Chapter 19 SIFT
SIFT
THE CHAOS OF THE ASSEMBLY WAS NOW DYING DOWN. THE ROOM had converted itself back into a cafeteria. Kids were discussing Kitty’s broken wrist over plates of quiche Lorraine and quenelles of salmon mousse.
Sylvie couldn’t help but imagine Madame Godard reading the letter and confronting Ms. Honeycut.
“Look! There’s Flora and Maggie,” said Georgia, pulling Sylvie from her daydream.
Sylvie stared at the booth parked near the far wall and fingered the mentor badge in her pocket. Maggie hustled off.
A flurry of flour started falling around Flora before vanishing into the ground.
Sylvie clutched the badge tightly as she turned to Georgia. “I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“I have to talk to Flora alone for a few minutes. When you see me scratching the back of my head, it means it’s safe to come over.”
“Okay.” Georgia raised a brow. “But are you going to tell me what this is about?”
Sylvie poked uncomfortably at the custard stain on her shirt. “I can’t … at least not yet. For starters, it’s not my story to tell.”
Georgia nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll wait for your signal.”
“Thanks,” said Sylvie, ducking past several disks of tarte Tatin as they sailed toward the buffet table.
Flora looked up from the stack of pamphlets she was neatly arranging. “Hey, Sylvie! Are you interested in learning more about SIFT?”
“Yes. But first I wanted to give you this.” Sylvie slid the mentor badge onto the counter as she studied Flora’s face. “I found it yesterday in Agnes’s kitchen.”
Flora scooped it up. “Thanks. It must’ve slipped off when I went into the kitchen to deliver some supplies to Madame Lopez.”
“That’s funny,” said Sylvie calmly. “I saw Madame Lopez yesterday and asked her if she’d seen you. She said she hadn’t. I also saw you rifling through a teacher’s desk a few nights ago.”
The pamphlets Flora had been stacking slipped out of her hands and scattered across the table. “It was you I heard?”
Sylvie nodded.
Flora didn’t look up as she hooked the badge onto her uniform. “Have you told anyone about this?”
Sylvie noticed Flora’s hands starting to tremble. “No. I wanted to give you a chance to explain. But I am tempted to report this to Godard. I know you’re up to something. Are you stealing school supplies?”
“Of course not!” Flora looked into her eyes. “But you’re right. I am up to something; it’s just not what you think. I’m helping Godard search for something … or someone. But that’s all I can say.”
Sylvie heard Kitty’s voice in her head. There’s a few Godard knows she can trust. We’re helping weed out the rat. A new idea rolled through Sylvie’s mind. If the spy is a teacher, who better to enlist than a student to help hunt them down?
Sylvie spotted Maggie, carrying a box loaded with clipboards. She didn’t have much time to test out her theory. “Is this about finding the spy?”
Flora froze. “H-how do you know about that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Sylvie. “Now I get it.”
“Hey guys!” Maggie sidled up to the table and plunked down her box, eying the mess. “What happened?”
Sylvie scratched the back of her head. “It was my fault. I sort of surprised Flora. But we sorted it out. Here, let me restack them.” She shoveled the pamphlets into her hands and gave Flora a look of understanding.
They were each carrying secrets. But at least now Sylvie felt certain they were both looking out for the school.
“By the way, I’m Maggie. I mentor the first-year students,” said Maggie, as she helped reorganize the papers.
Flora gestured toward Sylvie. “That’s Sylvie Jones, and this”—she pointed to Georgia, who had just materialized—“is Georgia Shaw. These are the girls I was telling you about.”
Maggie set down a cup full of pens. “The Pips who won the bake-off? Of course! Congratulations. I guess we’ll be seeing you two tomorrow at the Commis Contest.”
Sylvie smiled and flipped through a pamphlet. “Thanks. We’re excited to participate.” She paused. “So, this is the club that was started by the first president of the CCS?”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “Although, now we like to think of ourselves as more of an organization than a club … with a defined purpose and specific goals.”
Sylvie resisted the urge to ask if one of SIFT’s goals was starting a rebellion. Instead, she came up with, “So, what made you want to bring SIFT to Brindille?”
“I visited their headquarters a few months ago,” said Maggie.
“Aside from helping to empower Sages from all different backgrounds, SIFT is responsible for saving some of the ancient heirloom fruits and vegetables we use in everyday spells! Fat Horse pole beans, Belle de Boskoop apples, Golden Hubbard squash—”
“They get the picture,” said Flora, glancing apologetically at Sylvie and Georgia. “Maggie can talk your ear off about SIFT. It’s like me when someone mentions the Golden Whisk.”
“True,” said Maggie. “Anyway, when my parents took me to Paris, I told them we had to visit SIFT headquarters. So glad I did. Their seed catalogues were even more impressive than the macaron display at Ladurée.”
