Chapter 20 The Forbidden Recipe
The Forbidden Recipe
SYLVIE LOOKED AT AGNES. TALKING TO ADULTS WAS A BIT LIKE skating down a ramp. You needed a clear path for movement, and an exit plan, in case something went terribly wrong.
“Our talk the other day … it helped me.”
Agnes picked up a mixing bowl full of cream and began to whisk. “I’m glad. People around here usually go to the instructors for help, not me.”
“Really?” said Sylvie. “That’s a shame. In fact, you’re the only one who’s given me some useful advice recently.”
Agnes smiled.
A measuring cup full of sugar now hovered over the bowl. A steady stream of sweet crystals poured in. Agnes began whisking in a brisk figure-eight pattern.
“Speaking of advice,” said Sylvie. “I wanted to ask you about something you said the other day… . I asked if the right recipe could help me. You said recipes can do many things … even break down obstacles.”
The whisk in Agnes’s hand froze. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you about that. It … was a mistake.”
“But—”
“Listen, Sylvie.” Agnes turned to face her.
“I’ll be retiring in a few months. Forty years I’ve been here, rain or shine, never a misstep.
I feel sorry for you. Really, I do. Just like LeGrande and your mom …
maybe even Flammé, you’ve been dealt a terrible hand.
But I can’t get tangled in that, can I?”
This wasn’t the answer Sylvie had been hoping for. On the other hand, it also wasn’t a no. She’d noticed the uptick in voice. The hesitation. The lingering question at the end. Agnes was clearly torn. What Sylvie had to do now was convince her.
“Look, I’m not asking you to do anything.” Sylvie lowered her voice. “But you said it yourself, I’ve been dealt a bad hand. Now, Bass is coming here … right before the Commis Contest. None of this is fair or impartial.”
Agnes gave a weary nod. “Bass has been putting up roadblocks for people who are different, or who disagree with him.”
Sylvie needed to know which spell Agnes was talking about. She looked into her eyes. “Isn’t that a reason to help me?”
Agnes twisted her hands together. The room suddenly seemed to fall silent. Gone were the clanging pans and whirring mixers. Even the sauces on the stove seemed to be holding in their bubbles. “Well … I suppose. But—”
“Someone has to stand up to Bass. Just tell me what spell you were talking about,” Sylvie pleaded. “You don’t have to help beyond that.”
Agnes sighed. “Fine. Oh … I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Agnes pulled off her apron. “Follow me. Quickly. Before I change my mind.”
Sylvie hustled past workbenches and speed racks as she tried to keep up. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” said Agnes. She moved deeper into the kitchen and stopped in front of an old Prometheus stove.
Sylvie stared. The clawed feet were freshly polished. The green tiles glistened. But unless there was a recipe hidden inside, Sylvie didn’t see how this was going to help her.
Agnes gave one of the stove’s dials a twist. Sylvie waited for a flame to erupt. Instead, a door Sylvie hadn’t noticed swung open.
“Whoa! A secret room.”
Agnes glanced back. “Quickly. Before someone sees us.”
Sylvie maneuvered past the old cook station.
Inside, a bed with a billowing red duvet was tucked into the corner, muscled out of the way by an overflow of ingredients and baking equipment.
Fluted cake pans and vials full of sparkling elixirs were all stacked on a series of long shelves.
Bundles of dried flowers and shriveled herbs hung from the ceiling, tied with colorful ribbons.
The scent of fresh vanilla hung in the air.
Agnes brushed crumbs off the lopsided breakfast table. A small bit of newspaper was wedged beneath one of the legs, trying to set it straight.
“My apologies for the mess. I don’t normally have guests in my home.”
“You actually live here?”
Agnes nodded. “Most of Brindille’s staff live up in the main building. But they keep me down here, close to the kitchen… . I don’t mind. It’s rather nice having the privacy,” she added.
“It’s incredible!” Any sort of hidden room was beyond cool. But one that looked and smelled like this was amazing.
Agnes rifled through a stack of papers. Buried at the bottom was a worn leather-bound book.
The cover was black and marked with creases. The pages looked coffee-stained and yellow.
Sylvie peered over Agnes’s shoulder as she flicked it open.
At the top, written in dark calligraphy, were the words:
Forbidden Recipes & Peculiar Spells
Agnes slid the book across the table. “I’m sure you’re perplexed, seeing me with this.”
Sylvie was surprised. Forbidden recipe books were secretly sold all the time. But Agnes didn’t seem like the type to go lurking around back-alley auctions.
“First of all, not all the recipes in here are forbidden,” said Agnes. “As the name suggests, some are just … odd.”
Sylvie carefully fingered the brittle pages. Agnes was right. Some did sound silly, like the recipe for No-Bake Dragon Treats.
Agnes flicked toward the back of the book and pointed to a recipe: Devils on Horseback.
This one did sound ominous.
Sylvie’s mom had taken her once to The Museum of Culinary History and Magic.
One of the rooms was full of relics donated by the Department of Outlawed Artifacts.
That had been Sylvie’s favorite room. It had an old cast-iron cauldron.
Glass vials of wormwood. A string of yam daisies.
Ancient terracotta vessel for holding “scorpion wine,” and a first edition copy of Hugh Rex’s book, Wicked Cooking: Recipes to Curse and Kill.
