean, in prime of youth and beauty.

Sophie touched his face on the page . . . twinkling blue eyes, skin like marble, ghostly white hair . . .

He wasn’t a stranger.

She had dreamt of him her last night in Gavaldon. The prince she picked from a hundred at a castle ball. The one who felt like Ever After.

“All these years I waited,” said a warm voice.

She turned to see the masked School Master glide towards her from across the room, rusted crown crooked on his head of thick white hair. Slowly, his body unsnarled from its hunch, until it stood tall and erect. Then he took off his mask, revealing alabaster skin, chiseled cheeks, and dancing blue eyes.

Sophie buckled.

He was the prince from the painting.

“You’re y—y-young—”

“This was all a test, Sophie,” the School Master said. “A test to find my true love.”

“Your true—me?” Sophie stammered. “But you’re Good and I’m Evil!”

The School Master smiled. “Perhaps we should start there.”

Hanging high above the midpoint between moat and lake, Agatha climbed arrows stabbed in silver brick, dodging new blows as Grimm flew around the School Master’s spire. As the cupid pulled another arrow into his bow, she lunged for the next shaft but it broke and tumbled off the tower. Her head swiveled. Grimm flashed yellowed shark teeth, aimed his arrow at her face—

He stiffened like a stunned bird and fell from the sky into dark waters below.

Agatha spun and saw Hester’s red fingerglow dim in her direction, her body bound by chains in deep sludge. In moonlight, she could see Hester’s face, filled with regret for spurning the chance to end this war. Around her, Evers had wrenched control of the battle. Villains struggled against their binds, restored to ugliness, while four Everboys pinned down Hort’s howling man-wolf with punches and kicks.

Agatha felt the last arrow splinter under her hand.

“Help—” she puffed, legs kicking. The arrow broke—

And froze to hard ice catching her grip.

Agatha turned and saw Anadil’s distant green fingerglow pointed at the frozen arrow.

Then, above her head, the next silver brick turned dark brown. Agatha smelled rich, sugary sweetness and her hand stretched up and dug right into taut chocolate. Pulling herself up by fudge, she glanced back across the bay.

Dot’s blue light glowed proudly.

As the next brick above turned chocolate, Agatha reached up with a smile.

It seemed the witches had changed sides.

“I was there all along,” the School Master said, cold, beautiful face smoldering in first rays of sun. “Leading Agatha to you on the night I kidnapped you. Ensuring you didn’t fail in your first days at school. Opening the doors at the Circus. Giving you a riddle whose answer would bring you to me . . . I interfered in your fairy tale because I knew how it must end.”

“But that means you’re—” Sophie fumbled. “You’re Evil?”

“I cared for my brother very much,” the School Master said tensely, peering at the schools’ raging war. “We were entrusted the Storian for eternity because our bond overrode our warring souls. As long as we protected each other, we would stay immortal and beautiful, Good and Evil in perfect balance. Each as worthy and powerful as the other.”

He turned. “But Evil cannot be but alone.”

“So you killed your own brother?” Sophie said.

“Much as you tried to kill your dearest friend and beloved prince,” the School Master smiled. “But no matter how much I tried to control the Storian . . . Good now emerged triumphant in every new tale.”

He caressed the symbols on the pen’s skin. “Because there is something greater than the purest Evil, Sophie. Something you and I cannot have.”

At last Sophie understood. Her fire cooled to grief.

“Love,” she said softly.

“It is why Good wins every story,” the School Master said. “They fight for each other. We can only fight for ourselves.

“My only hope was to find something stronger, something that would give us a chance. I hunted every seer in the Woods until one gave me my answer. One who told me that what I needed would come from beyond our world. And so I searched all these years, careful to keep the balance, as my body and hope weakened . . . until at last you’ve come. The one that can tip the balance forever. The one more powerful than Good’s Love.”

He touched her cheek.

“Evil’s love.”

Sophie couldn’t breathe, feeling his frigid fingers on her skin.

The School Master’s lips curled into a smile. “Sader knew you would come. A heart as dark as mine. An Evil whose beauty could restore my own.” His hands moved to her waist. “If we unite with each other to seal the bond of Evil. If we marry for the purpose of hurting, destroying, punishing . . . then you and I finally have something to fight for.”

The School Master’s breath glazed her ear. “Never After.”

Looking up at him, Sophie finally understood. He had her same maleficent coldness, the same pain raging in his eyes. Long before Tedros, her soul had known its true match. Not a shining knight, fighting for Good. Not someone Good at all.

All these years she had tried to be someone else. She had made so many mistakes along the way. But at last, she had come home.

“A kiss,” the School Master whispered. “A kiss for Never After.”

Tears trickled down Sophie’s cheeks. After all this, she would have her happy ending.

She gave herself to the School Master’s grip and he pulled her into his arms. As he clasped her neck, leaning in for her fairy-tale kiss, Sophie gazed up tenderly at the prince of her dreams.

But now his face cracked at the edges.

Charred flesh wormed through his luminous skin. Behind him falling roses turned to maggots and red candles lit up hellish shadows. Outside, the dawn sky fogged infernal green and the Good castle blackened to stone. As the School Master’s decaying lips touched hers, Sophie felt her vision blur red, her veins burn acid, her body rot to match his. Skin blistering, she held her prince’s eyes, begging to feel love, the love that storybooks promised her, the love that would last an eternity . . .

But all she found was hate.

Devoured by a kiss, she saw at last she would never find love in this life or the next. She was Evil, always Evil, and there would never be happiness or peace. As her heart shattered with sadness, she yielded to darkness without a fight, only to hear a dying echo, somewhere deeper than soul.

It’s not what we are, Sophie.

It’s what we do.

Sophie tore herself from the School Master’s grip and he spilled back into the stone table, sending the Storian and storybook smashing into the wall. In the fallen Storian, she glimpsed her half-rotted face, split cleanly from forehead to chin. Breathless, she fled for the window, but there was no way down the tower.

Through eerie green fog, she saw the far shore. Gone were the weapons, the spells, the two sides. The sludge pits overflowed with blackened bodies, children punching anyone in sight, slamming faces into muck, tearing at skin and hair, writhing and clawing for mercy. Sophie stared at this war she had started, Good and Evil fighting now for nothing at all.

“What have I done?” she breathed.

She turned to see the School Master stir on the floor.

“Please,” Sophie begged. “I want to be Good!”

The School Master raised red-rimmed eyes, skin shriveling around his thin smile.

“You can never be Good, Sophie. That’s why you’re mine.”

Slowly he slithered towards her. Terrified, Sophie shrank against the window as he reached rotting hands to grab her—

From behind, soft, warm arms suddenly wrapped her like an angel’s and pulled her into the night sky.

“Hold your breath!” Agatha cried as they fell—