Creative Matchmaker (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 6)

by Sarah Noffke

  Picking up a metal whisk, the fairy godmother swished it through the air with a triumphant expression. A lacy tablecloth covering an assortment of dishes on the workstation behind her disappeared, presenting several plates. Everything was bright and colorful and full of sugar.

  “Here we have some superb examples of what I’m looking for,” Virginia said proudly, looking at the dishes. She pointed with the wand of sorts to the first dish. “I’ve made fairy bread. It’s an Australian tradition loved by children and adults alike.”

  “Isn’t it white bread with butter and covered in sprinkles?” Paris asked, looking at the slices of bread coated in bright little balls of every color.

  “It’s whimsical and pleasing to the eye to look at,” Virginia countered.

  “There’s no way that can taste good,” Paris challenged.

  Beside her, Chef Ash nodded in agreement. “Not to mention there isn’t much skill involved in making it.”

  “I know, I expect more from the Australians,” Christine joked from another workstation.

  “The taste of a dish should be second to how it looks,” Virginia said, her chest puffed out and chin held high in the air.

  “I think you’re living in a reversed world,” Paris teased. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be on Earth? Maybe you should check with Mother Nature, and you’re supposed to be on another planet.”

  Virginia huffed. “Don’t be absurd. We eat with our eyes and therefore food needs to look visually pleasing, similar to a fairy. We present ourselves in a way that looks appealing so others know we’re sweet before interacting with us.”

  “It so happens that appearances can be deceptive,” Paris said under her breath to Chef Ash, but loud enough for others to hear.

  “Other options for you all to make,” Virginia went on in a terse voice, indicating a tall pink cake on the workstation, “would be a rosewater cake with lavender frosting, covered in fondant and stenciled with gold leaf—”

  “There’s no way that can taste good,” Paris interrupted before she could stop herself.

  “Miss Beaufont, do you make it a habit of interjecting your opinion throughout every single class?” Virginia asked as if she was interested in Paris’ answer.

  However, before she could reply, Becky said, “She does, and it really interferes with the learning experience.”

  “Your closed mind and lack of brain cells are what interferes with the learning experience,” Christine cut in boldly.

  “Miss Welsh, I don’t feel that you’re in any position to make criticisms about others at the college,” Virginia asserted with threat laced into her tone.

  “Why is that?” Christine fired back.

  “I hear that your standing at the college is under careful consideration,” she replied smugly.

  “Oh, is it because my father is under investigation after being let go from his job?” Christine dared to ask boldly, not backing down from the challenge or looking the least bit shameful.

  The response threw Virginia off momentarily, her eyes flicking around the room before returning to Christine. “It has and always will be the standard of Happily Ever After College to educate students who have good conduct, as well as come from families with such records.”

  “He’s a scapegoat,” Christine argued, her face flushing red. “It shouldn’t matter anyway. I earned my entrance into this college, and I’ll earn my diploma. I bet it really burns you up that Headmistress Starr has allowed people like me in here and created scholarships that allow others who aren’t rich to become fairy godmothers. If it were up to the Montgomerys, only the rich and elite would be here.”

  Paris’ gaze drifted to Penny Pullman, who she knew was only at Happily Ever After College because of a scholarship. If the current board got their way, not only would many of the faculty change, but many of the enrollment standards. Paris knew that she had to help Saint Valentine overthrow the board’s rule before they got too powerful. It appeared that even with Agent Ruby gone, there were still problems running rampant at FGA. No doubt, it resulted from the modern ways challenging tradition, which the old stuffy families didn’t want to let go of.

  “Those with money and status are proving that they meet critical standards,” Virginia argued, not put off by Christine’s argument. “For too long, those in power at the college and FGA have confused these ideals, believing that they’re unimportant indicators of worth. Soon, we’ll reinstate tradition, and those who prove themselves suitable will fill our ranks. Those who do not, well, you all can find yourself a spot at Tooth Fairy College.”

  “It’s pretty entertaining that you’re not even trying to mask your crusty old thinking and prejudice.” Paris rolled her eyes at the fairy godmother.

  “As for you, Miss Beaufont.” Virginia settled her gaze on her. “A student whose guardian was found impersonating a fairy and wrongly filling the position of a detective for FLEA has no business talking out of turn or at all at this college.”

  Whispers filled the room at Paris’ back, but she ignored them, knowing the truth about Uncle John would come out sooner rather than later.

  “My uncle was posing as a fairy for a good reason,” Paris argued with confidence. “His cover was blown when he was trying to apprehend a criminal who worked at FGA as an agent. Probably one of your good buddies who subscribes to your notions about elitism. Do you know where Agent Ruby is? He’s probably staying at your guest cottage, right?”

  Virginia huffed in offense as many students stifled laughs or gasps of shock. “There is no reason for a mortal to pose as a fairy. Again, the actions of a family really do reflect on our students and should be criteria for enrollment or dismissal.”

  Paris faked a yawn as though she was bored with the conversation. “Really? Because my uncle was trying to keep me alive from a deadly danger in my parents’ absence. I think the Montgomerys would throw their young to the wolves if it meant saving their elders’ butts.”

