Chapter 33 That’s One Way to Make an Exit
That’s One Way to Make an Exit
“YOU KEEP BUILDING THAT brIDGE, I’LL GRAB FLORA,” SAID Sylvie.
Georgia nodded.
Sylvie headed back toward the worktable. Flora was standing there, piping bag clutched to her chest.
“You all right—” A shadow caught Sylvie’s attention.
There was Fernand, standing near the stove, flames dancing beneath his eyes. “Ah … Sylvie.” His voice turned silky. “You and your friends ran off.”
Flora glanced at her. “I wanted to warn you … but didn’t know how.”
“It’s fine.” Sylvie glared at Fernand. “We found the cwtch. You lied!”
“True. But you should’ve stayed in my office”—his voice lost its melodic tone—“and done what you were told.”
Sylvie’s face grew hot. “I’m sick of grown-ups telling me what to do. Besides, I’ve got a new plan, and it doesn’t include helping you.” She pounded a fist into her chest. “You know what I think, you’re just as sore about losing as Josephine.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Perhaps I haven’t been totally transparent. But I didn’t lie about telling Josephine to let go of the past. Some things are more important than winning.” Fernand smiled, but something about it made Sylvie’s hairs stand on end.
“Then why didn’t you stop the competition as soon as you got Guy’s cwtch? Why did you hide it?”
Fernand wagged a finger in the air. “I’m a showman, Sylvie.
We must always consider our viewers. I intended to sort out Josephine.
But then you came along, messing it up. First, you managed to wrangle your way out of the train.
Then, there were the dragons. Now, this…
. But it’s okay. I have a new plan too.”
Sylvie could almost feel him now, pulling her into his coils. “The train melting … it was because of you?”
Fernand nodded. “I may not be as brilliant with spells as my father, but I’ve learned to find clever ways to use magic.”
“Like topiarying the hallway?” asked Flora.
“I might have suggested to Jasper’s commis that he start early with the jokes. My mirror has been quite invaluable … but sometimes it doesn’t pay to have eyes everywhere.”
“But why would you sabotage your own competition?” asked Sylvie.
Fernand’s face twisted hideously. “All these years, everyone was so focused on who benefited the most from winning. No one ever bothered to ask, who had something to gain from losing?”
Sylvie could see the missing pieces pulling together like salt crystals clinging to a string. “You … wanted to lose?”
“Want is a strong word. It would’ve been nice to win … to not have betrayed my best friend, my father, but—”
“Some things matter more than winning,” finished Sylvie.
“Exactly!” Fernand clapped. “It’s a shame I’m going to have to let you take the fall for what’s about to happen. I like you.”
Sylvie was hyperventilating. Stay calm, she reminded herself, as she tried her best to stall. “But why ruin Josephine’s spell?”
Fernand sighed. “My father was a brilliant Sage, but a terrible businessman. He sunk every penny into building this arena. But then the competition became less popular. Every year, France was at the top of the podium. Where’s the fun if you already know who will win?”
Sylvie took a step back as Fernand moved closer.
“I knew it was just a matter of time before we’d have to shutter the whole thing.
I wasn’t about to see my future turn to ashes.
” Fernand laughed. “After we lost, everyone was talking about the Golden Whisk for months. Did Team USA cheat? Were the judges fair? I put the competition back where it belonged … in the spotlight!”
Realization cut through Sylvie like a sharp knife. She felt it now, slicing through the darkness, revealing something very ugly. She was betrayed by an old friend … Julia wasn’t talking about Mom. She was talking about Josephine.
“You sabotaged your own team and left my mom to take the fall,” said Sylvie.
“Yes,” said Fernand. “My father should’ve thanked me for saving his legacy.
But even then, I got no praise. He was furious when he realized what I’d done.
I tried to reason with him. But he wouldn’t listen.
” The memory of it seemed to make him angry all over again.
“He decided to confess. He sent cwtches, explaining it all to your mom and her team. He was planning to tell the judges next. Could you imagine if the CCS found out? Naturally, I had to stop him.”
A chill ran down Sylvie’s spine.
Flora glared at him. “Maybe no one suspected you before, but they’ll learn the truth now. I’m going to tell Madame Godard.”
Fernand stared pleasantly at her. “Trust me. You won’t say a thing.”
“Well, if she doesn’t, I will!”
Sylvie turned.
There was Georgia, slinking in to view like a pouncing cheetah.
“Ah … the southern belle!” Fernand seemed almost amused. “You girls really are quite heroic.”
Sylvie had a horrible feeling she was missing something. Fernand seemed way too calm.
Georgia’s eyes locked with Sylvie’s. “It’s ready.”
The rope vine!
They had a way out. But they still needed to distract Fernand.
Sylvie tried to find her voice. “So why are you confessing to us?”
