The late afternoon sun beat down on Monster High''s football field as the fearleaders moved into their final formation. At the tippy-top of their pyramid stood Gilda Goldstag, her delicate antlers gleaming as she balanced perfectly above Frankie Stein, Draculaura, and Cleo de Nile. Below them, Clawdeen Wolf, Toralei Stripe, and the werecat twins, Meowlody and Purrsephone, were locked in at the base, their arms steady despite the sweat dripping down their faces.


    "Hold it... hold it..." Cleo barked from her middle-row position. After a few seconds, she called out, "Alright, that’s it for today.”


    The pyramid collapsed into a crowd of sweaty monsters.


    Cleo adjusted the golden bandages wrapped around her wrists. "Listen up, because I''m only saying this once,” she announced. “With the new school year starting Monday, we need to be perfect. If anyone''s form is as atrocious as it was today when we''re back in session, you''ll be running laps until you decompose. Yeah, Toralei, I''m talking to you.”


    Toralei hissed at Cleo under her breath.


    Cleo continued, ignoring her. “Now shoo. I need a break from all your mediocrity.”


    Draculaura delicately dabbed her forehead with the black lace handkerchief she always carried, her pink skin hidden under a thick layer of SPF 500 sunscreen that made her look more like a ghost than a vampire. Next to her, Frankie''s neck bolts sparked and crackled, making the teammates around her leap back with startled yelps.


    "Whoops! Sorry, guys!" Frankie reached up to fiddle with her bolts. "This weather really gets my circuits going."


    "Ghoul, you think you''ve got it bad?" Clawdeen was sprawled out on the turf, frantically fanning herself with a Teen Scream magazine. Her purple-tinted hair was piled up into a messy bun with pieces sticking out everywhere. "Try being a werewolf in this heat. It''s like wearing a fur coat. In an oven. In the desert."


    "Have you considered waxing?" Toralei said from a few feet away, her signature mean-girl smirk plastered across her face.


    Clawdeen''s eyes flashed as she let out a growl.


    The team scattered across the field, everyone making a beeline for their water bottles on the sidelines. While the rest of the squad was practically racing each other to get back to the school''s sweet, sweet air conditioning, Gilda hung back. She pulled out a well-loved copy of "Cryptid Classics: A Modern Collection of Monster Literature" from her gym bag, its pages worn around the edges. Instead of following the others, she headed toward the woods that loomed past the sports fields, where a massive wrought-iron fence was the only thing keeping the wilderness from taking over the school grounds.


    By the bleachers, a cluster of vampire students were lounging in the lengthening shadows, sheltered by Victorian parasols and designer sunglasses. Their long-sleeved outfits — all in fashionable shades of midnight and deep red — covered every inch of their pale skin. Gory Fangtell, their unofficial leader, spotted Draculaura and wiggled her manicured fingers in a wave.


    "’Laura!" Gory flashed her fangs in what was supposed to be a smile but definitely wasn''t friendly. "Your dad''s soirée this summer was soooo cute. I mean, who serves vintage O-negative in crystal chalices anymore? The last time I saw that, people still thought the world was flat!”


    Draculaura clutched her handkerchief a little tighter, but didn’t let her annoyance show. She kept a sugar-sweet smile on her face. "Oh, you know how Dad is," she said with a fake little giggle. "He''s super big on the whole ''keeping our vampire heritage alive'' thing."


    Draculaura gave Clawdeen a look that screamed ‘please-drive-a-stake-through-my-heart’, then reluctantly walked over to make nice with the other vampires.


    Frankie bounced over to Clawdeen. "Oh my ghoul, how voltage was practice today? I didn’t even have a single body part fall off! That''s a new record!" Frankie beamed, oblivious to the social power play happening twenty feet away.


    Clawdeen couldn''t help grinning at her friend''s enthusiasm. "Good job, Frankie.” But then, Clawdeen’s sharp eyes caught something moving — Gilda, slipping away toward the treeline that bordered Monster High''s grounds.


    "Hey, G!" Clawdeen called out. "We''re about to hit up the Coffin Bean — they''ve got this new Scream Protein smoothie that''s seriously killer. Wanna go?”


