Chapter Forty-Two
The bell above the shop door didn’t ring, and nor did the air crackle. The candles didn’t flicker, and the atmosphere didn’t shift. In fact, there was no warning at all.
One moment, Augustine was alone, and the next, he was there.
Theo stood in the middle of the shop as though he had simply stepped out of a shadow, solid and unmistakable. Augustine’s mind reeled, because she couldn’t quite reconcile it, couldn’t quite make all the pieces of this puzzle fit together.
Yesterday he’d felt real. Warm and alive in a way that felt nothing to do with ghosts or magic or illusion.
She remembered it perfectly — the weight of him beside her in the bed upstairs, the heat of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The way his body had responded when she’d touched him.
The way his naked skin smelled beside her.
Cinnamon, yes — but something else underneath it.
Something entirely his. Familiar in a way that had sunk into her bones.
It all felt so real.
But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be, because somewhere across the city, in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Theodore Manford lay in a sterile bed, unmoving and unconscious.
A stroke, Maddy had said. An induced coma.
This isn’t him, Augustine told herself. Not really. It’s just a version of him. A memory given shape. A fragment my magic has pulled into something almost whole. Something convincing enough to touch. To believe in. But it’s not him. Not truly.
Theo shifted slightly under her stare, something uncertain flickering across his face now. “Augustine?”
Then he moved. Before she could think — before she could stop him — he crossed the space between them in two quick strides, his hands finding her waist, knowing where to go, lifting her clean off her feet.
“God, you’re back,” he breathed, and then he was kissing her.
It was relief and urgency and something almost desperate, his mouth warm and familiar against hers, his grip tight like he thought she might disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
And, God, he felt real. He felt so alive.
Augustine made a small sound against his mouth before her instincts betrayed her, and her hands came up to his shoulders, gripping him just as tightly. For a second — just one — she let herself fall into it. Let herself be kissed. Let herself kiss back.
Finally, Theo pulled away, still holding her, his eyes searching her face. “What did you find out?” he asked quickly. “What did Maddy say? Was it—” his voice caught slightly, just for a second — “was it her? Was she the one who did this to us?”
Augustine blinked at him, her thoughts scrambling to catch up. Slowly, she nodded. “It was her,” she confirmed. She couldn’t say anything more. Not then.
Theo’s grip on her tightened slightly. “Why?” he asked, but Augustine couldn’t answer.
Carefully, almost reluctantly, she pulled herself out of his arms, and while her feet hit the floor, she didn’t step away.
Instead, she sank down, folding onto the worn wooden boards like her legs had simply given up on holding her.
Theo frowned immediately. “Augustine?”
She looked up at him, and her gaze traced his face like she was trying to memorize it. She took in the eyes she loved in this life and in the one before it, losing herself in their wonderful blue.
“You look so real,” she said softly. “So real.”
“What?” he said, thrown now. “What’s going on?”
“Maybe it's magic,” Augustine conceded sadly. “Or maybe there was a part of me so desperate for you to return, the part of me that remembered you even when you were blocked from my mind, that I conjured you out of nothing.”
“I’m real,” Theo insisted. “You know I am. I’m dead, a ghost, but I’m re—”
“No,” she cut him off sadly. “No, you’re not real. And you’re not dead, either.”
“I’m dead.” Theo slipped to the floor himself now. “I was shot, I felt it—”
“What you felt was the stroke you had. Ten days ago now. It didn’t kill you though. You — your body, that is — is lying in an ICU unit over at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. You’re not dead, Theo.”
“No,” Theo said, a little too quickly. “No, that . . . that doesn’t— Augustine, that doesn’t make any sense. A stroke? I’m too young for a stroke.”
She cleared her throat. “Maddy looked it up. It was a combination of your diabetes and plain bad luck. You’re right, though.
You are young. So, according to the NHS website Maddy checked, you should make a full recovery.
And when you wake up—” she gestured around her — “you won’t remember any of this. You won’t remember me.”
“Of course I will, of course I—”
“You won’t.” There was no point in dragging it out, Augustine realized.
No point in delaying the inevitable. “Because you’re not real, Theo.
The Theo who is real — the one who’s lying in that hospital bed — he’s going to wake up one day, and he won’t remember this.
Won’t remember the past few days. Because it wasn’t him. ”
“So, what am I?” Theo went on, gesturing vaguely at himself. “I’m — what — some kind of projection? A magical echo?” A sarcastic laugh slipped out. “I’m standing right here.”
“I know.”
“You can touch me.”
“I know.”
“So how—?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once like he needed to move. Then he stopped and looked at her again, something sharper creeping into his expression. “How am I here?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Maybe the coma is allowing your mind to fight Maddy’s spell. Or maybe my subconscious was so desperately missing you I conjured you out of nothing.” She paused. “Or maybe it's just magic.”
