Chapter 7 A Needle in a Haystack #2
“For those of you who do survive and pass the test, this place will be your resource. It houses over one hundred thousand books: garde manger and legerdemain, alchemy, botany, even enchanted showpieces from the nineteenth century. You name it, we have it. You’ll begin your quest for knowledge today.
One hour of exploration. Then, it’s off to Madame Pelletier to get fitted for aprons and collect your tool kits. Any questions?”
Sylvie raised her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Jones.”
“I’m looking for Escoffier.”
“Well, that might be rather difficult. He’s deceased. I would’ve hoped you’d already know that.”
Several kids started to laugh.
“No … I know, but I’m looking for his cookbooks … or anything about him really,” said Sylvie hopefully.
“I’d suggest starting in archway six,” said Flora. “That’s where you’ll find authors whose last names begin with E; right-hand side should get you to Es.”
“Flora is correct. Although, I don’t recall asking for her help with that question.” Ms. Honeycut frowned in her direction before snatching a thermos from a Pip with the name tag CARLOS. “Food and drinks are strictly prohibited in this room.”
The rice paper scroll caught Sylvie’s eye, again.
ALL-POINTS BULLETIN: JOSEPHINE FLAMME HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING. SHE WAS LAST SEEN FIVE DAYS AGO IN THE VICINITY OF HOLBORN. ANY SIGHTINGS SHOULD BE REPORTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF MISSING SAGES.
Sylvie stared at the sign as she connected the dots. Tidwick’s Emporium is in Holborn… . Now, Flammé is missing, along with some dangerous ingredients. This seemed like too much of a coincidence.
Sylvie glanced over at Georgia. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she needed access to more than the bits that Godard was letting slip through. She needed the dark web, where Sages roamed freely. But for that I need a phone.
“Only studying Sages are permitted to check out books today. This is because of the Commis Contest and”—Ms. Honeycut gritted her teeth—“the Golden Whisk.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice the bit of venom infused into the last words.
“Madame Godard wants to make sure all competing students have access to the library’s material. I will, however, photocopy pages for you. Should you need assistance, ask Flora or find me at my desk. You are now free to roam.”
Kids began to scatter across the room like ants. Flora went to help Carlos retrieve his thermos.
“What a waste of time!” A boy with too much nose and not enough forehead rolled his eyes. “I just saw this stuff last week. My parents are part of the CCS’s gold circle. So we got a private tour.”
Sylvie sniggered at the boy, strutting about, flaunting his family’s status like a vain peacock showing off its tail.
He adjusted his tag. The name DARIUS was now stuck to the center of his chest. “If we want to pass the test, we should be spending our time cooking, not reading.”
A girl with long brown hair and a name tag that said SUZANNE nodded in agreement.
Sylvie eyed Georgia. For the first time, she didn’t look confident. In fact, she seemed overwhelmed.
Sylvie moved closer and cleared her throat. “This place is incredible. Isn’t it?”
Georgia turned. “I never imagined I’d see something like this.”
“Why?” Sylvie asked. “I mean, it’s not like you’re Scullery. You can cook. Right?”
“Is that your idea of an insult? Of course I can cook,” snapped Georgia.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Sylvie. “But … you seem surprised to be here.”
“It’s just that …” Georgia shrugged. “At least you know where you belong.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Sylvie was ready to ask.
“Hey, Georgia!” Adara stepped in front of her. “Want to check out Embedded Spells by Rhoni Baker?”
Georgia glanced back at Sylvie. “Sure.”
“Great! She layers magic into laminated doughs,” said Adara.
“Cursed croissants, daredevil Danishes. She even has a whole chapter on proofing and resting times.” Adara steered Georgia away.
“Apparently, curses need a longer chill but shorter proof … something about keeping revenge cold … I wonder if that’s in the test? ”
“I wish I knew,” said Georgia.
Sylvie watched the two girls vanish down a hallway. So much for the cookie bringing her a bit of luck. Her attempt to smooth things over hadn’t gone well. Maybe she’d try again, but for now, Georgia would have to wait.
Sylvie stepped into archway number six and looked around.
There really were books on every topic. Sylvie scanned a shelf.
Surrounded by Scullery: How I Survived in a Family That Couldn’t Cook.
Blade: The On-Point History. The spine of a thin green-and-silver book caught Sylvie’s eye.
From Nectar to Ambrosia: A History of Magical Ingredients by Eglantine Easton.
Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder if it mentioned the Apple of Discord. She flicked the book open. A chill rippled down her hand as she spotted a familiar ingredient under B.
Butcher’s-Broom—Also known as ruscus aculeatus.
During the eighteenth century, Sage Morana Fournier discovered that the plant could be used for dark magic.
When mixed with certain ingredients (see belladonna, skullcap, woad), butcher’s-broom becomes highly volatile, disrupting benign spells.
In recent years, Sages have petitioned the Agency of Outlawed Artifacts to more closely monitor the ingredient’s sale and distribution.
Sylvie flipped back toward the opening pages. The scar on her hand was a constant reminder of what butcher’s-broom could do. She didn’t need a book to tell her how dangerous it was.
Her eyes settled on another page.
Apple of Discord—One of the most guarded treasures, the tree was bestowed to the Council of Culinary Sages upon its founding in 1683.
It was a gift from respected dendrologist and Sage, Olivier Savior.
Savior became the first CCS president and was an early leader in the fight for equality.
His hope was that the tree would be used as a guiding force, steering the council toward more open and fair policies.
Eventually Savior became disillusioned with the council and left.
In his later years, he founded a club promoting greater inclusion, fairness, and transparency in the food world.
Upon his deathbed, Savior claimed to see a vision of the Apple blooming and said that it would find the person who could finally help make things right.
Sylvie stared at the page. She’d never cared for scary movies.
They always left her with the unsettling feeling of being watched.
Now, a similar sensation was creeping over her.
Had Savior really seen the Apple in a vision?
Was its bloom really connected to her? Sylvie wished she knew the answers, but nothing more was written.
Questions lingered in her mind. Why does the Apple have my name on it?
After all, she hadn’t even passed the test yet.
How could she possibly change the CCS? Sylvie snapped the book shut.
Maybe one of Escoffier’s recipes holds the answer?
Sylvie climbed onto one of the ladders attached to the shelves, searching for surnames that began with E. She wished the man had given her more to go on.
She got to the right section and pulled one of Escoffier’s cookbooks. Judging from the size, there had to be a thousand recipes in it. This would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Unless maybe he marked one? Sylvie flipped through, page by page.
After about thirty minutes she was starting to grow impatient.
The French Classic Tradition of Hexes and The Fine Art of Cookery I suppose I can make an exception.”
A flash of light burst across the room.
Ms. Honeycut’s voice trailed off.
Sylvie followed her gaze.
A bold headline spread across the scroll.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE!
Below it was a picture.
Even without the dark hoodie, Sylvie recognized the amber eyes. It’s the man from the diner. Only now, he had a name.