Page 9 of The Witch is Back

He nodded, breathing in and exhaling any doubt. There was no room for it. What use was the past now? It was the past for a reason. Emmaline had to agree.

His mom began to cough again and his hand tightened underneath hers.

She had to.

Emma stepped from the portal, eyes adjusting to the darkness that surrounded the Truenote manor. In true Southern style, it was painted ghost white, with fancy columns and a wraparound porch and gorgeous oaks that lined the long drive. Lights flickered in the trees and around them, floating and dancing in the breeze aided by magic. Portals opened up here, there and everywhere on the gravel drive as witches and warlocks from Higher families arrived for the welcome home party.

Emma had opened hers and Tia’s portal out of sight in the woods that surrounded the property. She needed a moment to calm herself before stepping into target range. And privacy to remind Tia not to go casting a curse on Bastian when they got inside, even if that would be satisfying.

Her friend continued to seethe beside her as she had done since she’d learned of his return. With sharp, irritated movements, she adjusted the strapless violet sheath she wore. “Arrogant dick,” she muttered, moving on to check her hair. It was perfect, as was her dress, but then everything about Tia Hightower was just so.

She exemplified what a Higher family daughter should be—beautiful, poised, powerful. Everything Emma wasn’t.

It helped that Tia didn’t have much patience with the society world. Of course, being the heir to a Higher family did have some perks. Unlike Emma, who was scorned for running a human bar, Tia’s involvement was laughed off. She could, and did, do and say what she wanted.

And thank the Goddess for it or she’d never have become friends with Emma all those years ago, and helped her when she’d truly needed it.

Loyalty was big with Tia, as she proved now, drawing a hex bag from her clutch.

Emma eyed it. “I thought I hid all those.”

“Not all.” Tia smiled. It had danger written all over it. “Won’t look so handsome when warts break out across his face.”

“No hex bags.” Emma held out a hand.

“It’d be fun.”

“No.”

“Just imagine it. In he comes, waving to the society he abandoned, all of them smiling at him in adoration since Golden Boy can do no wrong—but oh, wait, is that a wart? No, it’s two. Or three or ten. Suddenly, Golden Boy isn’t so golden.”

Emma stamped on the laughter, knowing it would only encourage her. She gestured. “Give me it.”

“Fine.” Tia relinquished the bag.

Emma considered her. “And the other one.”

“What other one?”

“You knew I’d make you give me this. Which means you have a backup.”

“But Emma,” Tia whined. “The bastard hurt you. A little harmless payback is due.”

She shook her head, having had time to form her strategy for dealing with Golden Boy, as Tia called him. “I don’t want him to know how bad it was. I just want to get through tonight. Please?”

Tia’s shoulders drooped and she let out a gusty sigh. “You’re much better than I am.” She reached into her cleavage and pulled out another hex bag.

Emma took them, concentrated. Smoke uncoiled before both bags lit up, a small blaze that burned out in seconds. Those twenty-four hours working on fire magic had paid off. Kind of. Ask her to set something larger on fire, it might take her a week. Maybe a few days with some energy drinks.

She dusted off her hands and then passed them over her hair, which was loose over her shoulders. She wore one of her older dresses, a simple black sheath cut to the knee. Black didn’t draw the eye.

Most witches went the opposite route and preferred color, like Tia, whose violet silk made her seem like one of those pretty candies wrapped in foil. It set off her brown skin and black hair to perfection, making the gold specks in her hazel eyes pop.

“I can’t believe he had the nerve to come to the bar,” Tia said into the pause. She shook her head, her lip curled.

The whole thing seemed surreal to Emma now. Bastian showing up, letting the cat out of the bag. Leah was still recovering from the shock that Emma had a long-lost fiancé. She’d been stunned into silence for a full minute before demanding all the details. Emma’s birthday drinks after the movie had been spent discussing Bastian and all that revolved around him. The harm he’d caused, the emotions he’d devastated. This was why she hated birthdays. They never brought about anything good.

She’d been glad to escape for a shopping trip the next day with Sloane, who was unaware that Emma’s past had shown up like a body she’d thought buried. Instead, the teen had agonized over purple or pink nail polish, as if that held the key to making friends. Emma’s nails remained unpolished—maybe for that very reason.

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