Sol pinched at her shoulder with his beak.
“Alice first! Alice first!” he squawked.
“Yes, Sol, I know. Let’s go.”
Christelle made her way into the madness that was the kitchen in Studio B and found Alice. She was near the back, standing behind Mona who was still wearing her sparkling blue witch’s hat, showing everyone, she had won the first round. The colors of it were swirling – it seemed to change color to suit the mood of the person wearing it, or to match their personality. Christelle wasn’t quite sure which it was. Today it seemed incapable of commitment. The hat was alternating hues between a beautiful deep blue, a bright red, and a glimmering gold. Sometimes it transitioned so quickly that its tone was just a blurry blend. Other times it slowed to a crawl; teasing onlookers who would guess it had landed on a decision.
Christelle dragged her gaze away from the hat and smiled at Alice. She was the newest member of the kitchen crew after all, and so Christelle knew that the film crew would be most interested in getting audiences up to speed.
“So, Alice, welcome! It’s great to have you here in our kitchen, whipping up some wonderful creations, no doubt. Tell us a little about yourself and why you applied to appear on The Kitchen Witch Wars.”
Alice nodded but for a moment stood wordless as she appeared deep in creative flow. She was busy measuring out herbs and spices, and... was that a crystal? There was an unusual ingredient waiting at the end of the bench to be incorporated. Christelle wondered whether it would make its way into the food or it was there just to offer luck and guidance. It could be either; Alice was a witch, after all.
“Sorry,” said Alice. “I didn’t want to lose count.”
“No problem at all,” said Christelle who was fascinated by what she could see.
Although the ingredients looked nothing like that which Joachim had used, there was a distinct confidence emanating from Alice. There was just something about her that said she was right and that was that.
“So, I’m Alice Alizon, a hearth witch. I don’t cook professionally, although it’s something I’d like to do when I win the money.”
Christelle opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. Alice’s forthrightness was breath taking. Literally.
“Sorry, did I say too much?” asked Alice. “I’m often told I speak my mind when I should stay quiet. But then, what’s the point in thinking things and not saying them out loud?”
“Err, yes, well... quite,” mumbled Christelle.
She had never met anyone quite as confident as Alice, at least not someone who wasn’t also arrogant. Her mind went to Joachim, even Daegal. Confidence could go too far, but the charm and innocence that this rock-and-roll witch brought with her worked.
“So, you’re certain you’re going to win?”
Alice nodded, although she had gone back to her cooking by this time.
“I would say so,” she said. “I breezed through the audition – you know I did the same task as everyone else did in the first episode? The secret ingredient mystery basket challenge. The judges loved my dish. Well, Joachim did, and that Wade guy was there and said it was good too. I guess he was a stand in for some of the others who couldn’t make it.”
“Ah, yes, probably. An extra contestant was rather a surprise, but we love surprises on The Kitchen Witch Wars, so welcome and good luck!”
“Surprise! Surprise!” Sol yelled so loudly that Christelle winced.
She wasn’t the only one startled. Standing just ahead of her, Mona yelped. Her creation had turned an unappetizing shade of green within her mixing bowl. Then, the wooden spoon she had been using to stir tumbled over Christelle’s head and landed smack in the face of Henry the shapeshifter, after it had sailed clear through Dermott the ghost, causing him to flicker and shimmer as though he was disappearing.
“Watch what you’re doing!” he cried out. “You know I need to concentrate to be able to hold onto any equipment! If I don’t it just slips right through my hands. Or what passes for hands when you’re a ghost!”
As for Henry, the big red welt on his forehead that had come from Mona’s spoon glowed as angrily as he felt.
“Where are the professionals?” he wailed, rubbing his head.
A medic ran over to his aid, but he brushed her aside.
“I didn’t mean you. I meant the professional chefs. Everyone is such a novice, such an amateur. I’ve no time for this,” he grumbled. “I’ve got to create!”
The producers were, no doubt, going to love what had just happened. It was television gold, something that they could really use to boost the ratings. But Christelle, stuck in the middle of it all, wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking about how she had to go and chat with Henry soon (although she would put it off for as long as she could) and how angry he was going to be. She was thinking about Mona and how assured she had been the last time she had cooked – she had won the coveted witch’s hat, for sage’s sake – but how she was now falling apart.
What was going on?
There was no time to waste pondering matters.
Christelle looked over to the judges who were clearly having an argument. It was not for the first time and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last either. But why did they all bicker so much this round of filming? Had they grown to dislike one another that much? But why? The Joachim and Martine issue was clear: ex-spouses who didn’t want to be in the same room as one another but whose need or love of money had brought them here... but Zach? The ghost was not the most pleasant man she had ever met, but that didn’t explain the rows. Christelle sighed and shook herself. She reminded herself what her job was, and with an apologetic smile cast toward Alice, Christelle moved over to speak to the next contestant - Mona.
“Well, that was dramatic!” said Christelle.
She decided to make light of the flying spoon incident. It was the only choice if she wanted to cheer up the clearly embarrassed and frazzled Mona.
