Chapter 3 Secret Sauce
Secret Sauce
JEAN RESTED A HAND ON AN ENORMOUS REFRIGERATOR DOOR. “It’s in there?” asked Sylvie. She’d imagined Brindille high on a hill, with fountains that spewed chocolate milk—not wedged between crates of lettuce.
Jean lifted the handle and tugged it open. “We don’t leave magic out for the world to see.”
A gust of cold air rushed past.
Sylvie peered inside, half-expecting the school to burst out, like a clown popping out of a box.
“Follow the red thermostat light to the back,” said Jean. “Make sure you hold your pass up. The light will scan you through.”
Sylvie and her mom shuffled forward. Jean closed the door behind them.
Something cold and congealed brushed across Sylvie’s fingers.
“What feels like bloated worms?” Sylvie pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flicked on its light. She tried not to gag. “Cooked okra. Gross.”
“I’ve never liked the stuff either,” said Sylvie’s mom. “In the South, that’s practically a sin. Speaking of which, cell phones aren’t allowed at Brindille, so you better give me yours.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Her mom pointed toward the wall. “There’s the thermostat light.”
Sylvie eyed the glow, high above her head.
Her mom slid a crate over. “A few years ago, a student posted a cooking video on Sagebook that went viral. It made its way all over the regular web. The CCS had to make thousands of gallons of Meng Po.”
“The soup of forgetting?”
Her mom nodded. “It wasn’t easy, trying to convince so many Scullery they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. After that, the CCS prohibited all cell phones in schools.”
Sylvie stepped up and stretched toward the light. “But how am I supposed to call Dad, or you?”
Her mom rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small box. A Chenery’s Communication Cwtch.
Sylvie held the gleaming red-and-gold box in her hand. A sphere of isomalt sugar was nestled inside. “They’re used to capture and store things.”
Her mom nodded. “Mostly messages. But it’s only good for one use, so keep it for emergencies.”
“But I’ve never sent a message by cwtch before,” said Sylvie.
“Don’t worry. It comes with instructions.” Her mom pulled her Blade out of its glass case and lifted it toward the light. “My turn.”
Sylvie stepped down, quickly slipping the cwtch and cell phone into her backpack while her mom wasn’t looking. She gave herself a mental high five. Her phone would be useful. People were always loose-lipped on Sagebook. Maybe I can get some more information on the Apple of Discord?
The racks around Sylvie started to shake.
The pan of okra tumbled to the floor. Sylvie stepped back just as the refrigerator vanished.
The words brINDILLE SCHOOL OF CULINARY ARTS & MAGIC twisted through the metal archway in front of her. Beyond it, golden lights stretched overhead like a flock of lightning bugs.
A woman with frizzy gray hair and startled eyes appeared.
“I was beginning to wonder if you two were coming.” She pulled at a tuft of fur clinging to the drooping sleeve of her enormous knit cardigan. “I’ve got funeral pies ready to go into the oven. My pate brisée has probably turned soggy sitting out so long.”
“Sorry, Miss Kitty. We got delayed.” Sylvie’s mom gave the woman a hug. “CCS agents were searching the diner.”
Miss Kitty shook her head. “Evening raids. Divisive new policies.” She took a step back and examined Sylvie’s mom’s shirt. “Speaking of which, you can take off that ridiculous pin … at least while you’re here.”
Sylvie’s mom unclasped the bronze dot and smiled. “I take it that means Godard hasn’t given in to Bass’s ranking protocols.”
Miss Kitty clutched the book in her hands tightly. “Given in? She’s the thorn in Bass’s backside!”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice the title of the book clutched tightly in Miss Kitty’s hand: Your Cat Reincarnated.
“And this must be Sylvie.” Miss Kitty turned toward Sylvie, still goggle-eyed.
Sylvie quickly pulled her gaze from the book.
“You know your mother was one of my best students.”
“Kitty teaches pies, tarts, and prophecy,” said Sylvie’s mom. She paused. “Did you say you’re baking … funeral pies?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I’ve lost m-my”—Kitty pulled out a tissue—“my Jingles.”
“Oh, Kitty.” Sylvie’s mom squeezed the sniffling woman in another embrace.
“I hope cats really do have nine lives. Fifteen years wasn’t enough.” Kitty slipped the book into the large pocket of her cardigan and waved a hand. “But enough about my troubles. You have a competition to get to.”
Sylvie’s mom took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I do.”
