Page 20 of The Witch is Back

Clarissa tipped her chin down. “There’s no need for the pretense. We all know why you’ve returned.”

He arched his eyebrows, every muscle tense.

She appraised him. “You’re here to fulfill the contract at last. I know Emmaline may not be powerful or beautiful, but I assure you, she can be biddable.”

Biddable. Like a dog.

But then, was her mother wrong? She was just standing here, letting the insult slam into her.

She may have moved out, got a job, lived independently, renamed herself. But with her mother, she’d always be meek, quiet Emmaline.

Blood surged to her cheeks with humiliation.

“Why did you decide to return now?” Her mother looked at him expectantly, too used to being obeyed to consider the rudeness in her question.

Even as the thought crossed Emma’s mind, she caught the glint of mockery buried in those chips of brown ice. Disgust reared up as the realization sank in. Oh, Clarissa knew. And she was poking the sore spot for fun.

A hot emotion closed around Emma’s throat. How far did apples fall from the tree?

Bastian was cool beside her. “Duty. Friendship. Family.”

“Of course,” Clarissa murmured. “What else would it be.”

The hum of power under his skin sank into Emma, like a static shock at where they touched.

“On that note, I need to have a word with my daughter in private. About our plans for the future.” Her gaze switched to Emma, unaware of the powder keg beside her. “Motherly advice for the Divining. That sort of thing.”

She didn’t wait, only turned and headed to a retiring room earmarked for the guests to sit a spell.

Bastian’s eyes were dark. “Future plans?” he asked lightly. “Sounds nefarious.”

“It’s never anything but.” Her joke fell flat. She shifted, uncomfortable.

His hand touched her chin. “You don’t have to go.”

Her knight in shining robes. Except now she knew a damsel couldn’t depend on anyone. Sometimes they needed to face the dragon alone.

“I won’t be long. We can act the happy couple when I’m back.”

He bit back whatever he was going to say. Nodded.

Emma dropped her hand from Bastian’s arm and, without looking at him, trudged after her mother.

Or began to. After five steps, an invisible hand smacked her on the butt.

She stopped dead. He did not. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Angling her head back, Emma let loose some of the anger she felt at being trapped and channeled it into a full dead-eyed glare at Bastian.

Who merely shrugged. “It’s what teammates do.” He smiled then, and this was a warmer temperature. It slid into Emma’s body and rippled like sunshine, banishing some of the shadows from dealing with her mother.

Still, she narrowed her gaze. “Don’t.” She might have said more, but Clarissa would be irritated to be kept waiting.

She found her mother in the blue retiring room. The Truenotes had used every shade of the color in an effort to wrap the guests in feelings of calm, a striking and comforting sensation. Emma had often retreated here at a Truenote ball until Bastian could find her.

The colors did their best, but Clarissa Bluewater was too much their match.

“Are you trying to embarrass the family?” was her opening salvo, as soon as Emma stepped foot into the room. Emma kept quiet, as she’d learned long ago that this wasn’t a question to answer. Clarissa waved a hand. “That’s what you wear? On the night of your official engagement? The night we’ve been waiting for since you drove the Truenote boy off?”

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