Page 15 of Flowerheart

Madam Ben Ammar bowed her head in greeting. “No need to fret, Mr. Lucas,” she said. “We’re here to help.”

He opened his mouth to reply but was again interrupted by his own coughing. He grimaced and made a retchingsound into his hand. When he drew it back, two pink petals rested on his palm.

Fear gripped my heart. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Master Morwyn gave him an expectorant, and I haven’t touched him again, haven’t said anything curse-like....”

Madam Ben Ammar bit down on her full lower lip. “Your magic is volatile, pet. It follows no rules, not even your own. I suspect it’s done your father no good being so close to it.”

I stepped farther away from Papa. He sighed and balled up his fists in the ivy-green blanket. “It’s not your fault. It’s as she said—your magic isn’tyou. I suppose it just decided it didn’t like me.”

“It’s foolish, then, if it dislikes you of all people.”

“Mr. Lucas.” The sweet sound of Madam Ben Ammar’s voice helped draw me from the storm of worries continuing to brew within me. “Robin here is in their final year of apprenticeship and will therefore be tending to you at all times. They may ask some silly questions and take superfluous notes, but it’s all part of the apprenticeship process. I think the world of them, and I know they’ll take great care of you.”

Robin was much more delicate in shaking Papa’s hand.

Madam Ben Ammar turned to me, her face soft and comforting despite her commanding height and sharp features. “Now then, go get your things and we’ll be off to Master Morwyn’s.”

From my room, I took my humble potion case andcarpetbag, the same ones I’d taken with me to my first apprenticeship. I’d left home five times for my training over the years. This time, the farewell ached even more.

The first time I had left for an apprenticeship, I’d laughed, I’d smiled; I’d told Papa to stop turning into a puddle over me. Now I was the puddle, tears streaking my cheeks even though I’d only be an hour away.

Staring down at him, I wanted to kiss him goodbye, or say something lovely—but the thought of magic twisting my own words frightened me. Furthermore, the secret of the pact I’d made with Xavier sat heavy and hard in my middle.

I’d always told my father everything in my life: at age twelve, when I’d been madly in love with Ada Framingham. In primary school, when I’d slapped a girl for calling us poor. When I had cried in Xavier’s arms over my long-gone mother. To keep a secret from Papa, especially one so important, made me feel unclean.

But Papa smiled up at me, his face bright as sunshine in spite of his bloodshot eyes and heavy breathing. “You’ll do wonderfully,” he said. “And I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I love you,” I whispered, hoping that I could stave off any more wicked magic if I spoke softly.

“Clara,” said Madam Ben Ammar, “Master Morwyn told me he’d given you his card. Could I have it, so I can take us to him?”

I withdrew his golden card from my pocket and gave it tothe witch. She took a few steps from me to an empty space near the window. Extending her arm, a delicate jet of flame bloomed from her fingers. The smoldering card fluttered to the floor.

Golden smoke billowed from the floorboards. When it began to clear and the whispering of the fire ceased, Xavier’s door—scuffed but reattached after I’d broken it down yesterday—stood in our living room.

I turned to Papa one last time. He waved farewell. And I ducked through the doorway before he could see my face crumple with more tears.

In my rush yesterday, I hadn’t noticed that the inside of Xavier’s shop was just as lovely as I remembered it from my childhood.

It was fragrant with the smell of cloves, bergamot, and cinnamon. Drying flowers hung from hooks on nearly every wall, some bleached by the sunshine filtering into the storefront. At the back of the shop stood a wooden workbench, piled high with bottles and cauldrons and mortars and pestles. The honey-colored cabinets behind the table had windows that displayed row after row of potions and powders of every color. Somehow, the shop seemed just as big as it had when I was a little girl. And it certainly wasn’t as fearsome or dour as the outside of the house made it seem.

Xavier stood in the potion-making area at the back of theshop, among the petals and stems and little jars of salve on the countertop. A cloud of steam rose from the cauldron behind him. Upon hearing us enter, he lifted the white apron from around his neck, slung it over the counter, and approached us in one fluid motion, like a dancer.

In less than a day, he’d changed yet again. Gone was the unkempt boy making dangerous promises last night. A prim, professional wizard stood before us.

He’d cast off his traditional black coat, and the sleeves of his pure-white shirt were rolled to his elbows. He still wore the black vest and trousers of a certified wizard, as well as a black cravat fixed in place with the same gold sun pin that Madam Ben Ammar wore as a brooch.

“You’ve got shoes today,” I remarked. They were black, too, and so finely polished that I would have believed him if he’d told me they’d been carved from marble.

He bowed his head in greeting. “You’ll notice I also have a door.”

I grimaced, glancing at the toes of my own shoes, caked in dirt. “I’m sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep my magic in check.”

“Yes, we all hope so,” said Madam Ben Ammar. The ice in her voice alarmed me, but when I peeked at her, I found that her look of consternation was not directed at me but at Xavier.

His cordial look faded as she neared him. Moments ago,he’d appeared mature for his age—but before her imposing height, he was just a boy.

“Would—would you like to sit down for some tea?” he offered, pointing a gloved hand to a little salon to the right of him.

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