“Because. In a few minutes, your friends won’t remember it, anyway.” Fernand pulled something out of his pocket.
Sylvie’s gaze settled on the vial. A strand of silver danced inside like a twirling string of moonlight.
“S-slidrian,” stammered Flora.
“Correct,” said Fernand. “Harmless when cooked … but a potent amnesiac when raw. Luckily, I know how to steer this spell perfectly. You’ll remember enough for no one to grow suspicious, but all the important bits will be gone.”
Georgia eyes cut through him. “You can’t overpower all three of us, and I’m certainly not drinking it!”
“I thought you might say that.” Fernand tucked the vial back into his pocket. “Luckily, you already did. I slipped it into your sodas back in my office.” His eyes narrowed. “Of course, Sylvie didn’t finish hers. I suppose it’ll be your word against mine.”
Sylvie’s insides turned to jelly. She tried to find her voice. “M-my mom … she’ll get the others to listen.”
Fernand laughed. “The Sage who was already tangled in a swirl of scandal, versus me, the son of the great Balthazar LeGrande. My family is one of the few outside of the CCS to be ranked as gold. Even if you manage to save your mom, which you won’t, who do you think Bass will believe?”
Now, panic swallowed Sylvie whole. She’d almost forgotten about Bass. But Fernand was right. Without proof, there was no way he’d believe her.
“Face it. You’re toast,” said Fernand. “You see, when I first listened to Guy’s message, I was worried.
The last thing I needed was Josephine dragging up the past. If the world found out what I’d done, it would be the end for me and the competition.
” His eyes glinted. “But then I realized this was an opportunity. I could finally get rid of Josephine and the meddlesome past.”
Sylvie’s eyes darted around the room. The large bottle of FizzleFott’s soda caught her eye. Maybe there was a way to distract Fernand. Sylvie nudged Georgia. “Do you still have the Mentos?” she whispered.
Why? mouthed Georgia.
Sylvie tilted her head toward the bottle of soda.
Georgia nodded and fished out the roll.
Fernand pulled out the small black box he’d handed to Sylvie.
He flicked the lid open. A bright red switch poked out of the top like a bull’s-eye.
“The story will go like this. I left the girls in my office, told them not to touch anything. But Sylvie, being just as arrogant as her mother, didn’t listen.
She went through my things, found the box, and foolishly pushed the button. ”
Sylvie slid her hand onto the counter, inching it closer to the soda.
“Zotter’s kitchen is right next to the firework launch pad.” Fernand’s lips went slack. “So sad that it was docked. It’ll get the brunt of the explosion … the loss will be terrible … my troubled friend … your mother.”
“Death at the Golden Whisk? Not smart.” Sylvie needed to keep Fernand talking. “Think of all the negative press.”
He shook his head. “That’s the beauty of it. When there’s no spell to trace, tongues will be wagging for months. Every blog. Every magazine. They’ll all put their spin on it… . You know what they say. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
Sylvie grabbed the bottle. “You won’t get away with this!”
“Oh, but I already have!” Fernand’s finger hovered over the button. “Say goodbye to your mother.”
Sylvie leapt into the air as if she were sailing up a half-pipe, knees bent, shoulders set. Bam! She sent the box flying.
“You brat!”
Sylvie spun around, trying to see where it landed. There was no time.
Fernand lunged for her. “Tu es à moi!”
Sylvie had no idea what this meant, but the look on his face was unmistakable: I’m going to kill you.
Sylvie yanked the top off the FizzleFott’s soda and shoved the Mentos inside. She hoped magic sodas worked the same as Coke.
Blurp! Blurp!
Foam bubbled up.
The bottle started to tremble.
Fernand took a step back.
“Ever made a soda geyser?” asked Sylvie. Before Fernand could answer, she took aim. A violent tsunami shot into the air. She tried to hold on, but it was like gripping an out-of-control fire hose. Sylvie spun around, caught in a sticky downpour.
Fernand flailed his arms.
Thwak!
The pan of rose meringues flew off the table. A bevy of brambles shot up.
Georgia yelped and dodged between the unruly vines.
“I shall cook you like a pheasant!” snarled Fernand.
Sylvie didn’t know how long her trick would last, but one thing was certain. Fernand wasn’t bluffing.
She dropped the bottle. A jet of soda spewed onto the floor.
Flora grabbed it and shot Fernand backward like a ball.
“That’s one way to make an exit,” cried Georgia.
Sylvie felt her courage mount. “Come on!”
The girls sprinted toward the chain of vines twisting through the air.
Sylvie reached for the ledge. A sharp thorn pierced her leg. The next thing she knew, she was lying face down in a sticky pool.
“Now you’re finished!” Fernand’s eyes turned cold.
A vine twisted up Sylvie’s leg. Higher and higher. She tugged on it, trying to get loose.
But like an animal tangled in a snare, she was trapped.