A Dash of Magic: A Bliss Novel

by Kathryn Littlewood

  “I guess you just gotta let it all seep out,” said Ty. Because of the rain, his usually spiky hair had wilted and now hung down to his ears. “It shouldn’t take too long. We’ll just tie you to the ground for a week or so until you start to droop.”

  Sage beat his bloated gut with both fists. “I feel like I have gas. Wait! I do have gas! All I need to do is—”

  “Eew, Sage, no!” Rose said, fanning her hand in front of her face. “There has to be another way.”

  “How about belching instead?” Ty said. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, mi hermano. You’re a champion burper!”

  “Great idea,” Rose said. Sage could not only burp the alphabet on cue, but all of the state capitals as well.

  Sage opened his mouth and pushed from his stomach, but nothing came out. He tried again. “Albany. Tallahassee. Sacramento,” he said. His face scrunched up in frustration. “Oh man. I have belcher’s block!”

  Gus batted a can of ginger ale toward them. “This might do the trick.”

  Rose scooped up the rolling can. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  “I crawled inside that vending machine,” Gus said, flicking his bedraggled tail at a glowing machine near the elevator. “I nearly got stuck on the way out. I hope that I have adequately demonstrated my willingness to make myself uncomfortable for your sake, young Sage.”

  “You’re too big to crawl inside a vending machine, Gus,” Rose said, trying to envision the cat’s bloated stomach squeezing inside the tiny slot at the bottom.

  “You’re right,” he answered. “I bought it.”

  Rose knelt and patted Gus on the head. “Thank you, Gus. This is very helpful.” She handed the can to Sage as Gus climbed back into his waterproof hiding place beneath Sage’s raincoat.

  “Chug! Chug! Chug!” shouted Ty.

  Sage cracked open the can and downed the ginger ale in a matter of seconds. After a moment, he hiccupped once, then twice. Then his jaws were forced open by a hot blast as loud as a rifle salute on Memorial Day.

  Ty laughed. “Yes, hermano! That was a scorcher!”

  Sage had dropped closer to the platform, but he was still floating. Then his mouth opened as wide as the end of a tuba, and he let loose a series of long, reverberating blasts that rustled his lips, blew back Rose’s hair, and seemed to shake the very foundation of the Eiffel Tower.

  “Ay yi yi,” Ty said. “I’m not sure that smells any better than the other option.”

  “Thank goodness we’re alone,” said Rose. “This is too embarrassing for words.”

  That was when Rose heard whispers coming from the far corner of the deck. She turned to find Miriam and Muriel Desjardins, the twin bakers who had been eliminated from the competition earlier that day. They were wearing short black skirts and matching blue blazers. Miriam, whose long hair looked perfect, even when drenched, wore a dainty lace scarf; and Muriel, whose chic hair rivaled even the chicness of Lily’s old haircut, wore a red beret. They looked like cutouts from the pages of a French fashion magazine. Muriel was holding a balloon in the shape of a cupcake.

  “Hello,” Rose said nervously. “How long have you two been standing there?” Rose asked.

  “I’ll handle this,” Ty whispered to Rose. He sauntered over to the girls. “Amigas! The name is Thyme Bliss, but you can call me Ty. Or T-Dog. Call me whatever you want. You’ll recognize my sister Rose and me from the Gala, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, we recognize you,” Miriam said as she and her twin sister surveyed the strange scene: Ty and Rose standing on a wet, dark roof, and Sage in a yellow raincoat with the head of a gray cat poking out the top.

  “What a surprise!” Ty went on. “And what brings you here on this lovely rainy evening?”

  “We’re here to say good-bye to the Gala des Gâteaux Grands,” said Muriel. “We were eliminated today, and they gave us this crummy balloon as a gift. We came up here to set it free.”

  “She means ‘to throw it away,’” said Miriam. “The real question is, what are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

  As if on cue, Sage let loose with his biggest belch yet, which was so powerful that it caught the rain and blew it the other way.

  The two girls stepped back a few paces.

  “I guess you heard my little brother,” Ty replied. “He has a disease called, uh, winditis, which causes uncontrollable belching. It’s very embarrassing, so we came up here in the rain so no one would have to listen to how disgusting he is.”

