“Hmm, I think I believe you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m the one and only Madame Blaise.”
“I’m Sylvie … Sylvie Jones.”
“Ah … yes. Abby’s daughter. People have been talking about you.” Madame Blaise moved closer. Sylvie caught a whiff of something that reminded her of dried rose petals, once beautiful but now old and worn. “So, Sylvie Jones, how may I help you?”
Sylvie glanced up. “I need a break from everyone. Can I eat breakfast here?”
Madame Blaise pushed her gold-rimmed spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather eat with your friends?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Please, just call me Agnes.”
Sylvie nodded.
Agnes picked up the kettle whistling on the stove and poured the hot liquid into a measuring pitcher.
The scent of lemons, raisins, and toasted vanilla filled the air. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder how it could smell of so many wonderful things.
“Why don’t you start with a serenity syllabub.” She poured some into a glass and handed it to Sylvie. “Drink it before it sets.”
Sylvie eyed the clear liquid as it settled to the bottom, cream rising to the top. She hesitated. It didn’t seem wise to drink spells from strangers, especially now.
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Agnes, as if she knew what Sylvie was thinking. “Besides, I’m the one cooking everything you eat in the cafeteria.”
“Good point,” said Sylvie, taking the glass.
“This spell helps ease stress. Let me know if you like it. Then, you can tell me why you’re hiding in the kitchen.”
Sylvie took a heavy swig. A firework of flavors exploded: Christmas trifle, browned butter, whipped cream.
“It’s delicious… . As for the rest, it’s complicated.” Sylvie set down the glass.
Agnes raised a brow. “You aren’t the first depressed Pip that’s wandered into my kitchen. In fact, I’d wager the chaos I heard in the cafeteria a few minutes ago had something to do with you.”
Before Sylvie could answer, Agnes continued.
“But I don’t pay attention to gossip.” She tied an apron around her waist and dug out a block of chocolate. “I prefer to make up my own mind.”
“Unfortunately, most peopleonlylisten to gossip,” replied Sylvie.
“Sadly, you’re right.” Agnes set the chocolate block on the cutting board and picked up her Blade. The pearl and onyx handle trembled as she wrapped her fingers around the grip. She tilted the knife down and let it slip through the chocolate like butter.
“But I might have something that can help.” Agnes pointed to a fancy-looking cookbook.
Sylvie peered at it. Gold letters were embossed on the cover.Balthazar LeGrande: A Journey into the Art of Cooking & Spells.
“Balthazar LeGrande.” Sylvie knew the name. “Didn’t he create the Golden Whisk competition?”
“Oui.He visited Brindille several times. A rather beastly man, in my opinion. But he was brilliant.” Agnes flicked through the worn pages. “His Good Fortune Cookies always brought me some luck.”
“Fortune cookies? You mean, like the ones in Chinese restaurants?”
Agnes shook her head. “These are different. They don’t tell you what may come. Theybringluck. Unfortunately, the spell doesn’t last very long. But it can help when you need it most. Perhaps they can bring some luck to orientation today?”
Sylvie checked her watch. She still had time before she had to go to the library. Plus, she could use all the help she could get. “It’s worth a try. So how do we make them?”
Agnes slid the book toward her.
