demanded.
âGIVE US SOPHIE.â
âYOU CANâT HAVE HER,â Agatha scrawled.
A cannonball smashed through Sophieâs statue in reply.
Sophie stirred behind her, mumbling about the connection between poor sleep and pimples. Banging around in the dark, she lit a candle that streaked the hemlock rafters with tawny glow. Then she did a few bumbling yoga moves, nibbled on an almond, rubbed her face with grapefruit seeds, trout scales, and cacao cream, and twirled to Agatha with a sleepy smile. âMorning, darling, whatâs ourplan?â
But hunched in the windowsill, Agatha just stared out the broken glass, and then Sophie did too, at the leveled town, the homeless masses picking through rubble, and her severed statue head gaping at her from the church steps. Sophieâs smile slowly vanished.
âThereâs no plan, is there?â
CRACK!
The oak doors shivered as a hammer bashed away a padlock.
CRACK! CRACK!
âAssassins!â Sophie criedâ
Agatha leapt up in horror. âThe church is hallowed ground!â
Boards snapped; screws loosened and clinked to the floor.
The girls backed against the altar. âHide!â Agatha gasped, and Sophie ran around the lectern like a headless chickenâ
Something metal slipped into the door.
âA key!â Agatha squeaked. âThey have a key!â
She heard the lock catch. Behind her, Sophie fluttered uselessly between curtains.
âHide now !â cried Agathaâ
The doors crashed open, and she spun to its dark threshold. Through weak candlelight, into the church slunk a hunched black shadow.
Agathaâs heart stopped.
No . . .
The crooked shadow glided down the aisle, flickering in flamelight. Agatha dropped to her knees against the altar. Her heart was rattling so hard she couldnât breathe.
Heâs dead! Ripped to pieces by a white swan and thrown to the wind! His black swan feathers rained over a school far, far away! But now the School Master was creeping towards her, very much alive, and Agatha cowered against the lectern with a shriekâ
âThe situation has become untenable,â said a voice.
Not the School Masterâs.
Agatha peeked through fingers at the Elder with the longest beard, standing over her.
âSophie must be moved to safety,â said the younger Elder behind him, removing his black top hat.
âAnd she must be moved tonight,â said the youngest at the rear, stroking his meager beard.
âWhere?â a voice breathed.
The Elders looked up to see Sophie in the marble frieze over the altar, pressed against a naked saint.
â THATâS where you hid?â barked Agatha.
âWhere will you take me?â Sophie asked the Eldest, trying in vain to extricate herself from the nude statue.
âItâs been arranged,â he said, replacing his hat as he walked towards the door. âWeâll return this evening.â
âBut the attacks!â Agatha cried. âHow will you stop them?â
âArranged,â said the middle, following the Eldest out.
âEight oâclock,â said the youngest, trailing behind him. âOnly Sophie.â
âHow do you know sheâll be safe!â Agatha panickedâ
âAll arranged,â the Eldest called back, and locked the door behind him.
The two girls stood in dumb silence before Sophie let out a squeal.
âSee? I told you!â She slid down the frieze and smushed Agatha in a hug. âNothing can ruin our happy ending.â Humming with relief, she packed her creams and cucumbers in her pretty pink suitcase, for who knew how long itâd be before theyâd let her friend visit with more. She glanced back at Agathaâs big dark eyes fixed out the window.
âDonât fret, Aggie. Itâs all arranged.â
But as Agatha watched the villagers sift through ruins, glowering bloodshot at the church, she remembered the last time her mother