Chapter Four
Witch hunters. Half a warning, half a threat; the knowledge that witch hunters not only existed but were actively out to kill them had always haunted Augustine and her sisters.
“They don’t rest. They don’t stop. They’re born and bred to hunt us down and take us out,” Eglantine had told her daughters. “And the worst thing is, you’ll never know who they are until you meet one, and he decides it's your time to die.”
Augustine knew her mother told them this, not just to frighten them into caution, but to temper use of their gifts.
Her words were a reminder that power, if indulged in too freely, always drew attention.
Witch hunters were men who had made it their life’s work to destroy witches, a grim vocation handed down from father to son like an heirloom no one wanted but everyone kept anyway.
They noticed when witchcraft was strong. They noticed when women were powerful.
Being able to sense power felt suspiciously like a power of its own.
The hunters, unsurprisingly, didn’t appear interested in unpacking that contradiction.
Not that Augustine had ever seen one. They’d always been too careful, too cautious.
But she’d heard the stories; they all had.
The whispered names. The abrupt relocations of friends and family.
The whole covens that went quiet overnight.
Augustine had seen the way her mother’s mouth tightened when certain topics came up, the way her sisters were taught not just how to wield their gifts but when not to.
It was why Eglantine had insisted on normal schooling, normal qualifications, and then normal careers.
Why Celestine could hide behind astrophysics, Clem behind humanitarian work, and Maddy behind office admin and printers that inexplicably obeyed her will.
They’d all integrated into the real world. Not just because it was sensible, but because it was necessary. A defence mechanism honed over generations. A safety net to guarantee that no one outside of their circle would ever learn who they were, and what they could do.
Augustine, ironically, was the only one hiding in plain sight. A witch with a witch’s shop, selling incense and mystique and just enough nonsense to make everything look harmless.
Augustine watched as Maddy chewed on a nail, clearly uncomfortable.
“He wasn’t a witch hunter,” she said again, and Maddy clutched at the black tourmaline bracelet once more.
“You don’t know that. You can’t know that. They’re like us . . . too good at hiding who they really are.”
Augustine winced. “He didn’t seem aggressive though. And he wasn’t armed. He didn’t look anything like the men in the stories Mum used to tell us.”
No, he was much more handsome than that, she thought to herself, another spark running through her. She chewed on her lip. It would never do to tell Maddy — already suspicious, already on edge — that she’d found the customer attractive.
“Okay. Well, what exactly did he say?” Maddy asked. “Word for word, what did he say to you?”
Augustine shrugged. “Nothing really. He appeared, he loitered around—”
“What did he look at?” Maddy interjected. “Come on, Ags. Remember what Mum used to say? Every detail could be important.”
Augustine nodded. “He looked at . . . well, kind of everything, to be honest. Menopause literature.”
“Menopause . . . literature?” Maddy repeated slowly, and Augustine nodded.
“Yeah. Like I said, I don’t think he was a witch hunter. I mean, witch hunters are the very black heart of the patriarchy. I don’t think a witch hunter would turn up looking for a witch’s perspective on the change.”
Maddy took a deep breath. “Okay. That’s a little reassuring. What else did he say though?”
“I asked if he wanted any help, and he said no. He told me that he didn’t want things, he wanted a service.”
“The cards,” Maddy replied. “He wanted you to read the cards.”
“Not just that.” Augustine swallowed. “He wanted me to speak to the dead.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, and Augustine watched as Maddy clutched at the bracelet in her hand once more.
“Why?” she demanded.
“I wish I knew,” Augustine answered. “He seemed set though.”
“A witch hunter would be set, too, you know. See if you reveal yourself.”
“Maddy . . .” Augustine exhaled as fear ran through her, and she watched her sister pace the shop floor, the bracelet still in her hand.
“No one knows about us,” Maddy said. “We’ve been so careful.
Always, always careful.” She stopped, taking a deep breath.
“I mean, we’ve kept our coven to just the four of us.
Not that we even have the ability to be a coven.
You and I live here, Celeste is up in Edinburgh, and Clem .
. . well, she’s wherever the wind has taken her this month. ”
“It’s better this way. If we don’t see each other often, if we’re not in the same place at the same time .
. . it’s safer,” Augustine said, but the words weren’t really her own.
They were Celeste’s. She still remembered her older sister sitting her down, just after Clem turned eighteen, and telling her Clem had to leave.
“They’re looking for four sisters together,” Celeste had said, as gently as she could. “I’ve already left. Now it’s Clem’s turn. If we aren’t all in the same place, they can’t trace us. And if they do trace one of us, they can’t take us all out at the same time.”
