“Though, I suppose if you’re here, the stories they’re printing this timearetrue. Bass is using his new policies to make an example out of your family.” Jean eyed Sylvie like a melon that wasn’t quite ripe. “Your daughter has to take the preparatory program and finish top of her class, or she’ll be permanently banned?”
Abby paused, her forkful of pie dangling in the air. “Yes. It’s true.”
Jean shook her head, pointing to the small bronze dot she’d concealed beneath the collar on her uniform. “I knew his policies would cause trouble. First, ranking pins:gold, silver, bronze, and carnelian,as if some Sages are better than others. Now, guilty until proven innocent. It’s not right!” Jean lowered her voice. “Bass may not realize it yet, but there are Sages who share my opinion—lots of them. They’re starting to talk.”
“A lot has changed under Bass,” said Abby. “In fact, that’s why we’re here. We need to get into the school. But since Pips aren’t allowed to travel by rumbledethumps anymore, we need another way inside.”
Jean nodded. “Too many injuries going into the oven. We’ve got a secret door the kids use now. Though, I’m not sure it builds as much character as a young Pip burning themselves up every time the preparatory program starts.”
This time, Sylvie agreed with the CCS. She’d singed her hand once on a sheet pan. It left her with oozing blisters.Definitely not a character-building moment!
Jean tapped a red nail against the tortilla chip pin on her uniform. The glittering nacho cheese melted away, revealing the wordCONDUCTOR.
“I’ve led all sorts through these doors, toward their destiny. Arrogant kids that think they know it all. Nervous ones, jumpy as jackrabbits. As long as they could cook, the rest didn’t matter. But now”—Jean pointed at Sylvie—“you’re the first Pip whose destiny may be determined by the CCS rather than the results of your test.”
Pip.Of course Sylvie knew the term. Her mom had been using it to describe Sylvie for years: a seed full of potential that hasn’t yet been planted. That was what they called all kids like Sylvie, those who displayedthe talentbut hadn’t taken the Sage test—or worse, who’d failed.
Jean’s words pressed against Sylvie like weight on a bruise.
The test was a special recipe that was supposed to decide her fate. Every Pip took the same test at the end of the preparatory program. If your spell produced a Blade—your special knife—you passed and enrolled at a magical cooking school. But if you failed to produce a Blade, you were done. It didn’t matter which family you came from. The rule was universal.
But not anymore. Now, the CCS is deciding.Sylvie’s mind replayed what the man had said.Watch your back at Brindille.Sylvie hadn’t had time to really process the meaning, but now… . Finishingfirst in my class will be tough,but what if the system is rigged?Her palms turned sweaty.
Sylvie watched as Jean reached into a desk drawer and pulled out her special knife, a turquoise handle with a dark, hand-forged blade. Small flecks glistened on the steel like snowflakes resting on a stone.
Sylvie tried to shake away thoughts of the mysterious man, the CCS’s new policies, and the weight of everything riding on what happened next.
Jean brushed her fingers against the handle. It quivered, then nestled itself into the crook of her hand. She glanced over at Abby. “Pips still have to cook up their entrance ticket. I’d let her through without the quickfire if I could. But I’m afraid there are enchantments in place. Gotta keep Scullery from accidentally wandering in.”
Abby nodded. “Of course.”
Sylvie took a deep breath. She ran through the list of possibilities for the quickfire in her head. A Blade wasn’t just a special knife. Once you manifested yours, it was connected to you. It understood your needs.Softer steel for butchery. Serrated steel for chocolate.It knew every spell you’d ever prepared.
Because she didn’t have hers yet, a quickfire that required knife skills was out of the question.That leaves cakes, breads, drop cookies.
Jean turned to Sylvie. “You ready?”
Sylvie rolled up her sleeves. “Yes.”
Jean’s Blade glinted as she cut into the brass paperweight, slicing it clean in half. Sparks erupted as twigs rolled across her desk like tumbleweeds.
Sylvie’s eyes narrowed.Not metal … modeling chocolate, painted with gold cocoa butter.
Like a chameleon, the mahogany transformed into glistening marble. The stacks of papers vanished. Measuring cups and a box of kitchen tools shot out of the pen holder. The telephone twisted into a stand mixer.
“Whoa!” Sylvie had seen her mom cook up magical recipes before, but she’d never seen an entire room transform.
Jean pointed to the shelves on the wall behind her. Loads of ingredients were now stacked on top. “Use these supplies to make a French meringue.”
Jean pulled a small bottle out of a drawer.
Sylvie eyed the label.CRIMSONKNOTROOT.
“You’ll need a dash of this to create the visitor’s pass.”
Sylvie nodded.
Every weekend, Sylvie helped her little brother make meringue for their waffle batter.I should be excited. Meringue is easy. But this seems too simple, like finding a hundred-dollar bill glued to the sidewalk.
