Chapter 6

Six

"Never meddle with the magic of hearts because it is the most violent and volatile of all powers." — Sorcery in the Age of Reason.

In the days that followed Mara’s visit, Augustus took the time to go over what she had said about the flow of magic and check for a third time that the hole was now smaller.

It rankled his professional pride that she’d taken one glance at his eternal problem and had proposed a valid hypothesis and solution within minutes.

And she has been under your nose for the last eighty fucking years.

"The house smells like a woman," Flynn said, startling Augustus as he made toast.

"Christ! Give a man some warning next time you decide to drop in," he complained.

"Who has been here? It smells like holy things, funeral incense, laughter, and new wine." Flynn shook his head as if trying to dislodge the scent from his too-sensitive sprite nose.

Augustus poured himself a coffee before sitting down at the kitchen table. He was craving tea but couldn’t handle looking at it.

Flynn’s green eyes narrowed. "The saint was here, wasn’t she? Did you get a chance to worship her?"

Augustus stopped chewing, his mind conjuring all sorts of inappropriate images. As if his dreams weren’t bad enough. "You know me, Flynn. It was all business."

"Sure it was. What was this business?"

Flynn had known Augustus a long time; he even knew a few of his more prized secrets. Augustus told him about Mara, maps, and miracles.

"It’s strange, but miracles and magic are never straightforward. It could be the answer you’ve been looking for, so why do you look like someone has pissed in your coffee?" Flynn asked.

"The only way to test it is if I go and drink more of her tea."

"So do it."

"No, you don’t understand. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s like she shoves her hand inside your chest and pulls all your worst nightmares out your throat. You know sharing isn’t my forte," Augustus said.

It was an understatement. Augustus was known by the entire supernatural community, but Flynn was perhaps the only one he could call a friend.

"She’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? Damn, it makes me want to meet her." Augustus glared at him. Flynn was all emerald eyes, red hair, and sensual promiscuity, and Augustus had seen firsthand how women and men reacted to him.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? Poor love must be lonely if she’s willing to drink scotch with your grumpy ass. At least I’d show her a good time, and I’m sure she wouldn’t hate sprites like she hates sorcerers," Flynn teased.

"Go anywhere near her, and I’ll spray the entire yard with pesticide," Augustus threatened. He expected Flynn to hiss and carry on, but instead, the sprite’s smile widened.

"Oh Augustus, I can smell you’ve got a crush." Flynn tapped his nose, and Augustus wanted to punch him.

"I do not. This is strictly professional. As you say, she hates sorcerers."

Flynn grinned. "She hates them so much, she walked straight into your house and drank your booze while you bored her to tears about your magical fuck-ups. Sounds like her hatred lacks conviction to me."

"She has plenty of conviction, trust me." Augustus had seen a flash of mischief and warmth in her eyes, precisely one second before she had turned and bolted. It was probably for the best because he really liked her in his house, which disturbed him.

"You’re the first person that’s remembered her. Did you ever stop to think about how overwhelming that might be for her? Or are you only thinking about yourself?" Flynn questioned. "Be smart about this, Augustus. It’ll be worth sharing a few painful secrets with the woman if she can fix Melbourne’s magic. You’d be free from it forever. You could go home to England finally. Swallow your pride and go and see her. I know you want to. Think of it as therapy. She’s a saint. It’s not their way to spout the secrets of others. No matter how awful they are, she’s going to keep them to herself."

Augustus groaned. "I don’t have a choice, and you know it. I just need to mentally prepare myself before I do."

Flynn stole a piece of his toast. "Maybe rein in those pheromones if you don’t want her cat outing you."

"Don’t know what you’re talking about," he grumbled.

"Learn to lie better, sorcerer," Flynn called as Augustus headed upstairs to shower and get ready to be emotionally kicked by a saint.

* * *

Augustus strolled down Albert Street, enjoying the rare sunny winter day. He knew it was pointless to try and concoct another lie to tell Mara.

Still, the thought of having to bare another uncomfortable memory to her wasn’t something he was looking forward to, no matter how good he might feel afterward.

This uncomfortable feeling contrasted wildly with his secret desire to see Mara herself again. He regretted that she’d left his house as soon as he’d started to relax in her presence.

As a rule, Augustus didn’t go out of his way to try and make people like him or see his better side, so it disconcerted him to realize he wanted to prove to Mara that some sorcerers were worth knowing. Mara was clever, and unlike the other supernaturals in Melbourne, she wasn’t afraid of him.

A long-dormant part of him also whispered in his ear that she was becoming more attractive every time he saw her, and he needed to resist doing any further study of her attributes if he wanted to be able to focus on the task at hand.

All thoughts of the way her lips curved went out of his head as the hooking sensation of the teashop’s call gripped him. It burrowed under his skin and pulled him along to Swanston Street.

It was an area he generally avoided, being the territory of the Druids, but there was no fighting the call once he’d heard it.