Augustine had understood the logic. She still hated it.
She’d practically raised Clem and Maddy.
She’d stepped in when there was no one else, doing school runs and organising dental appointments and stopping Maddy from turning her English teacher into a frog and Clem from strangling her sister with sentient climbing ivy when they argued.
Sending Clem away — even for her own good — hurt so much Augustine still couldn’t bear to think about it.
She watched as her sister mulled over her words.
Maddy had gone too now, but not far. Just the other side of London.
That was where Augustine had drawn a line.
Far enough to give them the space they all knew was necessary, but close enough that she could be with the baby of the family in forty minutes if needed.
“I know it’s safer,” Maddy finally agreed. “I also know we’ve tempered our magic down—” Maddy stopped, wincing. “Sorry, Ags. I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Augustine cut her sister’s apology off easily. She was used to it by now, being the exception, rather than the rule. Maddy didn’t mean any harm by it, she knew that.
“No one knows about us,” Maddy reassured before she turned to Augustine and said, “You’re absolutely certain you’ve never let it slip out?”
Augustine felt a sudden flicker of guilt, because Roy knew, of course.
Roy knew everything. But then Roy was . .
. Roy. Buried in his writing at home, listening to Madonna and The Spice Girls on repeat.
He went out so infrequently Augustine had begun to believe he was allergic to people.
More than that, he didn’t give a flying fuck what she did with herself or her time, so long as she didn’t move his furniture and paid the rent on time.
Aloud, she said, “No one knows. No one can know.”
Maddy stopped pacing and looked at her. “But this man does,” she said quietly.
Augustine nodded, a new vein of worry opening in her blood.
Maddy inhaled slowly, visibly steadying herself. “I need to let Clem and Celeste know.”
Augustine’s head snapped up. “No! Mads, don’t. There’s no proof yet. You’ll only worry them.”
Maddy nodded once, but Augustine could tell from the look in her eyes that she’d already decided. “Maybe. But better to be safe than sorry. It’ll keep them on guard. Just in case.”
Augustine pressed her lips together, knowing when she was outvoted.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” Maddy asked.
Augustine didn’t hesitate. She nodded.
That was all it took. Maddy sprang into motion, crossing the shop in long strides and snapping the blinds shut one by one. The room dimmed, incense smoke curling thicker in the half-light.
“What are you doing?” Augustine asked, heart ticking up a notch.
“I’m going to cast a protective spell,” she said briskly. “Just in case. There’s only so much black tourmaline can do. I need salt, sage and a knife. Can you get me some?”
Augustine nodded.
“Eggshells too,” Maddy added, and Augustine shook her head.
“Sorry, I don’t have any.”
“No eggs? What kind of a witch’s shop is this?” Maddy was indignant. “What? Not even in the place upstairs?”
“What place upstairs? There’s no place upstairs.”
Maddy blinked once and then twice, and it was like watching someone wake up mid-sentence. Her shoulders dropped, the sharp focus draining out of her expression as she held Augustine’s curious gaze. “Oh,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Right.”
Augustine frowned at her. “Maddy . . . ?”
“Sorry,” Maddy said again, waving a hand vaguely, like she was shooing away a thought that had overstayed its welcome. “I just got muddled up. That happens sometimes.”
“That happens how sometimes?”
Maddy shrugged. “It’s been a long day, that’s all. I just got confused.” She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you don’t have any eggs?”
“Not unless you can lay one yourself,” Augustine replied flatly, still caught by her sister’s uncharacteristic confusion, but Maddy only frowned.
“We’ll just do without the eggshells, I guess,” she said, picking up the salt with renewed determination, like this was all perfectly normal and not at all unsettling.
“I’m going to cast a protective circle from those who mean you harm.
Right here, around your till. When this guy comes back, make sure you’re standing in it, okay?
If he enters the circle without any issue, you’ll know he’s okay. ”
“Attach myself to my desk. Got it.” Augustine watched as her sister began trailing salt crystals along the floor, the scent of burning sage already strong in the air.
“And Ags?” Maddy turned back to Augustine suddenly, her eyes sharp, all levity gone. “When he comes back, find out how he knows about you. Find out everything you can.”
“I will,” Augustine promised. She didn’t want this hanging over them any more than Maddy did.
“Good. And one more thing—” Maddy lit a candle — “he thinks you can speak to the dead? Well, you need to make sure he leaves this shop one hundred per cent believing he was wrong.”