Bite-Sized Magic (13 page)

“Yaaaaaah!” she cried, holding on for dear life as the squirrel glided gently over the dark, wet expanse of the Mostess compound. She was cold and wet but right now she didn't care—she was
flying
.

Rose glanced behind her and saw Ty and Sage soaring through the air, as well.

“Woohoo!” Sage cried. “I want to bring this little guy home!”

“Ahhhh!” Ty wailed. “I want to GO home!”

Rose noticed her squirrel wandering in the direction of the electric fence to her right, so she tugged on the left side of the ruffle, and the squirrel banked and veered in the opposite direction.

“Follow me!” Rose shouted back to her brothers.

Even through the rain, the signs on each of the boxy gray warehouses were easy to read from the air. Rose steered toward the building labeled
TEST KITCHEN
.

Gradually, Rose's Soaring Squirrel lost altitude and slowly coasted to the pavement between the buildings, Ty and Sage sinking to the ground right behind her. It was still raining, but now they were all so soaked that a little more water hardly mattered.

As soon as her squirrel landed, Rose hopped off its back, and, freed from her weight, the squirrel gently flapped its massive wings and rose up into the air again.

“Thank you,” Rose said quietly to it, but she couldn't tell from its tiny face whether it heard or understood her, and then it was beating its wings toward the distant electric fence. Soon it was just a darker piece of shadow in the rainy night.

Ty's squirrel followed close behind it, and Sage's would have flown off, too, if only Sage hadn't been clinging so fervently to its neck ruff.

“No!” he cried, wiping water off his forehead. “Don't go! You'd be the most amazing pet in the universe! You could give me rides to school!”

The squirrel opened its tiny jowls and hissed at Sage, and as it did, its mouth grew larger, and its fangs bigger and more menacing. Sage let go in a hurry. Then the squirrel shrank back to its normal size, chirruped happily, flapped its wings, and soared away.

Ty patted his brother on his wet head. “If you love something, bro, you've got to set it free. Otherwise it will bite your hand off.”

Sage shivered and watched the squirrel disappear. “We could have had so much fun together!”

“We
could
have rescued our parents and gotten out of here,” Ty said.

“I don't think so. My squirrel could barely carry me, let alone me and Great-Gramps Balthazar,” Sage asked, shivering and turning toward the door. “Anyway, it's
cold
out here. I'm pretty sure I have hypothermia.”

 

Inside the test kitchen, Rose threw on an extra chef's jacket.

She and her brothers were still damp from the rain, but it was time to work until Mr. Butter returned. She was tired and everyone was hungry, but there was no time to do anything except bake the antidote to the Dinky Doodle Donuts.

Only—apparently, none of the other bakers felt the same amount of pressure that she did.

“Hello?” she said, but the bakers, still under the zombie influence of the Dinky Doodle Donuts, paid her no mind. Gus and Jacques had put them to work, and the Scottish Fold cat and the brown field mouse sat on one of the prep tables in their own miniature lawn chairs, drinking little glasses of iced tea. Gene was fanning them with cookie sheets, while Melanie and Felanie rubbed their furry feet. Ning and Jasmine massaged their scalps, while Marge read out loud from a novel called
Twilight
.

“Nice, you two,” Rose said to Gus and Jacques. “Making these poor zombified bakers into your personal servants. I would expect this from you, Gus—but, Jacques?”

Jacques stretched his pink paws behind his head and heaved a relaxed sigh. “What can I say? I have a taste for the finer things.”

Ty whispered in Rose's ear, “Do you have to cure the bakers just yet? I have this knot in my back and I think those blonde twins could really help me out.”

“No way, Ty!” Rose scowled. “I'm curing them right this minute! Once I figure out how.”

Rose plowed through the Apocrypha searching for an anti-zombification recipe that didn't involve the elusive Capsules of Time. Meanwhile, Ty beckoned Melanie and Felanie away from the cat and mouse and bade them rub the knot in his back.

