Georgia dropped the spoon. A billow of sugar filled the air. “Is that why you’re being nice to me?”
Sylvie waved the plume away. “No! Cross my heart and may my toffee recrystallize if I lie. Thatwasthe reason. But it has nothing to do with how I’m acting now … I just realized maybe we aren’t so different after all. Anyway, forget about the phone. I’ll find another way to get what I need.”
Georgia’s eyes narrowed. “How’s that?”
Sylvie picked up the jar of pink food color and dusted some into the fluffy mound in the mixing bowl.How much should I tell Georgia?
“Here’s the deal,” Georgia whispered. “I’ll let you borrow my phone.”
“Really?”
Georgia nodded. “But if you want to use it, you’ve got to tell me what you’re up to. I’m not sticking my neck out like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Not unless I know what I’m getting myself into.”
Images from Godard’s memory floated through Sylvie’s mind. “Godard showed me a memory … and someone did my mom and Flammé dirty. I think I might know who. The Golden Whisk has an online archive. I want to go through all the old articles. Maybe there’s a clue in one of the interviews or in the comment section.” Sylvie picked up a spatula and scooped batter into a piping bag. If she was lucky, maybe she’d learn something new about August Strange too. “People say things online they’d never say in person.”
Georgia nodded. “Truth. Lies. Insults. It’s all easier when you’re hiding behind a wall.”
“So … you’ll help me?”
“You can use it tonight, once everyone’s gone to bed. Agreed?”
Sylvie smiled. “Agreed.”
Georgia picked up a piping bag and scooped in some batter.
Sylvie eyed her up and down. “I know it’s none of my business. But out of curiosity, how did you get it past Kitty, anyway?”
Georgia twisted the top of the piping bag. “Secret Sauce may be clever, especially when you use it on the kittens. But it turns out the spell can’t stretch far. When I arrived, I stuffed my phone into one of the coffin mushrooms in the garden. It may be a perilous place for people, but it’s great for electronics.”
Wish I would’ve thought of that.
Georgia fiddled with one of her cupcake earrings. “Since my parents aren’t Sages, I was motivated to keep my phone … so I’d be prepared for this world. I figured my best shot was to stash it somewhere no one would want to look. Coffin mushrooms seemed like a safe bet.”
Sylvie nodded. “That’s clever.”
“Thanks. One good cry, it spat my phone back out… . Now, help me pipe?”
Sylvie grabbed a sheet pan. Georgia suddenly seemed so different, not the stuck-up know-it-all she’d first met. Agnes’s words floated back.Sometimes the ally you need is what’s least expected.Maybe she was right.
A few minutes later, dozens of pale pink disks were spread evenly across their parchment paper. Georgia glanced at the recipe projected on the lecture board. “It says a matte skin should form before putting them into the oven, but ours still look glossy. Class breaks for lunch soon, and our cookies have to be done by then.”
Sylvie looked around. Kids were now huddled over sheet pans, fanning them with paper as they eyed the ticking clock. “I think everyone’s having the same problem. It’s the humidity.”
Georgia frowned. “Moisture is great for skin, but apparently not for cookies. Now what do we do?”
Sylvie chewed on her lower lip. After Guy’s brief visit to her party, her mom had flicked on the TV so everyone could watch him cooking. Sylvie had been more interested in opening gifts. But now, the memories of that day were coming back.He made macarons with white ganache.Being close to the ocean, Los Angeles always had a tinge of salty moisture hanging in the air. Luckily, Guy had the perfect solution.
“That’s it!”
Georgia stared wide-eyed. “What?”
“Guy Fabre says the best way to dry the shells quickly is to use the cool setting on a blow-dryer.”
“Blow-dryer?” Georgia scratched her head. “Well, I suppose if Guy Fabre does it … I still can’t believe he’s a Sage. I’ve got all his cookbooks at home.” Georgia hesitated. “So, I guess that means the stories I’ve been reading are true.”
“Not all of them,” said Sylvie. “That piece about my mom inThe Daily Leekwas trash.”
“Fair enough. But Fabre … he was your mom’s commis at the Golden Whisk?”