    "Rain check?" Gilda replied, already halfway to the fence. She held up her book with a gentle smile. "It''s way too nice out to be stuck inside, and I''m right at the good part."


    “But it’s getting dark soon! And haven''t you read that like twelve times already?" Frankie asked.


    "Thirteen''s my lucky number!" Gilda shouted over her shoulder, already turning back toward the woods.


    "She''s been sneaking off to read a lot lately," Frankie said to Clawdeen.


    Clawdeen shrugged, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. "Some monsters just need their alone time.”


    Just then, a loud conversation floated over from the vampires. They were debating who had the most expensive custom-fitted coffin. Clawdeen noticed Draculaura’s violet eyes flicking her way — a silent plea for help.


    Clawdeen cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yo, Drac! Smoothie time!”


    Relief flooded Draculaura''s face. "Coming!" She spun around to face the vampire clique, dropping into a perfect little curtsey. "So sorry to cut this short, but duty calls!"


    As Draculaura ran back to Frankie and Clawdeen, she glanced at the woods. Gilda was way off in the distance now, just a tiny figure against all those trees.


    The three of them watched as Gilda squeezed through a gap in the fence that the faculty never seemed to notice, much less repair. Gilda''s silhouette melted into the shadows between those massive pine trees, her little antlers the last thing visible before the forest swallowed her completely.


    Not giving it much mind, Draculaura squeezed between her two best friends as they headed off toward the other side of campus, already deep in debate about whether a Blood Orange Blast smoothie was better than Screechberry Supreme.


    None of them had any idea that this would be the last time anyone from Monster High would see Gilda Goldstag breathing.


    ~ o ~ O ~ o ~


    It was hotter than the sixth circle of hell.


    Not that Beatrix had been there before, but she’d heard stories. Lots and lots of stories. Rivers of fire, flaming tombs, yada yada yada.


    Leaning against a creaky windowsill in her family’s spell brewing room, Beatrix watched the crimson-streaked horizon. Their farmhouse loomed black against the setting sun, its imposing silhouette casting long shadows across their sprawling property.


    Sweat dripped down Beatrix’s face while loose strands of her long dark hair stuck to her neck. She flapped her pointed black hat in front of her flushed face, though the sorry excuse for a breeze did little to help. Her hat had seen better days, its tip bent from years of her being careless with it. Traditional witch clothes were never really her thing.


    “Eye of newt,” came a clipped voice behind her.


    Through the cracked window pane, Beatrix saw a flock of crows soar above miles of corn stalks, moving together in perfect unison.


    “Eye of newt,” the voice repeated, louder this time.


    Beatrix kept watching the birds. Not a single one dared to break away from the flock. They reminded Beatrix of a witch coven.


    “For the love of all things unholy, hand me that blasted jar!”


    Beatrix nearly jumped out of her skin at the shout, realizing it was directed at her. Turning back from the window, she saw her three aunts — Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia — crowded around a massive iron cauldron in the middle of the room. The cauldron emitted a green glow, casting eerie shadows on her aunts, accentuating every wrinkle and hollow in their faces.


    Her aunts may have been dressed in the same black robes, but that’s where their similarities ended. Aunt Clarice was as thin as a withered twig, Aunt Constance, short and plump like a pumpkin, and Aunt Cordelia was tall and commanding like an old oak tree. Even at a hundred and twenty-six years old, Cordelia was intimidating. Maybe it was because of her height, maybe it was because she always looked ready to kill Beatrix. Probably a bit of both.


    Aunt Cordelia snapped her spindly fingers at Beatrix. “The jar. Now.”


    “What jar?” Beatrix asked, feeling dumb.


    “The eye of newt jar, insipid child!” Aunt Cordelia snarled.


    Beatrix dropped her black hat and started fumbling through the cluttered cupboards lining the walls. She yanked open each cobweb-covered drawer with a loud clatter, then dropped to her hands and knees, the rough floorboards scratching her skin through her black skirt. She peered to see if the eye of newt jar had rolled under the cabinets. It was nowhere to be found.


    “Quickly!” Aunt Constance yelled, shrill and panicked.


