Good Curses Evil Read Online Free Page B

entrance.
    Master Dreadthorn eyed the vibrant wagons with thinly veiled revulsion.
    â€œI thought I told you to dial it down, Ursus,” the Dread Master said to the driver. “We have an image to maintain, you know.”
    â€œI did dial it down,” the burly driver said in a low, rumbling voice.
    Master D. and the driver glared at each other, and for a moment I thought the field trip might end then and there. But the Dread Master, his eyes still on the monstrous form of Ursus, lifted a hand, motioning for everyone to load up.
    I was still mostly out of it as the impossibility of my Plot wormed its way once more into my thoughts. I got into a wagon with Chad, Jezebel, Wolf, and a few other kids I didn’t really know. The other students piled into the rest of the wagons. After a few skirmishes (and one serious vampire bite) the caravan rumbled forward, and we were on our way.
    Some of the kids in our wagon talked about their excitement over the Plot. This sent me into another panic, and my hand flew up to my eye to still the spasms. Chad edged away from me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?” Wolf Junior asked.
    â€œHe got his Plot,” Chad said. “It’s not good.”
    â€œReally?” Jezebel asked. “Tell us about it!”
    Chad took one look at me and my twitching eye and said, “Maybe later.”
    It took about an hour for us to arrive at a port where Cook’s pirate ship— The Horrid Knave —was docked, waiting to carry us down the coast to Mistress Morgana’s snobby school. I’d spent the entire trip in silence, contemplating my terrible Plot.
    â€œUh, Rune?” It was Jezebel.
    â€œUh-huh?” I asked. My eye had never stopped twitching.
    â€œWe have to get on the ship, Rune,” she said. I didn’t respond.
    â€œIs it really that bad?” Wolf asked Chad.
    â€œYeah,” he said, throwing one of my arms across his shoulders, “it is.”
    Vaguely, I registered the fact that my friends were hauling me out of the wagon and up a wooden plank onto The Horrid Knave . A motley crew of Cook’s scalawags manned the sails. I could hear a slow, steady chant rising from below deck that would allow the rowers to keep the ship moving steadily down the coast. Then there was rocking. Then there was puking. (Did I mention I get a little seasick?) Then I was walking back down a plank and onto dry land again.
    I didn’t really come to my senses until we arrived at Mistress Morgana’s. I’d been there before, but my memory never did the place justice. It was a towering medieval castle complete with gargoyles and a moat—the place was a villain’s dream! Even as we approached, a drawbridge was being lowered.
    I wondered how Morgana got away with having so many windows until we crossed the bridge and I realized they were all heavily curtained with black velvet. We mounted the expansive stone steps, and the entire student body sprawled on the landing. In the distance, I could hear the eerie, mournful howling of the werewolf students as they transformed beneath the full moon. Then Master Dreadthorn swept past with a swirling of his dark cloak.
    One of the Crooks, a troll, was whining about being hungry. As Master Dreadthorn passed he “accidentally” knocked the Crook off the landing and into the moat. After grappling with the moat monster—which was a kind of giant squid—the poor kid hauled himself up the shore, dripping with foul mucky water and shooting a scathing look at Master D.
    The Dread Master didn’t even break stride as he marched purposefully up to the double oak doors. He’d just raised his hand to the enormous iron knocker when the door opened and a woman stepped out to greet us.
    I’d seen her before on our last visit, but I’d forgotten how gorgeous Morgana was. Her lips were bloodred, her hair was long and blond, and she wore this green sparkly dress that matched the shade