Good Curses Evil (4 page)

“What are they waiting for?” Jez whispered to me. I just shrugged.

Morgana stopped at the head of all the tables, where a platform had been raised with a special table for the teachers. She stood next to Master Dreadthorn, whose black eyes seemed to burn with a variety of emotions. I was pretty sure I saw anger, embarrassment, and jealousy, to name a few.

“Be seated,” Morgana said in her tinkling voice.

Her students sat as one. Then the Crooks brought out the food and stood obediently near the trees, waiting to refill drinks or to pick up dropped napkins. Whenever a Crook was slow (or even if one was too attentive), he or she was given demerits—which meant extra cleaning duties on top of all the Crook's regular chores. Apparently,
anyone
ranking above a Crook at Morgana's school could give them demerits, not just the Masters. So the poor kids were heaped with indignities as the older generation sought to take petty revenge for the years
they'd
spent as Crooks.

I thought I saw them watching our own Crooks with longing. The rest of Morgana's students, however, stared down their pointy noses at us like we were leftover sheep liver.

“So,” a girl across from us said. I could tell she was a Fiend by her hat color. I could tell she was a vampire by her features. “Is it true you have to do something
good
to get into Dreadthorn's?”

“I guess,” Jezebel answered, since the girl seemed to be talking to her.

“What did
you
do?” she asked.

“Uh … I don't really like to talk about it,” Jez said. She'd been drinking grape juice and trying to pass it off as blood in the dim candlelight. She eyed her glass nervously.

“I heard what she did,” another kid piped up. It was a boy a few seats down from us. He might have been a warlock like me. “My dad hangs around in the same cave as her dad sometimes. Anyway, turns out Little Miss Dracula likes chocolate milk,” he said in a mocking voice.

“It was hot cocoa,” Jez said, staring at her plate.

“Gross!” the girl across from us said. “No wonder your dad disowned you.”

“He did
not
disown me! In fact, he donated the land for Master Dreadthorn's school.”

“He donated land for our school too. Hmm … a wasteland and a dungeon for his daughter, and a castle on the sea for perfect strangers. Sounds like your dad doesn't really care about you, kiddo.”

This was hardly true since Dracula was immortal and had donated the land about three hundred years before Jezebel was even born. On the other hand, he really was a jerk to Jezebel most of the time, so the vampire girl did have a point.

“That's not true!” Jez said, but they'd already moved on.

“What about you, dog-boy?” the warlock kid asked. “Did your dad really dress up like a little old grandma?” Everyone at the table giggled.

“It was a disguise!” Wolf Junior said.

“But
Grandmama
,” the vampire girl said. “What a big hairy
butt
you have!” Now the whole table erupted in laughter.

“Just ignore them,” I said. Chad and I were both holding Wolf Junior back by his tail as he tried to scramble across the table.

“Down, boy!” the girl said. “If you can sit, I'll give you a nice biscuit. Sit boy. Sit!” More laughter.

“Shouldn't you be howling at the moon with the other dogs?” the boy asked.

“I'm not a werewolf, moron!” Wolf said.

“You look like one to me,” the vampire girl said, smirking.

“Werewolves
transform.
He's always like that,” Chad added helpfully. Only it wasn't really very helpful.

Wolf Junior was about to pounce on Little Miss Snot Nose when Mistress Morgana lifted her crystal goblet and spoon, clinking them for everyone's attention. The tables grew silent.

“We are so pleased to have our friends from Master Dreadthorn's School for Wayward Villains here tonight.” A round of halfhearted clapping echoed dully from the tables and was lost in the stillness of the night.

“We are also excited because—as all of you know—this is the month of the harvest moon. And that means we will once again be drawing names for a very secret, very dangerous Plot!”

The clapping this time was thunderous. There was even shouting and a few whistles. Then, two beefy men in black hoods entered the clearing from the far end carrying an enormous metal cauldron between them. As they made their way between the tables, a low chant began, growing louder and louder.

“Plot! Plot! Plot! Plot!”

I felt a familiar twinge in my eye as I was reminded once more of my own terrible Plot. But I couldn't afford to freak out now with the Morgana kids watching. Besides, my mind had finally cleared a little and my villain instincts were taking over. I knew what I had to do. If I could get Jez and Wolf alone for a minute—

Somebody banged the table so hard, my fork flew into my lap. Kids were no longer just chanting, they were screaming.

