Page 17 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“I’ll always be there. I’ve never stopped—” Bayard started, but then Philippe’s voice shattered the moment.
“Mon Dieu!” The fromagier had taken a piece himself, and his face had gone from pleased to confused to absolutely horrified in the space of seconds. “This is... this is the Yule cheese! How did?—?”
He rushed from the room, his footsteps echoing in the caves. The group remained in their dreamy haze, still holding hands and staring at each other with new eyes, the dizzying effects of the magical cheese still swirling through their systems.
Philippe returned moments later, pale as milk. “A wheel is missing! Someone has stolen a Yule wheel! This is—” He looked at the platter where they’d all been happily eating. “You’ve consumed royal cheese! This is a disaster!”
“But it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” someone said, still giggly.
“It is so much better than gorgonzola cheese,” said another passenger.
“What? Of course it is!” Philippe wrung his hands. “It’s made for kings! And now—one of the families on our worthiness list willhave to be denied. They’ve already been expecting it. And this entire wheel is wasted, contaminated by common consumers!”
Wren, still holding Jasper’s hand but regaining some of her journalistic clarity, asked, “What are the implications? Who loses their cheese?”
“The Beaumonts of Marseille,” Philippe said miserably. “They’re always the last family added to the list each year. They’ll just have to be removed.”
“That seems harsh,” Jasper said, his earnestness returning as the cheese effects began to fade. “And you’re not really going to throw the rest of this wheel away, are you? Why not share what’s left of this wheel with the local villagers? It shouldn’t go to waste.”
Philippe looked like Jasper had suggested setting fire to the caves. “Share Yule Roquefort with thevillage?”
“Why not?” Jasper’s voice was stronger now. “Aren’t they the ones who maintain the roads to your fromagerie? Who buy your standard cheese? Who support your business all year long?”
Philippe opened his mouth to object, then closed it. Then opened it again. “I... suppose... that is technically...”
“It seems the kind thing to do,” Zephyr added. “And the right thing.”
“Very well,” Philippe said through gritted teeth. “The remainder of this wheel shall be distributed to the village. But the Beaumonts will still?—”
“Actually,” Minerva spoke up, her voice clear and calm, “I believemyfamily is on your worthiness list. We enjoy a wheelof your fine cheese every Yule. I used to look forward to it. The Lathrops of Boston?”
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Philippe’s entire demeanor shifted like someone had flipped a switch.
“L-l-l-lathrop?” he stuttered, staring at her. “As in descended from the great Flora Lathrop?”
“My great-great-grandmother, yes.”
Philippe actuallybowed. “Madame Lathrop, I had no idea! Your family’s contributions to French magical culture are impressive. Why, the preservation spells for the Loire Valley vineyards alone, not to mention the development of?—”
“Yes, yes, yes…” Minerva said, a bit impatiently. “I’d like to donate my family’s wheel. That way no one else needs to be removed from your list. Just make sure that the rest of this wheel gets shared with the townsfolk.”
Philippe stammered, clearly torn between horror at the suggestion and the desire to please someone of Minerva’s lineage. “That is... most generous, Madame. I will make sure your wishes are honored.”
“Thank you.” Minerva turned back to the group, where Zephyr was beaming at her with obvious pride.
Exandra stood apart from the rest of the group, her arms crossed, watching the entire exchange with a tight jaw and narrow eyes. Minerva glanced her way, hoping for perhaps a moment of warmth and connection, but when their eyes met, Exandra’s expression was cold as ice.
The tripback to the ship was quiet, everyone still processing the lingering effects of the magical cheese. Jasper and Wren sat close together, not quite holding hands but with their shoulders touching. Minerva and Zephyr walked arm in arm, content. The other passengers murmured softly about the extraordinary experience.
Bayard limped along with Fred’s backpack, noticeably lighter now that he’d managed to sneak off and ditch the wheel of regular Roquefort in the melee that followed the initial discovery of the switch. Hopefully someone would notice it in the refrigerator in the butler’s pantry before it went bad.
He might burst from the tangle of emotions in his chest. Guilt, satisfaction, fear, defiance, and underneath it all, a fierce joy at having pulled off the switch. He’d acted on impulse, and he’d do it again if he had the opportunity. .
Exandra caught up with him as they boarded the ship.
“That was certainly strange,” she said without preamble.
“What was?” Bayard’s voice came out higher than intended.
