The Isle of the Lost: Chapters 3–6

Unlike the shabby Victorian confines of the Bargain Castle, this one was full of soot and dust, with broken chandeliers and spiderwebs in the corners.

She perused the day’s offerings—hard croissants and watery coffee from the basket the vultures left on their doorstep every day.

“Your daughter has grace but should take better care of her face to be the fairest,” her mother declared in somber tones that she called her “Magic Mirror” voice.

No one can keep a grudge for ten years!

“Dr. Facilier, I just wanted to see if I could swap my Wickedness class for Advanced Vanities that meets at the same time?” she asked.

Evie felt something furry circling her ankles and found a fat black cat with a smug grin looking up at her.

“What kind of secrets?” asked Evie, intrigued.

She snarled, brusquely brushing past Evie and noisily plonking her backpack down into the middle of the cauldron.

Carlos De Vil looked up from the contraption he was assembling and shot the new girl a shy smile.

He was an AP student: Advanced Penchant (for Evil). It was only right, since the infamous Cruella was his mother.

Cruella’s witch doctors believed she was sustained by pure metabolic fury.

Privately, Carlos thought of it as her Rage Diet: no carbs, just barbs—no hunger, just anger—no ice cream, just high screams.

She was always at least a half hour late, and when she finally arrived, she was irritated to find the students there before her. “Have I taught you nothing about being fashionably, annoyingly late to every engagement?” she asked, letting out an exasperated sigh and collapsing dramatically into her chair, one hand fanned over her eyes.

For the next half hour or so they studied Portraits of Evil, comparing the likenesses of the most famous villains in history, many of whom lived on the island and some of whom were their parents.

There she was in all her finery, with her tall hair and her long red car, her eyes wild and her furs flying in the wind.

“Hey, Mal,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. Mal never spoke to anyone except to scare them or to complain that they were in her way.

The Spa—really just a bit of warmish steam escaping from the crags of rock in the ruined basement of what had once been a proper building—was Cruella’s one bit of comfort, her one reminder of her luxurious past.

“I can’t exactly give a party at my place without my mother yelling at everyone, not to mention the whole flying crockery issue.”

He blanched. “I can’t have a party! I mean, you should understand, my mom doesn’t really like it when people come over—and, um, I’ve got a lot of work to do—I have to fluff her furs, iron her undergarments, I mean—”

“I’m trying to poke a hole in the dome.”
“Really? Can you do that? I thought it was invincible.”

There had to be something more to life than kowtowing to the cool kids, organizing his mother’s fur coats, and hiding from her tantrums.

Meanwhile, across the Sea of Serenity, which separated the Isle of the Lost from the rest of the world, lay the USA—the United States of Auradon, a land of peace and enchantment, prosperity and delight, which encompassed all the good kingdoms.

And to the south, one could spy the lanterns of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert’s divine domicile, near the spot on the coast where Ariel and Eric had made their under-and-over-the-sea royal residence at Seaside.

But right in the center was the grandest castle in all of Auradon, with lavish turrets and balconies, its highest towers flying the proud blue-and-gold banner of the good old USA.

Inside the magnificent building were many ballrooms, great rooms and state rooms, a formal dining room that could seat hundreds, where everyone was made to feel like a pampered guest, and a wondrous library that held all the books that were ever written.

There had been no fairies at his christening to bestow gifts, perhaps because he did not need any.

Ben was as handsome as his father, with his strong brow and chisel-cut cheekbones, but he had his mother’s gentle eyes and keen intellect.

King Beast and Queen Belle stressed scholarship above enchantment, exhorting the young people to work hard instead of relying on fairy spells or dragon friends for help.

The kingdom’s various short or fluffy or furry or minuscule—and sometimes animal—sidekicks were causing problems again.

Sidekicks United, they called themselves, and they were far from happy. They were, in a word, disgruntled.

He sighed, until a familiar voice interrupted his reverie.

It seems they’re a bit upset, as they do all the work around here and are hardly compensated for their efforts.

She was as beautiful as the day she had come upon Beast’s castle, and resplendent in a pretty yellow dress.

If there were laugh lines around her eyes now, no one seemed to notice; and if anything, they only served to make her look more appealing.

Listen to your people, but assert your right to rule. Lead with a gentle heart and a firm hand.

She looked around the room at her fellow students scribbling away on notepads, brows furrowed, some cackling softly under their breaths.

That girl had nothing to be happy about. Why, hadn’t she, Mal, just told her she couldn’t come to the howler of the year? Mal was slightly disconcerted for a moment, until she realized: the evil scheme of the year was right in front of her.

Of course, she’d already told Evie that she couldn’t come to the party, but that wasn’t enough. It was too simple, too blunt. Mal had to be sneaky, like Lady Tremaine had been, pretending to be working in Cinderella’s best interests when she had been doing exactly the opposite.

“Hold up,” Mal said as she spotted Carlos and Evie coming toward them.
Evie looked genuinely fearful and Carlos wary as they approached Mal, who blocked the doorway.

“What was that all about? I thought you didn’t want her there,” he said, as he deftly stole a rotten banana from a first-year’s lunch pail.