Page 5 of The Witch is Back

The dog took the treat and galloped over to his dog bed where he crunched. Pieces went everywhere.

Bastian rose out of his crouch, dusting off his hands. “Not your average familiar.”

Considering most witch familiars were perfect, prideful animals, that was an understatement. But Emma figured she and Chester were a pair, both out of place in a world that demanded flawlessness. Familiars were meant to help nurture the spark of magic in a witch by way of a spell the witch had to perform that linked the two. Chester was a joyful spot in her soul, a dog that longed only to be with her. Considering how lonely she’d always been, that was nothing short of magic.

She folded her arms, a barrier. “So?”

“So, what does your mom say about him?” A lilt in the words, a searching glance, as if they were sharing a secret. Once, he’d made fun of Emma’s mom, Clarissa, somehow making the day-to-day seem bearable because he was there with her. Until he wasn’t.

Ignoring him, Emma rounded her desk and put the furniture as well as her chair between them. She placed her hands on the chair’s high back, grounding herself. “Why are you here, Bastian?”

He tucked his thumbs into his pockets. “Can’t I just be in the neighborhood?”

“No.”

“Anywhere in the world is our neighborhood,” he pointed out. “The brilliance of magic.”

“And here I thought you’d—forgotten the way home.” The words ripped from her, halting though they might be. The sheer rudeness dizzied her, a kind of giddy thrill snapping some of the ropes that had been tied to how this man thought of her. Along with any lingering confusion or guilt. She’d sooner be mad than feel those.

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but an easy enough smile curved his lips. “And here you are a long way from it.” He nodded at the office. “I never would have pegged you as the kind to leave society. Or own a bar.”

Emma bit her tongue before any more retorts wriggled loose. It seemed once she’d started, the devil wouldn’t leave her be. She shrugged, lifted her chin.

“So serious. At least that hasn’t changed.”

She didn’t like the threads of memory he was tugging on, aware that if he pulled on the wrong one, the torrent of hurt and anger and guilt would gush out.

And she had changed. He just didn’t get to find out how much.

At her silence, he began to wander around the office, which usually felt roomy and now shrank to the size of a dollhouse. She kept an eye on him as she pressed her hands flat against the leather chair. Her thumb screeched.

He caught her wince, turned immediately. “You haven’t healed that yet?”

Before she could jerk away, he was on her. Or at least his hands were as he lifted her injured one. She did pull away then, or tried to, but he held her with easy strength and examined the cut.

He flicked his gaze up, navy meeting brown. Something leaped between them. Unexpected. Unwelcome.

She refused to acknowledge the jump in her pulse and tugged again on her hand. “I don’t always use magic here.”

He let her go this time. “It’s just me. Go ahead—heal it.”

She ignored him and bent to extract a first aid kit from her bottom desk drawer. She fumbled with the latches. They opened at a look from him.

“Don’t help me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Okay. Sure.”

She set about getting all the necessary bits from the kit, relieved to have a task to focus on instead of him.

“Nice hat, by the way,” he said after a beat. “Cute.”

The heat in her cheeks dialed up to blistering. That stupid sequined party hat. Of course, because having to face a man who’d literally run away from her wasn’t humiliation enough. Why not go the whole way and get out her diaries from when she was fifteen, where she’d composed an ode to his eyes?

She wiped that from her mind before he could catch any hint. She might not have mastered mind magic, but Goddess knew Bastian had always had the knack. Most witches learned to block from the cradle, but if you were comfortable with someone, you could let your guard down. And she knew Bastian had often picked up impressions from her in the past.

Well, not now. All she wanted him to feel was nothing.

And the endless itch from some poison ivy. That would be sweet.

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