“As you wish,” they said in a flat monotone.

“Thank you so much, ladies,” he said. “This means the world. I've been so tense lately.”

Sage gave his older brother a look of disgust as he unloaded two dozen preserved donut holes from his khaki shorts. He popped one into his mouth, then set the rest on a cookie sheet on one of the prep tables. “Ugh, I can't eat another one of these,” he said. “I'm too full. Bakers. Pop to my voice! Get rid of these, please.”

Immediately, Melanie and Felanie stopped rubbing Ty's shoulder and ambled over to the prep table with the rest of the bakers, who were haphazardly shoving the donuts holes into their mouths.

“Don't make them eat those!” Rose said, but it was too late. The bakers had plowed through the pile of black-and-white donut holes, tossing them into their mouths as if their gullets were garbage disposals. “It's not fair, Sage. They can't help themselves. They don't know they're eating nasty old donut holes. They're zombies.”

“Who's a zombie?” Marge asked, shaking her head. She smacked her lips a few times. “I need a glass of milk.”

“I didn't give you permission to stop rubbing my feet,” Gus said to Ning. “Pop to my voice! I need a refill on my drink.”

“Refill it yourself!” said Ning, indignant.

“Jasmine,” Rose cried, “pop to my voice! Do ten jumping jacks!”

“Why should I?” said the woman, blinking and rubbing her eyes like she had just woken up from a very long nap, as color seemed to seep back into her cheeks. “Pop yourself!”

Marge chuckled, clearly her regular non-zombie self. Rose threw her arms around the Head Baker's chubby shoulders. “You're back!”

“Where did I go?” Marge asked.

“You were a zombie,” said Rose. “You did whatever we told you to do. You read
Twilight
to a cat!”

Marge sighed. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“I don't understand!” Rose said to her brothers. “What cured them?”

“It was me,” Sage said proudly. “I fed them the old donut holes, and they were miraculously cured. Looks like I have the magic touch.”

“Sage, I love you,” Rose said, “but no. There must have been something
in
those donut holes.”

“These old things?” said Marge, tossing another donut hole into her mouth.

Rose stared at Marge, then burst out, “Of course! Those OLD things! The donut holes are Capsules of Time. They're preserved bits of the past.” They may have been dried up and tasteless, but thanks to all the preservatives in them, the donut holes had a wonderful magic all their own—each was a sugared, tiny bit of a sweet yesterday.

“Lucky
I
had the good sense to bring some along with me in my pocket,” said Sage.

At that moment, the sirens wailed and the red corner lights flashed. Rose glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after eleven p.m. “Butter's back,” said Rose, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the entire day from the tips of her fingers to her toes. “Bakers, you know the drill. Just act like brainless zombies and do everything I say. Got it?”

Marge blanked out her face. “Yes, master,” she said.

 

“. . . and then, the donuts rolled down the ramp and engulfed all of my guests!” Mr. Butter ranted, pacing back and forth on the linoleum floor of the test kitchen. He hadn't quieted down since barging out of the elevator in an explosion of anxious energy. “The entire International Society of the Rolling Pin was overtaken in a donut hole flash flood!” Flecks of donut dotted his tuxedo and the top of his bald head.

“That's . . . horrible,” Rose said carefully.

“And you know nothing about this?” Mr. Butter said, pausing to squint down at her. “Why are you so damp?”

“Sweat, sir,” Rose said, wishing she'd toweled off from the rain. “I've been in here baking and working up a storm all evening.”

“I see,” he said. “I've come here because I can think of only one person on the Mostess compound who would do such nefarious things. Releasing a room full of old donut holes onto a distinguished group of Society members? Destroying my most-trusted aide, Mr. Mechanico? Only one person is so clever, so sly, so . . . independent. That person is you, Rosemary Bliss.” He extended one long finger and squeegeed some water off her head. “Sweat, eh?”

“Someone
broke
Mr. Mechanico?” Rose asked, feigning incredulity.

