Chapter 32 This Isn’t a Cooking Contest. It’s Life and Death
This Isn’t a Cooking Contest. It’s Life and Death
SYLVIE FLICKED TO THE CANDY RECIPES AT THE BACK OF THE book.
Flora peered over her shoulder. “Something tells me I know what recipe you’re looking for … pastels?”
“Yes.”
Georgia shook her head. “I never thought cooking would make me nervous, but this whole thing is turning my insides into stew.”
“Relax,” said Sylvie. “Sugared almonds are simple.”
“So were the dragon treats,” said Georgia.
“Maybe things with the dragons didn’t go exactly as planned, but we still got the result we wanted,” replied Sylvie.
Georgia sighed. “Once again, you’re right. It’s both comforting and annoying.”
Flora pointed to the recipe. “There it is!”
Almond Pastels
2 cups Ferraduel almonds
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons Fireweed honey
Pinch Fleur de Sel
“This is like the recipe we used in confectionary class,” said Flora.
“We already have the almonds and sugar. All we need is the Fireweed honey and salt.” Sylvie gave a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Then, we cook the ingredients, stir, and we have our pastels for the counterspell.”
Flora nodded. “If we pull this off, it would be enough to protect us, and your mom … if we can rescue her.”
Sylvie stared at the images, still flitting across the mirror. A young boy carrying a pan of rose meringues hustled down the hallway outside Zotter’s skybox. Inside, Josephine set the cwtch next to the rounds of puff pastry.
This has to work. Sylvie snatched the bowl of sugar cubes floating in the air. Her heart quickened. There’s no room for failure. The consequences were too dire for Sylvie to even think about. Her mom’s future, everyone’s future, depended on whatever happened next.
“Do you think Fernand has the other ingredients?” asked Flora.
Sylvie looked around. “He seems to have practically everything else.”
Georgia rolled up her sleeves. “I’ll check the bar cart.”
Flora lifted up a lid. “I’ll go through the jars.”
“Then I’ll check the desk,” added Sylvie.
It only took a few minutes for Sylvie to find a hot plate for cooking and a small copper pot.
“I’ve got the Fleur de Sel,” said Georgia, holding up a shallow crystal bowl.
Which only left … the honey.
Sylvie turned to Flora. “Any luck?”
“Not yet.” Flora peered inside a bowl of violet liquid. “Ugh! Vomitwort.”
A foul scent wafted over. Sylvie plugged her nose. Gross… . Too bad we used up Julia’s honey packets! Sylvie gave the final drawer on the desk a tug. “It’s locked.”
Georgia came over. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected it. “You got any more paperclips?”
“Yeah.” Sylvie dug one out of her backpack.
“My mama is always losing her key to the salon.” Georgia straightened the clip. “I watched a couple of YouTube videos. Now, when it gets lost, I help her pick the lock.” She jiggled it into the hole.
Sylvie stared. “You really are full of surprises.”
“I know,” said Georgia, twisting the paper clip.
Click!
Georgia gave the drawer a yank.
Details for the closing ceremony, and a fuzzy vegetable brush that looked like a snoozing Pomeranian, rested on top.
“Looks like Fernand is planning a big firework spectacular for the end,” said Georgia, pulling out the piece of paper.
“So, either way we’ll go out with a bang,” said Sylvie, shoving past a bag of glowing Lightning Bug gummies.
Ouch!
Something pierced Sylvie’s finger. “I think I found a honey packet.” She squeezed tightly, so it wouldn’t escape.
Something wasn’t right. This feels like glass.
Sylvie’s gaze settled on the shards tucked into a handkerchief at the bottom of the drawer. She carefully pulled them out. There was no mistaking it now.
Bits of crimson residue clung to the insides of an isomalt sphere. On the outside, the initials GF were embossed in gold luster dust.
“That’s Guy’s cwtch,” said Flora.
On one hand, Sylvie felt relieved. Guy didn’t try to get rid of the message. On the other hand …
“Why did Fernand tell us he never got it?” asked Georgia.
Once again, Sylvie’s world seemed to flip upside down. “I … don’t know.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Georgia continued. “Why would Fernand sabotage his own competition?”
Georgia was right; on the surface it didn’t make sense. But if Sylvie had learned anything the past few days, it was to question everything. She turned back to the mirror. “Where is Fernand?
Images flashed across. Sylvie scanned the hallway outside the skyboxes. No one was there, except the boy she’d noticed earlier. He pulled one of the rose meringues off the sheet pan and tossed it into the air. Thick stems, full of bright red buds and sharp thorns, shot out.
