Page 35 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Augustine hesitated, even as the truth sprang fully-formed into her mind. I mean because you’re a ghost and I’m starting to like you. Not that she could tell Theo that. That would be too ridiculously awful for words.

Instead, she gestured vaguely between them.

“Look, you’re dead,” she said. “You’re looking for your girlfriend. And I’m supposed to be helping you find her, remember? I’m just a conduit in all this. You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Something flickered across Theo’s expression then, something quieter and more thoughtful. “Yes,” he said softly. “I remember. But Augustine . . . you’re not just a conduit. And I would never treat you as such.”

The words hung between them, warming both the air and Augustine’s heart.

Damn it, she thought. Even when I explicitly tell him not to be nice to me, he’s still nice to me. In the nicest possible way, too.

Quickly, she cleared her throat and picked up her deck once more, shuffling quicker now, almost aggressively.

“Well,” she said briskly, avoiding his gaze, “we should get started.”

Chapter Fourteen

Augustine made a show of squaring the tarot deck against the counter, busying her hands in the universal language of please don’t continue this emotionally inconvenient conversation.

Theo watched her shuffle, the cards snapping softly against one another, his eyes curious but warm.

Augustine glanced up at him, and abruptly, she hesitated.

Outside, the afternoon would be rolling along exactly as it always did. The morning yoga sessions would be over by now, which meant the yummy mummy crowd would soon begin drifting past the shop windows, prams squeaking and coffee cups in hand. One or two of them might try the door, frown at the closed sign Augustine had hurriedly tacked up, and wander off to the organic soap shop two streets over instead. Then there were the tourists. There was a cruise ship docked in Greenwich today, and Augustine knew the Americans and Canadians would wander into town and peer through her glass, pointing at the shelves of candles and tarot decks and jars of herbs. They loved such things. Couldn’t get enough of them.

Augustine winced slightly at that thought. She was probably losing a respectable amount of business by sitting here ineffectively becoming smitten with a ghost instead of effectively running her shop.

Uncertain, she looked back at Theo. Suddenly, she noticed the careful way he was watching her. Saw the quiet hope in his expression. A hope she instantly knew she had no intention of letting down.

Fuck. She thought. I’m such an idiot.

She couldn’t help herself. She smiled at him, warm and reassuring.

“That’s the first time you’ve smiled at me,” he told her, smiling back. “I like it.”

Augustine’s stomach tingled pleasantly.

He’s a ghost, she abruptly reminded herself. A ghost looking for his girlfriend. He is one hundred per cent off limits, in every sense, sixth included.

Shaking the stomach tingles away, Augustine spread the deck carefully between them. Strange. The cards were now feeling familiar in her hands . . . Almost like old friends waiting for her to greet them.

“I’m going to use a five-card cross spread,” she explained. “It’s normally used for decision-making, and—”

“But I’m not making a decision,” Theo interjected. “I’m trying to find someone. Get some answers to questions I have.”

“I know,” Augustine agreed, beginning to separate the deck. “I know you’re not making a decision.” She glanced up at him briefly. “But it’s the closest structure I’ve got to what we need.”

Theo nodded slowly. “Well, I guess you’re the expert.”

Augustine huffed softly at that. “Let’s not get carried away.” She spread the deck across the table between them, the cards fanning out in a loose arc. “Okay,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to pick five cards.”

Theo blinked. “Pick them?”

“Yes.” She gestured towards the spread. “Just point to the ones you feel drawn to.”

He leaned forward and Augustine watched as his hands hovered uncertainly over the cards.

They were nice hands, she thought again. Large, but elegant. The kind of hands that looked dependable. Capable. Gentle when they needed to be, but firm when it counted. The sort of hands you’d trust to hold something fragile.