Page 82 of The Witch is Back

Clarissa moved on to Kole and her face wrinkled as if a lemon had materialized in her mouth. “That suit will not do, Kole.”

He made a show of looking down. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s brown.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Bluewaters should not wear brown suits.”

“Is that in the family grimoire?”

She gave him a withering glance. “You got your sense of humor from your father.”

Far from insulted, Kole nodded. “And my stubbornness from my mother. The suit’s fine, Mom.”

Clarissa hated her children calling her the informal name. Still, Kole earned six figures and was successful in his research career. Enough so that he’d earned the High Family’s attention and approval. As such, his slack was cut a lot longer than Emma’s.

“Your hair is not brushed,” she said finally. She gestured and his hair waved as if a comb had been run through it.

Kole shuddered. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Then I suggest next time we have company you do it yourself, so people don’t mistake you for a tramp.”

“Gee, I do miss this motherly advice when I’m away.”

Emma stared at her shoes, fighting an urge to smile. She loved her brother, even if her heart hammered at the way he lipped off.

Clarissa’s shadow fell on her. Emma swallowed, pushed her gaze past the sapphire pendant her mother wore, past the unsmiling mouth to the cobra-like eyes that—surprise, surprise—were far from pleased.

“Your hair,” she said.

Emma’s hand flew to her head.

“So much of it. You look like a streetwalker.”

Kole snorted. “You really haven’t been out of the manor for a while, have you?”

“Enough, Kole.” Clarissa’s cool eyes surveyed Emma’s face. “Fix your hair.”

Emma stared back, unsure what she meant. Cut it? Dye it? Uncertainty colored her movements as she again ran her hand over her head.

Clarissa sighed, gestured. Every strand of hair on Emma’s head yanked back in a vicious tug, winding together into a high updo. She bit down on a yelp as her scalp pinched. Her mother didn’t even notice.

“It will do. And we’ve already done as much as we can with the rest of you.” Her attention moved wrathfully to Chester, whose tongue was dripping slobber onto the polished marble. “Why did you bring that mutt?”

“He goes where I go.” Emma’s hand rested on Chester’s head.

“He embarrasses the family.”

Emma didn’t say anything to that. No need to state the obvious—that he was a perfect match for her.

With one last disdainful sniff, Clarissa lifted her gaze and let the matter drop. “As for conversation, I expect you to let your brothers lead it. I’m sure Bastian has been bored enough these past couple of weeks. Let him enjoy some stimulating conversation.” Dismissing her daughter, she clipped off in her heels to check something with one of the maids.

“I don’t think Larry, Moe or Curly could muster up stimulating,” Kole commented quietly to her. His hand found hers, gave a squeeze.

She cast a weak smile at him. He was sweet to worry, but she’d dealt with much worse. Hell, if all Clarissa wanted from her this evening was to be quiet, it was a job she couldn’t fail at.

Nerves jittered in her stomach as she listened with half an ear to Kole talking about a movie he’d just seen, completely oblivious or completely indifferent to the scowls being shot his way by their brothers. All she wanted was to get through this as quickly as possible. She already knew it was going to be humiliating; why extend the suffering? But in her need to match the more established Higher families, Clarissa often spun dinner out over several courses and hours. Emma dreaded it.

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