Page 122 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Smiling at the woman beside him. At Mrs Clayton.

Mrs Clayton’s smile widened as Augustine approached, her expression softening into something warm and pleased. “Well,” she said. “There you are.”

Augustine stopped a few steps away, her gaze flicking between them. “You found him,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

Mrs Clayton nodded. “Told you I would,” she replied. She reached over, taking the man’s hand — his solid, real hand — and gave it a small, affectionate squeeze. “Augustine, this is my Dennis.”

Dennis Clayton inclined his head politely. “Lovely to meet you.”

Augustine swallowed, managing a small, slightly dazed smile. “You too. I’ve, um, heard a lot about you.”

There was a strange lightness to him. To both of them. Like whatever had held Mrs Clayton here for so long had finally . . . let go. Or maybe, Augustine suddenly realized, it had been fulfilled.

“It’s time for us to go now,” Mrs Clayton said gently, and Augustine nodded, because, of course, it was. Mrs C had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Of course she would be keen to hurry on to whatever came next. “But I couldn’t go until I’d said goodbye.”

“Thank you,” Augustine said simply, and she smiled. Tears still stained her cheeks, and Mrs Clayton must have noticed them, because she sighed.

“No, dear, thank you. Thank you for the company. For listening to a lonely woman ramble on.”

Something in Augustine’s throat constricted, but she shook her head faintly. “You helped me. More than you know.”

Mrs Clayton’s gaze flicked past her then, towards the room Augustine had just left. Towards Theo, still lying there, still waiting.

“Don’t be so sad, dear. He’ll wake up soon.” She sounded so certain. So utterly convinced. “And then you’ll find each other all over again.”

Augustine followed her gaze, her expression unreadable, before she looked back, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, but maybe I do,” Mrs Clayton replied. “I mean, third time’s a charm and all. Isn’t that something you witches say?”

Augustine let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Well, let me tell you this — you and your man belong together. You belonged together then, you belonged together now, and you’ll belong together in the future, too. And unlike you, I don’t need to be a divination witch to see it.”

Augustine gave a small smile, but Mrs Clayton smiled more. Then, with one last fond look, she turned — her hand firmly in her husband’s — and together, they began to walk down the corridor, side by side, unhurried and entirely at peace.

Augustine watched them go. Watched as they grew fainter and softer. Watched until there was nothing left of them at all, just an empty hallway, and the quiet hum of a hospital carrying on, as if nothing had happened at all.

Augustine stood there for a long moment, looking at the space where they’d been.

Then she took a deep breath and decided to go home.

* * *

Augustine returned to the flat in Greenwich, even knowing now as she did that it wasn’t really home.

It never had been home. It was just somewhere she’d stayed, somewhere she’d waited out the past few muddled months of her life.

She struggled with the key in the lock, meeting the same stubborn resistance as always, swearing under her breath at the metal sticking and refusing to turn cleanly. At least this is for the last time, she told herself as she wrestled with the metal in her hand. The lock finally gave, the key sliding home with a dull click, and she pushed the door open.

The flat looked exactly as she’d left it. No, actually — it looked exactly as her landlord had left it. In 1992.

Augustine stepped inside, her gaze moving slowly over the room, taking stock of what belonged to her and what didn’t, all the while making a list in her head.

Call my landlord. Give notice. Pack my clothes. Box up the few things I actually bothered to bring here. Get Bird. And Roy . . .

Roy. Augustine’s mouth pressed into a thin line, because, yes, Roy. She’d need to deal with him, too.

Tiredly, she walked into the living room, sinking into her usual sofa. Bird immediately hopped into her arms, and for a few minutes she stroked his back thoughtfully.