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Augustus didn't realize he'd stopped talking until a warm hand brushed over his. Mara's eyes hovered in front of him, and she silently pushed the cup of tea into his hand.
"T-Thank you," he managed to whisper, and she sat down on the chair with Athanasius. Augustus touched his cheeks, horrified to find them damp. "Christ, what did you do to me?"
"Drink your tea, Augustus," Mara replied. It was the first time she'd said his name, her deep voice sad and gentle.
He took a mouthful, and it was as if she'd given the memory a flavor. There were tastes he knew like warm cinnamon, cloves, orange, and Ceylon.
She poured him a second cup, and this time, it tasted of jungle heat, mango, and the musk of leopard fur.
She poured him a third cup, and he tasted blood and salt tears and madness.
She poured the fourth cup, and he hesitated to drink it. She waited until he summoned the courage, and he tasted the things he found the most comfort in after the incident: the sea breeze, old books, good scotch, and the heather that grew on the moors.
It was the fourth cup that broke him.
Augustus gave her back the cup and pulled on his blazer. His hand wrapped around the door handle, and he hesitated.
"If the magic works, and I forget you, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mara Corvo. You know where to find me, should you ever require a sorcerer."
Outside, the noise of the city rolled over him, and Augustus knew another true thing.
Miracles, unlike magic, were not something that could be tricked or tamed. It wasn't the purpose of a miracle to give comfort or be understood.
He would never underestimate them again.
Five
"The heartof a saint is more complicated than necessary. It has an endless depth of understanding and compassion for all except themselves." — Sayings of the Blessed Crow.
A month passed before Mara finally began to believe that she'd seen the last of Augustus Vance. Her life returned to its normal, quiet rhythm. The sorcerer's turbulent disruption to her life had highlighted just how quiet it had been.
God, that must be lonely. His words came back to haunt her as she lay in bed at night.
She had grown used to being forgotten and convinced herself she enjoyed her anonymity. Customers forgetting her had never bothered her before. Having Augustus forget her had been what she had wanted, so she didn't understand why getting her wish bothered her so much.
Maybe it was the saint part of her that knew he carried far more unhealed heartache inside of him. The story of the leopard had been one awful drop in the ocean of pain he concealed.
Maybe because now Mara had time to process being remembered for once, it made her feel the ache of being forgotten more acutely.
God, that must be lonely.
"I suppose you think this serves me right for breaking the rules," Mara said, lighting the candles at Saint Anea's feet. Anea looked as unsure as she did.
"Good riddance," Athanasius said, staring out of the shop windows. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."
"He looked at me the way he probably looks at all problems." Mara sat down on the window seat beside the cat.
"You're too old to be this naïve.Interestedis what he looked. Do I need to remind you of the dangers of having an affair with a sorcerer? I'm living proof of the consequences."
Mara patted his head. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't want to have an affair with anyone. Rest easy, Augustus has forgotten me like all the rest."
"Augustus, is it? I know I'm a cat, but I'm not a fool. You've been melancholy for weeks. Don't even think about going anywhere near Albert Street."
"I love you, grandfather, but sometimes you don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh-huh, so why are you looking out for him?"
