Chapter Twenty-Nine Rab #2
“I’ll take notes. Just talk it out,” I said, knowing Lyra preferred to talk through things rather than write them down.
“I say we stick to the song and try to create stuff themed for that.” Lyra looked at me, and I nodded in agreement.
“At least that will give us some framework.” How the hell were we going to make twelve different things this quickly?
“It needs to be stuff that we can use a lot of the same ingredients for, but each item has its own magick.” Lyra tapped a finger against her lush mouth, and I lost my train of thought as I remembered sinking into all of her softness last night.
“Rab?” Lyra snapped her fingers in my face, and I realized I was just openly staring at her.
“Och, bloody hell. Right, give it to me.” I waved the pad of paper in the air.
“Here’s what we’re going to make: pear hand pies, dove-shaped sugar cookies, mini egg custard tarts, chocolate ganache truffles, shortbread rings, cream-filled pastry puffs, swan profiteroles, milk biscuits, spiced gingerbread cutouts, mini sponge cakes, cinnamon breadsticks, and chocolate drum cakes.
” Lyra ticked each off on her finger, and I scrambled to keep up with the list.
“This sounds… impossible.” I looked down at the list in awe.
We were just meant to casually make all these and infuse them with a magickal element?
Like no big deal? It seemed to me this challenge was deliberately set up for us to fail.
And not just our team, but all of us. Was that the entire purpose of reality shows? To delight in people’s failures?
“It’s not. We’ve got this.” Lyra’s brow furrowed as she inventoried her supplies.
Or maybe this was all about rooting for the underdog. And Lyra was most definitely the underdog in this competition. But I could help her win. My competitive spirit rose, and I leaned in, pen at the paper.
“Tell me what you’re thinking for the magickal elements,” I said.
By the time she’d listed it all off, I was nodding along, but also in complete awe of her ability to come up with these ideas.
There was no way that I would have been able to do this competition on my own.
Granted, I never would have signed up for this competition if I’d had to bake on my own, but still, Lyra’s ideas were incredible.
Just like her.
Leaning over, I kissed her cheek.
“I want you to know that I think you’re incredible. Let’s do the spell we did last night to contain your magick. I think we can adapt it a bit for this situation, and then, I’ve noticed that when you use me as a conduit, your magick flows better. I think that I ground you.”
Lyra stopped in her tracks, turning to me, her mouth dropped open.
“You,” Lyra breathed.
“Me,” I agreed, tapping a finger at my chest, not certain where was going.
“You. Duh, oh my goddess. Duh. Why didn’t I see this before? Of course—you’re the answer.”
“Um, I’m not sure what the question is, but I do like being the answer,” I admitted. “Care to clue a lad in?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Lyra said, stacking ingredients and opening spice jars. “We’ve got to get started.”
“Quick, repeat after me.” I gripped Lyra’s hands and bent down to whisper in her ear. “By root and stone, by breath and flame, I call my power, I call my name. No surge, no spill, let balance stay, my will is steady, night and day.”
Lyra repeated the words, and I felt the shift inside me as our magick melded and hers flowed through me. I grounded myself, happy to act as her conduit, and waited for instructions.
“Right, okay.” Lyra nodded to herself, blowing out a breath. “This feels good. It feels right. I think we can do this.”
“I know we can do this,” I amended.
“Let’s crack on.” Lyra reached for the eggs, and for a second worry flashed across her face, and despite my confidence in her, I did move my head out of firing range when she cracked the first egg into the bowl.
The egg landed with a plop, zero explosions to be had, and Lyra looked up at me, excitement in her eyes.
“Holy shite, Rab, it’s working.”
“Keep going, love. We’ve got a lot to do. Order me about.”
“Right, grab the flour and a bowl.”
Four and a half hours later, the clock was ticking down, and the entire room was in a frenzy.
Long ago had we abandoned any semblance of trying to act professional or be polite for the cameras.
There was shouting. There was cursing. There were devasting losses as various pastries deflated before they were meant to.
At one point I was certain I’d even seen Mandy wipe a tear away with the back of her hand. When I’d raised an eyebrow at her, she’d only snarled at me.
“It’s sweat, okay? Bloody roasting in here.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, turning back in time to catch a bowl from falling off our table.
Mostly, Lyra’s magick held. And bloody hell, did we need it to.
Creating this many desserts in this time required a level of magick and spells that was taxing for even the most experienced magickals in the room.
We had a few minor mishaps—like when the baking chocolate melted into a puddle—but otherwise, we were cruising along, and Lyra plated the very last dessert just as the timer went.