Kitty blew into the soggy tissue. “Godard has everything ready for your trip to Paris. I’ll take Sylvie to the dorm and get her settled in with the other Pips.”
Her mom turned toward her. “I guess this is it… . Did you pack the snickerdoodles I baked?”
Sylvie patted her bag. “Got ’em here.”
“Remember what I told you about the garden?”
“Every word.”
“And don’t forget to eat breakfast. You know how you get when your blood sugar is low.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Mom. I know. I made it through summer camp last year on my own. Remember? I’ll be fine.”
“Right… . Oh! Your phone.”
Sylvie stuffed her hands into her pockets, pretending to search. “I must’ve set it down when we were inside the fridge.”
Her mom shook her head. “Sylvie. It’s a new phone.”
“Sorry… . But I’m sure someone will find it.”
Maybe Sylvie should’ve felt guilty. After all, it wasn’t nice to lie. But these were special circumstances.
Her mom forced a smile. “I’ll send Jean a message, tell her to have a look.”
“Great idea.” Sylvie adjusted her backpack and caught a whiff of the snickerdoodles. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. She closed the last inch of the zipper, holding in the aromas, just as she was holding in her secrets.
Sylvie’s mom scooped her into a hug. “I love you, Sylviekins.”
Sylvie hated it when her mom called her Sylviekins. So embarrassing. But this time, she let it slide.
The smell of garlic, celery, and lavender soap clung to her mom’s shirt. Sylvie inhaled deeply. She hadn’t realized how much she loved this smell. It reminded her of home.
“I love you, too, Mom. Be careful. Okay?”
“Always,” said her mom, though not as confidently as Sylvie would have liked. “Just remember, Sylvie. As long as you’re safe, I’ll be fine too. And no matter what happens, I’m so proud of you.”
Kitty cleared her throat. “I hate to break this up, but my pies have been waiting long enough.”
“Right.” Sylvie’s mom finally let go. “I’ll see you in six weeks.”
Sylvie nodded. “Good luck at the Golden Whisk. I’ll be watching.” She followed Kitty up the garden path and didn’t look back. Her eyes turned prickly. Sylvie steeled her gaze. She wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of a teacher.
“We’ll have orientation tomorrow morning after breakfast,” said Kitty. “But I’ll go over the basics now.”
Sylvie nodded, trying to hide the emotions crashing over her in waves.
“Pip dorms are on the south side of the garden. You’d be wise to stay on this path to access them.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Sylvie squeezed past several crookneck squash the size of hay bales.
The moon was now casting its glow across the open field. Cloudberries and gooseberries glistened in the soil like colorful shards of sea glass.
A slithering gourd, fat as a python, twisted across the path. Sylvie tried to step over it. A vine wrapped around her ankle.
“Hey!” She tried to kick it loose, but it tightened its grip.
Kitty whipped around, pulling out a seven-inch onyx Blade with cat eyes of various shapes and colors embossed across the silver handle.
Thwack!
The vine went slack.
Kitty kicked the twitching tendril away. “You all right?”
“Fine,” said Sylvie, trying not to sound too rattled.
“Plants over here tend to be the most docile.” Kitty tucked her knife back into her cardigan. “Except for the snake gourds. They get a bit territorial if you come too close.”
“I read that snake gourds like sugar water,” said Sylvie. She wanted Kitty to know she could be a great student too. “Apparently, it takes away their bitterness.”
“Correct!” said Kitty, looking rather impressed.
“Their mood should improve tomorrow morning, once they’ve been watered.
” She pointed toward a terraced hillside.
“Over there is the cafeteria. It’s the only spot on campus where Pips and Sages are able to mingle freely.
Breakfast is served every morning at eight. ”
“Great,” said Sylvie, scanning the ground as they trudged ahead.
An enormous stone building suddenly caught her eye.
Even from a distance, Sylvie could see two grand towers jutting out of the center like ancient sentinels.
Thick patches of ivy twisted across them like ornate pieces of chain mail.
Windows that looked two stories tall glowed as brightly as the moon.
There it was: Brindille, stretching toward the sky like a grand castle. It was even more magnificent than the pictures she’d seen.
“Does Brindille really house three million gallons of potions and elixirs?” asked Sylvie, as she stared.
“Yes,” said Kitty. “It’s also home to twelve botany labs, a spice island, five acres of gardens and forest, plus fifteen thousand feet of teaching kitchens.”
