Page 132 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

No, no, no.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Augustine raised her eyes.

And there he was. He wasn’t a memory, or a ghost, or something her mind had conjured out of nothing, a patchwork quilt of a man made from grief and longing.

No. He was real and he was there.

Theo.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Theo was breathing slightly unevenly, like he’d run to catch up with her.

“I—” he started, then stopped. His eyes flickered down to his hands where they still rested on her waist, and his expression shifted to one of pure mortification. “Sorry,” he blurted, releasing her immediately and taking a step back.

Augustine forgot how to breathe. It was him. Not just a version of him, or a memory made real, but him. Her heart began hammering wildly in her chest, and her stomach turned over. Desperately, she drank him in, taking in the face she knew so well and the lips she once kissed. Losing herself in those blue eyes that were fixed so uncertainly on hers.

He looked thinner than she remembered, the jumper he was wearing loose around his waist.

Theo exhaled sharply, like he was trying to reset himself. “You nearly fell,” he said, a little too quickly, gesturing vaguely at the pavement.

“Yes,” she agreed absently, still stunned. “Thank you.”

That seemed to fluster him further. His hand came up briefly, then dropped again, like he didn’t know what to do with it. “Right,” he said. “Okay. Good. I mean — not good. Just . . . I’m glad you didn’t.” There was a pause, and he cleared his throat. “Look, this is going to sound crazy,” he carried on, then immediately winced at himself. “But I promise you, I’m not— I mean, I am saying something crazy, but I’m not crazy myself, and—”

Something in Augustine’s expression made him trail off.

“What is it?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. Augustine swallowed slightly, then shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s just — you’re okay?”

Theo hesitated, like the question meant more than it should. Then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

They stood there for a heartbeat longer. Not moving or speaking, just feeling the space between them shift in a way neither of them seemed to understand.

Theo broke it first. “Look,” he said again, and he rubbed a hand briefly at the back of his neck. “This is going to sound crazy.”

Augustine kept her expression carefully neutral. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Crazy. I’m listening.”

Theo gave a nervous laugh, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s going to sound mad, which isn’t exactly a brilliant first impression, I know.”

“Okay.” She swallowed. “Go on.” She tried not to let either heartbreak or disappointment show in her face or voice.

Theo took a deep breath. “You see, the thing is . . . I think I might know you.”

“I’m sorry?” Augustine said, because that was the only safe response, the only one that didn’t immediately unravel everything. Don’t hope, she ordered herself. Don’t get excited. All the same, a delicate bud of optimism tried to grow within her, one she’d tried to quell these last twelve months.

”I think I know you.” Theo took a deep breath. “Look, I was in a coma. For quite a while actually.”

Augustine forced herself not to react, and Theo carried on.

“I had a stroke,” he said, like he felt the need to justify it. “Completely out of the blue. I was on my way to work, and I collapsed. Anyway . . .” He gestured vaguely, searching for the words. “While I was unconscious, I had all these . . . well, dreams.”

Augustine’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. “Dreams?”

“Dreams. Just not normal ones,” he explained. “They weren’t random, or disjointed. They were pretty consistent, in fact. Like a story I kept dropping back into every few hours.” He paused, then met her gaze again. “You were in them. A lot,” he added, softer now.

“In your dreams? Me?”