Page 92 of Flowerheart

Adam turned in his seat, his eyes widening. “A cure? Truly?”

I set down the potion case on a wooden chair, throwing open the latches with two soft clicks. Along with a few other potions—antiseptic, sedatives, anti-nausea medicine, just in case—was the cure I’d brewed this morning, in a small, square bottle.

“This is it?” asked Adam. His voice broke with tears, but a hopeful smile was spreading across his face. “It’s over? She’ll—she’ll be back to us?”

“This will be the very first time we’re testing this potion,” said Xavier in a meek voice, “but—”

“This will work,” I promised, showing them the brew, the bright green of a crisp apple. “May I give it to her?”

The two men exchanged a quick, concerned glance.

“What do you think, Julian?” asked Adam.

Mr. Kinley nodded, squeezing his husband’s shoulders. “If this could help her... we have to take that chance.”

Xavier stood by, his hands folded tight, his eyes upon the potion. I slowly twisted off the stopper and then knelt by Emily’s bedside.

Her brown eyes were cloudy and distant. She stared blankly at the opposite wall. Every so often, her eyelids would droop shut, as if she were seconds away from falling asleep again. She couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see me—but still, I was cautious as I cradled her face, parting her lips.

“Emily, this will wake you up,” I whispered. I touched the glass lip of the phial to her mouth, and under my breath, as I poured the drink, I recited the incantation again for good measure: “Control, patience, peace, confidence...”

My heart pounded as my magic screamed at me.

You will fail. You’ll destroy her. You’re a monster.

You’re a liar,I replied.

Emily swallowed, and her shoulders went slack. My blood felt as cold as the potion.

She blinked, and she looked at me—shesawme. Then she turned, catching sight of her fathers. “Papa? Father?”

Julian and Adam exclaimed, reaching across the bed to sweep their daughter in a hug.

Xavier’s hand clung to mine. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the scene. “It worked?” I breathed.

“I think so.” His voice was soft and trembled with tears. His thumb brushed against my skin. “You’ve done it. It’s over.”

I could scarcely believe it. Joy, and fear of losing that joy, warred within me—after mistrusting my magic for so long, could it truly be that it had obeyed me now, as it had when I’d blessed Papa?

While Emily’s parents covered her head in kisses, she grumbled, “What’s going on? And who are those two?”

“You—you took a potion, and you acted so strange,” said Adam. “You were laughing and dancing and then you got very still and were just dreaming all day...”

A small part of me remembered my training—remembered my role, not as a spectator, but as a healer. I withdrew a stethoscope from my case and draped it over my head.

“Miss Kinley,” I said, “I’m Miss—Madam Lucas, and Mr. Morwyn is assisting me today.” He bowed in greeting, even though the title seemed to fit him so oddly. “I’m a witch; I’m here to heal you. Like your father said, you’ve been under the effects of a disorienting potion for the past few days. Might I examine you and ask you a few questions?”

She nodded and let me feel her forehead (no fever), then check her breathing with the stethoscope and her heart rate with the watch on my chatelaine. She was perfectly, blessedly normal. Even this news was enough to make Julian Kinley burst into thankful tears.

As Xavier passed him a handkerchief, I turned to Emily, pulling a chair close to her.

“Now then,” I said, “do you remember taking Euphoria? Do you remember when you acquired it?”

Emily paused, glancing at each of her fathers. Her golden-brown fingers bunched up in the fabric of her quilt. “Have I done something bad?”

“No,” I said. “You aren’t going to be in any trouble. But I need to know the truth. There are other people who’ve been taking this potion, and they need help, too. Euphoria puts patients into a deep, dreaming sleep. And you are the first one we’ve been able to heal.”

She stared at the diamond pattern of her quilt. Her eyes were alert, bright—but sad. “We were at the market... I wandered on my own. A man approached me. I—I can’t remember what he looked like; I just remember that he gave me a card, and said, ‘They can help.’”

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