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There was something otherworldly about her with her silver hair (her aunt claimed it had been a gift from the lightning the night of her birth; her other aunt had said it was from the Sami blood her father had given her), and her too black eyes (her mother claimed it was a mirror of the grief she could see in others; Mara said it was the Egyptian blood her mother had given her).
The family soon realized it was another blessing that Maralookedlike a saint as it encouraged petitioners to open their hearts and wallets to them.
It didn't take long for Sophia to realize that the family who had always protected them was beginning to exploit them, so mother and daughter left them in the middle of the night and never returned.
* * *
"As you can imagine, my upbringing was…complicated," Mara finished. She reached for her tea and found it empty.
"And I thought I had it bad being shipped off to a boarding school to learn how to control my magic," Augustus said.
His odd, not gray, not green eyes were looking at her differently now, and Mara realized it was because understanding had softened them. She was embarrassed for sharing so much about herself already, so she said nothing.
"I can't believe they were going to throw you off a cliff," Augustus said.
"That's because you don't know how many curses my family already has. They thought better of it and called me Mara instead. My grandmother picked it because it means "sorrow" in Hebrew and "sea" in Gaelic. So, you know, they thought about it a lot."
"Mara is also a Hindu goddess of death, but I guess that slipped their minds," Augustus said dryly.
Mara swallowed her laugh before it could escape. "They were frightened enough of me."
"You're not so bad. Maybe I remember you because you made me tea without hearing my grief, and it confused the magic," Augustus mused.
Mara considered it, but then the sun coming through her shop windows hit the sorcerer's dark hair just so and picked up the red highlights in the rest of the tangle.
Stay away from men with red hair because they are cursed and will only bring you trouble,Sophia's voice reminded her.
Mara could just about hear her screeching in the Afterlife as she watched as her daughter shared tea with a red-haired sorcerer.
"You could be right," Mara said with a careful smile. "Why don't you tell me your grief? I'll make you more tea, and this misunderstanding will be cleared up."
Augustus adjusted the silvery gray scarf around his neck. Mara had studied people enough to know when they were uncomfortable. "If I tell you, I'll forget you. Is that correct?"
Mara nodded. "It's how it's usually worked."
"Then I'll have to think about it." Augustus got to his feet and pulled on his coat. "Thank you for the tea, Mara."
"Wait, you can't leave! I haven't done the miracle yet—" she protested.
Augustus opened the door. "I'll see you soon, little crow saint."
Mara raced to the door, but by the time she reached it, he'd already disappeared down a side street.
"Sneaky bastard," she whispered to the wind, and the wind could only agree.
Four
"Bewarethe wild magic of women, saints, and gods." — Sorcery in the Age of Reason.
Like Mara, Augustus didn't like surprises. He'd left the teashop two days beforehand, confused and curious in equal measure.
He'd locked himself in the house on Albert Street, wanting to put as many doors between himself and Mara Corvo's black eyes as possible.
Augustus had thought his drunken mind had embellished their size and the way he felt exposed underneath them. Encountering them sober had been even worse.
Tell her his grief? Lord in Heaven, where would he start?
"Shut up, you don't want to tell her anything," he told the fire burning in front of him, making it pop indignantly.