    “One sec, I just had it!” Beatrix called over her shoulder. A lie. She had no idea where the jar was, even though her aunts had ordered her to prepare the potion ingredients last night.


    How was I supposed to know eye of newt was so important for a pyrokinesis spell? Beatrix thought, bitter.


    Steaming green liquid began to spill over the rim of the cauldron, splattering onto the floor. The putrid smell of boiling bat wings that was filling the room was enough to make Beatrix gag.


    “There’s no time!” Aunt Clarice screeched. “Brace yourselves!”


    All three of Beatrix’s aunts scrambled away from the cauldron, tumbling to the floor in a chaotic mess of flailing limbs and black skirts. Realizing what they were doing, Beatrix copied them, curling into a tight ball and hugging her knees to her chest.


    At the last second, she grabbed her pointy black hat from where it had fallen and jammed it onto her head, squeezing her eyes shut.


    A deafening blast rang out, shaking the whole room, rattling the windows and causing dust to rain down from the rafters. A hot wave ran flush against Beatrix’s skin.


    After what seemed like an eternity, the heat subsided.


    Cautiously, Beatrix cracked open an eye. Thick smoke filled the room, and the suffocating odor of burning hair made her wheeze. Every inch of the walls was scorched black.


    As the smoke cleared, it took everything in Beatrix to suppress a cackle at the sight of her aunts. Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia were coated in a layer of ash from head to toe. Their hair stuck out in a million different directions, and Aunt Clarice was now missing half an eyebrow.


    However, any amusement Beatrix felt vanished when her aunts turned to glare daggers at her, their mouths pressed into thin, disapproving lines. If looks could kill…


    That''s when Beatrix realized her aunts weren''t glaring at her face. They were looking at her hair.


    “Well, well, well. What have we here?” Aunt Constance remarked, highly suspicious. “The blast barely touched a hair on your pretty little head.”


    Beatrix''s hands flew up, patting her wide-brimmed black hat. Her hat and hair were still perfectly in place.


    Aunt Constance turned to her sisters, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Isn’t it peculiar how her hat survived without a scratch? It’s almost like she cast some kind of charm on it. A protective enchantment, perhaps?"


    “What? No way! I didn’t charm anything!” Beatrix protested.


    Another lie. The truth was, Beatrix had secretly enchanted her hat with protective spells a few weeks ago. And it had worked, perfectly shielding her hair during the explosion.


    Aunt Cordelia planted her hands on her hips. "Beatrix Felicity Ravenwood. Are you trying to deceive us?"


    "No! I swear, Aunt ‘Delia. I would never break your no-magic rule..." Beatrix mumbled the last part under her breath, "... even if it’s stupid."


    "What was that?" Aunt Clarice snapped. "Speak up, child. A proper witch enunciates."


    Beatrix lifted her chin. "I said, your rule about not letting me practice magic is stupid. And before you ask — no, I didn''t charm my hat. But even if I did, what''s the big deal? Every other witch my age gets to use magic!”


    "Need I remind you why that rule exists?" Aunt Cordelia stepped forward, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. Her eyes, sharp as a raven''s, fixed on her niece.


    "Ugh, I know, I know." Beatrix slumped against the wall. "No magic until I''m sixteen. You''ve only told me about a million times."


    "Why is that, Beatrix?" Aunt Constance pressed.


    "Because," Beatrix recited in a bored tone, "I''m not ''responsible enough'' to handle magic until then." She made air quotes with her fingers, earning a disapproving tsk from Aunt Clarice.


    "Precisely." Aunt Cordelia said. "Your power needs proper guidance. You''re still far too—"


    "Reckless. Yeah, I got it.”


    Beatrix knew the real reason behind the age restriction, even if her aunts never said it outright: at sixteen, witches were expected to make a pact with a devil familiar from the underworld. Her aunts had spent years drilling it into her head — a reckless witch like her couldn’t be trusted with magic until she had a devil by her side to "whip her into shape" and "keep her in line."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    “But I don''t even want a stupid familiar…” Beatrix muttered to herself.


    “Watch your tongue!” Aunt Clarice snapped. “Such insolence… ingratitude…”


    "If you truly understood the benefits of a familiar, you wouldn’t speak in such a way," Aunt Cordelia said, shaking her head. "Why, a devil can eradicate your enemies, vastly extend your lifespan, and help you master even the most challenging spells. There''s no limit to what you could achieve."


