Chapter 36 Knives at Dawn
Knives at Dawn
THE SMOKE-FILLED ARENA HAD FINALLY EMPTIED. ONLY A FEW spectators from the press box remained. Sylvie made her way over to August, who was sitting quietly, watching Bass try to squirm his way out of questions from journalists.
“This whole thing with the Apple has been a m-misunderstanding,” said Bass, still fumbling with his hat. “The CCS has no plans to arrest August Strange. In fact, we are grateful to have him back safely.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes and sat down.
August glanced over. “I understand now why the tree named you.”
Sylvie cocked her head. “You do?”
August smiled. “I never imagined, after all these years, a young girl would be the one to uncover the whole truth. But that’s exactly what you did. Today hasn’t fixed all our problems, but it has given us a new path forward. That’s all thanks to you. You’re the person who set things right.”
Sylvie eyed Flora and Georgia, drinking hot chocolate. “Well, I couldn’t have done it alone.”
August shrugged. “None of us can do it alone, Sylvie.”
Sylvie stared thoughtfully. “If none of us can do it alone, then why didn’t you tell Godard? Why hide the note and hope I’d find it?”
“I knew Bass had planted a mole. I couldn’t risk the paper falling into the wrong hands.
My only hope was today. If Bass didn’t have time to react, I thought with the Apple, the memo, and someone like Guy Fabre by my side, the world would listen.
” He looked around. “Although, I never imagined such an epic ending.”
“Now, what happens to me? I mean, is this battle with Bass over?”
August fiddled with his ring, as he seemed to contemplate the question. “I often find that life is like a good meal… . It plays out in courses.”
Sylvie had never really thought about it that way. “So, is this dessert or the appetizer?”
His amber eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “I suppose only time will tell.”
Night was still clinging to the world like the last rosy whiffs of perfume. Six weeks had passed since the Golden Whisk.
In the end, practically getting her mom killed and disrupting the entire magical world had had its silver lining.
Sylvie, Georgia, and Flora had been given the CCS’s reward for solving the Golden Whisk mystery. In the end, they’d agreed to donate the funds to a Brindille scholarship for students who couldn’t afford tuition. Its first recipient, if she passed the test, would be Georgia Shaw.
This was why Sylvie and Georgia were now sitting in the waiting room at the Council’s headquarters.
After the truth came out, Bass found himself in the perilous situation of facing a vote of no confidence.
In response, he’d withdrawn some of his policies and publicly invited Sylvie and Georgia to take the test. Although, he didn’t really have a choice.
At the end of the six-week program, they’d tied for first place.
Sylvie jiggled her leg against a chair.
Her mom rested a hand on her shoulder. “Try to relax. You’re both going to do great.”
“No offense, Mrs. Jones, but that’s easy for you to say.” Georgia gnawed on the bits of nail that had grown back. “You’ve already got your Blade.”
“And this is your shot,” said Sylvie’s mom. “Remember, it’s just cooking.”
It was so much more than just cooking. Still, Sylvie felt her body loosen.
Somehow her mom always knew what to say.
She glanced over at Georgia. Sylvie couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty.
Georgia wanted her mom there too. But Scullery still weren’t allowed inside CCS headquarters.
So, Georgia’s mom and stepdad were stuck at home, with Sylvie’s dad and little brother.
“Sylvie Jones? Georgia Shaw?” A young man holding a clipboard stared at them.
Sylvie tried her best to ignore the fizzing sensation in her stomach. “Yes?”
He gestured down the hallway.
Sylvie took one last look at her mom.
“You’re going to do great, Sylvie.”
Sylvie forced a smile. “Thanks.”
People turned and whispered as they passed.
“Those are the girls,” said a man in the hallway.
“Mind if we snap a selfie?” asked the woman pushing a cart full of sausage rolls and butter mints.
Before Sylvie could respond, she’d whipped out her phone.
Everyone was talking about what happened at the Golden Whisk.
In fact, if Fernand hadn’t been imprisoned, Sylvie couldn’t help but think he would’ve been pleased by the publicity.
Warm air wafted toward Sylvie as she stepped into a room.
A slender inspector in a gray jacket stood near the door. “Ladies.” He gestured toward two small kitchens with orange wallpaper and linoleum floors. Despite their pristine appearance, they definitely lacked the modern sheen of the skyboxes.
Sylvie and Georgia exchanged nervous glances.
Butterflies seemed to sink back into Sylvie’s stomach.
The inspector pointed to Sylvie. “You can take the kitchen on the right. You’ll find your test inside. Just follow the instructions.”
Sylvie took her spot in front of the stove.
“You’ll have forty-five minutes,” said the inspector.
The glass partition slid down, separating her kitchen from Georgia’s.
Sylvie turned to the sheet of paper, resting on the counter, her hands shaking.
Flesh and blood.
Steel and stone.
Mold this recipe,
Make it your own!
Sylvie stared at the final sentence. Make it my own? Weren’t tests black and white? Pass. Fail.
A frown spread across Georgia’s face. She seemed just as confused.
Sylvie’s eyes moved farther down.
Hacklet Meatloaf
Ground chuck
Black garlic
Onion
Tomato
Herbs
Breadcrumbs
Wine
There are no measurements, thought Sylvie, stealing another look at Georgia. She kept flipping the paper over, as if more information might suddenly appear.
