by Erin Johnson
But I couldn’t answer. Not yet. A sickening thought crept into my mind. With my stomach twisted in a knot, I reached forward and grasped the crumbling, scorched pages of my recipe book. “No.” Tears poured down my face. I couldn’t stop them. I gulped on a sob. As I pulled the book out, it disintegrated into ash.
“Why did you do this?” I wheeled on Iggy.
He frowned at me. “I did nothing, you dolt. You shoved that log with half my flames onto the shelf with your book. Now I’m at half power, and you have no recipes. This is all you.”
I wanted to strangle Iggy, but having s’mores for hands probably wouldn’t help me any. Instead I buried my face in my hands and cried. Maple and Rhonda sandwiched me.
“It’s-it’s just….” I gulped and cried more snot onto Rhonda’s overalls. “My apartment back home burned down, but I saved my recipes. Now I’ve burned them up, too. I have nothing left.”
Maple hugged me tighter from behind and Rhonda took me by the shoulders, forcing me to look at her with blurry, swollen eyes.
“Sometimes, you have to just let it go, mate. Maybe you had to lose it all to get something new, right? And sobbing on the ground isn’t going to help you win this, or your friend for that matter.” Her dark eyes darted to Maple. A stab of worry pricked through my self-pity. Still sniffling, I turned to Maple.
“She’s right. Thank you, but you have to get back to your bake.”
“It’s just a stupid bake, are you okay?” Maple’s worried blue eyes searched my face.
I managed a smile. “It’s not a stupid bake. You’ve got him to beat.”
We all turned to see Glenn mosey over to Hank. Glenn popped a piece of Hank’s chocolate into his mouth, oblivious to Hank’s dark glare. “Mine are all in the oven, made pretty quick work of it, if I do say so meself.” He wobbled his head side to side, very pleased with himself, and ate another piece.
Hank’s dark eyes flashed. “Unhand my chocolate.”
Glenn looked up, wide-eyed, then raised his chocolate-covered palms in surrender. “Hey, don’t let me distract you.” He sucked chocolate off a fingertip and turned to Bern. “What’s cookin’, Bern, my man?”
Maple turned to me and rolled her eyes. “I’ll go, but only if you’re all right.”
Still feeling shaky, I let Maple and Rhonda help me to my feet. How I wished I had a station further away from the bleachers. But the crowd gave me a round of applause, and with burning cheeks, I waved Rhonda and Maple off, and got back to it.
I just needed to focus on this moment, this task. Sure, I didn’t have any recipes, but I couldn’t use them today anyway, and when it came to tomorrow, if I made it that far, I’d figure it out then. I brushed some loose tendrils of hair behind my ears and refocused.
I got my chocolate and tuile mixtures made with Maple’s help—with no refrigerators, she chilled the bowls with a “frigus” spell for me.
“You know, you should be able to do this on your own.”
I glanced behind me. Hank raised a thick brow.
“There aren’t any rules about helping your friends out.” Were there?
“Maybe not—” He blew his wavy hair out of his eyes as he directed his tuile mixture with his hands. It spooned itself into just the right oval shapes. “—but you shouldn’t need so much help.”
I turned, hands on hips. “And what does it matter to you? You’re not exactly falling all over yourself to help me. I don’t see why it’d put you out.”
He cleared his throat, eyes on his task. “This is a competition. It should be fair. If I win, I want to do it fairly. You should too.”
I shook my bangs out of my eyes. “Well, next time you want to compete in a human baking competition without magic, then you can talk to me about fair.”
He glanced up briefly and our eyes met. For just a moment, his look changed, like it had the other night. His eyes looked blue, his nose straight. I felt a jolt of energy, heady and intoxicating. I swayed on my feet and blinked.
Just as quickly, the feeling passed and his appearance looked normal, except for the startled expression in his eyes. He watched me, lips slightly parted, until I turned back around and resumed my baking. What was that?
Baking, Imogen. Back to baking.
I worked hard for the next hour, barely stopping to breathe. Rhonda and Francis helped me with pouring out the tuile shapes without the molds I would have used at home—magic made them unnecessary. Unless you possessed magic but had no idea how to use it, like me.
