Chapter Forty-Six
One Year Later
“I said no.”
Augustine was up to her arm in candle wax, with not one but two sisters at her side. Maddy was by her left, calmly sniffing the scented oils, while Celestine was on her right, a stirring stick in one hand and an astral chart in the other.
“Come on,” Maddy whined. “You went two years ago.”
“I know. And look what good it did me,” Augustine replied sharply. “I met the love of my life, lost him, gained him back, and then lost him again. I have car keys I’ve misplaced fewer times than that.”
Celestine stifled a smile, but Maddy rolled her eyes. “That’s not a reason,” Maddy argued. “That’s a dramatic monologue.”
“It’s a summary,” Augustine corrected, not looking up as she poured the wax with careful precision. “A very accurate one.”
“Mmm,” Celestine hummed absently, glancing between her chart and the candle mould like she was cross-referencing fate with fragrance. “Mercury’s not even in retrograde tonight. You can’t blame the universe for bad decisions.”
“I’m not blaming the universe,” Augustine said. “I’m blaming myself. That’s entirely different.”
Maddy groaned. “Ags, it’s been a year.”
Augustine paused, just for a second.
A year.
It certainly didn’t feel like it, because everything had changed so much in the past twelve months.
She’d started making her own candles, for one. Properly making them, not just stocking other people’s work and pretending it counted. Blending scents herself, experimenting late into the night until the shop smelled like something entirely her own. She liked that.
They’d taken off faster than she’d expected them to. Faster than she’d been ready for, if she was honest with herself. So much so that she’d had to hire help. She had two assistants now, both overly enthusiastic, deeply confused by her filing system, and far too keen on feeding Bird.
He’d gained half a pound.
Her mouth twitched slightly as she poured another candle.
The Roy had become an unexpected bestseller — a peculiar blend of old paper and cigar smoke, warm and nostalgic in a way that made people smile. The Clayton followed close behind, all sea air and salt with something soft beneath it.
But neither of them touched Cinnamon Dreams. Of course they didn’t. As if anything ever could.
Augustine swallowed lightly, pushing the thought aside.
She was reading the cards again, too. That was new, or was it old? She could never quite decide. Not that it mattered. It was a gift, and that was the important thing.
At first, it felt like stepping into someone else’s life, with her grandmother’s voice echoing faintly in her memory, guiding her hands, reminding her what to look for.
Still, the more she practised, the more it felt like her own.
Like something she’d been holding at arm’s length for far too long was now snug in her warm embrace.
Although reading the cards came with spirits, and—
Well. They had certainly taken some getting used to.
Not that she feared them. It wasn’t that. They came and went, sometimes mere quiet presences, sometimes louder. Some needed help. Some were just passing through. Some just wanted someone to talk to.
Just like Roy. Just like Mrs C.
Augustine’s throat tightened when she thought of them, but only briefly. She couldn’t help it; she missed them. But then she would always miss them, she realized, just like she still missed her mother.
It had taken time, but she’d forgiven herself fully for that.
For a long time, Augustine had carried her guilt about that final reading deep within her.
She’d always thought that if she’d just read that card differently, just seen it properly, everything might have changed.
Her mother would still be here, and she and her sisters wouldn’t be living in this state of perpetual half-fear.
Now she knew better, because sometimes you made mistakes, and sometimes, even if you hadn’t, things would have happened exactly the same way anyway.
Augustine realized now that whatever she’d said that night, her mother still would have gone. It could have been The High Priestess or The Fool. It could have been the Three of Wands or King of Cups. Upright or reversed. It didn’t matter. She would have gone.
“Augustine,” Maddy suddenly said, waving a hand in front of her face. “You’ve gone all mysterious and distant.”
Augustine blinked. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“That’s a dangerous pastime,” Celestine muttered. “With your brain.”
“Hey,” Augustine returned, nudging her older sister. “Isn’t that fancy university of yours back in term yet?”
“My department isn’t back for another week,” Celestine shot back, sticking her tongue out.
Maddy leaned in. “You’ve been thinking about Theo today, haven’t you?”
Augustine’s hand stilled, but just for a fraction. Then she kept pouring. “I don’t think about Theo,” she said lightly.
Maddy gave her a look. “You literally use his favourite scent as your bestselling candle.”
“That’s a coincidence,” Augustine replied.
“It smells exactly like him.”
