A chill rippled up beneath Sylvie’s skin. “Definitely talking dolls.”
Hazel moved closer. “If you’re looking for Godard, I know where she is.”
“Where?” Sylvie asked.
“You want information. I want your votes.”
The last thing Sylvie wanted was to give Belinda, or for that matter, creepy Pinocchio her vote. She grabbed Hazel. “Tell me where Godard is, or I’ll turn you into a piece of kindling wood!”
The puppet’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“Want to make a bet,” snapped Sylvie.
“You know, I think I spotted a bonfire near the entrance,” added Georgia.
“Yup!” Sylvie played along. “Couple of kids started it with a bag of FizzleFott’s Fireballs. I bet teachers have been too busy to put it out.”
“F-fine. They’re in the b-back,” peeped Hazel, gesturing to the opening behind her.
Sylvie hopped over the barrier and pulled back the flap of the tent.
Sugar lanterns fluttered about the room, like birds circling in flight.
In the center was a table topped with a large transparent pie. Godard sat at one end and Belinda at the other. There was just one problem.
Georgia squeezed in and gave her eyes a rub. She stared at the person seated in the middle. “Am I seeing double?”
“If you are, so am I,” said Sylvie. “There are two Godards.”
The Doppelgänger
SYLVIE EYED THE TWO WOMEN, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHICHone was the real Godard.
One was bickering with Belinda. The other was staring at a slice of half-eaten pie.
Sylvie stepped deeper into the tent, pulling Georgia along with her. “Sorry to interrupt.”
The three faces looked up.
“What aretheydoing here?” asked Belinda.
Sylvie’s gaze traveled between the doppelgängers.What’s going on? More veiled lady spells?“I need to speak to the headmistress.”
The woman with the slice of pie looked up. “Sorry, Sylvie dear. I haven’t finished reading. You’ll have to wait.”
“But it’s urg—”
“Shh!” Godard traced a line in the air above the trail of crumbs.
Sylvie really didn’t want to tell Godard what had happened in front of Belinda. But this couldn’t wait. She tried deciding—on a scale of one to ten—how rude it would be to interrupt again.Probably no worse than a five.“Excuse me … Madame Godard?”
“We don’t need that stupid pie. I’m telling you Flora is cheating,” interrupted Belinda.
Flora?Sylvie stared at the doppelgänger who was now glaring at Belinda.
“I wasn’t cheating! The contest rules are clear. Spells may include a mother sauce … and that’s exactly what I used.”
Sylvie eyed her.It’s … Flora?
