Consciousness flowed back to Alma in a dizzying stream, swimming with memories of last night's chaotic events. She rubbed her head, easing away the manageable throbbing, and sat up, finding herself in the School Master's bed—without the School Master. She had no idea what time it was, for the only window was outside the chamber, and she found the School Master standing in front of it, looking out at an overcast sky. Alma stretched and yawned, but he didn't turn around.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good afternoon," he replied.
"Afternoon?" Alma repeated. "What's for lunch? I'm starving."
"Lunch was three hours ago. We have another three hours until supper."
"Oh," Alma said. "Well, could you conjure me something small?"
Alma waited for a response, but the School Master was silent.
"Hello?" she said, approaching him. "Do I need to go ask Dot for some chocolate?"
"I told you last night," the School Master said, oddly calm. "You're forbidden from visiting the other castle."
"Then how can I get food now?" Alma said. She stood next to him, but he continued gazing out the window, fixated on something she couldn't see. "Are you okay?"
"I'll summon the fairies," he said. "What is it you want?"
The School Master didn't join Alma at the table when the fairies delivered her meal—he'd returned to the window. Alma ate while trying to understand the mysterious man who'd lived alone in a tower for two hundred years. Was he depressed? Was he having another midlife crisis? Was it because the Storian had gone temporarily dormant again and he had nothing new to read? Or did he just enjoy staring out the window?
"Hey," Alma said. "Are you all right? You're kind of weirding me out. More than usual."
"My apologies for making you uncomfortable," the School Master said, his tone no less detached. "I have a lot on my mind."
"Oh," Alma said. "I get it, I think." She scooped a spoonful of strawberry soufflé into her mouth. "Why were you spying on me again last night?"
"To ensure you wouldn't get yourself into more trouble."
"Ah, and how did that go?"
The School Master respired. "Well, had you decided not to almost give yourself alcohol poisoning voluntarily, I wouldn't have had to intervene, and you could've pretended I wasn't there at all."
"Ha, you know I'd never do that," Alma said. "I'm a rebel."
"You need to take this more seriously," the School Master said, his voice slightly harder.
"Take what more seriously?"
The School Master turned around, his blue eyes intense. "Preparing for the change that your fairy tale will bring, if it will bring such a change at all. What if the Storian decides not to give the new system a chance? What if, Alma?"
Alma put her spoon down. "It's my fairy tale, not the Pen's."
"And yet it is the Pen that has the final word," the School Master said, prowling toward her. "How can we be so complacent to think that we can change its mind after thousands of years?"
"Okay, personally, I'd be bored of Good and Evil after five minutes," Alma said. "I don't think the Storian would've decided to write about me if it wasn't getting bored too. There's no way in hell my story's going to end with this shitty status quo still in place. I'd sooner turn into a villain and burn down the Woods."
The School Master's eyes appeared to light up with an idea, an epiphany—
"No," Alma said. "We're not making Evil great again. That prophecy is dead, just like both Good and Evil will be."
The School Master folded his arms across his chest. "And if Good and Evil aren't replaced?"
Alma glanced at the paused Storian that was floating above her storybook. She put a hand against the side of her mouth to whisper to the School Master.
"Then we get a flamethrower to melt down the Pen and create a new one," she said. "Has anyone even tried that?"
The School Master blinked slowly at her, frowning. With a sigh, Alma leaned back in her seat.
"You need a glass of wine," she said. "And so do I."
For a moment he glared at her, then the School Master gave in.
Both nursed a glass each of Winterglow, a mulled wine that warmed the soul with cinnamon, nutmeg, and orange peel. Alma savored the taste while reflecting on her tale's most likely ending and the Storian. Maybe she was too confident, but how could the Pen favor a black-and-white system over an infinitely more colorful one? Was it so Evil itself that it enjoyed ignorance, chauvinism, oppression, and murder? The thought soured Alma's stomach.
No, it couldn't be true, otherwise why would the Storian have chosen to write about her, someone who was hellbent on setting fire to Good and Evil? Did the Pen really think it could change her mind? Not without a fight to the death, it couldn't.
"So," she said, looking at the School Master, "when should we expect to hear back from the Architecture Society?"
"A week, at most," the School Master said. "They have to evaluate the plans and make suggestions and adjustments. We'll review them before anything is official."
Alma nodded and sipped more wine. She re-observed the room, the colorful, hardbound spines that filled the bookshelves. All of Good's tales. All of the same old boring plots and triumphs. Evil punished for one man's sin indefinitely. What kind of so-called balance was that? Alma wanted to laugh, but the joke was more frustrating than funny.
"Have you ever thought about having a big bonfire?" Alma asked. "With the storybooks?"
The School Master raised an eyebrow.