“Plot! Plot! Plot! Plot!”

It echoed from the surrounding trees. More kids pounded their fists on the tables in rhythm. The chanting grew to a climax as the two headsmen climbed the steps to the platform where Mistress Morgana and Master Dreadthorn waited.

The chanting voices and fist-pounding were so loud now, even the ground seemed to be shaking. Mistress Morgana held up her hands for silence, and immediately the noise stopped. It was like the final drumbeat of a song. The sound echoed around and around the clearing, dying to a whisper and disappearing into the night air.

“This cauldron contains the names of every eligible student from both my school and Veldin's school,” Morgana said.

I saw my father's mouth move. Although I couldn't hear what he said, I was pretty sure it looked like “
Master Dreadthorn
, you dimwit.”

Morgana had said
every eligible student
. That probably didn't include Crooks or kids failing their classes. I wondered if I was eligible even though I already had a Plot. An impossible, horrible one. My eye twitched again.

“Three names will be chosen by an
impartial
party,” Morgana continued. “If your name is called, please stand and join me and Veldin on the platform.”

I had just enough time to wonder who the “impartial party” would be when the two burly men tipped the enormous cauldron, dumping the names into the swamp. Immediately, the surface of the water began to bubble. All of the kids rushed from the tables and down to the waterside to get a better view. Wolf, Jez, Chad, and I elbowed our way to the front, accidentally bumping the troll Crook into the water for the third time that night. He emerged, soggy and dripping, just as the swamp changed from an inky black to an eerie, glowing green.

“Lady of the Lake, Maiden of the Mire,” Morgana said, “choose the names of those who will conspire.”

A bony hand shot out of the lake, clutched in a tight fist. Bits of decayed gray flesh hung limply from it like an old, tattered flag. This was all that was left of the original Lady of the Lake. Apparently, Morgana had held a grudge against the woman back in England (something about the Lady giving Arthur a sword one Christmas when all Morgana got from her was a lame pair of reindeer socks). She enslaved the Lady, banishing her to this swamp where the quagmire had eventually rotted her body away, leaving just the hand behind.

Beside me I could see Chad's eyes open wide in awe at the sight of the grisly hand. Wolf had momentarily forgotten his quarrel with the vampires. His tongue lolled as he panted madly in anticipation. Jez had her hands squeezed into fists and her eyes shut tight as she chanted under her breath, “Countess Jezebel, Countess Jezebel, oh
please
Countess Jezebel.”

The Morgana kids were taking a more proactive approach. I could hear more than one student quietly muttering cheating spells. Morgana reached out her fingers to delicately pluck the name from the gruesome hand. The entire assembly was silent, everyone collectively holding their breath.

“The first to Plot shall be …” Morgana met the eyes of all the students, purposefully keeping us in suspense. Villains love suspense.

“Erzsebet Bathory!” Morgana announced, holding the little metal nameplate high over her head.

“Who is that?” Wolf Junior asked.

“Me, dogbreath,” a girl said.

It was the vampire who'd been taunting us. She smiled, showing her long, venomous fangs. The girl held up her pale hand amid cheers from her fellow students and strode gracefully toward Morgana. Judging by the thunderous applause, it was obvious Erzsebet was popular.

After the noise quieted down, Morgana said her rhyme again. The bony hand plunged back beneath the lake where the water boiled, still glowing green. Moments later, the hand emerged with another name.

“The second to Plot shall be …” Again a long pause.

“Morgana's such a drama queen,” I said.

“Shhh!” several people nearby hissed at me.

Beside me Jez was nearly hyperventilating from chanting her own name. On the other side, Wolf was still clutching his plate in one hand and a raw mutton leg in the other. He had left a puddle of drool on his dinner plate from panting. A Crook noticed at the same time I did and rushed forward to wipe it up.

“Gilles DeRay!” Morgana announced.

Another vampire held up his hand near the other end of the crowd, also one of Mistress Morgana's snobs. He joined Erzsebet on the platform. Mistress Morgana was about to say her rhyme for the third and final time when Master Dreadthorn cleared his throat meaningfully.