“That’s time! Contestants, step back from your tables,” Kelly called. “That means you, Felicity.”
“But…” Felicity’s shoulders slumped, and she backed up.
“We did it.” Lyra turned to me, her smile as bright as a lighthouse beacon in the dark night. “I can’t believe we finished in time.” Tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail curled around her face, and sweat dampened her brow. Pink flushed her cheeks, and her lip gloss had long worn off.
She’d never looked sexier to me.
“You did it,” I said, turning as the judges approached our table.
“Lyra and Rab,” Nevin said, steepling his fingers in front of him and bending over to look at our assortment of treats, “it looks like you took a different tactic this challenge. Care to explain?”
“We’ve been working on grounding Lyra’s magick, to keep it from misfiring. It seemed to serve us really well in this challenge,” I said, putting a hand to Lyra’s back.
“It is significantly less destroyed in here, which I am sure the set designers are grateful for,” Kelly acknowledged, leaning over the table. “Shall we give these a go?”
“Please do.” Lyra beamed. “The first is a spiced pear hand pie.”
We watched as Kelly and Nevin cut into the pie, and when the steam escaped, it formed the shape of a partridge before flying away.
“Clever,” Nevin admitted.
“Next, dove-shaped sugar cookies.” Lyra waited until Nevin bit into one and then laughed when the sugar from the cookie exploded into tiny sugar feathers that floated down to the floor.
“That’s fun,” Kelly said.
“And tasty.” Nevin saluted us with the cookie.
“Then we have mini egg custard tarts,” I read from the list and waited while the judges cut into the tart to reveal a glowing egg center. Their sounds of approval made a smile bloom on Lyra’s face, and I could barely take my eyes off her.
“Next are four chocolate ganache truffles.” Lyra waited until the judges bit into them and beautiful birdsong filled the air.
“Singing truffles—aren’t those fun?” Kelly asked. She’d transitioned from being snarky to invested in the outcome of this challenge, and I hoped we’d continue to impress her.
“Five golden rings.” Lyra pointed to the shortbread rings, which, when activated, floated into the air and did a complicated dance before dropping back to the plate.
“Easy but effective,” Nevin decided.
“Six geese a-laying.” Lyra indicated the cream puffs, and when the judges bit into them, an explosion of sugar crystals dusted their mouths. This one had them laughing so hard, they both doubled over, slapping each other’s backs.
“I so was not expecting that.” Nevin wiped his eyes.
“Swan profiteroles.” Lyra pointed to where pastries swam in a dish of cream, leaving a trail of red-and-gold-colored waves in their wake.
“Honestly? Stunning.” Kelly was starting to become our biggest cheerleader.
“Milk biscuits for eight maids a-milking,” I said, pointing to that tray. When the judges bit in, the biscuits began to hum, as though they were humming a song while they worked.
“Spiced gingerbread cutouts,” Lyra said, pointing to the gingerbread cookies, which promptly jumped up from the plate and began to dance. “Nine ladies dancing.”
“Mini sponge cakes,” I added, and the sponge cakes began to pulse and bounce, leaping across the plate.
“Cinnamon breadsticks,” Lyra said. We waited until the judges cracked them in half to take a bite, and a haunting piping tune filled the air.
“And finally”—Lyra beamed, offering the plate with the chocolate-covered cakes on it—“twelve drummers drumming.” The cookies began to wobble on the plate, drumbeats filling the air to match the piping, and both judges began to clap.
“Bravo!” Nevin shouted, without a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He seemed to be genuinely pleased with what we’d turned out. “I must say, highly unexpected and wildly effective.”
“Well done, you two. I’m impressed,” Kelly said, and they moved on to the next table.
“Holy shite, we did it.” I whirled to Lyra, who had an expression of disbelief on her face. Grabbing her arms, I shook her in excitement and then stopped when she winced. “Bloody hell, I’m sorry—”
“No, no. It’s fine. I promise. I’m so proud of myself. Of us. I can’t believe we did it.” Lyra took my hands and bounced up and down, and I enjoyed the bouncing a little too much, because she stopped and gave me a stern look.
“Not here, Rab.”
“Right, sorry. I’m so proud of you. Just look at this.” I gestured to the table of treats. “You did this.”
Lyra leaned into me, and I felt like my heart might explode. “No, Rab. We did this.”
“Jeez, get a room, you two,” Mandy sniped.
“Wheesht, Mandy,” Lyra and I said in unison, and we burst out laughing.