Page 135 of The Witch is Back

“Maybe,” she managed, throat raw. “But why should I have to change for him?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m n-not an idiot!” The exclamation exploded from her, a quick tug on the knot that held back her emotions. They tumbled free, rushing through her, her blood pumping as she smacked the counter. Nearby the register drawer burst open. “All my life, you have always put me down and made me feel small. And I let you. That’s on me. But no more. Do you know what I felt when I stood on that stage at the Exhibition? Freedom. To be me, to realize that I am enough.”

Clarissa’s jaw tightened. “Bastian obviously disagrees.”

Her mother had thrived in witch society long enough to know where to stick her daggers. She drew blood.

The sudden scratch of claws was the only warning before Chester suddenly sprang forward from the passageway. Instead of his customary dopey look, his fur was ruffled, ears up as he stalked forward, eyes intent on Clarissa.

Emma’s smile was soft. “That’s what you don’t get,” she said, turning back to Clarissa. “You shouldn’t have to be a certain way to have somebody love you. Love isn’t love if it isn’t freely offered.” Something she’d struggled to realize in her childhood. Hell, even when she was an adult. “Love isn’t selfish. Bastian had the right to be free.”

“Weakness. It’s always been in you.” Her mother was the essence of cold, her face ugly in its twisted expression. “I should never have believed you could succeed at even this. You’ve failed again. This is the last time.”

Emma nodded, taking a breath. “You’re right. It is.” She flicked a finger at the doors which opened on command. “Goodbye, Clarissa.”

Her mother was used to getting the last word in, but as she failed to stare her daughter down, her eyes flashed. A portal that roared its fury tore open near a booth and she stalked toward it. Then she looked back over her shoulder. If Emma didn’t know better, she could have sworn there was a glint of unwilling pride there. “I hope you know what you’ve done.”

Then she was gone.

Emma bent to run shaking hands through her familiar’s fur, letting him lick her cold cheeks.

Leah came out of the back, her own cheeks pale. Her eyes showed a bottomless excitement. “Now, that was awesome.”

Another week passed and Emma’s tattoo grew fainter by the day. Her stubbornness to refuse to talk never did.

And yet, despite that, Emma found herself dragged out for milkshakes off schedule with one chatty teenager.

She lifted her straw and poked at the helluva amount of whipped cream on the top of her milkshake. “I could do without the heart attack.”

“Jeez.” Sloane rolled her eyes and lifted a spoon to scrape the mass onto hers.

“Not sure I should be condoning that either.” But Emma couldn’t really care. People were gonna do what they were gonna do.

“So, we’ve been talking.” Sloane leaned back in the booth and folded her arms.

“We?”

“Your coven.”

“I told you, we don’t have...” Emma trailed off, suspicion lifting a wary head. “Who are you talking about?”

“Who else? Tia and Leah.” She scrunched her nose. “You ever think how funny it is that their names rhyme?”

“Constantly.”

Sloane sucked up some shake. “Anyway, we’ve decided you need to do something about it.”

“About what?”

“The whole dumping Bastian situation.”

“I didn’t dump him.”

“I thought you said you broke the engagement.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

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