  The fairy godmother’s eyes widened with shock and offense. Paris knew she was punching low, but the woman had asked for it, insulting all her friends. If she wanted to box, she was going to get knocked out.

  “It was rather unfortunate that your parents abandoned you,” Virginia stated. “Again, it’s a reason that we must demand only families of noble status become fairy godmothers.”

  “Paris is a Royal for the House of Fourteen,” Chef Ash countered with an angry expression.

  “She's also an orphan with a criminal record.” Virginia didn't look deterred.

  “I’m not, actually.” Paris hid a grin. “My parents didn’t abandon me. They risked everything to keep me alive. And they happen to be back.”

  At this admission, excited whispers broke out around the room. Paris heard her parent’s names repeated over and over again behind her. She knew it wasn’t her place to reveal such things, but the House of Fourteen would know in a few hours, and it would spread fast. What was the harm in telling the class then? Especially because it put a severely sour expression on Virginia’s face.

  “Liv Beaufont and Stefan Ludwig are back?” the fairy godmother asked.

  Paris nodded. “Yes, and in a few hours, they’ll be taking their places once more as Warriors for the House of Fourteen.”

  “Which is pretty much one of the highest-ranking positions on the globe,” Chef Ash said with a wide grin.

  “So if we’re worried about Paris passing your test for family status and wealth, Mrs. Montgomery, I think she has,” Christine sang. “The Beaufonts outrank your family on every single metric.”

  Virginia harrumphed, offense heavy on her wrinkled face. “We’ve wasted enough class time with this discussion. You all will get to work on your desserts now. Regardless of status, students can still be dismissed from Happily Ever After College if they fail exams.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Paris suspected, the rosewater cake didn’t taste good. Virginia Montgomery had required that all the students taste it as she sliced pieces fo
r the class. The idea was to taste the sweetness before even taking a bite based on the appearance of the pink cake covered in thick fondant and gold leaf.

  “It’s overdone.” Paris pushed the crumbs around on her plate.

  Chef Ash nodded. “Yes, less is more often with desserts. People love making masterpieces out of cakes, but the construction process turns it dry and inedible. A good baker knows how to preserve the integrity of the ingredients while also creating something visually pleasing. It’s a balancing act.”

  Paris sighed. “We both know that desserts aren’t my strong suit. Not with the standards that Snooty McSnottison is using.”

  “I know.” Chef Ash looked around the room as students stirred their ingredients or poured cake batter into pans. “You have a mastery of magical ingredients and your foods taste excellent, but presentation isn’t your strong suit. What did you make for today?”

  Paris’ dessert was already in the oven. She’d finished it and stuck it in while Chef Ash was consoling Christine, who was more affected by the insults Virginia had volleyed at her than she previously had let on in front of the class.

  “Well, since berries are ripe in the garden, I decided to make a cobbler.” Paris grabbed the oven mitts. “Since it's supposed to taste sweet before you even take a bite, I used infectious sugar as a magical ingredient.”

  She pulled the tray of mixed berry cobbler from the oven, steam rising from it. The smell wafted from the dessert, making many students turn around, their eyes wide and mouths watering.

  “Very smart idea, indeed,” Chef Ash commented, smacking his lips as if he couldn’t wait to take a bite. “I can already taste the sweetness.”

  “It looks abominable,” Virginia said over Paris’ shoulder.

  She rolled her eyes, realizing she should have sensed the soulless demon lurking nearby. “It’s a cobbler. They're supposed to look wholesome and taste like summer.”

  “The assignment was to make a dessert that looks so visually pleasing that you can taste the sweetness before you take a bite,” Virginia argued.

  “You can taste the sweetness.” Chef Ash waved to bring the aroma lent from the infectious sugar to his nose.

  “That’s because Miss Beaufont cheated, using magical ingredients instead of making something that looks appealing.” Virginia narrowed her eyes at her, looking her up and down. “That’s typical of a magician. They refuse to follow the rules and know nothing of appearance.”

  “We know how to think for ourselves,” Paris said through clenched teeth, her patience waning. “You said to make it so you could taste the sweetness before taking a bite. I figured out a way to do that. You physically can taste it. If I did it based on appearance, you would have subjectively said that it didn’t look sweet enough based on how it looked. I don’t see how you can grade me when your standards are so arbitrary.”

  Virginia flashed a victorious smile. “Yet, I’m the instructor, and my grade is what matters. Good luck with tomorrow’s exams, Miss Beaufont. It appears you’re going to need it.”

  The fairy godmother's blue gown swished behind her as she swept from the workstation, her nose held in the air.

  Tension suddenly filled Paris’ chest. She hadn’t worried about passing the Magical Cooking exam until right then. Students had to pass all their exams along the way at the college to keep their enrollment. Paris didn’t know what she’d do if she failed. Being a fairy godmother was all she wanted…surprisingly.

  “Don’t worry,” Chef Ash whispered, reading the tension on her face. “I’m going to help you pass the exam tomorrow. You’re going to make a dessert that looks so delicious and beautiful that it will give that witch a cavity.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paris’ worries about passing her exams were as far away from her mind as Happily Ever College was when she stepped through the portal to Santa Monica. She was pretty sure that Faraday would want to tour the House of Fourteen with her on that occasion, always fascinated by new magical places. However, when Paris went to her room to fetch him, he was nowhere to be found. She reasoned that she would bring him the next time. As a Royal, she should always be able to get into the place.

