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Augustus had told him about the saint, and Flynn had quickly consulted the trees for what they knew.
"Must be the daughter. There was only one, and she didn't look much older than thirty," Augustus said, watching Flynn encourage the roses to bloom.
"That's not saying much. Look at you. Did she yell at you?"
"Not that I can remember."
"The few creatures that encountered the mother and could still remember her to tell the tale were sent running by her somewhat sharp tongue. She hated other magic users. If you came out of the encounter unscathed, it must've been the daughter." Flynn considered the bloom in his fingers, lost in its perfect spirals. "Why do you want to find her again? Seems like a dumb idea."
"You know me. I like to be on friendly terms with all the mad and magical."
"Don't lie to me, sorcerer."
"Maybe I liked her."
"You don't like anyone, another lie."
Augustus sat down under the flowering jacaranda tree, flicking the purple flowers off the seat so they didn't stain his jeans. "The truth is I'm…curious."
Flynn had known Augustus for a long time and could tell when his friend was working on a problem in his head. He'd never considered a saint a problem, but Augustus wasn't like other men in his thinking. He was also holding back.
"Closer to the truth, but not quite there," the sprite pushed.
"She did something to me. I want to find out what." Augustus folded his arms.
Now that his guard was down, Flynn could see that something had altered in his friend. As a sprite, he could sense the change of seasons, and a scent came off the sorcerer that called to him of spring storms.
"In what way?"
"It's hard to explain. I feel…different. I need to find her."
"That's not much to go on, sorcerer. Are you sure it's not your dick clouding your judgment?"
"No," Augustus said.
"Why? Was she ugly?"
"I…I don't think so. I can only remember black eyes and albino hair. Not enough to form a clear picture for my mind or my dick."
"It's curious that you remember her at all. Maybe you were meant to find her," Flynn reasoned.
"Or I got lucky when I was drunk off my face."
"No one is that lucky. Do you want my advice?"
"If I have no choice."
"Go for a walk and see what happens."
"That's not going to help anything," Augustus argued.
Flynn turned back to the roses. "From what I've heard, you find saints when you need them, and if there's anyone in Melbourne who needs a saint to perform a miracle on them, it's you."
Augustus, who hated that his pain was close enough to the surface to see, told Flynn to fuck off…and then he went for a walk.
* * *
The laneways of Melbourne were a maze of cafes, clothing stores, restaurants, and jewelers. Augustus had tried to remember where he'd been when he'd found the teashop, but like her face, the memory of the storefront had been narrowed to a red door. This information didn't help him in the slightest.
