Rose’s stomach jumped into her throat. Mr. Butter had seen Marge switch the treats!
“What say I eat these samples,” he said, pulling the platter of antidote snack cakes toward him, “and you can have the real snack cakes! It’ll make a better picture if we’re both eating the same thing.”
Rose felt she might actually jump out of her skin as Mr. Butter pulled the first snack cakes, the evil ones, from Marge’s purse and arranged them on an empty platter on the banquet table.
“What’s different about these?” Kathy Keegan asked, eyeing the new platter of snack cakes. “And why were they being kept in a purse?”
“They’re of finer quality,” said Mr. Butter. “I employ Marge here to keep security in our kitchens. And a good thing, too! Otherwise that imposter would have eaten all our hard work and spoiled your little treat. Aren’t you glad I noticed that little mix-up, Rosemary?”
Rose tried to nod, but she couldn’t move. She felt like she’d never be able to take a deep breath again.
“Come here, Ms. Keegan, stand next to me,” said Mr. Butter. He guided Kathy Keegan behind the banquet table, where she could look down at the tray of snack cakes—the Moony Pye, the Glo-Ball, the Dinky Doodle Donut, the King Thing, and the Dinky Cake, all prepared according to Lily’s recipes, all perfected by Rose.
Rose sidled up beside Marge. “What are we going to do, Marge?” she whispered. “The plan failed. I failed. Kathy Keegan is going to become a Mostess puppet.”
Marge put her arm around Rose and pulled her close. “You listen to me, Rosemary Bliss,” she whispered. “You need to learn how to have a little faith.”
“Let’s begin with the Moony Pye,” said Mr. Butter. But when he looked down at his Moony Pye, a tiny brown mouse was standing beside it on his hind legs, playing a song on the flute. Debussy’s Claire de lune, in fact.
Mr. Butter stared down at Jacques, his eyes bulging out of his head as he shouted, “Another mouse!” He stumbled backward into the arms of Mr. Kerr, who fell into Rose, knocking her to the floor. “Ow!” she cried.
Mr. Kerr rolled over, and Rose scrambled to her feet in time to see Jacques galloping away astride his trusty feline steed, Gus.
Looking dazed, Mr. Butter got to his feet and stared down at his platter. “Good grief!” he panted, adjusting his glasses. “Please ignore the events of the past three minutes, Ms. Keegan. Of late I have been haunted by apparitions of mice. Let us, just to be safe, begin with the Glo-Ball instead.”
Rose gulped, her heart doing flips inside of her as she watched Mr. Butter reach down and pick up his antidote Glo-Ball. Kathy Keegan picked up her perfected, poisonous Glo-Ball.
They clinked Glo-Balls like they were clinking glasses of champagne at a New Year’s Eve party.
“Bottoms up,” said Kathy Keegan.
As the two popped the Glo-Balls in their mouths, the cameras flashed, and Rose held her breath for what was about to be the worst moment of her entire life.
CHAPTER 18
Boys Do Cry
A hush fell over the room as Kathy Keegan and Mr. Butter chewed their snack cakes.
Rose remembered the crazed reactions of the bakers when they first ate their Glo-Balls, imbued with the howling emptiness of the Hag o’ the Mist. She waited for Kathy Keegan to growl and viciously demand more more MORE Glo-Balls.
But the sound she heard was of another variety entirely. It was a deep, guttural crying—the sound of a hard soul cracking open its shutters and letting in some light.
Rose opened her eyes. Mr. Butter was draped over the banquet table, sobbing like a lost little boy.
Kathy Keegan looked over at Mr. Butter, confused. “What’s the matter with him?” she asked. “I mean, they’re delicious, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know if I’d cry over them.”
Rose felt like her head was about to explode. Why was Kathy Keegan unaffected by the perfected recipes? And why was Mr. Butter crying over the antidotes?
Rose tugged at Marge’s sleeve. “What the heck is going on? Why isn’t Kathy Keegan going crazy?”
Marge wore a small but devilish grin. “I whipped up a different batch of treats back in the Development Kitchen,” she said. “While you were taking your nap, and while the rest of the team was preparing the Koko Kakes.”
