Lyra could feel the tension rolling off her former roommate all the way across the room. Caramelle’s habitually perfect auburn coils were slightly disheveled. Her apron was covered in a bewildering array of stains, and there were deep shadows under her eyes. But her posture was even more rigid than usual, and her tightly crossed arms felt like a warning.

  ‘Go ahead,’ they seemed to be saying. ‘Offer to help. I dare you.’

  “Caramelle!” Cardamom stood and crossed to the door, his movements as smooth and disarming as his voice. “You’re not intruding at all. What brings you to the third floor?”

  “My projects are ready,” Caramelle replied, her eyes lingering on Lyra before turning to Cardamom. “I need preservation spells put on them, so I can go to bed. I believe you are on dorm duty this evening?”

  “So I am.” Pulling a pocket watch from his apron, Cardamom glanced at it and laughed. “Sweet and savory, is that the time?”

  Lyra looked at the clock on the wall. “Flats,” she gasped.

  “My deepest apologies, Aspiring Baker Meringue.” Somehow, Cardamom extricated one of Caramelle’s tightly crossed arms and bowed low over her hand. “I have fallen behind in my responsibilities, but I assure you it was not intentional. Thank you for coming to look for me. I am sure the other first-years will thank you also.”

  Caramelle’s manner had softened during his apology, but the ice returned instantly at the mention of her classmates. “I don’t know if anyone else is ready yet.”

  “Boysen and I were ready hours ago,” Lyra announced. Stepping down from her stool, she gave Caramelle a gracious smile, as befit the official assistant (and unofficial dinner companion) of Cardamom Coulis the Third. “But you can go first, Caramelle. We don’t want to keep you from sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  Caramelle withdrew her hand from Cardamom’s sharply. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “You can visit me last, actually. Take your time. I wanted to get in one more round of scones, anyway.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Cardamom said. “It’s no trouble.”

  “Take your time,” Caramelle repeated. Her gaze passed scornfully over the remains of the crêpe supper, lingering again on Lyra. “It looks like you have some cleaning up to do anyways.” Turning on her heel, she marched away, her heels clicking angrily against the hardwood floor.

  Cardamom smiled ruefully at Lyra. “I hope I haven’t offended her.”

  For some reason, Lyra felt as hollow as an understuffed éclair. “That’s just Caramelle,” she said, almost to herself. “She’s easily offended.”

  “What’s that?”

  Shaking her head, Lyra tried to snatch back some of the elation she’d been swimming in only moments before.

  “I think Caramelle’s just tired,” she said brightly. “She’s been baking all weekend. In heels, no less. I never could get her to embrace the idea of comfort-clothes.”

  Cardamom looked down at his own stylish shoes and pressed trousers with a mock groan. “I’m afraid I understand her there. We both have a lot to learn from you.”

  “We’ll see.” Lyra’s eyes kept drifting to the spot in the doorway where Caramelle had stood. “You both have Stellar Enchantment Pins to back you up. Maybe I’m the one who needs to learn.”

  “Don’t worry about that. This is going to be your term. I can feel it.” Cardamom gave her one more quick smile, then drew out his long silver Presentation spoons. “For now, though, I should get going. Thank you again for a marvelous evening, Lyra.”

  She blushed, a tiny bit of delirious joy seeping back into her deflated heart. “Thank you too.”

  “I look forward to our tutoring sessions this week, and to continuing next Sunday night — if you’re still interested, of course.”

  The eagerness in Cardamon voice swirled around her brain like streams of purple light, reawakening and preserving all the giddy sensations of the past several hours. So what if she still needed to work things out with Boysen? So what if Caramelle was all alone in Pestle, working herself into a stress-fury?

  Cardamom Coulis (the Third!) wanted to spend every Sunday evening with her, Lyra Treble. He trusted her. He enjoyed her company. He had made her crêpes.

  Lyra realized she was grinning.

  “Absolutely, I’m interested.”

  —

  Professor Honeycomb was unusually businesslike when class began the next morning.

  “First weekly exam!” She clapped her hands once, briskly, to call the five students to order. “In future weeks, there will be written components. But for now, each group will present their projects for evaluation. Any volunteers to go first?”

  From the corner of her eye, Lyra saw Caramelle’s hand go up primly.

  “Aspiring Baker Meringue,” Professor Puff called. “Thank you.”

  Razz, Hyacinth, and Cardamom moved as one, each grabbing some of the trays spread out over Caramelle’s work-station. Once the three platters of scones, four loaves of bread, and five plates of frosted cookies were arranged on the teachers’ counter, Caramelle joined the professors at the front, and the evaluation began.

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  Lyra studied her former roommate. Caramelle’s auburn coils were neatly arranged and shining with the obvious glow of a Self-Presentation spell. Her apron was spotless. The Stellar Enchantment Pin on her chef’s hat sparkled so brightly, she must have polished it. All in all, ‘The Meringue’ looked as savagely perfect as ever. The only traces of the previous night’s dishevelment were a faint echo of dark circles under her eyes.

  “Splendid,” Professor Genoise announced. “Your mastery of Master Brulée’s Coloring Charm is impressive, especially after only one week. Still room to grow, of course, especially in yellow, but this is a commendable start.”

  Caramelle bobbed a quick curtsy. “Thank you, Professor.”

  “The scones are a little… weak.” Professor Honeycomb took another bite and chewed reflectively before continuing. “Garlic is a bold Flavor, and should be treated boldly. You seem to be scared of it.”

  “I’m not —” Caramelle cut herself off with a sharp breath, then proceeded with a voice as carefully controlled as her hairstyle. “I thought Madame Hazelnut urged caution when working with stronger Flavors.”

  Professor Honeycomb patted her on the shoulder. “Caution just means listening extra carefully to your instincts. The stronger the ingredient, the stronger your will has to be when working the magic. Don’t let the Flavor boss you around, Meringue.”