“I'd like to do it this time if you don't mind,” he said.

For a brief moment, Mistress Morgana's flawless control faltered. Her eyes hardened, turning the liquid green light into two solid emeralds. Then she regained her composure and stepped aside gracefully.

The Dread Master said the rhyme in a bored sort of voice that revealed his distaste for anything singsongy. The skeletal hand dived once more beneath the churning surface of the swamp only to emerge moments later.

Master Dreadthorn plucked the name from the hand and looked at it for a good thirty seconds. His face betrayed nothing, but I could tell he was calculating in his mind. He obviously recognized the name, so I figured it must be from our school. I only hoped it wasn't mine. Finally, Master Dreadthorn's dead, black eyes fell on us as he said, “Chad Padurii.”

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Conspiracies

Poor Chad froze on the spot. For a minute, I thought he was going to pee his pants. Or maybe his head would just fall off and he'd ooze red frosting like one of his gingerbread men.

“It's you, Chad,” I said helpfully. No response. I pinched him.

“Ouch!” he said, coming out of his trance. Slowly, he walked in a daze toward the platform.

“We have our Conspiracy!” Morgana said.

The water stopped boiling as the hand disappeared. The lake was black once more. Everyone clapped, although most kids looked downcast. It was more fun to be in the parade than to watch it from the sidelines. But the disappointment on my friends' faces made me hopeful. And now that Chad had his own Plot, I wouldn't even have to feel guilty. Guilt was
not
a good villain trait. It implied a conscience—definitely something villains should not have.

I had to start my own Plot in the morning, which meant I only had tonight to convince Wolf and Jezebel to join my Conspiracy. When we returned to the castle, the chosen Plotters disappeared into a private room with Morgana and Dreadthorn. The rest of us kids were dismissed to roam the castle and grounds until midnight. I took advantage of the opportunity and managed to get Wolf and Jezebel alone in a spare room.

“I can't believe
Chad
is Plotting and not us,” Wolf said as I closed the door behind us. They hardly realized I'd herded them into a separate room.

“I know. What's
he
going to do on a Plot?” Jez said. “Bake a mighty cake of destruction?”

“Guys,” I said.

“Whip up a headless gingerbread army?” Wolf said.

“Guys!”

“Stir up a—” Jez began.

“GUYS!” I shouted. They finally stopped ranting long enough to notice me.

“What, Drexler?” Wolf asked.

“How'd you like to Plot with me?” I said.

“Seriously?” Jez asked.

I pulled out my Plot message and read it to them just like I had to Chad. Only this time, I included the part at the bottom … that I was allowed to choose two Conspirators.

“That sounds kind of hard. No wonder you were freaked out,” Wolf said.

“I wasn't freaked out!”

“Oh yeah? What about all that …?” Wolf twitched his eye at me.

“You want an eye twitch, Junior? I'll give you one!” I said.

“What about Chad?” Jez said, moving quickly between me and Wolf. “He said you were Plotting with him.”

“Chad? Seriously?” I asked. “Besides, he has his own Plot now.”

“So … you want
us
?” Wolf asked, somewhat surprised.

I couldn't blame him. Villain friendships were more like alliances or pacts that could be broken if they didn't prove beneficial. It was hard to tell if someone was
really
a friend or just using you.

“Think about it. If I have to kidnap a princess, steal a baby, and find a henchman … those are all going to require tracking. Who can track better than a wolf?”

Wolf grinned. I turned to the countess.

“And last I checked, princesses usually live in towers. I might need someone who can fly. Plus, a bat is a lot less conspicuous than a twelve-year-old warlock, right?”

“Well, yes. My father always says I'm rather talented at stealth,” Jez said (so humble).

“But what's in it for us, Rune?” Wolf asked.

“You'll share my fate. If I'm promoted to Fiend, you'll both be promoted as well,” I said.

Wolf was a Rogue like me, but Jez was Fiend already. That meant an Apprentice Level for her if she succeeded. Jez was almost a year younger than me, which meant she'd become one of the youngest Apprentices ever. This would surely impress even someone as aloof as Jez's father, Count Dracula. I could see the greed gleaming in her violet eyes.

“Wait,” Wolf said. “What if we fail?”

