The truth that Sophie destroying her own ring was the only way to kill the School Master and stop him from killing them. And now that Sophie had returned to Evil, there was no hope of her destroying that ring at all.

“Did you see her when she came back?” Agatha asked softly.

“Saw her the way we saw you when we first came through the portal: wearing her new crown,” said Hester.

“Only with four hundred more people in the audience,” said Dot, still making kissy-faces in the urn.

“She did look beautiful, I have to say,” Anadil added thoughtfully. “Paraded into the Theater of Tales on a handsome boy’s arm, just like the old Sophie, who believed her destiny was so much bigger than everyone else’s. The strange thing was how calm and composed she was. Not like that warty, deranged witch who savaged anything in sight. It was as if Evil had finally opened her path to a happy ending.”

“As if Evil had the right to win,” nodded Dot.

“As if Evil was Good,” Hester finished.

Agatha thought of Sophie, who just a few days ago had nuzzled her head against her as they rode across the moors. Sophie, her prissy, pink-dressed best friend who fantasized about being a princess for Good. Sophie, who would draw glass castles, ponder her future prince’s name, and mull what her Evil archenemy would look like—while Agatha had been branded as Evil from the day she was born. She’d retaliated by ironically playing along, wearing black and lurking in her graveyard and nursing her hateful little cat . . . until the irony wore off and even she believed she’d end up a witch.

Now here they were. She, the queen for Good. Sophie, the queen for Evil.

“How’d we get so lost?” she breathed. “How can two best friends end up at war against each other, even though they still love each other?”

“Because each of you is fighting for something bigger than yourself now,” said Hester.

Agatha hung her head. “I miss the days where my biggest worry was surviving makeovers in Beautification.”

“Speaking of makeovers, anyone notice Hort’s looking even juicier than he did at school?” chirped Dot, biting into the cocoa-pizza she’d swiped off the floor. “Saw him when we came in and he has this swarthy tan from working the moors and mud stains on his cheeks, like he’s Captain Lumberjack or something. But you know how I like woodsy types, with my crush on Robin Hood and all. Anyway, I sneak behind and give him a good sniff and notice he smells like a man now, nothing like that boy who used to wear frog pajamas and reek of baby powder, and all I could think was since there aren’t too many rooms in this place, I wonder if I can get Merlin to put me and him in the same—”

“Over my dead body,” bellowed Hort, who stuck his head out from around the corner.