Chapter 31 Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!
Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!
FERNAND LEGRANDE GAZED AT SYLVIE WITH HIS EMERALD eyes. “Stay low, all of you.” His voice was just as it had been in Godard’s memory, like the pattering of rain—soft, yet powerful.
Sylvie crouched on the stairs.
The dragons pushed back up, chasing after the last rooster. Crunch! Another cloud of feathers erupted before dissolving into chocolaty pools.
Fernand waited until the dragons circled back around. He pulled out a curved blade with a chartreuse deerhorn handle and tapped it against a cwtch. “Dragons Carcerem!”
The dragons vanished into it.
A woman with cat-eye glasses teetering on the brim of her nose rushed over.
“Camille, please return the dragons to Ewald,” Fernand said.
“Oui, Monsieur.” Camille scooped up the cwtch and dropped it gently into her pocket.
Fernand pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe the splattering of chocolate off his sleeve. “Caron’s showpiece is ruined… . France won’t even get on the podium now.”
“S-sorry about the mess … and Caron’s roosters,” said Sylvie.
Fernand gazed at all three of them. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? The damage! The delays!” He blotted at the chocolate. “The dry cleaning!”
“It was an emergency,” said Georgia.
“We didn’t have a choice,” added Flora.
Sylvie appreciated the support.
“There’s always a choice,” said Fernand.
“You’re right, Monsieur LeGrande,” said Sylvie. “And … I hope I made the right one.”
Fernand continued to try and remove the stain. “Monsieur LeGrande was my father. Call me Fernand.”
“Right … Fernand. I had to stop the competition, before it was too late,” Sylvie said.
Fernand paused. “Too late for what? Some dreams may be dashed today, but the world isn’t coming to an end.”
“Well, maybe not the world.” Sylvie did her best to fill Fernand in on the important details.
He pressed his fingers together and rested them underneath his chin. “Josephine is planning to make Vindicti-au-vent and destroy the competition.”
Georgia tugged at a chocolaty feather that was tangled in her hair. “Winner! Winner! Chicken dinner!”
Based on the look Fernand gave her, the phrase didn’t translate.
“Err … what Georgia is trying to say is, yes. If we don’t stop her, Josephine will release a curse that will destroy everything. She’s set on revenge and prepared to take out everyone in the stadium to get it.”
“Ouf!” Fernand turned back to Camille. “Send a team over to Platform Three. Let them know there’s a melted compartment, and Guy Fabre is trapped inside. Then, gather up as many CCS agents as you can.”
Camille pulled a pen from behind her ear and started jotting notes.
“For the counterspell, we can use pastels. CCS agents can hand out as many as we have. I’ll handle getting Sylvie’s mom safely out of the competition.”
“So, you can fix this?” asked Sylvie hopefully.
“Yes … and no,” said Fernand. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time, or pastels, to protect everyone in the arena.
But hopefully it won’t come to that. If we can capture Josephine, our problems will be solved.
Luckily, Bass sent extra security to the competition this year, trying to prevent August Strange from getting in, if you can believe it.
” Fernand shook his head. “I told Bass it was flattering but unnecessary. As if the world’s most wanted man would risk showing his face here. ”
Sylvie glanced knowingly at Georgia and Flora.
“Luckily, Bass refused to listen.” Fernand tapped a finger against his chin. “We’ll send several agents to search for Josephine while I find your mom.”
“So, you didn’t get Guy’s message?” asked Sylvie.
“No.” He glanced at Camille. “Have any cwtches arrived that I forgot to open?”
“No, Monsieur.”
“Hmm …” Fernand stuffed the chocolate-covered handkerchief back into his shirt pocket. A sticky brown smudge leaked onto the sequins, though Fernand didn’t seem to notice.
Georgia’s words rolled through Sylvie’s mind, gnawing at her like a hungry wolf. Does that mean the message got lost on purpose? The detail that kept bothering Sylvie crept back. The win at the Golden Whisk catapulted Guy to stardom. More than anyone else, he’d benefited.
“I don’t suppose you know which kitchen Josephine is planning to use?” Fernand stared at Sylvie.
“What? Oh … sorry … no.” Sylvie tried to push Guy Fabre from her thoughts.
“Josephine was never very good at letting things go,” said Fernand. “Camille, head back up to the Sky Deck. Let the competitors know we’re pausing the competition until further notice.”
“Y-you want me to tell them? B-but what if they get mad?” she asked.
Fernand rested a hand on her shoulder. “Relax.”
Camille inhaled deeply. Though, she still looked nervous.
“Thanks to these three, everyone, including Josephine, thinks the competition has been paused because of Zotter’s dragons. We have the element of surprise on our side. I’ll be up shortly. Any grievances can be aired with me.”