“Cinnamon is a common scent, Madeline.”
Celestine coughed, very deliberately not disguising the word “liar”.
Augustine shot her a look, but didn’t argue further, because, well, there wasn’t much point.
She did think about him, and more than she let herself admit.
Still, she never looked him up, or asked questions she didn’t want real answers to.
Theo had promised her that if he ever remembered her, he would come back. So far, he hadn’t.
So, Augustine made herself accept the only explanation that didn’t require hope: he’d forgotten her.
Maddy had tried, once or twice — subtle at first, then less so — to badger her into looking him up, but Augustine shut it down every time.
“Just a quick Google search,” Maddy had begged. “Please. Let’s at least find out if he woke up?”
“Don’t,” Augustine had replied. “Please.”
Maddy’s expression had softened slightly. “You don’t even want to know if he’s okay?”
Augustine had hesitated, before she shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine. Besides, it’s for the best that I don’t know.”
Looking him up wouldn’t change anything anyway.
Press play. Don’t live on pause, she had to remind herself. This way, we can both move on.
It was almost true. Almost. Sometimes, Augustine missed Theo so much it physically hurt her.
Still, it was easier to imagine Theo awake and alive than to picture him in that bed, lifeless and covered in wires.
It was easier to imagine him moving on from that awfulness and living a full and happy life.
Even if it was a happy life without her.
Now, Maddy only sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re still coming tonight. I have your cat ears in my bag.”
“I’m not going.”
“You are.”
“I’m really not.”
Celestine finally looked up from her chart. “You are,” she said calmly. “I’ve already factored it into the evening.”
Augustine spluttered. “You can’t factor me into your star charts.”
Celestine raised an eyebrow. “Watch me. There’s strong Mars energy tonight. It’s going to be a good night. If you don’t believe me, check in with your cards.”
“I’m not checking in with my cards about whether or not to down vodka shots with the two of you at a Halloween party!” But it was too late. Maddy was already grinning, glowing cat ears in her hand.
“Good,” her younger sister announced, plopping them onto Augustine’s head. “That’s settled then. Mars says yes. The stars are aligned. I’m going as an angel again, by the way.”
“Why, hoping to see your devil man again?” Augustine teased, shooting Maddy daggers, but surprisingly, Maddy blushed.
“Says the woman who’s going as ‘shop owner who stays home’,” Maddy said, and Augustine shot an annoyed glance at her.
Celestine set her chart aside, reaching for a cloak draped over the back of a chair. “I’m going as something astrologically significant and deeply misunderstood.” Augustine watched as she popped fake vampire fangs into her mouth.
“Vampires are not deeply misunderstood,” Augustine told her. “Nor are they astrologically significant.”
“Of course they are. Pluto is lord of the underworld,” Celeste retorted.
“Don’t be so picky, Ags. Celeste makes a great vampire,” Maddy added, before she pointed at Augustine. “While you are coming in costume as my sister who actually leaves the house for once.”
Augustine opened her mouth to argue, before she took in her sisters.
She looked at Maddy, bright and insistent, and then at Celestine, already halfway dressed.
They were hardly ever together. Hardly ever in the same place at the same time.
Augustine sighed, gazing at the shop around her and the life she’d built.
At the magic she’d finally stopped running from.
“All right, fine,” she finally agreed. “If Mars insists.”
Maddy whooped.
“But,” Augustine added quickly, pointing a wax-covered finger at her, “if anything remotely traumatic happens, I’m leaving immediately.”
“Deal,” Maddy said, while Celestine smiled faintly.
Augustine shook her head, but there was a small smile tugging at her mouth now as she turned back to the candles.
* * *
The office was already loud by the time they arrived.
Music thumped somewhere too close to the walls, cheap speakers doing their best, with the lights dimmed just enough to feel intentional rather than broken.
Decorations were everywhere — fake cobwebs stretched across door frames, plastic pumpkins clustered in corners, and there was a bowl of something aggressively fluorescent on the drinks table.
Maddy had clearly been hard at work that day.
Augustine hovered just inside the doorway, suddenly and irrationally certain she’d made a mistake. She’d been here before. She remembered it all too clearly. The cobwebs. The costumes.
Steve Jobs in the corner.
“God, I hate this already,” she muttered.
“You love it,” Maddy said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her further inside. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“I know it,” Augustine replied. “I hate it. I’ve been here before, remember?”