“Yes!” Mr. Butter wailed. “That robot was a dear friend. He reminded me of my mother. They were both . . . cold. Metallic.” Mr. Butter's glasses began to fog. “I found him comforting.”

“Maybe he can be fixed,” said Rose.

“Perhaps.” Mr. Butter shrugged sadly. “I don't even know what happened to him!”

“Well, I have some good news!” Rose said. “I've perfected the Dinky Donuts recipe! Right, bakers?”

The six bakers stood in a line like toy soldiers and nodded yes, their eyes glazed and shiny like a freshly coated Dinky Donut.

“That is wonderful, yes,” said Mr. Butter, distracted. He turned to Mr. Kerr. “See? It wasn't her. Rose is loyal. She's been here all evening. Because she knows that if she had anything at all to do with tonight's fiasco, that would mean the end of her beloved family.” He cracked his knuckles. “You do understand that, don't you, Rose?”

“Of course,” said Rose, smiling stiffly.

“This means that we have an intruder on this compound, one who may still be at large,” said Mr. Butter. “Mr. Kerr? You will find this intruder and squash him, yes?”

“Like a bug.” Mr. Kerr brushed donut crumbs from his velour jumpsuit.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of metal from the Bakers' Quarters, where Ty and Sage were hiding with Gus and Jacques. The room quieted completely.

“Who's back there?” asked Mr. Kerr.

No no no,
Rose thought.
He's going to find Ty and Sage!

But then Gus skidded out from behind the door, stopping on the floor in front of Mr. Kerr and licking his paw.

“It's just Rose's filthy cat,” said Mr. Butter. “Mangy creature. Shoo! Shoo, I say!”

Gus shot past them and hid underneath one of the prep tables. Mr. Butter shook his head. “First mice and now cats. We're going to have to have the exterminator come through here. I
hate
small things.” He suddenly smiled at Rose. “Except for you, Rosemary Bliss. You are small, but we won't have
you
exterminated—or your cat, as long as he behaves.”

“Gee, thanks,” Rose said, the smile still frozen on her face.

“Carry on, here.” Mr. Butter glanced at the clock. “I'd recommend getting some sleep. You'll need it if you're to keep to schedule.”

“We have two more days,” Rose said, “and that should be enough time to—”

But Mr. Butter shook his head. “I'm afraid I had to make some changes. It is true, you have only two recipes left to perfect: King Things and Dinkies, but now you have only one day to finish them. They must be done by the end of the day tomorrow, if you please, before this mysterious saboteur is able to cause any more mayhem here at Mostess.”

“But that's not enough time!” Rose protested.

“It will have to be.” Mr. Butter turned to leave, then spotted the few remaining donut holes on the cookie sheet. “Donut holes!” he shouted. “Where did you get those?”

“Um . . . leftovers from the Dinky Doodle Donuts we just made!” Rose said quickly. “Just scraps. Freshly baked.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Mr. Butter's fingers twitched as he eyed the donuts with what looked like disgust—but just as easily might have been longing. “Okay, I must return to my guests. Mind that you and your team stay in here so that Mr. Kerr doesn't mistake you for the culprits behind tonight's attack. I'd hate for him to accidentally hurt you.”

Mr. Kerr threw her a menacing look, then slid behind the wheel of the golf cart. As Mr. Butter climbed in beside him, Rose glimpsed a thick bundle of dozens of keys dangling from his belt.

The moment Mr. Butter and Mr. Kerr disappeared into the floor, the bakers let out sighs of relief.

“Phew!” said Gene. “It's hard to stand up straight for that long. Exercise is tough!”

“Let's all try and get some sleep,” Rose said to Marge and the bakers. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” But all Rose could think about was that keychain on Mr. Butter's belt.

The key to the hotel elevator has to be one of those,
she thought to herself.
If I can get those, I can rescue my parents and Balthazar, and we can all get out of here
.

