Chapter Forty-Six #2
Twice, she reminded herself, carefully keeping that fact to herself.
Celestine drifted in behind them, eyes flicking briefly upward like she was checking something only she could see. “Nothing catastrophic yet,” she said. “That’s promising.”
“You mean comforting,” Augustine dead-panned.
Maddy was already being pulled away — friends, colleagues, people in questionable costumes calling her name — and within seconds she was gone, swallowed into the noise.
Augustine exhaled slowly. “Well,” she murmured. “That’s me abandoned all over again. And this time she didn’t even give me wine.”
Celestine didn’t reply straight away. Instead, she watched Augustine. Not that Augustine was doing anything in particular, simply staring off into the shifting blur of bodies and costumes and noise, her gaze unfocused, like she was seeing something else layered over it all.
Celestine’s expression softened. “Maddy told me what happened, you know. She told me the whole story. I wish you’d just run off with him, you know,” Celestine added.
Augustine blinked. “Who?”
Celestine gave her a look. A long one. “Don’t play that card with me. You know I’m talking about Theo.”
Augustine shrugged, a small, noncommittal movement.
Celestine sighed. “You should have just gone,” she said. “Disappeared. No one would have found you. You could have been together. And safe.” A beat. “You could have just done that.”
Augustine said nothing.
“Then there would’ve been no need for memory spells,” Celestine went on. “No heartbreak. None of this.”
Augustine’s gaze drifted across the room until it landed, briefly, on Maddy — laughing, alive, bright and uncomplicated.
She nodded towards her. “You know why I couldn’t have done that. The girls need me. Maddy and Clem. They both have so much power. So much potential. I couldn’t leave them. You know that.”
Celestine followed her gaze, then nodded slowly. “Maybe that was true ten years ago. Maybe that was true when Mum first disappeared. But not now. I know you blamed yourself for what happened—”
Augustine’s head turned back sharply. “How did you know that? I never said anything.”
“I could just tell,” Celestine said with a sigh. “You blamed yourself. You took it all on like it was yours to fix, like you had to step in. Fill the gap. Fill her gap.”
Augustine’s jaw tightened. “Maybe,” she conceded reluctantly.
“Not maybe, you did,” Celestine repeated, softer this time. “And it was the right thing to do when Clem and Maddy were younger. But not now. Not any more. Clem’s not even here much.”
At that, Augustine stiffened. “I hated that,” she said, her words sharp. “What we did. Sending her away.”
“You mean what I did,” Celestine said, turning to look at Augustine. “I know you blame me for it.”
“She was just a baby.” Augustine’s words were tight. “Just a girl.”
“She was eighteen,” Celeste replied. “And you know it isn’t safe for us to be together. Even nights like this, with three of us here all at once . . .” She shook her head. “Clem had her inheritance. It’s not like we sent her off with nothing.”
“She’s never come home,” Augustine said mournfully. “I haven’t seen her in five years.”
“She calls,” Celeste said quietly.
“It isn’t the same. I miss her. And I hate that she’s off somewhere I can’t pronounce, trying to save the world—”
“No,” Celestine interjected. “She’s off somewhere I can’t name, trying to find Mum.”
Augustine turned towards her, her mouth falling open. Silence stretched between them as Augustine took in this news.
Clem. Quiet, careful Clem, with her soil-stained hands and soft voice, her gardens and her green magic — out there chasing something impossible.
“Mum’s dead,” Augustine stated bluntly. “We all know that.”
Celestine nodded. “We all know Mum disappeared. We had her declared dead. But I always said that there was a chance Mum managed to take out the witch hunter who found her. That’s the only reason I can think we’re all still alive.”
“I don’t like this,” Augustine muttered. “Bring Clem home.”
Celestine opened her mouth, before she closed it slowly with a sigh. “One day I will. I promise.” Then her tone shifted, something lighter threading back in. “Honestly,” she said, “I almost hope that one day you just . . . won’t be here.”
Augustine frowned. “What, just like Mum?”
Celestine shook her head immediately. “No. Not like Mum.” She hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Just . . . look, if I wake up one day and you’re gone,” Celestine went on, her voice gentler now, “I’ll know where you are.
I’ll know you finally did it.” A small smile tugged at her mouth.
“That you ran off with him. A witch and a witch hunter, somehow making it work.” She shrugged lightly. “Because they can.”
Augustine looked at her for a long moment. “You’re a lunar witch, Celeste,” she added. “That kind of happy ending isn’t written in my stars.”
“You don’t know that.” Celestine shrugged. “That’s the thing about the stars, sis. They’re always moving. Nothing’s set.”
Augustine gazed at her, but Celestine only sighed. “Drink?”
“Yes,” Augustine said. “Strong. Preferably something that makes me forget I agreed to come here. Poison, if they have it.”
“I’ll see what the universe provides.” Celestine disappeared into the crowd with unsettling ease.
Augustine watched her go, then exhaled through her nose.
She was alone. Of course she was alone. She shifted her weight, letting the noise of the room blur into a background hum again.
People were laughing too loudly, while someone — not Maddy, for once — knocked into a table.
A plastic skeleton arm fell off a wall and no one seemed bothered enough to fix it.
It was normal, everyday Halloween chaos.
Twenty minutes, Augustine promised herself. Twenty minutes, and I’m out of here.
She didn’t even make it to ten, though.