    “But I don’t have any enemies I want to ‘eradicate’,” Beatrix retorted, crossing her arms.


    And to Beatrix, living forever sounded awful too. One look at the decrepit state of her aunts — each well over a century old — was enough to convince her that having a demon extend your life wasn''t all it was cracked up to be. But Beatrix made sure to keep that thought to herself.


    Of course, her aunts always conveniently left out the cost of a devil''s contract: a witch has to serve her devil master without question, obey their every whim and command — no matter how nefarious. One toe out of line… and there’d be dire consequences. Or so Beatrix had heard.


    She’d much rather deal with being bossed around by her family than be bound to a devil. It wasn’t even close.


    No, Beatrix was determined to master magic on her own terms. She''d already enchanted her hat by herself — she bet she could master other spells on her own too. Without a devil’s help. That’s why she’d been secretly breaking her aunts’ rule and experimenting with beginner spells whenever she got the chance. Who cared if her sixteenth birthday was still half a year away?


    "Beatrix, if we find out you''ve been dabbling in the dark arts..." Aunt Cordelia started, letting the threat hang heavy in the air between them.


    "... I can kiss my freedom goodbye. Yeah, I got it," Beatrix finished Cordelia’s sentence with a huff. “You know, you guys seriously underestimate me… I bet I could handle magic just fine. How hard could it be, really?”


    Her aunt''s nostrils flared, displeased by Beatrix''s dismissive tone.


    In an attempt to steer the conversation away from enchanted hats and devil familiars, Beatrix got to her feet and brushed the ash from the explosion off herself. Her skirt and apron were now an even darker shade of charcoal than they’d been before.


    As Beatrix straightened her clothes, something heavy clinked in her apron’s pocket. Beatrix reached in and pulled out a glass jar, its label written in spidery script: Eye of Newt.


    The ingredient she’d been searching for earlier.


    Beatrix sheepishly waved the jar at her aunts. “Found it.”


    ~ o ~ O ~ o ~


    No matter how hard Beatrix scrubbed, the floorboards stayed black. Apparently, a pyrokinesis potion had never gone so wrong until today, so as punishment, her aunts were making her clean everything by hand instead of casting a renewal spell.


    Beatrix’s hands were beyond sore from all the scrubbing. Desperate for a break, she pushed open the door and stepped out onto the weathered porch that wrapped around the old farmhouse she and her aunts called home. While stretching her limbs and drawing in a deep breath, she savored the fresh air, a welcome change from the burnt magic that lingered inside. The sun dipped low over the cornfields that surrounded their property, a warm orange glow settling over the vast countryside.


    After being sent to live here at six years old, the picturesque view of the farm was nothing new to Beatrix.


    But today, something was different. In the distance, stalks rustled in the fading light, parting as a figure made their way through them. A smile tugged at the corner’s of Beatrix’s lips. Only one person would dare approach this side of the farm.


    She scanned her surroundings, listening for any sign of her aunts. The air was still, except for the distant caw of a crow.


    Coast’s clear.


    Beatrix descended the creaky porch steps and made her way towards the closest wall of crops.


    She paused briefly at the edge of the cornfield, then tiptoed in.


    The stalks closed in around her, and Beatrix moved carefully, unable to see more than a few inches ahead. Her feet sunk into the earth with each step and the leaves brushed against her skin, their rough edges scratching at her arms. Before long, she was in the middle of a sea of corn.


    Then, Beatrix stopped, held her breath, and listened.


    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a cornstalk rustle.


    Beatrix leapt forward, her hand closing around a soft arm.


    “Aha!” Beatrix exclaimed. “Gotcha, strawhead.”


    “How do you always know it’s me?” Autumn whined.


    “What other scarecrow is brave enough to get so close to the main house?” Beatrix grinned.


    Beatrix pulled her best friend out from her hiding spot. Autumn wiggled her straw-filled arm free from Beatrix’s grasp.


    Autumn Matilda Patches was one of the many scarecrows Aunt Clarice had made to work on the farm, and Beatrix and Autumn had been inseparable ever since they’d met. In fact, Beatrix had named Autumn herself.


