"Welcome to the School for New Evil," said Rafal.
In a black-marble foyer, boys and girls in crisp black uniforms and black berets marched by in perfect lines. Chins up, chests out, they stomped with steely stares, right-left, right-left, past the four glass staircases, now hued green. The boys were in belted leather breeches, half-sleeved black shirts with starched collars, narrow green ties, and thick-heeled boots, while the girls wore skin-hugging black pinafores over plunging green blouses, knee-high socks, and flat black slippers.
Two of the girls marched in front of me: green-skinned Mona and one-eyed, bald Arachne, tight lipped and eyes fixed ahead. Ravan was right behind them, his oily face scrubbed clean, his once long, matted hair clipped short and neat. Impish Vex tramped next to him, head shaved, spine straight, subtly picking at breeches wedged up his bottom.
I stiffened. Nevers clean. . . uniform. . . in straight lines?
I tried to catch more Nevers' faces beneath their berets, but the foyer was dark, holding them in shadow. The only lights seemed to come from fleeting flashes of green glow, dispersed over the army in sync with the march, as if there was an invisible swarm of fireflies keeping time.
Then I noticed another haze of green light over the Legends Obelisk, centered between the four staircases, crammed with student portraits. Looking for the source, I scanned up the high stained glass windows (once haloed visions of a white swan, now replaced with a glaring black swan) to the domed sunroof, sealed over with deadly stalactites, glowing snake-green like a malevolent chandelier. As my gaze roamed to the buffed staircases, shiny onyx arches, and ruthless marchers, I saw that Good's home and all that came with it—elegance, discipline, style— had been usurped entirely by Evil.
Suddenly, beneath the stalactites, I caught sight of another face in the Never army: a scared-looking boy with a big chest and hairy arms. Chaddick's gray eyes met mine, just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. Out of the corner of his lips he mouthed the word "Help"—before a burst of green firefly lights detonated near him, and he whipped his gaze forward, wincing with pain.
I slid along the wall, trying to catch a last look as he vanished into the wings. Chaddick? Good's most loyal sidekick? Why was he with Nevers?
But from my new vantage point, I saw more Evers in black uniforms spliced into the march: luscious, caramel-skinned Reena . . . tall, willowy Giselle . . . sleek dark-skinned Nicholas . . . redheaded, freckled Millicent . . . baby-faced Hiro . . . all trembly and tense as fireflies popped off around them like warning shots.
I turned back to the Legends Obelisk. The Evers' portraits, once smiling and kind, were painted with baleful scowls and sneers, matching the Nevers' frames, now jammed onto the same column.
"Evers learning . . . Evil?" I said, looking up at Rafal.
"Evers and Nevers both," the young School Master corrected. "A unified school, protecting the future of Evil." He surveyed his troops. "The students had to adjust to all being in the same castle, of course. More of them per room, more competition in classes . . . but if anyone has any complaints, I haven't heard them."
I squinted out the window, remembering the other tree tunnel. "But what's in the 'Old' school?"
Rafal eyed the rotted towers across Halfway Bridge. "If the School for New will write Evil's future, then the School for Old rewrites its past . . ." His pupils shot to mine, lizard quick. "But you are not to step foot in the School for Old. It is forbidden to all students and to you. Understand?" He stared me down, looking like a headmaster despite his youth.
I opened my mouth, about to argue, but he cut me off by placing a hand on my cheek.
"Like you said, there needs to be some sense of trust between us. Now I'm asking you to trust me," he said, gazing into my eyes.
I stared at him for a long time.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Your responsibilities are here," he continued, "ensuring your young colleagues adjust to their new school. With the volatility of the past year, all students will be held to—how should I put it—a higher standard than before."
I nodded.
He kissed my forehead swiftly before letting me go.
My gaze slipped past him to the foyer's wall murals, all featuring me and Rafal kissing against celestial night skies. We were both in black leather, wearing jagged metal crowns, as fiery stars cast halos over our heads. In each mural, a single green letter was superimposed on our embracing bodies. Once spelling out G-O-O-D, the wall paintings now spelled . . . E-V-I-L.
As students kept filing past, I turned full circle, soaking in my painted image on every wall: my (h/c) hair fanned beneath a spiked queen's crown; my lips pressed against Rafal's, a boy so smoldering, so intense, so unnerving that he'd have made Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty dump their princes at first sight.
