Hidden in the bowels of Evil’s old castle was a cavernous frozen dungeon, with hundreds of bodies encased in ice. The first face Sophie saw was Professor Emma Anemone, eyes shocked wide under manic, blond curls, sealed in an ice tomb cut into the dungeon wall. Next to her, Dean Clarissa Dovey had her own glacial grave, her silver bun and rosy cheeks blurred by the ice—though Sophie noticed a shattered hole at the edge, where Anadil’s rat must have burrowed through and borrowed Dovey’s wand the night Agatha and Tedros broke in.

“The Brig of Betrayers holds all those who’ve shirked their loyalties to Evil throughout the history of our school—including the old faculty of the School for Good, who were each given the chance to teach for their new school and all refused,” said Rafal.

Pollux sniffed grievously from the back of the stage, expecting acknowledgment.

Rafal ignored him. “And lucky for you, today we have three fresh inmates to the Brig . . .”

Shrill squeaks echoed above him and the audience craned up to see Hester, Anadil, and Dot, bound together with rope, lowered over a pulley from the rafters by giggly Beezle.

“These three so-called Nevers conspired to let our enemies through our gates, while one even mutilated our own Dean with her Evil-given talent,” said the School Master, leering at Hester and her demon as both writhed against the suffocating binds. “Yet even the most guilty betrayers deserve a fair trial, before they’re condemned to the Brig for an indefinite sentence . . .”

The three witches were hardly paying attention now, for they’d caught sight of Sophie, returned to the School Master’s side with her menacing crown.

“So I leave their fate to my queen, who, in addition to being intimately familiar with the accused, once even shared a room with them,” said Rafal, turning to Sophie. “So what do you say, my love? Spare them? Or condemn them?”

Sophie saw the witches hone in on her, silently pleading for mercy. Even Hester, who’d rather pluck out her own eye than show weakness, looked scared out of her wits.

How much we’ve been through together, thought Sophie, she and the Three Witches of Room 66. For all their tempestuous ups and downs, she’d almost come to think of them as friends.

Almost.

For these were the friends who’d always believed she’d end up alone . . . friends who pushed Agatha to side with her prince over her . . . friends who’d spied on her inside her own school . . . friends who’d never been there for her when she needed them most . . .

And now they expected her to be their white-knight hero when they needed her.

Sophie’s face went cold. If there was one moral to her fairy tale, it was that the witches were right all along. Nothing good ever came of her trying to be Good.

“Condemn them,” she said.

“No!” cried Dot—

Rafal smirked at the terrified witches. “Then I’m afraid this is goodbye.” He raised his finger to sever the rope over the Brig—