Page 93 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Her attention shifted to another photograph on the fridge. It had been taken in the restaurant from their second date, she recognized the odd decor, the low lighting, the sheer romance of the place. One of her arms was wrapped around Theo, while the other was holding her phone in the air for this selfie. In the image, his face was half-hidden in her neck, and Augustine could almost hear it. The low murmur of his voice, whatever he’d been whispering to her. The way she must have laughed, leaning into him like she belonged there.

Because she had. She’d belonged there. With him.

Theo made a small, sharp sound, and Augustine looked up.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his shoulders tense, while his jaw was tight, like he was desperately trying to hold something back, but failing miserably.

“They took everything,” he said, his voice low now, rough with something heavier than before. “They didn’t just separate us, they—” he shook his head and paced across the small kitchen — “They took it. They took it all. This . . . this life. This us.”

“Theo—”

“I had this. We had this.” He gestured vaguely around the space, at the photographs, the rooms, the quiet evidence of their life before. “It was ours.” The words caught in his throat. “I had this, and they just . . . what? Decided I didn’t get to have it any more? Decided we didn’t get to be us any more?”

There was anger in his voice now; a real, sharp anger that was shrouded in grief. Augustine’s eyes filled as she watched him move frantically around their kitchen.

“Please, don’t do this to yourself,” she tried to beg, but he shook his head.

“They killed me, Augustine. But they didn’t just kill me. They took us. And I don’t even know why.” His voice broke, his gaze dropping back to the photograph on the fridge. “I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to you, did I?” He sounded bitter and hollow and spent. “We never even had that.”

Something in Augustine shattered, and she crossed the space between them without thinking, her hands reaching for him, tears already spilling over as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Theo . . . ” Her voice broke on his name as she held him tightly, like she could somehow make up for everything that had been taken. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words trembling, helpless and full all at once.

Her tears soaked into his shirt, her grip tightening because letting go wasn’t an option. She didn’t know what else to say. I mean, what could you say to that? What could you say to a life that had been stolen, to a love that had been interrupted?

To a goodbye that never happened, she realized suddenly, as a new and painful thought crossed her mind.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands still holding onto him like she needed to. “Maybe that’s what this is,” she said, her voice unsteady, but still certain in a way that surprised even her. “Maybe that’s why you came back.”

Theo’s eyes searched hers.

“Maybe that’s why I brought you back,” she continued softly. “To say goodbye.” Augustine’s thumb brushed gently against his cheek, her gaze soft, despite the tears still falling. “We didn’t get that before,” she whispered. “But maybe we can have it now.”

Even as she said it, Augustine’s chest tightened, because she didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t want this to be the reason her power had suddenly awakened, a combination of grief and trauma mixing fertilizer on a seed of magic that had long lain dormant.

Theo looked at her, his blue eyes swimming. “Is that what you want?” he whispered. “To say goodbye to me?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. But I think . . . I think we have to. You can’t stay here like this, with me, forever. I know that. You know that.”

Theo gazed down at her for a long moment, something shifting slowly behind his eyes. Resistance gave way to understanding, and then acceptance. It settled over him gradually, like something heavy finding its place, and then he nodded slowly. “So,” he said, his voice quiet, but steadier than before. “We say goodbye.” He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

“It’s the only option,” Augustine said, her voice blank. She reached for him, burrowing into his coat now. “I don’t want it. I really don’t. But it’s the only way.”

Theo’s gaze flicked briefly to the photographs behind her, to the life they’d had — the life they should still have had.

“But first we find out who did this to us,” he went on, something firmer threading through his voice now. Not anger this time, but purpose. “And why.”

“Yes,” Augustine agreed.

“And then . . .” His eyes returned to hers, and Augustine’s breath hitched, as every one of her instincts fought against it. Against the calmness of it, against the sheer finality of it all. Against the way Theo spoke, like it was something they could just . . . do. Like it wouldn’t tear something vital out of her when the time came.

All the same, she knew he was right. Even if she hated it, he was right.

Her throat tightened as she nodded. “And then,” she agreed softly, although the words felt too small for what they meant.

Augustine’s fingers tightened where they still held on to him, like she was memorizing the feeling, storing it somewhere safe for whatever came after this. Instinctively, she burrowed closer to him, and Theo’s arm wrapped around her, holding her against him. She sighed softly as his thumb traced her cheek, the familiar scent of cinnamon curling between them.

Then he leaned back slightly, studying her. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”