hat night, Mal lay in bed, thinking of Celia’s warning and the strange gaps in her memory earlier that day. Was Uma out to get her? Of course she was. Uma was always out to get her. Uma had never forgiven Mal for, well, being Mal. Being the best at everything. At first, that meant being wicked. Then she hated Mal for being good and for being Ben’s choice. But if Mal kept worrying about Uma, she would never go to bed. She tossed. She turned. She tossed again. Jay was sitting by the window, keeping watch. If anything happened, they would know. Mal relaxed, and slowly she went to sleep.

She dreamed she was back in her old home, sitting on her bed. She was younger than she was now. She was a kid: maybe four, five years old. Her mother was in the kitchen, a cauldron was bubbling on the stove, and goblins were cowering at Maleficent’s words because they had brought back the wrong ingredients for the soup. It could have been any other ordinary day.

Mal hadn’t thought of her childhood in a long time. Why was she dreaming about it now?

Then the dream changed, and she was standing in front of the classroom at Dragon Hall. She was still a little kid, but now she was in third grade. She had just won the Wicked Prize. It was an award given to the most dastardly student of each grade level, and since kindergarten, Mal had always won. She was the baddest of the bad. Her mother had been so proud of her!

The little Mal in the dream went home to show her parents her prize.

That’s our bad little girl.

Mal.

That voice.

That voice was so familiar. It was a voice she hadn’t heard for a long time. Mal…

Mal sat up. Was she dreaming? Had she just heard a voice, or was she just imagining it? She fell back on the lumpy mattress. She wasn’t hearing anything. It was completely silent in the hideout.

She closed her eyes and began to drift off once more. Then she heard it again. Mal…Hey, Mal…you know where to go. Come on.

Mal’s arms locked against her sides. Something was happening—something was compelling her to leave. But she wouldn’t go.

Mal. Get up. That’s an order.

Mal’s eyes snapped open, a glazed look to them. She got up quietly. Her friends, including Jay, who was snoring by the windowsill, didn’t stir. She had to go. Now.