Page 11 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Maddy shrugged. “Jane Eyre. And I don’t know why you’re surprised. You’re the one who made me read it.”

“No, actually, the Department for Education made you read Jane Eyre, I made you study. Not that you did much of that. I went to at least three parent teacher meetings where I was informed in detail how bad a student you were.”

“What can I say?” Maddy replied blithely. “I dislike oppression, and you raised me to question authority.”

Augustine couldn’t help a small smile from stretching across her cheeks, and Maddy grinned, clearly sensing victory.

“You should relax a bit, is all I’m saying,” Maddy suggested. “I’m sturdy. Resilient. Healthy as an ox.”

“You mean strong as an ox, or healthy as a horse. Not both.”

“I am both, actually. I’m annoyingly difficult to sicken.”

“That’s oddly comforting,” Augustine replied.

“Not for me,” Maddy muttered, leaning back against the sofa. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had. Mr B had me in meeting after meeting after meeting. I could do with a sick day or two now.”

Augustine frowned. “You can take a sick day or two. That’s protected by law, you know.”

“I know, but . . .” Maddy shrugged. “It just wouldn’t be worth it. You know what my work is like. One day away and my boss would fall apart.”

Augustine didn’t like the sound of that. “So? He should learn to cope without you.”

“True, but the last time Mr B had to ‘cope’ without me,” Maddy began, rolling her eyes, “he left me seven voicemails about whether he should wear his blue tie or his red tie to a board meeting he didn’t even have that day. He then sent me another three voicemails about where his favourite mug was kept and if I could let him know where I got the ‘good’ coffee from. I messaged him back to tell him it was Italian roast and he then rang me from Heathrow two hours later, to say they were boarding his flight to Rome and did I want any duty free after he’d picked up the bags of coffee. The man’s a walking disaster.”

Augustine smiled, opening up her till to start tallying up the takings for the day. “Yes, but you like him.”

Maddy grinned. “Yeah, I do. I can’t help but like him. He’s so sweet. Plus, he pays me really well for what I do. Way above the London average. So, I can’t really complain too much about anything.”

Augustine looked up, her gaze instantly dropping to Maddy’s remaining boot, which was planted firmly on the arm of her vintage sofa. She liked that sofa. She’d bought it for pennies on Vinted and then refurbished it herself with a floral green fabric she’d sourced specifically to give off mysterious haunted mansion vibes. Anything rather than the former-café-that-still-smells-faintly-of-fish-and-chips ambiance the shop had originally come with. More than that, the fabric of the sofa beautifully complemented the floral wallpaper, which Augustine had chosen with love and care and hung herself.

“I can complain about something. Your shoe,” she said flatly, and Maddy followed her line of sight, half-heartedly kicking her foot off the upholstery.

“They’re vintage boots,” she offered. “They add depth and character to your establishment.”

“Depth and character, as well as germs, bacteria and viruses,” Augustine returned. “You’ve been on the Tube this afternoon, right? There’s all kinds of dirt and disease there.”

“Okay, so I’ll cast a cleansing spell on my Docs,” Maddy replied, but her voice was still tight. “Why are you so worked up today?”

“I’m not worked up.”

“I beg to differ.” Maddy sat up, planting her feet back on the floor. “You don’t normally lecture me about the germs on my feet, Ags.”

“I was talking about your shoes. Don’t even get me started on your feet, which are probably a thousand times worse.”

Maddy flipped the middle finger at her, before she stood, walked over to Augustine’s desk and glanced curiously at the tarot card still laid face-up on top. “What’s that?”

Augustine flushed, sweeping the deck up with a quick hand, burying The Hanged Man out of sight. “Nothing.”

“The Hanged Man isn’t nothing, Ags.” Maddy looked at her, puzzled. “I didn’t know you still read the cards.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Maddy gestured to the deck. “But it looks like you have been reading them.”

Augustine blushed a deeper shade of red. “I don’t read them. Sometimes I just . . . check in with them.”

“And The Hanged Man . . . ?”