Sylvie glanced sidelong at Georgia, then picked up the crate. “Sure.”
Inside the greenhouse, the air was thick with dirt and must. Sylvie eyed a row of garden markers, wedged in soil like tiny tombstones:ghost orchids, witches’ butter, cockscomb, doll’s eyes.
The round white blooms on the doll’s eyes plants gazed up at her.
Creepy,thought Sylvie, scurrying ahead.
She maneuvered past a table of germinating muskmelons soaking in sponges and headed toward Gideon’s desk.
Mason jars full of seeds and lingering mugs of tea littered the space. Sylvie carefully pushed several cups out of the way so they wouldn’t tip over, then set the crate down.
A flicker of color caught her eye. Tucked behind one of the mugs was a tiny scroll with parchment that looked like a patchwork of rainbow-hued silks.
Sylvie had never seen a scroll made of anything other than rice paper.
The latest edition of theBlossom Brigadeshimmered across it.
Her eyes narrowed as she scooped up the scroll.Not silk … flower petals.
The opening story pulled Sylvie’s focus from the quilted blooms.
THEFT ATTIDWICK’SCREATESNEWCHALLENGES
FARMERS HAVE BEEN LEFT SCRATCHING THEIR HEADS AFTER THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LARGE QUANTITIES OF SKULLCAP. “SUPPLIES WILL BE RUNNING SHORT FOR SOME TIME,”SAIDIVYBELROSE, SPOKESPERSON FOR THEFATALFLOWERSGUILD. “WITHGOLDENWHISKALL-STARS JUST AROUND THE CORNER, DEMAND FOR FLORAS USED IN SPELLS IS AT AN ALL-TIME HIGH. FOR THIS REASON, WE ARE NOW WORKING CLOSELY WITH THECCSTO SEE IF WE CAN LIMIT PURCHASES, STRETCHING SUPPLIES UNTIL AFTER THE COMPETITION.”
As Sylvie continued to read, the scroll shifted, sliding the story up.
SADLY, SOMESAGES HAVE EXACERBATED THIS PROBLEM. “WHEN YOU HAVE SOMEONE AS WILDLY FAMOUS ASGUYFABRE SCOOPING UP BAGS OF SKULLCAP FOR PERSONAL USE, IT SETS A BAD EXAMPLE,” CONTINUEDMS. BELROSE.
Guy Fabre wasn’t just a world-famous Sage. He’d also been her mom’s assistant at the Golden Whisk. Sylvie had met him once. He’d stopped by her eighth birthday party. Five minutes of pictures, one autographed cookbook, and a pat on the head. Sylvie supposed it was nice. Though it had all felt disappointing, like biting into a stale cupcake.
The story kept moving.
WHEN ASKED TO COMMENT, FABRE’S PUBLICIST ISSUED THE FOLLOWING STATEMENT: “MR. FABRE TAKES THIS MATTER SERIOUSLY AND DID NOT ACQUIRE THE SKULLCAP FOR PERSONAL USE. HE HAS A PRODUCT LINE, AND THESE INGREDIENTS ARE NECESSARY TO ENSURE THAT EVERY BOX CONTAINS BOTH SAFE AND EFFECTIVE SPELLS.”
SINCE ISSUING THIS STATEMENT, THEBLOSSOM BRIGADEHAS LOOKED INTO THE INGREDIENTS IN EACH OFMR. FABRE’S PRODUCTS. WE WERE UNABLE TO FIND ANY THAT CONTAINED SKULLCAP.
The final sentence left Sylvie feeling queasy. Something Godard had written last week in a letter to her mom drifted back.
I spoke to Fabre and told him you were entering All-Stars. It feels a bit like a chess match now, with Fabre working the board like a rook.
Sylvie spent her free time skateboarding and cooking. So she didn’t know much about chess.But aren’t rooks tactical pieces?
Question was, which side was Fabre playing on?
“Sylvie?”
She spun around.
Instructor Gideon was standing behind her.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. I saw …” She wasn’t sure what to say. “I spotted your scroll and was curious.”
“I understand.” Gideon plucked the scroll from Sylvie. “With your family under the knife, I’d imagine anything connected to the Golden Whisk would interest you.”
“It’s not just that.” Sylvie glanced at the story. “They’re saying Fabre bought a bunch of skullcap and lied about its use. Why would he do that?”
Gideon seemed to contemplate the question. “That I can’t tell you… . But I do know there’s more to Guy Fabre than meets the eye.”
