Page 9 of Flowerheart

Kneeling, Xavier unlatched and drew back the lid of his case. He looked to Papa and touched a gentle hand to his cheek. “Mr. Lucas?”

Papa’s eyes opened. His forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Did... did I forget your delivery?”

“No, sir. Your daughter called on me.”

Papa grinned, his head lolling against the arm of the sofa.“She’s a gem, she is. You should be her teacher.”

Xavier averted his gaze. “A little delirious, I see.” His fingers hovered over the flowers blooming from Papa’s chest. He tenderly tugged at one of the dark green stems, but stopped at the sound of Papa’s sharp, frightened gasp. I flinched, and Xavier leaned back, his lips pursed. “It’s possible they’re latched in deep.” He glanced back to me, a notch in his brow. “If we’re lucky, there aren’t any more growing internally.”

My blood chilled. “He—he coughed up some petals. Do you think these flowers are connected to the ones inside him?”

The very idea made bile rise in my throat. My magic, infesting his heart as well as his lungs with flowers like parasites...

“Perhaps.” He withdrew a stethoscope from his potion case and then lightly tapped Papa’s shoulder. “If you would, sir, I’d like to listen to your heart.”

Your fault, your fault, your fault,chimed my magic. I forced my palm against my chest like it could smother the sound.

Xavier pressed the metal of the stethoscope over Papa’s heart and ribs.

“Your heartbeat is irregular. And I do hear something in your airway.” Xavier reached inside his case, where each bottle and jar had been tucked away perfectly like little soldiers in formation. He selected a long phial filled with a thick, dark green liquid. “Miss Lucas, I’ll need a large bowl or a bin.”

“Why?”

He jostled the little potion bottle. “I want to see if an expectorant will help in expelling the flowers.”

I sped out of the room and into the kitchen, swiping a mixing bowl from the shelf over the washbasin.

When I returned, I found Papa clutching his chest, moaning in pain. My throat pinched shut and I squeezed his hand through the thick fabric of my gloves.

Is this trulymyfault?Had my magic acted on its own, and I was just too weak to stop it? Or was there something within me, something unknowable and awful, that would drive my magic to hurt him?

With the mixing bowl in his grasp, Xavier turned back to my father. “This will be a rather unpleasant experience, sir.”

Papa released my hand and rested the bowl against his lap. His head was bowed, like he was ashamed of himself. “You don’t have to see this, Clara.”

I pulled a chair close to his sofa and kept my hand braced against his arm. “I’ve been an apprentice several times over. I’ve seen my share of foul things.”

He sighed and then nodded to Xavier, who passed Papa the little green bottle.

Within moments of drinking, Papa was coughing into the bowl, expelling bright pink petals as well as leaves, whole stems, and long, spidery roots, wet with saliva. As his body lurched, trying with all its might to cast out the magic, I clung tight to his arm, biting hard on my lip to hold in tears.

Eventually, my father collapsed against the arm of the sofa, chest convulsing. His cheeks were waxy, and his pale ginger hair was slick with sweat. Though he was exhausted, his breathing was clearer and no longer so labored.

After a quick inspection with his stethoscope, Xavier confirmed that the flowers had been cleared. But his face was still troubled.

“What happened there on your cheek, Mr. Lucas?” he asked, pointing.

Papa touched the raw spot where my hand had been. He looked to me before mumbling, “I’m not sure, myself.”

My stomach tied itself in knots. Of course he’d try to defend me, even when I had hurt him.

The lamp on the table beside us started to rattle as I grew unsettled again. “It was me,” I said. I stared at my tan gardening gloves. “I just touched his cheek, and it burned him, somehow.”

Xavier procured a small silver pot from his case and applied a buttery mixture to the burn. “That could scar,” he noted softly. “Magical wounds are hardly predictable.” He wiped his pale hands on a handkerchief and then lightly felt Papa’s pulse. Xavier’s frown made my own heart leap.

“What is it?”

His brown eyes flitted to me. “Miss Lucas... did you say anything hostile towards your father before he fell ill? Did you have an argument?”

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