Page 135 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

“Maybe. But I want to hear you say it all the same.”

Augustine met his gaze, steady despite the way her heart was racing. “I loved you, too.” She swallowed. “I loved you so much, I conjured your subconscious . . . your soul . . . whatever it was, to be with me again.”

There was a moment of quiet between them as the weight of it all hung in the air between them. Everything they’d been. Everything they’d lost. Everything they’d somehow found again, despite the odds against them.

“Do you regret it?” Theo suddenly asked, his voice low. “Wiping me from your memory? Letting me go?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even need to think. “I want to keep my family safe. Of course I do. But yes. I regret it. What about you?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Theo replied, echoing her earlier words, and Augustine stepped closer to him.

“Maybe. But I want to hear you say it all the same.”

“I regret it more than anything.” Theo ran a hand through his hair, frustration in his eyes. “There’s nothing I want more than to remember you.”

A sad kind of wistful ache built within her. “You do remember me. Maybe not from before, from what we once had, but the memory is there. You wouldn’t be here right now otherwise. You remembered me enough to come back to me. To . . . fall in love with me, all over again.”

He nodded slowly. “I promised you I’d find you. Remember? I promised you I’d come back.”

“I know. But I didn’t know if or how it would work. I wasn’t sure whether you would remember being that Theo. That part of you that found me.”

“That Theo is me,” he replied firmly. “It was always me.” He took a deep breath, stepping closer to her. “Okay. Let’s think about this logically.”

“There’s no logic in any of this.” Augustine couldn’t help a smile from crossing her face.

“You’re right. So, let’s think about it statistically then.”

Augustine laughed. “Oh God. You’re really doing this?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “Because this is what I’m good at.” He gestured lightly between them. “And this — whatever magic this is — is already so far outside the norm it’s practically its own dataset.”

She folded her arms, but she was smiling now. “Go on then. Dazzle me with numbers.”

Theo nodded once, like he’d been waiting for that. “All right. So. Baseline probability — two strangers meet, fall in love, and make it work long-term. Not great odds to begin with.”

“So, statistically we were doomed even if we hadn’t erased each other from our minds?” she asked.

“Stay with me,” he said. “Now, factor in everything else. Your witchhood. My unfortunate status as a fallen witch hunter. Our attempted memory erasure, as well as the coma-induced metaphysical reunions. Take all of that, and the probability of us finding each other again?” He paused. “Astronomically low. One in ten billion.”

Augustine’s smile widened. God, she’d missed conversations like these.

“There are only eight billion people in the world, Theo.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, “that’s how improbable it all is.”

Silence settled and he took a step closer. “So statistically speaking, this shouldn’t have happened. Not once. Definitely not twice.” A beat. “Which means either we are the single most improbable coincidence in modern history . . .”

“Or?” she asked softly.

“Or we’re the outlier that proves the rule doesn’t apply.” Theo held her gaze. “Look, we already tried being sensible,” he said. “We did everything right. We made the safe choice.” His jaw tightened slightly. “And it still broke us.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“So maybe,” he said, quieter now, “we stop trying to be sensible.”

“What do you mean?”

Theo held her gaze. “We leave,” he said simply.