I should've lied. I should've said “No big deal, Wolfie, old boy. Nothing to worry about.” Instead I told the truth.

“We're exiled,” I answered.

“Forget it,” Wolf and Jez both said at the same time and turned toward the door.

“Wait! Wolf, don't you want to prove to all those snobby Morgana kids that you are more than just a big dumb dog?” He stopped.

“And Jez! Wouldn't you like to prove to your dad that you're a villain who can Plot and not just some cocoa-drinking pansy?” She stopped too.

They looked at each other. For a minute I thought they'd just walk out, but instead they both turned back to me.

“When do we start?” Jez asked.

*   *   *

We waited and waited for Chad to emerge from his Plotting, but he never did. Finally, the time came for us to sail back to our own school. I didn't see Chad on the boat either.

“Where's Chad?” I dared to ask Master Dreadthorn as we sailed for home.

“He's Plotting,” the Dread Master answered.

I knew I wouldn't get any more than that out of him. I had to be content to assume that Chad was happily (if a bit nervously) ensconced in deep planning or, perhaps, already off on his Plot with the Morgana kids. I didn't dwell on it. After all, I had my own Plot. There was no turning back. This was my chance to prove myself to my dad once and for all. And now I had Conspirators too.

As if he'd read my mind, Master Dreadthorn asked, “Who Conspires with you?”

“Jez—uh—the countess and Wolf Junior,” I answered.

The Dread Master only nodded once and said no more.

Later, after disembarking (and after cleaning up my own upchuck under the watchful eye of Cook), Jezebel, Wolf Junior, and I took advantage of the long caravan ride home to discuss where we would start our Plotting the next morning.

“There's a village some miles north of the school, past the forest,” Jez said. “It borders a little kingdom called Kaloya where there's been an uprising. I heard Master Dreadthorn talking about it on the boat with Cook. Maybe it won't be so hard to overthrow a kingdom after all.”

“And there's bound to be princesses and babies there,” Wolf threw in. I could already tell he would be better suited as the
muscle
of this operation.

“Okay, we'll start in the village and cross over into Kaloya. Now, that just leaves finding a henchman. Jez, you said the village is north of the school, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, the road north passes through the Forgotten Forest, where there are lots of magical creatures. I've been thinking about my henchman.… A good henchman should be useful in some way that the villain isn't, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So I was thinking, if I could find some kind of magical creature—nothing too dangerous, just something with a little bit of power—we could convince it to enter my service.”

“How will we do that?” Wolf asked.

“I haven't worked that out yet,” I admitted. “Maybe we can feed it the baby or something.” This seemed reasonable to all of us.

“Jez, you're in charge of provisions. Fill up a few backpacks with food and supplies. And by food I mean stuff we can
all
eat.”

“I'm not a bat-brain, Rune,” she said.

“Could've fooled me,” Wolf Junior replied. Jez bared her fangs menacingly.

“Wolf, see if you can get a map from the library.”

He nodded. “What are you going to do, Rune?”

“I'm going to get us something even better than a map,” I answered.

The Gypsy caravan pulled up to the school, and we got out. Jez and Wolf confirmed their responsibilities, then we all agreed to meet outside the entrance to the school at dawn. I watched them walk down the main hallway with the rest of the students, then I made my way carefully to Master Dreadthorn's study.

I was betting on the chance that he would have to talk with the Gypsies a minute or two before retiring for the day. Still, not worth risking everything on a chance. I knocked on the door. No answer. Carefully I turned the knob. It was locked, of course, but I'd stolen a spare key years ago.

The study was dark and mostly silent except for a few gurgling and scurrying noises coming from the bookshelves. The only light in the room was a red glow pulsing from the spherical object in the glass case behind Master Dreadthorn's onyx desk. His crystal ball. This, of course, was the reason I'd come here.

Wasting no time, I crossed the room to the glass case. It too was locked, but I had no key. I was certain the Dread Master would never be careless enough to leave a key in his study. After all, this
was
a school full of villains. I would have to pick the lock.

I reached into my cloak pocket and pulled out my villain tool kit—a little leather case that looked sort of like a man's wallet. Inside were various items: a few gold coins, some powders and poisons. Finally, I found what I'd been looking for: a girl's hairpin. And don't bother asking whose. That's none of your business.

