Chapter 17 Devious Is Sneaking Raisins into a Chocolate Chip Cookie
Devious Is Sneaking Raisins into a Chocolate Chip Cookie
SYLVIE CAME TO STANDING OVER THE BUBBLING STOCK POT, THE steam heating her cheeks. She stared at the spot Julia had been a moment ago. Nothing was there now except her backpack.
Sylvie glanced at the paper bag in her hand. There’s always a way to right the wrongs. Maybe Julia thought the bees would somehow help me? But that still doesn’t explain the peanut butter. Sylvie scratched her head.
At least now, she knew several things for certain.
First, Bass was planning to use a commis (probably Belinda) to influence the outcome of the Golden Whisk.
Second, Godard was on to him. Sylvie had no idea what Godard was going to do, but something told her she wasn’t going to take it lying down.
Most importantly, Sylvie now had the name of the recipe that would be used, Vindicti-au-vent.
There was, of course, one more thing. An old friend was somehow involved.
But had Julia been talking about her mom and Guy Fabre?
Sylvie wasn’t sure. She stuffed the gift from Julia into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
“Sylvie?” Madame Lopez was standing near the speed racks, cradling a giant box of chopped crookneck squash. She was a short and sturdy woman with tan skin and surprising strength. She heaved the large box onto the counter. “What are you doing here?”
“Uhh … I was looking for Flora. I thought she was in here helping Agnes,” said Sylvie, fishing for information.
Madame Lopez dusted her hands on her apron. “Flora helping Agnes? I don’t know where you got that idea. Godard sent Agnes to Tidwick’s Emporium. We have a last-minute barbecue to plan. She’ll be back tomorrow. Until then, I’m taking care of the kitchen.”
That explains the tortillas and tamales.
“And you haven’t seen Flora?” asked Sylvie, still hoping for an explanation.
“No.” Madame Lopez stared suspiciously at the pot of consommé. “Have you been here long?”
“Umm … not really.” Sylvie flashed a smile. “In fact, I was just leaving.”
Madame Lopez maneuvered past Sylvie and shoved a lid onto the pot. “By the way, how’s your leg?”
“My leg is great.” Sylvie snagged a pan dulce with a coating of hibiscus sugar on it. “Thanks for the snack!” Before Madame Lopez could respond, Sylvie ducked out of the kitchen. That was close.
By the time Sylvie slipped back into her dorm room, Georgia was readying to leave.
The meringue had vanished from her glossy locks. Her button-down shirt was replaced with a nice floral-print dress.
“Sylvie?” Georgia grabbed her jacket. “Does this mean you’re changing before dinner?” She glanced down at the smears of meringue on Sylvie’s shirt. “I could loan you something.”
“Thanks. Maybe later?” Sylvie folded her arms across her chest, trying to conceal the smudges. “Right now, I’m hoping for a different kind of change … in plans.”
Georgia raised a brow.
“I need to borrow your phone, now. It can’t wait.
” Sylvie filled Georgia in on what happened with the Clarity Consommé and her suspicions about Guy Fabre.
She needed a friend, and ironically, Georgia was the closest she had to one.
But Sylvie decided not to say anything about Flora.
She still wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Until I can confront her, I’ll keep my mouth shut.
“Someone is going to release a curse at the Golden Whisk?” Georgia’s mouth hung open.
Sylvie nodded.
“Hold on.” Georgia hustled over to her desk. “What did you say the forbidden recipe was called?”
“Vindicti-au-vent,” replied Sylvie.
Georgia rifled through her backpack, flicking through a stack of papers covered in pink ink.
“I knew it!” She waved a sheet in the air.
“My notes from mycology class… . You were late, but before you arrived, Bergen was talking about the amethyst deceiver—a purple mushroom, real pretty. It’s not grown much anymore, since the spell that made it famous is now forbidden.
” Georgia pointed to the piece of paper.
Sylvie peered over her shoulder.
Vindicti-au-vent, translation: vengeance in the wind. It taps into the moments in someone’s life that have caused them the greatest despair and makes you relive them every day. Unlike most recipes, this one doesn’t need to be eaten. Once it goes into the oven, the aroma spreads the spell.
Sylvie let it sink in. “The amethyst deceiver was one of the ingredients that was stolen from Tidwick’s, which means the thief and the person making the Vindicti-au-vent are probably one and the same. Any idea how far the spell can spread? Like, could it cover a whole arena?”
“I don’t know. Unfortunately, Bergen didn’t go into a lot of details,” said Georgia. “Not much point in lecturing about banned recipes. But he did say it’ll fill you with your deepest sorrows. Loss. Pain. Regret.”
