Page 89 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

They hadn’t. Her till was nearly empty, with just a few crumpled banknotes, a handful of coins, and a few credit card receipts inside. Augustine’s stomach sank. She hadn’t exactly been focused on business, and her finances were paying the price.

Her attention shifted again, landing on the corner where a small stack of deliveries sat untouched, boxes still sealed, labels still crisp. They should have been unpacked days ago, sorted and shelved, and labelled with price tags. Beside them sat boxes and boxes of online orders, all unsent. Some were half-wrapped, some barely even started. All of them were waiting patiently for a version of her that had existed before everything had tilted off balance. Before Theo had walked through her door and upended her world.

Guilt crept in, slow and unwelcome. She’d been closed so much the past few days, and as she looked at all the work she had yet to complete, she felt a sharp pang of worry. This was her shop. Her livelihood, her routine, her carefully constructed little world, and she’d just . . . let it slip. Let it gather dust while she chased something she couldn’t quite hold onto, could never hold onto, if she was being honest with herself.

She exhaled, long and steady, trying to calm herself. I can fix this, she thought. I know I can.

Clean the shelves, open the deliveries, restock everything properly. Send the orders out with apologies tucked neatly inside — maybe something extra to soften the delay. A small offering bowl, a charm, something thoughtful enough that customers might forgive her.

They probably would, Augustine reflected. She could recover from this. Money could be made again. The shop could be put back together, piece by piece, until it felt like hers again. All of that was fixable.

Her gaze dropped to her tarot cards, which still lay where she’d last left them. They felt almost dangerous now. She should wrap them up and put them away; remove the temptation to use them to journey into the past and join Theo again.

Abruptly, Augustine’s eyes shifted, going back to the door in the wall where the bookcase once sat. Now the wallpaper had been peeled away, now that the glamour and illusion had been stripped back, it was obvious. The door was made of solid wood panels, with a worn brass handle at the front, a keyhole beneath. Augustine still couldn’t believe it. A door. Right there. Innocuous and so everyday as to make this situation even more ridiculous than it already was.

What would she find up there? What was so wrong, so awful, that it had to be hidden away from her?

Her hand lifted, hesitating for only a second before pressing flat against the wood. It was cool beneath her palm, solid and unyielding. So utterly and completely real. Her other hand joined the first, fingers splayed slightly as if she could feel her way through it. She reached for the handle and pushed down on it firmly, hoping it would give and the door swing open, but it was firmly locked, just as it had been the day before.

Of course it was still locked.

Augustine exhaled, resting her forehead lightly against the wood. There was no key, or obvious way in, and so she stayed there, palms flat against the grain, thinking things through. She could call a locksmith, she supposed, but what would she say? Hi, can you help? I lost the key to a door I didn’t know existed until yesterday. A door which may or may not still be sealed shut with magic. WD40 might help? Or maybe an exorcism?

“Augustine?” A voice spoke from behind her, familiar and soft, and for a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t dare move, because hope — fragile, foolish hope — flared again within her, sudden and bright and terrifying.

Slowly, Augustine turned, and there he was.

Theo.

Chapter Thirty-One

At the sight of him, something in Augustine’s chest broke open, and she crossed the space between them in two quick steps. Without thinking, she threw herself into his arms, holding him tightly.

He felt solid and real. Warmth radiated from his skin, and beneath her hands she could feel muscle and movement and the faintest trace of a heartbeat. He still smelt slightly of cinnamon. Awestruck, she nestled into him, like he was the only thing that mattered, like he was the only thing that had ever mattered, like letting go would never be an option.

Even if she knew now letting him go would one day be the only option.

When he spoke, Theo’s voice shook slightly. “You’re holding me,” he said. “Augustine, you can touch me. All of me.”

She nodded against him, unable to speak. For an impossible moment, she let herself believe that this was enough. That she could simply stand there in his arms and never have to think of ghosts or betrayal again. Could selfishly ignore that there would be a price to pay for this.

Maybe this was why he’d been gone so long, she realized. Because the cost of making him real was so great.

His arms wrapped around her all at once, fierce and protective. “It was you, wasn’t it? When you went back . . . was it you? Tell me it was you.”

“It was me,” she replied, and Theo let out a sigh, holding her even more closely to him. “But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew it was me.”

“No.” Theo shook his head. “I didn’t know. Not for certain. But I suspected.”

“When did you begin to realize? When did you figure it out?”

Augustine felt him press a fervent kiss to the top of her head.

“When you came back, that first time, and told me about the Halloween party, and the cat ears. I tried to picture it. Tried to remember it,” Theo’s own voice was muffled in her hair. “But all I saw was you. At first, I thought I was just confused. Like I’d muddled up now with then. But then I started to wonder . . . What if it was you? What if the image I had in my mind wasn’t confusion, but a memory? I already—” He broke off and Augustine looked up at him curiously.

“You already what?”

Theo inhaled deeply. “I already had feelings for you. And I mean for you, Augustine, not . . . not her. I had all these feelings, and every time we learned a little more about the past, the feelings only amplified. The more I tried to remember the past, the more we tried to work everything out, the more I saw you in my mind. Just you. I know that probably sounds crazy—”