Chapter 7 A Needle in a Haystack
A Needle in a Haystack
SYLVIE AND FLORA WALKED THROUGH THE GARDEN TOWARD the massive building in the distance.
Sylvie wasn’t sure if it was the cookie she’d eaten, or the fact that she was about to see the inside of Brindille for the first time, but her mood was improving.
“See those?” Flora pointed to a cluster of shrubs covered in cobalt globes. “They’re sticky plums.”
“Plum bushes?”
Flora nodded. “The fruit is great for making Roly-Poly, but the blossoms are like glue. We’re supposed to avoid them until every bloom is gone.
Last year, Maggie Leung forgot. She harvested some too early and ended up stuck in the branches.
They had to cut her out of her chef’s coat to get her loose. ”
Sylvie squeezed closer to the path. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Flora cleared her throat. “I’m mentioning it because … well, I know Brindille has a lot of rules … though no fighting is pretty much universal. But they’re all in place for a reason. Try to remember that. It’ll help keep you out of trouble.”
“Thanks. I will.” Sylvie resisted the urge to make more excuses. “I’m sure you know a lot if you’re a mentor… . They only choose the top two students from each class. Right?”
“Correct,” said Flora. “But that doesn’t mean we’re perfect. Maggie mentors the first-year students and look what happened to her. I’ve gotten myself into some tight spots too. But there’s someone that’s always inspired me to do better … your mom.”
Sylvie paused. “Really?”
“Yes.” Flora glanced at her. “You’re surprised.”
Sylvie shrugged. “It’s not what I’m used to hearing from others … especially not now.”
“I get it,” said Flora. “You know, your mom was the first female chef to ever win the Golden Whisk. I know people think she cheated, but I’m not one of them.
I was only six at the time, but I remember watching her on TV.
A girl, an American, standing at the top of the podium.
It left a lasting impression! That’s when I decided I wanted to compete too. ”
“You know, there’s always been so much negative press about what happened, I didn’t even realize she’d be, like, an inspiration,” said Sylvie.
Flora nodded. “A few years later, Lea Linster took home the gold, and then came Jana Lai. Her pulled sugar was insane! She made a whole forest of isomalt trees come to life.”
Sylvie glanced sidelong at Flora. “Do all mentors know this much about the Golden Whisk?”
“Er … no.” Flora smiled sheepishly. “I’m what you’d call a ‘superfan.’ It’s my dream to someday compete. In fact, this year I’m entering the Commis Contest.”
Sylvie already knew about the Commis Contest. Her mom won it once when she was a student. Unlike the Golden Whisk, there’d been no controversy surrounding that competition, so it was a happy memory.
Each year, the Brindille student who won got to assist Team USA at the Golden Whisk. The Commis Contest was always an epic festival, full of battles, delicious food, and spells.
“What are you planning to make?” asked Sylvie.
Flora pursed her lips. “That’s top secret. But let’s just say, everyone will have to see it to believe it. It’s taken me six months to perfect.”
“That’s a long time to cook up one recipe.”
“Cooking is simply a spell made visible,” Flora replied. “It shouldn’t be rushed.”
Ooh, I like that, thought Sylvie.
The girls stopped at the edge of the security steps. Flora bent down. “Let them sniff the back of your hand. Then drop a chocolate peppermint.”
A sandpapery tongue ran itself over the back of Sylvie’s hand.
Yuck!
She dropped the chocolate, wiped the stair cooties on her pants, and followed Flora up.
“My parents try to understand my Golden Whisk obsession,” continued Flora. “But it’s hard… . They’re both Scullery.”
“But then how did you know about magic?” asked Sylvie.
“My aunt,” said Flora. “She’s a Sage. You might have heard of her … Regina Jackson.”
Sylvie’s eyes grew wide. “The one who wrote Soul Spells: Recipes to Cure and Comfort?”
“That’s her! I’m in my second year at Brindille, so I got lucky, Bass’s legacy policy didn’t affect me. Still, even with my famous aunt, there were some who made me feel like I didn’t belong.”
Sylvie’s ears perked up. “Like who?”
Flora chewed on her lower lip. “Belinda Bass for one.”
Sylvie frowned. “I saw her this morning. She seems to have a problem with everyone.”
“She has two sides,” said Flora. “One is mean, but the other is downright nasty. Trust me. You don’t want to get on her bad side. But there’s staff you need to watch out for too.”
“Really?” Sylvie took a deep breath and kept climbing. Only ten more steps.
“Ms. Honeycut, the librarian.” Flora lowered her voice. “This time of year, she gets extra grouchy. Ten years ago, she was cut from the American team two weeks before the Golden Whisk competition… . Rumor has it she couldn’t get one of her spells right.”
“That must’ve sucked,” said Sylvie.
