The School for Good and Evil 3-book Collection: The School Years (Books 1- 3). Soman Chainani
edge, the thousand-person guard waved torches to light up the forest. Sophie scowled. How could he get past them?
That’s when she noticed the hearts on her windowsill were gone.
He’s already here!
Three packed pink bags plopped through the window, followed by two glass-slippered feet.
Agatha lurched up in bed, jolted from a nightmare. Callis snored loudly across the room, Reaper at her side. Next to Agatha’s bed sat her locked trunk, marked “Agatha of Gavaldon, 1 Graves Hill Road” in scraggy writing, along with a pouch of honey cakes for the journey.
Chomping cake, Agatha gazed through a cracked window. Down the hill, the torches blazed in a tight circle, but here on Graves Hill, there was just one burly guard left, arms as big as Agatha’s whole body, legs like chicken drumsticks. He kept himself awake by lifting a broken headstone like a barbell.
Agatha bit into the last honey cake and looked out at the dark forest.
Shiny blue eyes looked back at her.
Agatha choked and dove to her bed. She slowly lifted her head. Nothing there. Including the guard.
Then she found him, unconscious over the broken headstone, torch extinguished.
Creeping away from him was a bony, hunchbacked human shadow. No body attached.
The shadow floated across the sea of graves without the slightest sign of hurry. It slid under the cemetery gates and skulked down the hill towards the firelit center of Gavaldon.
Agatha felt horror strangle her heart. He was real. Whoever he was.
And he doesn’t want me.
Relief crashed over her, followed by a fresh wave of panic.
Sophie.
She should wake her mother, she should cry for help, she should— No time.
Feigning sleep, Callis heard Agatha’s urgent footsteps, then the door close. She hugged Reaper tighter to make sure he didn’t wake up.
Sophie crouched behind a tree, waiting for the School Master to snatch her.
She waited. And waited. Then she noticed something in the ground.
Cookie crumbs, mashed into a footprint. The footprint of a clump so odious, so foul it could only belong to one person. Sophie’s fists curled, her blood boiled—
Hands covered her mouth and a foot booted her through her window. Sophie crashed headfirst onto her bed and whirled around to see Agatha. “You pathetic, interfering worm!” she screamed, before glimpsing the fear in her friend’s face. “You saw him!” Sophie gasped—
Agatha put one hand over Sophie’s mouth and pinned her to the mattress with the other. As Sophie writhed in protest, Agatha peeped through the window. The crooked shadow drifted into the Gavaldon square, past the oblivious armed guard, and headed directly for Sophie’s house. Agatha swallowed a scream. Sophie wrenched free and grabbed her shoulders.
“Is he handsome? Like a prince? Or a proper schoolmaster with spectacles and waistcoat and—”
THUMP!
Sophie and Agatha slowly turned to the door.
THUMP! THUMP!
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “He could just knock, couldn’t he?”
Locks cracked. Hinges rattled.
Agatha shrank against the wall, while Sophie folded her hands and fluffed her dress as if expecting a royal visit. “Best give him what he wants without fuss.”
As the door caved, Agatha leapt off the bed and threw herself against it. Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, sit down for goodness’ sake.” Agatha pulled at the knob with all her might, lost her grip—the door slammed open with a deafening crack, hurling her across the room.
It was Sophie’s father, white as a sheet. “I saw something!” he panted, waving his torch.
Then Agatha caught the crooked shadow on the wall stepping into his broad silhouette. “There!” she cried. Stefan swiveled but the shadow blew out his torch. Agatha grabbed a match from her pocket and lit it. Stefan lay on the ground unconscious. Sophie was gone.
Screams outside.
Through the window, Agatha watched shouting villagers chase after Sophie as the shadow dragged her towards the woods. And while more and more villagers howled and chased—
Sophie smiled ear to ear.
Agatha lunged through the window and ran after her. But just as the villagers reached Sophie, their torches magically exploded and trapped them in rings of fire. Agatha dodged the gauntlet of firetraps and dashed to save her friend before the shadow pulled her into the forest.
Sophie felt her body leave soft grass and rake against stony dirt. She frowned at the thought of showing up to school in a soiled dress. “I really thought there’d be footmen,” she said to the shadow. “Or a pumpkin carriage, at least.”
Agatha ran ferociously, but Sophie had almost disappeared into the trees. All around, flames spewed higher and higher, poised to devour the entire village.
Seeing the fires leap, Sophie felt relief knowing no one could rescue her now. But where is the second child? Where is the one for Evil? She’d been wrong about Agatha all along. As she felt herself pulled into trees, Sophie looked back at the towering blaze and kissed goodbye to the curse of ordinary life.
“Farewell, Gavaldon! Farewell, low ambition! Farewell, mediocrity—”
Then she saw Agatha charge through the flames.
“Agatha, no!” Sophie cried—
Agatha leapt on top of her and both were dragged into the darkness.
Instantly, the fires around the villagers were extinguished. They dashed for the woods, but the trees magically grew thick and thorny, locking them out.
It was too late.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” roared Sophie, shoving and scratching Agatha as the shadow pulled them into pitch-black forest. Agatha thrashed wildly, trying to wrest the shadow’s grip on Sophie and Sophie’s grip on the shadow. “YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING!” Sophie howled. Agatha bit her hand. “EEEEEYIIII!!!!” Sophie brayed and flipped her body so Agatha scraped against dirt. Agatha flipped Sophie back and climbed towards the shadow, her clump squashing Sophie’s face.
“WHEN MY HANDS FIND YOUR NECK—”
They felt themselves leave the ground.
As something spindly and cold wrapped its way around them, Agatha fumbled for a match from her dress, struck it against her bony wrist, and paled. The shadow was gone. They were cocooned in the creepers of an elm, which ferried them up the enormous tree and plopped them on the lowest branch. Both girls glared at each other and tried to catch enough breath to speak. Agatha managed it first.
“We are going home right now.”
The branch wobbled, coiled back like a sling, and shot them up like bullets. Before either could scream, they landed on another branch. Agatha flailed for a new match, but the branch coiled and snapped them up to the next bough, which bounced them up to the next. “HOW TALL IS THIS TREE!” Agatha shrieked. Ping-ponging up branches, the girls’ bodies collided and crashed, dresses tearing on thorns and twigs, faces slamming into ricocheting limbs, until finally they reached the highest bough.
There at the top of the elm tree sat a giant black egg. The girls gaped at it, baffled. The egg tore open, splashing them with dark, yolky goo as a colossal bird emerged, made only of bones. It took one look at the pair and unleashed an angry screech that rattled their eardrums. Then it grabbed them both in its claws and dove off the tree as they screamed, finally agreeing on something. The bony bird lashed through black woods as Agatha frantically lit match after match on the bird’s ribs,