Page 56 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Disengage. Now.

She stepped back, away from that mesmerising look of awe still in his eyes, and cleared her throat.

“So, you have a cat?” she asked abruptly, before her stomach turned. “Oh, God, who’s feeding him? Giving him water? You’re dead . . . what if no one knew about him, what if he’s locked in wherever it is you live—”

“Augustine. Relax. My cat disappeared about a year ago. If he’s still alive, and I’m certain he is, I’m sure someone is feeding him.”

Relief mixed in with her dismay. “Your cat ran away?”

He paused, thoughtfulness in his eyes. “I guess. He was there one day, and then the next he wasn’t.” He looked confused. “It’s odd. But that memory . . . it kind of feels hazy. The same haze I have when I think about my girlfriend.”

That was odd. She leaned back against her till, staring at him.

“I have a cat,” she told him. “Bird. That’s his name.”

He looked at her sceptically. “You called your cat Bird? If there’s a secret society of cats somewhere, I’m fairly certain they’d lodge an objection.”

Augustine laughed. “Hey, it suits him.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Theo regarded her curiously. “Why did you call him that? Bird?”

Augustine opened her mouth to answer — then stopped just as suddenly. The shape of the explanation hovered just out of reach. “I . . .” Her gaze drifted, unfocused. “I don’t know. I just . . .” She shook her head once, sharper this time, hoping the motion might dislodge it. “I can’t remember.” A prickle ran over her skin, sudden and unwelcome, like a draught through a closed room, and her brow furrowed. “Why can’t I remember?”

“I don’t know. Why can’t you?” Theo watched her, something more serious settling into his expression. “You really can’t remember?”

“No, I do, it’s just . . .” she trailed off.

Why do I call him Bird? she asked herself, trying to remember. When did I get him? How did I get him? Why can’t I remember?

“Except I don’t,” she finally admitted, her voice shaky. “I can’t remember.”

Theo swallowed. “Don’t you find that strange?”

Augustine let out a small, uncertain breath, turning back to the cabinet with its neat rows of bottles, willing them to offer some kind of answer. “I guess. But I mean . . . people forget things all the time, right? Names, reasons, where they put things.” She reached for a bundle of dried lavender, then paused, frowning when she couldn’t quite recall where it belonged. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Even to her own ears, though, her words sounded thin.

“Augustine—”

“Look, I know I have him,” she carried on quickly before Theo could say anything else that might make her feel even more uneasy. “I know he exists. I can picture him perfectly. The way he sleeps. The feel of his fur under my hands. The noise he makes when he’s annoyed, the way he—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I remember him. I just can’t remember how I got him. Not even a little.” The prickle along her skin deepened, and she turned back to Theo, something uneasy flickering in her eyes. “What was your cat called?”

Theo didn’t answer straight away. He looked down, brow furrowing slightly, perhaps searching inward and finding only fog. Then he shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

Augustine swallowed. “That’s odd, right?”

“Yeah. I’d say so.” Theo’s gaze lifted back to hers, searching now, intent in a different way. “Do you think . . .?” He hesitated, then said it anyway. “Do you think it’s the same cat?”

She inhaled sharply. “No.” Her reply was quick, almost instinctive. Then, softer, and far more certain, “No. I would remember that. I told you, I would remember you.”

The air between them suddenly felt thick, newly weighted with emotion. “You think you would remember me?”

She blushed. “Well, I—”

“Because that’s how I feel too, when I’m with you,” Theo rushed on. “Like I should remember you. Like I should know you. Despite the fact I don’t.”

The air between them shifted subtly, and Augustine’s breath hitched, just slightly, implying something had brushed too close to the truth of things. She held his gaze a moment longer than she meant to, caught and suspended in that strange shared certainty.

Quickly, she looked away, fingers curling faintly at her sides.