Alma rubbed her chin in thought, holding her glass of wine in the other hand. "I'm thinking s'mores. Maybe hotdogs? Definitely that Hellfire whiskey. Both schools could be invited. The faculty too, I guess—"
"What are you talking about?" the School Master said.
"Hello, I'm trying to lighten the mood," Alma said, and sat up. "But seriously, can we burn any storybooks?"
The School Master's mouth twitched with a smile. "Attempting to burn a storybook would be a death sentence, though I admit I've lost my temper on more than one occasion."
"What did you do?"
"I've thrown a book here and there."
"Let's throw more of them."
The School Master laughed. Alma laughed too, then she put down her glass and left her seat to browse a bookshelf.
"What are you doing?" the School Master asked.
Alma picked out two random storybooks. She turned to the School Master and held them up in each hand.
"Which do you think will fly faster?" Alma asked. "Thumbelina or Hansel and Gretel?"
The School Master shook his head. "Alma, put the books back."
"I won't throw them, I just want your opinion." Alma seesawed the books in her hands, weighing them. "What do you think?"
The School Master's eyes narrowed, suspicious of her promise. He licked his lips in thought.
"Thumbelina, I suppose," he said.
Invoking her fingerglow, Alma threw the fairy tales at the same time—ripping a yell out of the School Master and spurring him out of his chair—and used magic to reel them back into her hands before they could hit the ground. She exploded with laughter.
"I'm sorry!" Alma said. "I couldn't resist!"
But the School Master wasn't laughing. He stormed forward, eyes blazing.
"Put the books back," he demanded, "and get away from the shelves."
"Okay, okay," Alma said, returning the books to their shelf. "Calm down." She faced him and crossed her arms. "When's the last time you had any fun?"
"Away from the shelves," the School Master reminded her. "Go sit down."
"You need more wine," Alma said, and she returned to the table and proceeded to finish the rest of her late lunch. "Seriously, what do you do in here all day besides school stuff? I'd lose my mind."
"Which is why I am School Master and someone like you isn't."
"You poor thing."
The School Master cast her an annoyed look before he turned around to tend to the books, as if making sure she hadn't damaged them. Alma continued to eat the remaining half of her smoked trout sandwich, and she mused over a thought as she chewed. Then she swallowed.
"It makes sense, though," she said. "A magenta soul like me needs action and change and variety. An electric blue soul like you is more introverted, given to be a hermit."
"Is that why you're so difficult?" the School Master said.
Alma paused in thought. "Now that you mention it, isn't it funny? Good is supposed to be orderly and Evil is supposed to be chaotic. You're more about order than I am. Maybe that's a sign of the new system taking over."
The School Master paused. "Yet you would fight for what is good and right, wouldn't you?"
"What is good and right to you?" Alma asked. "Because I can assure you those words mean something different to me."
"Loyalty, empathy, compassion," the School Master said, and he turned to face her. "Protecting the innocent, upholding the truth."
"Those things aren't always good," Alma said. "As a matter of fact, they can be used to harm others in the name of Good. Can I ask you something? It might be a personal question, but I'm curious."
"What?"
"What were you really hoping to achieve with the prophecy? I mean, yeah, you wanted Evil to defeat Good once and for all, but what about afterwards? Did you really want the future to be the same forever like it is now, like it more or less has been since Good and Evil started ruling? That's why you wanted to fulfill the prophecy—not because you were Evil, but because you were tired of the same side winning all the time, right?"
The School Master blinked in disbelief, appearing to ponder a series of questions that he hadn't considered before.
"I suppose that is correct," he said.
Alma smirked. She downed the remaining mulled wine in her glass.
"You know," she said, "maybe we aren't so different, after all. Seems we both want the same thing."
"What would that be?"
"A major change of scenery."
The School Master chuckled. He took a breath, running a hand through his thick white locks, but the hair sprang back to spikes. For a moment he looked relaxed, endearing, his smile charming and perfect...
Oh, no, Alma thought, veins rushing with the heat of forbidden feelings. Oh, god. Oh, no.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not ever. It had to be the wine.
Realizing her gaze was lingering on his own a few moments too long, Alma forced her attention back to the remainder of food on her plate, though she wasn't hungry anymore. The School Master approached, his calm footsteps sounding closer, rousing her nerves for the first time, and he sat down in his chair across from her. She slid her dish away.
"I should get dressed," Alma said, then heated up at the provocative image that could've created for him, "or go back to my dorm." She got up and pushed in her chair. "Thanks for lunch."
"Is something wrong?" the School Master asked.
"No," Alma lied. "I'm just expecting Sophie later."
Alma's stomach flipped with shame. Sophie. Why had she blurted the Nevergirl's name in front of him?