“Wait… . They’re based in Paris?” Sylvie asked. Where the Golden Whisk takes place?
Maggie nodded. “They said they were looking to open a new chapter at Brindille. I was excited to help.”
Now, Sylvie was sure she was right. Strange is going to expose Bass at the Golden Whisk. But how? He wasn’t just a wanted man; LeGrande had added extra security measures.
“You know, I heard August Strange is a SIFT member,” said Sylvie, trying to casually fish.
“He is.” Maggie’s chin jutted out. “But we have thousands of members. His connection to the organization doesn’t mean anything.”
“You know, my aunt knows Strange,” said Flora, dusting flour off the table. “She says he’s innocent. The CCS isn’t giving us all the facts—”
“Shut up, Flora!” Belinda shoved past Sylvie. “Strange is a liar. He’s perfect for your little club full of traitors and thieves.”
Sylvie stared at Belinda. Her hair fell around her shoulders, like bits of rope covered in slipknots.
Flora scowled at the hulking girl. “What do you want?”
“Just thought I’d keep an eye on things … see who’s signing up.” Belinda eyed Sylvie like a piece of gum she’d just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. “Too bad Pips can’t join. I’m sure Sylvie would’ve fit right in.”
Maggie glared. “Sounds like you’re here to harass students.”
Belinda pressed her thumb against her knuckles, cracking them like fat grapes.
“Sylvie isn’t a real student.”
“If you came here to insult people, then get lost,” Maggie spat back.
Belinda pointed to the golden pin on her coat and moved closer. “You have no authority to tell me where I belong, or what I should do. I know about your family. Their ranking pin is carnelian … friend of magic.”
Maggie suddenly looked as if she’d been kicked in the teeth.
Flora’s lips turned tight. “You shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
Georgia looked befuddled.
Sylvie was trying to make sense of the insult too. She knew the term friend of magic. It was the lowest tier of Bass’s ranking system. But since when does someone get upset when you call them a friend?
Belinda’s meaty hand suddenly yanked on Sylvie’s backpack, pulling her up. “You girls think you’re hot stuff? You’re nothing.”
Sylvie’s feet kicked at the air.
“Put her down,” cried Georgia.
“Stay out of this,” snapped Belinda. “Unless you want to take another bath in the soda fountain.”
Sylvie tried to contemplate the comment’s meaning, but it was hard to focus when she was dangling in the air like a marionette.
Flora jumped across the table. “You better listen to Georgia and put Sylvie down … or else.”
“Or else, what?” A lopsided grin pulled at Belinda’s thin lips. “Y’all got your shiny mentor badges, but don’t let ’em fool you. There’s no real power left in this school.”
“Let me go!” Sylvie squirmed.
Flora smiled. “I guess we’ll find out if that’s true tomorrow … when Godard and the other students declare the Commis Contest winner!”
A thick crease formed between Belinda’s brows. “We’ll see about that.”
Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “What’s wrong? Worried you might not win now that Godard has stopped your dad from rigging the contest?”
“My pa won’t let Godard get away with this.” Belinda’s cheeks puffed. Her face turned red.
Sylvie’s foot finally collided with Belinda’s stomach.
Belinda grabbed her belly. Ouch!
The next thing Sylvie knew, her face hit cold marble. She stared at the pair of red cowboy boots near her nose. The taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Belinda Bass!” Agnes popped out of the kitchen, draped in an apron caked with egg yolk. She hurried over, a platter of madeleines clutched in her hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Belinda’s lips curled. “She fell.”
“Yeah right!” Flora started.
“I’ll handle this,” said Agnes. “I am aware that she fell. I could see her flailing before she hit the ground.”
Sylvie wiped blood onto the back of her hand as Belinda glared at her.
“I may not be an instructor at this school,” continued Agnes, “but I can recognize right from wrong. That was no accident. So, I suggest you apologize to Sylvie… . Unless you prefer I tell Godard and let her handle it?” Agnes raised a brow as she waited for Belinda’s response.
Belinda tugged at her wrinkled chef’s coat. “Sorry.”
“Very good. Now, I suggest you get some lunch and avoid the SIFT booth for the rest of the afternoon. Understood?”
Belinda’s knuckles turned white. “Fine… . Your stupid club will get shut down soon enough.” With that, she spun around and marched off.
“Are you all right, Sylvie?” asked Agnes.
“Yeah.” Sylvie picked up her backpack and stared after the girl. “But I think I just got on her bad side.”
“It appears so,” said Agnes, bending down to inspect Sylvie’s lip. “I know Belinda is unbearable, but you ladies shouldn’t let her get under your skin.”
“She would’ve gotten under your skin, too, if you’d heard what she said,” huffed Flora.