Christelle moved on to speak with the next contestant, Henry. But the idea that Dermott was under a spell, or drugged, or both was something she was burning to investigate. The competition wouldn’t be fair otherwise. Not that she thought anyone was going to be overly sympathetic. Dermott was not especially likable. Plus, Daegal and the crew would likely say it would make for good TV, not that Christelle would know. She was finding it hard to know what was right and what was wrong in this strange world; the world of TV that is.
While her thoughts meandered, Christelle had crossed over to Henry, who was furiously cooking. Furiously in both sense of the word – he was both frantically putting ingredients together, as well as fuming with rage.
“Err, Henry, how’s it going?” Christelle asked, timidly.
Henry didn’t even look at her, and he didn’t stop throwing spices into a pan. The whole thing smelled great, but Christelle knew that just because something smelled good didn’t mean it would taste good.
“It’s going fine,” said Henry through clenched teeth. “Just fine. Are you going to be staying here for long? It’s just that I’ve got a lot to do, as you might have noticed.”
Christelle was taken aback, even though she had been expecting Henry to be rude to her. Still, it wasn’t nice when it happened.
“I’ll be staying to chat for a little while, Henry,” she said. “I want to make sure you’re okay and you’re getting on well in the competition.”
“Pah!” said Henry, his cheeks burning red. “Getting on well? I’d be getting on better if the rules didn’t keep changing.”
“Oh, you mean the new contestant?”
“I do mean the new contestant.” Henry shot Alice a scathing look, although the witch was too interested in what she was doing to notice.
“The new contestant who has no place here. The whole point of a competition like this is to find a worthy winner from those who were deemed good enough to part of the process from the beginning. Contestants get eliminated – literally, in this case, although that’s not to say it’s any different from usual – and then one wins. Keep adding more to the mix and we’ll never get anywhere. We’ll never get out of here.”
Ah. Christelle felt she was getting somewhere. Since Henry had been the intended victim of the murder the last time the contestants were all together, he must have felt on edge, as though he might still be in danger. Past trauma could cause a lot of damage, and if that’s what was happening with Henry then of course he would be snappy and rude. More so than usual, that was. It was no wonder he was tense about the potential for the show to run on longer.
“You don’t need to worry about that, Henry,” said Christelle. “It’s still only going to be a four episode show.” She placed a comforting hand on Henry’s arm. It didn’t work, and he brushed her away quickly.
“I’m not worried about that,” said Henry. “I just don’t think it’s fair to change the rules halfway through.”
Christelle was tempted to agree with the shapeshifter, but she couldn’t say so on camera. She completely changed the subject, turning to the subject of Henry’s dish.
“This smells amazing, Henry,” she said. “I wish I could try some!”
“At least you’d be able to taste it,” said Henry quickly, before biting his lip to stop the flow of any more words.
He rubbed the big red mark on his head where Mona’s spoon had hit him.
“I don’t understand,” said Christelle.
“No, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Look, just let me cook, would you? I’m not in the mood to chat.”
That much was clear. Christelle backed away and walked toward the judges. Their expressions, though varied, conveyed an overall air of misery much the same as Christelle felt. There was certainly a theme on set today.
“Well, I’ve spoken to everyone, I’ve seen what they’re doing, and I must say some of the concoctions look amazing. Some... less so. But I can’t influence the judging. All I can say is that some are definitely closer to elimination this week than they were last week.”
Joachim cleared his throat and a mask of charm settled over his face.
“Indeed. When it comes to being a professional chef, it’s not just about being able to cook – you need to be able to stay calm under pressure too. And that’s where a lot of these chefs are failing miserably.”
Martine let out a small chuckle, a dig at her former husband. It was clear she must have thought he also failed miserably at something or other. But Joachim, and everyone else, paid no acknowledgment to the sentiment for the time being.
“Yes,” he continued, “Everyone thinks they can cook, but when it really comes down to it there are more failures in the kitchen than stars. Those of us who are able to deal with fame, fortune, and focus in the kitchen are much better equipped in life.”
Martine shook her head.
“You’re such a fraud, Joachim. What about that last TV show you were supposedly the star of? That flopped so badly it may as well have been called blancmange!”
Joachim’s normally pale face flushed ever so briefly, before settling back to normal. He said nothing.
“Now, now, children,” injected Zach who was caught in the middle, literally since he was sitting between the two judges. “I’m sure the world doesn’t need to hear you squabbling when you’re meant to be judging.”
Christelle personally agreed, but she also had a feeling that this was exactly what Daegal wanted; why else bring in two judges who had once been married and had split up angrily? And the longer the two were together the worse their relationship became.
Christelle was worried that by the next episode they would be at each other’s throats, and not just because Joachim was a vampire.
“Aaaaand... cut!”
For a moment the contestants looked up and wondered what they were meant to do, but Wade motioned to them to keep going.
“Continue cooking everyone,” he clarified. “We’re going to do separate interviews with the judges now, and later some cutaways with you.”