Camille nodded.
“Start with the Swedes. They always tend to be an even-keeled bunch.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” Camille scuttled off.
Fernand turned back to Sylvie. “She’s great with organizing, but terrible with competitors. One hot-tempered Sage and she cracks like a cold egg in boiling water.” He checked his watch. “Now, follow me.”
Sylvie struggled to keep up. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her was starting to wear off.
Fernand walked briskly through a maze of corridors.
A tender lump was growing on Sylvie’s shin. She wasn’t even sure how it got there. But now it throbbed with each step. Georgia and Flora didn’t seem to be doing any better. They straggled behind, moving as if their legs were stuck in cement.
Fernand glanced over his shoulder. “Almost there.”
Where? Sylvie wanted to ask, but her tongue now felt like a ball of wool. She looked around, hoping to spot a drinking fountain.
A bunch of awards lined the walls: Silver Aprons, Fine Feasts, Michelin Stars. Each one had the name Balthazar LeGrande written beneath it.
“In here.” Fernand tapped his Blade against an isomalt doorknob that looked like cut crystal, revealing a spacious office.
A desk studded with more isomalt crystals was parked in the center of the room. Candy jars rested on top, filled with a treasure trove of exotic things: powdered sugar cookies with bits of snow drifting around them, almonds that looked like drops of amber, even hatching chocolate eggs.
“Have a seat.” Fernand pointed toward a zebra-print couch wedged between a brass bar cart and a red FizzleFott’s soda dispenser. Gold bowls filled with sugar cubes hovered in the air.
“But shouldn’t we be looking for my mom?” asked Sylvie.
“We are,” said Fernand, turning to a giant silver mirror on the wall.
Sylvie watched Fernand gaze into it. You’d have to be awfully fond of your own reflection to have a mirror that big.
He seemed to realize what she was thinking.
“It’s not that kind of a looking glass.” He tapped his Blade against it, and the mirror suddenly came to life, images flashing across.
“Super fine pastry sugar mixed with liquid silver. I had it made last year, sees everything. Now, it’s impossible for anyone to cheat. ”
Sylvie spotted Arjun handing a stack of pies to a woman wearing a fur hat.
“Your mother’s skybox hadn’t launched yet. She was still prepping, which means this is the fastest way to locate her.” He rapped his Blade against the mirror and the scene changed. A girl holding a French flag took a gulp of hot chocolate. Sylvie stared at it and tried to moisten her lips.
“Are you thirsty?” Fernand pointed to the soda machine. “We buy so many FizzleFott’s products, they gave me one of their soda dispensers for free.” He kept one eye focused on the mirror as he filled glasses.
Tap!
There was the Italian woman, still waving her bundle of laurel.
Tap!
Jasper Rose slid a pan of meringue rosettes onto a table. Bright red buds and stems armed with thorns shot up. They twisted into the air, pulling down a stack of pots.
Sylvie continued to stare, searching for her mom.
A glass floated toward her. Bright bubbles danced inside, like flecks of starlight.
“Moon Mist.” Fernand sent two more sailing.
Fuzzy bursts tickled Sylvie’s tongue.
“It’s a zero-gravity soda,” said Fernand. “So, hold onto it tightly.”
Georgia snatched one from the air. “Zero-gravity? Once I tried a bacon-flavored soda, but this is definitely cooler than fried pig.”
Fernand nodded. “Of course, last week I wouldn’t have agreed with you. I had three Moon Mists in one day … spent an hour floating up to the ceiling. Luckily Camille came in and got me down.”
Sylvie took another small sip and set down her glass. The last thing she needed was to turn into a loose balloon.
“I should’ve realized a few weeks ago when Josephine came to see me that she was going to stir up trouble.” Fernand poured himself a glass. “Though I never imagined she’d take things this far.”
“So, you kept in touch? I mean, not that it matters. I … was just wondering.” Sylvie silently scolded herself. She’d made a simple question sound weird.
Luckily Fernand seemed too busy surfing through the images.
Tap!
A man with stars and stripes painted across his face waved a GO USA banner. Sylvie’s eyes narrowed. Even with the paint obscuring his features, he looked like … Guy Fabre? Sylvie tried to steal another glance, but the banner was now blocking his face.
“We hadn’t spoken in ages,” Fernand continued. “Suddenly, there was Josephine, standing at my door. Friendship is funny. Some have an expiration date. Others are timeless. I tried to hold on to ours. But after the loss at the Golden Whisk, a rot crept into it.”
Sylvie was trying her best to focus, but her mind was still on the man she’d seen. How many people wear an eye patch? Did it have a fleur-de-lis on it? It all happened so quickly. Sylvie wasn’t sure.