The Mysterious Lost Child (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 2)

by Sarah Noffke

  Chef Ash chuckled good-naturedly and indicated her pot. “Don’t worry. You seem to have an instinct for cooking, which makes me think you’ll have it for match-making. The skills are complementary.”

  When Chef Ash had moved onto supervise a different workstation, Paris added the other two magical spices and used a spell to compress the cooking time. She’d read about something similar in one of her books and figured she could adapt it for cooking. The onions instantly caramelized and the tomatoes darkened, making her think that it had worked. The spices and smell of jalapeños filled the air.

  Since Paris didn’t want to force relationships but rather create ideal circumstances for two people to fall in love, she decided that her Mexican beef chili would engender warm feelings. She hoped it would help endear a Cinderella and Prince Charming to one another if they were compatible. Kind of like how warm cider made someone feel comforted and a little euphoric.

  Realizing that she’d forgotten to grab fresh cilantro and sharp cheddar cheese from the refrigerator, Paris went back to the pantry area. Uncle John always topped his chili with tons of cilantro and cheese, saying that it was the finishing touches that made a dish perfect.

  Paris caught herself humming again when she ducked back out of the refrigerator. However, she instantly halted at the sights in the kitchen. In the short time that she’d disappeared to the back, the scene around the classroom had dramatically changed. Students were yelling at one another, throwing utensils, and holding their fists in the air. It appeared that the peaceful students of Happily Ever After College were moments from tearing each other into pieces.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I can’t stand you!” Becky Montgomery yelled at the top of her lungs. She plunged her hand into a bowl of chopped cabbage and threw it at Penny Pullman, covering her long stringy hair with the shreds of vegetables.

  “I’m so mad!” someone else screamed, throwing her arm wide and pushing everything off her workstation, making a racket as all the bowls and supplies tumbled to the floor.

  Around the classroom, most were shouting phrases of anger and throwing things at one another. It quickly turned into a food fight and chaos.

  Chef Ash, who had ducked out of the classroom for a moment, rushed back in at the commotion. His eyes were filled with urgency as he glanced around frantically. His gaze fell on Paris’ pot where green smoke wafted from her chili.

  “Paris!” he yelled while sprinting over and retrieving his whisk from the center workstation. He twirled it, and the lid lifted into the air and clamped down on the pot, sealing in the fumes.

  Paris dropped the ingredients in her arms and rushed over, looking around and wondering what she could do.

  “Hold your nose and clear the smell in the air,” Chef Ash urged, picking up the boiling pot of chili and running for the door.

  Paris pinched her nose and turned, briefly taking in the chaos still ensuing. Various sauces or other ingredients covered most of the students. They were yelling and barking threats at each other.

  Not hesitating, Paris lifted her finger and used a siphoning spell. She didn’t know where it came from, not having learned it from anywhere. Much like cooking, the spell came to her through what felt like instinct.

  The green smoke in the air evaporated almost all at once, and whatever was making Paris’ eyes burn and water dissipated. She kept her nose plugged and breathed through her mouth.

  Around the room, the students all paused, looking around disoriented as if trying to figure out how curry had covered them or why they had chopped celery in their hair.

  Some began helping others to pick themselves up from the floor while others simply shook their heads and blinked around in continued confusion.

  Chef Ash rushed back into the demo kitchen, his hands empty, having gotten rid of the pot of chili somehow. He glanced around the room, relief filling his face.

  Pulling the whisk from his apron, he forced a smile to his face. “Well, you all are dismissed for the remainder of the class. We will try this again tomorrow with a few more guidelines.” He gave Paris an amused look. She was relieved he didn’t appear to be angry at her. He twirled his whisk, and most of the mess from the food fights disappeared, making the large kitchen appear clean once more. “Go ahead and go get yourselves cleaned up for dinner. I dare say, you all have probably worked up an appetite after that.”

