Professor Puff was the only one who seemed truly content with the results of the board meeting.

"Most of the board found Apprentice Baker Galette's report to be quite compelling," she said to the second-years on Monday morning. "And his demonstration of the 'proto-spell' was marvelous. Eight of the twelve board members detected a marked difference in the experience of eating the cake before and after Galette performed the spell."

"That's still one short of the required majority," Mac pointed out.

"But it is enough to merit further exploration." Professor Puff folded her hands sedately. "We have the board's support to continue developing Enjoyment. They are eager to see more concrete results, but then again, so are we."

Boysen crossed his arms. Lyra noted the air around him was beginning to spin faster, swiftly approaching the speed that had so concerned her during the Treble holiday party.

"We know that spell works," he insisted. "Even if you can't see it, you can feel it. How could four experienced bakers refuse to acknowledge that?"

"Because they refuse to acknowledge anything that contradicts their worldview," Caramelle said glumly. "I could have told you which four said the spell didn't make a difference, even without Rye naming them. My two parents, Madame Bundt, and Master Dacquoise."

Lyra gasped. "Dacquoise? Like the Texture spells? You mean —"

"He's a direct descendant of Madame Dacquoise." Caramelle's perfectly aligned shoulders slumped slightly. "And the staunchest hold-out against change of any kind. He's monopolized so many dinner parties, waxing eloquent about 'upholding our sacred baking tradition.' I think my parents are both a bit infatuated with him."

Professor Puff smiled serenely. "Palmier Dacquoise is, indeed, the stodgiest lump of dough in the baking community. I have had the misfortune of being caught at more than one of those dinner parties, alas." She gave Caramelle a rare wink. "But we need not fret. Madame Bundt is a sensible soul. She is merely cautious, for which I cannot blame her. Once the magic manifests in some incontrovertibly tangible way, we will have her full support."

"Incontrovertibly tangible." Lyra forced a shaky smile. "Is that all? Easy as C major!"

One of Professor Puff's eyebrows rose delicately at the musical reference. "Easy as trifle, you mean?"

Lyra sighed. "Yes. That."

"Easy as one of Madame Dacquoise's spells, more like," Mac muttered.

Lyra picked up a wooden spatula and poked him. "That's what today is for, right?"

"Treble's right." Uncrossing his arms, Boysen shook out his hands and shoulders in a determined version of his familiar pre-baking routine. "We're going to find that 'incontrovertibly tangible' manifestation. That's what we're here to do. Today, and every Monday and Friday until the end of time."

"Until the end of term," Professor Puff corrected. "Or perhaps the year. Whenever we see results."

She glanced around the gleaming practice kitchen. The second-years had decided to do their experiments on the third floor of the main hall, close to the Texture classroom and Rye's encouraging influence. They were still easily accessible to the other floors, so Professor Honeycomb and Professor Genoise could stop by during their allotted class times. But the chances of Eclair or Florentine listening in throughout the day were comfortingly small.

"You should have everything you require here," the Texture headmistress said approvingly. "If other needs arise, note them down and give the list to me at the end of the day. I shall be right down the hall in case of emergency. Until then…"

Her gray eyes swept over the group, resting briefly on each student. "Good hunting."

Lyra felt a spark of zest ignite in her chest as the professor turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

"All right." Lyra tapped the spatula on the counter, feeling rather like her mother calling the Any Weather Bards together for rehearsal. "Stop whining?"

Boysen's grin flashed out like lightning from a clear sky. "Start baking."

—

Lyra wondered if Professor Puff dabbled in other kinds of magic besides baking. The Texture headmistress certainly seemed to have infused her final words with mysterious energy that lingered persistently in the practice kitchen. The spark fueled the second-years all through that day, and the Friday that followed, and the Monday and Friday after that. In fact, Professor Puff's inimitable inspiration charged the air in the practice kitchen every Monday and Friday for the next few weeks.