Between the heat of the fires and the sweat I worked up from dashing back and forth from the oven to the worktop, molding the tuiles over rolling pins and around wooden spoon handles to shape them before they cooled, I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought the day chilly.
When I heard a whine of pain behind me, I didn’t have to turn to know where it came from. I rolled my eyes and glanced over my shoulder. Pritney made her way back to Nate, sucking a finger a little too deeply into her mouth. Uh, stop deep throating your finger, Pritney. She pulled it out slowly in front of him. Gross.
“Burned it.” She presented her finger to the medic.
I glanced to her tabletop. As her hot tuiles were magically molding themselves around cones and into folded bowl shapes, I found that unlikely. I, however, had burnt every single finger during the process of molding the hot wafers.
Nate tended to her imaginary wounds with care. What a patient guy. I would’ve just sent her right back for wasting my time. I cocked my head to the side. Then again, it probably didn’t hurt that she looked like a Swedish supermodel. I hissed and sucked on a burned fingertip as I finished shaping my last few tuiles.
“Hey, Imogen, right?”
I jumped, and found Nate, the hot medic, standing right beside me. His dark, almond-shaped eyes twinkled. I grinned back at him, stunned by the whiteness of his smile against his darkly tanned skin. I struggled to form words. “H-hey.”
He swallowed and nodded at my tuiles. “Thought you could use this.” He set a little jar down on my tabletop and opened the lid, setting it to the side. “It’ll help with the burns.”
I eyed the glowing, milky liquid dubiously.
“Here, let me show you.” He gently took my left hand in both of his, his right hand cupping my wrist and his left cradling my fingers. He lowered my fingertips into the liquid. A tingling cold spread up my fingers, and I jumped. I had to laugh.
“Sorry, I’m a little on edge right now. That feels good though. You’re so cool— I mean, it’s so cool.” I’m such an idiot.
I didn’t know where to look. It’d be odd if I just kept staring into his beautiful face, wouldn’t it? With the cooling liquid spreading chills all over me, I leaned closer to the warmth of him. His eyebrows lifted, and I realized that yep, I’d been staring too long. I dragged my eyes back to the jar. That seemed safe to look at. Would it cool my burning cheeks and neck?
“That’s a lot better, thank you.”
He nodded and released my hand. I dipped my other fingertips in, though I racked my brain for some reason to need his help with the second hand.
Afterward, he scooped up the jar. “I’d leave it with you, but it’s the only one I have. If you need more later, I’m right back there.” He gave me another megawatt smile and moved to the back. I watched him go, until I caught Hank glaring at me and turned back to my baking.
While the target-patterned tuiles cooled over the rolling pin, I raced against the hourglass to dip the rolled tuiles into the melted Rico chocolate. Using my last two minutes, I spooned dollops of chocolate mousse onto the potato-chip-shaped desserts, finishing just as the last grains of sand ran out.
As I carried my platter to the front table the other bakes floated past me. I noticed a plate of cracked tuiles next to a pile of crumbs. Oh no, whose was that? I looked around and saw Rhonda patting Lillian on the back.
The older woman walked with hands on her hips, bony elbows wide. “Amateur mistake. Tried to get too fancy.” She shook her wild
gray mop of hair. “Just my style though, you know. People see me, they think elegant, they think cutting edge, they think flashy.”
I bit my lip. But when Lillian burst into cackling laughter, I chuckled with her. At least she had a good sense of humor. I deposited my plate.
“What happened?” I whispered to Maple, when she came to stand beside me.
She shook her head. “I guess she overdid it when she cast her shaping spell, and the cookies kept folding and twisting even after they hardened, so they broke.” Maple sighed. “It’s a shame. She tried spelling them back together, but the tuiles are so delicate, they just—”
“Crumbled,” I finished. My stomach tightened for her. Lillian was a great baker, she deserved to stay in. But I guessed even the best had bad days. I was just hoping for a good day.
