LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Dad told me villains can’t love, no matter what. That it’s unnatural and disgusting.”

      Sophie made out scratchy words. “To freeze an Ever in ice, make your soul cold …”

      “So I definitely can’t love,” Hort said.

      “Colder than you thought possible … Then say these words …”

      “But if I could love, I’d love you.”

      Sophie turned. Hort was snoring softly on the floor, button-flap lit up with angry green frogs.

      “Hort, you can’t sleep here,” she said.

      Hort curled up tighter.

      Sophie threw off her covers, stamped up to him—

      “Take that, Pan,” he babbled softly.

      Sophie watched him, shivering and sweating in his little ball.

      She slid back under the musty covers. Candle to notes, she tried to study, but his snuffles lulled her into a trance, and before she knew it was morning.

      The second day went as well as the first, with Sophie earning three more last places, the third of which came in Henchmen when she couldn’t make her finger glow in time to disarm a stink-troll.

      She could see veins swell in Tedros’ neck as he yanked her through the lunch line, holding his nose.

      “Should I lose on purpose? Or do you want to go into the Trial three hours early!”

      “I’m trying as hard as I can—”

      “The Sophie I know doesn’t try. She wins.”

      They ate in silence.

      “Where’s her fairy godmother now?” Sophie heard Beatrix crow.

      Across the field Agatha did homework with Kiko, back turned completely.

      The next day, the challengers spent their first two sessions being fitted for their Trial uniforms: dark blue tunics of silky iron mesh, and matching hooded wool cloaks lined with red brocade. With thirty students in the same cloaks, it would be impossible to tell Evers from Nevers, even if one could see blue cloaks in a Blue Forest. When it came to clothes, Sophie was normally at full attention. But today, she had her head buried in Hort’s notes. Lady Lesso’s class was next and she needed first place.

      “A villain kills for one purpose: to destroy his Nemesis. The one who grows stronger as you grow weaker. Only when your Nemesis is dead will you feel quenched,” said the tight-skinned teacher, clacking through the aisle. “Of course, since only the best Nevers will have Nemesis Dreams, most of you will venture your whole life without taking another’s life. Consider yourself lucky. Killing requires the purest Evil. None of you are pure enough to kill yet.”

      Sophie heard grumbles in her direction.

      “But since the Trial by Tale is a harmless exercise”—Lady Lesso smiled at her—“why not prepare with my favorite challenge …”

      She conjured a phantom princess with brown curls, blushing dimples, and a smile sweeter than a baby’s.

      “Murder Practice. Whoever kills her the cruelest way wins.”

      “Finally, something useful,” Hester said, eyeing Sophie.

      Though the chamber was colder than ever, Sophie shined with sweat.

      With the princess locked behind a door and suspicious of strangers, the Trial Nevers had to be creative to kill her. Mona uglified herself into a peddler and gifted the princess poisoned lipstick. After Lady Lesso conjured a new maiden, Anadil knocked on her door and left a carnivorous bouquet outside it. Hester shrank into a cute squirrel and offered her victim a glittery balloon.

      “Why, thank you!” the princess beamed as the balloon pulled her up, up, up into the razor-sharp icicles on the ceiling.

      Sophie closed her eyes through most of this.

      “Who’s next?” Lady Lesso said, sealing a new princess behind the door. “Oh, yes. You.” She drummed long red nails on Sophie’s desk. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

      Sophie felt sick. Murder? Even if it was a phantom, she couldn’t mur—

      The Beast’s dying face flashed and she blanched. That was different! He was Evil! Any prince would have done the same!

      “Another fail, it seems,” Lady Lesso leered.

      Meeting her eyes, Sophie thought of Tedros losing faith in her. She thought of fourteen villains convinced they were pure enough to kill. She thought of her happy ending slipping away …

      The Sophie I love doesn’t try.

      Jaw set, she stormed to the door, past her surprised teacher, finger glowing pink—

      To freeze an Ever in ice …

      She pounded on the door.

      Make your soul cold …

      The door opened and Sophie’s fingerglow dimmed.

      It was her own face staring back at her, only with the long blond locks she had before the Beast. To win this challenge, she had to kill … herself.

      Sophie saw Lady Lesso smirking in the corner.

      “May I help you?” asked Princess Sophie.

      Just a ghost. Sophie gritted her teeth and felt her finger burn once more.

      “You look like a stranger,” said the princess, blushing.

      Colder than you thought possible …

      Sophie pointed her glowing finger at her.

      “Mother said never talk to strangers,” said the princess anxiously.

      Say it!

      Sophie’s fingertip flickered—she couldn’t find the words—

      “I should go. Mother’s calling.”

      Kill her! Kill her now!

      “Goodbye,” said the princess, closing her door—

      “BANTA PAREO DIROSTI!”

      Poof! The princess turned into a chicken. Sophie grabbed it in her arms, hurled a chair, shattering the iced window, and flung the bird into open sky—

      “Fly, Sophie! You’re free!”

      The chicken tried to fly, then realized it couldn’t, and plummeted to its death.

      “For the first time, I feel sorry for an animal,” Lady Lesso said.

      Another “15” spat in Sophie’s face.

      Perhaps the only thing Sophie liked about the School for Evil was that there were plenty of places to cry. She tucked behind a crumbling arch and sobbed. How would she ever face Tedros?

      “We insist you remove Sophie from the Trial.”

      Sophie recognized the gruff voice as Professor Manley’s. She crept out of the archway and peeked through the keyhole into his putrid classroom. But where the rusted seats normally were filled with villains, now they were occupied by the faculty of both schools. Professor Dovey presided at the dragon-skull lectern, which she’d brightened with a pumpkin paperweight.

      “The Nevers plan to kill her, Clarissa,” finished bald, pimpled Manley.

      “Bilious, we have secure measures in place to prevent a student’s death.”

      “Let’s hope they’re more secure than four years ago,” he shot back.

      “I think we are all in agreement that Garrick’s death was an accident!” Professor Dovey flared.

      The room was ominously silent. In the hall, Sophie could hear her own shallow breaths.

      Garrick

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