Page 81 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Augustine looked at the half-stripped wall, then down at herself. She was covered in dust. She was still wearing the same clothes as the day before. Hardly the vision of professional competence.

“Oh, there you are!” A woman walked towards her, basket in hand. Augustine blinked.

“Do you have any of those scented wax melt things?” The woman asked. “My daughter loves them.”

“Umm . . . yes.” Augustine shook herself and focused on the customer. “Yes, I do."

“Great,” the woman grinned, then looked at the wall. “Are you redecorating or something?”

“Or something.” Augustine gestured to one of the display cabinets. “The melts are over here. I’ll show you.”

Five minutes and a sale later, the woman left the shop.

Augustine’s smile dropped even before she was out the door, and she turned back to the wall, determined. Once again, she ripped the wallpaper away in great, ragged handfuls, heart pounding, breath uneven, every movement driven by that same singular need: Find it.

Find him.

Find the truth.

The last strip came away in her hands.

And Augustine . . . Augustine froze.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

She went home, because she didn’t know what else to do. She left her shop, locking the door behind her, glancing at the pile of pumpkins that were still sitting in a disorganized heap in the window as she left. Her mind felt empty, even numb, and as she made her way across Greenwich, passing skeletons hanging by shop doors and ducking past tourists with spiced lattes in their hands, she hardly even blinked. It was like being on autopilot, and it was only when she reached the door of her rickety old loft and her key jammed in the lock that she came to.

How long have I been here? When did I move in? She asked herself as she jimmied the key back and forth, but no answers came. Her mind was still muddled, still caught somewhere between the past and now, and the more she tried to think, the worse the gaps in her memory seemed to be.

The door finally gave in with a reluctant click, and Augustine stepped inside slowly, like she half-expected the rooms to have changed in her absence.

But they hadn’t.

Everything was where it should be. Roy’s chair by the fireplace. The transparent 90’s landline on the little table in the hall. The stack of junk mail by the door. The faint, familiar scent of something she couldn’t quite place but knew was hers.

Or at least, maybe was hers.

She closed the door behind her and stood there, hand still resting on the handle, taking a moment to let her thoughts settle. They didn’t, though. How could they?

Exhaling, Augustine crossed the room and sank into the chair by the window, her body suddenly heavy, like the adrenaline had burned out of her all at once and left nothing in its wake. It seemed Roy wasn’t in, and she tried not to be too grateful for that fact. She needed quiet, not her nosy roommate digging into the absolute shitshow of a day — no, scratch that. The absolute shitshow of a day, week, month and year she was having.

The silence pressed in as a soft, familiar weight landed in her lap.

Augustine startled slightly, looking down at the black ball of fur that was curling up against her. “Bird,” she breathed. “Sorry, baby. Haven’t seen you in a couple of days, have I? Did you miss me? Did Roy feed you?”

She felt a pang of guilt for how long she’d left him, but Bird seemed well enough for the lack of attention. He settled in against her, neat against Augustine’s stomach, his tail flicking once before going still. A low, contented purr rumbled up, steady and grounding. Augustine brought a hand down to stroke him. He was soft and warm. Entirely real, and something in her chest eased, just a fraction.

“At least you’ll never lie to me,” she said quietly, and Bird blinked up at her, entirely unconcerned with existential crises, missing memories or spectral boyfriends.

Augustine stilled, her hand pausing mid-stroke. “But I still don’t remember getting you,” she said slowly. “I don’t know where you came from.”

Bird, unhelpfully, continued purring, and Augustine frowned, her gaze losing focus slightly as she reached back through the fragments of memory she did have.

There was nothing, though. When she thought back, Bird had always just . . . well, been there. In all her memories, he was already there, and always hers.

Abruptly, Theo’s voice, clear as anything, sounded in her mind.

He was small. So small that at first I thought he was a baby bird that had fallen from a tree.