Georgia tilted her head as another spiky row blossomed. “What’s he doing?”
Flora knitted her brows together. “They usually save the practical jokes for after the competition, but … Jasper Rose’s commis is already topiarying the hallway.”
“What’s topiarying?” Sylvie asked.
“It’s sort of like TP-ing, but instead of toilet paper you use—”
“Magic rose meringues?” guessed Georgia.
Flora nodded.
Sylvie eyed the knifelike barbs as they spread across the wall, blocking the mirror’s view. “If Fernand lied about the cwtch, we can’t trust him.”
“So, what are we going to do?” asked Georgia.
Sylvie cradled the cookbook in her hands. “Flora, how strong are those rose meringue vines?”
“Well, Jasper designed them to stretch all the way up to the judges’ table. He wanted to make sure nothing would destroy his showpiece. So only your magical knife can cut through them.”
Georgia stared at Flora. “You really are a Golden Whisk superfan.”
Before Flora could respond, Sylvie grabbed her backpack. “Come on. We don’t have time for the pastels. It’s up to us to rescue my mom, and I think I know how.”
It took several minutes to reach the corridor leading to the skyboxes. While they walked, Sylvie filled Flora and Georgia in on her plan.
Georgia dug the slingshot out of her pocket. “I’m not sure about you as a trapeze artist. But I can definitely build a rope out of those vines.”
“Good,” said Sylvie.
“I’ll run interference,” said Flora. “Buy you time if Jasper’s commis, or anyone else, shows up.”
“Ouch!” A thorn hooked itself onto Georgia’s pant leg. She tried to pry it off. “I’m stuck.”
Flora pulled out her Blade and cut her loose. “Told ya! Only a magical knife works.”
Sylvie carefully stepped over a tangled mass of rosebuds and stepped into Jasper Rose’s skybox.
The kitchen was like a hastily abandoned ghost town.
A pot of syrup bubbled on the stove. Pastry bags filled with meringue were still waiting to be piped. Sylvie moved a large bottle of FizzleFott’s soda off the worktable and pulled out the cookbook. “According to this recipe, once the rose meringues are piped, the magic will instantly harden them.”
Flora nodded. “You can’t waste hours at the Golden Whisk baking meringue.”
Sylvie picked up one of the pastry bags and tried to steady her hands, but she was shaking. “What if I can’t make a perfect rosette?”
“Then you probably won’t manage to get a rose vine … and there goes the plan,” said Georgia.
“Great. Very reassuring,” said Sylvie.
“Try not to think about the spell,” suggested Flora.
“Just pretend this is a bake-off challenge in Boris’s class,” added Georgia.
“Yeah, but this isn’t a cooking contest. It’s life and death.
” Sylvie took a deep breath. She reminded herself of the steps for piping rosettes.
Angle the tip down. Squeeze around. Release.
Flick your wrist. Her hands steadied. Sylvie piped a row, then, another, reciting the words in the book. “Flora Scala!”
A shimmer settled over the blushing meringues.
“You did it!” Flora lined another sheet pan with parchment.
“Now the real work begins,” said Sylvie. “Georgia has to build me a bridge connecting this skybox to Zotter’s.”
Georgia nestled one of the meringues into her slingshot. “No problem.”
Flora gave Sylvie a nod. “You two go ahead. I’ll continue piping and keep a lookout.”
Sylvie moved toward the opening at the back of the skybox, where every competitor released their showpiece. She poked her head out.
From here, the gilded stadium looked like bits of honeycomb.
She thought she spotted the man with the GO USA banner.
Though it was impossible to be sure. All the spectators looked like they’d shrunk down to the size of ants.
Sylvie felt her stomach flip-flop. If something goes wrong, it’s a long way down.
Georgia squeezed in next to her and peered out. “You sure about this?”
Josephine’s words floated back. Sometimes we must make sacrifices to get what we want.
So, what was she willing to sacrifice? The answer was clear.
Her shot at a Blade. Her chance to go to Brindille.
Everything. Sylvie stood tall. “This is the only way I can sneak into Zotter’s kitchen.
It’s the best way to stop Josephine … so, yeah. I’m sure.”
Georgia didn’t say anything else. She closed one eye and aimed the slingshot.
Sylvie held her breath as the disk of meringue flew through the air.
A moment later, roses trellised up the back of Zotter’s skybox.
“You did it!” cried Sylvie.
“I told you I’m good at making daisy chains.” Georgia sent another disk flying.
Sylvie watched as the new vine hooked itself onto the old one, creating a thorny rope.
Their plan was working.