Chapter 14 Guy’s Nearly Magical Macarons
Guy’s Nearly Magical Macarons
SYLVIE AND GEORGIA’S DESKS FUSED INTO A PRISTINE WORK SURFACE. Several boxes of sugar, ground almonds, and jars filled with powdered food coloring now rested on top.
Boris clapped his hands together. “The reason Fabre’s recipe is called ‘nearly magical’ is simple.”
Darius, who was sitting at the desk in front of Sylvie, turned. “Because Bergen can’t cook up proper spells anymore.”
Georgia’s brows crinkled. “What’s that mean?”
Sylvie fiddled with the box of powdered sugar. “The test we’re all hoping to take—the magic in that recipe only works one time. If something happens to your Blade, that’s it.”
“You mean, Bergen”—Georgia lowered her voice—“can’t cook up magic?”
Sylvie shook her head.
“I thought he wasn’t using his Blade because we’re making macarons,” said Georgia. “But then how did he transform the classroom?”
“One of the other teachers must’ve cooked up the spells that enchanted it,” said Sylvie.
Darius eyed Sylvie like a pimple he wanted to squeeze out. “And whose fault is it that he lost his Blade, Jones?”
Being called a cheat was bad enough. But getting blamed for ruining someone else’s life—that was the worst. Sylvie thought of her mom. I’ve been dealing with this for days. She’s been stuck with it for years.
Boris shot Darius a stern look. “Mr. Maxwell, are you here to discuss the past, or to work on your future?”
Darius shifted awkwardly in his chair. “My … future?”
“Good. Then I suggest we get on with the lesson. As I was saying … the test, and whipping up macarons, aren’t so different.
There will be things you cannot easily control.
” Boris raised a finger into the air. “For example, macarons hate humid days like today. Other things will be in your control. Like how you work on your own, and as a team.”
Sylvie and Georgia glanced nervously at one another.
“Little things often make the biggest difference between success and failure in the kitchen,” said Boris.
“I suggest you keep that in mind. The team that manages to produce the best batch of macarons first will win the bake-off. As a reward, they’ll get ten extra points that will go toward their final grade, and they’ll participate in the opening ceremony for the Commis Contest.”
A buzz of excited chatter erupted.
“Silence!” said Boris. “Now, you may begin.”
The whir of mixers filled the air. Sylvie pulled out a sifter.
This could be good. She needed those extra points.
Plus, the Commis Contest was a time for the best and brightest to show off their spells.
If Sylvie got to participate, even in the opening ceremony, she’d have access to magical ingredients.
All participants congregated in the school’s storage cellars before the opening ceremony to gather their mise en place. It was tradition.
But before that could happen, there was one more hurdle.
She and Georgia hadn’t exactly worked well together.
Now, we need to make the perfect batch before anyone else.
If we start fighting, we’re doomed. Georgia picked up an egg and whacked it against the bowl.
Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking the same thing.
“I’m surprised you’ve got the nerve to show your face here, Jones.” Darius’s eyes turned as dark as pieces of obsidian. “He loses his Blade, only to be forced to help you get yours.”
Sylvie felt the tips of her ears grow warm. What happened to Boris was awful, but it wasn’t her fault.
“But at least you and your mom still have a shot at the spotlight. Right?”
Sylvie readied a comeback. But before she got a chance, someone beat her to the punch.
“Shut up, Darius.” Georgia’s voice sizzled. “You’re one to talk, given the fact that your dad tried to bribe a CCS agent, thinking he could somehow buy you a Blade.”
Darius’s face flushed crimson. “I-it was all a misunderstanding.” His nose drooped toward his pointy chin.
Georgia smiled sweetly. “Maybe. But as my mama always says, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck! So, why don’t you focus on your meringue instead of other people’s business.”
Darius muttered something about an inquiry not being the same as a bribe and turned back to the mixer in front of him.
Sylvie turned to Georgia. “Thanks.”
Georgia shrugged. “You may have ruined my blouse—”
“That really was an accident,” said Sylvie.
“Fair enough,” said Georgia. “But you didn’t rat me out about the phone. So, I suppose I owed you one. Besides, he had it coming. You’re not the only one he’s been harassing.”
“I know,” said Sylvie. “I heard him yesterday in the garden.”
Georgia nodded. “He sort of … found out that … I might as well say it. Everyone will know soon enough.” Georgia took a deep breath. “My parents are both Scullery. I didn’t want people to know.”
A few kids started to whisper.
