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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.
Eight
"A sorcerer must bethe master of logic and reason. It does not become a gentleman to be enamored of the seemingly whimsical nature of magic when it is a force to be feared first, understood second, and romanticized not at all." — Sorcery in the Age of Reason.
Augustus woke surrounded by the warm, fluffy cloud of a blanket and feminine scents. He cracked an eye, trying to remember what happened the previous evening.
Two angry cat eyes were staring at him from a footstool.
"Morning, asshole," Athanasius hissed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Augustus grumbled, burying deeper into the soft blanket.
"Ilivehere. Don't you dare go back to sleep while I'm talking to you."
Augustus opened his eyes fully, and a flood of information poured over him like cold water. He was in an unfamiliar lounge room, half-naked, and couldn't figure out how he'd gotten there.
"I'm–I'm in Mara's apartment? Where is she? Oh shit…did we…did I?" he fumbled.
Athanasius's glare was scathing. "If you'd managed to get that far with her, don't you think you'd be upstairs and not here…all alone…in the friend zone?"
Augustus heaved a sigh of relief. "Good point. What happened to my clothes?" Someone had hung his coat, and he found his shirt under the chair he was sitting on.
"Jesus, is this blood?" Augustus held up his shirt. Memories were slowly creeping back—a misty alleyway, Mara's boxing skills, too much Madeira wine.
Augustus touched his lips. Had he kissed her? They felt like they had been kissed. He remembered being hit and poked his busted cheek. Only it was no longer split. The cut had gone, so had the one on his eyebrow. He was tired, but he didn't have a hangover.
"This was my blood," he said slowly, looking at his shirt again. "What did Mara do to me?"
"I told you. She did nothing to you, so get that hopeful look off your face."
"I need to talk to her." Augustus got up and pulled on his soiled shirt. It was better than greeting her half-naked.
"Mara is still in bed. I suggest you go home and leave her to sleep it off. You weren't the only one who drank too much last night."
Augustus drained a glass of water and refilled it.
"You're right. Can you tell her I said thank you for helping me last night and that I'll come and see her soon?" He needed to get home, shower, and think over the previous evening. The last thing he wanted to do was make a bigger ass of himself. He touched his lips again…wondering.
"If she asks after you, I will tell her. She probably won't care," Athanasius sniffed.
Augustus pulled on his still damp coat and ruined scarf. "Thanks, puss. For what it's worth, I understand why you are so protective of her. She's…special."
"Too special for the likes of you."
"Undoubtedly," Augustus agreed before patting him on the head. He paused by the statue of Saint Anea with her crows. He lit a taper with a snap of his fingers.
"Nice to finally meet you, gorgeous," he said and was through the door before he could notice the saint preen at the complement.
Augustus was in an unnaturally good mood when he reached his house on Albert Street. He inspected his face in the bathroom mirror. There was no sign of the fistfight from the previous evening.
"Yarrow isn't that fucking good," he said. He reached for his toothbrush and froze. His forearm was bare, healed flesh. The claw marks left by the leopard were gone.
"No fucking way," he gasped. He pulled off his clothes and twisted around. He'd been hurt from trying to reach Emmaline in the east wing. He'd received a cluster of burns over his left shoulder, but now there was no sign of them. Augustus gripped the sink, his stomach roiling.