Sylvie eyed the selection of ingredients on sheet pans: Raw Tree onions. Fried Vidalia onions. Caramelized Torpedo onions. Rye breadcrumbs. Sourdough breadcrumbs. Titan parsley. Hamburg parsley. Eye of Newt. Lemon thyme. Fire wine. Ice wine.
Each ingredient was different, but at the core, many were the same. Herbs. Bread. Onions.
This made her think of all the Blades she’d seen in her life, riveted handles connected to steel. But that’s where the similarities ended.
Each Blade as unique as the Sage who created it, thought Sylvie. She jerked to attention. Of course! The recipe is a template.
But even if there wasn’t one right way to make the dish, she could still botch the spell. Plenty of people have failed the test, she reminded herself. But now, Sylvie thought she understood.
Like an anchor, holding fast, something pulled Sylvie back, back to her mom’s words when she was barely big enough to reach the stove, back to her first day in Gideon’s class.
Intuition.
If Sylvie wanted to pass this test, she needed to trust her instincts and cook from the heart.
Finally, the world around Sylvie melted away. She grabbed the bowl of caramelized Torpedo onions—for a tiny pop of sweetness—and plopped them into a pan of foaming butter. Next came the black garlic—crushed for a more uniform flavor.
The vial of fire wine shimmered like a ruby as Sylvie picked it up. She poured the contents into the pan, simmering it with the onions.
Sylvie tossed the rye breadcrumbs into the beef next and added some crushed Eye of Newt—for a mustardy finish.
Her eyes settled on the words written below the ingredients. This was the final step before putting her dish into the oven.
“Animas Scalpus.”
Sylvie once read that Japanese chefs believe their souls go into their knives. Now she understood why. Something pulled inside her, as if her heart were leaving her chest, a blossom returning to seed.
A shimmer settled over the pan.
Another frown spread across Georgia’s face as she tossed black garlic into fried onions. Did something go wrong?
“If you’re done, Ms. Jones, you can take a seat,” said the inspector.
“Right.” Sylvie put her dish into the oven and sat down.
Recently all Sylvie had wanted was more time. Time to stop Bass. Time to save her mom. Now, time had finally slowed down and she wanted it to speed up.
The scent of onion and herbs slowly filled the air.
Sylvie wondered if this was a good sign. She stole another glance at Georgia, but Georgia didn’t look up. She just stood there, chewing on a nail.
Ironically, when they first met, Sylvie had wanted to get rid of Georgia. Now, Sylvie couldn’t imagine Brindille without her. But what if Georgia ends up with a pan of meatloaf, instead of a Blade?
Luckily, the timer went off before Sylvie could give it a second thought.
She pulled on a pair of gloves and opened the oven. A gust of hot air rushed out. For a moment Sylvie didn’t look. She just stood there with her eyes squeezed shut.
For ages she’d imagined what her Blade might look like … nine-inch polished steel with a silver and turquoise handle.
“Ms. Jones? What are you doing?” asked the inspector.
Wishing, Sylvie wanted to say. Instead, she jerked her eyes open. It wasn’t at all what she’d pictured … it was even better.
Sylvie had been learning about knives from a book Flora had given her. Blades: An On-Point History.
There wasn’t a meatloaf in the pan, but a glimmering ten-inch Gyuto knife made with Damascus steel.
Sylvie recognized it from the book. It was one of the rarest metals, normally used to forge the swords of brave warriors.
Dark waves swirled across the blade like whitecaps cutting across the ocean.
The handle was just as beautiful, glossy drips of gold mixed with black.
Ring!
Sylvie craned her neck. Georgia was pulling her pan out. She wore the same perplexed expression she’d had when Sylvie told her brownies were technically a cookie.
This isn’t good. Sylvie’s palms turned clammy. The glass divider slid down.
“What happened?”
Georgia frowned. “I dropped my lucky cupcake earring into the sauteed onions. I was busier than a moth in a mitten trying to fish it out. Not so lucky anymore … I burnt the tip of my finger.” Georgia lifted her hand for Sylvie to inspect.
“But I guess I won’t throw the baby out with the bath water. ”
“What does a baby have to do with … never mind. Just tell me what happened with the knife.” The suspense is killing me!
Georgia pulled out a brightly bedazzled Blade. Sparkling pink rhinestones covered the handle. Cupcakes topped with cherries were etched into the frosted steel.
“I think my earring might have influenced the recipe… . Is it too much?”
It was definitely over-the-top. “It … makes a statement,” said Sylvie, trying to put a positive twist on things.
Georgia stared at it. “In the Pip dorm, most of the kids looked up to me… . But what if that changes? Maybe kids in our new class will see this and not take me seriously?”
Sylvie rested a hand on Georgia’s shoulder. “No way! Everyone is talking about what we did at the Golden Whisk. In fact, I bet Sages will be gluing rhinestones to their Blades once they get a load of yours.”
Georgia finally smiled. “Things are about to change. Aren’t they?”
“I think they already have,” said Sylvie. She finally picked up her knife. The tips of her fingers turned warm and fuzzy.
Recently, Sylvie’s life had felt like a puzzle, with all the pieces wedged into the wrong spots.
But now the picture was absolutely perfect.