Page 113 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Augustine nodded, pushing her uncertainty to one side. This was her mum, who always knew best.

She picked up the deck, her fingers moving automatically now — shuffling, grounding, falling into the familiar rhythm of cards under her fingers.

“A yes or no,” she mused. “So, what’s your question? What do you need to know?”

Eglantine didn’t answer straight away, but when she did, her voice was much more careful. “The question is this — should I trust him?”

“Him?” Augustine paused, because by default, Eglantine trusted no man, and she’d raised them all to feel the same.

“Yes. Him.” There was no elaboration. No name.

Augustine hesitated, because something about this didn’t sit right. The question felt too small for the weight behind it. Too neat, almost like it was trying to contain something much larger. But her mother was watching her, waiting for her answer with expectant eyes, so Augustine exhaled softly and began.

She shuffled the deck, slower this time, more deliberately, grounding herself in the familiar motion. The cards slid against each other with a soft, papery whisper, steadying her. Still, there was a flicker of doubt, a hesitation she couldn’t quite name.

“Okay,” she murmured, more to herself than to Eglantine, and laid the cards out between them. “Choose a card. One you’re drawn to.”

Eglantine didn’t reach for one immediately, but when she did, it was with quiet certainty. She drew a single card from the spread and turned it over, placing it gently in front of Augustine.

The High Priestess.

“Oh.” Augustine’s breath caught for just a fraction of a second, before she laughed. “Well, that’s obvious. It’s a yes,” she told her mother easily.

Eglantine blinked, looking faintly surprised. “Yes?”

“You can trust him,” Augustine confirmed, already leaning forward slightly, slipping into explanation without thinking. “The High Priestess — upright — it’s intuition, sacred knowledge, the subconscious. It’s about inner truth, trusting what you feel, what you know beneath the surface.” She tapped the card lightly. “It’s a yes. A strong one.”

Eglantine looked down at the card again, then back at Augustine. Slowly, she nodded.

“All right,” she said, and then, abruptly, she stood. The movement was so sudden it made Augustine blink. “I need to go out,” her mother continued, already reaching for her coat. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

Augustine frowned. “Now? It’s nearly dinner time.”

“Yes.” Her mother’s tone was light, but there was something rushed beneath it. “Will you stay in? Watch your sisters until I get back?”

“Of course,” Augustine said immediately.

Eglantine paused at the door, a serious air about her. “Are you sure?” she asked, nodding to the cards. “It’s a definite yes?”

Augustine glanced down at the card, still lying between them, calm and certain. “Yes,” she said, nodding towards it. “That’s what the cards say.”

Eglantine held her gaze for a beat longer, before she smiled.

Then, without another word, she turned to the door and left.

* * *

The evening passed normally enough.

Augustine made dinner. Something simple. Something her sisters wouldn’t complain about. Eventually, Clem came in from the garden, tracking mud and leaves in from the outside world on her hands and in her hair. Maddy drifted in and out of the sitting room, half-watching television, half-asking questions Augustine barely even registered.

It was all so normal. So painfully normal.

However, as the hours began to stretch on, something began to settle in Augustine’s chest. A slow, creeping unease that rattled her, and made her watch the clock nervously.

Eight o’clock passed, then nine, then ten. Still, Eglantine didn’t come home. By half ten, Augustine was pacing, and by eleven, she was trying not to.

She put Maddy to bed first, tucking her into her sheets, her teddy unashamedly in her twelve-year-old hands. Clem took a little longer, the teenager lingering in doorways, asking uncertain things Augustine didn’t quite know how to answer.