Soman Chainani

Agatha heard a bloodcurdling shriek and spun to Sophie, back in her body, lips scrunched against Hort’s.

Hort released her. “Oh, the hand. Oops.” He popped another mint leaf. “Should we start again?”

“You APE!” Sophie kicked him and he crashed into the mint bush, onto the snacking skunk, which raised its tail and sprayed him in the eyes. Hort staggered around, ramming into coffins—“I’m blind! I’m blind!”—until he smashed into Sophie’s again, which slammed shut, sealing his skunked body in with hers. Aghast, Sophie rammed the glass, but it wouldn’t budge.

Ah, so bitter and petty, as if you should be Evil School Master!

No one moved for a second, but then she grazed by Hephaestus, blowing out more candles, and for a second the girl’s eyes met his through her veil.

Hephaestus jolted, then whirled to the crowd. “Help her! Help her bring darkness!”

“Look for where the tales go at night.”

You think our side is Evil? They are more. They care nothing for balance.

Good the master of Evil, once more.

“It doesn’t matter what you are,” said Rafal. “It only matters what you do.”

My love will never be enough . . . for you.

A Reader worth not ten Nevers, but a hundred.

Masks were falling, little by little.

Good become Evil, Evil become Good.