Chapter 7

Seven

"The life of a saint is a life destined to be rich in experience but not in love." — Sayings of the Blessed Crow.

For the next two days, Mara was restless and frustrated. She had never cried during a petitioner’s story (’Unprofessional,’ Sophia would’ve said), but Augustus’s pain had been as thick as syrup as it had poured out of him and over her. His agony moved her heart, and that disturbed her.

She sat in front of the statue of the saint, the book Augustus had given her open across her knees. It felt sacrilegious, but Mara wanted the saint’s protection as she read it.

Occasionally she would reach up and touch her cheek where she could feel the ghost of Augustus’s fingers. They had been warm and rough, and it made Mara acutely aware of how long it had been since she was touched by a man.

She did her best not to think of the scars on his arm, or the flecks of gray in his dark hair, or how she wondered what it would feel like to kiss his sad mouth.

If Mara had been a saint of hearts instead of a saint of grief, she would’ve realized that the moment he’d touched her cheek tenderly was when she had started to care for him, not just like him.

She had already had a suspicion that she enjoyed his company and that it was new and exciting to be remembered by someone for longer than a day. It whispered to her of danger but the good kind that led to new things.

While Mara waited for his return, she filled her mind with the stories of sorcerers, their loves, losses, and triumphs. She had to begrudgingly admit that they weren’t all as bad as Sophia and the other Corvo women had made them out to be.

It brought her family’s hostility into sharp focus, and for the first time, Mara wanted to know the true source of it.

"What do you know?" Mara had asked Athanasius that morning. He’d been groggy and bad-tempered when she’d refused to give him back his catnip stuffed mouse.

"I know my own story, and that should be enough to steer clear of them," he had grumbled before climbing into a dark corner behind the couch and going back to sleep.

By the time the sun went down, and Augustus still hadn’t shown, Mara had buried her disappointment underneath her annoyance and anger.

It was stupid to worry or form attachments or think about his stupid hands. She’d dreamed of taking one of his tears off his face with her finger and then sucking it to know what it tasted like. His magic inside of her had caused rose petals to flow out of her hands, and she’d woken sweating and shaking, the perfect rose made from her own tear still in its vase beside her bed. She moved it to the kitchen at once.

Mara saw the dream as a sign that what she needed to do was go out and have a one-night stand, then she would barely give Augustus Vance a second thought.

Locking up the shop, Mara went to find a bar.

* * *

The Corvo women may have been covered in hereditary curses, but being clever and industrious by nature, they had found ways to circumvent the effects for short periods.

One such workaround was in the shape of a river stone in Mara’s pocket. Stored in it was a charm to be remembered for one night. It was over quickly, and one could never rely on tricks long-term, but it was at times a comfort even to be known for a night.

Mara entered a dimly lit bar near Flinders Street Station and nodded to the familiar bartender. She had been there many times, though the patrons weren’t any the wiser.

It was one of the few places she went where she knew supernaturals and magic users liked to go, and she wanted to be around people as strange as her, even if she never talked to them.

She wended her way through the crowd to the bar, ordered a whiskey sour, and found herself an empty stool in a dark corner.

"You look like someone has put an effigy of you in a mirror-lined box," the bartender said as she placed Mara’s drink in front of her.

Her name was Sylvan, and Mara thought she might have been a witch of some stamp. It wasn’t the polite thing to ask another.

"Sorcerer troubles," Mara admitted, knowing that Sylvan would stay and talk to her, just as she always did. It was better than going to confession because at the bar she had alcohol, and no matter what secrets she told Sylvan, they would be gone from the witch’s head by the next sunrise.

"That sounds serious. If a sorcerer is giving you a hard time, you could always seek out the Judge. I wouldn’t bother him unless it’s dire," Sylvan said.

She disappeared to serve a few more customers and came back with another whiskey sour, knowing instinctively that Mara was going to need it.

"Who’s the Judge?" Mara asked Sylvan.

"You know, the big man up on Albert Street."

