“I don’t understand—” Agatha pressed. “She promised to do it once we left school!”

“Put it this way,” said Tedros. “Last night, Sophie beat Hort with any utensil in the kitchen she could find, saying he’d ruined everything by coming with us and he better scram before she put the rolling pin up his you know what. But ever since we tried to make her destroy the ring, well, not only won’t she destroy it, but now it seems she isn’t in such a hurry to get rid of Hort after all.”

Agatha followed the prince’s eyes to the buff, black-haired boy standing sentinel in front of a curtained cave wall . . . and a human-sized lump in the curtain behind him.

“It’s why he’s coming with us,” Tedros said grimly. “She says he’s her bodyguard.”

Hort barred her path. “Can I help you?”

“I need to talk to her, Hort. Now,” Agatha commanded.

“No visitors,” said Hort.

“Sophie, tell the ape to move!” Agatha barked over his shoulder.

“Are we going to talk about the ring?” squeaked Sophie behind the curtain.

“Obviously!”

“Then no.”

Hort grinned at Agatha, bangs jagged against his forehead like lightning bolts.

Agatha glowered witheringly. “Tried to be her roommate, tried to be her best friend, and now you’re her slave. Nice muscles by the way. If only a hot body cured spinelessness and servility.”

Hort thrust his face in hers, flashing sharp, yellow teeth. “As soon as she’s ready, I’m taking her back to the School for Evil where she belongs,” he hissed, lowering his voice so Sophie wouldn’t hear. “She’s not staying here with these weird old fogeys or anywhere near that . . . that . . . dingleweed.” He locked eyes with Tedros across the room and spat in his direction. Tedros made an obscene gesture at him.

But Agatha was still gazing at Hort’s jacked-up torso and edgy haircut, her face softening in astonishment. “You really think you still have a chance with her, don’t you? That’s why you chased her. That’s why you’re still here.”

Hort blinked back, as if she’d seen him naked. Then he sneered savagely. “If you don’t get out of my reach in the next three seconds, I’ll—”

“Hort, dearest?” Sophie’s voice fluttered softly. “You can let Aggie through. But tell her she has to bring me new clothes and some nail polish.”

Agatha barreled by Hort, elbowing him in the sternum, and threw open the curtain to find Sophie shivering against the wall, black gown torn to shreds, cheeks pale, hair rumpled, and makeup smeared all over her like a madwoman in an attic.

“If only the role of Bride of Frankenstein hadn’t already been played,” said Agatha.

“Aggie, my darling! My poopsie! You don’t know what it was like!” cried Sophie, collapsing into her arms. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. All I said is I needed a little time. And then they descended on me like wolves! Here I am, tickled pink to meet my childhood heroes, and instead Tinkerbell is stinging me, shrieking like a dog whistle, Hansel and Gretel are goosing me with wheelchairs and yammering in that Teutonic accent, Peter Pan is jabbing me with a cane and lecturing me on civic responsibility, and even Merlin—Merlin, who in storybooks is wise and just and kind—shoves Excalibur into my hands as the others yank and peck at me like magpies, trying to get the ring off my finger! And then! Then! That monstrous Cinderella corners me, stinking of a mummy untombed, and threatens in no uncertain terms to sit on me! Yes, you heard me, Agatha. A legendary princess threatening to put her voluminous buttocks upon my face and keep them there until I smash the ring. And you wonder why I find old people so repulsive! Well, now that ring is staying on my finger until kingdom come, you hear me? I will not reward bullying, terrorism, and worst of all, poor manners!”