Of course, thanks to Godard, Sylvie already knew. But until now, she hadn’t thought about what it must feel like for Georgia, being thrown into a whole new world. The way Georgia was devouring stories on Rumor Wheeler’s blog. Her need to impress. Now, it made sense. She wanted to fit in.
“I think that’s great,” said Sylvie loudly. “After all, Madame Godard wants everyone at Brindille to feel welcomed. Right?”
The whispering stopped. Several kids nodded, and those who didn’t quietly went back to cooking.
“Thanks,” said Georgia, lowering her voice. “Darius threatened to tell everyone about my background, unless I did his homework for him. But sometimes in life you have to decide if you’re gonna be the chicken or the fox.” Georgia examined her nibbled nails. “Guess I just made my choice.”
Sylvie stared at Georgia. “So, when you asked about my scar, you really didn’t know how I got it?”
“No,” said Georgia. “Of course, after you left in a huff, I went online and got the whole story… . Should we get back to our cookies?”
“Sure,” said Sylvie, still taking it all in.
“But just so you know, you’re not the only one who has a non-magical background.
My dad is Scullery, and Flora told me both her parents are.
I know with all the changes at the CCS, it’s a scary time to be different.
But maybe you’re not as much of an outsider as you think. ”
Georgia’s eyes turned misty. “Thank you.”
Sylvie picked up a sifter. “So, how did you know about Darius’s dad trying to bribe an agent?”
Georgia grabbed a spoon and scooped a mound of delicate sugar crystals.
She slowly added them into the frothy egg whites.
“I did a little digging online. It was buried beneath a bunch of articles about August Strange and the Golden Whisk. Luckily, I spotted it… . So why didn’t you tell Kitty out about my phone, anyway? ”
Sylvie sifted the almond meal. “And get labeled a rat? No thanks. Plus, I know this might sound bad, but I wanted to hold it against you to borrow your phone.”
Georgia dropped the spoon. A billow of sugar filled the air. “Is that why you’re being nice to me?”
Sylvie waved the plume away. “No! Cross my heart and may my toffee recrystallize if I lie. That was the reason. But it has nothing to do with how I’m acting now … I just realized maybe we aren’t so different after all. Anyway, forget about the phone. I’ll find another way to get what I need.”
Georgia’s eyes narrowed. “How’s that?”
Sylvie picked up the jar of pink food color and dusted some into the fluffy mound in the mixing bowl. How much should I tell Georgia?
“Here’s the deal,” Georgia whispered. “I’ll let you borrow my phone.”
“Really?”
Georgia nodded. “But if you want to use it, you’ve got to tell me what you’re up to. I’m not sticking my neck out like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Not unless I know what I’m getting myself into.”
Images from Godard’s memory floated through Sylvie’s mind.
“Godard showed me a memory … and someone did my mom and Flammé dirty. I think I might know who. The Golden Whisk has an online archive. I want to go through all the old articles. Maybe there’s a clue in one of the interviews or in the comment section.
” Sylvie picked up a spatula and scooped batter into a piping bag.
If she was lucky, maybe she’d learn something new about August Strange too.
“People say things online they’d never say in person. ”
Georgia nodded. “Truth. Lies. Insults. It’s all easier when you’re hiding behind a wall.”
“So … you’ll help me?”
“You can use it tonight, once everyone’s gone to bed. Agreed?”
Sylvie smiled. “Agreed.”
Georgia picked up a piping bag and scooped in some batter.
Sylvie eyed her up and down. “I know it’s none of my business. But out of curiosity, how did you get it past Kitty, anyway?”
Georgia twisted the top of the piping bag.
“Secret Sauce may be clever, especially when you use it on the kittens. But it turns out the spell can’t stretch far.
When I arrived, I stuffed my phone into one of the coffin mushrooms in the garden.
It may be a perilous place for people, but it’s great for electronics. ”
Wish I would’ve thought of that.
Georgia fiddled with one of her cupcake earrings. “Since my parents aren’t Sages, I was motivated to keep my phone … so I’d be prepared for this world. I figured my best shot was to stash it somewhere no one would want to look. Coffin mushrooms seemed like a safe bet.”
Sylvie nodded. “That’s clever.”
“Thanks. One good cry, it spat my phone back out… . Now, help me pipe?”
Sylvie grabbed a sheet pan. Georgia suddenly seemed so different, not the stuck-up know-it-all she’d first met. Agnes’s words floated back. Sometimes the ally you need is what’s least expected. Maybe she was right.
A few minutes later, dozens of pale pink disks were spread evenly across their parchment paper.
