Sylvie climbed onto one of the ladders attached to the shelves, searching for surnames that began withE. She wished the man had given her more to go on.
She got to the right section and pulled one of Escoffier’s cookbooks. Judging from the size, there had to be a thousand recipes in it. This would be like finding a needle in a haystack.Unless maybe he marked one?Sylvie flipped through, page by page.
After about thirty minutes she was starting to grow impatient.The French Classic Tradition of HexesandThe Fine Art of Cookery & Spellswere both brilliant, but Sylvie didn’t see anything useful. She pulled the copy ofLe Guide Culinairenext. The paper was turning yellow. The spine was starting to pull away from the binding.
There were recipes for Maidenhair Fern Syrup, Fried Frogs’ Legs, Cuisses de Nymphe. Sylvie flicked through the pages, searching for a dog-eared corner or scribbled symbol. The recipes sounded interesting, but other than that, they were useless. There were no secret markings or revealing spells.
Sylvie snapped the book shut.Now what?Maybe she’d missed the meaning of the word on the napkin? What ifEscoffierhad nothing to do with the chef or his books?But what else could it mean?
Sylvie set the book back on the shelf. Her eyes narrowed.Wait.Something was stuck between the binding and the spine. She flicked the light on her watch and held it close to the book, her heart pounding in her ears. A piece of paper, folded over a dozen times, was wedged inside. Sylvie stuffed her finger in and groped. It was impossible to reach. She could try pushing it out with a pencil.But that might damage the paper.She needed to pull it out. Even with tweezers—which Sylvie didn’t have—it would be difficult. She needed to extract it with something longer and narrower than tweezers …like plating tongs!
Sylvie clutched the book close to her chest and peered down the Long Hall. Flora was helping a Pip carry a book the size and shape of a pumpkin over to a reading table. Ms. Honeycut was at her desk, working on the computer. After apron measuring, they were supposed to collect their tool kits. Then, Sylvie would have what she needed. Trouble was, she alsoneededto convince Ms. Honeycut to let her take the book. She couldn’t risk leaving it. What if someone else discovered the hidden note?
Sylvie made her way toward the checkout table. Under normal circumstances, Sylvie wouldn’t have dared to ask Ms. Honeycut for a favor. In fact, there were probably cranky wasps with warmer personalities. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Besides, maybe there was something that could persuade Ms. Honeycut to make an exception?
Sylvie fished the other cookie from Agnes out of her backpack and stuffed it in her mouth.
Food was always influenced by mood. Even the greatest chefs turned out bad dishes if they were having a rough day. Spells were no different. They were guided by emotions. Perhapsthatwas the mistake Sylvie had made with the other cookie? She hadn’t been clear about what she wanted. But now she knew.With a little luck, Ms. Honeycut’s help.
Sylvie swallowed the last chocolaty morsel and pasted a sweet smile onto her face. “Excuse me.”
Ms. Honeycut didn’t seem to notice. She typed furiously, staring at the computer in front of her.
Sylvie stretched up onto her tippy-toes. The familiar purple Sagebook logo was glowing on the screen. Below it was a tiny emoji and the name CamouflagedOyster. It was funny. Sylvie wouldn’t have imagined Ms. Honeycut hanging out on social media.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Excuse me, Ms. Honeycut?”
This time, she looked up. “May I help you?”
“Yes. Thank you. There’s a book that I’d really like to keep a bit longer.”
Ms. Honeycut closed the chatroom screen.
Sylvie pretended not to notice. “I know the checkout policy is only for studying Sages this week, but I’d love to read a bit more… . Is there any chance I could bring Escoffier’s book back tonight before dinner?”
Sylvie’s eyes locked with Ms. Honeycut’s. Warmth bubbled up.Steer the spell.
“I’m afraid rules can’t …” Ms. Honeycut paused. “Actually, which book is it?”
Sylvie slid it across the desk.
“Le Guide Culinaire!” Ms. Honeycut smiled, causing muscles that hadn’t been used in ages to twitch. “You know, I’ve always been an Escoffier fan… . Peach Melba. Cherries Jubilee. Such brilliant recipes!”
“Yes. Verybrilliant.” Sylvie kept their eyes locked. “That’s why I want to have a closer look. I have to finish first in my class. So, I might get some useful ideas.” Sylvie gave the book a pat.
Ms. Honeycut nodded. “As long as you bring it back before dinner,” she said, lowering her voice, “and don’t tell anyone; I suppose I can make an exception.”
A flash of light burst across the room.
Ms. Honeycut’s voice trailed off.
Sylvie followed her gaze.
A bold headline spread across the scroll.
WANTED: DEAD ORALIVE!
Below it was a picture.
