Magic Chef
The butterflies in Rose’s stomach didn’t settle. For the umpteenth time, she wondered what had moved her to do this, and for the umpteenth time, she found no answer. Not only her career, but her whole life was at stake.
Silly girl.
“Rose! Rose!”
She turned. Mallach -that was a proper name, not like Rose. Maybe she was doing this because of her name?- came running, as only Mallach would. He hugged her, making her feel lost in his arms as usual.
“Rose! You’re in the finale!” he said. His enthusiasm would have been contagious, but Rose just felt a pit opening under her feet. She managed to gather herself long enough to answer.
“And you?”
“Me? No, I’m out. Bah, I’m surprised I even reached the semis! It has all to do with my magic prowess and nothing with my culinary skills, and you know it. I can weave spells like nobody, but I’m just a good cook. You need something else in order to win this. And you know you have it!”
Mallach kept rattling on, but Rose suppressed his chatter. She didn’t need to check: it must be her, Shedora and Kylliard in the three-way finale. The two of them were the best cooks hands down, and made it clear they thought she had reached the semis out of sheer luck.
What had Mallach just said?
“Sorry, what?”
“The jury, Rose! They’ve invited The Beagle!”
Had Rose even tried to imagine how to make her predicament worse, this was how. The Beagle! Master Rammshell! The man who was said could tell one culinary spell from the next with his sense of smell!
“Excuse me, Mallach, please!” she said.
In the toilet, she had to fight bile down. The Beagle no less! She was doomed. There was no way she would get away with this now. The rules protected her, since participants didn’t have to disclose their culinary spells, but this… Rammshell would know.
Staring at the mirror, she knew the answer.
Retire. Now. Forfeit. It hadn’t been done in ages, and it would throw suspicions around, but that was the least of her problems.
She set her jaw. Let’s do it.
And then she heard the announcer calling the finalists on the loudspeakers.
It was too late!
The short hike to the stage felt to her like the walk to the gallows for the condemned.
Standing behind her table, Rose stared at her dish. The rules had participants bring their completed dishes instead of cooking live, so as to keep their spells secret. She had her luscious dessert in front of her. She no longer paid attention to the contest. She didn’t even look at what Shedora and Kylliard -because it had been them, of course- had cooked, or at the jury.
She was the last one.
“Rose!” she heard. “A dessert? How daring! What is it?”
“Ginger-flavoured vanilla ice cream and gianduja mint ice cream,” Rose answered mechanically, “with a topping of strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, pomegranate, tangerine, sesame seeds and edible flowers.”
“Let’s taste it, shall we?”
Rose just couldn’t look. She felt tears welling up.
“A dessert.” The voice was deep and soft, and sultry. Was there a hint of summoning spell? Rose looked up, into the dark green eyes that could only belong to The Beagle. “A veritable risk, yet a welcome variation. This looks awesome, Rose. Flamboyant, even. You made the icecreams yourself, I gather?”
“Yes… The… the fruits are from my garden as well.”
“Excellent!” The Beagle took one of the cups and held it before him, examining it from all sides. He then set it down and took a large spoon, dipping it into the tall cup, pulling it out so he scooped pieces from all components of the dish.
And then…
Then he brought the spoon close to his nose, and inhaled deeply.
And he opened his eyes wide.
Rose panicked.
In one fast movement, The Beagle chomped on the spoon, and tasted Rose’s dessert.
“Dear sorceresses and sorcerers, we have a winner!” he said after he swallowed.
What? Why these cheers and applauses, when she should have been stripped of her powers?
“I know your secret, dear,” The Beagle said to her ear. She stared back at him. She thought of saying something, but it was useless. He knew. He just knew. “And I know what you’re thinking. Why hasn’t he said anything?”
Rose just nodded.
The Beagle smiled broadly, and his was the face of a happy culinary sorcerer.
“Do you think, dear Rose,” he said with the wink of one who shares a secret, “that you’re the first one who wins without using any magic spell?”
~~~~
This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: October 2–8, 2017 at the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.
I’m writing this late, really late. It sometimes happens: inspiration, if it exists, must be summoned by work. But it’s finally here, and I’m oh so happy with this story. I hope you like it, but whether you do or not, I’m satisfied because it came out exactly as I intended. And that doesn’t always happen.
