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 Treeonions. 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,backto her mom’s words when she was barely big enough to reach the stove,backto her first day in Gideon’s class.
Intuition.
If Sylvie wanted to pass this test, she needed to trust her instincts andcook 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.Timeto stop Bass.Timeto 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.