It was now I'd realized I'd won. I was the face of a school. The face of a generation. The face of the future.
"For hundreds of years, everyone wanted to be Good because Good always wins. But our story will change all that," said Rafal, pulling me into him. "Evil is the new Good."
I felt so safe in his arms that his words washed over me. "Evil is the new Good," I repeated, nestling into him.
I looked purposely away when I spotted cherubic Kiko in line, sniffing back tears.
Then I tensed.
A raven-haired boy was standing ahead, at the edge of the foyer. Tight chest and stomach muscles pressed against his black uniform shirt, and his breeches revealed smooth, chiseled calves. His dark bangs draped over his forehead and his long nose was the only feature out of proportion on his small, heart-shaped face. His stance was erect, cool. He was young, clearly a student. But I didn't recognize him from either school—
But then I saw his eyes.
Scorching with hate.
His beady, weaselly eyes.
"Shouldn't you be somewhere, Hort?" the School Master said, glowering at him.
Hort's fiery glare honed in on my hand in Rafal's, before he finally glanced up. "I was throwing hammers in the gym, Master," he said, flat and hard. "Earned extra time."
"Right. You've been racking up the first ranks, I hear," said the School Master, pulling me tighter against him and making sure Hort saw it. "Keep up the good work, Captain."
Hort gave me one last deadly glare before he walked into the wings.
I didn't move. First ranks? . . . gym? . . . Captain? Hort?
Rafal held his hand out, . "Shall we?"
I looked at him. Then I took his hand and let him pull me along.
"I don't want you to miss your first class," he said, slipping a small scroll of paper into my hand, before he glided up the stairs.
"My first what?"
***
"Class?" I fluttered after the School Master, scanning the parchment. "Advanced Uglification . . . Advanced Henchmen Training— this is a schedule! A student's schedule!"
"A queen has responsibilities," Rafal retorted.
I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped short when I noticed my surroundings. The entrance hallway to sea-themed Honor Tower, whose walls and ceiling once mimicked a princely blue tidal wave, now had its surging waters painted the same slime green as the fog tipping the two castles. For a moment, I was confused by the change, until I looked out a porthole window and saw Halfway Bay in the melted sunlight. For the first time in years, there was no dividing line between the waters, no halves to the bay at all. Its entire body was the same slime green as the painted tides on the walls.
"One dip and it'll rip the flesh right off your bones," said Rafal, posed against a column. "Good deterrent against anyone who might try to swim into the school or swim . . . out."
I followed Rafal across the seashell floor, now artistically smattered with bloody splashes, while an old statue of a smiling, barechested merman, trident on his lap, had been rechiseled with a gnashed scowl, curled fists, and a trident poised to kill. Turning the corner, I took in epic murals along the walls, once visions of Good's most honorable victories, now flaunting different endings: a wolf biting into Red Riding Hood's neck . . . a giant atop a beanstalk snapping Jack like a twig . . . Snow White and her dwarves facedown in blood . . .
I knew I should have been sickened by what I was seeing, but instead I felt a mutinous thrill at the sight of Evil winning so defiantly, so matter-of-factly, as if Good was never supposed to win at all. How could I not take secret pleasure in the thought? Soaking in the last mural—Sleeping Beauty and her prince, lashed to a spinning wheel, set aflame by a black-caped witch—I started to feel disoriented, as if I couldn't remember the real endings anymore.
What if I'd learned these stories as a child? Would I have ever felt the pull to be Good?
Would I have ever resisted the pull to do Evil?
"These paintings are glorious," I said. "But it doesn't make it true."
"Says who?" he called back.
I frowned. "Says the storybooks. These murals. . .all of them are fantasies. They don't mean anything. The real endings already happened."
Rafal turned. "Endings can change, my queen."
He gazed out a window at the School for Old. "And change they must."
I could have sworn I heard a roar from deep within the Old castle, like a monster breaking out of its cage.
"The Deans are eager to meet you," he said, heading towards the rear staircase. "They'll take you to your class."
I didn't move. "You said it yourself. Agatha and Tedros are on their way to kill you. I can't be in class! I have to fight with you, protect you—"
"And who do you think will be your army against Agatha and Tedros, if not your class?" he said, not looking back.
"What?" It took a moment to grasp what he was suggesting. I glanced at my schedule.
Underneath Advanced Curses and Death Traps, my name was listed.
As a teacher.