Flora shrugged. “I suppose, but that sort of blow doesn’t have to leave you bitter forever.”
Before Sylvie could respond, the doors at the top of the steps swung open.
A fountain twice the size of those in the cafeteria sat in the entranceway, spewing grape soda. Pieces of blown sugar and sculpted chocolates moved around the room, like statues brought to life.
“Wow! This place would make the candymakers at FizzleFott’s jealous!” Sylvie eyed a large golden cage. A milk chocolate cockatoo fluttered and squawked as a white chocolate parrot moved onto its perch. Next to the cage, a vase of pulled sugar flowers continuously morphed from bud to blossom.
“Students’ showpieces,” Flora said.
“Students actually made these?” said Sylvie.
“Seniors.” Flora headed down a long hallway.
“They’re incredible.” Sylvie eyed a pastillage mask that kept winking at her.
“Some are better than others.” Flora glanced at a blown sugar tree with leaves the color of a pumpkin. “That one seems to think it’s fall.”
Sylvie carefully stepped around the colorful shards scattered across the floor. “Still pretty cool, if you ask me.”
Flora shrugged. “The library is this way.” She pointed to a passage on the right.
Sylvie followed her down the corridor and into a massive room.
Brindille’s library, also known as the Long Hall, stood two stories tall. Its panels of dark wood were now bathed in sunlight, illuminating rows of archways, stacked top to bottom with books. Sylvie strained her eyes, trying to see how far back they went. They seemed to never end.
“This way,” said Flora, heading toward the group of Pips gathered in the center of the room.
The scent of old books hung in the air. Sylvie inhaled deeply. Something about it always reminded her of vanilla.
Between the arches were long tables, several of which were now filled with hushed students. Along the walls, busts of serious-looking people punctuated the room.
Sylvie eyed the name inscribed on the nearest statue: BEBINN SMACK, FIRST GUMOLOGIST.
Georgia glanced at Sylvie and brushed an imaginary crumb off her sleeve.
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice she was wearing a new shirt.
Drops of guilt pelted her in the chest. She’d been rightfully furious with Georgia.
But ruining her blouse hadn’t been nice.
Then again, it wasn’t my fault. Maybe she’d try to tell Georgia again?
Before Sylvie could contemplate things further, a neon flash caught her eye. Hanging from the arched ceiling above them was a rice paper scroll the size of a Times Square billboard. A message was splashed across it.
brEAKING NEWS … TIDWICK’S EMPORIUM HAS BEEN ROBBED! SKULLCAP, VIPER’S THORN, VEILED LADY, AND AMETHYST DECEIVER MUSHROOMS ARE AMONG THE MISSING INGREDIENTS.
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice that the stolen items all had one thing in common. They’re ingredients commonly found in hexes and banned recipes. The notice shifted.
A SPOKESPERSON FOR TIDWICK’S ANNOUNCED A brIEF CLOSURE WHILE CCS AGENTS INVESTIGATE, BUT INSISTED THEY WILL REOPEN TOMORROW, IN TIME FOR GUY FAbrE TO UNVEIL HIS NEW LINE OF PRODUCTS.
Sylvie blinked. Guy Fabre was one of the world’s most famous chefs and a secret Sage, but more than that—
“Ms. Jones, please pick up your name tag and stick it on your shirt,” said someone, pulling Sylvie from her thought.
A woman with thin lips, a pinched nose, and black hair pulled into a tight bun was staring at her.
“Sure… . Sorry.” Sylvie pulled her eyes from the scroll and picked up the sticker with her name on it.
The woman glanced at Flora. “You are free to leave, Ms. Jackson.”
Flora shifted her weight. “Kitty asked me to stay … so that I could help the Pips.”
“Fine,” said the woman. “But don’t get in my way.”
Flora tucked her hands into her pockets and nodded. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder if this was the woman Flora had been talking about.
The woman turned back to the Pips. “My name is Hilda Honeycut. You may call me Ms. Honeycut. I do not answer to Instructor, Chef, or simply Hilda. Understood?”
They all nodded silently.
“I will not be your instructor for the next six weeks.”
Sylvie got the feeling she wasn’t the only one feeling relieved by this news.
“I am the librarian.” Ms. Honeycut lifted her arms. “And this is where you’ll be spending most of your time when you’re not in class.”
Sylvie looked around. She’d never seen so many books in one place before.
“The very best chefs are sorcerers … magicians.” Ms. Honeycut stood rigid.
“They can transform even the most mundane ingredients into something spectacular. Master the food. Then, the spells! This is why you’re here.
Our program sets the foundation for becoming a great Sage…
. But not all of you are destined for this school.
Some might not even make it through the next six weeks. ” Her eyes settled on Sylvie.
She shifted uncomfortably. Flora was right. Ms. Honeycut had the uncanny ability to make you feel disliked without even saying a word.