Page 11 of The Witch is Back

Still, it made a pretty spectacle, with the vines wrapping around internal columns and the lush tall plants creating a greenhouse kind of feel. Bastian’s mom had always liked greenery, especially at the grand parties she’d used to host, and the evidence she still did grew vibrantly on every wall. Some of the vines even flowered with small pink buds that smelled as fragrant as a summer rainstorm.

Emma paused next to one that wasn’t yet fully developed and touched a finger to it. It bloomed instantly, opening up and embracing the light flooding the room from the chandeliers that floated above. Her lips curved.

“I forgot you could do that.”

Bastian’s voice made Emma jolt so hard her teeth bashed together. She spun, one hand out on the column for balance. “Damn it.”

“Sorry.” Sincere apology rang in his voice. “I thought you’d hear me. Though it’s so loud in here, that was probably stupid.”

She had to look at him. It was customary for one party of a conversation to look—however briefly—at the other.

Any minute now.

Emma breathed out. Forced her eyes up. Immediately wanted to curse.

Of course he was gorgeous, dressed in a tux as crisp as an apple and looking just as delicious. He and Tia should have been the ones engaged to each other. They’d have made perfect children, with perfectly strong powers.

Her chest was tight as she nodded at him. “Bastian.”

Something moved in his face, but she couldn’t guess at the emotion before it was gone. “Been here long?”

“No.”

“Did you come with Clarissa?” He glanced toward the sea of witches and warlocks pretending oh-so-badly that they weren’t dislocating their necks to see what was happening. “I didn’t see any flying monkeys on the drive.”

“No.” She ignored his joke and gestured to where Maybelline still had Tia cornered. “I came with Tia.”

“Sure, I remember her.” He waved at her friend and blinked when Tia only used one vocal finger to wave back. He pursed his lips. “Yeah. I definitely remember her.” He turned back to Emma, hands finding homes in his pockets.

The chatter of the crowd swirled around them as neither said anything. They used to be able to stand together like this, comfortable, at ease with the silence.

Now it was as if they were both naked and trying to pretend they weren’t.

Emma’s cheeks blazed as the image grew in her mind, an image she quickly stomped on before Bastian picked up the stray thought. Damn mind magic.

She struggled not to let the resentment that she had to be here show, her determination to hold on to some dignity anchoring it back. She knew it wasn’t really fair to blame solely him for everything that had happened, but it was easy. She was happy to stick to easy.

“You’re different,” he said, breaking the impasse. He leaned his weight on a column. Blue, blue eyes stared at her. “You used to have a lot to say to me.”

Oh, she had things to say to him. “I grew up.”

“I noticed.” His eyes slid over her, ensuring each inch of skin tingled. Her resentment turned into a chokehold. “A whole new Emmaline.”

“Emma,” she corrected.

“Emma.” It was soft, intimate, like the inside of a petal brushing down her neck.

Her hands curled into fists. “You wanted to talk?”

“Later. Can I get you some champagne first?”

She shook her head.

“Then—”

“Excuse me! Excuse me, everyone.” A voice she recognized as Alistair Truenote’s rang out, magically enhanced to rise above the din in the ballroom. Everyone’s heads turned to the raised dais where he and Bastian’s mom stood. Well, where Alistair stood. Diana Truenote half reclined on a padded velvet chair, smile as bright as ever even though her skin matched her house’s façade for paleness.

Emma was distracted from her concern as Bastian cursed at her side. “Damn it. I told him I wanted to talk to you first.”

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