That’s odd, considering classes were canceled,thought Sylvie.
“I’m fine,” said Flora, grabbing the bowl of mints. “I was … err … just working on some spells in my room and lost track of time.”
Kitty brushed a hand across the chocolate on Flora’s coat, rubbing the remnants between her fingers. “Pure criollo. I thought only Chef Devon had a stash of this.” She raised a brow. “That’s some recipe you were working on.”
Flora averted her eyes. “Umm … yeah, it was a special order … from Godard.”
Kitty’s hand slipped back down to her side. “I see.”
You do?Sylvie grabbed a handful of mints and tried to make sense of it.Maybe it’s about her recipe for the Commis Contest?
“Excuse me.” Georgia shuffled past Sylvie and scooped up several peppermints.
Sylvie tried to make eye contact, but Georgia was busy staring at her fingernails. Sylvie couldn’t help but notice them too. Yesterday, they’d been perfectly round and polished. But now, the paint was chipped, and the nails uneven. It looked as if a chipmunk had given her a manicure. Before Sylvie could contemplate it further, Darius stepped forward.
“The school better give us a makeup day for this mess.” He snatched peppermints out of the bowl. “My parents paid for afullsix-week program. We didn’t manage to cook one dish today … not one!”
Kitty’s lips tightened. “The day isn’t over, but I am aware of the change in schedule, Mr. Maxwell. However, certain measures were required to secure the grounds, and all instructors were needed for that task. But your complaint is noted.”
“Secure the grounds?” Darius’s eyes grew wide. “You think that nut Strange might show up here?”
“No. I don’t,” said Kitty. “And he’s not anut.Although, I can’t for the life of me understand why he’d steal from the CCS. But that’s beside the point. Security spells aren’t just for keeping people out.”
Kitty’s words hit Sylvie. If you weren’t keeping people out, were you trying to keep themin?
Darius kicked his shoe against a step. It exposed its granite teeth and let out a growl.
“Stupid thing.” He hurled a mint at it. “Well, nuts or not, I still say this is what you get when you let people with the wrong sort of background in.”
Flora gripped the bowl tightly. “If you pass the test, you belong. Magic doesn’t care about pedigree, only talent.”
Darius’s eyes lingered on Sylvie. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
“Mr. Maxwell!” Kitty fixed him with a dangerous stare. “Wait for me at the top of the stairs!”
“Fine.” Darius turned and marched up.
“Hey! You all right?” Adara sidled up to Georgia, who was now chewing on a nail.
Her blue eyes glistened. “Fine. Come on.”
Sylvie watched as the two girls scattered their mints and climbed toward the open doors. Maybe it was Sylvie’s imagination, or perhaps she selfishly didn’t want to be the only Pip with troubles. But suddenly, Georgia didn’t seemfine.
Inside, the school was now eerily quiet. The footsteps, clanging pots, and whirring mixers she’d heard this morning were all noticeably missing. Sylvie looked around, hoping to spot an instructor in a tall toque, but the classrooms all stood empty.
“Where is everyone?” Big Shawn asked.
“It’ll all be back to normal in the morning,” said Kitty, not really answering the question. “That’s why we need to get you geared up and fitted. This way.”
They followed Kitty down a hall lined with ornate cakes in display cases. There was a peacock cake with a tail made of dragée candies that looked like colorful pearls. It reminded Sylvie of Darius, as it fanned its tail in a vibrant display. Farther down, Sylvie spotted a cake draped in fondant. It was shaped like a teapot and continuously whistled as steam poured from the top.
“Here we are. Everyone inside.” Kitty ushered them into a large room stacked with shelves of cooking tools and giant rolls of fabrics.
“Bonjour,” said a thickset woman. Her gray hair was done up in an extravagant pouf of ringlets. Her lips were full and perfectly matched the pink of her billowing skirt. She pulled a long measuring tape from the folds of fabric and pulled Georgia toward her. “I am Madame Pelletier. I’ll be fitting you for your aprons. We’ll start with you.”
She stretched the measuring tape and wrapped it around Georgia. “Medium bust.”
Georgia’s cheeks flushed, but Madame Pelletier didn’t seem to notice. She lifted Georgia’s arms and climbed over her, like the ladies in Los Angeles did when they were dressing mannequins in the fancy window displays.