  Paris knew better than to follow the other students out. Instead, she waited until they’d all left and Chef Ash turned to face her directly, an impressed expression on his face.

  “Well, if I knew that you were going to employ advanced spells on your creation, I would have supervised you a little more.” He shook his head and pulled the pencil from behind his ear. “Actually, if I knew you knew advanced spells, I would have given you a whole different assignment.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What did I do?” Paris looked around the classroom as if she’d find evidence of the catastrophe, although Chef Ash had cleaned it all up with a flick of his wrist.

  “The best I can tell, you combined a quick-cooking spell with three powerful magical spices,” he explained, and his eyes bulged. “Oh, and your use of sizzling aromatic vegetables like onions and jalapeños simply magnified things, carrying the intoxicating spell throughout the classroom.”

  “Quick-cooking spell?” Paris asked. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to back up and explain this to me like a fae who is drunk.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “Sure thing. I get it. This is all very new to you, and no one expected those results. Honestly, I’ve been doing this for a few dozen years and haven’t seen students perform and get results like that in…well, ever.”

  Paris didn’t know whether to laugh or run. She decided to do neither.

  “You see,” Chef Ash continued, sensing Paris’ nervousness and trying to put her at ease, “your spice combination was probably good. I think using them in chili was a brilliant idea, using all of their robust strengths to the dish’s advantage. However, I never would have dreamed you knew a quick-cooking spell. We don’t teach it here since it has mixed results, as you’ve seen.”

  “I didn’t really know it,” Paris admitted. “But you said that cooking was instinct and I sort of made it up, thinking of the quick-growing spell I read about in gardening.”

  He nodded as if this suddenly made sense. “That’s pretty impressive. Most fairies wouldn’t take a lesson from one class and apply it to another. Not to mention the mechanics of the spell would have to be quite different.” Chef Ash tapped the pencil on the side of his head. “This must be the magician part of your brain piecing together things we fairies don’t see.”

  She shrugged, her ears suddenly hot. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry that I caused a problem.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. “Problem? That was the most excitement I’ve had…well, since you threw the perfect apple pie you made at Shannon Butcher. Still, no harm, no foul. You simply did what you thought was right. No one was hurt, and you learned a good lesson from it.”

  “Don’t try and speed up my Uncle John’s chili recipe,” she guessed.

  “Maybe,” he stated. “Although I see what you were going for and I applaud the effort. A chili needs a good long time to get the flavors developed so your instinct there was correct. However, there are a few parts of magical cooking you have to understand. First off, the reason we don’t teach quick-cooking is that it’s hard to control the outcome.”

  Paris sighed. “Hemingway told me something similar when I used the spell for gardening.”

  “It’s important to remember, but it doesn’t mean it’s off-limits,” he said sensitively. “The problem with it in this case is that it heightened the effects of all the spices, making those who ate the dish ‘heated up’ if you will.”

  “But no one ate the chili,” she corrected.

  He smiled. “That’s the other piece to this perfect storm you created. Your use of aromatic vegetab
les like onions, garlic, and jalapenos made it so no one had to eat the dish. Once the odor hit the air, all those who smelled it suddenly had heightened emotions—making them angry.”

  Paris slumped. “I’m sorry that I messed up. I won’t use unapproved spells without asking in the future.”

  Chef Ash waved her off. “Don’t be silly. You gave me a sorely needed challenge. Really there was no damage done. I think you show a lot of promise, not only as a chef but as a fairy godmother.”

  Paris couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for herself. “Yeah, but that’s the thing. I’m not a fairy. Not wholly.”

  “You’re not.” He grinned. “I’ve never met a fairy who did what you did today with little instruction. I look forward to seeing what you create next, Paris Beaufont. You’re full of surprises, and I firmly believe that’s a good thing. But the person who has to believe that most is you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Why is it that you showed up and now pies and all sorts of other food are being launched at people’s faces?” Hemingway asked Paris beside her at the dinner table.