With deft speed and skill, my villain's fingers made short work of the lock. In mere moments the case was open, and I was cradling the precious orb in my arms like the baby I would soon be stealing. Only I probably wouldn't be half as careful with the baby.

A search of the Dread Master's desk produced a velvet pouch. I had just deposited the orb into the pouch and pulled the drawstring tight when I heard the sound I'd been dreading … a key moving a tumbler, a bolt being thrown. Someone was opening the door.

I congratulated myself on remembering to lock the door behind me while at the same time scolding myself for not choosing a hiding place as soon as I had entered the room. Villains are always supposed to be on the lookout for hiding places.

There was only one substantial cover in the entire study. I dived under the onyx desk just as the door opened.

I heard a gasp and a hoarse whisper. “The crystal ball.”

Oh, cat-a-bats! Any minute now, the Dread Master would come around the desk to investigate, and I'd be slug slime. If you've ever been to the principal's office for doing something bad, you might understand how I felt, but probably not. If you've ever had your dad catch you doing something you shouldn't be doing, you might also know how I felt, but again, probably not. Now, let's say your dad is a villainous warlock with a nasty temper who also
happens
to be your principal. And let's also say you're doing something that's not only bad, but pretty much illegal. And now let's say you get caught … doing that bad, illegal thing … in your dad/principal's study. Now you might know how I felt.

But the worst part is that my father would be angrier with me for getting caught than for stealing the crystal ball in the first place. Villains should
not
get caught—just ask Wolf's dad. He got caught. In a dress. By a little cape-wearing girl.

I heard another muffled gasp, then the door closing suddenly. I squeezed my eyes shut and—much like Jezebel—began chanting in my head.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
Then the sound of voices drifted in from just outside the door. Curiosity overruled my fear, and I stopped chanting long enough to listen, but the voices suddenly stopped. Then the door opened.
Again
. Back to chanting.

“Have you been waiting long?” a voice asked. I recognized it at once as the Dread Master's.

“Only a minute or two,” another voice said. I nearly dropped the crystal ball from surprise. It was Chad.

“Did anybody see you?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, have you formed a plan yet?” the Dread Master asked as he moved closer to the onyx desk. I heard a creaking sound and realized with growing fear that he was sitting on top of the desk, right above me.

“We're working on it, of course, Dread Master,” Chad answered. I could hear fear in his voice, but not the usual, gibbering Chad-fear. It was more like the fear any of the students might have felt toward Master Dreadthorn. Maybe getting his own Plot had given Chad a spine.

“You'd better do more than that,” Master Dreadthorn answered. “It was quite a feat for me to plant your name as the third Conspirator. For you to fail …”

“I won't fail you, Father,” Chad answered.

This time I did drop the crystal ball. (I think this is where the phrase “drop the ball” originated.) Luckily it landed with only a faint thud, shrouded in its velvet pouch. Did he say
Father
?

“I told you never to call me
that
,” the Dread Master said in a quiet, menacing way. I'd only ever seen Master Dreadthorn's anger reach this level … a kind of hushed smoldering that reduced students to puddles of slug slime. I would hate to see him truly angry. It would probably be the last thing I ever saw.

“Why?” Chad asked. Some of the whininess had returned to his voice. “Why does Rune get to claim you but not me? Are you still blaming me for what happened between you and Mother all those years ago?”

“Do not speak of her to me!” my father said.

“But—”

“Enough! I've allowed you to attend this school. That should be sufficient for you.”

My head was reeling. Was it possible? Could Chad really be my half brother? Curly-haired, freckled, bespectacled, cookie-baking Chad? I could hardly believe it. And what did he mean about the gingerbread witch and my dad? It would take years of therapy to sort this all out, and I still had a Plot to plan and—more urgently—a crystal ball to pilfer.

“You asked me to come here in secret. And I have. Time is short. What is it you want,
Dread Master
?” Chad's voice was stiff and forceful.

“I wanted to be sure you understood your Plot,” Master Dreadthorn said.

“Is that all? You mustn't believe all the rumors. I'm not as feeble-minded as everyone seems to think,” Chad answered. Who
was
this brave, confident kid, and what had he done with my bumbling, shy roommate?