CHAPTER 13
King Things of Revulsion

R
ose was awoken the next morning by Sage, who bounced onto her bed, crying, “Surprise! Rose, wake up! We did the King Things for you!”

“What do you mean, you did them for me?” she asked, worried by the sight of her younger brother with his wild ginger curls dusted in flour and his fingers and face coated in sticky chocolate.

“We did it! Ty and me and Marge. We took Lily's recipe card and looked at the original recipe in the Apocrypha, and we fixed it!” He paused to lick a finger. “We think.”

Rose took a deep breath and looked down over the test kitchen, which was scattered with dirty bowls of flour and spilled canisters of cocoa and a dozen eggshells.

Ty was standing over a tray of freshly baked chocolate-covered logs. He waved up to Rose, wearing a look of extreme pride. The bakers were frantically cleaning up the mess her brothers had made. “Thank you, Sage.”

“It's no problem, sis,” her brother said. “We're all in this together, you know?”

“I know,” Rose said. “And I'm really grateful for that.”

She smiled at Sage and hugged him. Thank God he and Ty had come for her—she had no idea what she would have done without them. It was a good feeling knowing that the three of them were in this together. And Leigh, too, in spirit.

 

“Look what we did!” Ty said, gesturing to the tray of King Things as Rose came down the stairs fifteen minutes later.

She had taken a quick shower and was wearing a fresh white chef's apron and a new—
clean
—baking hat. She still had her shorts on, though, the ones she'd worn when she was kidnapped. Luckily, they hadn't gotten dirty.

“We made these! Thought we'd show you that your brothers still have the knack, the know-how, the family magic in their fingers!”

“You guys did a great job,” said Rose, patting her older brother on the back. On one of the prep tables was a cup of tea and some of the contraband Kathy Keegen cookies. Her usual breakfast. Rose took a sip of tea and asked, “What Apocrypha recipe did Lily mess up this time?”

“This one,” said Sage, handing Rose one of Lily's creamy recipe cards and the pamphlet of grayed sheets that was the Apocrypha.

 

ROLLS OF REVULSION: To sow the seeds of hatred and discord

 

It was in 1809 in the Arabian village of Masuleh that the nefarious descendant of Albatross Bliss, Madame Gagoosh Taghipoor, did bake these rolls of cake filled with bitter jelly. She did feed them to all of the children in the town, whereupon they did begin to feel a strong distaste for their parents' cooking, and for their parents in general. They thenceforth ate only at the bakery of Madame Gagoosh Taghipoor, and when Madame Gagoosh Taghipoor moved away from the village, the children did wander in exile, hating their parents until eventually they starved.

 

“Geez Louise!” Rose exclaimed. “This one sounds totally nasty!”

“We followed the recipe part, where it says
bitter fruit
,” said Sage. “Look.”

 

Madame Taghipoor did combine two fists of
bitter fruit
with one fist of
sugar
and one acorn of
THE OBJECT OF REVULSION
.

 

“The only difference we could find between the original recipe and Lily's,” said Ty, “was the Object of Revulsion. We thought maybe hers wasn't strong enough. Because see, she was making a much larger batch, but she didn't change the proportions. So we just added a lot more.”

“But what
is
the Object of Revulsion?” Rose asked, wrinkling her nose. It certainly didn't sound very
appealing
, but then again not much in the Apocrypha did.

“Oh, it's this stuff,” said Marge, holding up a red mason jar filled with a crumbly black substance that looked like . . . well, rabbit poop. “Mr. Butter delivered it himself. I don't know what's in it.”

Rose opened the jar and was smacked in the face by the smell of dead flowers and old cheese and unwashed sneakers and yogurt breath and a thousand other nasty things. She snapped the jar closed, her stomach churning.

“Oh my. That is bad. So what do these King Things do?” said Rose. “I doubt they'll be edible, if you dumped this nasty stuff in.”

“There's only one way to find out,” said Marge, and she passed the frosted chocolate logs to the other bakers, then took a bite of one herself. “Huh,” she said, wincing only slightly. “Could be worse.”

