Page 14 of The Witch is Back

“It’s us. Me.” The words were saturated with despair. “She’s dying... My mom is dying because we didn’t get married by the time stipulated in the contract.”

Her frown grew more concentrated, her voice more halting. “Bastian, that...that doesn’t make—Well, it doesn’t make sense.” She’d read the contract. She’d had to, for many reasons, but this...this wasn’t the done thing. There was a time limit in every engagement contract, yeah, but if exceeded, then it went before the High Family to decide the fate of the couple. People didn’t die from not completing it.

“I know. But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He drew in a breath that sounded like it came from the soul. “She started to get sick a few years ago. It was only mild, nothing to rush back for, or that’s what she told me. But I talked to Dad...she’s been getting worse, especially in the past two years. We didn’t know what was causing it. Dad...he wanted me to come home, be with her, but I needed to find answers. And I found them a week ago in Egypt.”

Emma watched him, hardly daring to breathe.

He flicked her an inscrutable look. “I went digging in one of my friend’s houses. He’s a warlock who collects valuable books and has an archive filled with musty tomes full of information most people have forgotten.” He chose his words carefully. “Apparently engagement contracts, if not fulfilled, used to have nasty side effects for their witnesses. There’s a curse written into ours, Emmaline, because it’s phrased like a traditional contract.” He shook his head, just a little, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “If we didn’t get married by the time you turned twenty-five, our witnesses to the contract—your dad and my mom—sicken until the curse eventually consumes them.”

It was like a blow from behind and she reeled, fingers going lax in Bastian’s as he doggedly continued the dance neither of them had wanted.

Her dad...it obviously couldn’t affect him. He’d died ten years ago in a freak potion explosion at his job working in the laboratory of a magical cosmetics company. Her mother had hated that he’d worked and had forbidden anyone to grieve. Emma had worn a black stud in her right ear under her hair so her mother wouldn’t see.

But Bastian’s mom.

It was unbelievable. It couldn’t be true. Why would anyone...

Her mother’s face, smug in the arrangement she’d nurtured to fruition, loomed in her mind. Her mother. A witch who was renowned for her creative tricks. She would have ensured a clause was put in like this. Only she could be that conniving, actually using medieval engagement contracts as a basis for Emma and Bastian’s. No wonder she hadn’t pitched a fit when Bastian had pulled up sticks and flown the coop. She’d been annoyed, put out, but ultimately accepting. Goddess, she’d even allowed Emma to move away from New Orleans.

Because she knew, at some point, her daughter would be standing right here as Bastian begged her to marry him so his mom wouldn’t die.

Sourness hit the back of her throat. Walls closed in around her, clamping her as Bastian spun them into a turn around the other couples. False smiles aimed their way as they twirled and got lost in the melee. No way out.

Her skin had felt hot moments ago; now she could rival a corpse for temperature. This couldn’t be happening.

Vows were serious in their world. Humans may say until death do they part, but as far as Emma had observed, it was more like until divorce do they part, with one human taking the house and the other taking the contents, down to the last insignificant baseball card.

But witches worked with words and binding rituals. Vows held power. If she walked to the altar and faced Bastian and went through with the ceremony, she would always be tied to the warlock who’d run from her. And who’d only returned because he was desperate. If his mom hadn’t been dying, he’d never have come back. To her. For her.

She viciously cut the thought in two. That was Emmaline emerging from the closet Emma had shoved her in. The Emmaline whose deepest desire was to have Bastian turn around one day and declare his love. Declare that even without the contract he would choose her.

Years had passed, she’d moved on. Mostly. And now here she was, in a well-lit ballroom, the toast of society, dancing with the golden prince. A scenario any woman would kill to live. A man begging her to marry him. But not because he chose her. Because she was the other name on the contract. And what a contract it had proven to be.

Her heart constricted and she closed her eyes briefly. “No,” she murmured, pained. She didn’t want this. The box around her tightened.

“Emmaline?” A hoarse note in his voice had guilt rippling through her. “Please. I know you’re not the girl I used to be friends with.” He hesitated and his hand tightened where it held hers. Their legs brushed as they spun. “I know I’m asking a lot. But it’s my mom.”

And there it was. It was his mom. No matter how resentful she was, how hurt she was, how much she didn’t want to marry someone who was forced to marry her, she couldn’t sentence someone to die just so she could leave Bastian the way he’d left her.

Once again, she’d lost. Bitterness tangled with sympathy, but she choked out the word. “Okay.”

Bastian didn’t breathe for a long moment, enough that his lungs protested the restriction. He gulped one in, eyes locked on Emmaline’s—Emma’s—face as he continued to move them both through the old steps drummed into him from childhood. She was pale, her eyes haunted. She couldn’t look less like a blushing bride. But she’d said...

“Okay?” he echoed, voice gravelly. “You’ll do it?”

Her chest lifted as she took in a breath. Unhappiness rode her face. Yet... “I’ll marry you.” He barely heard the words, but she’d said them.

Relief was a typhoon that soaked him, his guilt and worry drinking it in like desert plants. He wanted to drop to his knees, weakness making him so suddenly dizzy that his smooth movements hitched. He fought the ridiculous urge to cry. And ask why she was relenting. Had she known all along that he’d be forced to this, that there was even more to the contract’s hidden clauses than he’d told her? Would she really be willing to drain him of his magic?

But if she had, why would she have refused in the first instance?

Was it a game to make him think she didn’t know or didn’t care?

He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to focus on what mattered. Magic may have been his family’s legacy, but his mom was his family’s heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and at that moment the past didn’t shadow the gratitude he felt. “Thank you, Emmaline.”

Her name joined the last musical note as the band finished their number. Bastian drew them to a stop, staring down at her. Other couples broke apart to wander off, brushing past them. Almost together, they withdrew their hands. Discomfort crawled across his neck. He didn’t put a hand there, aware eyes would still be on them. To that end, he presented his arm to lead her off the floor.

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