Page 54 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

“No.” Mrs Clayton met her eyes. “For when he goes, dear.”

“Of course.” Augustine’s cheeks reddened as a flood of understanding and embarrassment went through her. “Right. Well, let me get that candle for you anyway. Hang on, I put it in a cupboard.” She turned, kneeling down to a cabinet and rummaging through it quickly. “It’s actually been a big seller, despite the scent. And the price tag. And the fact that it contains uric acid.” She stood again, brandishing the candle triumphantly, but Mrs Clayton was gone. Just another one of her disappearing pensioner moments.

“She has got to stop doing that,” Augustine muttered, putting the candle down on the counter with a humph, but only silence followed and for a long moment she stood there, staring at the door which Mrs Clayton had just gone through.

She still wondered what it must be like, having a whole lifetime with someone. All the irritation, the habits, the small arguments over nothing. Augustine ran her finger in a circle over the solid wax of the candle. She’d never known anything that persevered like that. Her longest relationships had lasted just a few weeks, perhaps a few more — long enough for charm to curdle into annoyance, for her interest to flicker out. That was the way of it. For her, and for her sisters.

Their mother had been the same, too.

If Augustine had a father, she’d never met him, and so the idea of a consistent male presence in her life felt as abstract as the notion of forever itself. Her mother had never put stock in such things. Eglantine, forever practical and decisive, thought of marriage as a trap, and regarded all men with open suspicion. When she wanted a child, she chose a warlock as one might choose a particular herb for a potion: carefully, purposefully, and with no expectation of keeping the source close afterward.

Hardly the vision of matrimonial harmony.

Augustine let out a quiet breath, her gaze drifting back to the door. She tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine years stacked upon years with the same person, the same voice in the next room, the same footsteps on the stairs. Familiarity not as a trap, but as something steady. Something wanted.

She couldn’t quite picture it, and perhaps that was why it unsettled her. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the small flicker of jealousy within her chest she felt when she thought of Mrs Clayton, in love for all eternity.

Just like Theo, she thought suddenly. He’s still in love with his girlfriend, whoever she is. So in love with her that he’s still looking out for her, even from the other side.

“You’re back.”

Augustine startled, turning sharply. Theo stood by the till, just as he had before, suggesting he’d never left at all.

“So are you,” she returned weakly, and he nodded.

Their eyes met, and Augustine inhaled sharply. Suddenly, she was back in the memory, with Theo’s hand around her waist and his body close to hers. God, she could almost feel that warmth, that urgent pull of longing, all over again. She looked away, trying to force the feeling away. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Theo stepped towards her.

“You ran,” he said, and for a heartbeat she waited for him to berate her, to lecture her for abandoning him. When he spoke again, however, his voice was warm, and full of concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Augustine chewed on her lip, suddenly unwilling to reply. What could she say? Sorry about that. When I touched that last tarot card I was violently hurled into the body of your girlfriend in the past. You know, just another one of those time slip blips that sometimes — and by sometimes I mean never — happens.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. There was no use softening it. No use pretending it had been anything else.

“I saw something,” she said at last, her voice quieter than she intended, and Theo’s expression sharpened. “When I touched the card,” she went on. “It wasn’t just an image either, or a message. It was like I was there. Inside of it. Inside of her, living it all again.”

“In it?” he repeated. “In her? What do you mean? You mean you saw her? She’s real?” Relief seemed to run through him, his shoulders visibly sagging. “I was starting to wonder if I was crazy. If I’d imagined her, if I’d made up the whole thing.”

“She’s real,” Augustine confirmed, and Theo exhaled hard.

“Thank God. I knew there was someone. I just knew it. I knew I couldn’t feel the way I did and for there to be no one.” He met her eyes once more. “But you were . . . inside of her?”

Augustine flushed. “More like in her memory.” She glanced at the table, at the offending card, then back to him. “I didn’t mean to be,” she added quickly. “It just . . . happened. One moment I was here, and the next . . .” She hesitated, searching for words that didn’t sound entirely mad. “The next I was somewhere else. Someone else. Somewhen else.”

He stepped a little closer. “What did you see?”

Augustine straightened, bracing herself. “The day you met.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Surprise, yes, but with something softer threaded through it, something almost wary.

“It was a Halloween party,” she told him. “But you weren’t in costume. She was. She was there with her sister. She was wearing cat ears. They kept sliding down her head. You caught her when she fell out of a lift, stopped her from hitting the floor.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It felt like I was really there,” she whispered. “It was all so vivid. So real. The way you looked at me. The way your hands felt when you held me.” She paused. “I mean, umm, her.”

For half a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Then Theo took another step towards her.

“Augustine—”