Seashells, Spells & Caramels by Erin Johnson

Author:Erin Johnson [Johnson, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-28T23:00:00+00:00

17

Extinguished

We gathered on the lawn the next morning. Amelia announced, “First of all, everyone’s all right. We’ve had no known attacks.”

“Known attacks.” Glenn raised a finger. He sounded way too cheerful as he said, “But we may discover a body in one of the canals or up a chimney, or half the sewer might still be blown away, or—”

Amelia cut him off. “Because our city appears safe, the competition will continue today. But we will have no spectators, making the competition less of a target for attack. This will also prevent someone from the BA from sneaking in as a member of the audience.”

My stomach relaxed slightly, and I glanced at Maple. Neither of us had enjoyed the scrutiny of the crowd. That, at least, would be a relief. I also found comfort when I passed through the magic field around the tent, the cool tingle blowing over my skin. That lent us some safety.

Once behind our stations, aprons donned, Amelia announced, “It’s bread day. You’ll have three hours to bake an artisanal loaf. Sweet or savory, it must be impressive. Begin!”

I grinned, enjoying the noises of magic and baking, clanking pots and the thunks of glass jars on butcher block. Today, without hundreds of eyes trained on me, might be my day. I yawned, my jaw aching as I stretched my mouth wide. Well, might be my day, if I could wake up. I’d tossed and turned all night.

As I considered what type of bread to make, a trilling little song from an orange and gold bird sounded from a tree outside the tent. It reminded me of a bread I’d seen once, braided, with colored eggs woven in. I could wrap the braid to form a round nest and weave in some exotic eggs like I’d seen in Maple’s bakery. I hoped Rhonda and Francis would find that impressive enough.

I passed Maple on my way to the pantry for ingredients. She looked more at home in the tent than I’d ever seen her.

I called to her, “Why’s the baker the richest man in town?”

She looked up and frowned. “I dunno, why?”

“Because he’s got all the dough.”

She groaned, and I chuckled. What a hoot I am. As I passed Hank, he shook his head.

The deep bags under his eyes and the aggression with which he smashed his flour, eggs, and water between his bare hands made me give him a wider berth. Geez, someone’s not a fan of cheesy jokes.

I puttered around the pantry for a few minutes, gathering eggs from the basket marked “Rainbow Thrush.” The second I saw them, I couldn’t resist. Roughly the size of a chicken egg, the shell twisted with deep grooves, almost like a soft-serve ice cream. Brilliant colors of purple, blue, yellow, red, and green swirled around the egg like, well, a rainbow.

I carried a large armful of ingredients back to my station. Hank had moved on to kneading, slamming the heel of his hand into the wet dough, dragging it forward, lifting the ball of dough, smacking it down, and repeating.

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