Ty and Sage gave each other a rousing high five. “We did it, man!”

“But what did it do?” said Rose. “Marge, do you feel funny?”

“I feel like I have a good sense of humor, but my wit isn't as sharp as that of a professional comedian,” said Marge thoughtfully. “My mother never encouraged me to develop my natural talent in the arts. I mean, I
appreciate
humor . . .” At the look on Rose's face, Marge trailed off. “Oh, you meant, do I feel funny as in
strange
. No, no, I don't feel strange at all.”

“What about the rest of you?” Rose said to the other bakers. “Anything different?”

They shook their heads.

“Why isn't it doing anything?” Sage whined.

“I don't know,” said Rose. “See, you can't just add stuff willy-nilly—there might be too much of the Object of Revulsion in there. King Things are supposed to be a lighter chocolate—these are so dark, they look like . . .” Rose reached into the pocket of her shorts and produced the letter she'd received days ago. There it was, in a boxed picture at the bottom of the letter. “They look like these: Kathy Keegan Koko Kakes.”

As soon as Rose said “Kathy Keegan,” the bakers' faces instantly contorted into looks of complete revulsion.

“That talentless witch?” Marge spat. “That
hack
?”

“Her Koko Kakes are chocolate tragedies,” said Jasmine angrily.

“If I saw her on the street, I would spit her Koko Kakes right in her face,” said Ning. “Right into her scaly lizard face.”

Sage pointed to the cartoon drawing of Kathy Keegan on the letter. “This little cartoon lady?” he said. “With the short hair? She looks fine to me!”

With a scream of rage, Melanie and Felanie seized the letter from Sage and tore off the cartoon Kathy Keegan head. “Hey!” Sage called out, but Jasmine and Ning had already crumpled up the portion of the letter they'd ripped and shoved it down the garbage disposal, cheering as it was ground into a pulp.

“Here, Sage, give me that.” Rose held out her hand and Sage gave her the remainder of the letter. She folded it up as best she could and put it back in her pocket.

“What's their beef with Kathy Keegan?” Sage asked.

Rose shook her head. “It's the King Things.” She pointed to Jasmine and Ning who were staring down the drain and clapping. “They make them hate Kathy Keegan!”

The bakers covered their hands with their ears, as if the very name of the cartoon baker sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“Why would Mr. Butter want that?” Ty asked. “I thought he wanted to take over Kathy Keegan's company?”

An image of the International Society of the Rolling Pin's meeting flashed before Rose's eyes—how everyone there despised Kathy Keegan. “It's a backup plan in case the other plan doesn't work,” Rose said with a sudden realization. “If people eat King Things, and King Things make them hate Kathy Keegan, they're not gonna go out and buy a box of Kathy Keegan Koko Kakes, right?”

The bakers snarled and winced and threw metal bowls, which went clattering to the floor.

“And since only two bakeries in the country are now legally allowed to operate, that means Mostess Moony Pyes and Glo-Balls and Dinky Doodle Donuts are their only other choice,” Sage concluded. “Tricky!”

Rose smelled the red mason jar containing the Object of Revulsion once more. “I just don't understand exactly what this stuff is.”

“It actually looks like Kathy Keegan Koko Kakes,” said Ty, peering through the red glass of the jar. “Like, ones that have seen better days.”

“That's it!” Rose exclaimed. “The Koko Kakes themselves are the Objects of Revulsion! They've been putrefied, probably with some kind of magical rotting agent. Add the revolting stuff to the batter, and the people who eat it start to hate that thing. A lot.”

Marge and the other bakers had opened fifty canisters of vanilla frosting and were assembling the white goopy stuff into something that looked like a snowman.

“What are you doing with that frosting?” said Rose.

“We're making an effigy of that useless
sack
Kathy Keegan,” said Marge.

“And what are you going to do with it?” asked Ty.

Marge's eyes seemed to burst with flames. “Burn it.”

