It had ignited something in Bayard. Quite possibly that same fierce thirst for social justice that had led him to join the Society for the Protection of Natural Magic to begin with.
He was nervous. But he also felt so alive. More alive than he’d felt for years. And what was the worst thing that would happen if he got caught? It was just one wheel of cheese. And he hadn’t taken it for himself. He could always play the befuddled old professor card if caught. What would Valmont do? Kick him out and ban him from ever coming back again?
Worth it.
The tasting room, he now saw, was another exercise in controlled perfection. There were about a dozen marble bistro tables, crystal glasses for wine pairings, and carefully placed bowls of palate-friendly accompaniments waiting for Philippe’s grand presentation of the Valmont treasure. Bayard spotted some sliced figs, pears, and apples cut into matchsticks, an assortment of nuts, and a chunky compote that looked like quince jam. All that was missing was the actual cheese.
Bayard’s mouth watered, remembering the smell as he’d hastily swapped the cheeses in the anteroom. He wiped his hands on his pants one more time, just in case any incriminating crumbles lingered.
The group was still gathered near the countertop while their unctuous host went on about the proper tasting technique.
“Cheese is not simply something to be tasted with your mouth. You must savor it with all six of your senses. Look at it first.” Phillipe pantomimed staring lovingly at an invisible wedge of cheese. “Next you must touch it. Gently at first, like a shy lover.” He petted his pretend cheese. “And then with passion!” Phillipe clenched two fingers emphatically around the imaginary hunk. “Does she make a sound? Can you hear her squeak? Do not be afraid to press your fingers into her flesh. She will not bite you! Feel how she yields, melting at your touch?”
From the other side of the chamber, Bayard heard a loud snort that he was certain came from Exandra but he dared not look in that direction, lest he succumb to a fit of nervous laughter.
“Next we smell…” Phillipe inhaled long and loud, holding the pretend cheese aloft at arm’s length. “And now it is time to put it in your mouth…” Phillippe puckered up like he was about to smooch the cheese.
Touring this facility was such an elite privilege, but Phillipe was so over the top that Bayard was already second guessing his decision to bring the group here. Most of all, he hated the way the wizard cheesemaker looked down his nose at Exandra, like he resented a giantess gaining access to his inner sanctum. As prestigious and exclusive as the place was, Bayard didn’t think he’d want to bring another group back.
Jasper caught his eye now and mouthed a question. “Where did you go?”
He mouthed “Water” and gestured to Fred’s backpack.
Jasper nodded, satisfied, and turned his attention back to Wren, who was paying rapt attention.
At long last,Philippe finally,finally, went to fetch the cheese from the anteroom. He presented the platter with a flourish, completely unaware he was about to serve contraband Yule cheese to common tourists.
“This is a standard Valmont Roquefort,” he announced as he sliced into it and passed the wedges around. “Eight months old, the minimum acceptable age for proper flavor development. Note the even distribution of blue veining, the creamy ivory paste, the?—”
But no one was listening anymore because the moment the first person took a bite, everything changed.
“Oh,” Wren breathed, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my.”
“This is...” Jasper trailed off, staring at the cheese in his hand like it was sentient and might answer back.
Minerva took a small piece, and the moment it touched her tongue, warmth bloomed through her chest. Honey. Wildflowers. Summer days that lasted forever. Every happy memory she’d ever had seemed to surface at once, golden andperfect. She knew this taste. There was something familiar about it. It was right on the tip of her tongue…
“Zippy,” she said, turning to her husband with sudden urgent affection. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
“Only seventeen times,” he said, grinning at her with the same dopey expression she wore. “But I’ll never tire of hearing it.”
Around the table, the effects rippled outward. Someone started giggling. Someone else began philosophizing about the nature of perfection. The air filled with a gentle, dreamy haze.
Wren turned to Jasper, her professional reserve completely dissolved. “I can’t believe I’ve only just noticed your eyes,” she said wonderingly. “They’re like... like warm amber in sunlight. Have they always been that beautiful?”
Jasper, his face flushed, took her hand. “Your hair is so perfectly braided. And the way you frame your photographs, capturing people in moments of joy… The way you see the world! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.You’rethe most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re so earnest,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “So genuinely kind. How did I not fully appreciate this from the moment we met?”
Across the room, Bayard and Exandra had gravitated toward each other like magnets. They grew closer and closer until their hands somehow found and entwined with each other’s. Then their eyes locked.
“I’m so happy,” Bayard said softly, “that the old gang is back together.”
But he wasn’t looking at anyone else in the room. He was looking only at her.
“Yes,” Exandra breathed, her usual sharp edges completely softened. “Together again.”
She lifted their joined hands and pressed them against her chest, over her heart. “I’ve missed checking in with you. Knowing you’d be there when I called with a question or a request for support.”
