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If Mara had been a saint of hearts instead of a saint of grief, she would've realized that the moment he'd touched her cheek tenderly was when she had started to care for him, not just like him.
She had already had a suspicion that she enjoyed his company and that it was new and exciting to be remembered by someone for longer than a day. It whispered to her of danger but the good kind that led to new things.
While Mara waited for his return, she filled her mind with the stories of sorcerers, their loves, losses, and triumphs. She had to begrudgingly admit that they weren't all as bad as Sophia and the other Corvo women had made them out to be.
It brought her family's hostility into sharp focus, and for the first time, Mara wanted to know the true source of it.
"What do you know?" Mara had asked Athanasius that morning. He'd been groggy and bad-tempered when she'd refused to give him back his catnip stuffed mouse.
"I know my own story, and that should be enough to steer clear of them," he had grumbled before climbing into a dark corner behind the couch and going back to sleep.
By the time the sun went down, and Augustus still hadn't shown, Mara had buried her disappointment underneath her annoyance and anger.
It was stupid to worry or form attachments or think about his stupid hands. She'd dreamed of taking one of his tears off his face with her finger and then sucking it to know what it tasted like. His magic inside of her had caused rose petals to flow out of her hands, and she'd woken sweating and shaking, the perfect rose made from her own tear still in its vase beside her bed. She moved it to the kitchen at once.
Mara saw the dream as a sign that what she needed to do was go out and have a one-night stand, then she would barely give Augustus Vance a second thought.
Locking up the shop, Mara went to find a bar.
* * *
The Corvo women may have been covered in hereditary curses, but being clever and industrious by nature, they had found ways to circumvent the effects for short periods.
One such workaround was in the shape of a river stone in Mara's pocket. Stored in it was a charm to be remembered for one night. It was over quickly, and one could never rely on tricks long-term, but it was at times a comfort even to be known for a night.
Mara entered a dimly lit bar near Flinders Street Station and nodded to the familiar bartender. She had been there many times, though the patrons weren't any the wiser.
It was one of the few places she went where she knew supernaturals and magic users liked to go, and she wanted to be around people as strange as her, even if she never talked to them.
She wended her way through the crowd to the bar, ordered a whiskey sour, and found herself an empty stool in a dark corner.
"You look like someone has put an effigy of you in a mirror-lined box," the bartender said as she placed Mara's drink in front of her.
Her name was Sylvan, and Mara thought she might have been a witch of some stamp. It wasn't the polite thing to ask another.
"Sorcerer troubles," Mara admitted, knowing that Sylvan would stay and talk to her, just as she always did. It was better than going to confession because at the bar she had alcohol, and no matter what secrets she told Sylvan, they would be gone from the witch's head by the next sunrise.
"That sounds serious. If a sorcerer is giving you a hard time, you could always seek out the Judge. I wouldn't bother him unless it's dire," Sylvan said.
She disappeared to serve a few more customers and came back with another whiskey sour, knowing instinctively that Mara was going to need it.
"Who's the Judge?" Mara asked Sylvan.
"You know, the big man up on Albert Street."
Mara took a long drink. "You mean Augustus Vance?"
"Yeah. He usually sorts out quarrels amongst us. It's how he got the nickname. Wouldn't trouble him unless you can't get the sorcerer to go away on your own. The Judge doesn't like to be bothered, although if I had half a chance, I'd bother the shit out of him."
"What do you mean by that?"
Sylvan leaned forward conspiratorially. "Have you ever seen him?"
"I think so?"
"Oh honey, you'd remember, trust me. Tall, dark, with eyes full of storms and with a face so lovely, you'd beg to sit on it."
Mara choked as she inhaled an ice cube and swallowed it painfully.