Mara took a long drink. "You mean Augustus Vance?"

"Yeah. He usually sorts out quarrels amongst us. It’s how he got the nickname. Wouldn’t trouble him unless you can’t get the sorcerer to go away on your own. The Judge doesn’t like to be bothered, although if I had half a chance, I’d bother the shit out of him."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sylvan leaned forward conspiratorially. "Have you ever seen him?"

"I think so?"

"Oh honey, you’d remember, trust me. Tall, dark, with eyes full of storms and with a face so lovely, you’d beg to sit on it."

Mara choked as she inhaled an ice cube and swallowed it painfully.

Sylvan’s laugh was deep and bawdy as she reached around to pat Mara on the back. "Sorry, honey. Let me get you a replacement drink on the house."

Mara would need at least another six replacement drinks to get that visual out of her head. When Sylvan returned, Mara changed the subject. She didn’t like the pretty bartender talking about Augustus, and if she had paused for a moment, she would have recognized that she was jealous.

Mara did not pause. She kept drinking, had a few conversations, and even a few offers, but she ended up turning them down, her desire to be touched diminishing the longer she mingled with other people.

It was past midnight when Mara stepped out of the bar on unsteady feet. It was cold and misty, the drizzle making Melbourne shimmer under the fluorescent lights.

Partygoers and late-night commuters still roamed the streets, getting cigarettes from the Seven-Eleven or cups of Pho from window vendors.

Mara walked down the side street, the call to the teashop still unmistakable even when inebriated.

"Hey girl, where you going? I thought you were coming back in for another drink," a man’s voice said behind her.

She turned, and three men who had been hanging around the bar were following her. They passed a lighter amongst themselves and sparked up cigarettes.

"I thought I’d better call it. I might see you next time," Mara replied, keeping her voice light but firm.

When she turned back around, the man who’d spoken was in front of her. He was a supernatural. She didn’t know what kind, but she felt the tang of green magic on him.

Mara’s whiskey buzz was fading. She really didn’t want to have to deal with this tonight.

"Just one drink. I like your hair. My friends and I have a bet going to see what you are," he said, leaning forward, so she was forced to take a step back and against the brick wall of the bar.

"I am as you see me, a girl trying to get home after a nice evening," she said.

"Nah, babe, I mean…what are you? You see, I’m very well connected in Melbourne. I know nearly all the supers and magic users around, and I haven’t seen you before this night, so I need to find out who you are. Rather do that inside with a drink than out here." He tried to be convincing and charming, but he was far too young to be able to pull it off.

Mara took a deep breath to calm the brewing frustration inside of her.

Keep your cool. They are just dumb kids who have been drinking.

"That’s very fascinating, but I do need to be going. So if you’ll excuse me—" Mara made to move, and his hand shot out and pinned her shoulder against the wall.

"You aren’t going anywhere."

"Did you not hear the lady? She doesn’t want to have a drink with you," a new voice said from the shadows, and Mara stilled as Augustus stepped forward into the light.

"Vance. Don’t be putting your nose where it doesn’t belong," the man hissed, still holding onto Mara’s shoulder.

"You’re Seamus, aren’t you? One of Connor’s boys?" Augustus said.

"And what if I am? Still doesn’t concern you, sorcerer." Seamus spat at his feet. The two other men stepped in closer.

"You holding up a woman against her will is every decent man’s concern. Now let her go and scram before I make you." Augustus’s voice was confident, but Mara had seen him drunk before and knew that he was seconds from falling over.

"You can’t use your tricks against us without breaking your contract with the Druids. I know you, Vance. You wouldn’t step out of your ivory tower just for some girl’s honor, so fuck off."

"I don’t need your help, Augustus. Just let it go," Mara whispered tersely. His eyes landed on her, and she saw that he wasn’t going to listen.

People will often say ’I don’t need your help’ when they need help the most. Mara was not one of those people because what Augustus didn’t know was that Mara was the bare-knuckle boxing champion of the twelve magical traveling families who roamed Europe.