Unfortunately, that spark seemed to be the only magic happening in the practice kitchen.

No one could figure out what they were doing wrong. Their approach was as systematic and scientific as even the most devout Texturist could wish. In fact, it was Caramelle herself who had devised the strategy.

"I've been thinking quite a bit about the history of baking magic," she explained that very first Monday, shortly after the door closed behind Professor Puff. "Specifically the development of spell-craft. I believe we should keep focusing on Chef Flax's spell before looking for any new ones. Repetition has always been the common factor in the development of new spells, for all three disciplines."

"We've tried that," Lyra reminded her. "Chef Flax sings that spell multiple times a day, over everything he makes. I know I've been singing it every chance I get."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Boysen nodded. "So've I. And I'm pretty sure Rye got in another thousand or so repetitions this week alone."

"And the effect is getting stronger," Caramelle said. "Strong enough that eight board members noticed it. I know for a fact that two of them did not go into that meeting predisposed towards Enjoyment. Quite the opposite. They were almost entirely in my parents' camp. So if Rye's performance of the spell changed their minds, it must be working."

Lyra tried to keep her voice to a reasonable, non-desperate key. "Then why hasn't it manifested? If repetition is the way, why hasn't it produced any light?"

"It's all a matter of volume." Caramelle looked around at the assembled ingredients and baking implements. Opening a bag of flour, she measured out a single teaspoon into a large mixing bowl. "Think of each repetition of the spell as a teaspoon of flour. The spell will only start to manifest once the bowl is full. Adding one teaspoon at a time, how long would it take me to fill up this bowl?"

"A while?" Boysen guessed.

"Several 'whiles'," Caramelle corrected. "Especially if I'm working alone."

"So the more bakers involved, the more teaspoons get added?" Lyra asked. "And the bowl fills up faster?"

"Not exactly." Caramelle opened a cupboard and pulled out three more large mixing bowls. "Every baker is like a bowl of magic. We can't add to, or take away from, each other's bowls. But when lots of bakers are working at the same time, adding teaspoons of flour to their own bowls as fast as they can…"

Boysen smiled. "The air gets full of flour. And soon-to-be 'Lady' Meringue starts sneezing."

"Actual Lady Meringue." Caramelle sighed. "The ceremony happened over break. But yes. That's the general idea."

"I don't get it." Lyra stared at the four separate bowls. "If we all still have to fill up our own bowl, how will a bunch of flour in the air help us move faster?"

"It's not a perfect metaphor," Caramelle confessed. "The flour is supposed to represent the inherent potential magic of the spell. The more bakers start digging into a spell, and engaging it with their own bowl of magical abilities, the stronger and clearer that potential becomes. Not just in each baker's individual experience, but for everyone."

"It's like cleaning," Boysen said slowly. "Stripping away layers of dirt and dust to reveal something that's always been there, underneath."

Lyra raised her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged.

"Mom and Dad raised five boys. We lived by the 'chore chart.' I've spent as much time cleaning the kitchen as I have baking."

Caramelle's eyes were thoughtful. "It's a good image, but still not perfect. The spell does exist — underneath, as you said — but it's not just a matter of revealing it. The spell's potential grows as more bakers engage with it. That's how baking magic works. It starts small, but with time and repetition, teaspoons become tablespoons. Eventually, if you can get enough bakers exploring the same spell at the same time, tablespoons can become cups. It's like… as bakers start filling up their bowls, the spell… comes awake?"

She dropped the teaspoon into the bowl with a scowl. "Oh, I don't know how to explain it. Why can't words be more like numbers? Language is so terribly imprecise. It's like… like…"

Mac held up a piece of parchment. "Like this?"

They all turned to him. Lyra gasped. Boysen whistled. Caramelle suddenly looked like she might cry.

"Yes," breathed the Meringue, her voice hushed and reverent. "Exactly like that."

