And yet, ten minutes later, she was still drifting through hedges and poring over every inch of Tedros and Agatha’s romantic memorial, unable to tear herself away, before she arrived at the final sculpture of the prince and princess, wrapped in their first kiss beneath a willow.

Strange, wasn’t it, Sophie thought, moving closer. She’d kissed Agatha . . . Agatha had kissed Tedros . . . and yet, she’d never kissed Tedros. And she never would. Because he was the enemy now, he was the villain . . . and besides, she had her own boy to kiss . . . a boy so much fairer and smarter and better than the one Agatha was kissing right in front of her . . . So why was she on tiptoes, then, inhaling the smell of their minty kiss, touching a gold-ringed finger to her friends’ locked lips—

Her fingertip burst into a violent, blistering rash.

Sophie choked in surprise.

The bloodred pox chased up her hand, her arm, her shoulder like a carnivorous animal, sizzling so hot she couldn’t breathe . . .

Seconds later, Sophie barreled through the old Valor breezeway like a rhinoceros, crashing through students leaving fourth session, who plastered against walls at the sight of her. Hurtling up the spiral stairs, she threw open the door to the Dean’s office, her entire body covered in raging blisters, the rash surging up her neck towards her face—

Professor Manley and Lady Lesso calmly looked back at her, both teachers silhouetted at the window.

“Told you someone would get hurt, Bilious,” sighed Lady Lesso.

“Only if they were stupid enough to touch an Evers’ love story,” Manley growled at Sophie. “Get to the Groom Room at once and soak in the steam bath.”

“But Dean Sader incinerated the Groom Room!” Sophie breathed in pain.

“Only the Girls’,” said Lady Lesso. “Use the Boys’.”

Sophie hightailed for the stairs, Rafal’s ring knifing into her swollen finger—

“Sophie?” Manley called out.

She turned.

“Your love for Rafal has inspired all of Evil,” he said, softening. “Teachers included.”

Sophie smiled tightly and ran away.

By the time Sophie made it to the Boys’ Groom Room, four flights down, the rash had devoured her entire face, with her skin and eyelids so inflamed she could barely see. Thankfully the boys’ spa looked deserted. Peering through tearing slits, she scanned the Midas Gold sweat lodge, peasant-themed tanning room, gymnasium with Norse hammers, saltwater lap pool, and steaming Turkish baths, smelling of sulfur and sweat. Her left eye suddenly ballooned thicker, sealing up tight, and she stumbled like a cyclops towards the steamiest bath before she slipped on its rim and careened headfirst into scalding water, her dress inflating like a parachute—

Instantly the red pustules began to recede.

Bubbles flowed over her numb, swollen face, restoring her skin little by little until she felt water jets blast her clear cheeks and Rafal’s ring loosen on her finger. With a relieved breath, Sophie flung to the surface, whipping her hair like a mermaid out of the sea and opened her eyes with a smile.