The Corvos had put her in the ring when the villages they traveled through weren’t interested in miracles.

Augustus wasn’t going to back off and walk away. Instead, he swung out and hit Seamus in the face. Mara shifted out of the way as the other two men rushed to help him.

She let them get two good hits on Augustus before she stepped in and gave the three boys the flogging of their lives. It was barely a minute before they were lying on the dirty wet ground with blood leaking out of them.

"Jesus," Augustus heaved as he stared at her with wide eyes. Mara reached out to steady him as he swayed.

"I told you I didn’t need your help," she said irritably. "Idiot man, you’re bleeding everywhere."

"Was trying to be chivalrous," he replied, holding his head back as blood gushed from his nose.

"Yeah, very noble. Come on, let’s get out of here before they get up," Mara muttered. She slung his arm around her shoulders and helped him through two lanes before the teashop opened the door for them.

"Figured something out. Not the shop that’s calling me. The call comes from you," he slurred. "Led me right to you tonight."

"That’s great. Try not to bleed on my floors," Mara said, walking him through the store and out the back to her lounge room and kitchen.

Saint Anea’s eyes narrowed as Augustus passed her. Mara ignored it and helped him sit in an armchair. She grabbed clean washcloths and a bowl of hot water, placing them beside his chair.

"Okay, give me a look," Mara said. Augustus removed his hand, and Mara placed a clean damp cloth to his nose to catch the blood flowing.

"Is it broken? The Druid kids are Irish. I should’ve known they would be okay in a scrap," Augustus murmured under the washcloth.

"Not broken, but there’s a cut, same as on your right cheek and eyebrow," Mara said, using her other hand to wipe the blood away from them. "You should’ve known better than to pick fights when you’ve been drinking. A lot by the smell of you."

"Your fault. You made me remember Emmaline. Felt it was only right to drink every bottle of Madeira I could get my hands on in her honor."

Mara sighed but didn’t reply. Everyone grieved in their own way. Once the bleeding in his cuts had slowed, she took out a jar of ointment and smoothed it over them.

"What’s in it?" Augustus asked sleepily.

"Yarrow. It’ll help stop the bleeding and keep the infection out," she said. "Take your coat and shirt off. You’re soaked. I’ll find you a blanket."

Mara left him to struggle out of his wet coat. She tried not to think of having a half-naked sorcerer in her apartment as she took the clean throw blanket from her bed.

If any of the other Corvos had been living in Australia, she was sure they would’ve all been regretting not throwing her over a cliff when they had the chance.

Augustus was pulling off his shirt when she rejoined him. She glimpsed lean muscle and a scattering of dark hair before she tossed the blanket at him to cover it.

"Thanks, Mara," he said, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Well, you did try to come to my rescue," she replied, putting water on to boil.

His busted face and hangover would give him a hard time the next day. She would have her own hangover to deal with if she didn’t brew something to get rid of it now.

"Try is the right word. What were you doing hanging out with those assholes anyway?"

"I was in the bar. They followed," she said.

"How drunk are you?" he asked as if finally sobering enough to realize the slur in her own voice.

"Drunk enough not to think twice about bringing you into my home." Mara handed him a wooden mug of tea and sat down on the footstool in front of him.

He looked around at the oxblood walls and the gold designs Sophia had painted on them. There were neat bookshelves and comfortable chairs scattered around a fireplace.

"Reminds me of a Russian caravan. I like it."

"That was Sophia’s idea. It rankled her to live in a building, even a magical one that moved around," Mara said, the whiskey in her blood making her sound bitter.

"Sounds like a piece of work, your mom."

"She was."

"Is she the reason you were out drinking?" he asked.

"Not exactly. I’m still trying to reconcile the idea that someone knows me longer than a day. That and other things," she said dismissively. She drank some of the hot tea, and it warmed some of the chill out of her.

"Other things. I see." Augustus’s eyes had turned a deeper shade of green again, and they didn’t look away from her as he sipped his tea and winced. "God above, I’m going to be aching tomorrow."