“So Kathy Keegan is eating the antidote cakes?” Rose asked.
Marge shook her head, her eyes gleeful. “No, she’s eating the same thing Mr. Butter is eating.”
“But why is Mr. Butter reacting that way? Why is he crying instead of running around begging for more Glo-Balls?” Rose asked.
Marge stared ahead, grinning as Mr. Butter reached out, sobbing, for a hug from Mr. Kerr.
“Hug me!” Mr. Butter sniffled. “Would someone please hug me?”
“Marge,” Rose said. “Explain yourself.”
Marge cleared her throat. “I couldn’t let anyone eat those evil Mostess cakes. And the only way to make sure of that was to destroy them and their recipes for good.
“So, while you were taking your little nap, I got busy baking some extras of the five antidote snack cakes, and I put a heaping pat of that Mother’s Love cream into each one. Those were the cakes in the display case, and those were the cakes in my bag. I threw out all the cakes and things made from those evil recipes. But as you can see, the antidotes don’t affect everyone the same way.” She gave Rose a tiny, tight-lipped smile. “I learned that in that Apocrypha booklet you left lying around.”
Rose threw her arms around the Head Baker and wept. “You’re the greatest, Marge! The greatest!”
“It said that the Mother’s Love buttercream fills in the holes where a person is missing his or her mother’s love,” Marge said, giving Rose a gentle squeeze back. “Katherine Keegan was clearly loved all her life. But Mr. Butter, now, he’s something else entirely.”
“You’re a genius,” Rose said. “You’ve saved us all.”
“It was you, Rosemary Bliss,” said Marge. “Well, you, and the Mother’s Love you fed us back there.”
Mr. Butter was rolling back and forth on the floor with his arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry!” he sobbed. “I must apologize! I must send a personal letter of apology to everyone in America for even thinking of hurting them!”
Mr. Kerr knelt next to his boss and shook Mr. Butter hard by the shoulders. “Jameson Butter! Snap out of it! What the heck is wrong with you? Are you dying?”
“I am dying of joy! Of . . . love!” Mr. Butter shouted. “Have a King Thing!”
Mr. Butter handed Mr. Kerr one of the chocolate logs.
“I’m not hungry,” said Mr. Kerr.
“You must have it!” Mr. Butter cried, and he stuffed the whole thing into Mr. Kerr’s mouth.
“Watch,” Marge whispered to Rose. “This should be a sight like none we’ve ever seen.”
As Mr. Kerr chewed the King Thing, his furrowed brows melted into a look of tender love, and he groped around for the nearest thing that looked remotely like a mother, which happened to be Kathy Keegan. He slid under the banquet table and curled up at her feet. “Mama!”
While the photographers frantically snapped pictures and the reporters held out their microphones, Kathy Keegan said, “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” She stepped out of Mr. Kerr’s clutching embrace. “Why are these men crying? Why is there a talking cat and a flute-playing mouse? Why was this young man pretending to be me?” When Ty flinched, she smiled. “It’s okay, honest—you look good in a skirt!”
“Thank you!” Ty exclaimed.
“It’s a long story,” Rose said.
Kathy Keegan sat down on the edge of the stage and pulled the platter of treats toward her. “There’s nothing I like better than a story while I’m snacking.”
Much later, after the reporters had taken all the pictures they wanted and gone home, after the workers had been dismissed and the baking team had gone back to the kitchens for a well-needed rest, Ms. Keegan sat with Marge, Rose, and her broth
ers at the banquet table on the factory floor.
“So it didn’t matter which cakes we ate,” Ms. Keegan summed up.
On the floor in front of them, Mr. Butter and Mr. Kerr had fallen into a troubled sleep in each other’s arms.
“It was the only way to be safe,” Marge told Rose. “I couldn’t bear the thought of something going wrong with the plan.”
“It maybe wasn’t the best of plans,” Rose said.
“That was very crafty of you, Marge, to switch all the cakes,” said Kathy Keegan.
Marge blushed. “Oh my! I can’t believe Kathy Keegan just called me crafty. I need a minute.” She took a deep breath and fanned herself with the empty platter.
“She’s a big fan of yours,” Rose told the woman.
