“Sounds good.” Georgia eyed the pot of sauce as if she half-expected it to start levitating.
Sylvie took a deep breath. “Redictus miseris,Sylvie Jones.”
The sizzle coming out of the pot fluctuated, turning into a coherent hum. For a moment it almost seemed to be speaking, whispering her name.
Sylvie. Sylvie.
Sylvie stared at it. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I thought—” The sound disappeared as Sylvie drizzled the sauce. “Never mind.”
Sylvie handed the spoon to Georgia. “My mom always says a watched pot never boils. So, after you go, maybe we should just let the magic—”
Boom!
The kitchen gave a violent shudder.
Georgia dropped the spoon. “W-what was that?”
“I don’t know.”
A giant crack spiderwebbed across the ceiling.
It sounded like every tile around them was splitting in two. Sylvie braced herself, in case the walls caved in.Is this normal?
Before Sylvie could find out, the rumbling stopped. The sound of footsteps, moving at a delicate clip, moved closer.
“Someone’s coming,” Georgia whispered.
Sylvie imagined Godard rounding the corner, a look of grave disappointment on her face. But when she looked up, it wasn’t Godard who was standing there.
“Agnes!”
“Oui.”
Her colorful scarves had been replaced with a tall white chef’s hat. An overstuffed suitcase was in one hand and a casserole dish in the other.
“Sorry about the ceiling,” said Sylvie.
“Did Sylvie’s spell work?” asked Georgia.
“Yes.” Agnes inspected the kitchen. “Devils on Horseback really”—she shoved the casserole into the oven—“packs a punch.”
“Are you going somewhere?” asked Sylvie. “Also, what’s up with the casserole?”
Agnes waved her hand at the oven. “Don’t worry, it’s all an essential part of my plan. You see, breaking down old spells is rather rough business, but you’ve done great, Sylvie.”
“Oh good,” said Sylvie. “For a minute I was worried that… . Wait… . Did you sayold spells?I thought it was obstacles.”
Agnes’s lips spread into a thin smile. “Actually, it’s kismet!”
“Kismet? Is that a candy bar, or a plan?” asked Georgia.
Sylvie wasn’t sure, either.
“It means destiny … fate,” said Agnes. “I told you before. You can’t right the wrongs in life without an ally.” She cranked up the oven temperature. “Luckily, I finally found one … you.”