Rose grabbed the Apocrypha and flipped through, looking for an antidote to Gagoosh Taghipoor's Rolls of Revulsion. “Oh dear. We have to fix this before they burn down the building.”

 

PARENTAL PASTRY CREAM: To squash the seeds of hatred and discord

 

The beautiful Lady Niloufar Bliss did greet the wandering band of starving children who had so violently eschewed their parents. She did create a plum tart and did imbue the pastry cream beneath the fruit with
MOTHER'S LOVE
, mined from the wailing of the estranged mothers of the village of Masuleh. When the children did eat of the tart, they wept and ran back to the arms of their weeping mothers, who kissed their faces and rejoiced.

 

“Where are we going to get Mother's Love?” Rose asked.

“Duh,” said Ty. “Our own mother is about a mile away. And she loves us. Like, a lot.”

“Right,” said Rose. “Except we don't have the key to their suite. I think I saw it on Mr. Butter's key ring, but there's no way to actually lift it off his belt.”

“Leave that to me!” squeaked Jacques. The mouse had been watching the proceedings from atop one of the prep tables. “You see, I used to be a thief.”

“You did?”

“Oui,”
said Jacques. “I would steal food from expensive shops in the market and give it to ze poor people.”

“Like Robin Hood,” said Ty.

“That was ze idea,” said Jacques. “But I got very creative. In ze beginning, I would leave potatoes on their doorstep. Then eet was a whole medley of vegetables and butchered meats. Then I was constructing elaborate gift baskets from the things I stole. Eet got to be excessive. Ze poor don't need little tins of caviar and smoked oysters. And ze baskets were so heavy that I would have to enlist many mice to help me carry them. And then ze mice would start to eat the baskets—oooooh, eet was a big mess.”

“But your heart was in the right place,” Rose said.

“
Absolument!
In any case, I am quite an adept thief.” He drew his paws along his whiskers, cleaning them. “When your Mr. Butter comes in here later today, that key will be mine.”

 

Mr. Butter and Mr. Kerr showed up a short while later. Mr. Kerr had on a bright purple velour track suit.
How many of those things does he own?
Rose wondered.

Sage and Ty watched from Rose's bedroom, unseen by Mr. Butter and Mr. Kerr, while Rose greeted them in the test kitchen.

Marge and the bakers had completed their life-size frosting statue of Kathy Keegan. It bore a remarkable resemblance to the cartoon character on the letterhead. If the bakers hadn't been driven by blind hatred, they might have considered careers as sculptors and artists.

“What is this snowman doing here?” asked Mr. Butter.

He stood behind a stainless steel prep table wearing a light-blue button-down shirt and navy slacks. The same thick ring of keys Rose had seen before hung from his belt, and as she scanned it, she saw an oddly shaped key, a brass staff with a tiny rolling pin jutting out from the end at a ninety-degree angle. She looked around for Jacques, but he was nowhere to be found. Gus, though, she could see sitting atop a refrigerator in plain sight. She'd told the cat to hide—Mr. Butter clearly didn't like him—but he had his own ideas about where he belonged.

“This is an effigy of Kathy Keegan made from frosting,” said Rose. “The bakers are eager to burn it.”

“Are you?” Mr. Butter asked the bakers, looking delighted.
“Why?”

“Because Kathy Keegan is
evil
,” Felanie said.

“Like music that plays in elevators,” Melanie said.

“Or Christmas fruitcakes,” Gene said.

“We were trying to expunge that ugly face from our brains,” said Marge. “We only want to think of Mostess—and its heavenly, perfect food-like products.”

It would have been a rousing performance, thought Rose, if indeed it had been a performance. Unlike the other times Mr. Butter had come in to check on the test kitchen's progress, this time the bakers weren't faking it. Mr. Butter was witnessing the true destructive power of the perfected recipes firsthand, and he was
loving
it. His eyes were bright and wide, and his cheeks were as pink as the top of his bald head. He looked like a schoolboy. A strange, old schoolboy.