Mona turned to Christelle with big, fat tears in her eyes. She blinked as tears began rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, Christelle! I’m so sorry! Please tell Henry and Dermott it was an accident!”
Christelle nodded and put a soothing hand on Mona’s shoulder.
“Of course, I will. Of course. They know you didn’t mean it.”
Christelle chose not to look behind her at that moment. It was all too likely she would see at least one of the contestants (most likely Henry) glaring at her.
“And anyway, it wasn’t your fault, was it? It was Sol.”
Christelle poked the bird in the chest and he coughed loudly.
“Yes, it was, but still... I’m on edge anyway,” Mona said. “This task... it’s hard. The last one wasn’t. The last one was simple. I could cook the food I like to cook, but this... this is different.”
Mona looked pleadingly at Christelle, as though she hoped Christelle could change the rules. She pointed at the fondant languishing on her bench.
“Even rolling fondant is impossible! And I’ve got to mix this bowl as well. There’s not enough time! It’s... hard...”
“Absolutely,” said Christelle. “Round three will be different still, but that’s why it’s a competition. We test everyone’s skills. We need to see who the best all-around chef is.”
Christelle looked down at the mixture Mona was making. It still looked a rather unfortunate shade of green. Though Christelle hadn’t been paying as close attention as she might have done had she been tasked with cooking, when Joachim prepared his cake, that color had certainly never appeared.
“I know that, Mona said, sullenly. “I understand. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“It makes it a challenge that you can overcome,” championed Christelle. “Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Think about what you tasted, think about each different part. Then try again.”
Mona did just that. With eyes closed, a smile started to spread across her face.
“Ah, I see... I get it!”
And with that, Mona tossed everything she had done so far into the trash. She began again, from scratch.
Christelle stepped away quietly, secretly proud of Mona’s determination. She was also worried that there wasn’t going to be enough time for her to finish, but she did her best to conceal any doubt. Still, it was done, and the judges would decide whether it had been the right call.
“Evie!” said Christelle turning around and facing the sweet little vampire. “How are you finding this task?”
Evie held up a finger, signaling for Christelle to wait. She smelled the food in front of her and creased her brow. The furrows disappeared and a smile spread across Evie’s face.
“Yes, I think that’s it. Very close, anyway. Sorry, Christelle, I just had to get this right. What were you saying?”
Christelle laughed.
“I think you’ve answered the question, actually. I was wondering how you were getting on.”
“Oh! Marvelously, I’d say!”
Evie held her bowl toward Christelle, beckoning her to have a sample taste. Christelle had to back away.
“Ah, as much as I’d love to, it’s in the rules – I can’t do it. But it looks good, smells great too. I just can’t taste it. Plus... it’s raw cake batter. I’m not sure I want to eat that.”
“Ah, shame,” said Evie. “Never mind. I know it tastes good. I know it tastes very similar to Joachim’s cake. That’s what counts.”
“It does indeed.” Christelle smiled. “So, you seem to be contending well with the task at hand, but how are you finding your fellow competitors?”
Evie paused. She was a good girl, one who would not usually complain, one who was generous and loving. There was something she wanted to say, and Christelle must have picked up on that. She wouldn’t be doing her job if she didn’t at least ask.
“Well...” A beeping alarm from somewhere on one of the benches interrupted Evie.
“Never mind,” she said, deciding better of her course.
So close! Christelle knew there was something more there, but she couldn’t quite get to it. Maybe later. She would try again.
And then...
“Hearth witch.”
“Huh?”
Evie had whispered the words so quietly that Christelle barely heard that she had said anything at all.
“What?”
Evie gestured for Christelle to move in closer and she whispered the words a second time.
“Hearth witch, it doesn’t ring true. I’ve seen her before, but I can’t quite remember. It’s like we know each other, or we did.”
Christelle stepped back, looking as confused as she was. Hearth witch. That’s what Alice, the new contestant, had said she was. Christelle still didn’t know enough about witches to tell one from another, so she hadn’t known what a hearth witch was. Now she would have to find out. Clearly, something strange was underfoot.
“Okay, no problem, that’s interesting!” said Christelle in her usual jolly presenter voice.
She looked at Evie and nodded a tiny nod. Evie looked relieved that she had passed what little information she had on to someone else. It might be nothing, but it might be important.
With a head full of new and intriguing puzzles, Christelle moved to Leif’s bench. The little pixie was a good guy. He kept to himself, liked pretty much everyone and was in return liked by everyone. This should be a simple interview, Christelle thought.
“So, how’s it going Leif? The only pixie left in the competition, is that hard for you?”
Leif thought about the question – or rather, questions – for a long moment.
“It’s going well,” he said, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose. “I have all the ingredients, I have the method, and I saw how Joachim made his cake. So, I should be able to put it all together. It’s a question of logic. It’s like a puzzle, and I love a good puzzle. As for your second question, being the only pixie doesn’t faze me. I quite like it. It’s less pressure, especially when my fellow pixie was...”
He stopped talking, suddenly unsure of himself. Was he allowed to mention who she had been? What she had done?
“It’s okay, Leif, we know. And it’s a good point. You’re a little freer now, is that it?”