    When Beatrix was a kid, she’d been sent to live with her aunts to learn about the hierarchical structure within a coven, and Beatrix still remembered how lonely she was that first year. So when Aunt Clarice created a scarecrow girl Beatrix’s age, she was ecstatic.


    Beatrix had countless memories of her childhood with Autumn: racing across fields together, weaving flower crowns in the spring, and hanging around the scarecrow village whenever Autumn had the day off from her farm hand duties. The scarecrow village, nestled on the far side of the farm where Autumn’s friends and family lived, had quickly become a second home to Beatrix. Since she was little, she found herself spending far more time with the scarecrows than her aunts.


    Despite being made of patchwork canvas and straw, Autumn resembled a fifteen-year-old human girl — aside from the stitches on her body, her button eyes, and her burlap skin. Where Beatrix had black hair and dark eyes, Autumn’s straw hair was divided into two neat braids that hung down her back, with vibrant green button eyes and rosy cheeks painted on her face.


    “How long have you been waiting out here?” Beatrix asked.


    “An hour, I think,” Autumn said.


    Beatrix noticed a tear near Autumn''s collarbone, a result of tugging on her arm earlier. Straw protruded from the injury, and Beatrix instinctively reached for the needle and thread she always kept on hand. Beatrix had become adept at repairing her friend over the years and began stitching Autumn’s tear up with ease, her fingers moving deftly over Autumn’s rough canvas skin. Autumn didn’t flinch as the needle pierced her.


    “I saw an explosion. What happened?” Autumn asked.


    Beatrix tucked the needle back into her pocket. “I ruined a potion after getting distracted by some birds.”


    “Birds? Where?” Autumn searched the sky. She tried retreating but Beatrix held her in place.


    “A scarecrow afraid of crows. Aunt Clarice would be so proud,” Beatrix teased.


    “You swore you wouldn’t tell,” Autumn whispered.


    Beatrix felt a twinge of guilt. The scarecrows on the farm were created by her aunts for a clear purpose: work the fields and stay out of the witches'' way. So if Aunt Clarice ever discovered Autumn’s phobia of birds, she would dispose of Autumn and replace her with a new farm worker without a second thought.


    “My lips are sealed,” Beatrix assured her. “Witch’s honor.”


    Autumn relaxed, however, she twiddled her thumbs like she was contemplating something.


    After a moment, Autumn reached into her pocket and pulled out an already-opened envelope.


    A mischievous grin spread across Beatrix’s face as she took the letter from Autumn’s outstretched hand. Autumn had many secret admirers in the scarecrow village, and Beatrix bet one of them had sent her a love confession. “Is it from Sawyer? Forrest? It better not be from Oakley! His poetry is too sappy.”


    Autumn’s painted cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “Oakley hasn’t written me a poem since we were ten! Just look inside.”


    Beatrix unfolded the letter and read it aloud. “Autumn Matilda Patches… please send your response by July 28th… regarding your acceptance to…” She skimmed the rest. “You applied to Monster High?”


    “No. I applied to New Salem Preparatory Academy,” Autumn corrected.


    “Same thing, strawhead! ‘Monster High’ is just a nickname.”


    “Oh.” Autumn looked down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her boot against the ground.


    Beatrix knew all about Monster High; it was the dream school of every creature with even a drop of supernatural blood. However, since everyone wanted in, the admissions process was competitive.


    Not that it mattered to Beatrix. She couldn’t enter the school even if she tried. Witches were forbidden from enrolling.


    “You know how hard it is to get into that school, right?” Beatrix asked.


    Autumn nodded. “Yeah. I was going to apply last year, but I got too nervous.”


    Knowing that Autumn had kept this from her made Beatrix feel odd. She thought they told each other everything.


    “Why’d you apply?” Beatrix asked, trying to sound casual and not resentful.


    Autumn fiddled with a seam on her wrist, one of her nervous habits. “My Granny Magpie’s worried about me,” she admitted softly. “She thinks I’m afraid of… well, living.”


    Beatrix frowned. “What does that mean?”


