Page 23 of Flowerheart

“Mop!” cried Xavier, holding out a hand. On cue, one zipped out of the supply closet and into his hand. He passed it to me with a grimace. “And—do not swear, if you can help it. I don’t want your magic getting any ideas.”

He was right. SpeakingCurse me!into the world was tempting fate. I bit down hard on my tongue and mopped up the thick lilac mixture.

As I cleaned the floor, Xavier paused beside the bowl that had overflowed. He frowned at it—What else had I done wrong?

“I wonder,” he murmured.

He filled a teaspoon with the potion... and then tasted it.

I gasped. “Xavier!”

“I want to see if it works.”

“What if it hurts you?”

He shrugged. “I feel perfectly fine.”

My heart rose. “You mean—you mean I made the potion all right? I just created too much of it?”

“Perhaps, I—” Xavier cut himself off, his brow furrowing.He approached the counter, plucking a raspberry from the small bowl we kept for use in potions. With a look of deep concentration, he popped the berry into his mouth.

“What are you doing now?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I seem to have lost my sense of taste.”

“What?”

Xavier waved a hand. “I’m certain it’s only temporary. But it’s a curious effect, nonetheless. Something that merits more study—”

“Now?” I gestured around me at the sticky countertops and the violet puddle at my feet and towards the customer still waiting on us outside.

“Right. I’ll make a new potion as quick as I can.”

While I mopped up the remains of my failed potion, Xavier brewed a new, better one.

Mint extract. Chamomile and vervain tea. Oil of ginger and roses. He poured drops of each into little cups and inspected them to be certain that they were all the same amount.Equality of ingredients is necessary for balanced potions,Madam Carvalho had once taught me.

The lovely smell helped distract from the anxious nausea caused by my magic.

At leasthispotion would do as intended.

Within minutes, he finished the medicine, bottling it and taking it to the customer outside.

Leaving me alone.

I could feel my magic squirming around inside me like a snake. I held my hand to my forehead.

Fool,my magic whispered.You can’t even make a nausea potion without destroying the shop and hurting your teacher. How on earth can you hope to save your father?

“Stop it,” I growled.

You only bring destruction.

Leaning my head against the damp countertop, I covered my head in my arms. I tried to remember what Papa used to tell me. That I was strong. That I wasn’t my magic. That my magic was a blessing. That he and my mother had prayed I’d grow to be a witch.

You have magic like her,said the voice.And you’re weak like her. Cruel like her.

I wanted to cry or shout but was too afraid. Would I make lightning strike the house? Would Xavier start to grow thorns? Would I flood the kitchen with flowers?

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