Chapter Thirty-Six
The next time Augustine properly registered where she was, she was standing in line at Starbucks.
Starbucks. Of all places.
Her eyes wandered blankly over the menu, not taking in a single word of it, as the reality of the situation settled over her in a slow, unfamiliar wave.
Her sister — her baby sister — had just calmly admitted to being the witch responsible for dismantling her life, erasing her memories, and quite possibly orchestrating the death of the man she loved.
And now here they were. Getting coffee. It was, Augustine decided, completely ridiculous.
“I’m getting a pumpkin spice latte with cinnamon whip,” Maddy announced brightly beside her, as if this were any other day. “You’re still vegan milk only, right? Even though it tastes like regret, sadness and bad decision making?”
Augustine didn’t respond. She stood stiffly, arms folded tightly across her chest, staring blankly at the menu, her jaw set.
Maddy glanced at her, undeterred. “Okay, cool, cool, I’ll just—” she gestured vaguely at the menu — “make an executive decision on your behalf. I do that for my boss all the time. Honestly, the man will only wear suits and ties by Armani and went to flipping Eton. You’d think he’d be the black coffee only type, but no.
Oh no no no. He can drink down a white chocolate mocha frappuccino with extra whip and caramel syrup like the best of them. ”
“Don’t,” Augustine said, sharp and unimpressed.
She glanced around, noting the barista barking out names, a man aggressively typing on a laptop, the woman taking photos of her drink from at least thirteen different angles.
Her life was falling apart and here she was, in the realm of frustrated novelists and food influencers.
Maddy winced, but only slightly. “Right. We’re not there yet. Fine. I’m still getting you something — and I bet you haven’t eaten today, right?”
Augustine said nothing, and Maddy nodded knowingly as she stepped up to the counter and began to order. “Thought so.”
* * *
“Come on,” Maddy said, once they each had a coffee in hand. “Walk with me.”
“Why?”
“Because this conversation requires privacy, potentially a plausible escape route, and enough forward motion that you can’t dramatically storm off halfway through.”
“Maddy—”
“A river walk,” Maddy decided. “And just so you know, I’m giving you the upper hand here. Water’s your element, not mine.”
Augustine relented, nodding tightly, and they ended up walking along the Thames towards Limehouse.
Augustine walked a step away from her sister, every inch of her posture closed off. If she could have physically leaned further away from Maddy without falling into the Thames, she would have.
Maddy, on the other hand, looked entirely at ease. Too at ease. She was walking almost breezily, sipping her coffee like this was a casual catch-up and not the villainous reveal of Augustine’s life. Her coat was still hanging open, which Augustine noticed immediately.
A familiar lecture rose instinctively to her tongue — button your coat, Maddy, it’s October. Do you want to get pneumonia? — and she hated, suddenly and fiercely, that some stubborn, automatic part of her still wanted to say it.
Even now. Even when she was this angry.
Augustine fixed her sister with a look of pure disbelief. “You cursed me,” she said, the words cutting cleanly through the soft wash of the Thames and distant chatter of other pedestrians.
Maddy glanced up. “Yes,” she said, equally direct, and there was no hesitation. No flinching.
Augustine felt her chest tighten.
“Although, curse is a strong word,” Maddy added, taking a sip of her latte. “I prefer to say I cast a spell on you.”
“And on Theo,” Augustine added, her voice sharper now.
Maddy’s expression flickered, just for a second. “Yes,” she said again, more quietly this time.
Something twisted violently in Augustine’s chest. “And you thought . . . what?” she demanded.
“That we’d just go about like normal afterwards?
Talk about it over coffees like this is some kind of miscommunication?
” She glanced down at her cup and frowned.
“Oh, and witches getting a Starbucks pumpkin spice latte the week before Halloween? A little on the nose, don’t you think? ”
Maddy’s mouth twitched, like she was trying very hard not to smile.
Augustine’s glare sharpened. “This isn’t funny.”
“Well, it kind of is—” Maddy saw the look on her sister’s face and evidently thought the better of things. Sobering immediately, she said, “Right. Not funny.”
Augustine picked up her pace, her entire body still braced. “Start talking,” she said. “And start from the part where you said you cursed us because I asked you to. I mean, that’s ridiculous. If you’re going to lie, at least come up with something vaguely plausible.”
Maddy took another sip of her latte.
“Maddy!”
Maddy shook her head. “Fine. Okay, look, that wasn’t a lie.”
“No, Maddy, I—”
Maddy held up a hand. “You wanted me to talk. So let me talk.”
Augustine closed her mouth.
Maddy tapped her fingers against her cup, pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face. “So, um, I met Theo for the first time around six months ago.”
“Six months ago?” Augustine repeated, a little in shock. “No, that’s too recent—”
“It was six months ago,” Maddy said again bluntly, before she sighed.
“Look, I know some of this information is going to be new to you, and I know how muddled things must be in that mind of yours, but please believe me when I say that for the next twenty minutes, everything I say will be the truth. I met Theodore Manford for the first time six months ago. And you only met him six months before that. Last Halloween.”
Augustine let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head almost immediately. “No,” she said, the word slipping out under her breath. “No, that’s . . . that’s not right.”
Because it wasn’t right. A year? Just a year? That was nothing.
She and Theo . . . they’d lived together. Properly lived together. They’d shared space and routines, shared everything. She’d seen it for herself, hadn’t she? His things mixed with hers; photographs of a life lived together on their fridge door.
“No,” she said, more to herself than to Maddy, her voice quieter now, threaded through with something unsteady. “That’s not enough time. We . . .” She swallowed. “We built a life together. A home together. That takes time.”
