Page 38 of The Witch is Back

She took him into the office where Chester snoozed, so tired out from a run that although his tail wagged like fury when they entered, his body stayed ensconced in his bed. Even the sight of that tail and the hello-how-are-you-I-missed-you vibes coming down their bond failed to dull the keen blade of Emma’s anger.

“Close. The. Door,” she ordered when Bastian would have left it open.

With eyebrows high enough to reach under his hair, he did so. “Why do I feel like I’ve been summoned to the headmaster’s office?”

Of course he’d joke. Everything was a joke. An act. A performance. Nothing was real with him.

Goddess, she was so mad, and she couldn’t get her words out. They lined up, waiting their turn, but her tongue felt thick and stiff as she tried to figure out what to say.

“Emma? Look, if you’re upset about what that jerk said—”

“No.” The word snapped out like a whip. She paced to her desk, braced her hands on it. She’d never been a violent person, but hitting him seemed like a great idea. Her chair flew backward as a pulse of anger ripped out of her.

Bastian stepped forward, wary. “Emmaline?”

She whirled on him. “I’m not her.”

He stopped, confused. “What?”

“I’m not her. I’m not Emmaline.”

His shoulders stiffened, but his face stayed as smooth as a frozen pond. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“I’m not upset. I’m not a tender flower that needs your protection. I don’t need you to fight for my honor.” She was having trouble looking him in the eye, but she trembled with fury.

He held up his hands. “Excuse me, I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need it. I don’t need you.”

A spark of anger electrified his face. “Emmaline...”

“No!” She screeched it and some papers flew up as if a sudden wind had kicked them into the air. “She’s gone. She left when you did.”

Something sharpened in his eyes. “What do you mean? What happened when I left?”

His ignorance fanned the flames.

“I moved on, Bastian. I’m not her. I don’t need you to rescue me anymore. Don’t need you to smile at me, or be nice to me, or to act like we’re friends.”

“I thought we went over this,” he gritted out. “I thought we agreed—”

“Well, turns out, I can’t. I can’t smile and pretend the past doesn’t exist. It happened.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“What did you think would happen? Did you think you’d come back and I’d throw myself at you?” She jabbed a finger at him. “Emmaline was weak. I made myself strong.”

He made an aborted motion, as if he was going to grab her arm, but stopped himself. “What do you mean, strong?” His words flashed out, surprising her with their intensity. “What did you do?”

Chester whined from his bed, sitting up. Even that couldn’t distract her.

“Enough,” she seethed. “It’s enough. Enough pretending.”

“Yes,” he shot back, his jaw so tight, his cheekbones looked jagged. “Enough pretending. Tell me what you did. Tell me, Emmaline. Tell me.” He sounded like he was begging.

She clutched her head, shook it. “I can’t do this—we can’t do this. You need to leave.”

“I can’t.”

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