AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The sorcerer looked around, squinting at the shelves, his hands reaching for a teaspoon that he flicked between his fingers.
Mara looked at Athanasius, whose back was arching and fur spiking as he studied the newcomer. The sorcerer didn't notice, just waited patiently.
Mara had made a vow to help those grieving, even if that person was a good-for-nothing sorcerer. With some reluctance, she opened a cupboard, pulled out a bottle of scotch, and filled a teacup with it before setting it down in front of him. He studied the tiny handle before wrapping his long fingers around the rim.
"Scotch in a teacup? So Melbourne." He shook his head and drained the cup.
"As I said, this is a teashop, sir," Mara said firmly.
"Then why are you serving scotch?"
"Because you asked me for a cup."
"I did?" His gray-green eyes focused on her and widened slightly. "I think I'm in the wrong place."
"On that, we can agree." Mara folded her arms, wondering how she could get him to leave with minimal fuss.
"Maybe you're right, and I should have a cup of tea instead." The sorcerer passed her back the empty cup. "Something that will help a hangover. It's going to be a beauty. Is…is your hair naturally that color?"
Mara almost dropped the cup. "I beg your pardon?"
"You got Nordic blood or something? I've never seen hair so fair on someone with such black eyes." He gave her a friendly smile, and she turned away, quickly picking up an empty pot.
Everyone who came into the store saw Mara differently. Some wanted to talk to a grandmother figure, so that was what they saw; others wanted their dead wife, and that was the form she took. No one outside the Corvo family had even seen Mara's true face.
No one, except for a drunk sorcerer.
"According to my mother, my father was a shaman living with the Sami, but I can't confirm that. She moved around a lot," Mara said and then wondered why she had answered him at all. She didn't look at what she was putting into the pot, hoping that after a cup, he'd leave of his own accord, and she would never see him again.
"Hey, kitty." The sorcerer coaxed Athanasius, who now sat at the end of the bar, watching him with cold yellow eyes. "Want a pat?"
"Want me to bite your fingers off?" Athanasius replied.
"Oh, come now, there's no need for hostility. Every kitty likes a pat," the sorcerer said, unperturbed that the cat had just spoken to him in a thick Romanian accent.
Mara poured water over the leaves in the pot and stilled at the aroma that rose up to meet her. It smelled of cedar smoke, bergamot, darkness, and forbidden things. She poured it into his scotch-tainted teacup and set it in front of him.
"What's in it?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
The sorcerer scratched at his stubbled jawline. "Suppose not. I'd drink anything to stop a hangover." He took a sip, and the smile on his face slipped.
Mara had never made tea for a customer who hadn't first told her their grief. She'd never made tea for a sorcerer. Both felt like she was breaking a terrible taboo.
The sorcerer was watching her carefully, clarity coming back into his eyes. Whatever she'd put in the tea seemed to be sobering him up in a hurry.
"Jesus Christ, you'reher, aren't you?" He surveyed his surroundings again, then the cat and the woman. "I mean, I heard whispers of you, but I thought it was a rumor because I haven't met you once in the last eighty years."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mara said coldly.
The sorcerer snapped his fingers, trying to find the words. "Crows. No. Wrong.Corvo. You're saints or some such."
Mara was saved from replying as the sorcerer looked into his empty cup. He swore softly as his eyes rolled backward, and he passed out over the counter.
"Did you kill him?" Athanasius padded over to the sorcerer and poked him experimentally with a paw. "No, still breathing. Pity. What are we going to do with him?"
Mara's common sense was finally catching up with her racing heart.
