Page 133 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

“Yeah. You. Which is odd, I know, considering I don’t even know you.”

I don’t even know you. Augustine felt those words settle somewhere deep in her chest. There it was. The thing she’d been bracing for without letting herself name it. He’s forgotten me.

Of course he had. Why wouldn’t he? Whatever they’d been — whatever they’d had — had existed only in that strange, in-between place, half magic and half miracle. Not something the real world was built to hold on to. Still, her mind scrambled anyway, traitorously hopeful. Maybe some part of him had held on. Maybe something had lasted.

But no.

He doesn’t know who I am.

Her throat tightened slightly, because she understood what had happened. His mind had simply done what minds under stress do, and reached for fragments, impressions and borrowed shapes. That mind, unwell and comatose, built a story out of echoes. He didn’t remember her, he just remembered those fragments of her, from before the spell. It was a version of her, at least. But it wasn’t her. Not really, or in any way that mattered.

Augustine forced her expression to stay steady, even as something small and fragile within her broke into a million pieces.

“So, you dreamed about me,” she said slowly, trying not to let hurt show on her face. “But you don’t know me.”

“Apparently not.” Theo’s voice sounded flat, dejected even.

Augustine leaned against the doorway. “Can I ask then, how did you even know where to find me, if you don’t know me?”

Theo swallowed. “The dreams were quite vivid, but when I woke up, my mind wasn’t capable of much more than recovery. For a long time, I was muddled. It was hard to grasp what was reality and what wasn’t. I had physiotherapy. A lot of physiotherapy. When I finally went home, it was odd. I kept having flashes of places. I’d be working out, and green wallpaper would appear in my head. I’d be in Tesco, picking out a meal deal, and I’d see a wooden desk, with tarot cards laid on top. I couldn’t work out if these were memories or my imagination.” He sighed, his expression softening. “Your face kept on appearing, and I couldn’t work out why. But the more I held on to the image of you, the more the memories seemed to solidify in my head. They got stronger. Much stronger.”

Theo shoved his hands into his pockets. “I remembered this one dream. From the coma. In that dream, I found a card in my pocket. A business card. Your business card.”

Augustine took a second to absorb that. “Right.”

He looked sheepish. “I still own that coat. When I realized I’d been wearing it in the dream, I checked the pockets. Your card was in there. And a key.”

Of course.

Augustine didn’t know whether to be awed or appalled. She had, apparently, managed to manifest Theo’s entire subconscious, dress him accurately, and send him straight back to her with built-in directions.

But Maddy, she thought, almost irritated. Maddy creates a flawless, reality-bending spell. Covers every emotional and magical variable.

And forgets to do a basic pocket check.

“I’ve had the card for a while,” Theo carried on. “I wasn’t sure what to do. Still wasn’t sure whether I was crazy or not. And then this afternoon, I figured, what the hell? Halloween felt like a night to be crazy. It felt like the night to see you again. Even if you didn’t know who I was.”

He smiled, but even as he did, Augustine saw him shiver. There was a chill in the air, but Augustine hardly noticed. Her skin felt hot and her cheeks were flushed, her body warmed by both shock and something still dangerously close to hope. Still, she saw how Theo was shaking slightly, and she frowned.

“Are you cold?”

He gave a small, dismissive nod. “Kind of. I’ve been waiting out here for a while. I got here this evening and you weren’t in. I wasn’t sure what to do so I figured I’d just wait.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you.” He looked sheepish. “I am cold, though. I lost muscle mass while in the coma. It happens. I’m trying to build it back, but it takes time.”

Her heart constricted with pain for him. “Um, you should come inside. Let me just, uh—” she fumbled with her keys — “open the door.”

“No, that’s okay—”

“Theo,” she said firmly. “Just come inside.”

He didn’t move. In fact, he went still and silent, and Augustine turned back to him, only to find his gaze trained firmly on her face.

“Augustine.” His voice was low. “How do you know my name?”

She froze, her keys still clutched in her hand. “Well, um—”