After the discomfiting morning—barely hiding Tedros’ name from Rafal, botching her chance to find the spy, meeting those two strange fans on the shore—the rest of the day had taken a decided upturn. By the time she’d gotten to her class, Pollux had already begun the challenge, a repeat of yesterday’s test to get inside the enemy’s head, except with the students in phantom Agatha masks. (Hester won easily this time, despite arriving late herself.) After class, Sophie managed to catch up with the three witches in the hall, who seemed aloof as to the whereabouts of Edgar and Essa. (“Different schedules than us,” Hester snipped.) With her friends rushing off to History, Sophie barely had time to ask them for a spell that might cover an “imperfection” of the skin.

Dot grabbed her cheeks. “You’re not turning warty and psychotic again are you!”

“No, no, just an oddly placed pimple . . . you know, unbecoming of a queen . . . ,” Sophie warbled.

“Well, if I you’re ‘queen’ of anything, it’s curing pimples,” said Hester. “Come on, girls. Can’t be late to the School Master’s class.”

Anadil followed, but Sophie overheard her whispering. “Don’t know why we bother going. All he talks about is Sophie this and Sophie that and how she inspires Evil’s future. Whatever that means.”

“Means we got a love-sloshed teenager as School Master,” Dot chirped, toddling after them.

Sophie lingered behind, stunned. Rafal was gushing moonily to the whole school about her and here she was, still terrified of him? All he’d asked of her was loyalty and love—the same things he’d given her. And so far she’d failed on both counts. She bit her lip guiltily, hand fidgeting in her pocket.

TEDROS had to be dealt with now.

The old Library of Virtue, once a gold, impeccable coliseum, was a musty, weed-grown mess, with books strewn out of order (not surprising considering Evelyn Sader had killed the old tortoise librarian, who’d yet to be replaced). Even so, Sophie managed to excavate an old copy of The Recipe Book for Good Looks, and spent the rest of the morning brewing a “Flesh-Over” potion of beets, wildflower, and dwarf sweat (Beezle was filched of the last, before yipping “Grand Witch Ultimate!” and bolting away). According to the book, the spell would only last until the covered area grew wet—and yet, the moment Sophie slathered the potion on her finger and watched Tedros’ name flesh over with fresh skin, she felt good as new, as if she’d earned a fresh start with Rafal too.

The young School Master also seemed to have turned the page, for he no longer acted angry when they met for lunch on the faculty balcony. Instead, while Sophie pecked at a fresh salmon salad he’d brought in a basket, Rafal nervously picked at the laces of his black shirt.

“Sophie, I was thinking . . . I’ve been asking your loyalty without truly earning it first. Maybe we haven’t spent enough time getting to know each other like um, normal young people . . .” He glanced at the other teachers on the balcony and the students on the ground, all sneaking peeks at him and Sophie together. “So, uh, perhaps you and I could do that . . . I mean, spend time without other people around—like away from school, you know, like a . . . a . . .”