    “That I’m pathetic,” Autumn said. “I’m a scarecrow who’s scared of crows, for corn’s sake!”


    “What? Aside from the bird thing, you’re the bravest scarecrow I know.”


    Autumn shook her head. “I’m not brave,” she insisted. “The bravest thing I do is lead knitting circle. I''ve never even set foot off the farm. That’s why I need to go to New Salem Prep—I mean, Monster High. I’ll get an education to help the rest of the scarecrows! We need new irrigation methods, and I bet I can learn some things about running a business that will help sell our crops!”


    Beatrix’s stomach sank. She was gonna be left behind.


    One night, she’d eavesdropped on her aunts grumbling about how Monster High didn''t allow witches to attend the school.


    That institution is an insult to magic-folk! Aunt Constance had railed.


    Aunt Cordelia had a theory the rule existed because witches were too similar to humans. The only thing that separates us from humans is our connection to devils, Cordelia had said. Anyone can join our ranks and serve the underworld, if they''re willing.


    I’d like to see any normal human try! Aunt Constance had countered. Not just anyone can take a blood oath and serve our devil overlords faithfully.


    Beatrix had to admit Aunt Constance had a point.


    While most witches usually signed their souls away at sixteen for advanced abilities from devils, many could still use some magic before then if they came from a long line of sorcerers. Devils looked favorably upon families who’d served them, so the more witches in your bloodline, the easier it was to engage in witchcraft from a young age.


    This meant most witches weren’t just your run-of-the-mill humans—their propensity for magic set them apart from ordinary people. Which made it all the more frustrating that Beatrix wasn’t allowed to do anything until her birthday. Her family tree was overrun with witches.


    Beatrix had also grown confused about Monster High’s rule. If most witches are more than mere humans, why aren’t we monster enough to attend Monster High?


    “Bea?” Autumn snapped Beatrix out of her thoughts. “You okay?”


    Beatrix forced a smile onto her face and pulled Autumn into a tight hug. “Monster High is lucky to have you. I’m just sad you’re leaving.”


    “About that…” Autumn pulled back, her button eyes shining with excitement, “you’re coming with me.”


    Beatrix opened her mouth to explain all the reasons why that was impossible.


    However, there was a blazing determination on Autumn’s face that she’d never seen before. The scarecrow wasn’t taking no for an answer.


    ~ o ~ O ~ o ~


    “Absolutely not,” Aunt Cordelia said.


    Cordelia, the most sovereign witch of her aunts, tapped a long crooked finger on the dining table. Her beady eyes glinted with malice in the candlelight that illuminated the room.


    “It’s already done,” Beatrix snapped back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I got permission to go to Monster High.”


    Aunt Cordelia gave a dismissive wave. “Witches are forbidden from entering the school.”


    “Good thing I’m not a witch yet,” Beatrix said.


    “What''s that supposed to mean, child?” Aunt Constance said, stirring a concoction that was supposed to be dinner over a wood-burning stove.


    “You three never let me practice witchcraft, so I’m as harmless as a human at this point!” Beatrix huffed.


    Constance gasped, pressing a chubby hand to her mouth as if Beatrix had just slandered the family name.


    “Don’t deny what you are. You''ve been destined to become a sorceress since your infancy,” Aunt Cordelia said, leaning forward, her eyes boring into Beatrix. “You''re different from humans, whether you like it or not.”


    “Well, isn’t it strange that a sorceress can’t be trusted around magic until her sixteenth birthday?” Beatrix returned with a sharp edge. “You’ve told me a million times that all I’m good for is collecting slugs and picking mushrooms. So, like I said, I’m as harmless as a human right now. That''s why Headmistress Bloodgood''s letting me live on campus with Autumn, because I don’t know any spells.”


    Beatrix felt a pit in her stomach at the half-lie she’d just told. Technically, Beatrix did know some magic, since she’d managed to protectively charm her black hat. But, to be fair, that was mostly luck. She’d tried dozens of magic techniques to make the hat durable enough to survive an explosion, and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly how she’d accomplished it. Beatrix lacked the knowledge and steady hand to yield true power.


    While she could read potion recipes as well as any witch, wielding magic was a balancing act. It required setting the right intentions, mixing delicate materials properly, and preventing the spell from harming the user. Beatrix was inexperienced on all fronts.


