Page 53 of Flowerheart

It fit so nicely with his. My black glove looked beautiful against his moon-white skin—marred by the black bands on his ring finger and his thumb.

“What was your second vow?” I asked abruptly.

The color drained from his face. He withdrew his hand and slipped it back in his pocket. “It’s nothing important,” he said with a soft, forced laugh.

“Master,” I said, “such secrets make me think ill of you.”

“The truth would make you think worse.”

My chest tightened. “I made you a vow.” I curled my gloved hands into fists. “I deserve to know what you’ve done.”

“Youdodeserve it.” He sighed, gazing at the countertop, at my hands. “I wish it never happened. I wish I’d never been the person I used to be.”

My fingers brushed his elbow. His eyes grew wide.

“Talking about it won’t make you that person again,” I said.

He stepped away from me, his hand against his arm, right where I’d touched him. The distance, as well as the sorrow sparkling in his eyes, made my heart ache. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”

13

Not long after my magic lesson, customers began filing in, and they didn’t stop all day. I barely spoke with Xavier about anything outside of business. We were far too busy prescribing tonics for coughs, pills for minor transformations, teas that could alter the pitch of one’s voice, lotions for rashes, even oils that would change the client’s hair color.

Just as Xavier was telling an incensed customer that no, we did not carry allergy potions in any other flavors, the front door flew open with a loudbang.

A dark-haired man stood on the porch, his hands on the shoulders of a girl about my age. She was smiling, laughing, stumbling into the shop. When she swung her head in my direction, my heart fell.

Bright yellow dandelions were blooming on her right cheek.

Euphoria.

“Your Greatness,” said the man behind her, “please, there’s something wrong with my daughter!”

Wide-eyed, Xavier strode around the counter to address the other customers in the shop. “Everyone, I’m afraid I’ll see no other patients today. Please come back tomorrow.”

I shepherded the grumbling customers out the door and onto the porch, not even bothering to apologize—my eyes were fixed on the stranger and his daughter. Xavier carefully helped the girl into a nearby chair and spoke to her father in frantic, hushed tones.

I closed and locked the door behind the final exiting customer. When I whirled back around, I found that the girl had bounced to her feet, and was now humming to herself, gazing at the ceiling.

“Emily—Emily, sit down, darling,” said her father, reaching for her wrist.

“She can’t hear you,” Xavier murmured.

The man whipped his head towards Xavier. “What—what do you mean? What’s happening to her?”

“It’s because of a potion. Euphoria.” Xavier kept his head bowed, almost as if he was addressing the floor instead of the man. “It’s a heart-altering potion. The kind that magicians aren’t permitted to sell. As you can see, magic that manipulates emotions can lead to unanticipated results.”

As Xavier spoke, Emily danced along to music none of us could hear. She lifted the hem of her gown withdandelion-covered fingers and spun in place.

“An illegal potion?” asked her father. He approached Emily, trying to grab for her arm, but she slipped away, giggling and dancing.

“Yes,” said Xavier, “it gives the user the feeling of being in a dream. They feel blissful, but they cannot see or hear anything around them, nothing but the dream—”

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Emily, her hands held high. She grinned and twirled around. “Beautiful, beautiful!”

Her father took hold of her arms, giving her a gentle shake. “Emily,” he said, “Emily,wake up!”

But she wouldn’t. She sang a strange, slurred song, and then started to laugh until her face turned red.

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