  “Hey!” Sage yelled. That final roar had expelled all the remaining gas. Sage’s feet were firmly on the platform, and he was busy untying his rope anchor.

  “You’ll forgive us, right?” said Ty. And then Ty busted out the most revered of all his poses: “The Surprised Hair-Swipe.” He raised his eyebrows, bowed his head, and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

  But Miriam and Muriel were of a different caliber of woman than Ty was used to at Calamity Falls High, and “The Surprised Hair-Swipe” seemed to have no effect.

  “You came up here in the middle of a thunderstorm so your brother could burp?” Muriel smirked. “Interesting. Though it doesn’t explain the cat underneath his raincoat and why he’s wearing a rope harness that’s anchored to the tower.”

  “There’s something funny about your family,” said Miriam. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I know,” said Ty. “It’s funny how attractive we are. Or . . . me, at least.”

  “No, that’s not it,” said Miriam. “We’ll leave you alone to finish whatever odd thing you were doing.”

  “No!” Ty cried. “Stay!”

  “Bonne nuit,” said Muriel.

  Rose patted Ty on the shoulder as the Desjardins twins disappeared into the elevator.

  “‘The Surprised Hair-Swipe’ always works,” he whispered, shell-shocked.

  “You’ll get ’em next time, mi hermano,” Rose said.

  The next morning, Jean-Pierre Jeanpierre looked out over the hall and said, “And then there were five.”

  Rose, Lily, Rohit Mansukhani, Dag Ferskjold, and Wen Wei had been stationed at the kitchens closest to the stage. Lily’s kitchen remained directly across from Rose’s.

  “Today’s category will require superior technique,” Jean-Pierre said. “The theme of the day is AIRY.”

  Phew! Rose thought of the two blue mason jars they’d added to Balthazar’s ingredients suitcase and removed the recipe for Angel’s Breath Food Cake from her back pocket. She gave it a final once-over, although she almost knew it by heart, having stayed up much of the night memorizing the recipes.

  “We’ve got that one totally covered, mi hermana,” Ty said.

  As the remaining contestants hurried out of the room to collect their special ingredient, or huddled with their teams to discuss recipes, Purdy bustled up. Behind her trailed Leigh and Sage. Sage was carrying Gus in the BabyBjörn. As usual, Gus did not look pleased at the indignity.

  “Your dad and I are only halfway through our list of ingredients to collect,” Purdy said, “so we’re going to go out now and hunt. Balthazar is still back at the hotel, translating. You just sit tight, keep an eye on Leigh, and we’ll be back in an hour to watch you bake.” Purdy looked down and noticed the ball of brown fur huddled in Rose’s sweatshirt pocket. “Oh, Jacques! You came back! Even though the cat warned you not to! This is true bravery, right here.”

  “I am a spy, after all,” Jacques replied.

  “All right,” said Purdy. “I’m off.” She kissed Rose on the forehead and disappeared through the room’s big doors.

  Sage, Leigh, and Ty watched Purdy go. Sage instantly began fidgeting, which Gus did not appreciate. “I’m bored,” said Sage. “What are we supposed to do for an hour before the bake-off starts?”

  Across the black-and-white-checkered aisle, with TV and film cameras still documenting her every move, their aunt Lily was poring over a sheet of paper, probably the recipe for whatever AIRY dessert she’d planned. At her side wa
s the Shrunken Man, a leather satchel in the shape of a water jug hanging from his shoulder. The bag looked full of something, but Rose couldn’t tell whether or not it was the Booke.

  Rose thought that could mean that the Booke was alone and unguarded. She could picture it sitting there on Lily’s ottoman on the Fantasy Floor, ripe for the taking.

  “Let’s sneak into Lily’s room again and take the Booke back,” she said, expecting her brothers to jump at the opportunity for mischief. Of course, Rose herself was never out for mischief. But she doubted her ability to produce the perfect slice of Angel’s Breath Food Cake. “What if I mess up? I can’t risk losing the Booke forever over a baking mistake. I think we should just go take it back.”

  “I shan’t return to the Fantasy Floor!” cried Jacques.

  Ty looked hesitant. “I don’t know, mi hermana. We only have an hour.”

  “Besides,” Sage added, “you have the recipe for the Angel’s Breath Food Cake, and you already have the ghostly gust to go with it. This one’s kinda in the bag. Why risk everything right now? We don’t even know if the Booke is in the hotel room.”

