Page 107 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

She still said nothing, and Roy sat back, clearly irritated now. “Well, this is new,” he muttered. “You’re not normally this dull. That’s usually why I tolerate you.”

Augustine shrugged faintly, the movement small and unbothered. “I was with Theo,” she finally said, but her voice was toneless and flat.

“Hot guy?” Roy’s entire expression shifted instantly, interest sparking in his green eyes. “Back in your little memory field trips, were you?” A grin spread across his face. “God, tell me you finally slept with him?”

Augustine shrugged. “I slept with him,” she admitted. “But not in the past.”

Roy’s grin slipped, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I slept with him. Last night. But not in the past. In the present. Very much in the here and now.”

Roy’s brows pulled together, confusion settling in properly now. “You . . . can’t do that,” he said slowly. “He’s a ghost.”

Augustine gave a bitter half laugh, looking away. “Sure,” she uttered. “If you say so.”

Roy gaped at her. “Augustine Pepperday, you cannot have sex with a ghost!”

She shrugged, and Roy’s expression changed again, going from shock to absolute horror. He leaned back in his chair like she’d just announced she’d taken up cannibalism as a new hobby.

“Oh, no,” he said, aghast. “No, absolutely not. I refuse to process that. I mean, a ghost?“ His face changed again. “Tell me you were at least careful, right?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said flatly. Before adding, “Careful from what exactly?”

“Well,” Roy faltered, suddenly looking deeply uncomfortable. “You know, things. Venereal disease, for one.”

Augustine rolled her eyes. “Oh brilliant, yes, let me just add ghost crabs to the list of things potentially ruining the afterlife.”

Roy frowned. “Well, what about pregnancy?”

“What about it? A ghost can’t get me pregnant, Roy.”

“Hey,” Roy returned quickly, pointing at her, “we watched American Horror Story together. You have sex with a ghost, you give birth to the Antichrist.” He paused, then added, with increasing alarm, “And you’re already a witch, so statistically that feels like a risk factor.”

Augustine just shrugged again, and Roy made a strangled noise.

“No,” he said. “No, no, no. Everything should be bagged and tagged, Augustine. You know that. Basic life— well . . . basic afterlife hygiene.”

“He was bagged and tagged,” Augustine said, her voice turning sharp. “In the mortuary, remember?” She laughed bitterly. “Except it turns out he wasn’t. Bagged and tagged, that is. Or in the mortuary. Or even dead, in fact.”

Roy stopped, and the agitation drained out of him, replaced by something else entirely: confusion. “What?”

Augustine looked at him blankly. “Theo’s not dead, Roy.”

“I’m sorry, I think I may have just misheard you. Did you say not dead?”

“Not dead,” Augustine echoed.

There was a pause. A long one, before Roy opened his mouth and then closed it again. He opened it a second time, like he might finally say something intelligent, before, “But wasn’t he like see-through or something?”

“See-through?” Augustine blinked at him. “No.”

“You just said he was a ghost.”

“I said I thought he was a ghost,” she corrected, already sounding tired. “I couldn’t touch him. Not at first.”

Roy’s frown deepened, and then, quite suddenly, something like panic flashed across his face. “Oh my God,” he said. “Was he the devil in disguise or something?”

Augustine closed her eyes briefly. “Roy—”