Page 73 of The Witch is Back

“Emmaline.” Diana Truenote’s voice was warm as she leaned on her husband’s arm for support, her eyes even more so. She held out a thin hand, which was cool as Emma slid hers into it. “Or Emma, now, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded. Good manners compelled her to add, “Emmaline is fine, if you prefer.”

“I prefer what you prefer.” Diana squeezed her hand. “I always forget how grown-up you look, but then, I suppose we don’t see you that often.”

If it was Clarissa who had been speaking, it would have been a barbed dig. With Diana, it was hard to detect any hints of disapproval, though Emma sifted through the words carefully.

“Thank you for having me,” she said, and then stalled. Her brain emptied as social panic set in.

Oh, Goddess. They were looking at her—all three of them. Watching. Waiting. Shouldn’t she at least be given a stage and a microphone and some one-liners to warm up the crowd with before going improvisational?

Alistair beamed from Diana’s other side, his jolly face slightly lined, hinting at his age, but so much like his son that it was almost hard to look at them together.

That’s what Bastian will look like in one hundred and forty years or so, she thought. Everyone is going to envy me. Her belly jittered.

“She’s been looking forward to it all day,” Alistair said as he greeted his son with a clap of his hand on Bastian’s shoulder.

“And you haven’t?” His wife angled her head back, the light catching how thin her skin looked, turning it translucent.

Emma felt a clutch in her heart. She slid a look at Bastian, saw the tension in his jaw. Before she could think better of it, she used the telekinesis she’d been practicing (at his decree) to touch his hand.

He startled, then shot a glance at her. She continued to face head-on, embarrassed at the impulse. At least until she felt the sensation of a phantom hand covering hers in thanks.

“Of course I have,” Alistair was saying as Emma forced her attention back to the tableau. He winked at her. “Now I get to spend my evening with two pretty ladies.”

He’d always been sweet to her, and an incorrigible charmer. Nobody had to look far to wonder where Bastian had picked up his ways. But tonight, having made somewhat of an effort, she did kind of feel pretty. She’d tried on multiple outfits, settling on a knee-length black skirt and a boatneck sweater she’d seen in a magazine. She’d conjured it in cerulean blue and was over conscious of the way it drew the eye. She already wished she’d worn gray—like Bastian, who, after teasing her about color, wore a gray sweater with slacks. With his rumpled hair and a hint of scruff on his jaw, put him in a magazine and he could sell anything. Perfect.

There’s a lot of pressure. To be perfect. His words from that night came back to her. He’d been drunk, but also under a truth potion and, not for the first time, she picked away at what that might mean. That entire episode had only produced more questions.

Her thoughts scattered as Diana gave a small tug on the hand she still held. “Come inside, we’ll have drinks in the parlor,” she said. Her small smile was edged with tiredness.

Realizing she needed to sit, Emma allowed herself to be escorted to a small room at the back of the house that she hadn’t been in before. Filled with knickknacks, it was clearly a favorite space. A family room. And she’d been invited in.

The tug at her heart was vicious and she told herself to ignore it. It was all a façade. She wouldn’t be family. Not in any real sense.

Bastian touched a hand to the small of her back as she hovered. “You good?” His lips brushed her ear and she shivered.

With a jerky nod, she drifted into the room, unsure of where to go. Luckily Bastian made the decision, urging her to sit on a couch done up in green velvet. He sat next to her, close enough that his thigh nudged hers.

His mom settled opposite, his dad bending to murmur something in her ear. Her head turned a quarter inch so they locked eyes and she smiled. There was something there, a connection between the two, that made Emma feel as if she were intruding on a private moment.

“We thought we’d have drinks first,” Alistair said to her. “Then roast—you like roast, Emma?”

She nodded. She felt tongue-tied, and with her, that meant she would likely talk in stop and starts. Better to be quiet and dignified.

“Good. Can’t understand vegetarians.” Alistair shook his head, baffled. “If we let cows breed and breed without making use of them, what happens then?”

“I think they become our overlords,” Bastian said with a dry touch.

“You joke, but anything is possible, son. You managed to come out ugly when your mother and I are such stunners.”

Emma tensed at the insult, gaze whipping back and forth, but Bastian just grinned.

“If anything, it’s a miracle I came out so good-looking with a toad for a father. That, and Mom’s genes.”

“Nice save, darling.” His mom waved a hand at Alistair. “If you’re expecting the drinks to grow legs, either cast a spell or forget it.”

He caught her hand, kissed the knuckles. “Virgin H2O?”

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