“It appears she saved my life,” said Ms. Keegan, “so I think I’m a fan of hers, as well!”
“It wasn’t just me!” Marge said, hyperventilating into her purse. “It was Rose! She gave me the courage to fight for what I know is right!”
Beside her, Sage sat with the master gloves on, his arms extended and crossed at the wrists, his hands rocking back and forth like he was riding an invisible horse. From somewhere behind him came the sound of many segmented mechanical limbs repeating the moves in time with him.
“And the cat . . . Can it really talk?” asked Kathy Keegan. “Or had I already been poisoned by these Rolling Pin people?”
Gus leaped up to the banquet table and brushed up against Kathy Keegan’s side. “I ate a magical biscuit when I was young. As one does. Sorry for giving you a fright.”
“That’s . . . all right,” said Kathy Keegan, staring warily at the gray cat. “It’s just not something you encounter every day.”
“I should hope not,” Gus said. “I pride myself on being unique.”
Jacques scrambled up and sat atop Gus’s head.
“And you,” said Kathy Keegan, eyeing Jacques suspiciously. “You actually play the flute?”
“Did you enjoy?” the mouse asked anxiously. “I have been practicing Claire de lune for years!”
“It was beautiful,” Kathy Keegan said, laying her hand over her heart. “Now this Rolling Pin group, they’re the ones behind the Big Bakery Discrimination Act?”
“Yes,” answered Rose. “They all worked together to get the law passed in Congress. We thought you were part of it, too, since it benefited your bakery.”
“I did no such thing!” said Kathy Keegan, aghast. “There isn’t any discrimination against big bakeries! It’s the silliest thing I ever heard. I came here today to try to talk Mr. Butter into coming with me to ask Congress to overturn the law. It’s ridiculous.”
“Even if you had convinced Mr. Butter,” said Sage, “you’d have the other members of the International Society of the Rolling Pin to contend with.”
Kathy Keegan rose and took a stroll around the banquet table, then down the red carpet, winding her way between pairs of robots doing Gangnam Style dance moves.
“Sage,” Rose hissed, “stop it!”
“If these people—the International Society of the Rolling Pin—use magic,” Kathy Keegan said at last, “then we need to fight them with magic. I have the resources to launch a national campaign. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. What I don’t have is magical know-how. I don’t use magic in my baking—just recipes that are very, very, very good.”
It sounded much like the appeal Mr. Butter had made to Rose when he first brought her to the Mostess compound and asked her to work on the recipes—only this time, Rose had a feeling of lightness and calm in her stomach. She could tell that Kathy Keegan meant well.
“If we team up, we can overturn the Big Bakery Discrimination Act and get your family’s bakery up and running again,” said Kathy Keegan. “And then we can create a line of products that targets these Rolling Pin people, whoever they are, and cures them of their misery and greed.”
Rose smiled. She thought this sounded like a great idea.
“Did you ever get my letter?” said Kathy.
“Yes,” said Rose. “Actually, I have it right here!” She pulled the crumpled and torn-up letter from the back pocket of her shorts. The top was missing, and it was wrinkled and stained, but it was still legible. “I have to warn you, I’m not really great on camera.”
“Oh, never mind that!” said Kathy Keegan. “I’m terrible on camera as well. Did you read the other side?”
“Other side?” Rose shook her head and turned the letter over, which, just like the Apocrypha, had its own sweet little antidote to what had been typed on the front. There was a handwritten paragraph from Kathy Keegan herself:
Dear Rose,
You are a remarkable young woman and your passion for baking is obvious. I know you’re an integral part of your family’s bakery in Calamity Falls, but I would love for you to come create some new recipes for us. Just for a week, if you can. I’d love to work with you.
Cheers,
Kathy Keegan
“Wow.” Rose laughed. “That would have been a lot more fun than the week I spent here.”
“The offer still stands,” said Kathy Keegan.
“I think I should ask my parents and Balthazar first,” said Rose. “Would you like to meet them?”
“They’re here?” said Kathy Keegan.
“Yes,” said Rose. “We just have to go rescue them.”
“If we do it really fast,” said Sage, “I can still be home in time for that water balloon fight!”
