Chapter Forty-One
“She never came back,” Augustine said, her voice worn thin at the edges, like something handled too many times. “We never saw her again.” She didn’t look at Mrs Clayton as she spoke. Her gaze had drifted somewhere else entirely — back there.
“Celeste came home the next day,” she went on. “She stayed with me. With the others. We did everything we were supposed to do. Called everyone you’re meant to call. The police were kind enough. Social services were even kinder.” There was a small, brittle pause. “But Mum never came home.”
Mrs Clayton’s grip tightened around her bag, the leather creaking faintly under the pressure. “What happened to her?”
Augustine shook her head. “We don’t know.
We still don’t know. It’s still open. A missing person case, even now.
But Celestine . . .” Augustine felt an old flicker of unease light once more within her.
“She didn’t leave it there. She went looking for answers.
Found another coven. One that knew about us. ”
Mrs Clayton leaned forward slightly. “And?”
“They told her it was a witch hunter,” Augustine said quietly. “That one of them had gotten close. Slipped into our mother’s life. Made her trust him.”
Mrs Clayton’s expression sharpened. “Who?”
Augustine shrugged. “We don’t know. Not his name.
Not where he came from. Nothing real enough to hold on to.
But we didn’t take chances after that. I mean, we were lucky.
Normally when a witch hunter takes one, he takes them all.
Celestine thinks mum—” she stopped, taking a deep breath.
“She thinks mum must have fought back. Stopped them somehow from coming for us. Bought us some time.” Her gaze steadied slightly now, something firmer beneath the grief.
“We left the North. All of us. I took the girls and started over in London. New place, new name.” The corner of her mouth lifted faintly, not taking any real humour with it. “Pepperday.”
Mrs Clayton blinked. “Pepperday?”
“Celestine found it on a gravestone,” Augustine said lightly.
“Thought it sounded solid. Untraceable.” A small shrug.
“As good a name as any, when you’re trying to disappear.
” She added, more quietly, “I left university to look after the girls. Celestine went back — but somewhere else. Different city. Different life.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Mrs Clayton remarked.
“No. Probably not.” Augustine let out a small, tired breath.
“But it was fine. I’d have been a terrible psychologist anyway, after all that.
After Mum.” She shrugged again. “I didn’t mind though.
Clem and Maddy needed someone. And if it hadn’t been for me .
. .” Her voice caught. “Mum would still be here.”
Mrs Clayton’s expression softened. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. And I owed it to her to take care of the girls.”
“No, you didn’t owe her that,” Mrs Clayton insisted gently. “You didn’t owe her anything. Your mum wouldn’t have wanted it that way.”
“Well,” Augustine said, “she wasn’t around to tell us what she wanted, was she?” She glanced at Mrs Clayton. “Do you want to hear something stupid?”
Mrs Clayton tilted her head. “Go on.”
Augustine gave a small, ironic smile. If you were going to confess something idiotic, she thought, a ghost was probably the safest audience you could hope for.
No judgement that mattered. No consequences.
Just someone already — quite literally — on the other side of things.
Forget taking a secret to the grave. Mrs Clayton was already there.
She looked down at her hands. “I got my cards out,” she said.
“Not long after mum disappeared. Maybe a few nights.” Her fingers curled slightly as she recalled the blurred evenings after her mother first disappeared.
“I thought . . . I don’t know. That maybe I could reach her.
Across the veil, or the beyond, or whatever you want to call it.
” Her mouth tightened. “I thought maybe that was it. My moment. That something would . . . switch on.” A small, self-conscious laugh.
“That I’d finally be as powerful as everyone kept insisting I was.
” She shook her head. “The simple truth was that I needed her. I needed my mum.”
“You poor dear,” Mrs Clayton uttered with a sigh.
“Not that it worked,” Augustine added. “There was nothing. No sign. No voice. No presence. Just . . . cards. Ink and paper and silence.” She swallowed. “So I put them away. Packed them up, shoved them to the back of a drawer. I didn’t touch them again until . . .”
Mrs Clayton watched her carefully. “Until Theo,” she finished softly.
Augustine’s lips pressed together; she nodded once. “Until Theo.”
“What an awful lot you’ve been through,” Mrs C said, and Augustine glanced at her.
“Celestine had Mum declared dead after seven years,” she said.
“It was a legal necessity, apparently.” A faint, bitter edge crept into her voice, and she exhaled slowly.
“I used my share of the inheritance to open my shop.” Her gaze flicked, briefly, to the sign out front, as if she could see it from here: The Priestess Reversed.
Mrs Clayton’s brows lifted slightly.
“It’s not just a name,” Augustine went on. “It’s a warning. To always be careful. To always question. No matter what. No matter who.” Silence stretched between them. “I was, too,” she added quietly. “Careful. Suspicious. Sensible. Until—”
“Until Theo,” Mrs Clayton said gently.
Augustine closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “Until Theo.” When she opened her eyes again, Mrs Clayton was watching her carefully.
“It’s not just a warning,” the older woman said. “It’s a tie too. A constant reminder of what happened, and why you can’t let go.” She sighed. “Do you really want that hanging over you forever? Your mother wouldn’t have wanted it.”
Momentarily, Augustine rested her head against the countertop, exhausted.
There was truth in what Mrs Clayton was saying. Augustine recognized that. She’d spent so long trying to carry others that she didn’t know when to let go of the load. She’d never been able to let go of her sisters. Of the memory of what happened to her mother. Of the guilt at feeling responsible.
Was Theo the same? Was he another thing she was trying to hold onto because she couldn't bear to lose anyone else? Or was loving him different?
Augustine closed her eyes. She’d spent years confusing love with responsibility. Years believing that if she just held on tightly enough, if she just loved someone enough, she could keep them safe.
Theo never wanted me to save him, she thought to herself, opening her eyes and sitting up again. He only ever asked me for the truth. And to save myself.
She turned to speak to Mrs Clayton, but the older woman was gone. Leaving Augustine, for once, to only carry herself.