Chapter 24 Kismet! Is That a Candy Bar,a Plan?
Kismet! Is That a Candy Bar, or a Plan?
SYLVIE AND GEORGIA WERE NOW STANDING OUTSIDE THE deserted cafeteria.
“What are we doing here?” asked Georgia.
“I’m letting you in on my plan.” Sylvie swung her backpack off her shoulder. Thanks to the Fire Wands, she couldn’t take it off, but at least she could access the contents. Sylvie stuffed her free hand deep inside. The spine of a book grazed her fingers. She pulled it out.
Georgia stared at it. “Forbidden Recipes and Peculiar Spells. Where did you get that?”
“Agnes, the kitchen lady. She hates Bass and his policies too. There’s a recipe in it that can break down the obstacles Bass has standing in my way.” Sylvie flipped it open.
Georgia’s gaze narrowed. “Devils on Horseback?”
Sylvie nodded. “Almost everything I need to make it is waiting in the cafeteria’s kitchen, but there was one ingredient Agnes couldn’t get … the woad.”
Georgia froze. “You did steal it … and there I was, sticking up for you. I told them it was dirt under your nails!”
“Would you keep your voice down,” said Sylvie, even though she was pretty sure only a scuttling beetle would hear.
“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if you’d been caught?” asked Georgia.
Sylvie tried to answer, but Georgia continued.
“Forget about me ever finding a scholarship. I would’ve been pegged as your accomplice.” She tried to put her hands on her hips, but they got tangled. “Ugh! This is so annoying.”
Sylvie’s face grew warm. “You’re not being fair. Besides, if I had been caught, I would’ve told them you had nothing to do with it. But I guess that speech about knocking Bass off his high horse was just empty words.”
“I meant what I said.” Georgia’s expression softened. “Look. I’m all for bending the rules, especially stupid ones … but stealing…”
Sylvie turned prickly. Technically, Georgia was right.
But her choice of words made Sylvie feel like a thief in the night.
Besides, Agnes suggested Sylvie take the woad.
That somehow made it feel less immoral. “Fine. You might have a point,” said Sylvie finally.
“But this spell could fix all our troubles.”
Georgia stitched her brows together as she stared at the book. “You really think this spell is the key to undoing Bass’s wicked weaving?”
“I know it is! But now that we’re stuck together, I can’t make the recipe. At least I can’t without you.” Sylvie tried to read Georgia’s expression. “So, will you help me?”
Georgia slowly chewed on a nail. She seemed to be considering the question. “I can’t believe we actually have a secret weapon… . Yes. I’ll help you. But under one condition. You let me make the spell too.”
Just as Agnes had promised, everything Sylvie needed was tucked into the bottom of a speed rack.
Sylvie pulled out the cookbook and placed it on the counter. The kitchen felt eerily quiet. She flicked to the Devils on Horseback recipe.
Georgia peered over her shoulder. “Noor dates. Smoked bacon. A teaspoon of dried hedgenettles. A third cup of Stilton cheese… . Funny. This isn’t what I imagined a forbidden recipe would look like.
It doesn’t seem dangerous … unless you’re lactose intolerant.
A girl back home has a dairy allergy. One time she accidentally ate a piece of cheese and went into anaphylactic shock. ”
Sylvie placed the ingredients on the counter. “Anaphylactic shock? Are you trying to scare me?”
“Sorry … I was just … never mind. I’ll measure the hedgenettles.” Georgia grabbed a measuring spoon and scooped the hedgenettles into a bowl. “What’s next?”
Sylvie twisted around Georgia and picked up the bacon. “I’ll separate the strips. How about you turn on the oven?”
“Sure.” Georgia stretched her free arm over.
Sylvie stared at the instructions.
Stuff the dates with the cheese and tightly wrap with bacon. Don’t allow anyone else to do the wrapping. Their thoughts will influence the spell. Once the dates have cooked and the sauce has thickened, recite the words “redictus miseris,” along with your name.
Sylvie stuffed and wrapped the dates, then slid them into the oven. “I’m going to start the sauce.”
Georgia nodded and picked up a sheet pan. “I’ll get my dates going.”
Sylvie poured the maple syrup into the frying pan and added the hedgenettles, stirring in a counterclockwise motion, just like the recipe said.
After a few minutes, the syrup began to thicken. A fragrant wisp of steam twisted into the air.
“Now for the woad,” said Sylvie, dropping in a pinch. The sauce hissed and bubbled. She checked the temperature. “It’s still on low. It must be the magic working.”
“I think you’re right,” said Georgia. “I bet it’s a good sign.”
Sylvie slipped on a pair of mitts and carefully pulled her bacon-wrapped dates out of the oven. Georgia slid hers in. “If I don’t find a scholarship, I can’t afford this school. So, I really hope this spell works!”