Georgia glanced at the recipe projected on the lecture board.
“It says a matte skin should form before putting them into the oven, but ours still look glossy. Class breaks for lunch soon, and our cookies have to be done by then.”
Sylvie looked around. Kids were now huddled over sheet pans, fanning them with paper as they eyed the ticking clock. “I think everyone’s having the same problem. It’s the humidity.”
Georgia frowned. “Moisture is great for skin, but apparently not for cookies. Now what do we do?”
Sylvie chewed on her lower lip. After Guy’s brief visit to her party, her mom had flicked on the TV so everyone could watch him cooking.
Sylvie had been more interested in opening gifts.
But now, the memories of that day were coming back.
He made macarons with white ganache. Being close to the ocean, Los Angeles always had a tinge of salty moisture hanging in the air. Luckily, Guy had the perfect solution.
“That’s it!”
Georgia stared wide-eyed. “What?”
“Guy Fabre says the best way to dry the shells quickly is to use the cool setting on a blow-dryer.”
“Blow-dryer?” Georgia scratched her head. “Well, I suppose if Guy Fabre does it … I still can’t believe he’s a Sage. I’ve got all his cookbooks at home.” Georgia hesitated. “So, I guess that means the stories I’ve been reading are true.”
“Not all of them,” said Sylvie. “That piece about my mom in The Daily Leek was trash.”
“Fair enough. But Fabre … he was your mom’s commis at the Golden Whisk?”
“Yes.”
Georgia looked giddy. “Have you met him?”
“Yeah. Once.”
Georgia now had the look of someone waiting to hear a juicy secret. But if she was hoping to get more out of Sylvie, she was out of luck.
“Come on.” Sylvie grabbed the sheet pan and tilted her head toward Boris. “We need to ask him about a blow-dryer.”
“Right. Guy’s secret trick.” Georgia followed Sylvie to the front of the room.
Sylvie was never sure how to answer questions about Guy Fabre. Once upon a time, her mom had been his mentor. But somewhere along the way, the student had eclipsed the teacher.
Guy was now running an empire. Restaurants. Cookbooks. TV shows. Maybe he’d gotten too busy to visit Sylvie’s mom? But now, Sylvie was starting to wonder if there was another reason Guy and her mom stopped talking. What if he had something to hide, and was afraid she’d figure it out?
Sylvie set the pan of macarons on Boris’s desk.
Boris looked up from his stack of papers. “May I help you two?”
“We need a blow-dryer,” said Georgia.
“Looks like Georgia thinks they’re at the salon,” said Darius.
The girl seated next to him gave a snigger.
Boris eyed the pale pink disks. “It just so happens I have one here. May I ask how you want to use it?”
“The assignment was to make a batch of perfect macarons,” said Sylvie. “But that won’t be possible unless we can get our shells to set, which as you put it, is difficult on humid days.”
Georgia squeezed in. “So, we need the blow-dryer to move things along. Dry them out so we can get them into the oven before the end of class.”
“I see.”
For a moment, Boris didn’t speak. He just sat there, arms folded, smiling at the two of them.
“I was hoping someone would think of that trick.” He rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a black blow-dryer with flecks of frosting caked to it.
“Pay attention, class. You never know when a recipe might force you to think outside the box.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice Darius, suddenly looking as if he’d swallowed a cockroach. Sylvie plugged in the blow-dryer and flicked it on. A cool breeze whipped across the glossy pink shells. All eyes were now fixed on their sheet pan.
“It’s working,” Georgia whispered.
Sylvie nodded.
Like sun blotting dampness from the ground, their macarons were drying.
“Absolutely perfect,” said Boris. “Congratulations, ladies. Once they come out of the oven, you’ll officially be the winners… . It appears you two make a good team.”
Sylvie smiled. This time, there was no denying it. Despite their rocky start, once they stepped into the kitchen, they really were a perfect pair.
“Thank you, Mr. Bergen.” Georgia’s pouty lips spread into a glossy moonbeam smile. She turned to Sylvie. “We’re going to win!”
“I know!” Sylvie was already plotting her next steps.
She’d use this opportunity to get some magical ingredients from the storage cellars during the Commis Contest. Then, she’d hunt down a spell that could help her find out the truth about Guy Fabre.
Was he really an innocent bystander? Or was he the mastermind behind the biggest upset in the Golden Whisk’s history?
Her mom’s voice echoed in her head. The truth is like a good baguette.
It takes time to rise. Perhaps now, it was finally ready.