The door flew open behind her and an obese pink flamingo stumbled in—or rather most of an obese pink flamingo, since a dog head was attached to its body, trying and failing to navigate it. “Apologies for the late arrival,” he smarmed, resting awkwardly against a wall. “Castor was feeling ill, so I took over his Henchmen class and led the students in a rousing anthem I’ve composed for Lord Aric, our illustrious Dean. Would you like to hear it? It’s best performed by a 52-piece symphony and soprano choir, but I’m sure I can replicate the effect—”

He saw Sophie at the teacher’s desk. “Oh. Hello . . . former student,” the dog sniffed.

Sophie glowered at Pollux, one half of a two-headed Cerberus who routinely lost the battle to use their body to his rabid brother Castor. She could have gone the rest of her life without seeing this oily, spineless, brown-noser again, who’d clearly buttered up Aric in order to avoid being imprisoned with the rest of the Good teachers, just like he’d buttered up Evelyn Sader last year to avoid being evicted with the Boys. Even worse, Pollux was clearly lying about why he was late, since her three witch friends said they were just helping Castor clean up dragon poo.

“Would you like to take a seat amongst your kind?” Pollux jabbed, as if reading her thoughts. “I assumed you’d leave the class to me since it has been mine the past few weeks.”

“I’m quite fine where I am,” Sophie retorted, suddenly happy to be a teacher if it meant riling up this boob. She turned back to the class. “Might you tell me what you’ve been learning, students?”

“The Tale of Sophie and Agatha, inside and out,” said Hort, rolling into the room without books or a bag, his hand slid up his shirt, showing off his rippled stomach. “You know, trying to spot Agatha’s and Tedros’ weaknesses, so we can kill ’em and finally stop being losers.” He dropped into a seat, blew his dark bangs out of his glittering black eyes, and stretched his chest with a yawn.

Sophie goggled at Hort’s broad shoulders, casual stubble, and laid-back slouch. In a month, he’d gone from wimpy, earnest pipsqueak to teenage heartthrob. She noticed all the other girls slyly checking him out, Evers and Nevers both. It must be a makeover spell, she thought, watching him toss his hair. Or a twin brother or a deal with the devil or something . . . Hort caught her looking and scowled at her murderously like he had in the foyer. Sophie stiffened and pretended to listen to Pollux.

“As Hort points out, the first week we did a unit on Tedros’ shortcomings as a prince,” the dog said, plopping on the teacher’s desk and shoving Sophie over. He waved a wing and the lollipop colors on the walls rearranged to scenes of Tedros’ worst moments from The Tale of Sophie and Agatha. “And what did we learn class? Yes, Hester!”