“I suppose so. Although of course it really makes no difference what race people are – we’re all here to win, aren’t we?”
Christelle blushed. Race? Had she just said something she shouldn’t have? She still had so much to learn. Leif didn’t seem to mind what she had said, but then he seemed a little different from the others, working on a slightly slower level (not that that was a bad thing, just unusual). Nothing seemed to bother him very much.
“Oh yes, it makes no difference at all. I was just curious.”
Christelle wished she could steer the conversation away from where she had accidentally led it, but every time she thought of a question it came back to the same point. In the end she gave up and asked anyway. If it was wrong, Daegal would tell her, and they would cut the questions out in the edit, wouldn’t they?
“And how about Alice the hearth witch? Are you happy to have another contestant join in, or would you have preferred to be down to six?”
Leif was thoughtful once again.
“Six would have been better. I’d like to win, so the fewer contestants there are the greater my chances. But who am I to say who stays and who goes? If she is here fairly, that’s all that matters. Wait, did you say hearth witch? I don’t think that’s right, you see-” He stopped. “No, it’s not my place.”
Christelle could have screamed. Okay, so two contestants thought Alice didn’t seem to be a hearth witch. Christelle needed to find out what a hearth witch was and why Alice didn’t match up to the description. And if she wasn’t a hearth witch, what was she? And why lie about it? Something fishy was going on, and it wasn’t just the shrimp in the larder that made Christelle think so.
Christelle had more contestants to talk to, but her task was getting harder. She had spoken to the ‘nice’ ones, the ‘easy’ ones, and now she had to speak to the rest. Sergei wasn’t too bad. He was annoying, but he was friendlier than Henry or Dermott, so she went to him first. After all, he was another witch, so they had that in common.
“Sergei? Are you doing okay?”
“I’m doing okay,” he said slowly. “I’m doing just about okay.”
He didn’t look okay. He looked confused about something.
“Are you sure,” Christelle implored.
She knew she had to probe, but she wanted to do so carefully so as not to make anyone mad. She knew Sergei had a temper.
“Sure enough,” said Sergei.
He even managed a smile.
“Umm... I wanted to say sorry, actually.”
Christelle blinked in surprise.
“Sorry? For what?”
“Not to you,” Sergei added, resuming his slightly off manner.
“To Alice. I was suspicious of her. Maybe even a little cruel. But she’s all right, really. I think I was too quick to judge.”
Well now, that was a surprise.
“We’ve got a lot in common, she and I. She’s... what’s the word... cool. Is cool right? I don’t know, I can’t place it, but she’s interesting. Like no other hearth witch, I’ve ever met, that’s for sure!”
There it was again. That sureness that Alice was no hearth witch despite what she said. Sergei clearly had a crush on the girl which was why he was giving her the benefit of the doubt, but even he had hinted that something was awry. And this new liking of her... it was a sudden shift. Christelle was suspicious, but she didn’t yet know what about.
Christelle was so surprised at this turn of events that she couldn’t think of anything else to ask Sergei.
“Okay, great, well, you just carry on. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Dermott was next. The ghost seemed to have calmed down after the earlier spoon incident. Christelle carefully broached the subject.
“Is everything
all right? That was quite the shock you had earlier, wasn’t it?”
“You mean when your bird shrieked the place down, Mona threw her spoon in the air, and it whizzed through my body like a rocket? Is that what you’re talking about?”
Christelle sighed. Not over it then.
“Err, yes, I suppose that is what I mean... Sol is very sorry, aren’t you, Sol?”
Sol, as ever, only spoke when he wanted to, and in this precise moment he remained silent. Perfect. Christelle couldn’t have been more embarrassed.
“But it’s all okay now, isn’t it? You’ve got your grip back, you’re able to cook?”
Dermott nodded.
“I can cook as well as ever.”
Christelle thought back to the last episode. Dermott’s cooking had been a disaster, and if it hadn’t been for the... incident... involving two of the other contestants, he would have been eliminated. She just hoped that this effort was better than the last, for his sake.
She looked down at the food he was preparing. It looked... wrong. Very wrong. He hadn’t used any butter, hadn’t used any flour, and what he had used just seemed to be crumbled up crackers.
“Err, Dermott... what’s in your bowl?”
“Joachim’s cake, of course.”
Now it was Dermott’s turn to look puzzled.
“Flour, sugar, butter, a touch of lemon juice, and now I’m working on that secret combination of spices that Joachim wouldn’t tell us about. So, if you’ll excuse me...”
Dermott couldn’t see what he was doing and had no idea it was wrong. But why? How?
Then it struck Christelle like a bolt of lightning – a spell. Dermott was under a spell.
Was it Alice’s doing? Mona’s? Who else would know what to do? She thought about Joachim’s little bit of magic earlier, and realized that although she had assumed witches were the only ones who had the power of magic within them, really anyone in the paranormal world could learn a few spells, or buy some potions to use. This widened the suspect pool considerably, didn’t it? It appeared that anyone could have put Dermott under a spell. Christelle wondered if he had been bewitched on the last show too, which might explain why his cooking had been so atrocious.
Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chef Who Nailed It Page 4
