Page 10 of Flowerheart

I bristled. This was how people spoke about curses. Dark,cruel spells. A young woman who had begun rapidly aging. A boy with thorns growing from his fingertips. They said my mother had done that sort of magic. But I never would.

“No,” I said.

“You weren’t cross with him at all? You didn’t...” He cleared his throat and glanced at his socked feet. “What did you say in your curse?”

I clenched my fists, anger burning in my middle. “I didnotcurse him!”

There was a piercing, ringingping, and the lamp on the table exploded, littering the floor with shards of glass.

I leapt from my chair, away from the sofa. Papa turned to look back at me, his face white.

Even after causing him such pain, my magic still wasn’t satisfied. Itcraveddestruction.

“I’m sorry,” I said from behind my hands.

Meanwhile, Xavier took a calming breath, stood to his full, alarmingly tall height and extended a hand towards the mess of the broken lamp on the floor. He swirled his finger in a circle, as if trying to make the rim of a goblet sing. The shards wobbled against the floorboards and zoomed upwards, fusing themselves perfectly around the flame they’d been encasing moments ago.

When Xavier turned back to us, his cheeks were bright red, the rings around his eyes were darker, and sweat glimmered on his temples. I’d seen such simple repair spells before,but I had never seen them make a wizard so weary.

“Mr. Lucas,” he said, smoothing the front of his vest, “may I speak with your daughter in private?”

Papa tipped his head to me. “It’s her you should be asking.”

“I’ll talk with him,” I said. “Stay here and rest. Can you do that? Can you keep still for a few minutes?” I flitted to his side to fiddle with the thin blanket thrown over him.

Papa let out a wry laugh before nestling himself among the worn cushionsand shutting his eyes. “Yes, yes. Go on, don’t fret over me.”

An impossible request.

Still, I strode to the kitchen door and held it open for Xavier. He swept up his potion case before following me dutifully into the next room. I shut the door behind us, but stayed pressed up against it, my eyes on him. It ached, how the years had flown by, and we were suddenly two different people.

We had been apart for so long, and now he’d visited my home twice in one day. It was like a cruel joke.

Xavier set his case atop the table and leaned against the kitchen counter. He chewed on his lip. The old clock on the wall ticked noisily, like it was impatiently tapping its foot at us.

He opened his mouth to speak, but at that same moment I blurted out, “Do you think he’s going to be all right?”

Xavier grimaced. “I—I don’t know. Curses are extremely difficult to—”

“I. Did not. Curse him.” I stepped forwards, gripping the back of the nearest chair to keep my temper and my magic in check. “I’ve studied magic for five years, and I know as well as you do that a curse must be spoken with intention. I didn’t say anythinglike that, and on my life, I wouldneverintend anything wicked upon my father.”

“I believe you,” he said. “You didn’tintendto hurt him. But your magic is still afflicting him.”

My stomach dropped “Still? But the flowers—you said there weren’t any left!”

“They poisoned his blood. He will continue to be lightheaded and nauseated and he will possibly experience other symptoms of azalea poisoning. And the flowers may yet return.”

Poison.It brought my mother to mind. It made me hate my power all the more, because it was so likehers.“Can’t you administer an antidote?” I asked, my voice broken and raw.

“If it weremerelypoison, I could treat him. However, this is magic—yourmagic specifically. It is only by your words that you’ll be able to fully heal him.”

I crumpled into the nearest chair. “He can only be healed bymypower?”

“Yes. I believe if you cast a blessing over your father, with the full strength of your magic, you’d free him fromwhatever hold it has on him.”

A blessing—a spell only powerful, controlled magicians could perform. The kind that could save someone’s life; the kind that made healers collapse in exhaustion. A spell for the desperate.

“I—I’m not capable of something like that,” I said. “My magic doesn’t listen to me, and more than that, come tomorrow, it won’tbeat its fullest strength anymore.” I slumped back in my chair, pulling my curls from my eyes. “And it’s done what we all feared it would do! What if the Council just takes it away?”

---