Chapter 31 Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner! #2
“I don’t know who was responsible for sabotaging our ingredients.” Fernand stared at the framed photo on his desk. “I told Josephine I’d moved on, and so should she.”
Sylvie glanced at the picture.
A blonde woman with the same slender features as Fernand smiled proudly. A baby, who Sylvie assumed was Fernand, was nestled in the crook of her arm. Balthazar LeGrande stood next to them. His round features drooped as he stared into the camera.
“My father could be a cruel man. He wanted to punish us for losing.”
The images from Godard’s memory ran through Sylvie’s mind.
“Perhaps the sting of defeat wouldn’t have cut so deep, but he turned his back on us.” Fernand downed the last shimmering remnants in his glass.
Georgia and Flora sat silently.
Balthazar’s voice echoed in Sylvie’s head: You’ve always been a disappointment.
Even with some of Sylvie’s epic fails, her parents had always been her biggest fans.
When she was eight, she’d tried to make a unicorn cake.
Somehow it ended up looking like a duck.
Her dad still took a picture of it, and her mom proudly displayed it on the fridge.
Sometimes the difference between failure and success is in the eye of the beholder.
“Winning was everything to my father. Of course, it would’ve been nice to win. But there are things that matter more. He never understood that.”
Sylvie quickly pulled her gaze away. She already knew how Balthazar had treated his son. Now Godard’s memories made her feel like she was a Peeping Tom, spying somewhere she didn’t belong.
“What’s this?” Fernand hovered over the looking glass.
Sylvie pulled her attention back.
Someone with short blonde hair was working at the stove in Zotter’s deserted skybox.
Sylvie gasped. “It’s Josephine.”
Fernand glanced at her. “How did your friend put it? Winner. Winner. Chicken dinner?”
Georgia gave an approving nod. “You’re catching on.”
Fernand double-tapped his Blade, zooming in on the scene.
Puff pastry rounds, full of mushrooms, were now resting on a table as Josephine brushed egg wash on top.
“There’s the Vindicti-au-vent. With that amount, once they go into the oven, the aroma will fill the arena in a matter of minutes.
Luckily, they’ll need to rest before she can bake them.
But we’re going to need more pastels.” He gestured toward the jar of almonds on his desk, shimmering like drops of sunlight.
“With these stuffed inside the sweet candies, sorrow doesn’t stand a chance. Almonds don’t allow one’s hope to die.”
Sylvie had only tasted almond pastels once, at a wedding. They’d been covered in crunchy white sugar and tucked into little bags made of organza. It made her think of love and happiness, not countercurses and forbidden spells.
“I learned about pastels in confectionary class,” said Flora. “The sugar coating is designed to take away the bitterness of certain spells… . But don’t you have to eat them for it to work?”
“Yes,” said Fernand.
“But there are thousands of people out there. Handing them out will take ages,” said Sylvie.
“I know,” said Fernand.
Sylvie stared at the screen. Josephine pulled something small and round out of her pocket.
A cwtch.
She lifted the sparkling ball in her hand. Something was twisting and twirling inside like a trapped butterfly. Sylvie’s gaze narrowed. It was a woman, but not just any woman.
“Mom!” Sylvie’s insides turned hollow. Are we too late? She lunged for the mirror. “Mom. I’m sorry!”
But her mom couldn’t hear her. She shouted something at Josephine. Sylvie tried to figure out what, but it was like trying to read an insect’s lips.
“It’s okay, Sylvie.” Fernand rested a hand on her shoulder. “We still have time.”
The image of Sylvie’s mom grew fuzzy. Tears filled her eyes. “We have to go, now. We have to rescue her!”
Fernand let out a deep breath as he stared into the mirror. “Now that your mom is trapped with Josephine, we’re going to have to take a different approach.” Fernand walked over to his desk. “I have to try and make Josephine listen to reason.”
“No offense,” said Georgia, “but as far as plans go, that one is about as solid as a slice of Swiss cheese.”
Agreed. Sylvie tried to quell her guilt. The forbidden recipe she’d cooked. The drops of blood Josephine took to break down the protection spells. All of it had led to this moment. “Talking won’t save my mom. We need to create a diversion.”
“Josephine was my best friend. Trust me. She’s too smart to fall for that.” Fernand pulled a small black box and a sharpening stone out of his desk. He handed the box to Sylvie. “Hold this.”
Sylvie’s hands turned numb. Josephine hadn’t just fooled Sylvie. She’d tricked Godard, and an entire school. Fernand is right. She’s too clever for that. Sylvie tried to ignore the panic that was filling her gut like bile. She racked her brain for a solution.
“Sometimes life, like cooking, requires you to improvise.” Fernand ran his Blade across the smooth surface of the sharpening stone.
“Your mom is already trapped. That doesn’t leave us many options.
” He plucked the box out of Sylvie’s hand and tucked it into his pocket.
“If things don’t go well, I’ll have my knife.
I can try to break the cwtch or cook up a body-binding spell. ”
At the very last minute? Bad idea. Sylvie tried to come up with a solution. “We’ll go with you.”
Georgia nodded. “You’ll need someone to have your back.”
Fernand shook his head. “Thanks for the offer. But this is a matter for seasoned Sages. It’s better if you three wait here.”
“But—” started Sylvie.
“My office is well-protected,” said Fernand. “Josephine’s spell can’t penetrate these walls. If things go wrong, you can give an account of what happened to the EMMTs.”
“EMTs?’ Georgia scratched her head. “I’m pretty sure they’re good with broken bones, not cursed souls.”
“Emergency Magical Malady Technicians,” corrected Flora.
Fernand nodded. “They won’t be able to stop the spell, but they’ll at least try and contain it.”
“So, that’s it? We just sit here and wait?” asked Flora. She didn’t seem happy about it, either.
Fernand tucked his Blade into his jacket. “Like I said, it’s for the best.”
A bowl of sugar cubes caught Sylvie’s eye as it floated past. She glanced over at the almonds on Fernand’s desk. Maybe there is something I can do. “Fine … we’ll stay.”
Georgia shot her a look. “Seriously?”
Sylvie nodded.
“Good. If you’re hungry, help yourself to a treat.” Fernand gestured toward the jar of powdered sugar cookies. A small blizzard now seemed to be swirling inside. “But avoid the snowballs. They often cause a chill.”
With that, Fernand hustled out the door.
Georgia turned to Sylvie. “So, what’s the real plan? I assume we’re not just sitting here while Josephine has your mom trapped like a gerbil.”
“Nope.” Sylvie pulled out the cookbook. It was time to cook up another spell.