“Maddy’s spell,” he spat. “She took everything from us, but you don’t seem angry at all.”
“I’m not angry. Not at her. We asked her to do this. Both of us.”
“I would never do that,” Theo argued instantly.
“We did,” Augustine said sadly. “Because . . . you’re a witch hunter, Theo, and I’m a witch. Apparently, we thought wiping each other from our minds was the safest option.”
The words cut clean through the space between them, and Theo’s mouth dropped open in horror.
“What are you talking about?” He finally stuttered. “A witch hunter . . . what the hell even is that?”
“Remember I told you that there are people who mean witches harm? We call them witch hunters, in my world. They track us. They find us. They extinguish us.” She gave him a sad look. “You were one of them.”
“No, that’s not true—”
“It is. You had Maddy remove the knowledge from your mind. You think you fell out with your family because of your job, but that’s not true. You fell out with them because of theirs. You didn’t want any part in it.”
He shook his head, the movement fast and vehement.
Augustine sighed again. “You don’t have to believe me.
That’s okay. And even if you do believe me, when you wake up, you won’t remember it anyway.
But one day, in the future, you might meet a witch.
Maybe not me, and maybe not one of my sisters, but someone.
And you’ll recognize her for what she is without knowing how or why.
You’ll feel her power, like you felt mine. ”
“Augustine—”
She wouldn’t let him speak. Not yet. “When we first met, at that Halloween party, you noticed it,” she told him.
“A more practiced witch hunter would’ve recognized me for what I was right away.
But you were out of practice. More than that, you thought the sparks you felt were just attraction.
You probably spent the whole of our early relationship wondering why it felt so amazing between us.
But that was just . . . just a fluke of who you are.
Who we are. Even now, it’s probably the same—”
“No.” Theo’s voice was icy, undercut with real hurt. “Don’t frame it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it wasn’t real between us. It was real. It is real. I’m real.” He looked at her, the hurt in his voice now present in his eyes. “So, that’s it? That’s everything you have to say?”
She recoiled slightly. “You asked for the truth. I’m giving it to you. You value truth, Theo. That’s why you’re a statistician. Because you like to know the truth behind everything. What else do you want from me?”
“Maybe I want magic,” Theo returned sharply.
“But not the kind of magic you’re thinking of.
Not spells or charms or incantations. Maybe I just want the magic that happens when two people love each other.
Because I do love you, Augustine. That feeling is real and so strong that my chest—” he grabbed her hand, holding it to his heart, “— my chest actually aches with it. And yet you’re standing there, telling me I’m not real, that my choices aren’t really my own, that I won’t remember this. ”
“Are you kidding me?” Augustine leapt to her feet. “Are you actually kidding me right now, Theo? I’m trying to do the right thing here, and you . . . you’re making it so damned hard.”
“The right thing?” Theo rose to his feet too. “What exactly is ‘the right thing’ here? Breaking my heart?”
“How is telling you the truth breaking your heart?” Augustine snapped.
His expression tightened, hurt flashing into anger. “You just told me I’m not real. That my feelings for you weren’t real. That they aren’t real, even now. And you’re saying it in such a matter-of-fact tone, too. Like it doesn’t even matter.”
Tears stung her eyes and she crossed her arms over chest protectively. “Of course it matters,” she whispered. “What? You think the truth doesn’t hurt me too? I’m . . . I’m trying to let you go. I’m trying to do it in the kindest possible way for us both.”
“Trying to let me go?” Theo stopped, blinking at her. “What are you talking about?”
“We said we would say goodbye,” she reminded him, brushing a tear away and keeping her eyes to the floor. “We said we would find the truth, and then say goodbye. I’m not good at this. At letting people go.”
She felt Theo’s eyes on her for a long moment. “Augustine. Look at me.”
She didn’t want to, though. Looking up, looking at him, felt too dangerous. If she looked at him, she knew she would lose the certainty she was clinging to.
“You’re talking about letting me go. But you haven’t asked me what I want.”
Slowly, she raised her eyes back to his.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he carried on, but his tone was gentler now. “You’re thinking that because I won’t remember this, it doesn’t matter. That this version of me, whatever I am, doesn’t count. But it does. And I do.”
“Theo—”
“No. Let me finish.” He stepped towards her. “I don’t know what happens next for us. I don’t. Maybe I’ll remember this, maybe I won’t. But I do know that right now, I love you.”
Something within her swelled with bittersweet happiness at his words, even as she shook her head at him sadly.
“You can’t stay with me. You know you can’t.”
“That’s not your choice to make,” Theo replied. He reached over now, pulling her into his arms. “It’s mine. And right now, my choice is you.”