Wade turned to Christelle.
“Christelle, you’ve got some free time, if you want it.”
She had.
A headache had been growing behind Christelle’s temples. Besides, she desperately wanted to find out what a hearth witch was. Before she could leave the studio and head back to the relative comfort and safety of her dressing room, Daegal appeared. He caught her eye and beckoned her across to him. Christelle reluctantly obeyed.
“What was that?”
Daegal’s tone was harsh, and came seemingly out of nowhere.
“Huh? What was what?” asked Christelle, now completely confused.
“Those interviews just now. What happened to the funny, bubbly Christelle we hired? You didn’t joke, barely laughed, seemed more interested in finding out about everyone’s mental state... that’s not what you’re here for.”
Christelle felt her cheeks beginning to burn.
“I’m sorry, but-”
“At least you are sorry,” said Daegal.
He turned to leave as Christelle reached out and grabbed his arm. This turned Daegal back toward her. The instant he did, a wave of nausea washed over Christelle. She removed her hand immediately, but the feeling remained, and her stomach churned.
“Wait,” she said, redundantly.
“What is it?” snapped Daegal. “I’ve got a headache, and I’ve got a lot to do. I just wanted to make you aware that you’re slipping, and next time you get on camera I want the old Christelle back.”
“Fine, whatever, I’ll do my best,” said Christelle, “But don’t you think there’s something odd going on here? Every time we’re together I start to feel sick, and judging by that sheen of sweat on your face I’d say you feel the same. Plus have you seen what Dermott’s doing? Crackers in a bowl? If that’s not witchcraft I don’t know what is, and I’m not the one who put a spell on him. Someone is cheating. And with $100,000 at stake, don’t you want to know who it is?”
Daegal sighed.
“I thought I could sense something. I just wasn’t sure, you know? This is the last thing I need right now. The producer, the one who puts all the money in, said they were coming to the studio today to watch some of the filming. I really could do with them not coming at all when there’s such a big mess to clean up.”
He paused, wiping a handkerchief across his forehead.
“Look, go to your dressing room, make one of your special teas, take a break and regroup. I’ll see what I can find out this end.”
Christelle nodded although she wasn’t sure what Daegal would be able to do on his own. Off she went to her dressing room, Sol clinging to her shoulder as always. She opened the door, slammed it behind her and collapsed onto the sofa with a big sigh.
“Filming done?”
Mrs. Mogridge peered over the back of the sofa. She had a plate of cupcakes in her hand and she offered it to Christelle who hungrily took two. Now that the sick feeling had gone, she realized it had been a long time since she had eaten anything.
After Christelle had finished both cupcakes – in just 10 seconds flat - she took a sip of the calming tea Mrs. Mogridge had prepared for her. She sighed again, this time in contentment, and lay back on the cushions.
“It went badly,” admitted Christelle.
“Well, there’s a lot of magic flying about. You’re getting caught up in the middle. I’m not surprised it’s affecting you.”
“A lot of magic? The rules say there isn’t to be any magic. It’s about cooking, not witchcraft.”
“Ha! Since when did anyone ever completely follow the rules?” asked Mrs. Mogridge, shaking her head. “Since the beginning of time there have been cheaters, and in a competition like this, when there is magic in the air, that’s what you’ll find is happening.”
“Great,” said Christelle sarcastically. “Just perfect. And I thought my job was hard enough already. What with no one believing that Alice is a hearth witch, and-”
“Ah, yes,” added Mrs. Mogridge. “The hearth witch.”
She said nothing more and Christelle wasn’t sure what she meant. She heard the same suspicion in her voice as she had from almost everyone else.
“Is she not a hearth witch?” asked Christelle.
Mrs. Mogridge shrugged.
“She is what she is,” she said cryptically. “If she wants to be a hearth witch then she can be one, there are no rules about that. You don’t have to be a kitchen witch, Christelle, if you prefer another type of discipline. It’s just that witches are born a certain way, with specific skills. And usually they stick with those skills when they become old enough to find their own way. So, it makes sense for you to be a kitchen witch because you create wonderful dishes in the kitchen.”
“And Alice?”
“Well, let me put it this way... a hearth witch is someone who focuses mainly on the home. On daily life. On the normal household chores and everyday things that people tend to have to do. They’re not outgoing people, they’re not people who look for attention. They are meek and mild, although I’m not of course saying they’re boring or they’re weak or they’re timid. I’m just saying that if there is a limelight, they will want to stay well away from it. Now, does that sound like Alice to you? Does she seem like the sort of person who would be happy staying at home and making it pretty? Or does she seem more like the kind of person who would want to be out there, making a name for herself. Someone a little more, as they say, rock and roll?”
Christelle understood what Mrs. Mogridge meant. Alice did seem rather brash and loud for a hearth witch. But then...
“Hearth witches and kitchen witches sound fairly similar,” said Christelle. “Is that right?”
Mrs. Mogridge nodded. “To a point. Whereas the kitchen witch focuses solely on food and feeding other people and so on, the hearth witch has a wider remit – it’s about making the whole house comfortable for them.”