  “But what if I’m not qualified to do this!” Rose cried. “It’s too risky to put it all on me—I’m not that good a baker.”

  “But you are, Rose. Besides, how would we even get in?” Sage asked. “Lily and the Shrunken Man aren’t going to make the same mistake twice. They know we were there. They know why we were there. This time, they’ll totally see us coming.”

  “And how will you ensure that Lily and the tiny one stay put for the duration of the hour?” Gus asked.

  Rose looked at her little sister, Leigh, and then at Miriam and Muriel, who were sitting in an opera box on the side of the room, looking bored. She looked over at Lily, who was consulting with the Shrunken Man, then noticed that Lily kept a tall stack of 8-x-11 glossy photos on her table. “I think I have a plan.”

  “I don’t know about this, Rose,” Sage said. “Trying to steal the Booke back just seems wrong.”

  “It’s my fault that she has the Booke at all,” Rose said through gritted teeth. She would have said more, but she was afraid she might cry. Everything that was wrong in her life, everything that was wrong in Calamity Falls—it all came back to Rose’s mistake. She’d trusted Lily. Rose would do anything to set things right. “I have to get it back.”

  Ty stared at Rose for a minute. “There’s a little vein in your forehead that looks like it’s gonna blow, Rosita.” He turned to Sage and Jacques. “What the heck, right? Let’s give it a whirl. For Rose. So her head doesn’t explode.”

  Rose watched as Miriam and Muriel Desjardins fought their way through the cameras around Lily’s kitchen and approached her as she worked at her baking table.

  “Lily!” Miriam called. “After we were eliminated from the competition yesterday, we were approached by representatives of the Orphanage of Paris. The children have all requested the same thing for their birthdays: your autograph! We were hoping you could take some time out of your busy schedule to sign . . . oh, two hundred photographs or so!”

  Lily glanced up, a look of irritation crossing her face. Then she remembered that she was surrounded by cameras. Almost magically, her frown turned into a gleaming smile. “Of course!” she lilted, right into the cameras. “Anything for orphans.”

  Lily pulled a Sharpie marker from her apron and set to work autographing glossy photographs of her glossy face—two hundred of them, to be exact.

  “I don’t think Lily and the Shrunken Man will be going anywhere for the next hour,” Ty said. “Good idea, mi hermana.”

  “Thanks,” Rose said. “Was it hard to get Miriam and Muriel to do it?”

  Ty’s grin grew wider. He primped his spiky hair. “Nope. They were suspicious, of course. They wanted to know why I was asking them to do such a strange thing. I told them it was a top-secret mission, and they got even more suspicious. But then I used a one-two punch,” he said. “‘The Wounded Athlete’ look followed by ‘The Lost Woodsman.’ Never fails.”

  “How’d you really do it?” Rose asked.

  Ty looked sheepishly at the floor. “I gave them fifty bucks.”

  While Gus and Sage stood vigil in the expo center kitchen, Ty, Rose, Leigh, and Jacques hurried back to the Hôtel de Notre Dame.

  When they got to the lobby, it was time for Leigh to do her part.

  “You ready, Leigh?” Rose asked, setting her down.

  “If you’re assuring me that this is the only way I will ever get to enter the magnificent Lily Le Fay’s suite, then yes, I am ready.”

  Rose and Ty took a seat on a couch by the elevators, with Jacques in Rose’s pocket, and watched as Leigh toddled up to the front desk.

  “Hello!” Leigh called to the clerk. She banged a fist against the front of the counter. “I have misplaced my key, and I’d like another.”

  The concierge glanced around in confusion, then leaned over his mahogany desk to see who could possibly be speaking. He was surprised to find a child in a dirty 101 Dalmatians T-shirt. “Hello there, little one!” the concierge said. “Where’s your mother?”

  Leigh huffed. “Speak to me with the proper respect, young man! I am a guest in your hotel and a personage of great renown!”

  The concierge smiled. “Of course you are. And what room are you in?”

  “What room am I in?” Leigh repeated, indignant. “Do not condescend to me, young man! I’m not in a room at all! I’m in one of your exclusive suites on the Fantasy Floor!”

  “You . . . are?” the concierge asked.