“And the Long Hall … Brindille’s famous library, with the largest collection of cookbooks in the world,” added Sylvie. A thought was coming to her.
Kitty nodded. “It is. In fact, that’s where your orientation will begin tomorrow.”
“Really?” Sylvie decided to press Kitty for more information. “Will we learn anything about Escoffier?”
Kitty shrugged. “We have a few of his cookbooks in our library’s collection.”
“So, there’s nothing else connecting Escoffier to the school?” asked Sylvie. Her fingers brushed across the napkin in her pocket.
“No.” Kitty raised a brow. “Why?”
“I was just curious,” said Sylvie, trying to shake off the man’s warning.
Kitty pointed down the slope at the end of the garden toward a low-lying building. “Here we are. Pip dorm.”
It was much smaller than the towers housing Brindille’s official students.
But even from a distance, Sylvie could see that care had been taken to make the students—who would call this home for the next six weeks—feel welcome.
Warm lights made the windows glow like eyes on a jack-o’-lantern.
Fragrant bushes of lavender and chamomile lined the entrance.
They made their way down to the building.
Two fuzzy kittens with white and ginger hair were curled up at the foot of the door. They opened their eyes and began to meow.
Sylvie knelt. Cute welcoming committee. One of the kittens brushed its body across her knees. “Hello, little guy!” She stroked him between the ears.
“Munchin cats. J-Jingles helped me pick them out b-before he p-passed.” Kitty dabbed at her eyes. “That one’s Secret, and the other is Sauce.”
“Secret and Sauce?” Sylvie stroked the purring kittens. Was it her imagination, or did they smell like … marinara?
“They’re named after one of my favorite recipes. It helps me keep Pips on the straight and narrow.”
Another whiff of garlic and oregano wafted toward her. Definitely not my imagination.
In fact, a fine dust—like bits of dried tomato—was now clinging to Sylvie’s fingers. She tried to brush it off. Little red flecks lifted off her fingers and floated in the air.
Sylvie tried to grab them, but they slipped nimbly between her fingers.
Kitty slid on a pair of spectacles, eyeing the specks as they twirled up. “Secret Sauce may be a simple spell, but it’s quite good at revealing things people might want to keep hidden. I used to have newcomers eat a spoonful when they arrived. But that wasn’t always efficient.”
The smattering of sauce suddenly landed on Sylvie’s backpack.
Kitty frowned.
A sinking feeling hit her. It can sense my phone!
“Kids would hold the sauce underneath their tongue or spit it out when I wasn’t looking,” Kitty continued as she inspected the bag closely. “That’s when I came up with marinara dust. You don’t even have to eat it, just brush a bit on the cats. No one has been able to resist yet.”
The flecks of sauce melted between the teeth of the zipper and vanished.
Uh-oh!
This reminded Sylvie of the time she did a nosedive off her skateboard and chipped a tooth. In fact, something told her this was about to end just as badly. Sylvie forced a smile. “That’s really clever.”
“Mmm-hmm. You don’t mind if I have a look inside?”
Sylvie tried to swallow the lump that had lodged like a gumball in her throat. “Uh, of course not.”
“You’d be surprised at the things Pips try to sneak in here. Sneezewort-laced taffy, spell books.” She fished around inside and pulled out a glowing screen.
“My phone!” Sylvie tried to sound surprised. “I thought I left it at the diner!”
A smattering of sauce was now splattered across it.
“I must’ve put it in there and forgotten.”
Kitty raised a brow. “Yes. That must be it. Well, I’ll be holding onto it for now.”
Sylvie’s phone vanished into the same drooping pocket as Your Cat Reincarnated.
There went Sylvie’s chance of logging into Sagebook to dig up information.
Now what?
“I’d advise you not to let anything else illegal slip your mind,” continued Kitty. “You’ve got to put your best foot forward if you want to finish top of your class.”
Would her best even be enough? The Apple of Discord had bloomed … with her name on it. But instead of telling Kitty the unbelievable truth, Sylvie smiled politely. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
The glow in Kitty’s pocket vanished, along with part of Sylvie’s plan. She’d just been outwitted by a couple of kittens and a spoonful of marinara. Totally humiliating!
Forget about it. A great cook can always improvise, she reminded herself. So that’s what I’ll do. Tomorrow, Sylvie would go to the library for orientation. Then, she’d focus on finishing first in her class and getting her Blade. She wasn’t going to let anyone or anything else decide her fate.