A moment later, a silver pass—with the Brindille twigs embossed on it—formed in their place.
Her mom gave her arm a squeeze. “Good job, Sylvie.”
Sylvie scooped up the ticket and clenched it in her hand.I did it!A feeling was rising inside her, like a bud breaking through frozen ground. Whatever it takes. I have to finish top of my class and get my Blade.Her future depended on it. The ticket pressed into her palm, reminding Sylvie of everything she stood to lose—or gain.
Secret Sauce
JEAN RESTED A HAND ON AN ENORMOUS REFRIGERATOR DOOR. “It’s in there?” asked Sylvie. She’d imagined Brindille high on a hill, with fountains that spewed chocolate milk—not wedged between crates of lettuce.
Jean lifted the handle and tugged it open. “We don’t leave magic out for the world to see.”
A gust of cold air rushed past.
Sylvie peered inside, half-expecting the school to burst out, like a clown popping out of a box.
“Follow the red thermostat light to the back,” said Jean. “Make sure you hold your pass up. The light will scan you through.”
Sylvie and her mom shuffled forward. Jean closed the door behind them.
Something cold and congealed brushed across Sylvie’s fingers.
“What feels like bloated worms?” Sylvie pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flicked on its light. She tried not to gag. “Cooked okra. Gross.”
“I’ve never liked the stuff either,” said Sylvie’s mom. “In the South, that’s practically a sin. Speaking of which, cell phones aren’t allowed at Brindille, so you better give me yours.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Her mom pointed toward the wall. “There’s the thermostat light.”
Sylvie eyed the glow, high above her head.
Her mom slid a crate over. “A few years ago, a student posted a cooking video on Sagebook that went viral. It made its way all over the regular web. The CCS had to make thousands of gallons of Meng Po.”
“The soup of forgetting?”
Her mom nodded. “It wasn’t easy, trying to convince so many Scullery they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. After that, the CCS prohibited all cell phones in schools.”
Sylvie stepped up and stretched toward the light. “But how am I supposed to call Dad, or you?”
Her mom rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small box.A Chenery’s Communication Cwtch.
Sylvie held the gleaming red-and-gold box in her hand. A sphere of isomalt sugar was nestled inside. “They’re used to capture and store things.”
Her mom nodded. “Mostly messages. But it’s only good for one use, so keep it for emergencies.”
“But I’ve never sent a message by cwtch before,” said Sylvie.
“Don’t worry. It comes with instructions.” Her mom pulled her Blade out of its glass case and lifted it toward the light. “My turn.”
Sylvie stepped down, quickly slipping the cwtch and cell phone into her backpack while her mom wasn’t looking. She gave herself a mental high five. Her phone would be useful. People were always loose-lipped on Sagebook.Maybe I can get some more information on the Apple of Discord?
The racks around Sylvie started to shake.
The pan of okra tumbled to the floor. Sylvie stepped back just as the refrigerator vanished.
The wordsBRINDILLESCHOOL OFCULINARYARTS& MAGICtwisted through the metal archway in front of her. Beyond it, golden lights stretched overhead like a flock of lightning bugs.
A woman with frizzy gray hair and startled eyes appeared.
