Page 19 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

twelve

If the object of the activity was fun , Henry didn’t think Tia succeeded. He wasn’t sure if she knew the meaning of the word.

“Relax,” he’d had to tell her at least four times in the two hours they’d been at Pie Hard, but she might as well have had pastry stuck in her ears. Hell, it’d been everywhere else.

“Breadcrumbs,” Damon had snapped at their station, peering into the bowl. “You think that looks like breadcrumbs? You’ve seen breadcrumbs before, right?”

Henry had manhandled the rolling pin off her before the warlock wore the indent of it in his forehead.

It hadn’t helped that Griffith had made perfect pastry, earning the least amount of insults from Damon and the most praise from Siddeley, who looked as happy as a child in a sandpit. The two warlocks bent their heads together, chatting amiably as Damon shoved their pies into the ovens.

Tia had begun to look desperate, and she’d snarled at Henry when he suggested she was adding too much filling. He’d wisely kept his mouth shut when the contents leaked out into the oven.

In the end, Damon had grimaced at the pies they’d produced, all shriveled and dark. “Congratulations,” he’d said, poking at the pastry. “You’ve managed to underbake and burn them at the same time. That takes a special kind of ignorance.”

“Still like him?” Henry had murmured, and been glad he had possession of the rolling pin.

“So much for teamwork,” Griffith had snickered, leaning over from his table. “Looks like you two are still incompatible.”

Tia’s eyes had swung to Siddeley before she’d pounced on Henry, wrapping her arm around his waist so tight he’d wheezed. “I don’t know what you mean,” she’d declared loudly. “We make an excellent team. Don’t we, baby?”

Safe to say, Tia was as good an actress as she was a baker.

“Did everyone have fun?” Siddeley asked as they all filed out, Damon locking the door behind them without any attempt at subtlety.

“So much fun,” Tia enthused, a spot of flour behind her ear. She looked rumpled and a little wild and Henry’s fingers curled with the need to touch her.

Oblivious, Tia charged ahead to Siddeley, hip-bumping Mina out of the way, earning herself an arch look.

“It reminds me of this holiday party we had at Hightower Seven once,” she gushed.

“We’d just launched our Hair Growth potion—you’ve probably seen it.

It’s one of our top-grossing products, earning a good five hundred thousand in profit for the company last year alone. ”

Siddeley hummed in response, turning to speak to Chrichton on the other side of him.

Henry rolled his eyes to the sky. So much for slow and steady.

* * *

“They made me bake,” Tia said as soon as Emma answered.

“What?” Something clinked in the background. “No, put the boxes on the other side,” Emma said to someone else. “Who made you bake?”

“Siddeley.” Tia flopped backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She’d come upstairs, ostensibly to cast a soundproofing spell, but really just to wallow. “I am not a baker, Emma.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“I don’t enjoy things I’m not good at.”

“Does anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Henry , Tia wanted to say. Rolling out dough with careless strokes, throwing flour into the air like a performance piece, laughing at his own misshapen efforts. It was weird. BP—before potion—Henry would’ve never given her a reason to make fun of him.

She bit her lip. No, that wasn’t true. He would’ve, when they’d been together and it had been good between them. He used to drive her mad, teasing her, doing stupid things to make her smile. It was only after…

Well, they’d both raised walls, she guessed. She’d never really thought about it before, how he’d closed off to her as much as she had to him.

So this reversal to before was weird. Weird, but…

Nice.

She grimaced. “Other people in the house party,” she sidestepped, not wanting to get into it. Especially since she hadn’t told Emma or Leah about her tagalong.

“I’m sure you made a good impression,” Emma soothed. “You said the plan was to show you’re having fun, right?”

“I…might have let competitive Tia out.”

Emma snort-laughed. “Not the way to win friends and influence people, T.”

“I know,” she wailed, covering her face with her hand. “Help me. How do you let go and have fun but also show off your best side?”

“I think you meant to call Leah. Social anxiety here, remember?”

“Leah didn’t pick up.”

“Wow.”

Tia’s lips curved. “You gotta have some advice. Or if not you, Bastian. Is he still attached to your hip?”

“Abstinence is making you bitter.”

“Please.” She scoffed but her eyes went to the door, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “I can have sex whenever I want.”

“Any prospects? Leah will want a full report.”

Pale green eyes lit with humor. A grin that made her want to smile back. Long fingers that…

“No,” she said forcefully. “This is about work.”

“I thought it was about fun?”

“Oh, screw off.”

Emma’s laugh floated down the phone. “C’mon. Just…forget it’s business.”

“Forget that my family is depending on me to win this investment? Okay, let me just do that.” She kicked out her feet, making the mattress bounce. “I can’t help it, Em. I need this to go well.” If she ever wanted her parents to forgive her.

“It will. And, hey, at least Henry isn’t there,” her friend said, trying to go for the bright side and fumbling the ball. “You get some space from him.”

Tia stared at the ceiling light until black spots appeared. “You’re right. Henry isn’t here.” Not the closed-off Henry.