The red door to Mara’s store was wedged between two blocks of the RMIT University campus. Students walked past it without seeing it, and if they did, they didn’t once question its existence.

Augustus had tried to understand this part of the teashop’s magic with little success. Mara and her family’s magic was strange and incomprehensible to a classically trained sorcerer.

Augustus was known for his natural abilities and the innovative way he adapted and altered spellwork, but the Corvo magic was so wild and blatantly improbable that he couldn’t comprehend how it worked at all.

Augustus crossed over Lonsdale Street and ran a hand through his dark curls before opening the shining red door.

Mara was talking with a rabbi as she escorted him towards the door. She looked up at Augustus, and her smile was there and gone lightning quick.

"Thank you, my girl. You’ve done this old man’s heart good today," the rabbi was saying as he took his coat from the rack. He noticed Augustus and gave him a friendly smile before turning to Mara and saying, "I’d keep an eye on this one. He looks like a rake."

"Two eyes, I promise," she said with a wink as the rabbi left the store.

"What is it about me that people feel the need to warn you off?" Augustus muttered looking down at her. She was wearing a rich purple sweater, her lips painted the same distractingly lush color. Like a plum just waiting to be…

"Hello Augustus," she said, dark eyes glittering in amusement.

"Do you have time for me, little saint, or should I leave and return later?"

"How about you leave and not return at all?" Athanasius growled by Mara’s feet.

"Hey, puss, I’ve bought something just for you," Augustus crooned.

"Don’t you condescend to me, you good for nothing—" Athanasius’s rant was cut off as he streaked after the small object Augustus had tossed to the other side of the store. The cat rolled onto its back, a tiny colorful mouse gripped in its paws and teeth.

"Catnip," Augustus whispered, and Mara exploded with surprised laughter.

"Come on in," she said with a tilt of her head towards the bar.

"Don’t think I’ve only come with presents for the cat," Augustus said. He pulled out a book and placed it on the bar before sitting down.

"You brought me a book?" Mara asked, feigning suspicion. She took away the rabbi’s teacup and saucer before setting another one in front of Augustus.

"You left so quickly the other night you didn’t get a chance to take one with you," he explained.

"You gave me a lot to think about. I forgot all about books after seeing a map of Melbourne’s magic." She picked up the book and read the title. "A History of England’s Great Sorcerers. Sounds riveting."

"I was hoping to change your mind about us, or at least expand your education beyond the bastards who managed to cause problems for your family," Augustus explained. He should’ve picked a different book. She was going to throw him out for being such a presumptuous…

Mara opened the cover. "I’ll take a look and see what I think. It begins with Merlin… Of course it does." Mara looked up from the page with trouble in her eyes. "I heard a story once that Saint Anea was of a descendant of Morgan le Fay."

"I’d believe it with the size of the grudge your family has against sorcerers. There’s a theory that all English magic users are descendants of Merlin, so wouldn’t it be something if both were true?"

"What is truth? My mother told me stories of Saint Anea that were so contradictory I don’t think any of them were true, even though she believed them."

"Truth and belief are very different things, and neither one needs the other to be real."

Augustus was rewarded with one of her rare smiles. She stopped as soon as she realized she was doing it.

She boiled water and took out a teapot from a small cupboard. It was cast iron and almost black with age. Augustus could see the cupboard contained more than one, and his inquisitiveness got the better of him.

"How do you choose which one to use?" he asked.

"I don’t know. It’s like a sensation in my fingertips. And before you ask, yes, it’s the same for the tea. I wander the store as someone talks, and my fingertips do the rest."

"Instinctual magic."

"I keep telling you it’s not magic. At least, not the kind that you use." Mara tapped her chest lightly, a frown on her face as she tried to gather the right words. "I can feel the miracle inside of me. It builds up as I hear the petitioner’s story, and the tea helps me channel it. Does that make sense?"

"About as much as the rest of it does. Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean I can’t feel it’s powerful. I can feel it around you, around the store. It’s wild magic that sorcerers have long given up trying to use. Most don’t even believe it exists."

"Does it rankle your fine sorcerer education and pride to know that a bunch of backward gypsies can use it?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not at all. I think it’s wonderful," Augustus replied honestly.

Mara flushed. "I’m sorry. I just assumed."

"Dangerous things assumptions. It’s pointless for either of us to have any in this situation."

"And what situation is that?" A fair eyebrow lifted.

"Despite your family’s warnings, you are about to serve a sorcerer for a second time. I’m about to tell you something horrible. I can feel it in my bones, and I’m not inclined to share my secrets with anyone. If we keep this up, we might teeter dangerously close to becoming friends." Augustus smiled, hoping it would put her at ease again.

"That’s optimistic of you."

"A man has to be when a saint is about to pull his deepest nightmares to the surface."

Mara placed her hands on her hips. "You knew what you were in for when you opened the door, so don’t complain to me."

"I can still be nervous about it."

"I don’t believe that for a second. You’re one of the most self-assured men I’ve ever met."

