Accidents of a Florist [complete]

3: Tricliceras Laceratum, a flower torn

Agatha is reviewing her notes when Callia comes to sit by her in the café. Looking up for an instant, she says: "I took the liberty of ordering for myself. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." The blonde woman hangs her coat on the rack by the door, which is an arm's reach away, then fishes out her own clipboard. "What did you find?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. Our client has been unconscious ever since he's been admitted to the hospital. The nurse gave me the rudiments of his chart: fractured ribs, head trauma and lacerations." Agatha shakes her head. "His skin is, to say the least, scraped. The silver's ensured the lacerations aren't healing properly, and will likely scar."

"What about the head trauma?"

"When he awakes, he'll have a concussion from minor bruising."

"That's a relief. From the way you were talking about it, I was worried he'd had his head bashed in. Then it would be really hard to get information from him once he awoke."

"Not much easier with a concussion either."

"Still." Agatha's name is called out by the teenager at the counter, who holds a tray of food nervously. She lifts her hand, motioning to herself, and the boy walks over.

"Here you go, Miss." After thanking the teenager, Agatha digs into her meal hungrily. Flakes of croissant go flying everywhere to Callia's amusement. Seconds later, her coworker sets down the sandwich and self-consciously brushes crumbs off her chin. As she does so, she gives Callia an interrogative glance.

"Aren't you going to get anything?" The urge to lie and say she ate on the way there is strong, but Agatha is Callia's friend, and she knows her friend is there for her. Fiddling with her sleeves, Callia confesses to being worried about her adoptive family.

Financially, they are stretched. Her income as an investigator covers a sliver of her brother's university fees and her adoptive mother is working herself to exhaustation on several minimum-wage jobs. As it is, Callia dares not squander money on coffees and snacks.

Hearing this, Agatha offers to pay her friend's meal, but Callia refuses. Accepting food is a sure-fire way to feel indebted to her friend, even if the latter doesn't mean to be paid back. No matter how dear her coworker is to her, Callia does not feel it is right to depend on another's charity when one time can turn into many, and she doesn't know how secure Agatha herself is financially.

Before Agatha can insist, her phone emits a high-pitched sound announcing an incoming call. "Hello?" she says and brightens immediately: "Mona! What's up?"

What ensues is a very long buzzing sound for Callia, who is attempting to listen to the phonecall. "Oh," says Agatha, her joyfulness dimmed. "I see. I'll tell Callia. Thanks, Mona. Goodbye, Mona."

Ending the call, Agatha lowers the phone to her lap slowly. Her eyes are watering, and her posture all but screams the extent of her disappointment. Callia takes her friend's hand. "She'll notice you one day, Agatha. I have no doubt of it."

The woman smiles shakily: "Thanks. I only wish I was as sure as you were." She shakes herself. "Anyway, she called to tell us the guy's condition has worsened. Turns out there was some internal bleeding they hadn't spotted. They're not even sure if he's going to make it at this rate."

What a sobering thought. The charges of economic interference and willful endangerment could be replaced with those murder or attempted murder.