A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,65

torrent of high-pitched jabber.

“They say Rhian’s men are returning to the school gates,” Uma recounted breathlessly. “And this time, they have a sorcerer with them.”

“I’ll reinforce the shield as best I can,” Manley muttered as he headed for the door. He glanced back at Uma. “Find a way to turn those stymphs around before our students arrive in Camelot. Get them back here now.” He gave Agatha an ireful look and left the office.

Professor Anemone corralled Uma. “Can you call the stymphs?”

“It’s too late! They’ve surely reached Camelot by now!” said the princess.

“What if we send a crow, telling them to abandon plan?” Professor Espada proposed.

“Faster if we mogrify ourselves,” said Professor Lukas.

“FASTER IF YOU RIDE ON MY BACK,” Castor harrumphed. “LET’S BRING ’EM BACK OURSEL . . .”

His voice petered out. The faculty followed the dog’s eyes to the window.

Agatha stood in front of it, burning a large circle into the glass with her fingerglow. Then she pulled the glass away, opening up a gaping hole.

“Never took her for a vandal,” Professor Sheeks said.

Professor Anemone blinked overcurled lashes. “She’s gone rogue!”

Agatha raised her lit finger to the hole in the glass, her chest filling up with emotion like a river after the rain. Then, pointing her fingertip like a wand, she shot her glow at Lionsmane’s message, feeling all the anger, fear, and determination surge out of her body and into the sky. Over Camelot, black clouds gathered like tentacles around Lionsmane’s message, moving to the beat of a low thunder. The clouds curled around the words as Agatha focused harder, directing the mist to weave around each letter like fingers pulling the strings of a violin. Then all at once, the letters began to quiver, each one trembling in the sky.

“How is she doing that?” Princess Uma rasped.

“First-year weather spell,” said Professor Sheeks. “Yuba would have taught it to her himself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the gnome dismissed. “Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic!”

Agatha thrust her finger even harder at the sky, the letters shivering faster and faster. She could feel the weight of Lionsmane’s message heavy under her hand, as if pushing a stone lid off a tomb. Clenching her teeth, she thought of Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, Merlin, and all her friends, summoning every last drop of resolve, her glow electrifying the veins down her whole palm . . . until at last, with a ferocious “ummmpph,” she magically stripped the gold off the letters . . .

. . . revealing the pink imprint of the message beneath it, like a fresh scar.

The pink of whoever’s magic had drafted the message in the first place.

A pink so bold and brash everyone knew who it belonged to.

“Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic,” said Agatha, gazing at the remnants of Sophie’s glow, “unless the magic isn’t an enemy’s at all.”

In the glass, she could see the teachers goggling at her: Manley, too, from the stairwell outside the office doors.

Agatha stabbed out her hand and shot a spell that collapsed Lionsmane’s message into a golden ball, swelling and detonating it like a rival sun—

She watched the word burn against the sky.

Too much, she thought.

But she couldn’t help herself.

She had to send a message to that fraud on Tedros’ throne . . . to the Snake at his side . . . to every last dupe that was following him. . . .

And most of all to Sophie.

To tell her that she’d broken her code.

That help was on the way.

Agatha walked up to Yuba, yanked Dovey’s bag from his grubby little hands, and strode out of the office. “Shall we get back to saving people?” She glared back with fire. “Or does anyone else want to teach me lessons about friendship?”

Teachers peeked at each other . . . then scampered to follow.

The gnome included.

THEY DID IT in the Library of Virtue, on the highest floor of Honor Tower, so Agatha could have a clear view of the Woods through the library’s windows.

She stood facing the glass, with the crystal ball placed on a lectern in front of her. Behind her, the teachers watched, along with the hushed first years, who huddled against a wall painted with the school crest, their eyes on Agatha too.

Agatha insisted the first years be present, despite the teachers’ misgivings. They deserved to be part of this. They wanted to be part of this. Their classmates’ lives were on the line. If she could bring Groups #1 and #6 home safely, she’d earn the remaining