EPILOGUE
Lady Rosemary Bliss
The gorgeous morning light of Calamity Falls poured in through the bedroom window as Rose yawned herself awake. She didn’t feel any different, but she knew that she was.
Rose looked over and saw Leigh snoring in her bed, sucking her thumb and holding a plaid blanket in her other hand, something Mrs. Carlson had given her during the regrettable time when Leigh had lived apart from her family at the Carlson house.
“Wake up, little one,” Rose said to her younger sister.
“Hehnmh,” Leigh said from her bed, her eyes still shut. “I’m sleepy.”
Rose pulled on a red tank top and a fresh pair of shorts, then swept Leigh into her arms—still in her pajamas—and carried her downstairs. Today was a special day, and she was excited to celebrate it with her family.
The Bliss kitchen was empty. A pile of mail was sitting on the breakfast table next to a copy of the Calamity Falls Gazette.
Rose slid Leigh onto a kitchen chair. “Morning, Rosie,” Leigh said, her voice still heavy with sleep.
“Morning, Leigh,” Rose said, glad to be back with her sister—and back at home.
Rose glanced down at the paper. A headline was emblazoned across the front page in fat letters: BAKERY ACT REPEALED! Rose smiled, knowing it was only a matter of days before the Bliss Family Bakery had its grand reopening. Rose had just gotten back from a week with Kathy Keegan, where they had discussed important plans for the future, and she knew she had only a few days of summer freedom left before school started up again. She intended to enjoy them.
Rose left the newspaper on the table but grabbed a couple of postcards and her little sister as she stepped out into the backyard, where Gus and Jacques were sunning themselves in miniature lawn chairs.
“Have you ever even tried fish?” said Gus. “How can you so despise something you’ve never even tried?”
“Non mais je rêve!” Jacques retorted. “I don’t believe it! I could say the same for you and cheese!”
“How can you love something that smells like feet?” Gus asked.
Jacques twitched. “How can you love something that smells like fish?”
Rose laughed as she stepped over the furry duo.
“Rose!” said Gus. “Look, I’ve got a tan!” He parted some of the fur on his gray belly, revealing more gray fur underneath. “You can’t really see it, but I’ve got a tan.”
“That’s great, you guys.” She smiled. “You’re real beach bums.”
Rose stepped out toward the shed and the tree with the tire swing, to where Ty and Sage were fighting—virtually, of course.
Ty wore one pair of robot-controlling white gloves and Sage wore another. They both stood on opposite sides of the giant trampoline and punched the air, while two robots from the Mostess compound bounced up and down on the black vinyl, swinging at each other with padded arms.
As far as Rose knew, the entire Mostess compound had been dismantled, the red mason jars taken away and destroyed under her great-great-great-grandfather’s supervision. Mr. Butter and Mr. Kerr, transformed by the Mother’s Love Marge fed them, were now working for Kathy Keegan, detailing everything they knew about the International Society of the Rolling Pin. The Mostess Corporation was no more, its factories closed and its workers at last gone home.
The robots, however, had come to Calamity Falls with Rose’s brothers.
Ty’s robot took a jab at Sage’s robot. Sage dodged out of the way, and his robot fell clear off the side of the trampoline, landing in a heap on the grass. It buzzed and thrashed and was still.
“Oh well,” said Sage, bounding off toward the shed. “Time for a new robot.” He slid open the shed door, revealing a collection of fifty or so identical metal robots. He dragged out another and heaved it onto the trampoline.
“You know, you need to be more careful,” said Ty. “One day, we’re gonna run out of these things.”
Rose turned her gaze away and shuffled through the postcards. One in particular grabbed her attention: It was a photograph of a woman waving from a hot-air balloon. The balloon was so far away that Rose could barely see her face, but Rose knew exactly who it was.
“Guys! We got a postcard from Marge!”
Ty and Sage kept swinging punches at each other as Rose read the postcard aloud.
Dear Rose, Ty, and Sage,
Guess what my new job is? Hot-air-balloon operator! No one’s ever gonna hold me down, ever again. I will just fly away if they try. Love, Marge
Bite-Sized Magic Page 20
