Page 14 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

They were left cooling their heels in a parlor decorated in frills and fuss, all low, hard couches in material that looked hundreds of years old, chairs with spindly legs and arms, dark sideboards with dust catchers on their tops, and yet another Christmas tree done up in black and gold.

A fire roared in the stone hearth and Tia watched as Henry drifted toward it.

“What did you mean when you said if it’s only fire ?” she asked.

She didn’t want to talk to him, but they were stuck waiting here anyway. The man who’d opened the door—“Call me Primm”—had gone to fetch Siddeley five minutes ago and if she didn’t speak, she’d fall asleep. Not even the rock posing as a couch was helping.

Henry huffed a sound which might have been a laugh. “My fire magic is…not reacting well to the holes in my memory. My control is pretty much shit. But at least basic stuff—like telekinesis—seems to be working okay.”

Hence the button-pushing test. “You can’t summon fire?”

“Summon it, yes. Control it, not so much. The other day, I tried to light a candle.” He pushed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I melted the wax.”

She didn’t know what to react to first. The fact that his fire magic was on the blink or that he’d just admitted failure to her.

It threw her off. Normally, she’d attack, make a sarcastic remark and he’d retaliate in kind. But he was like this because of her.

“Huh,” was what she came out with.

He turned so the fire cast shadows on half his face and leaned an elbow on the mantel. His hair fell over his forehead, styled softer than normal. “What’s your talent?”

She shifted on the couch, freezing when it creaked alarmingly loud. “I have many.” Telling him her mastery was in alchemy was just setting herself up for a joke.

“Can you juggle?”

“Only my men,” she said airily, which was such a big, fat lie, she could’ve laughed. Not like she was sought after in their society, though she wasn’t sure why not. She might be strong and opinionated, but Higher society witches were all acquired tastes.

“How does a man make the cut?”

“Not being my ex would help.”

His fingers tapped the mantel. Long, lean fingers. He’d always had good hands. “Does it help that I don’t remember being your ex?”

“You are, though.” She had to remember that.

“What if—”

“Lady Hightower!” boomed Siddeley as he strode in, interrupting whatever Henry had been about to say. “Lord Pearlmatter!”

Tia popped up from the couch in relief. “Lord Siddeley. Sorry we’re so late. We hit traffic.”

“Ah! It can be so dreadful around here. I always portal, but I suppose one must have a picture of where they’re portaling, mustn’t they?

” He grasped her outstretched hand and squeezed.

“Mindless of me, I do apologize. But you’re here now.

” He shook Henry’s hand, beaming at them both. “How do you like Silkwood Hall?”

“The Christmas display is…” Garish. Obscene. Something they could see from space. “…impressive.”

That earned her an even wider smile. “Mother and I just adore Christmas. Best time of the year! It’s why we were so keen on you staying now, so you can appreciate everything Westhollow has to offer in the winter season.

But where are my manners.” He smoothed his hand over a waistcoat embroidered with dancing snowmen.

“You must be exhausted. I’ll get Primm to show you your accommodations and we can start fresh tomorrow morning. How does that sound?”

Heaven; it sounded like heaven to Tia.

Until she found herself staring down at a queen-size bed covered in a lavender plush duvet.

The one queen size bed in the one room they’d been shown to.

“Lord Siddeley trusts you both will find this comfortable,” Primm intoned.

He was a beanpole of a man, white, around six foot four, thin and dressed in a pressed suit like any good English butler.

He had a trimmed mustache that was gray like his neat, short hair.

His wolf-blue eyes moved between Henry’s and Tia’s blank faces.

“One room,” Henry murmured, and she could’ve sworn his gaze darted to the bed and then her. His throat bobbed. “It looks, ah, great.” He put his suitcase on the side of the bed nearest the door.

Tia was still stuck on the one -ness of it all. “We’re not married,” she said to the butler, her voice sounding off even to her own ears. Her heart kicked into a new gear, one she worried would end in a heart attack. “Lord Siddeley doesn’t mind us sharing a room?”

“We English are not so stuffy,” the butler told her. Stuffily. “Breakfast is served at six a.m. until nine. You can follow the locator cloud. It will be outside your door whenever you’re ready. Complimentary candy canes are on the dresser.”

With that, he was gone, closing the door behind him with a click that slammed into Tia’s knees, weakening them.

“Guess we should’ve expected it,” Henry said after a minute of awkward silence. His hands lay on his suitcase and tapped restlessly as he stared at the confines of the room. For once, not so cocky.

It wasn’t that the room wasn’t nice. It was, dominated by the wooden four-poster bed that could fit a harem of witches, two end tables on either side, two armoires—his and hers—and a giant mirror that faced the bed.

Normally, Tia might have made a joke about that but all she could focus on was the size. It could’ve been a shoebox for how much breathing space it gave her.

There was a door on the opposite wall and she headed for it, twisting the old-fashioned knob to reveal an en suite almost as big as the bedroom.

Unlike the bedroom, the bathroom was modern, white marble, with a sunken claw-foot tub and a shower that boasted five showerheads and a small bench seat.

Her eyes lingered, brain taking that in all sorts of directions before she squashed it.

She turned back to the bedroom and emotion fluttered inside her. It wasn’t panic, but it wasn’t far off.

How was she supposed to stay in one room with Henry?

Scratch that. How was she supposed to share a bed with him?

Her lungs constricted and she put a hand to her chest. Great. Now she was going to hyperventilate.

“Which, ah, side do you want?” Henry gestured. His expression was tight, the flirty comedian nowhere to be found as he avoided looking at her.

“I always take the right,” she said.

He stilled. “Not going to argue about sharing a bed with me?”

That baby panic spread. “I’m an adult,” she returned, forcing herself to saunter toward her suitcases, which had been left at the door. “Not like anything’s going to happen that I don’t want to happen.”

One eyebrow winged up.

And she realized how that sounded. “I mean, I don’t want anything to happen,” she blustered and snagged the smaller bag that held her night stuff. “And if you come anywhere near me, you’ll lose more than your memory.”

“Uh-huh.” With that annoying sound, Henry unzipped his suitcase. “Sounds like someone protests too much.”

“I broke up with you ,” she pointed out with vicious relish.

“And no one’s going to say anything if you change your mind.” He grinned as the suitcase flipped open.

Tia’s eyes zeroed in on the five— five —boxes of condoms that sat on top of his neatly folded clothes. Everything stilled before her heart leaped into a gallop.

Henry stared down at the boxes.

“Well.” Tia cleared her thick throat, tightening her hold on her suitcase. “You think a lot of your stamina.”

“I’m…they’re not…” He blinked rapidly, color spreading up his face. She couldn’t remember a single time Henry had ever blushed. She lingered on the sight as he took a breath. “Mom must’ve snuck them in.”

Even though it was probably true—and what level of hell was she in that her ex-boyfriend’s mom was throwing condoms at them?—Tia ran her tongue over her teeth. “Convenient.”

“I mean it.”

Tia made herself move to the bathroom, away from those condoms and the warlock standing near them. “Sounds like someone protests too much.”

The bathroom door snapped closed on his continuing objections.