Chapter 6 The One and Only Madame Blaise
The One and Only Madame Blaise
A TOWERING WOMAN STOOD NEAR THE STOVE. A TANGLE OF COLORFUL scarves twisted its way through her wild red hair.
“S-sorry,” said Sylvie. She knew chefs could be territorial with their tools, but a Blade was more than a beloved kitchen gadget. Using another Sage’s Blade was dangerous.
“I wasn’t going to touch it,” said Sylvie. “I just wanted a closer look.”
“Hmm, I think I believe you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m the one and only Madame Blaise.”
“I’m Sylvie … Sylvie Jones.”
“Ah … yes. Abby’s daughter. People have been talking about you.” Madame Blaise moved closer. Sylvie caught a whiff of something that reminded her of dried rose petals, once beautiful but now old and worn. “So, Sylvie Jones, how may I help you?”
Sylvie glanced up. “I need a break from everyone. Can I eat breakfast here?”
Madame Blaise pushed her gold-rimmed spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather eat with your friends?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Please, just call me Agnes.”
Sylvie nodded.
Agnes picked up the kettle whistling on the stove and poured the hot liquid into a measuring pitcher.
The scent of lemons, raisins, and toasted vanilla filled the air. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder how it could smell of so many wonderful things.
“Why don’t you start with a serenity syllabub.” She poured some into a glass and handed it to Sylvie. “Drink it before it sets.”
Sylvie eyed the clear liquid as it settled to the bottom, cream rising to the top. She hesitated. It didn’t seem wise to drink spells from strangers, especially now.
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Agnes, as if she knew what Sylvie was thinking. “Besides, I’m the one cooking everything you eat in the cafeteria.”
“Good point,” said Sylvie, taking the glass.
“This spell helps ease stress. Let me know if you like it. Then, you can tell me why you’re hiding in the kitchen.”
Sylvie took a heavy swig. A firework of flavors exploded: Christmas trifle, browned butter, whipped cream.
“It’s delicious… . As for the rest, it’s complicated.” Sylvie set down the glass.
Agnes raised a brow. “You aren’t the first depressed Pip that’s wandered into my kitchen. In fact, I’d wager the chaos I heard in the cafeteria a few minutes ago had something to do with you.”
Before Sylvie could answer, Agnes continued.
“But I don’t pay attention to gossip.” She tied an apron around her waist and dug out a block of chocolate. “I prefer to make up my own mind.”
“Unfortunately, most people only listen to gossip,” replied Sylvie.
“Sadly, you’re right.” Agnes set the chocolate block on the cutting board and picked up her Blade. The pearl and onyx handle trembled as she wrapped her fingers around the grip. She tilted the knife down and let it slip through the chocolate like butter.
“But I might have something that can help.” Agnes pointed to a fancy-looking cookbook.
Sylvie peered at it. Gold letters were embossed on the cover. Balthazar LeGrande: A Journey into the Art of Cooking & Spells.
“Balthazar LeGrande.” Sylvie knew the name. “Didn’t he create the Golden Whisk competition?”
“Oui. He visited Brindille several times. A rather beastly man, in my opinion. But he was brilliant.” Agnes flicked through the worn pages. “His Good Fortune Cookies always brought me some luck.”
“Fortune cookies? You mean, like the ones in Chinese restaurants?”
Agnes shook her head. “These are different. They don’t tell you what may come. They bring luck. Unfortunately, the spell doesn’t last very long. But it can help when you need it most. Perhaps they can bring some luck to orientation today?”
Sylvie checked her watch. She still had time before she had to go to the library. Plus, she could use all the help she could get. “It’s worth a try. So how do we make them?”
Agnes slid the book toward her.
Sylvie eyed the recipe.
8 ounces chocolate, chopped
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
Pinch Fleur de Sel
3 eggs
1 cup fine sugar
Bliss blossoms, finely ground
3 tablespoons Dutch-processed cocoa
“You scoop the cocoa.” Agnes handed Sylvie a measuring cup. “And tell me what’s troubling you.”
Sylvie grabbed a mixing bowl. While they worked, she filled Agnes in on her new roommate.
Agnes tossed the shards of chocolate into a bowl and nodded. “Perhaps the truce at breakfast is a new start for you and Georgia?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re just too different,” said Sylvie.
Agnes plopped the bowl of chocolate onto a bain-marie and pulled out a small jar filled with yellow powder. She handed it to Sylvie. “Add a pinch of bliss blossom to the melting chocolate. Have you ever hunted for morel mushrooms?”
Sylvie dusted the powder into the bowl. “Err, no. Why? Do they have a hard time making friends too?”
“They can’t grow without the roots of a host tree, usually elm or oak. Something quite common.” Agnes gave the mixture a stir as she whipped the eggs. “My point is, sometimes the ally you need is someone you’d least expect.”
Sylvie recognized Georgia as a formidable enemy, but could she really be an ally? That seems like a stretch. On the other hand, Georgia had played along with the story they’d given Kitty.
Agnes scooped the cookie dough onto a sheet pan, popped the tray into the oven, and set a timer.
“As for the rest, I’m sure the gossip about your mama and Flammé will die down after the competition…
. But how did Georgia get her hands on Wheeler’s interview, anyway?
Godard monitors the messages on the rice paper scrolls.