As it turned out, my tuiles weren’t great—I sat squarely at the bottom of the pack—but Lillian’s ambition cost her her place in the competition, and she was voted out by the judges. When it came my turn to say goodbye, I gave her a tight hug.
“You’re an amazing baker.” I pulled my lips to the side, attempting a smile despite the pit in my stomach. “I’m going to miss you.”
Lillian threw her hair back. “Course you will, I was the life of the party.” She winked.
I sighed. “If it’s any comfort, I burned my own recipes to bits.”
She barked out a laugh. “You’re nearly as disaster prone as I am.”
I grinned back at her.
Maple and I tromped back to the big house, side by side. I’d made it through day two. How had I lasted this long? And would I make it through whatever challenge the next day had in store?
That night, we ate dinner on the lawn, me in my usual spot between Maple and Hank. After last night it had almost become like assigned seating. And as usual, the tall guy sat close, but hardly spoke, so I chatted with Maple.
“Well, I’d better turn in.” I pulled at my unicorn shirt, covered in stains. “I’ve got to wash this in the bathroom and then hang out in my room while I wait for my clothes to dry.”
Hank’s fork clattered against his plate.
Maple grimaced. “I’m sorry I can’t help.” She’d tried to lend me some of her clothes, but she was a good three inches shorter and a full size smaller than me. And she’d told me clothes, like food, couldn’t be magicked from nothing. Her family was going through a hard time and she didn’t have spare thread and fabric to magically whip me anything up.
“No worries. Jeans and this T-shirt are sort of my new uniform.” I grinned. It was kind of funny, except I usually wasn’t really a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. Left to my own devices, it would’ve been dresses, preferably with pockets. It really didn’t feel like me, but hey, maybe this was part of my self-reinvention.
I washed my clothes in the bathroom and read some of the books I’d borrowed from the library in my room that night, snuggled in my sleeping alcove. Maple knocked on the wall a few hours later and called, “Good night.”
I yelled back through the wall, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
After a long pause she returned, “I’m going to assume that’s a human thing and not a threat.”
16
A Sign
In the morning, I opened my door and just outside in the hall sat a package wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a navy-blue ribbon. A flurry of surprise and pleasure swept over me. Who didn’t love presents?
I looked up and down the hall and saw no one. I pulled the package inside, lifted the small white card from under the wrapping, and read “Imogen” scrawled in messy black ink.
Intrigued, I pulled on the ribbon and the entire package sprang open, like it’d been spring-loaded. I shrieked and stumbled backward, crashing into my desk. When I opened my eyes and lowered my hands, my jaw dropped open in surprise. Clothes floated about the room, magically suspended in the air as if on hangers.
“What…?” I couldn’t find the words as I moved through them, running my fingers over them. A pink sweater with a white collar, gray pleated skirt, a navy blue-and-gold peter pan collared dress. And jackets, flats, slippers, pumps, tights, jewelry, boots, pajamas, and a velvety pink robe. I giggled, pressing my hands to my mouth.
I banged on the wall I shared with Maple and then took another spin through the magically floating clothes. How beautiful, and how me. They all looked like they’d be exactly my size.
Maple’s door scraped open and she shuffled in through my open door, scratching her blond mess of hair. I threw my arms around her, twirling her in a circle with me.
“Whoa!”
I pulled back and threw an arm out. “You are the best friend in the world. How did you do this?”
Maple gaped as she turned slowly around the room. “Where did these come from?”
I grinned and punched her shoulder. “Don’t play coy.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I definitely did not do this.” She reached up and lightly touched the hem of one of the dresses. “This is nice stuff. Like, really nice, Imogen. I don’t have one dress like this, much less a whole wardrobe.”
Now I frowned. My arms dropped to my sides. “Who else could have sent this? Who else would have? And it’s my size and style, too.” I thought about everyone I’d met. “Ah, I bet it was Amelia. She probably wanted me to look more presentable with the royalty in the crowd.”
Maple frowned at a hovering dress. “She went all out.”
That morning I sat in the blue-and-gold dress with its puffed sleeves and full skirt. I felt like a princess. Next to me, Hank worked at his pancakes, though I could feel his eyes dart over to me again and again. Finally, I set my plate on my lap and asked in a huff. “Yes? Do you have something to say?”
