Chapter Thirty-Two
Upstairs. That was all that had mattered to her fevered brain. Not simple things like locked doors and keys.
Augustine tried the door one more time, Theo close behind her, as if hope alone could open it for them. Honestly, she had the gift of time travel and she couldn’t even get through a locked door? What kind of a joke was that?
Behind her, Theo cleared his throat. “So,” he began easily. “The door. It’s locked, right?”
“Yes.” She pushed down on the handle. “Yes, it is.” She let out a slow breath, pressing her lips together, still tingling from Theo’s kiss, as reality — petty, mundane, incredibly inconvenient reality — came crashing back in.
She was hoping to go upstairs to make love to a ghost, and that wasn’t the ridiculous part of her day.
No, this was. This hopelessly frustrating, hopelessly awful, hopelessly locked door.
“I kind of forgot that I don’t have the key,” she admitted.
“It was probably taken when our memories were removed.”
Theo blinked. “You don’t have the key.”
“Nope,” she replied, turning to look at him now, one hand lifting in a small, helpless gesture.
“Look, it hasn’t exactly been used much recently, in fact, it's been more of a theoretical upstairs than an actual one. And apparently whoever cursed us didn’t just go for the dramatic memory wipe, they also thought, ‘you know what would really sell this? Petty, practical inconvenience.’ So they took the key as well. ”
Theo held her gaze, something troubled passing over his face. “They really did a thorough job on us, didn’t they?”
“Yep.” Augustine straightened, turning back to him with a look that hovered somewhere between exasperation and outright disappointment. “We were having a moment, too.”
“The best moment,” he confirmed. “And now,” he echoed, glancing at it, “we are being thwarted by basic home security.”
Augustine sighed. “This is ridiculous. I refuse to accept that after everything we’ve been through — memory loss, death, supernatural interference — we’re going to be defeated by a lock. There must be some way in.”
“Well . . .” Theo began, an odd uncertainty creeping into his voice, like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be saying it.
Augustine frowned slightly. “Well what?”
He hesitated, then reached into the pocket of his coat. It was the same slightly oversized one he’d been wearing since the beginning, since the moment he’d first appeared in her shop.
“When I first came back,” he said slowly, his fingers searching inside the lining, “I had this coat on. And in the pocket . . .”
He pulled something out. Her business card, with the same looped handwriting on the back she knew was hers, even if she hadn’t believed it at first.
“My card,” she said blankly. “I remember. I gave it to you on our third date.”
“There was this too, remember?” Theo added, lifting his other hand. Held tight in his fingers was a key. Augustine went very still.
“The key,” she stammered. “You had it the whole time. Why would you have it?”
Theo gave a small, helpless shrug. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But it can’t be a coincidence, right?”
Her pulse quickened, because no. No, it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Nothing about this had been a coincidence.
Not after the way things kept circling back, the way they kept finding each other, no matter what had been taken or hidden or erased.
Everything had a purpose, Augustine reminded herself.
The universe had a plan. She just needed to listen to it.
Slowly, Augustine stepped closer, her gaze never leaving the key in his hand. “Give it to me,” she said softly.
Their fingers brushed as she accepted it, her hand tingling at his touch, the feeling warm and anticipatory. Once again, Augustine marvelled at how right Theo’s skin felt against hers, at how naturally her body seemed to recognize the presence of his.
The key felt cool and solid in her palm, her breath catching just slightly as she brought it up to the lock.
“If this works . . .” she murmured.
Theo stepped closer, his presence warm and steady at her back. “It will,” he said.
Augustine swallowed, then pushed the key into the lock. It fit.
Of course it did.
Her breath caught as she turned it, slowly at first, like she was afraid the moment might break if she rushed it. Then, with a click, she heard the lock give, and Augustine inhaled sharply.
For a second, she just stood there, her heart racing as the sound echoed through her.
Theo didn’t say anything. But then, he didn’t need to.
He simply watched as she pressed her hand flat against the door and pushed, a faint creak breaking the silence as the wood gave way, revealing a narrow staircase beyond, dim, quiet, and entirely untouched.
A breath of air drifted down towards them, stale and musty, the scent of a space that hadn’t been opened in months, and Augustine took a beat before she stepped forward.
The first step felt . . . strange. Like crossing something invisible.
Not just a threshold, but something deeper, something that had been closed off for a reason.
She took another step, and another, determined to know what was at the top.
Determined to see what was so dangerous it hadn’t just been taken from her but hidden away by magic, too.
Theo’s presence was steady and grounding at her feet, as the light from below faded and the space around them shifted into something softer, dustier and older.
At the top of the stairs, Augustine paused. This wasn’t just a room. No, it opened out into something more. A collection of little rooms tucked together like a secret someone had tried very hard to forget.
A tiny kitchen, just to the left. A narrow doorway leading to what looked like a bathroom. Further in, a bedroom, and beyond that, a small living area.
Augustine began to explore slowly, her gaze moving over everything. It wasn’t empty. Not even close.
In fact, there were things everywhere.
She moved from room to room, taking in the shoes kicked off in a corner, like someone had meant to come back for them.
There was a coat draped over the back of a chair and books stacked unevenly on a small table.
Linen was still spread across the bed, slightly rumpled, as if it had been left in a hurry, or simply abandoned mid-life.
A glucose monitor sat on the bedside table.
The air held that same musty stillness, but beneath it something oddly familiar.
Cinnamon! A knot of pain rose in her throat. She took a step towards the fireplace, where a collection of candles sat, mostly half-burned. She recognized a few from her shop, but one looked different from the others. She picked that jar up, reading the label. Cinnamon Rolls.
Theo moved beside her, just as quiet now, his eyes scanning the space with a kind of careful scepticism. “This is . . .” His voice died away.
Augustine was already moving, drawn into the kitchen. It was small — barely more than a corner, really — but like the rest of the space, it looked lived-in. There was a mug by the sink. A dish towel hanging slightly crooked. And on the floor—
A cat food bowl, with Bird written across the front in big, black lettering.
Augustine’s breath hitched and slowly, she looked up towards the fridge. Photographs were stuck to it, held in place by mismatched magnets.
Her feet carried her closer without thinking, and quietly, Theo followed.
“Who lived here?” he asked.
Augustine didn’t answer straight away. Her hand lifted, fingers hovering just above one of the photographs before she finally touched it.
Two people. Laughing. Close. Familiar.
Her throat tightened. “I think . . .” she said, her voice soft, almost unsteady. “I think we did.”
She turned slightly, pointing to another photo. And another. And then another. All of them with her. All of them with him. All of them together.
Different moments. Different days. Smiles, half-caught glances, arms slung around each other like they belonged there.
A life. Their life.
Before it had been taken from them.
Augustine exhaled shakily, her fingers still resting against the edge of the fridge as the weight of it settled in. “We lived here,” she said, more certain now. “We lived here. Together.”