Chapter 25 What’s Creepier, Talking DollsShrieking Sherbet?
What’s Creepier, Talking Dolls or Shrieking Sherbet?
“NOW WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?” GEORGIA CHEWED on her nails like a nervous chipmunk. “Oh … this is soooo bad!”
Georgia was right. It was bad and bound to get worse once Bass found out.
I’m so stupid! Sylvie still couldn’t believe she’d made such an epic mess of things.
All she’d wanted was a fair chance at getting her Blade.
Now, she would’ve given anything, even her shot at a life full of magic, if she could just stop Flammé and save her mom.
Georgia started pacing but didn’t get far. Her bound arm lurched back toward Sylvie.
“We’re criminals,” moaned Georgia. “Thanks to us, everyone at the Golden Whisk is in danger. For sure, I’m getting expelled.”
“No, you aren’t. This is my fault.” Sylvie stuffed the cookbook into her bag and hoisted it onto her shoulders. “We both know you never would’ve been in this kitchen if it wasn’t for me.”
Georgia opened her mouth to object.
“Don’t argue. This is my mess. Just help me find Godard, fast.”
Georgia sucked in her lips and nodded.
Outside, the scent of caramelized sugar and fried dough hung in the air.
“Check out the flyer.” Georgia pointed to a twirling piece of paper caught by an invisible wind.
The words WELCOME TO THE COMMIS CONTEST glistened like polished brass.
Sylvie snatched it up.
“Students’ booths have been placed throughout the school grounds. Staff will judge on concept and execution. But this year you’ll be judging, too! Let us know which spells you like best by leaving a chocolate coin in the booths’ boxes.”
Sylvie searched through the sea of faces. “If the staff is judging, Godard has to be here.”
“Maybe if we get some coins, we can pump the kids at the competition booths, find out if they’ve seen her,” suggested Georgia.
“But where do we get the coins?” asked Sylvie.
Droplets of brown ink slipped off the paper, pooling in Sylvie’s hand until a chocolate coin formed.
“Magic cooking really is the coolest.” Georgia dipped her finger into the ink. “Mmm … and the tastiest.”
Sylvie threw her a disapproving look.
“What? Chocolate helps me when I’m stressed,” said Georgia, glowering at the paper. “It’s that or chew on my nails.”
Sylvie tried to read the rest of the print before it melted, or Georgia ate it.
No more than one coin per booth. Failure to comply will cause all coins in the box to turn into a molten pool. Perpetrators will be expelled from the competition!
I’ll be watching.
Marie Godard
The last bits of chocolate melted off the page and morphed into coins. Sylvie checked the time on her watch. In a few hours, Golden Whisk All-Stars would begin. If she wanted to stop Bass and save her mom, she needed to act quickly.
“Come on.” Sylvie made her way through the crowd. “I think I know how to find Godard.”
“How?” asked Georgia.
“Why do you think she made those flyers? She’s talking directly to Belinda. I’ll be watching. I bet if we find her booth, we’ll find Godard.”
Georgia smiled. “You’re right!”
Sylvie spotted a group of kids with ice cream cones huddled next to MAGGIE’S SHRIEKING SHERBET SHACK. “I bet Maggie will know where to find Belinda’s booth.”
Sylvie and Georgia wove their way through the line.
A boy with locs took a bite of his sherbet. His eyes bulged as he let out a series of noises. “CREEK! SCREECH! SCRRRREEK!”
Sylvie stuffed her fingers into her ears and kept moving. “Shrieking Sherbet may get a few laughs, but it’s murder on your ears.”
Georgia cupped her hands to the side of her head. “No kidding.”
There was Maggie, scooping colorful balls into sugar cones. She looked up. “Hey guys! Are you enjoying the Commis Contest?”
“Err … yeah.” Sylvie forced a smile. “Listen, have you seen Godard?”
Maggie paused. “Which one?”
Georgia raised a brow. “Huh?”
“Never mind,” said Maggie. “Last time I saw her, she was at Belinda’s booth, keeping an eye on things.”
I knew it!
“Where’s Belinda’s booth?” Sylvie asked.
Maggie doled a ball into a cone and dropped a candied cherry on top. “It’s right next to the foot of the school.”
“Thanks!” Sylvie spun around.
“Hey!” Maggie held up the cone. “Don’t you want to try my sherbet?”
“Maybe later,” called Georgia.
Music floated above the hum of giddy voices as they moved beyond the courtyard. Protective nets had been draped across the trees in the garden, like silky cloaks.
“It’s that one.” Sylvie pointed toward the tent flanking the main door.
The scent of toasty cheese wafted past as they moved closer. Sylvie eyed the sign dangling above the red-and-gold canopy. BELINDA BASS GASTROMANCY. Sylvie craned her neck, trying to spot Godard. “See anything?”
“No,” said Georgia.
“Looking for someone?” said a voice.
Sylvie spun around, expecting to see the hefty form of Belinda. A row of old wooden puppets peered out.
“Who said that?” asked Georgia.
The puppet wearing a mink stole scuttled forward. “I did. I’m Hazel.”
Sylvie stared at the creature. With her swollen red nose and exaggerated smile, she looked like she’d stumbled out of a House of Horrors.
Hazel lifted up the voting box. “Put in your chocolate coins. I’ll feed the other dolls, and we’ll perform.”
Georgia tugged on Sylvie’s arm. “Come on. Godard isn’t here, and this is seriously creep-oh.”
Hazel stuck a bony finger into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a Parmesan crisp. “No. It’s FRI-CO. Montasio cheese, Parmesan, pink pepper, and lovage. The perfect recipe for bringing any doll to life. Now, give me your coins.”
“I’m not sure what’s worse,” whispered Georgia, “talking dolls or shrieking sherbet.”
A chill rippled up beneath Sylvie’s skin. “Definitely talking dolls.”
Hazel moved closer. “If you’re looking for Godard, I know where she is.”
“Where?” Sylvie asked.
“You want information. I want your votes.”
The last thing Sylvie wanted was to give Belinda, or for that matter, creepy Pinocchio her vote. She grabbed Hazel. “Tell me where Godard is, or I’ll turn you into a piece of kindling wood!”
The puppet’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“Want to make a bet,” snapped Sylvie.
“You know, I think I spotted a bonfire near the entrance,” added Georgia.
“Yup!” Sylvie played along. “Couple of kids started it with a bag of FizzleFott’s Fireballs. I bet teachers have been too busy to put it out.”
“F-fine. They’re in the b-back,” peeped Hazel, gesturing to the opening behind her.
Sylvie hopped over the barrier and pulled back the flap of the tent.
Sugar lanterns fluttered about the room, like birds circling in flight.
In the center was a table topped with a large transparent pie. Godard sat at one end and Belinda at the other. There was just one problem.
Georgia squeezed in and gave her eyes a rub. She stared at the person seated in the middle. “Am I seeing double?”
“If you are, so am I,” said Sylvie. “There are two Godards.”