But the School Master didn't react, his face a neutral mask.
"I see," he said. "Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight," Alma said, and left for the window, preparing to summon her fingerglow and mogrify.
"Alma," the School Master said, turning her around. "You're welcome to visit for supper, if you'd like."
"Supper?" Alma said, wondering whether this were more than a friendly invitation. "Tomorrow?"
"Any day."
Alma gave a hesitant nod. "Sure."
She returned to the Good castle, but she didn't return to her dorm. Alma visited the Library of Virtue, seeking books that could provide her with a certain spell. She needed to erase, or at least reverse, the new thoughts and feelings that the School Master kindled inside her. Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, no such information existed in Good's written collection. Of course it didn't—love was too sacred to be meddled with in this ridiculous world, even if one didn't want it. Her only other option was to visit the Library of Vice, and she was prohibited from visiting the Evil school. She didn't trust Hester or Anadil enough. Maybe Dot could help, if the School Master hadn't been watching.
Maybe—hopefully—this was just another one of her short-lived desires. The fire would wither as quickly as it had been ignited.
It didn't.
Alma postponed dinner with the School Master until the last day of winter vacation. Sophie had visited her the day she'd left the tower, and since then, she'd been visiting an hour after curfew every night, arriving in a different dress with a new hairstyle and dolled-up face. Alma reassured Sophie that she didn't need to dress up, but Sophie insisted on looking her best. She kept Alma updated about her plans for the Evil school, plans that ultimately needed the School Master's approval. Sophie had her own ideas of enforcing the new look and rules, one of which involved Alma helping to funnel Good's food into Evil's kitchens. Alma resigned to the prospect of having to persuade the School Master tomorrow at dinner. She dreaded seeing him again.
Every time Alma made love with Sophie, she couldn't help but imagine the School Master in her place. Alma loved Sophie. She wanted to ignite her sweet, soft skin with desire and lust. She wanted to burn with her and indulge her darkness. She wanted to be denied and teased until she finally came undone under the stunning blonde witch's gaze. But now there was an emptiness, a space in her core that yearned to be filled. She needed to kiss and caress a stronger jaw, to run her hands through thick white hair and down a hard, lean stomach.
The School Master was all she could think of now. He was the only one who could make her see stars near-instantly.
And she hated it. Why him? Why couldn't she just be satisfied with the beautiful, sexy, charming witch in her arms? Why did she have to be the stereotypically indecisive, uncommitted bisexual?
"You're awfully quiet, dear," Sophie said, and she placed the back of her hand against Alma's forehead. "Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine," Alma lied, and Sophie took her hand away. "I'm just... thinking."
"Thinking about... ?"
Alma racked her brain for an answer that had nothing to do with romantic love.
"Marco," she said. "He was my best friend in Crescenta. I miss him—and my family. I've just been thinking about them a lot lately."
Why can't I be thinking about them instead? Alma thought, conscience eating at her.
"Oh," Sophie said. "Well, don't worry, darling. You'll see them again. Just like I'll see Agatha." She nuzzled Alma and sighed. "I do wish Agatha were here, though. She would have loved the Evil school... at least until I give it its much-needed makeover."
Alma half-smiled and pressed a kiss to Sophie's head. They lied together in silence for a minute.
"Alma?" Sophie said.
"Yeah?"
"Do you like him?"
Alma hesitated. "Who?"
"Marco," Sophie said. "You can be honest with me."
"Oh, no," Alma said, slightly relieved. "I mean, I like him as a friend. Why?"
Sophie stroked Alma's cheek, and Alma turned her head to meet the witch's hypnotic green eyes.
"I just want it to be us," Sophie said. "You and me, each other's true love. Can you promise me that?"
Alma stared at her a moment too long, then she shifted into a better position before Sophie could react and kissed her, cupping her face.
"Yes," Alma whispered against Sophie's lips. "I promise."
Sophie smiled, and Alma smiled back, trying to ignore the guilt and shame that clawed at her insides.
The next evening, Alma met the School Master in his tower for supper. Tonight's wine was Starlight Bleu, a magical wine of deep sapphire that sparkled like a clear night sky. It was made with frostberries that grew only in the Frost Plains, according to the School Master, giving it an exquisitely combined taste of dark chocolate, cranberry, and a hint of peppermint. Despite the wintry theme, the tiny, twinkling dots in her glass reminded Alma of the times she'd stargazed with Marco during the summer, when ignorance had truly been bliss. Her stomach knotted with longing. She picked up the glass and sipped, washing down her emotions.
Alma and the School Master ate in silence. The Storian had resumed her tale, its calm, crisp scrawling making her wonder what exactly it was writing, along with what it had already written. Had it revealed her secret thoughts about the School Master? Did he know? If he did, he was good at pretending otherwise. The School Master wasn't acting the least bit differently. Maybe he didn't reciprocate her feelings. Alma hoped that was the case, as much as it stung.
