Page 10 of The Witch is Back

“Anyway. Screw him.” Tia tilted her head to the entrance, where witches and warlocks from Higher families and their less lucky counterparts streamed in like fish up a river. “Ready?”

Emma inhaled. “Sure.”

The two stood still for another minute.

“Give me ten seconds and I could make another hex bag?”

A smile broke through Emma’s ice. She slid a mock-warning look to her friend. “No hex bags.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Tia indicated. “Shall we, then?”

They stepped out of the trees and onto the gravel. It crunched under their heels as they navigated the drive then hiked up the steps. The invitation that had appeared on her bedroom mirror—along with a pointed note from her mother about how she expected Emma to reflect well on the family—had said midnight. The witching hour. Cute. Probably Bastian’s idea.

Emma’s breath grew shorter as they entered through the grand doors and headed for the ballroom. Already people were starting to notice her, fans flapping harder, whispers buzzing behind them. Some titters that twisted Emma’s nerves, which were already wound so tight that any minute she’d start vibrating like an overwound alarm clock.

“Oh, Goddess.” Tia’s mournful murmur jerked Emma’s attention away from a group of society matrons that were openly pointing at her. “Here comes Maybelline.”

Maybelline Pearlmatter was one of the biggest gossips in society and got away with it purely because her family happened to be one of the oldest. Amazing what societal deafness generations of power could buy. She dressed only in shades of green and always wore a feather in her hair.

Emma spotted it bobbing toward them through the crowds that packed the ballroom.

She eyed the distance from where she stood to the corner she used to hide in as a kid.

Tia’s hand locked around Emma’s wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Tia, darling!” came the exclamation not ten seconds later. Maybelline burst free from the groups like a head from a tight dress, arms outstretched. Her dress was a voluminous affair of emerald satin paired with a peacock feather stuck in a pale green turban. Wisps of her blonde hair curled out from under the turban to frame a face with a jawline that was as sharp as her tongue.

Maybelline had always been extraordinarily kind to Emma, considering how much fodder she was for the gossips. But the older witch did have a tendency to latch on to someone, calling attention to herself and her companion. Not Emma’s idea of a good time.

An invisibility charm would be good right about now, she thought as she held still next to Tia, who was embraced with enthusiasm. Then again, maybe if she stayed still enough, Maybelline wouldn’t know she was there.

“It’s been too long!” Clouds of scent wrapped around the three of them as Maybelline drew back. “And you’re looking stunning as usual. Now, I know we’ve talked before, but Henry—”

“Ancient history, Maybelline.” Tia’s voice was firm at the mention of Maybelline’s son. Emma almost expected a sign reading Keep Out to appear in front of her.

The older woman sighed. “But you would make me such beautiful grandchildren.” She spun to Emma in the next beat. “And Emmaline Bluewater, as I live and breathe. You’re looking...” She hesitated as her eyes slicked down Emma’s dress, which was the antithesis of Maybelline’s and every other witch’s here. “...healthy,” she finished. “Although a little color in your cheeks would work wonders.”

“Hello.” Emma’s voice was barely a wisp of sound.

“Still shy?” Maybelline clucked her tongue. “I’d have thought Clarissa would’ve defeated that by now.”

Clarissa Bluewater had definitely tried to get rid of what she viewed as her daughter’s impediment. Emma pursed her lips and said nothing.

Maybelline patted her hand. “But at least you return with glory, my dear. All those sniggering idiots are now eating crow. Some literally.” Her smile turned catty. Emma didn’t want to ask, but then as always with Maybelline, she didn’t have to. The older witch wasn’t one for playing coy. “Your mother has been on a tear, her head high and triumph blazing on it as if she had trumpets playing wherever she goes. And if anyone dares to say anything, her punishments are...creative.”

Emma’s forehead lined, even as her eyes darted around at the mention of her mother. Reactively she smoothed any wrinkles out of her dress.

“Triumph?” Tia lifted an eyebrow. “What triumph?”

“Bastian’s return, of course.”

Emma didn’t see how Bastian coming back could equal triumph for her mother, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was find Bastian, have him say whatever he needed to say, cut him off at the knees with some well-chosen words—well, a gal could dream—and then take the fastest portal home. She had a pint of mint chocolate chip in the freezer that promised to be warmer than any of these people.

“Sorry, Maybelline.” She gestured in a random direction. “I’m going to find...um, Bastian.” His name felt intimate on her tongue.

“Of course, go, go! Lovers reunited—always makes for a great story.” Maybelline sighed, and then glanced slyly at Tia again. “You know, Henry—”

Emma headed off with an apologetic glance at Tia. She circled the room, as close to the walls as she could get, trying to blend in with the furniture that lined them even as everyone else gathered in groups, talking and laughing and drinking from gold flutes filled with champagne.

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