“It will,” said Sylvie.
The whole kitchen now smelled like Sunday breakfast.
Sylvie picked up a spoon. “I’ll drizzle the sauce and say the magic words. Then, it’s your turn.”
“Sounds good.” Georgia eyed the pot of sauce as if she half-expected it to start levitating.
Sylvie took a deep breath. “Redictus miseris, Sylvie Jones.”
The sizzle coming out of the pot fluctuated, turning into a coherent hum. For a moment it almost seemed to be speaking, whispering her name.
Sylvie. Sylvie.
Sylvie stared at it. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I thought—” The sound disappeared as Sylvie drizzled the sauce. “Never mind.”
Sylvie handed the spoon to Georgia. “My mom always says a watched pot never boils. So, after you go, maybe we should just let the magic—”
Boom!
The kitchen gave a violent shudder.
Georgia dropped the spoon. “W-what was that?”
“I don’t know.”
A giant crack spiderwebbed across the ceiling.
It sounded like every tile around them was splitting in two. Sylvie braced herself, in case the walls caved in. Is this normal?
Before Sylvie could find out, the rumbling stopped. The sound of footsteps, moving at a delicate clip, moved closer.
“Someone’s coming,” Georgia whispered.
Sylvie imagined Godard rounding the corner, a look of grave disappointment on her face. But when she looked up, it wasn’t Godard who was standing there.
“Agnes!”
“Oui.”
Her colorful scarves had been replaced with a tall white chef’s hat. An overstuffed suitcase was in one hand and a casserole dish in the other.
“Sorry about the ceiling,” said Sylvie.
“Did Sylvie’s spell work?” asked Georgia.
“Yes.” Agnes inspected the kitchen. “Devils on Horseback really”—she shoved the casserole into the oven—“packs a punch.”
“Are you going somewhere?” asked Sylvie. “Also, what’s up with the casserole?”
Agnes waved her hand at the oven. “Don’t worry, it’s all an essential part of my plan. You see, breaking down old spells is rather rough business, but you’ve done great, Sylvie.”
“Oh good,” said Sylvie. “For a minute I was worried that… . Wait… . Did you say old spells? I thought it was obstacles.”
Agnes’s lips spread into a thin smile. “Actually, it’s kismet!”
“Kismet? Is that a candy bar, or a plan?” asked Georgia.
Sylvie wasn’t sure, either.
“It means destiny … fate,” said Agnes. “I told you before. You can’t right the wrongs in life without an ally.” She cranked up the oven temperature. “Luckily, I finally found one … you.”
“Me?” asked Sylvie.
“Oui.”
What’s she talking about? This was like the time Sylvie tried a Swedish “sandwich cake.” She’d known something was off but didn’t realize what it was until she’d taken a bite. The “frosting” was really salmon mousse.
“You’ve been what I’d call an unwitting accomplice,” said Agnes.
Sylvie suddenly felt sick. I don’t like the word unwitting. It’s just a polite way of calling someone a fool. Her muscles twisted, turning tight as the ropes on her wrist.
“You see, there’s a reason revenge is a dish best served cold. You have to wait a long time … but it’s worth it!”
Sylvie felt like she was standing in a murky pool where something clawed and fanged was lurking. “I don’t understand. You’ve been helping me. You said—”
“No!” Anger flickered across Agnes’s face. “Your mother was the one who sabotaged my recipe in the competition. She cheated me out of first place, just like she cheated you out of the truth!”
Words could be powerful weapons. These hit Sylvie full force. She tried to gulp down a breath.
“No … that’s not possible?” Despite Sylvie’s effort, it came out as a question.
Agnes seemed to notice. A smile spread across her face. “Are you sure?”
She pulled a shimmering vial out of her pocket. It was just like the ones Sylvie had noticed, stacked on shelves in Agnes’s room. The contents looked like a swirling tornado, with bits of lace sucked inside.
Sylvie’s gaze narrowed. “V-veiled lady mushrooms … I remember now. You were cooking with them the first time I snuck into the kitchen.”
“Very good, Sylvie.” Agnes pulled out the stopper and chugged it down. Her body shifted. Sylvie took a step back.
It was like watching a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis, or maybe more like a snake shedding an old layer of skin. Bits of flesh sloughed off in chunks. A new pair of legs emerged, shorter and thinner. The long red locks morphed into a spiky blonde crop.
“Ah … that’s better.” The woman gave her new arms a stretch.
Sylvie took in the sad eyes and delicate features. Standing in front of her was a stranger, and yet, she was totally familiar. “J-Josephine Flammé.”
The woman smiled and took a bow. “Yes.”
“All this time, I’ve been confiding in you?” A bitter flavor filled Sylvie’s mouth, like aspirin resting too long on the tongue.
“You manipulative minx,” squeaked Georgia.
Josephine ignored the comment.