Maddy watched her, something softer settling into her expression again.
“Sometimes it does,” she agreed gently. “But sometimes it doesn’t, and you and Theo were so in love and so keen to be together and .
. . Look, I know it probably feels like more.
But you only had six months with him, Ags, and you only lived together for three of those.
” She stopped. “You know, I actually liked Theo.”
The shift caught Augustine off guard. “What?”
“I liked him,” Maddy repeated with a small shrug. “He was nice. A bit much at times, but nice.”
Augustine blinked at her. “A bit much?”
“Ags, he talked about statistics. A lot,” Maddy said, deadpan.
“Like, an alarming amount. I mean, we all like the Titanic, sure, it’s a classic.
But knowing the death rate for second-class passengers broken down by age, gender and economic status?
” She shook her head. “That’s not a personality, that’s a spreadsheet, honey. ”
Something in Augustine’s chest gave a small, traitorous flicker. “I thought it was endearing.”
Maddy snorted lightly. “Of course you’d say that.
” Her expression softened again. “I could tell you really loved him,” she went on, more quietly now.
“You went from never dating to living with this guy in three months. You were so settled. So happy, and I was excited for you. Excited to see you so happy.”
Maddy traced the rim of her cup absently.
“I remember the first time I came round after you’d moved in together,” she said. “You opened the door, and there he was . . . just there, in your shop. Like he’d always been there.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “And then there was the cat, too.”
Augustine nodded. “Bird.”
“Bird,” Maddy echoed. “Which, by the way, is still a ridiculous name.”
“I like it.”
“You might like it, but you hate cats,” Maddy went on. “You’ve always hated cats. You used to say they were evil incarnate.”
“They are,” Augustine muttered.
“And yet,” Maddy said, pointing lightly at her, “you loved Bird. Immediately, and with no hesitation. Because he was Theo’s.”
Augustine swallowed.
“I remember thinking,” Maddy’s voice softened further, almost distant now, “this is it. This is the one that sticks. I mean, the guy even got you to like a cat. You know, I’m like Mum myself,” she added with a shrug.
“Don’t see the point in long-term relationships with men.
But you genuinely seemed happy, and so I was willing to accept Theo into the family.
I was willing to open up to someone who fit you so well.
” Maddy’s expression changed. “Or . . . so I thought.”
Augustine watched as the softness in her sister drained away, replaced by something heavier. Something darker. Maddy’s fingers stilled against her cup, her shoulders tensing just slightly as she walked.
“So you thought? What does that even mean, Maddy?” Augustine ventured cautiously.
Maddy didn’t look at her. Instead, she just kept walking, her eyes on the path before them. When she finally did stop and look into Augustine’s eyes, there was something in her expression that hadn’t been there before. Something that made Augustine’s stomach drop.
“It means what you think it does.” Maddy let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping briefly to her drink before lifting back to Augustine. “You see, Ags, the problem with falling in love that quickly, with moving in together that quickly, is that you don’t really know the person you’re with.”
Augustine’s frown deepened immediately. “That’s not true—”
“It is true. And your Theo,” Maddy continued, cutting across her, her tone still calm but firmer now, “was hiding things. Big things.”
Something cold slid into Augustine’s chest. “No,” she said, sharper this time. “No, that’s not true. I knew him. I know him.”
Maddy’s expression didn’t change. “Ags—”
“He wouldn’t,” Augustine pushed on, her voice rising slightly. “He wouldn’t lie to me like that. He wouldn’t hide something from me—”
“You don’t know Theo,” Maddy interrupted sharply. “You know nothing about him.”
Augustine stopped walking first, and Maddy turned to hold her gaze, unflinching now.
“You just know a version of him,” she went on mercilessly. “A version shaped by what he chose to show you. And now?” She tilted her head slightly. “Now you know a ghost. A memory. A handful of feelings that somehow survived something they shouldn’t have.”
Augustine’s throat tightened.
“You don’t know him,” Maddy said again. “You never really did.”
Silence rang in Augustine’s ears, she couldn’t quite process what she was hearing. Couldn’t quite make it make sense. “What— what do you mean?” she asked finally, her voice shaky.
Maddy shrugged and lifted her drink, idly licking a bit of foam from the rim of the cup. The scent hit Augustine instantly. Cinnamon.
It was warm and achingly familiar, and her stomach flipped with sudden longing.
Theo.
For a split second, it was like he was there again — close, solid, and real. The way he’d smelled, the way he had wrapped around her, comforting and constant. As quickly as it arrived though, the feeling was gone, and Augustine’s fingers curled tighter around her cup as they began walking again.
The river moved darkly beside them, reflecting broken streaks of amber light from office buildings and passing boats.
Around them, the London afternoon carried on with its usual indifference: cyclists rattling past on the path, runners in weighted jackets weaving through commuters, the distant groan of the DLR overhead.
Somewhere nearby, someone was walking a dachshund in a tiny bat outfit.
Maddy gave the dog a small smile, before she looked out over the Thames.
From here, the city skyline stretched westward — glass towers, cranes, old warehouses turned into flats people like them couldn’t afford.
“You came to me,” she said, like she was simply stating a fact.
“Six months ago. Spring. Just after I first met him. Not long after you moved in together.”
Augustine blinked. “I— what?”
“You showed up at my flat,” Maddy continued. “Late. Crying. Properly crying, Ags.”
A hollow feeling opened up in Augustine’s chest.
“You told me there was a problem,” Maddy said. “You said you needed help.”
Augustine’s heart started to pound. “What sort of help did I need?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Maddy’s gaze held hers. “Magic,” she said simply. “My magic.”