I can’t imagine she’d let some sort of tabloid story slip in. ”
“Oh well … it was …” Sylvie tried to figure out what to say. “Umm …”
Agnes waved a hand dismissively. “On second thought, don’t tell me. After all, I can’t report what I don’t know.”
Sylvie was relieved. There was an unspoken set of rules in every kitchen. 1) Show respect for the food and others. 2) Never steal someone else’s ingredients. 3) Never, ever, lie to the chef. Now that she and Agnes were baking together, Sylvie didn’t want to break the third rule.
“You know, I was actually in France the year your mama competed. I watched the whole competition.”
“Really?” Sylvie’s mom hated talking about it. Now, she wondered if she might be able to glean some useful information from Agnes. “What exactly happened to Flammé’s ingredients?”
“It was all a rather complicated affair. You see, the CCS didn’t start monitoring the competition so closely until after everything happened with your mama.
Plus, with no spell to trace, ingredient tampering can be tricky to prove.
” Agnes toyed with a scarf. “But everyone expected Team France to win. They’d been at the top of the podium for years, and with LeGrande’s only child on Flammé’s team, everyone was certain it would be an easy win. ”
Sylvie’s stomach stirred. “Wait. Fernand LeGrande, the guy who now runs the competition, he was Josephine Flammé’s teammate?”
Agnes’s gold-rimmed spectacles slid back down the bridge of her nose as she stared at Sylvie. “Yes. They were best friends. You didn’t know?”
Sylvie shook her head.
Agnes cleared her throat. “It must’ve slipped your mama’s mind.”
Sylvie tried to make sense of it. “So, does he blame my mom too?”
Agnes shrugged. “He was never vocal about it, unlike Josephine. She was the star of the team. Poor Fernand. His father brought him here once. He was a wisp of a boy.”
Sylvie had seen a picture of Balthazar LeGrande. With his multiple chins and belly as broad as a beach ball, she couldn’t imagine him having a small kid.
“Fernand never could quite measure up to his father’s expectations. Perhaps that would’ve changed, if he and Josephine had won. Though I’ve always wondered if part of Fernand was relieved. Finally, his father turned his fury on someone else.”
“You mean Josephine?”
Agnes nodded.
“What happened to her?” Based on what Sylvie had read, she’d turned into a recluse.
“No one had heard from her in years, that is, until a week ago. When the CCS announced the decision to have your mama compete. That’s when Josephine crawled back out, promising she’d have her revenge.
” Agnes lowered her voice. “Balthazar fired Josephine on the spot. After that, her friendship with Fernand was ruined. About a year later, Balthazar died. Some say it was the humiliation of it all that killed him. Others think it was Josephine.”
Sylvie stared at the scar on her hand and let it all sink in.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that Josephine had reappeared now.
Did it have to do with the CCS’s decision, or is there more to it?
No matter how hard she tried to forget, the man’s warning crept back.
Watch your back. If Sylvie wanted to try and dig up the truth, she needed to find Escoffier.
Ding! Ding!
“Ah, the cookies!” Agnes pulled the glossy chocolate disks out of the oven. Her gaze suddenly grew distant.
“I’ve been cooking here for forty years, Sylvie. I’ve seen many children start out just like Flammé, full of hope and promise. But some get their hopes crushed. Don’t let that happen to you. You mustn’t let the CCS, or anyone else, push you around.”
“Thanks,” said Sylvie. Agnes was right. This was her shot. She had to do everything in her power to make sure she got her Blade and enrolled at Brindille.
Sylvie checked her watch. Orientation starts in five minutes. “I better go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Of course. You’re welcome to bake with me any time. It’s been nice.” Agnes stuffed several cookies into a paper bag and handed it to Sylvie.
“Thank you.”
Agnes smiled. “The right recipe can’t fix all your troubles, but it can be a powerful tool.”
Sylvie headed back toward the double doors. The bag in her hands suddenly grew heavy, as if Agnes’s final words had poured into the cookies, weighing them down with the strength of a promise.
Sylvie suddenly had a question she wanted to ask. “If I’m looking for something … or someone, could the right recipe help me?”
“Of course. The right recipe can do many things, even break down obstacles.” Agnes twisted her hands together. “But—”
Whoosh!
The doors behind Sylvie swung open, revealing Flora.
“Here you are! I’ve been looking all over. I’ve already sent the other Pips up to the school. Orientation is starting soon.”
“I know. Sorry … I was just heading out.” Sylvie glanced at Agnes. What was she about to tell me?
Agnes brushed her hands across her apron. “I’m afraid it was my fault. I asked Sylvie to give me a hand with something in the kitchen.”
Flora’s expression softened. “Oh, well, that was thoughtful.”
Sylvie decided to use this as an opportunity. “Like the school’s motto says, we’re all stronger when we work together. Right?”
“Yes.” Flora tugged at her corkscrew of dark curls. “But hopefully, you’ll keep it in mind next time you see Georgia Shaw too.”
Sylvie sucked in her lips. “I will.”
Agnes waved them off. “You two best get going. Have a good day, Sylvie. Let me know how it goes.”
Sylvie dug out a cookie. “Thanks. I will.” She turned and squared her shoulders.
Whatever it takes, she reminded herself. With that, she took a bite.