Augustus made a sound somewhere between a sarcastic laugh and a cough. "The first time we met, I was so drunk, I could barely stand up. Does that strike you as self-assurance?"

"Good point. Are you ready, Augustus?" Mara asked, taking the lid off the teapot.

"Absolutely not, but there is no way to prove our hypothesis without doing this."

"What was it you called me? A chicken? Look who’s chicken now. I promise your secrets are safe with me," she teased.

None of me is safe with you, Augustus thought as those big black eyes held his, and he felt like he was falling.

He didn’t try to fight the sensation, and he opened his mouth and said, "When I was thirty, the Vance estate almost burned to the ground…"

* * *

It had taken five years for Augustus to get over the incident with the leopard.

On his return to England, his sister Emmaline, six years his junior, nursed him back to health and ran the estate while he pieced his shattered mind back together.

Emmaline was the most delightful Vance to be produced, and she outstripped Augustus in everything she put her hands to: languages, drawing, piano, singing, history.

If she’d had any inclination toward magic, he was sure she would have become proficient enough to shock the establishment.

They were constant companions, orphans who only had each other in the world. She was his best friend, and if it wasn’t for her help, Augustus doubted he would’ve been alive.

Before the death of Timothy Highfell, Augustus had held secret hopes that one day he would be able to call Timothy brother.

Timothy had been besotted with Emmaline since she turned fourteen, but Augustus, as head of the family, had told him to wait until she was at least seventeen before he made a serious offer for her hand.

Emmaline had mourned Timothy as much as Augustus had, her own dreams and future in ruins. Emmaline dealt with her grief by running the estate with such proficiency that Augustus ended up signing everything she put in front of him, freeing him up to continue his study of magic, the only thing that gave him any peace.

On the night of the fire, Augustus woke to the rank smell of leopard musk in his bedroom. He’d been plagued by nightmares since the incident, but it had been a long time since he had hallucinated.

Then he smelled something equally deadly…smoke. He rushed out into the halls to find the smoke billowing along the roof from the east wing where Emmaline slept. Heedless of his own safety, he ran to find her.

Through the flames, he saw a leopard watching him. He thought it was another hallucination until the great beast attacked him, keeping him from Emmaline’s rooms.

Augustus fought the cat off with a chair, the wood splintering under its claws as it tried to open him up.

Then the beast simply gave up and disappeared. As it did, the flames did too, and Augustus realized too late that the fire that had been keeping him from Emmaline was only an illusion.

The actual fire had only been in the east wing, and even though Augustus was able to snuff the blaze with magic, it was too late.

Emmaline, the gentlest person he’d ever met, had been locked in her rooms and left to be burned alive by a mad, shapeshifting sorcerer with a grudge that Augustus was only beginning to understand.

It had wanted him to live, knowing that it had taken the only thing he’d loved just so Augustus would suffer.

Augustus shut up the east wing, never rebuilt it, and never entered it again.

* * *

As Augustus returned to himself, the tears in Mara’s eyes were the first thing he saw. The cup in front of him steamed, but he didn’t reach for it.

"The police thought I had lost my mind and had been the one to set the fire. It didn’t matter that I had these to prove my story," he said, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to show the three long scars that had been made by the leopard’s claws. "If it wasn’t for representatives of the Merlinus Academy stepping in, I would’ve probably been arrested. They knew I’d spoken the truth, but no sign of the rogue sorcerer was found. It didn’t matter. Emmaline was already dead."

He reached across the counter and gently brushed his fingers along Mara’s cheek, wiping away her fallen tears.

"I’m so sorry, Augustus," she whispered.

"It was a long time ago. You would’ve liked her. She used to bust my balls too," he replied.

Augustus studied her tears on his fingers and released some of his magic. The tears turned red before transforming into a perfect rose.

"Emmaline used to grow them all year round. I don’t know how she managed it without magic, but the house always smelled of roses."

He passed the bloom to Mara before picking up his teacup. She watched him silently as he began to drink, hand resting on the pot handle.

The first cup tasted of the oak polish used on the furniture in the mansion, the earthy smell of Emmaline’s greenhouse, and the countless cups of chamomile she made him drink during his convalescence.

The second cup tasted of burning heat, ash, and the fetid breath of the leopard’s maw.

The third cup tasted of roses, caramel, peach, burnt sugar, and orange.

"Madeira wine," he murmured, putting the cup down.

"Pardon?" Mara asked.

"It tasted of Madeira. When Emmaline was seventeen, she wanted to know what it was like to be drunk, so we stayed up, playing chess and drinking Madeira wine until neither of us could walk straight. I had forgotten."

That was when Augustus realized that the good memories could be found under the horror, but they hurt even more. He got to his feet.

"Thank you, Mara. I hope you enjoy the book." He was reaching for the door when she called out to him.

"Did you ever find the leopard sorcerer?"

Augustus’s face was a mask of twisted violence and satisfaction. "Oh, yes."