The clang of pans going into the oven was already audible.I’m too late.Sylvie raced into the kitchen. Josephine was stooped over the oven. The element of surprise no longer mattered.
“Wait!” cried Sylvie.
For a moment, there was silence. This had never been part of the plan. But now, here Sylvie was, determined to stop the spell, but just as resolved to tell Josephine the truth. Bass had tried to keep people in the dark. But ignorance wasn’t bliss. It made everything worse.
Josephine gripped the oven handle. Her gaze settled on Sylvie. “I suppose I should congratulate you. I never thought you’d make it this far … but you’re still too late.”
Sylvie stared at the pans inside the oven. She had to keep that door open. “Maybe,” said Sylvie, “but before you release the curse, I think you deserve to know the truth. See, I know who sabotaged your spell.”
Josephine started to laugh. “I know too … your mother.” She grabbed the cwtch and rolled it in her hand. Sylvie’s mom flopped against the sides like a moth trapped in a glass.
“No. She didn’t.” Sylvie’s heart shriveled like a grape left out in the sun. There was so much she wanted to tell her mom.This is my fault. I’m sorry. I love you.But there was no time for that. Sylvie had to try and get Josephine to see the truth. But facts were sometimes like the ocean, one moment sparkling and transparent, the next, twisted and murky.
“Fernand knew the competition was struggling. If things didn’t turn around, he was going to lose it all.” Sylvie’s eyes darted over to the lever that would launch the kitchen. She needed to get them into the sky, away from where Fernand planned to release the fireworks. “He swapped your ingredients and let my mom take the fall.”
Josephine shook her head. “Fernand wouldn’t do that. Winning was everything to his father.”
Sylvie wished she could’ve recorded the confession. “Balthazar wasn’t in on the plan.” She moved closer to the lever. “Think about all the press and excitement the competition got after you lost.”
Josephine’s face seemed to contort. “That … doesn’t prove anything.”
“I know it’s hard to believe,” said Sylvie. “But your friend betrayed you.”
She couldn’t help but feel sorry for Josephine. Even though Josephine had used her—not to mention, lied—she’d also been cheated out of the truth by someone close. It sucked.
“We need to leave this skybox. It’s not safe. Fernand wants to get rid of you permanently,” said Sylvie.
Josephine gazed at the pans in the oven. A flash of warmth filled her eyes. “The last place I ever really mattered was here … in this arena.”
For a moment, Sylvie thought she’d gotten through. But just like that, the look of content was gone.
“This is where my future was stolen from me. I’m not going anywhere until those responsible pay.”
Sylvie knew what was coming next. She lunged for the oven.
Thunk!
The door slammed shut.
“No!”
A trail of vapors spun through the air like a string clinging to the wind.
The scent of fresh herbs and butter wafted toward Sylvie. It should’ve smelled delicious, but something acrid lingered. The aroma of burnt hope and soured dreams.
Sylvie could already feel the despair seeping in. She was sorry she wouldn’t get the chance to hug her mom or see her friends again. In a minute, the pungent odor would fill the arena.
Sylvie’s gaze settled on the table where Zotter’s sugar pump and Josephine’s Blade rested.Unless … I make a cwtch, trapping the spell inside.After all, if a dragon could shrink down to the size of a bird, why not a skybox? At least then Georgia, Flora, and everyone else would be safe.
Gazelle Flip.
This was the final thought that crossed Sylvie’s mind. It was the impossible skate trick, a forty-five-degree board flip mixed with a three-hundred-sixty-degree spin. Everything moving at once, pushing the bounds of possibility. That’s what it would take for Sylvie to pull this off.
Sylvie leapt up, wrenching down the launch lever. The skybox jerked. Josephine’s knees buckled. The cwtch skidded across the floor.
“Mom!” Sylvie wanted to free her, but there wasn’t time. She dove for the sugar pump. Sylvie had never blown sugar before. She pressed her lips against the tip of the horn, and prayed to the culinary gods she didn’t screw this up.Slow and steady,that’s how they did it.
A sphere wobbled to the surface, but it wasn’t smooth and round like Zotter’s. Sylvie’s looked more like a lumpy lemon.
