#18: Devil's Food
A trial of magical confections.
“You have your brief. Any bakes falling short of perfection will be met with consequence. You have two hours. Begin.”
The brief was simple, though unique: “Produce a bake worthy of a Wanderwick Baker. You will take the first bite. Your candid reaction will profess the merits and flaws of the piece to the judges.” Self critique seemed unusual for an admissions exam, but Jude had no objection.
He sprang into action with the calculated intensity of a guided missile. The recipe called for precise architectural engineering, complex interwoven enchantments, and buckets upon buckets of chocolate. He could not afford to waste a precious second.
Only one recipe was worthy of Jude’s final entrance exam as far as he was concerned: the Floating Chocolate Fortress. He still remembered Ellie’s wide-eyed wonder when he first unveiled the masterpiece for her sixth birthday. The Fortress was a behemoth of a devil’s food cake, standing three feet off of the table before adding the hovering charm. As the formidable castle magically ascended, Jude released a flowing moat of milk chocolate to encircle the keep, and the animated cherry archers began patrolling the battlements. Any cheeky guests who thought to take an early slice would be met with a volley of cherry stems launched from the high parapets. His daughter had raucously joined the defenders, marching in circles and batting away friends and family with a cardboard paper towel tube until it was time to blow out the candles, at which point the soldiers stood down and the moat neatly poured itself into mismatched mugs for sipping or dipping.
It had taken him weeks to design the Fortress, perfect the recipe, and learn the enchantments, but seeing Ellie’s unbridled joy that day convinced Jude that he was meant to become a professional arcane baker. His family and friends were also tremendously impressed of course, but he had given his daughter a memory she would keep for life. To bring that kind of joy into the world every day, to truly connect with people, would be a rare privilege.
Jude had spent the last few years absorbing as much as he could about the craft. Cookbooks and spellbooks alternated in untidy stacks perched precariously high on his busy desk. It was difficult, but things got easier once he finally took the time to learn how to cast spells with somatic hand gestures after accidentally leaving his wand on the burner for the third time. He learned how to convince bread to braid itself. He learned how to prevent ice cream from melting on a hot day. He even learned how to make caramel without burning the sugar. He learned at a furious pace, producing one magical confection after another to Ellie’s delight. It was a busy life. Whisks and bowls always seemed to be washing themselves in the sink, getting ready for the next challenge. Ellie always seemed to have another birthday coming up around the corner.
For an aspiring wizardly pâtissier, all roads led to Wanderwick: the world’s preeminent university of magical cookery. The university was cloaked in secrecy and rumor. There had been unsubstantiated reports of students losing contact with loved ones for extended periods of time. Some speculated that students who could not pass the program were prohibited from ever leaving the campus, forced into menial labor for the rest of their lives in order to protect the school’s reputation. Others claimed that the campus was a paradise, and many who entered decided to willingly remain in perpetuity, free to create any beautiful meal their minds could concoct. Jude did not put much stock into any of the rumors, but two facts were universally acknowledged: the admission process was brutally difficult, and the school produced the world’s best bakers.
He began by checking his tools under the hawkish eyes of the three looming judges. Bowls, measuring cups, sculpting tools, ritual components, all seemed in order…no. He was missing a half teaspoon. Irritated but pressed for time, he muttered a quick transmutation spell and rearranged the molecules of an unneeded potato peeler into a serviceable half-teaspoon. He saw a judge make a note on a legal pad from the corner of his eye. That was part of the test. The memory of the evening he learned this particular spell popped into his mind unbidden: Ellie had accidentally dropped his set of ramekins right as he was getting ready to pour the custard for a batch of auto-igniting crème brûlée. Jude cringed inwardly at the memory. He could have handled the moment better. He brushed the thought aside and moved on to the ingredients
Flour, sugar, eggs, milk, baking chocolate, butter, cocoa powder, coffee, sour cream (the secret ingredient), cherries, vanilla, powdered sugar. Satisfied that the ingredients at his disposal matched the recipe he had painstakingly memorized, he began preheating the oven, grabbed a bowl, and reached for the flour. He measured carefully and softly muttered an expansion spell, just loud enough to ensure the density of the cake would remain low enough to float through the air without launching into to the stratosphere like a weather balloon. He smiled, remembering how Ellie cackled at the chocolate stains on his kitchen ceiling from his early attempts.
Jude snapped out of his reverie as a fly buzzed in front of his nose, nearly sending him into an apoplectic fit. A fly? Here?? Now?! Insects had no business in a professional kitchen. He was mortified, but could not stop to squash it. He continued mixing, contemplating which ward he would deploy to dispel the intruder once his hands were free. Before he made his choice, the fly buzzed defiantly into the flour jar. Jude’s heart sank.
He had a 3 foot flying cake to bake, and his sole source of flour had just become completely unusable. Panic began to well up in his chest. He quickly slapped the lid back on the jar to prevent the fly from causing any more damage while he planned his next move. The fly buzzed happily, seemingly taunting him as it relished the taste of the precious flour.
He recalled a set of synthesis spells that allowed the caster to rapidly grow plant-based ingredients in a pinch, but the amount of flour he needed surpassed what the spell could produce by a wide margin. He had no choice: he needed to downsize his recipe. His only chance was to make the best damn cupcake the world had ever seen.
He sprinted out of the kitchen, through the emergency exit, out into the parking lot, and around the side of the building to a patchy, untended lawn. Waving his arms like a furious martial artist, he cast the synthesis spell with as much strength as he could muster. Stalks of wheat shot out of the ground, and with a chop of his hand the grain harvested itself in midair. Satisfied, he ran back to his station, wheat floating in tow. As he struggled to remember the complicated incantations he would need to create an invisible mill, he happened to glance back at the flour jar. The fly was dead.
Jude froze. He looked up to find the eyes of the judges dead-set upon him. Their gaze felt like scorching rays of fire on his skin. He immediately resumed motioning as if he were trying to deploy the grinding spell. With an over-aggressive swing of his hand, he knocked his initial mixture to the floor. Jude gave a sheepish look to the judges and quickly ducked down behind his station, away from their prying eyes. He quietly invoked a detection spell on the cake mix as it seeped into the carpet. It confirmed his fears: the flour was poisoned.
Jude suddenly felt nauseous. “You will take the first bite.” This was the true test. Would you serve yourself a poisoned dessert? All delusions of bringing joy and building human connections by attending Wanderwick fled from Jude’s mind, mocking his naiveté on the way out. Wanderwick would rather kill a baker than admit a deficient one to their ranks. If the judges discovered that he knew the flour was poisoned, he would not leave this kitchen alive. He had to get home to Ellie.
He stood up, leaving the mess on the floor, and marched to the judges table.
“I withdraw my application.”
Three sets of eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“A fly landed in my flour, I can’t use it. I grew more wheat, but I can’t get the grinding spell to work. I even dropped what little batter I was able to prepare. I don’t have the ingredients I need to complete a bake.” Jude cast his eyes down, as if in shame.
Three sets of eyes attempted to pierce through his mind. An emaciated judge with sunken eyes spoke up.
“Are you sure you do not wish to continue? You still have a fair amount of time left. The synthesis spell was quite clever, perhaps you will remember the key to the grinding spell.”
In that instant, Jude remembered exactly how to make it work. It was so simple, he had merely forgotten the particulars in his panic. He glanced back at his station, then at the clock. Ellie would be getting home from school soon.
“No. I cannot afford to waste a precious second.”
He handed his apron to the judges and walked out the front door.