But this was the first time Sylvie was seeing a forbidden recipe up close.
“A dear friend of mine passed away a few years back,” said Agnes. “She didn’t have any children. So, she left her cookbook collection to me.”
Agnes stared at the open book with a blend of fear and admiration.
“Funny. You think you know people … I have no idea how she ended up with this piece. But I’ve never had the heart to destroy it.
I thought once about handing it over to the Department of Outlawed Artifacts.
But now that they answer directly to Bass, I’ve been too fearful. ”
Sylvie understood.
“It would be ironic, if the book I was afraid to turn in became the catalyst for Bass’s undoing,” said Agnes.
Sylvie slid her hand across the page. Breaking rules was one thing. But forbidden recipes? This wasn’t a spoonful of sugar or a cup of bone broth. This was dark magic. Sylvie wasn’t sure she had the stomach, or the skills, for it.
Agnes tapped a finger against the book. “I’m not sure why Devils on Horseback was forbidden. But the good news is, it doesn’t require much from a Blade.”
“Well, that’s lucky, considering I don’t have one … and never will if I get caught making a forbidden recipe.”
Agnes shrugged. “Even in the non-magical world, some recipes are forbidden, take foie gras for instance, banned in England but revered in France. Some says it’s cruel. Others call it culinary culture. Point is, forbidden isn’t always wrong. Sometimes, it’s about perspective.”
Sylvie doubted Bass would see it that way if she got caught.
“Plus, the CCS rules apply to Sages, which you are not … yet. So, technically you aren’t bound to them,” said Agnes, as if she knew what Sylvie was thinking.
She’s right. Those are Sage rules. Sylvie eyed the recipe. Need to remove obstacles put into your path by meddlesome circumstance or an inconvenient spell? This is the perfect recipe.
Sylvie chewed on her lower lip, as she considered everything.
Agnes narrowed her gaze. “You asked me what I was going to say the other day. Now, I’ve told you. This is the spell that can break down the obstacles standing in your way. The rest is up to you. So, ask yourself, how far are you willing to go to get what you want?”
Sylvie didn’t say anything. It was a basic question. But the answer was far from simple.
She’d helped her mom make a few magic recipes, like the Giggling Gateau they’d given Sylvie’s dad on his birthday, or the pick-me-up porridge Sylvie liked for breakfast. But those were silly spells. On the other hand, she’d made a promise to herself. Whatever it takes.
Sylvie’s jaw tightened as she eyed the recipe.
6 Noor dates
6 slices of smoked bacon
? cup Stilton cheese
⒈／⒉ cup dark amber maple syrup
1 teaspoon dried hedgenettles
Pinch of woad
“How do I make it?” she finally asked.
Agnes ran her finger across the instructions.
“It’s surprisingly simple. The dates need to be slit and pitted…
. I can do that ahead of time with my Blade.
Then, you stuff them with Stilton and wrap with bacon.
After that, all you need to do is make the sauce…
. Now, that’s where it gets a bit sticky. ”
Sylvie’s eyes zigzagged across the page as Agnes spoke. “I have all the ingredients in the kitchen, except for the woad. Brindille, of course, has it. But we keep our obscure ingredients in the storage cellars.”
“Can’t staff access the storage cellars whenever they want?” Sylvie asked.
“Yes,” said Agnes. “But those ingredients must be signed out… . Woad is hardly the sort of thing you’d see me adding to the croissants on the breakfast table.
” She shook her head. “I’m afraid it would raise too many questions…
. I’d love to see Bass get what he deserves.
But like I said, I’m retiring in a few months.
So, if you want the woad, you’re going to have to be the one to get it. ”
Sylvie stared at a spot on the wall. An idea she’d already entertained crept back. “Tomorrow … I’ll be in the storage cellars with Georgia for the opening ceremony of the Commis Contest. I could swipe it then.” A prickle of goose bumps climbed up Sylvie’s neck.
Stealing magical ingredients probably wouldn’t be any easier than getting past the security steps. But something told Sylvie she’d pay a much heavier price if she got caught.
The book in front of Sylvie suddenly snapped shut.
“Then it’s settled. Take this.” Agnes slid the book toward her. “Keep it hidden. I’ve been unsure what to do with it since the moment it was given to me. But now, I think it’s found its purpose.” Agnes paused. “I’m happy to see it’ll be used for good.”
Sylvie buried the small book at the bottom of her backpack.
“If you succeed tomorrow, come to the cafeteria at the start of the Commis Contest. No one will be here. Perhaps you might get hungry and wander into the kitchen looking for a snack?”
Sylvie nodded.
“Check the bottom shelf on the first speed rack. Maybe the rest of the ingredients you need will be there?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Agnes stood up. “Oh! One more thing. You’ll be parading with the first-year students, which means you’ll be placed in the first storage cellar. Luckily, that’s where you’ll find the woad. Ingredients are kept in alphabetical order on the shelves.”
Sylvie dusted an invisible layer of dirt off her hands. Guilt had a way of making her feel grimy. What she was doing was wrong. But the CCS really hadn’t left her any other options. Besides, sometimes good things came out of bad actions. Even burnt toast can be turned into a delicious bread sauce.
The icky feeling digging underneath Sylvie’s skin started to evaporate. Yes. That’s all she was doing: turning something terrible into something good.