He bit back a grin. “No. Just… nice dress.”
I squinted at him. Something else hid just behind that smile, but I couldn’t work out what exactly. Finally, I sighed and returned to eating. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He chuckled. “You need to learn to take a compliment.”
“You need to learn to give one.”
He burst out in a laugh, and I couldn’t help but grin. He had a nice laugh, deep and real. But then he clammed up again, and after a few minutes of silence, uncomfortable just because I couldn’t stop being aware of his presence, I turned to Maple to chat.
That day in the tent passed in a whirlwind. My blue quill jotted down notes in the blank journal I’d found in my room. My new recipe book. I made apple and berry tarts, wrapped so that the dough looked like roses. Maybe it was the confidence of a new wardrobe, but I actually felt on top of it.
With my tarts baking, I put ingredients back in the pantry. When I passed by Nate stationed in the medic’s corner, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to catch his eye or not, so I kept darting glances between him and my feet.
“Imogen.”
“Oh, Nate. Didn’t see you there.” I smiled and tried not to trip over myself.
“How’s your finger?” He flashed me that smile that oozed bad-boy charm. Maybe not bad boy, maybe just “I’m gorgeous, and I know it.”
“I’ve got ten of them.” Why would I say that? But he chuckled, actually chuckled, at something I’d said. Play it cool, Imogen. I grinned back.
“Once you put that away, why don’t you let me take a look, make sure it’s healing properly.”
“All right.” I walked as calmly as I could into the pantry, set down the jars of sugar and flour in my hands, then scrunched up my nose and wiggled around in a little happy dance. Calmly, I walked back out and presented my completely fine hand to him.
He turned it over, and ran his thumb down the length of my palm. My legs turned to jelly. He stared at it, though I had no burn marks or anything out of place except for a little cinnamon-sugar glaze on my fingers.
Nate raised his dark eyes to mine, lifting my hand closer to his face. “No burns, but you’ve got a little something there.” He slid a finger up to the spot with the glaze. L
ick it off. The thought came out like a shout in my brain and I worried I’d said it out loud. Oh God, I didn’t, did I?
He slowly, slowly released my hand. Oh, please hold it forever. I pressed my cheek to my hand, the one he’d just been holding, savoring the warmth he’d left behind. I snapped out of it, shaking my head.
“Sorry, just a little tired, I guess. I’m gonna—” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder to my station and backpedaled, keeping my eyes on his beautiful face for as long as possible. I was almost as bad as Pritney.
Speak of the devil… literally. She stared me down, her thin lips pulled back in a sneer. Er, awkward. I made a detour to Maple’s station, which smelled of chocolate and sugar—basically heaven.
She didn’t look up from frantically smearing a thick white frosting on round orange cookies. “I told you, Glenn, I’m too busy right now to— Oh, Imogen.” She glanced up and sighed when she saw it was me.
I chuckled. “Glenn giving you a hard time?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just being Glenn.” I followed her gaze to find him standing beside Wool. The tall man had his fire weaving up and down his arms, like he’d had on the first day, and even that and his dark glare wasn’t enough to put Glenn off.
Glenn’s loud voice carried over the din of the crowd, the clank of spoons and the crash of metal baking pans. “You know, those are quite good for what they are, though not a traditional cookie.” He poked at one of Wool’s cooling bakes.
The beautiful dark brown gingerbread hands had been decorated with a henna-like swirl of lace and designs. Wool’s dark eyes flashed and his lip pulled back. Glenn continued, undeterred. “But when I think cookie, real cookie you know, I think chocolate chip, sugar cookie, shortbread, oatmeal, peanut butter....”
I turned to Maple, drowning him out. “He’s the worst. What can I help you with?”
She handed me a thin spatula, and I helped her frost cookies. I’d actually gotten my tarts in the oven early, so it felt nice to be able to help Maple with something for once. She’d already helped me more times than I could count. Eyes still on her work, Maple said, “Still no Prince Harry. Did you notice?”