  “Oh, this is rich,” Leigh announced to the entire lobby. “Do you judge me simply because of my reduced stature? Can no one see past my diminutive form to the sterling mind contained within? No! You are all betrayed by your eyes! No one recognizes the Countess Juniper du Frost! The wife of the renowned Count Ashcroft du Frost, assistant to the great Lily Le Fay! I am staying on the Fantasy Floor with my mustachioed husband, in Miss Le Fay’s suite, and I have misplaced my key! Kindly please give me another!”

  In the sudden silence of the lobby, everyone could hear the concierge swallow. “I am so sorry, Mrs. du Frost! It will not happen again.” Smiling to the assembled onlookers, he ceremoniously reached down and stuffed an enormous brass key into Leigh’s outstretched hand.

  Leigh nodded curtly. “That is the level of sublime service I have come to expect in my hoteliers.” She bowed and swept her hand wide with a flourish. “I’ll see that you receive a commendation from your supervisor!”

  Then she spun on her heel and marched back to where her sister and brother waited by the elevator.

  She smiled sweetly. “There,” she said. “Now get me upstairs. I want to smell Lily’s perfume as it permeates the living room.”

  Moments later, as Rose keyed B O O K E onto the keypad of the Fantasy Floor elevator bank, she was gripped by a terrible sense of foreboding.

  Maybe this is a bad idea, she thought. Maybe I’ve gone off the deep end, asking my little sister to pretend to be a famous countess when I’m not even sure the Booke is going to be there. Maybe I’ve gone too far.

  Ty flicked Rose in the shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped.

  Rose held her breath all the way up to the seventeenth floor.

  Soon the four of them—Rose, Ty, Leigh, and Jacques, in Rose’s pocket—stood before the locked door of Lily’s suite.

  “Jacques,” said Rose, “would you mind taking a peek through your hole to make sure there’s no one in the room?”

  “No problem,” said Jacques. He leaped from the pocket of Rose’s sweatshirt and scurried across the floor. “Oh no!” he cried once he’d reached the baseboard. “They have plugged up my private entrance!”

  “That’s not a good sign,” Ty said. “How could they have known about Jacques?”

  “I’m sure it was the Shrunken Man. A little spy can smell another little spy a mile away,” Leigh said sagely as Jacques scr
ambled up Rose’s leg and curled in her pocket once more.

  Ty shrugged. “We’re here now.”

  Rose nodded. She slid the key into the lock. “Here goes nothing.”

  Rose turned the key and swung open the door. Before she could take a single step, however, Leigh ran inside and plopped onto a purple velvet couch sitting next to the ottoman. “That performance has left me utterly drained! Naptime for moi!” she announced, promptly falling asleep.

  Rose and Ty looked at each other, then crossed to the ottoman where they had spotted the Shrunken Man and the Booke—but the ottoman was empty, save for a small, cream-colored envelope.

  Rose reached down and picked up the envelope.

  Immediately, a piercing buzzer rang out.

  “What’s that, a fire drill?” Ty cried.

  Rose pulled a slip of paper from the envelope and read it aloud. “‘Surprise, burglars! This is a trap. If you’re reading this, then you’re about to be on TV! Love, Lily.’”

  “What does that mean?” Ty asked.

  Even over the piercing wail of the alarm, Rose heard a rustling in the bedroom. “Quick, hide behind the couch!” she cried. She and Ty hurtled over the back of the purple velvet couch just as a camera crew darted into the living room.

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief—until she remembered that Leigh was sleeping in plain view on the other side of the couch.

  A trap!

  The sofa Leigh had fallen asleep on, and behind which Ty and Rose were hiding, wasn’t like a regular sofa at all. It was a long, wrought-iron bench with an intricate filigree pattern covering the back to which purple velvet cushions had been tied. By peering through the spaces between the purple velvet couch cushions, Rose and Ty could see what was going on.

  Just after Rose and Ty had leaped behind the couch, three men had run into the living room. They had been lurking in the suite’s bedroom, waiting for someone to trip the alarm. The men were dressed in jeans and fleece jackets of various colors. They all had beards. One held a long pole with a fuzzy gray microphone dangling from the end, one carried a hefty camera on his shoulder like a bazooka, and the other—the scrawniest of the three—followed behind with loops of electrical cords dangling from his arms.