  Her nerves jittered around in her chest as she stood on the boardwalk in Santa Monica, searching for her parents. It was their first trip out of the Fantastical Armory since returning to this dimension. They’d told her to meet them in that spot, and they’d go to the House of Fourteen together.

  The last and only time that Paris was in Santa Monica was with Faraday. The squirrel had said that according to his research, the House of Fourteen was in a rundown palm reading shop. On that occasion, Paris had tried to enter, but the locked door prevented her. Then the Deathly Shadow came after her, and she never got into the House of Fourteen.

  She stood in front of the seemingly abandoned palm reading shop, blinking at it in confusion. On one side of it was a taqueria. The other was a souvenir shop. All around, clogging up the boardwalk were hipsters who were too cool for school, teenagers wearing short-shorts and backward caps, and confused tourists with selfie sticks.

  It was hard for Paris to believe that inside the small two-story palm reading shop was the most powerful governing organization for magical beings. It proved that appearances were deceiving. The fact that it was in such a prominent location in Santa Monica, right off the Pacific Ocean, was also intriguing.

  She grimaced at the sand all around the boardwalk, hoping that she didn’t get any in her boots. Paris didn’t do sand. She also didn’t do tourist locations, palm-reading shops, or crowds. It appeared that she’d have to swallow her pride on that this time and any others when she visited the House of Fourteen.

  “Oh, I forgot how much I loathed Santa Monica,” her mother’s voice said at Paris’ back. She turned to find her parents closing a portal behind them.

  Stefan nodded, looking around. “In fifteen years, nothing has really changed.”

  “No, the hippies seem to have gotten dirtier,” Liv argued, looking around at the crowd before she found Paris standing nearby. She rushed over, threw her arms around her shoulders, and pulled her in tightly. “Oh, good, you found the location. I hope you didn’t talk to any strangers.”

  Paris laughed, pulled away, and hugged her father. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can,” Liv replied. “It’s just that talking to the hippies down here will kill brain cells. If you make eye contact with the tourists, they’ll ask for directions. If you even glance at a hipster, they’ll pull their giant sunglasses down their nose, hoping you mistake them for a celebrity.”

  Stefan shook his head, looking at his daughter. “Liv doesn’t have a tolerance for what she calls the shabby chic West Coasters.”

  Paris nodded and glanced around. “I can see why.” She then ran her gaze over her parents. “So you’re ready to come back? How do you feel?”

  “Like kicking some ass,” Liv replied. “Hanging out in Papa’s basement for the last several weeks was enough to make me go insane.”

  Stefan agreed with a nod. “Yeah, I get that we had to assimilate, but another day locked away, and I think I would've lost my mind.”

  “You want me with you for this?” Paris indicated the palm reading shop. “Are you sure? It seems as though there will be a lot you have to explain at once.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see the shocked faces of the Warriors and Councilors.” Liv rubbed her hands together. “Regardless, our sudden appearance is going to require a lot of explaining. It’s better if we can show you off to help others understand. Most didn’t even know you were born, and no one knew you were a halfling. I think you’ll get more attention than us at this reunion.”

  “I’m not sure I like that,” Paris admitted.

  Her mother shrugged. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to get over it. You can’t be a one-of-a-kind halfling and not expect others to regard you as exceptional.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stefan consoled. “The news about y
ou being at Happily Ever After College has undoubtedly spread, so others will be aware of you. But seeing you, well, I’m afraid some might stare.”

  Turning to face the palm reading shop, Liv looked up at it.

  “This place also hasn’t changed a single bit, has it.”

  “So this is the location of the House of Fourteen?” Paris questioned. “I tried to get in there once when I was looking for information about you two and couldn’t. Are you sure I can?’

  Stefan nodded. “For sure, you can. It’s just that you have to know how.”

  “Oh, does it involve a spell?” Paris asked.

  Liv shook her head. “No, it’s a palm reading shop.” She held up her hand. “So it needs to read your palm to know that you’re a Royal.”

  She strode forward, her hand extended. She paused in front of a single black door with a hand-painted sign that read “Closed.” Around the door was a black and red checkered frame, and above it, a neon sign flashed “Palm Readings.”

  The building, which was narrow and seemingly connected to the ones around it, had one window on the second story covered by a set of paisley drapes, with various shadows moving behind it.

  Liv pressed her hand to the spot under the surface as her gaze went to the gold door handle. A moment later, it glowed briefly before the door swung back, showing only blackness on the other side and a strange musty smell spilling out to the boardwalk.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Paris. “The door will shut behind me. Go through next, and your father will wait on the other side. You have to enter on your own, but I promise, it doesn’t hurt a bit.”

  Paris nodded, a lump in her throat.

  Probably sensing her nervousness about entering a new world, Liv flashed her a smile. “Get ready to meet your ancestry. What you’re about to see is your birthright if you ever want it.”