  “I think food fights have long been overdue,” Christine joked. Her eyes flicked up to meet Chef Ash’s gaze, and an embarrassed expression crossed her face. “Not that your food should be wasted and launched at people’s faces.”

  The good-natured chef laughed. “Food is an expression of art. I’m not offended if people throw my banana cream pies around as long as it’s not because they tasted so bad that they had to get rid of it.”

  Christine appeared relieved. “That was the most fun class we’ve ever had, even though it took me forever to get that marinade out of my hair. Still, it was worth it when I threw that tomato at the back of Becky’s head.”

  “You’re not supposed to hit someone with their back turned.” Hemingway mock-scolded her, although a smile hid behind his eyes.

  “Yeah, because Becky doesn’t take a cheap shot every chance she gets.” Christine pursed her lips. “I can’t be responsible for what I did. I was under a spell. Also, Becky had thrown a pile of cabbage at Penny’s face. At least I only hit her in the back with a plump tomato.”

  “Yeah, thanks for helping,” Penny said on the other side of Christine. “Becky wasn’t going to stop, it seemed.”

  “Maybe I’m a little offended that you all threw my fresh-farmed vegetables at each other.” Hemingway pouted, but Paris could see that he didn’t really mean it.

  “Are you?” Christine fired back.

  Hemingway laughed. “Not in the least. As you said, you all were spelled.”

  “Quite the spell.” Christine glanced at Paris, taking a bite of her shepherd’s pie. “You have to teach me how to do that.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Chef Ash cut in. “Besides, I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  “Because Paris is using a hybrid of fairy and magician magic,” Hemingway guessed while tearing into a flaky biscuit.

  Chef Ash nodded. “Yes. I suspect she has a greater range of spells she can perform as well as not needing an instrument for directing certain magic.”

  “Man, you’re so lucky,” Christine groaned. “I want to be you and have extra powers.”

  “And be a total freak who everyone stares at and whispers about, with a mysterious past and strange parents,” Paris teased, not offended by her friend’s comments.

  “Yeah, exactly,” Christine answered. “No one follows my Instagram but just think if I was this cool badass halfling. Then I could get endorsement deals and free gear.”

  The group all laughed. Paris had learned that much unlike most of those at Happily Ever After College, Christine wasn’t a cookie-cutter goody-good. Her parents had wanted her to attend and become a fairy godmother because it was a family tradition. That’s why most were there, rather than because they wanted to be fairy godmothers. Paris couldn’t blame them since signing on to look like an older woman when one was a young fairy wasn’t that appealing to most.

  Still, most of those who attended the college had gained entrance because they had the proper courteous disposition and tendency to follow the rules. Everyone knew that the rebels and bad kids went to Tooth Fairy College. However, because Christine was crafty, she’d figured out how to pass the personality part of the entrance exam, making her parents happy, but she had color and an edgy side to her that Paris appreciated.

  “I don’t think that it’s all fun and games being a halfling, even if Paris has some extra powers,” Chef Ash offered thoughtfully, giving her a caring look.

  She sighed and decided not to put on the mask in front of her friends. “I’ll be fine. I just want to go and find some answers.”

  “When?” Hemingway asked at once, urgency in his gaze.

  Paris shrugged, pushing her peas around on the plate. “I’m going to go meet with my uncle tonight. That’s where I have to start. He did raise me after all.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” he offered, concern evident in his blue eyes.

  She shook her head. “No, I should be fine. I mean, I lived on Roya Lane all my life. I think I simply need to be careful out there in the world.” Paris pointed at the bank of windows, indicating the vast world unprotected by portal magic.

  Hemingway didn’t appear confident about this as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, if you change your mind…”

  “That’s so crazy that you have magician parents,” Christine thankfully cut in, relieving Paris of Hemingway’s pleading gaze. “Like, how two magicians made a fairy is cramping my brain.”

