Cooking Magician Novels & Stories

She said, pausing before sitting down herself. She raised her hand as if to wave, and suddenly the door which had previously been made of a steel like substance and wood colour; now opened. The white doors silently glide open to let in three people, all dressed in a similar fashion, their appearance calm and peaceful, quiet. They walked towards the raised platform, each carrying silver trays with coloured closhe’s. Once they placed both feet on a step on the spiral staircase, the staircase moved on it’s own and brought up each person at a time. Gemma gasped, impressed at the display of magick. They neared the table, the first man placed two dessert sized plates in front of each of them befor

Eggs, milk, butter, flour, and salt flew through the air and into a large bowl, all on their own. Then a whisk mixed the ingredients. When it was finished, the bowl rose into the air and poured the batter into a pan. The pan went over to the oven where the oven opened, and the pan slid inside. The whole time, the cook used magical words to make the items do as she commanded instead of manipulating them with her hands. It made me wonder why there couldn't be fast food created by magic. I told Leo what I was thinking, and he laughed. "Magical fast food. You might be onto something, Cinderella," he said.

Asher looked around, and something stirred in Maggie. “That sounds good, but only if you let me help.” Maggie crossed her arms over her chest, and Asher chuckled again. “I’m sure you can’t mess up a salad,” he said, to which Maggie swatted his arm. “That was just mean, Mr. Fitzgerald. I can cook; I just can’t bake,” she said, defiantly. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry. Give me ten minutes to shower and change, then I’ll light up the grill. Everything you need for the salad will be in the fridge. Make yourself comfortable, please,” Asher said, as he stood up from his chair.

I just cleared my throat, and Micah bounced back to life. “This food is very delicious,” he said, even when he hadn’t tasted any of the food yet. He lifted a spoon and ate the first spoonful, which he thought was his second. He closed his eyes, shaking his head like he enjoyed what he ate. “Hmmmm…. Yummy!” he sounded. “This is really, really good,” he nodded his head. But of course, Mirabel was indeed a great cook. She once won the Guinness World Record for the longest cooking hours. She was the best at what she did—there was no doubt about that.

Ingredients began to materialize, floating in mid-air before dropping into the pot with a soft splash. Madeleine's eyes widened in amazement. "What are you making?" she asked, curious. "I'm making stew. It'll be ready soon," Dante replied, focusing on the task he was trying to accomplish. Madeleine nodded, still watching in awe as Dante continued to conjure up ingredients and stir the stew with a wooden spoon that seemed to appear out of thin air. She had never seen magic being used like this before, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and curiosity.

I was ashamed when he caught the act that I was staring at his lips. Magnus immediately followed me to the dining area. He didn't sit down and he just watched the table. "You cooked?" he asked me while looking at the table. “Yes. Why?” “I thought—” “You thought, I didn’t know how to cook?” I sighed. “People change. If I didn’t know how to cook before, well, it came to the point of I wanted to learn. Margot taught me how to cook and she also dragged me to a culinary school before,” I replied.

Corey cried in frustration, thrusting two eggs in his direction, which he had clearly produced out of thin air. “Is everything all right in there?” Serendipity called from the living room, obviously hearing the frustration in Corey’s voice even if she couldn’t make out the words. “Everything is fine,” he assured her, infusing his voice with some fake cheer. “You know what, on second thought….” He waved his hands again and the eggs became a plate of perfectly frosted gingerbread men. “Well, that’s all fine and good,” Mr. Waddlebug stated sharply, holding the magical silver platter as if it were made of poison. “But if you’re simply going to create cookies for your guests, what do you need me

“Looks like a damn sauce bomb went off but we ended up with edible food. Mostly.” “Well, Levi Cooper, you are a miracle worker!” Maggie exclaimed, smiling at him for the first time. “Come on now and sit down. You’re giving me a crick in my neck and this linoleum is so old it may not hold up under all that back and forth.”

When they were talking on WeChat last night, she made rhetoric promises. This was what she said, “Gracie Turner, not that I’m trying to brag, but my foresight is too good to be true. The person I pulled off the street was the God of Cooking! His cooking skills, even the Michelin chef in the Imperial Extravagance can’t hold a candle to him, okay?” Not only had they not done anything, but the kitchen was also in a mess, and with the expressionless man standing next to her— God of Cooking?

“A guest in my kitchen. Sort of.” He stands. “You’re cooking?” “Trying. You’re eating.” He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t rush to help. Just follows. I make shakshuka—eggs poached in spiced tomato sauce. Easy. Familiar. One pan. Comfort food from my early catering days. He leans on the counter, watching me. Not like an investor. Not like a lover waiting to be impressed. Like someone who knows how much it took just to pick up the knife again.