Page 42 of A Lullaby for Witches

Pushing her chair back, she slowly went across the hall. All she wanted to do was forget about the hatred and anger in Chris’s eyes, and now it felt as if she was walking to her execution. As upsetting as her encounter with Chris had been, she was mortified that she now had to relive it for her coworkers. What would Jill think of her? Would she lose Jill’s trust? Would she lose her job?

As it turned out, both Jill and Sharon were across the hall, and they looked up when Augusta hesitantly knocked on the door. “Hey, can I talk with you for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jill said. Sharon was moving to leave, but Augusta stopped her. “Actually, I think both of you should be here.”

She didn’t miss the look that passed between the two women, and Augusta swallowed. Closing the door behind her, she pulled up another chair and perched on the edge, trying to keep her knee from bouncing. Jill’s classical music was still playing softly in the background. Outside, a little sparrow flitted between the branches of the oak tree.

“So, um, last night when I was working in the house, my ex-boyfriend showed up. I didn’t know he was coming.” Augusta stared at her hands, swallowing before continuing. “He was drunk, and he got aggressive and he pushed me.” Augusta could still feel the shock as her body connected with the wall, the fear of not knowing what would come next. She took a breath and continued. “The painting in the hall fell off the wall. It doesn’t seem to be damaged,” she hurried to explain. “But I thought you should know what happened, and that Shayna should probably look at it to—”

Sharon stopped her, leaning forward and placing her hand on her arm. “Augusta, are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I thought you should just be aware so you could take a look at the painting and in case there are any insurance or liability issues with having someone being on the property after hours.”

Jill and Sharon shared another look, and Augusta’s stomach dropped. They were concerned, not for the painting, but for her. And suddenly she realized that she wasthatwoman. She was the woman who stayed with the wrong man, and even though everyone would hurry to point out that it wasn’t her fault, they would wonder deep down why she really stayed when shehadto have known who he was. She was the woman who everyone pitied.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, there was a knock at the door, and then Leo was sticking his head in. “Hey, is this a bad time? I have the summer program applications if you’re ready to go over them.”

“Actually, could you give us fifteen minutes?” Sharon asked.

Even though she was staring down at her hands in her lap, Augusta could feel Leo’s questioning gaze on her. If she could have disappeared into thin air, she would have. “Yeah, no problem, I’ll be downstairs.”

Jill waited until the door had closed behind him. “We’ll take a look at the painting later and see if we need to pass it on to conservation.” She paused. “What about you, though? Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”

It was the same question Leo had asked a couple of weeks ago, and she’d laughed him off. “I’m staying with my mom. I don’t think he would come there.”

Sharon nodded. They were both being so painfully nice, so gentle. “We need to have better procedures in place,” Sharon said to Jill. “Tynemouth is a small, safe town, but we’re still a mostly women–run place and I don’t like the idea of someone being alone here and closing up. Not,” she added quickly, turning to Augusta, “that this is your fault in any way.”

Augusta didn’t say anything, hating how small she felt in front of two women she admired. They were talking about safety training and having an emergency protocol, but Augusta hardly heard them. “I have to go do something,” she said, standing abruptly.

Jill looked a little startled, but gave her a reassuring smile. “Thanks for letting us know, Augusta,” she said. “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Can you close the door behind you, please?”

They were going to talk about her. She supposed she was lucky that they weren’t angry about the painting and that her job was safe, but as soon as she was down the hall and out of earshot, she sagged against the wall. Downstairs, she could hear a tour moving through the house, the low ripple of laughter at something the guide had said. The thought of going back to her office and getting work done seemed impossible. She didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to sit at her desk and pretend that everything was all right.

Tears swam in her eyes, and before she knew it, her entire body was racked with sobs. The last few weeks had finally caught up to her and she felt as if she was being crushed from the weight of everything—the breakup, the hallucinations, the confrontation with Chris. Just as she was about to make a break for the kitchen, Leo caught her coming up the stairs. Wonderful, just what she needed. She could only imagine what she looked like with her makeup running and her eyes red, but she was too tired to care, too tired to try to put on a brave face.

Leo took one look at her, and before she could wipe her tears or stammer out an excuse, he was gently pulling her to him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say anything, just let her cry. He felt good and safe, the muscles of his arms that she’d spent weeks memorizing wrapped around her, his steady presence reassuring her.

But even as he held her, she had to wonder: Could he be like Chris? She had once thought that Chris was the most attentive, kindest man, and look how wrong she had been. It was bittersweet to have Leo stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances when he was only doing it because it was what any friend would have done in the situation. Yet, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to break away.

25

Augusta

When she’d sniffled back the last of her tears, Leo gently held her out at arm’s length and studied her. “I think we should go get some coffee. Sound good?”

Augusta nodded, grateful for the chance to get out of the building. Since the incident with Chris, Harlowe House didn’t feel like the sanctuary it had once been, and she didn’t want to chance breaking down in front of a group of befuddled tourists. Leo let Jill and Sharon know they were popping out, and he led her downstairs, skirting past the tour group and out into the sun-drenched day.

Except for a couple of locals with newspapers and a guy with headphones working on his laptop, the coffee shop was mostly empty. “Nitro cold brew with almond milk and an extra shot, right?” Leo asked her after he’d gently installed her on the sofa in the back.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said, surprised that he had remembered her order. She tried to pay but Leo waved her off, so she waited on the sofa. With yellow twinkle lights strung over it was cozy—borderline romantic. A few minutes later Leo returned, balancing their two drinks and a plate with two thick slices of chocolate cake.

“It looked too good to pass up,” he said as he placed everything on the table. “So,” he said, as he sat down beside her.

“So,” she replied.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

He’d barely had a chance to say anything when the words came tumbling out of her mouth. “My ex-boyfriend came to Harlowe House and attacked me,” she blurted out. She’d already told Jill and Sharon, and she’d rather he heard it from her than second-hand through veiled references. Before she could talk herself out of it, she told him everything from Chris showing up drunk and angry, to the painting that had seemed to fly off the wall.

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