Page 67 of The Witch is Back

Do not blush, she warned herself. Especially since, for Bastian, handing out compliments was like passing around a bowl of popcorn. They had no substance and you felt hungrier after.

“If that’s your best trick,” she said with an arch tone, “we’re both screwed.”

He laughed, the sound easing into her like warm honey.

She shifted on the stool. “You’ve, ah, obviously developed your telekinesis.”

“Yeah. It’s got more precise. Comes in handy when you’re on a dig and you suddenly fall down a hole into an ancient tomb.”

Her eyes bugged out. “That happened to you?”

“No.”

“Jerk.”

His dimple danced. “Nothing so dramatic. But for brushing sand or dirt away from delicate objects, you learn to be extra careful.”

The affection in his voice made dual feelings of fascination and envy war within her. “How did you get into that?”

He propped his elbow on the bar, his chin in his hand. It put his face closer to hers, which, with The Kiss still emblazoned on her mind, was not a good idea. Any minute now she’d move away. Sixty seconds and she’d do it.

She breathed in cinnamon and fallen leaves, a scent she’d always associated with him and his magic. And wanted.

“Archaeology?” Bastian mused, returning her to her question. “Well, after I...”

“Left. You can say it. I won’t start screaming at the ceiling.”

His mouth twitched. “After I left,” he said with a dip of his head, “I didn’t really know what to do. I moved around, traveled, saw a lot of things I wanted to see, saw some things people I tagged along with wanted to see. I got caught up with this group of archaeological students from NYU who were doing the summer thing out in Mexico.” His eyes went a little glassy, lost in memory. “I thought it sounded kind of boring, but I’d been on my own for a while and didn’t like the idea of wandering aimlessly again. So, I went with them and met Dr. Frankell.”

A stab of jealousy at the obvious admiration reared up and snagged her by the throat. “A woman.”

“Now, now, Emmaline. No need to be jealous.”

She spluttered.

“She’s happily married to the love of her life,” he informed her over her choking noises. He reached out, snagged her hand and rubbed it with his thumb. The resulting tingle curled her toes.

She tugged at his hold. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not. Well, anyway, she’s a very experienced woman.”

Emma’s expression flatlined. “I’m sure.”

He clucked his tongue. “What a naughty little mind you have there. I’m shocked.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Experienced in her field. She showed us how to map out grids, how to dig, how to uncover artifacts. What we should be looking for. How cultures are built in our minds from one shard of pottery. How stories are woven from the bones left behind.”

Emma blinked.

He ducked his head, and she could swear he looked a shade embarrassed by his rhetoric. “From the time I first held a brush and discovered a piece of history, I was hooked.”

“You didn’t seem to be that interested in history before.”

He shrugged. “This is like living it. Discovering it. Not reading in books.”

Despair gathered in Emma. Like what she did, he meant.

“And they do all of it by hand,” he marveled. “I can cheat some, use my powers, find the interesting stuff, but one of the guys, George, he works quadrant by quadrant and doesn’t find anything for days, and still he gets up early to go work his sector.”

“And you’re right there with him.”

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