Christelle pondered this for a moment. “From what I’ve seen of Alice, her being a hearth witch doesn’t quite ring true. She is a lot more outgoing, a lot more carefree, if you like. Her workstation was a mess, and that doesn’t sound like something a hearth witch would allow.”
“Right,” said Mrs. Mogridge. “House proud was a term made just for hearth witches.”
“Although maybe,” pondered Christelle.
She normally didn’t like to think anything suspicious of anyone. That just felt like a lot of effort when she could take them all at face value.
“There is a time limit going on out there, which could affect how tidy she can be. She might clear up once she’s done. She might go on to clear everyone else’s stations up too, even.”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
“I just don’t know. I don’t think some of the others would let her, but that’s another thing. Henry, I mean. He really seems to despise Alice and I’m not entirely sure why. He says it’s because she was brought in last minute and it’s changed the rules, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
Mrs. Mogridge put a hand on Christelle’s arm.
“Whatever it is, it’s really nothing you need to concern yourself with, is it? You don’t want to turn yourself into any more of an empath than you already are because that is a hard life to lead. Just do your job and stop trying to fix everyone.”
Christelle patted the Mrs. Mogridge’s hand and smiled. She knew Mrs. Mogridge was right. Of course, she was, but still... it was hard. Christelle liked the idea of everyone being happy and friends. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
There was a knock at the door followed by Wade poking his curly head through.
“Sorry to disturb, but Daegal says it’s time for the judging, so if you could some back to Studio B?”
“Sure, I’m on my way,” said Christelle, swallowing the last of her tea.
It warmed her inside out and calmed her thoroughly. She stood up and told Mrs. Mogridge she wouldn’t be long. She left, trudging up the corridor back to the studio. At one point she turned to speak to Wade, but he wasn’t there. Strange. Where had he got to? Not that Christelle had time to worry about him; she was going to take Mrs. Mogridge’s sage advice and stop thinking so much about whether everyone else was happy and content. She had to focus a little more on herself.
Chapter 8
Christelle readied herself. The contestants were standing behind their counters, dishes before them covered in cloches. The silver of the metal lid reflected the lights of the studio even though they were turned down. The dimmed lights were meant to give a more serious air for a few moments while Christelle did her introduction, but the glinting lids had an unintended disco ball effect.
The judges too were at their table. They were attempting to look jolly and pleasant, but it was fooling nobody. Whatever feud Joachim and Martine were having, it was clearly affecting everything and everyone around them. Just like Mrs. Mogridge had said, Christelle was happier than ever that ‘empath’ wasn’t part of her job description. Well, only a little, and that was normal apparently. Being a true empath was something else completely, and it wasn’t much fun in a situation like this.
“Christelle, just to let you know we’ll need to film a segment with you after the show has wrapped. You weren’t around to give the countdown, to tell the cooks to stop, you know? It’s okay, it’s fine, we can film it and add it in afterwards. Okay? Right, good. We’re go. Aaaaaaand... action!”
Christelle’s hair and makeup had been checked and re-checked before she stepped into the one lone spotlight that took up the space between the kitchen area and the judges’ bench. The autocue was prepped. She was ready. She spoke.
“Welcome back to The Kitchen Witch Wars. Our intrepid chefs have been attempting to recreate that marvelous red velvet cake that they saw the talented Joachim Salvatore create earlier on. Have they done it? Or have they failed to live up to the master?”
Christelle shrugged at the camera, her head tilted to one side in
a quirky way, a cheeky grin on her face.
“Who knows? I’m not a psychic! Let’s eat!”
The lights came up and one by one the contestants brought up their food. It was all going well until the reveal of Dermott’s dish.
He placed his plate carefully on the table, took half a step back, and smiled at the judges.
“This,” he said, “Is just like the real thing. Just like it. You’ll be impressed, I know you will.”
Dermott seemed to be speaking to Zach more than anyone else, and Zach Raines, as ever, was not really listening. He had never liked Dermott and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Christelle desperately hoped that the ghost had realized his mistake and thrown the crackers he had been crushing away, but if he did that, would he have had enough time to make a second dish?
Christelle’s heart thumped in her chest as Dermott swiped the cloche away from the dish beneath and... there was the plate of crackers, just as Christelle had feared.
There was a long pause during which no one spoke, although the judges’ faces painted the picture of their thoughts. They kept looking from the dish to Dermott to one another, as though they wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.
“What do you think?” asked Dermott.
He had such a look of such sincere hope on his face that Christelle could feel tears welling up in her own eyes. The poor thing. He really was being tricked. Either that or he was tricking everyone else.
“Doesn’t it capture your likeness?”
“What do we think?” Joachim eventually said.
Each word was articulated slowly, giving the vampire even more time to work out what to say. It was then that Christelle noticed the red spots appearing on his cheeks. He was angry. Not just a little irritated, but angry.
Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chef Who Nailed It Page 5