“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 initialsGFwere 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.”
