Page 72 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

“I still don’t know her name,” she cut in, sharper than she meant to be. She exhaled, steadying herself, but didn’t turn around this time. “I don’t know why someone murdered you. I don’t know what happened that night. There’s so much we still don’t know.”

Silence stretched behind her.

Then she turned, finally meeting his eyes again. “And we both know there’s only one way we can find out.”

Theo’s expression shifted, something like dread threading through it. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to go back. But I think I need to.”

“You said there’s a price to pay for magic.” He hesitated. “That place I went to—”

“I don’t want you going back there, of course I don’t,” she interjected hurriedly. “But we—”

“I’m not worried about me going back there,” Theo wouldn’t let her finish. “I’m worried about you going there.”

His words stopped her short.

“Maybe I don’t want you to go back into the memories anyway,” he carried on, after another beat. “Maybe I want you to stay here.” His eyes lifted to hers again. “Here with me.”

There it was again, that quiet, impossible pull and for one fleeting, dangerous second, Augustine let herself imagine it. Let herself fall into the fantasy of just staying, of letting all their questions go unanswered. Letting the past remain buried, if it meant she didn’t have to step away from this — whatever this fragile, impossible thing between them was becoming.

A soft, wistful ache settled in her chest, because God, she would love that. She really would. Instinctively, she knew a lifetime with Theo would be enough for her. A lifetime of love and passion. A lifetime of happiness. A lifetime shared happily over the years.

No. Not a lifetime shared, she corrected herself. Only mine. My lifetime. His lifetime has already gone.

Theo was a ghost. He would never grow old beside her, or die with her. He would simply watch the years pass by until hers ran out, too. And then what?

Then he would be alone.

Forever.

Augustine had heard from her grandmother what happened to ghosts who lingered. They faded and became trapped in the shape of unfinished things. Augustine didn’t want that. For Theo to be trapped, or for her to be an unfinished thing. She couldn’t bear the thought that loving her might condemn him to years of waiting, years of emptiness. She refused to be the reason he spent eternity as a ghost.

As she gazed into Theo’s eyes, the ache in her chest sharpened.

I would love to spend my life with Theo, she thought painfully. But I also know that wouldn’t be right.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head, regret crossing her features. “No, Theo,” she said gently. “That’s not how this ends. You know that.” Her voice softened, but didn’t waver. She sighed, pulling her tarot cards out from the drawer in which they were kept and unwrapping them from their wrapping of cloth gently. She fanned them across the countertop. “Please choose a card. Please.”

Theo didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he stepped forward, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was giving her time to stop him if she wanted to. Augustine didn’t move. She felt frozen in place, her breath catching somewhere between her ribs as he closed the last bit of distance between them.

He lifted a hand, hesitating just short of her face. “Can I?” he asked, the question soft and careful.

Augustine nodded, unable to trust her voice.

His fingers brushed her cheek, light at first, like he was testing whether she was really there. Then firmer, warmer. He traced the curve of her face with a kind of quiet focus that made her skin tingle, his thumb grazing her cheekbone, fingertips sliding along her jaw, mapping the line of her chin.

“I wanted to touch you,” he whispered. “I wondered what you felt like.”

“And?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

“And you’re worth waiting for.”

His fingers resumed their exploration, but it wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t uncertain. It was knowing, and that was what startled her most, because Theo moved like someone who already understood her face, like this wasn’t discovery, but recognition. Like he was remembering her, rather than learning her.

His thumb paused at her lower lip, and Augustine’s breath hitched.

Theo’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her mouth, something unspoken passing through him. Then he leaned in, slowly enough that Augustine could feel the warmth of him, could anticipate what was to come before it happened. And then . . . and then his lips brushed hers.