Page 117 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

“Maddy’s spell,” he spat. “She took everything from us, but you don’t seem angry at all.”

“I’m not angry. Not at her. We asked her to do this. Both of us.”

“I would never do that,” Theo argued instantly.

“We did,” Augustine said sadly. “Because . . . you’re a witch hunter, Theo, and I’m a witch. Apparently, we thought wiping each other from our minds was the safest option.”

The words cut clean through the space between them, and Theo’s mouth dropped open in horror.

“What are you talking about?” He finally stuttered. “A witch hunter . . . what the hell even is that?”

“Remember I told you that there are people who mean witches harm? We call them witch hunters, in my world. They track us. They find us. They extinguish us.” She gave him a sad look. “You were one of them.”

“No, that’s not true—”

“It is. You had Maddy remove the knowledge from your mind. You think you fell out with your family because of your job, but that’s not true. You fell out with them because of theirs. You didn’t want any part in it.”

He shook his head, the movement fast and vehement.

Augustine sighed again. “You don’t have to believe me. That’s okay. And even if you do believe me, when you wake up, you won’t remember it anyway. But one day, in the future, you might meet a witch. Maybe not me, and maybe not one of my sisters, but someone. And you’ll recognize her for what she is without knowing how or why. You’ll feel her power, like you felt mine.”

“Augustine—”

She wouldn’t let him speak. Not yet. “When we first met, at that Halloween party, you noticed it,” she told him. “A more practiced witch hunter would’ve recognized me for what I was right away. But you were out of practice. More than that, you thought the sparks you felt were just attraction. You probably spent the whole of our early relationship wondering why it felt so amazing between us. But that was just . . . just a fluke of who you are. Who we are. Even now, it’s probably the same—”

“No.” Theo’s voice was icy, undercut with real hurt. “Don’t frame it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it wasn’t real between us. It was real. It is real. I’m real.” He looked at her, the hurt in his voice now present in his eyes. “So, that’s it? That’s everything you have to say?”

She recoiled slightly. “You asked for the truth. I’m giving it to you. You value truth, Theo. That’s why you’re a statistician. Because you like to know the truth behind everything. What else do you want from me?”

“Maybe I want magic,” Theo returned sharply. “But not the kind of magic you’re thinking of. Not spells or charms or incantations. Maybe I just want the magic that happens when two people love each other. Because I do love you, Augustine. That feeling is real and so strong that my chest—” he grabbed her hand, holding it to his heart, “— my chest actually aches with it. And yet you’re standing there, telling me I’m not real, that my choices aren’t really my own, that I won’t remember this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Augustine leapt to her feet. “Are you actually kidding me right now, Theo? I’m trying to do the right thing here, and you . . . you’re making it so damned hard.”

“The right thing?” Theo rose to his feet too. “What exactly is ‘the right thing’ here? Breaking my heart?”

“How is telling you the truth breaking your heart?” Augustine snapped.

His expression tightened, hurt flashing into anger. “You just told me I’m not real. That my feelings for you weren’t real. That they aren’t real, even now. And you’re saying it in such a matter-of-fact tone, too. Like it doesn’t even matter.”

Tears stung her eyes and she crossed her arms over chest protectively. “Of course it matters,” she whispered. “What? You think the truth doesn’t hurt me too? I’m . . . I’m trying to let you go. I’m trying to do it in the kindest possible way for us both.”

“Trying to let me go?” Theo stopped, blinking at her. “What are you talking about?”

“We said we would say goodbye,” she reminded him, brushing a tear away and keeping her eyes to the floor. “We said we would find the truth, and then say goodbye. I’m not good at this. At letting people go.”

She felt Theo’s eyes on her for a long moment. “Augustine. Look at me.”

She didn’t want to, though. Looking up, looking at him, felt too dangerous. If she looked at him, she knew she would lose the certainty she was clinging to.

“You’re talking about letting me go. But you haven’t asked me what I want.”

Slowly, she raised her eyes back to his.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he carried on, but his tone was gentler now. “You’re thinking that because I won’t remember this, it doesn’t matter. That this version of me, whatever I am, doesn’t count. But it does. And I do.”