Page 112 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Augustine had stilled, because despite such a simple request, she’d never heard her mother say those words before. Not once. Not to her.

“What?” Augustine asked, before she could stop herself.

Eglantine smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The cards,” she repeated lightly. “Can you read them for me? It won’t take long. I know you’re studying.”

Augustine hesitated. “But it’s not a full moon,” she said slowly.

Eglantine let out a soft laugh. “Well,” she replied, “then the werewolves won’t be out, will they?”

Augustine frowned. It wasn’t that readings outside of rituals were unusual — they weren’t. Coven members read for one another all the time. Guidance, reassurance, curiosity. It was part of the rhythm of their world.

But her mother wasn’t part of her coven, and more than that, her mother had never asked her to read for her before. Not ever.

Something shifted, faint but undeniable, at the base of Augustine’s spine. It was nerves, she realized. Nerves, mixed with a small helping of unease. All the same, she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

This was her mother, after all, who she loved and trusted.

She crossed the room slowly, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite Eglantine. “What sort of reading?” she asked, already reaching for the worn deck kept in her bag.

Eglantine watched her for just a second too long. “Guidance,” she eventually said. “I have a question,” she added. “I just need a yes or no answer.”

Augustine paused, the cards halfway to her hands. “A yes or no?” she repeated, frowning slightly. “Mum, you know it doesn’t really work like that. Tarot’s—” she gestured vaguely with the deck, searching for the right word — “it’s nuanced. It’s interpretation, context, layers. You can’t just . . .” She trailed off, because Eglantine had leaned back in her chair, watching her with a soft, almost amused fondness, and Augustine shifted in her seat. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” her mother replied softly. “I’m just wondering who taught you to be so clever with the cards.”

Augustine didn’t even blink. “Grandma.”

There was a sharp inhale, and Eglantine went very still. “My mother?”

Augustine nodded, slower this time. “Yeah. Of course. Who else would it be?”

The memory sat easily with her — late nights, whispered guidance, cool hands guiding hers over the cards — but something in her mother’s reaction made it feel . . . different. Stranger, somehow.

Abruptly, Eglantine leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Augustine’s forehead.

Augustine froze, startled. “Mum?”

Eglantine pulled back, studying her face with an intensity that made Augustine nervous. “You have no idea how powerful you are, do you?” she said softly.

Augustine let out a small, awkward scoff, looking away. “I mean . . . not really. Not like the others.” She shrugged. “Celeste has her stars. Clem’s got her green magic. Maddy’s got her spells. I just . . .” She shrugged. “I just read cards.”

Eglantine’s expression didn’t soften. “If that’s what you think,” she said quietly. “But you and your sisters — you’re all on your own path. Don’t measure yourself against them.”

Augustine frowned at her, something in that phrasing catching uncomfortably. “What does that mean?”

Eglantine only shook her head though, the movement slight, in a manner which dismissed the question before it could settle. “My mother really taught you all this?” she asked.

“Well, yeah. I mean, this was her deck first, right?”

Eglantine smiled. “Right.” She paused, a brief hesitation crossing her eyes. “Does she still teach you? Ever?”

“No.” Augustine replied. “She taught me how to read the world and then stopped. Makes sense though. That’s the final card in the deck.”

Eglantine nodded. “Right. Go on then,” she said gently. “Start my reading.”

Augustine hesitated. Something felt off here, not quite right. “Mum . . .”

Eglantine reached over, gripping Augustine’s hand. “It’s okay,” she reassured her. “Just a quick reading, yes?”