Sylvie craned her neck, hoping to spot her mom, but everything suddenly went dark.
Colorful bursts of light filled the arena. They were followed by a sweet smell that reminded Sylvie of—
“Fabulous Fruit Punch,” said Flora. She took a deep breath and smacked her tongue against her lips. “I love FizzleFott’s Flavored Fireworks.”
Georgia stuck out her tongue. “Wow! It really does taste like punch.”
“Let’s keep going,” said Sylvie. She hated being a killjoy, but air that tasted like soda wasn’t going to help them find LeGrande or stop Flammé.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Sages of all ages!” said a sudden voice. “Please put your hands together for the one and only Fernand LeGrande!”
Sylvie stared as a man wearing a bright green blazer and yellow sequin shirt rose through an opening in the stadium floor.
The ground shook as the room thundered with applause. “FERNAND! FERNAND!”
Fernand flashed a brilliant smile as he rose on a giant golden whisk.
“Welcome to the Golden Whisk All-Stars competition!” shouted LeGrande. He ran a hand through his sleek blond pompadour. “Are you ready for the greatest battle in history?”
“YES!” roared the crowd.
Sylvie couldn’t help but envy the people around her. If ignorance was bliss, knowledge was misery.
It was just a matter of time before Josephine released her spell. If that happened, none of them would ever know happiness again.
Another fruity burst erupted in the sky.
The group around Sylvie began to sing, “Il Canto degli Italiani.”
“Scusa!” said a woman behind Sylvie. She had sun-kissed skin and was holding a large sign with the wordsGO FORGOLDGIUSEPPEpainted on it.
“Do you mind sitting down? They’re about to launch Italy’s kitchen.”
Sylvie looked up. Several darkened boxes were still connected to the side of the arena.
“There’s more,” muttered Sylvie, wondering if her mom was inside one of them.
“Sì,” said the woman. “Signor LeGrande staggers the launches, so every Sage has a moment to shine… . I just hope the dragons don’t ruin it.” The woman shook her head. “If you ask me, that recipe should be forbidden.”
The woman pulled a bundle of something green out of her purse and waved it in the air. She saw Sylvie staring.
“Laurel … it’ll ward off the dragons if they get loose. Zotteré pazzo… he’s crazy.”
Sylvie gazed back up.
There was Zotter, holding a cwtch. He tapped a white blade with a glossy red bloodwood handle against it. The silver dragon was immediately sucked inside.
A swirl of smoke filled the globe as the dragon puffed and pounded its wings.
The woman waved the bundle of laurel in the air again. “How can he safely propel those cwtches to the judges’ table? If they break, those beasts will ruin the competition.Idiota!”
“Judges’ table …” Sylvie gazed up again.
A decorative disk rested like a crown over the arena.
“Sì,” said the woman, pointing toward it. “If your showpiece doesn’t make it up there,dannato …doomed!”
This gave Sylvie an idea. “Well, good luck.”