"Teach you a lesson for fighting and getting drunk for how many days?"

"Two. After I left you, I went home to see if the hole in the magic was smaller. It was. Seemed like a good excuse to go out for a drink. Fuck, I don’t know how you are managing to do it. Maybe you are a miracle."

"I don’t think so. Grief is not the kind of miracle you would ask for if you had a choice. I make people cry, and then they forget me. It’s thankless and…"

"Lonely," Augustus finished. He titled his head a little. "Am I your first friend, Mara?"

"Is that what we are? Friends?" Mara didn’t want to tell him that it was true. She’d never been friends with anyone outside of the families.

"Close enough, I’d say." He touched his cheek and swore softly.

"I don’t know how to feel about that," she admitted.

"Me neither. Nice to know life can still surprise me after all this time." Augustus spotted the rose he’d given her sitting on the kitchen table, and he smiled but didn’t mention it. It was that smile that made Mara realize she needed to put space between them.

"I really should be going to bed. You’re welcome to the couch if you want it."

"Are you sure Athanasius won’t try and sleep on my face to smother me?"

"Live dangerously, sorcerer," Mara laughed softly.

"Okay," he replied.

She made to stand, but Augustus reached out and grabbed her, making her freeze. She knew he was drunk, and she wasn’t much better, so she stayed still as he ran his stubble and lips up her bare neck.

The sensation surprised and paralyzed her, her treacherous head tilting to one side to expose more skin to him. He breathed her in, the tip of his nose trailing over her.

"Why do I dream of you, little saint?" he said, hot breath against her ear. Mara swallowed hard, reaching for words. She wanted to pull away and press closer to him simultaneously.

"I—I don’t know, but you really should sleep it off, Augustus," she managed to say and gently moved his hands from her arms.

"You too," he said, leaning back in the chair.

Mara didn’t look at him as she hurried upstairs and locked herself in her bathroom. Her face was red in the mirror, a line of heat still burning along her throat.

She quickly pulled off her clothes, pinned up her long braid, and climbed into a lukewarm shower. She needed to be sober. Fast.

She did her best to scrub away any traces of his blood and aftershave from her. The sensation of his mouth against her skin refused to go away.

"Something is seriously wrong with you, Mara Corvo," she muttered, even as a nonsensical part of her ached.

You definitely should’ve gone home with a stranger tonight, not played nurse to a damaged sorcerer.

After dressing in warm pajama pants and a loose T-shirt, Mara unraveled her braid and crept downstairs for a glass of water. She didn’t want to see if he was still there and knew she would cringe in embarrassment if he was still awake. Common sense told her that she needed water and aspirin, so she’d just have to deal with it.

He’s too drunk to remember it anyway, she reasoned.

Mara rummaged as quietly as she could for painkillers. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Augustus had fallen asleep in the armchair, the blanket tangled in his lap.

"What am I going to do about you always upsetting my life like this?" Mara whispered and lifted the blanket back up around his shoulders, tucking him in.

Something like a miracle was building low in her stomach, and before she could second-guess herself, Mara brushed his graying forelock back from his face and softly kissed Augustus’s sleeping lips. They weren’t sad or annoyed when he was asleep. They were curved and warm and fitted neatly against hers.

In the days that followed, Mara could never remember exactly why she’d done it. Perhaps it was to prove that she wasn’t afraid of her mother’s vicious ghost. Maybe this sorcerer wasn’t as evil as all the others she had been warned about over the years.

She only knew that she wanted to kiss him despite those things, and so she did.

Mara was too distracted by his lips to feel a miracle inside of her move from her and into him, curling in his mouth and evaporating on his tongue like scotch burn and incense.

"Sleep well, Augustus," she whispered and went to find her own bed.

In the darkness, a new miracle began to grow deep inside of her, knowing that its time was coming. Mara blamed the heat in her chest on too much whiskey and fell into a dream of crow feathers.