Page 55 of Flowerheart

Mr. Kinley pulled his gaze from his daughter. The whites of his eyes were turning red. His shoulders were slouched. His dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat. “She hadn’t gotten out of bed for a while... and then my husband and I found her in her room in the middle of the night, dancing and smiling, laughing like a hyena. No matter what we said or did, she couldn’t stop laughing. I suppose she couldn’t hear or see us, like you said.... She was like that for hours. At first, we thought that it was just a game of hers. But it continued this morning—and there were the dandelions, too. That’s when I knew it was connected to magic.”

Xavier carefully snipped off the heads of the dandelions on her cheek. He pulled on the stems with his forceps—thankfully, they weren’t attached deeply. He dropped the stems and their short, stubby roots into a glass jar beside him.

“I just don’t understand,” murmured Mr. Kinley. “She doesn’t behave like this. She doesn’t buy illegal potions.” He squeezed her hand. “She—she won’t get in trouble, will she?”

“No, Mr. Kinley,” I said. “But... where could she have gotten this potion? Did she travel anywhere recently?”

“Not that I know of. She helps in the bakery, goes to thelibrary... nothing more.”

As little dots of blood began to bloom on her skin, Xavier painted the yellowish salve onto her cheek and onto her arms, after he’d cleared them of flowers, too. Then, with the utmost care, he cleaned her face and wrists with a cloth, until her skin was smooth and clear.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can do, Mr. Kinley,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “She will wake in a few hours. By my estimations, she is soon to enter the third stage of the effects of Euphoria. She’ll be able to eat and drink and sleep, but she won’t be as energetic as she is now. She’ll be so enraptured by her dream that she won’t want to leave her bed.”

Mr. Kinley gripped his daughter’s hand tight. Tears welled in his eyes.

“I don’t want you to have to carry her all the way home,” murmured Xavier. “If it would help, I can open a door directly there; to her bedroom, even.”

Mr. Kinley’s eyes grew wide. So did mine. The last time Xavier had made a portal, he’d fallen horribly ill. With a gentle hand, I touched his arm. “Xavier, I could—”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, drawing back.

“If... if you could,” replied Mr. Kinley. “We couldn’t even begin to repay you.”

“I need nothing but your help.” Xavier stood tall, cleaning his hands on a handkerchief. “Describe the room to me in precise detail. Leave nothing out.”

Mr. Kinley closed his eyes. “The walls are brownish-gray with old white trim on the bottom. She has drawings framed on the walls. Sketches of flowers and trees,” Mr. Kinley described tremulously. “It’s a square room, with wooden floorboards... they’re gray.”

“The furniture?” Xavier asked.

The man’s brow wrinkled. “A small bed, with white sheets. She has a quilt that my mother made—red and gold diamonds. A desk where she draws. Pencils and paper all strewn about. And there’s a bookshelf next to the bed, a lamp...” He paused, his eyes sad and fond all at once. “There’s a dent in the wall across from the bed. She read a book and didn’t like the ending, so she threw it at the wall.”

“That should be enough,” Xavier said.

On the far end of the salon was a narrow back door that led to the little garden behind the Morwyns’ house. Xavier approached the door, held the doorknob and shut his eyes.

He sang a strange melody in Albilan, broken by staccato whispers and rolledr’s. Then he inhaled deeply and jerked the door open. Through the entryway, where the garden ought to have been, was a simple bedroom. It was just as Mr. Kinley had described it: the drawing desk, the quilt, the indentation in one of the walls.

Mr. Kinley breathlessly thanked Xavier, shaking his hand so profusely that, already dizzy from the spell, he trembled like a willow branch in a windstorm. Xavier pressed hishandkerchief to his nose again.

Mr. Kinley didn’t notice as he passed through the doorway, laying his daughter on her bed. She stirred slightly, but just sighed and flopped on to her side, her breathing steady and loud.

Xavier lingered in the doorframe. “My search for a cure is ongoing,” he said. “If I make any progress, if I finally find a solution... I promise I will be in contact, immediately.”

I stood at Xavier’s side, watching the little bedroom almost like it was the set of some strange, sad play.

“We live at the bakery in Iverton,” said Mr. Kinley. He lifted his head, his dark eyes miserable and empty. “Please. Do not let her suffer this for long.”

Xavier nodded. His hand trembled against the doorknob. “I will help her,” he said. “I promise.”

I took one last look at Mr. Kinley, holding his daughter’s hand and crying. I wanted to take my magic and give it all to them; to let its warmth pass over them and heal them. But my magic rarely seemed to listen to the wishes of my heart.

Xavier slowly shut the door, and with that, the grieving father and his suffering daughter were gone. With his hand still clenching the doorknob, Xavier suddenly dropped to his knees.

My pulse leapt, and I fell to the floor beside him. “Xavier?!”

“I need a moment,” he whispered.

“Do you need water?” I squeaked. “Tea? Some food—youhaven’t eaten at all today—”

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