Xavier nodded. “We’ll start tomorrow morning, then.”
As he turned the doorknob, I piped up with one more question.
“Might I see him on the weekends, do you think?” I asked. “Would that be safe?”
His fingers danced against the scalloped metal of the door’s handle. “I’ll need your help on Saturdays.”
“You didn’t need an apprentice at all until five minutes ago.”
He let out a sharp, one-beat laugh—the sincerest part of himself I’d seen since our childhood. “Very well. Saturdays and Sundays, you may see him.”
Xavier inhaled deeply and pressed his forehead against the kitchen door. He whispered to it and then began to sing his song again. It was soothing, hypnotizing—my eyelids started to fall. I blinked, and the door clicked shut. When I opened it again, I found my sitting room, plain as ever.
Papa, wan and thin, sat up from his little makeshift bed. “I heard lots of ranting and then the kitchen started to glow,” he said. “What happened? What sort of magic was that?”
I thought of the black band that now marked my finger and quickly tucked my hand into my pocket. I couldn’t let him see any evidence of this bargain. That, in exchange for his life, I’d traded away the magic he called my treasure.
“Xavier asked me to be his apprentice,” I said, “and I start tomorrow.”
4
Despite Papa’s protests, I spent the night on the floor beside his sofa. I lay awake watching his chest rise and fall, worried more blossoms would grow. Sometimes he would reach for me over the edge of the sofa, attempting to pet my hair or give my shoulder a squeeze—but I inched away from him and instead turned to the spellbooks I’d piled on the floor beside me.
The oldest ones contained information on blessings. Da Ponte’s Guide to Healing Incantations claimed, This type of spell is the most difficult of all. Simply practicing the recitation of a blessing will not suffice. One must be a master of their magic in the utmost.
A master. Despite my years of training, my long nights of studying, the tears I’d shed over failed potions—I wasn’t one. I might never be.
The words swam together, taunting me as much as my magic. And then, somehow, the pages that were once bathed in white moonlight turned pale gold with the dawn.
Someone knocked on the door.
Dizzy and exhausted, I wobbled to my feet, whirling for a moment to check on my father. Seven azaleas still bloomed from his chest. And even in sleep, he clenched his fists and held his breath, his brow beaded with sweat.
I slid to the door on stockinged feet and opened it to find a witch’s shop, decorated with pale pink flowers and plush carpets. Two people stood in the doorway, and at the sight of the woman, my heart soared.
Madam Ben Ammar was breathtaking, with deep brown skin, eyes the color of ebony, and long black curls that spiraled around her head and down her back. And she was as kind as she was lovely. When we had last parted, she had cried. She’d said that she didn’t think I was a bad student. That she was confident that another teacher might be able to help me where she could not. She was the only teacher who hadn’t blamed me for my magic’s outbursts. What would she think of me three years later, still a failure?
I gripped the door tighter to keep from embracing her. If Papa was still under the adverse effects of my touch, I could not allow my magic to get too close to her, either.
Her eyes were soft and full of pity. “Hello, dear,” she said.
I smiled up at her. “I can’t believe you’re here—they said you were working on some investigation!”
She nodded, her long black skirt swishing as she crossed the stoop. “Yes, but when Master Morwyn sent a note to the Council about your situation, I snatched up your case as quick as I could.”
Relief washed through me. If I had to deal with more Councilmembers, I was thankful there would be one who actually liked me.
The witch gestured to the person tailing her—young and thin, with large, round glasses, golden-brown skin, and scarlet hair tumbling down to their shoulders. “Clara, Robin is my apprentice. They will be tending to your father while you are away with Master Morwyn.”
Robin stuck out a hand with a dimpled smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lucas. Madam Ben Ammar speaks very highly of you.”
A lie, my magic whispered. “Thank you, Robin.” My whole body trembled as they robustly shook my gloved hand up and down.
The three of us approached where Papa lay. I bent close to him, careful not to let even the end of my plait touch him.
“Are you awake, Papa?” I asked.
He pried his eyes open, his hand fast against his chest. “Yes, dear, I’m—” At the sight of the two others, he started, scrabbling to sit up.
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 retching sound 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’t you. 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 and carpetbag, 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.