  “Science could be involved,” Chef Ash offered.

  “Or magic,” Hemingway supplied.

  “Maybe your parents used an egg donor,” Penny said sheepishly, looking down at her plate at once when everyone glanced at her. “I mean, that’s probably not what happened. That’s a dumb idea.”

  “Not at all,” Chef Ash corrected. “I mean, I don’t know how the science could work, but it is always making progress. It would involve complex magic, but they could have used a fairy egg, and the magician’s well, you know…”

  “Sperm,” Christine supplied with an abrupt laugh. “It’s great that we’re pondering Paris’ mysterious conception.”

  Paris pushed her plate away, suddenly not at all hungry. “Yeah, it’s freaking awesome.”

  Christine grinned at her. “I’m sure you’ll get some answers. Then you have to tell me right away.”

  “If she wants to,” Hemingway corrected, giving Paris a thoughtful expression. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. This is your business.”

  “Oh, she’ll want to tell someone, and I’m a great listener,” Christine remarked.

  “Since when?” Chef Ash teased. “Can you start practicing this great listening in class?”

  Christine shook her head. “You know, I think I want to freeze a bunch of my eggs. Like, a ton of them.”

  “Why?” Penny asked. “In case you want to have kids later?”

  Christine shook her head. “No, I’d donate all of them.”

  “Because?” Paris drew out the word, sensing this was going somewhere unexpected.

  Christine sat back with a mischievous grin on her face. “No, I love the idea of a bunch of jerks like me populating the globe.”

  The group laughed, gaining attention from others at the long table where most of the students were having polite conversations and not bursting out in laughter.

  “I should have guessed that it wasn’t for altruistic reasons.” Hemingway pushed back from the table.

  “You really should have.” Christine pointed at something between her and Paris. “What’s this?”

  She glanced down at her elbow, finding a small silk pouch. Around the drawstring was a tag that said: “For Paris.”

  Paris frowned and looked between her friend and the pouch several times, at a loss for words momentarily. “I don’t know. Where did it come from?”

  Christine shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t thi
nk it was there a moment ago.”

  Even though everyone watched her and none of them looked close to giving her privacy, Paris opened the pouch. Inside, her fingers dug around until she found a small coin. When she pulled it out, she found that most of the engravings were worn, making them difficult to decipher.

  “It’s very old,” Chef Ash offered.

  “What is it?” Penny questioned.

  Paris turned it over in her fingers, not understanding why she’d receive such an object. It was silver and crudely constructed. The coin was definitely old. “I don’t know.”

  “May I?” Hemingway held out his hand.

  Paris relinquished it to him, wanting information on the object.

  “I think it might be…” His gaze drifted up to Chef Ash. “Do you think that maybe…”

  Without answering the cut-off sentences, Chef Ash extended his arm, opening his palm. Hemingway placed the coin in his hand.

  Chef Ash studied the coin, and a smile lit up his eyes. “Yeah, this seems like her kind of work.”

  “What?” Paris questioned. “Whose? What is it?”

  “It’s hard to know for certain,” Chef Ash began while handing the coin back to Paris, “but this seems like Mae Ling’s handiwork.”

  Paris looked down the table but didn’t find the fairy godmother in her usual spot. She glanced back at the coin. “The coin is her handiwork? I don’t understand.”

  Hemingway shook his head. “No, it’s been enchanted. I think that it’s a protective charm.” He pointed to the coin. “If I were you, I’d have that on your person when you leave Happily Ever After on your investigations.”

  Paris let out a breath, grateful for the help and the information and also wishing that mystery didn’t cloak everything in her life. Still, she slipped the protective charm into her pocket, feeling more secure already by having it with her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Suddenly, standing outside the flat where Paris had grown up most of her life felt strange. Roya Lane was settling down for the night. The shops had closed, and the stragglers were finding their way to pubs or bars or other places that would take them in away from the cold London air.