  Caramelle nodded shortly.

  “Still, a good effort on the whole.” Professor Honeycomb leaned down, giving the cinnamon scones another sniff. “Your instincts are solid. Confidence is all you need — confidence and boldness.” She turned to the class, raising her eyebrows. “And confidence comes through…?”

  “Repetition,” five voices replied in unison.

  “Exactly.” Smiling, Professor Honeycomb gave the floor to Professor Puff.

  “The Texture is flawless, of course.” Professor Puff’s gray eyes swept once more over the four loaves, perfect in their signature ciabatta-ish irregularity, before settling on Caramelle’s face. “But I had no doubt it would be. My chief concern is your health. Did you find the solo work overly taxing?”

  Somehow, Caramelle managed to stand even straighter. “Not at all, Professor.”

  “Is it sustainable?”

  “Yes.”

  Professor Puff shared a look with Hyacinth. “Apprentice Baker Roulade told me you did not leave your room for meals, and refused all offers of food.”

  Caramelle didn’t even blink. “I have all the food I need in my room, Professor. I am in no danger of going hungry.”

  Lyra heard Mac stirring in his seat.

  “Very well, Aspiring Baker Meringue.” Professor Puff held the auburn-haired girl’s gaze a few moments longer, then gave a slight nod. “Your work has certainly exceeded expectations. You may continue working in a solo group, but Apprentice Baker Roulade will be checking on you periodically. Understood?”

  “Perfectly, Professor.”

  “Thank you. Well done.”

  “Yes, well done,” Professor Genoise agreed. “Dismissed, Meringue. Aspiring Bakers Berry and Treble, please bring your projects forward.”

  Caramelle returned to her seat while the third-years cleared her trays and ran to help Lyra and Boysen.

  Lyra had been so swept up in ‘preservation innovation’ with Cardamom that she had forgotten to be nervous about this morning. Still, she reasoned, she didn’t actually need to be nervous. They had worked hard. She was confident in the results of that work.

  She was less confident in Boysen himself. They hadn’t spoken since she stormed out of Whisk the night before. For one terrifying moment, she wondered if he would produce the ‘deception cookie’ and tell the professors about her illegal color songs.

  Then she glanced over and caught him looking at her. His normally carefree face was so full of anxiety that her own fears evaporated, taking most of her fury with them.

  Sure, she was still angry. They would need to have a serious talk before she could work with him again. But after all… it was Boysen. However stubborn and infuriatingly opinionated he might sometimes be, he wasn’t cruel.

  He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She couldn’t bring herself to smile, but she gave him a bracing nod, which he gratefully returned. They could face the judgment together.

  What mattered was the baking. Everything else could wait.

  The professors were unanimous in their praise. Every single baked good demonstrated not only proficiency with the required spells, but a level of refinement only found through frequent repetition. Professor Puff inquired about their strategy and was impressed by Boysen’s account of the methodical schedule they had devised.

  “You are establishing a laudable routine.” The Texture headmistress gave them a rare smile. “That is how to set yourselves up for success, not just this weekend, but over the whole term. I commend you, and I urge your classmates to follow your excellent example.”

  Professor Honeycomb, of course, was even more effusive. The cinnamon scones sent her into such paroxysms of delight that Lyra wondered for a moment if there were such a thing as dangerous Flavor success. But the professor recovered soon after, gushing exuberantly about the powerful combination of instinct and magic.

  “Madame Hazelnut would be proud,” she said, her whole face beaming. “Garlic and cinnamon are two of the hardest Flavors to control.”

  “It was important to… find their voice,” Boysen replied, very carefully NOT looking at Lyra.

  Professor Honeycomb smiled even wider. “That’s it! Let them speak, but make them listen, also. Manage them without squashing them. The spell helps, but only if you’re using it in conjunction with your own gut. Congratulations to both of you.”

  Professor Genoise was milder, but no less appreciative. “These shades are exactly where I would expect them to be,” he assured them, gesturing at the five different colors of frosting. “They may seem faint to you, but Master Brulée’s spell is particularly dependent on repetition. The secret is to capture the color’s essence — to understand each hue’s distinct personality. That takes time.”

  Now it was Lyra’s turn to avoid looking at her partner. She kept her eyes fixed on Professor Genoise, refusing to acknowledge the five distinct color-melodies playing all at once in her head.

  “Overall, an auspicious beginning to the term,” Professor Puff said graciously. “Just be sure to stay focused. Good beginnings only come to good ends through diligent effort.”

  Professor Honeycomb looked back and forth between Boysen and Lyra, her blue eyes sparkling even more brightly than Caramelle’s Stellar Enchantment Pin. “I knew you two would make a good team.”

  For some reason, Lyra felt herself beginning to blush furiously. She managed to echo Boysen’s respectful thanks and promises of continued diligence, then fled back to her front-row seat before Professor Genoise had finished calling on Ginger and Mac.

  As she settled herself behind her counter, though, she found herself suddenly surrounded by a cloud of cinnamon and honey.

  “Well done,” Cardamom whispered. He gave her shoulder a quick, encouraging squeeze before following Razz and Hyacinth to collect the final round of projects.

  Smiling and blushing even harder, Lyra turned towards the front — and caught Caramelle’s eye. The auburn-haired girl was glaring at her from across the aisle. For an instant, The Meringue’s constant mask cracked, revealing a sliver of jealous rage.

  Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the crack vanished. Caramelle faced the front again with all the appearance of lofty unconcern.

  Lyra forced herself to focus on the third-years bringing Ginger’s and Mac’s projects to the front, but she couldn’t help a small internal sigh.

  She may have escaped Pestle, but clearly… she was not done dealing with The Meringue.