"The letter from the Everwood Architecture Society arrived today," the School Master said. "They approved the project."
Alma beamed, her hopes alight. "That's great! What did they say?"
"That the completion is estimated to take approximately two years."
Alma's smile fell. "Oh, shit. That long?"
The School Master nodded. "It seems the new system will have to go into effect before then, if the Storian rules in your favor."
Alma glanced at the metal pen, about to breathe fire and melt it down herself.
"Why wouldn't it?" she said. "We've come this far. I'm not going to stop trying to prove the new system is better until Good and Evil are dead."
"Then we need to work on reforming the curriculum now," the School Master said. "Take the focus away from Good and Evil and nourish the qualities and talents of soul colors instead."
"Right," Alma said. "We addressed that before."
"And I've been expanding on the details."
After supper, with the table cleared of food and dinnerware, Alma looked over the School Master's papers for the new curriculum. He had illustrated a color wheel and divided each subject into their respective, color-coded section: red for combat and blood magic; orange for art and physical magic; yellow for mental magic and study of magical languages; green for herbalism and animal communication; blue for sociology and history; and violet for divination and psychic magic. He'd also made notes for colors that weren't shown in the wheel, including hot pink and gold. Hot pink indicated a focus on fashion, beauty, and charisma, which would fit in with the orange subjects, whereas gold was best suited for classes geared toward business, leadership, and philanthropy—its own class.
"Wow," Alma said, and flipped to the next page, which contained in-depth explanations that connected the colors with their assigned subjects. "So, a student with a green fingerglow, for example, will be required to take herbalism and animal communication? Am I reading that right?"
"Yes," the School Master said. "I don't believe a student's fingerglow color and its corresponding subject will always match. However, I suspect it will be common, practically standard."
"I can see that," Alma said, skimming the page. "Where's my color, by the way?"
The School Master hesitated. "A magenta soul would most likely specialize in art and physical magic, but also possibly divination. Assuming everything goes as planned, do you wish to continue being a student here, after your fairy tale ends?"
Alma opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know what to say.
How could she not know what to say?
Of course she wanted to go home. Of course she wanted to be with her family and friends again!
But her heart ached at the thought of leaving Sophie behind—and the School Master.
The man who had kidnapped her. The man she was still, for some ungodly reason, infatuated with.
"I don't know," Alma said. "I mean, could I visit Crescenta and then come back?"
"If that's what you want," the School Master said.
Alma bit her lip, head and heart battling. Her parents wouldn't understand. They'd want to keep her in Crescenta for the rest of her life. So would Marco.
"Perhaps you need more time to consider," the School Master said. "Just bear in mind that, if you decide to visit Crescenta, you have the choice of visiting your parents, or one friend. Your world cannot know the truth about ours."
"I understand," Alma said, and she remembered what she'd planned to ask on behalf of Sophie. "Um, there's another thing I wanted to run past you. The Evil school—can we fix it up and give it a better menu for the time being? Both schools should be equal now."
The School Master peered at her. "What made you think they weren't?"
"The poor living conditions and food options, for starters."
"Nevers are villains at heart, fueled by pain," the School Master said. "The less they have, the more ambitious they become. The School for Evil is designed to force them to turn inward, to hone the talents and intelligence that Evers are typically lacking."
Alma raised her eyebrows in skepticism, crossing her arms. "And how's that been working out?"
The School Master glowered. Alma hadn't intended to offend him, but she had to be honest.
"Look, I'm serious about changing up the Evil school," Alma said, brushing her hair behind her ear, "especially since we're moving past Good and Evil."
"This isn't about Sophie?"
Alma lost her words for a moment. "No. I mean, not totally. I'm not asking you to give it the complete makeover she envisions, if you don't want to. I just think it should be more livable."
The School Master's gaze lingered, and he leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin in consideration. "Mm. I suppose a few improvements are in order."
"Thank you," Alma said.
"And I suppose you want to continue being a student for the next three years?"
"I guess so," Alma said, and half-laughed. "What else can I be?"
The School Master straightened up, folding his hands on the table. "Would you consider being my second-in-command? You won't be a School Master—only the Storian has that authority—but you'll rank higher than a dean."
Alma blinked, unable to believe he was offering her such a position.
"For real?" she said. "That would be amazing, but why are you asking me?"
"You are the one who introduced the new system," the School Master said. "You deserve some say in how things are run. Truly, I think it's in our best interests to form an official partnership."
Alma nodded, heart stoking with hope. "Right, yeah. I think so too."
The School Master smiled, as handsome as the Devil. "Then it's settled."