Mac had been drawing throughout the conversation. On the parchment was a rough, yet stunning sketch of four mixing bowls, all surrounded by a sparkling cloud. The cloud seemed to be coming from each of the bowls, yet also existed all around them, as if whatever was happening inside each bowl was interacting constantly with an ongoing process outside.

"It's… that's beautiful, Mac," Lyra whispered. "It sings."

"There's a direction to this flow." Caramelle stretched out a hand towards the parchment. "See? The cloud is gathering underneath the bowls. It's about to lift them up, to ascend to true heights of baking excellence."

She turned slowly to Mac. "How… why… you can draw like this? And you never told us?"

"Fondant here is a true artist." Boysen was beaming with brotherly pride. "It's all that Presentation talent. He sketches every dessert before he makes it, you know."

Mac smiled nervously. "Everyone needs a hobby."

For a moment, they all gazed at the drawing.

It really does sing, Lyra thought. There's music in each line. Magical music. I can almost hear it…

"This is it." Caramelle pointed at the parchment, though she seemed to find it too sacred to touch. "This is how we develop a new spell. We keep repeating it, over and over, until the cloud boils over and mixes with the magic in the air. And then…"

"We lift off?" Mac ventured.

Caramelle's answering smile was so radiant, Lyra marveled that Mac himself didn't 'lift off.'

"Exactly," said the Meringue.

She then outlined her plan for repetition optimization. Each second-year could choose their own recipe to focus on and combine with the song. Anything would do, so long as it didn't take long to complete and they didn't mind repeating it multiple times. They could each have their own area of the practice kitchen set aside with their own tools and ingredients. Then it was simply a matter of making that recipe, over and over, speaking or singing Chef Flax's proto-spell throughout the process.

With Professor Puff's inspiration, Mac's drawing, and Caramelle's efficiency, Lyra was confident that results were days away, if not hours. She made batch after batch of chocolate chip cookies, so full of joy and hope that her fingers buzzed with anticipation for the coming yellow sparkles.

That just made the disappointment all the more keen when week after week raced by with not even the faintest trace of light, yellow or otherwise.

The professors were equally flummoxed. Professor Puff could find no fault with their strategy. Professor Genoise praised their passionate enthusiasm. Professor Honeycomb was in tearful raptures over their collegial spirit.

"Your support of each other is so heavy in the air," she sniffed one Monday afternoon in the fourth week of term, gazing fondly around the practice kitchen. "It's resonating with all my Flavor instincts. I can practically smell the joy you have in each other's company. In the name of every spice in the rack, how can that not yield one tiny yellow flash?"

The second-years just shrugged wearily and started one more round of their chosen recipes.

Lyra shared Professor Honeycomb's viewpoint entirely. As each week of failure drew to its discouraging close, she was increasingly grateful for her fellow second-years. Only their presence kept her from dissolving into a puddle of disjointed notes every Monday and Friday.

She knew the others felt the same. The 'Whisk Paragon' camaraderie sustained all of them, not only through the fruitless experimentation, but through the whirlwind lab days and the nights of extra homework and the weekends filled with far too many puff pastry layers.

Of course, there were minor complications. Caramelle's perfectionism periodically flared in a Meringue-ish direction, which jangled Lyra's already jagged nerves. Mac would sometimes get so distracted, usually by staring at Caramelle, that he would forget where he was in his recipe and have to start over.

As for Boysen… that melody was still getting stronger. Whenever Lyra thought she had the song under control, it would double in volume or produce an entire new harmony line. She had caught herself nearly singing it instead of Chef's Enjoyment song on more than one awkward occasion.

Still, the 'Puff Whiz' tune prevailed. It was the solid ground amidst the murky swamp second term was proving to be. In fact, as Lyra started measuring butter and sugar into her mixing bowl on yet another Friday morning, she found she felt absolutely certain of only two things.

One was the bond she shared with her fellow second-years.

The other was that she was getting thoroughly sick of chocolate chip cookies.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.