    When Beatrix was twelve, she’d attempted a sleeping elixir to knock out Aunt Clarice so she could attend a harvest festival with Autumn. But the elixir had backfired, and Beatrix had woken up hours later on the kitchen floor with a pounding headache.


    Magic was both the greatest blessing and the ultimate danger to a witch. It needed to be handled accordingly.


    “No matter how progressive this headmistress claims to be, they''ll never accept witches as students,” Aunt Cordelia said.


    “I won’t be a student. I’ll be working there,” Beatrix corrected.


    “Working as that flimsy scarecrow’s assistant?” Aunt Clarice sneered, her thin lips curling.


    Beatrix didn’t like the word “flimsy” being used to describe Autumn. Flimsy was a word for creaky stairs and ripped shirts, not her best friend. But Beatrix had a hard time taking Aunt Clarice’s insult too seriously, since her aunt’s seared eyebrow clung haphazardly to her face like a lopsided caterpillar thanks to the explosion earlier.


    Beatrix bit her lip to suppress a grin and said, “I’ll be working as Autumn’s student aid. I’m gonna help her around campus and patch her up whenever she gets injured.”


    This was the loophole Autumn had worked out with Bloodgood, the headmistress of Monster High.


    “Since Autumn did so well in her homeschool program, Monster High really wanted her, so she got to make some demands,” Beatrix told her aunts. “And Autumn refused to go unless I could go with her for emotional support.”


    Aunt Cordelia crossed her arms. “Let me get this straight. The headmistress agreed to let you stay on school grounds as a faculty member?”


    "Yup," Beatrix replied. “I’ll be working there part-time to cover my room and board. I’ll be Autumn''s student aid between classes and will serve food in the creepateria during lunch.”


    According to Bloodgood, allowing a witch to attend Monster High would cause too much controversy, so making Beatrix an employee and an “emotional support witch” for Autumn was the superior alternative; a baby step to let the student body grow acclimated to a magic-user.


    It would be the perfect opportunity to sway monster culture if Beatrix was well received. In other words, she was a guinea pig.


    “This is lunacy,” Aunt Constance said, slamming a pot of lumpy stew onto the table. “You’re wasting your time at that silly school.”


    “You told me education is never a bad thing,” Beatrix argued. “The classes Autumn will be taking are the best—”


    “Don’t compare her useless high school classes to your mastery of the dark arts. They’re nothing alike. You’re forbidden from going. And as the creator and master of that rag doll you call a friend, she''s forbidden too,” Aunt Cordelia said, her words heavy and final.


    “What if I promised to enter into a devil contract with no complaints?” Beatrix blurted out.


    Everyone fell silent.


    Beatrix didn’t know where she was going with this. If I can get away from my aunts, she thought, maybe I can avoid a devil contract when I turn sixteen. I’ll have my own money and will be living in New Salem by then, far away from the farm. They won’t be able to reach me there…


    Beatrix pressed on, lying through her teeth. “If you let me go to Monster High for one semester, I’ll sign my soul away without any issues on my birthday. I’ll come back and be compliant with my devil familiar. I promise.”


    The room grew darker around Beatrix, the candle light around them fading.


    There was a hard glare in Cordelia’s eyes.


    “You threaten to cast aside your oaths so easily?” Aunt Cordelia uttered.


    Beatrix gulped, her mouth suddenly dry as dust. “I haven’t taken any oaths yet—”


    “You have an opportunity to serve the most powerful devil dynasty in the underworld. And you’re threatening to dishonor them, to run away from your responsibilities when you come of age, if we don’t comply with your demands?”


    “All to follow after a scarecrow with stuffing for brains, to a school that disgraces our witch legacy?” Aunt Clarice added in disgust, her scorched eyebrow flapping.


    Beatrix didn’t know how to reply.


    “Maybe a semester away will do her well,” Aunt Constance said, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. “Let our little niece see how the outside world treats her. I’m sure the students at this monster school will treat a witch as warmly as humans do.”


    That was Aunt Constance’s way of saying Beatrix would either crawl back to the farm or be burned at the stake within a week.