On one hand, this was terrible. More destruction was headed to the Golden Whisk. On the other hand, it didn’t seem so bad. Now that they knew, couldn’t Sylvie just warn her mom? Don’t let anyone eat the cursed canapés. Of course, that wouldn’t be enough if a mere whiff was all it took.
“Any idea who would do something like this?” Georgia asked. “I mean, forbidden recipes, that’s serious business. The CCS could confiscate your Blade for something like this.”
“Which explains why they stole the ingredients. They wanted to cover their tracks.” Sylvie chewed on Georgia’s question.
Despite the risks, forbidden recipes were still fairly common.
In fact, there was a whole black market surrounding banned spells.
But usually, people used them to their own advantage, instead of to destroy others.
“Josephine Flammé is the obvious choice. After her loss at the Golden Whisk, it would make sense that she’d want to curse my mom into feeling the same sort of misery.
But Julia said she was betrayed by an old friend.
Flammé and my mom were never friends. Then everything got too murky for Julia to see clearly.
So, I don’t know if the betrayal was about the Vindicti-au-vent or even who Julia was talking about. ”
Georgia sighed. “That definitely makes things harder… . Maybe we should start with what we know for sure?”
Sylvie nodded.
“Your mom and Bergen were good friends. Maybe Bergen betrayed her?”
“Then why come clean to the judges at the Golden Whisk?” asked Sylvie. “He could’ve just kept his mouth shut and let my mom take the fall.”
“Agreed,” said Georgia.
“Plus, his Blade was destroyed. So, if someone is planning to make Vindicti-au-vent—”
“He’s ruled out,” finished Georgia. “What about Josephine Flammé and Fernand LeGrande?”
Sylvie recalled the look Balthazar had given his son. “Losing definitely didn’t benefit either one of them. Josephine became an outcast, and Fernand’s dad practically disowned him. Though, I could definitely see Josephine whipping up a recipe for revenge.”
“So, neither one is a very promising lead for betrayal, but we’ll put a star next to Flammé for revenge.” Georgia tapped a finger against her lips. “What about the commis?”
Sylvie shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.
But based on what I saw in Godard’s memory, I doubt Flammé’s would’ve stepped a toe out of line.
Besides, my mom told me she was a third-year student at Grande Ecole in Paris, not some close friend of Flammé’s.
Last I heard, she was working as a recipe tester for FizzleFott’s. ”
Georgia twisted her tongue between her teeth. “That’s a candy company, right?”
“Yes,” said Sylvie.
“I can’t believe I remembered that. I’ve been cramming so much new information into my brain, sometimes it feels like it might explode. Now, where were we?” Georgia looked back at the list. “That’s right. Your mom and Fabre.”
“Fabre was a friend and someone who benefited from the win. Plus, he bought up a bunch of skullcap recently and lied about its use,” said Sylvie, thinking back to the article she’d read in the Blossom Brigade. “What if it’s one of the ingredients in Vindicti-au-vent?”
“We have to try and find out,” said Georgia.
“Unfortunately, that’s not something we’ll find online,” said Sylvie.
“True. But maybe you’ll find something useful in the archives.” Georgia crawled beneath her bed and pulled out the bedazzled phone. “If you’re right about Fabre, it’s definitely going to put a damper on my cookbook collection.”
Sylvie took the phone. “Fabre is a judge at this year’s competition. If I’m right about this, we’ll have bigger troubles than your cookbook collection. So, for everyone’s sake, let’s hope there’s another explanation.”
Georgia glanced at the door. “I’ll stand guard outside. If a teacher shows up, I’ll say, ‘Peach cobbler.’ That’ll be our secret code.”
“Deal,” said Sylvie. “You know, you really can be devious … and that’s a compliment.”
Georgia flashed a brilliant smile. “Devious is sneaking raisins into a chocolate chip cookie. We’ve just gone way past that… . Oh! One more thing. 0-3-2-9. That’s my birthday, and the access code.” With that, Georgia slipped outside, leaving Sylvie alone.
Sylvie must’ve spent at least an hour scouring the Golden Whisk archives.
There were hundreds of pages to sift through.
Sylvie now knew Guy Fabre had a fondness for fast cars, and hated overcooked peas.
Who doesn’t? And had chosen Brindille over Grande Ecole in Paris because of his love of American pizza …
New York style. Unfortunately, none of this was getting Sylvie any closer to finding proof.
She tried a link to a thread on Sagebook’s Golden Whisk Fan Page.
TeamFranceFan: I’m shocked LeGrande has agreed to let Abby Jones compete in his arena. After what she did to his team last time, I hope he lets the competition crush her.
GoldenWonder: @TeamFranceFan Agreed! But at least Fabre will be there. It would be great if Abby’s old teammate cast her losing vote.