But flashes of the boy she’d loved. And a man who intrigued the hell out of her.

“I just have to remember what’s at stake,” she said, to both Emma and herself.

Emma blew a noisy breath down the phone. “Leah’s right. You’re wound way too tight. You need some way to destress or you’re never going to relax.”

“That’s just—it’s not even the point,” Tia protested, switching ears and sitting up. She played with the duvet cover, doodling with a finger. “The point is to make a good impression.”

“Yeah, and until you loosen up, that isn’t going to happen.” Emma clicked her tongue. “You just need to find a way to blow off some steam.”

* * *

“The first Lord Siddeley was an extremely impressive weather warlock,” Lady Mildred Siddeley intoned from the foot of the dinner table that evening.

She brandished her fork like a weapon, chin-length gray hair quivering as she fixed her sharp brown eyes on Chrichton, who paused mid-chew to give her an uneasy nod.

She narrowed those eyes. “A Legacy warlock,” she emphasized. She sniffed. “Back then, we didn’t let just anyone dine with us.”

“It’s a wonderful choice of meat, Mother,” Siddeley jumped in from the opposite end of the table. His smile was awkward as he indicated his plate. “Venison this time of year always hits the right spot.”

“Good hunting meat,” she agreed. Her gaze slid to Sawyer, the other unfortunate guest not to hold a title. “Siddeleys have always been hunters and landowners,” she told him loftily. “Generous to our less fortunate .”

Sawyer smiled blandly. “Charity’s great, but you’ve got to look out for number one.”

She looked like she’d sucked a lemon.

Tia hid a smile behind her napkin. It had been like this the entire dinner, the snobby old broad firing insults and Sawyer letting them roll off him with lazy confidence. Chrichton seemed content to settle for his meal, every so often speaking softly to Annaliese on his right.

Sawyer, though, was just cocky as hell. Tia didn’t blame him. If she’d built a candy empire from the ground up, she’d have all the Willy Wonka swagger, too. It made it hard not to like him, even though she did her best. Competitor and all.

Mildred droned on about the Siddeleys, spearing peas on her plate with terrifying precision. Tia tried to nod in the right places, but honestly, her mind was elsewhere. Specifically, back in her bedroom a few hours ago.

Blow off some steam.

Henry smiled at something Sawyer said, drawing her attention to his profile. Strong, aristocratic, arrogant. Sexy.

No , she scolded herself, redirecting her gaze back to her plate, where the venison sat bloody on a bed of mashed potatoes. She hated him. Loathed, despised, pitied. He’d walked away from her, after he’d made her beg. He’d made her weak. Made her feel worthless. She’d sworn never to forgive him.

Except…it was hard to remember that. When he didn’t remember. When things felt almost like they used to.

Beneath the table, something bumped her leg and a wet patch formed on her dress. Lips turning down, Tia nudged Rudy with her foot but the stubborn dog just licked her again.

Sighing, she cut a piece of venison and, when nobody was looking, threw it under the table. She heard the snaffle, the happy panting.

When she looked up, she caught Henry’s smirk. She bristled. “What?” she said, too aggressively.

“Nothing.”

She glowered, spearing another bite defiantly and tossing that under the table, too. “I don’t like venison,” she muttered, taking some green beans for herself.

“And you’re a softie.”

“I am not .”

He didn’t say anything but his mouth curved.

That damn smile. She needed to focus on that, on how he infuriated her.

Not on how much he reminded her of her Henry.

Or how good he’d felt against her, his body broader, heavier, than the boy she’d loved.

Or what his lips had felt like on the underside of her jaw, as if buried deep in his bones was the knowledge of how that made her tingle, right down in her—

Her knife scraped abruptly against the fine china, bringing everyone’s attention squarely to her.

“Ah, Lady Hightower,” Mildred said, lifting her goblet and taking a sip. “I knew your nana in my youth, you know. Excellent family, the Hightowers. How is she doing?”

“Good.” Tia ignored the wet nose pressed to her bare calf. “Still causing trouble for the company part-time.”

“As she should! Family companies demand family input. Why, I still pride myself on taking an interest in Archibald’s work.” Her gaze switched to Henry. “But I hear it’s not a family company anymore.”

If she hadn’t been close, Tia might have missed how he hesitated before answering. “Actually,” he said, “we’re still a family company. It’s just two families now.”

“And Archibald says you two are intent on making that one?”

Tia almost blanched. “We’re…taking it slow.”

Beady eyes shifted between them. “Hmm.”

The doubtful noise clanged every alarm bell. “And very happy,” she added with emphasis. “ So happy.”

Henry let out a noise as she dug telekinetic fingers into his side. “So, so happy,” he wheezed.

“Weren’t you two engaged when you were younger?” the older witch demanded.

The knife slid into its familiar place. Tia dropped her gaze to her plate. “Not engaged. But we dated for a while.”

“And why is it you broke things off?”

“Um, well…” Tia swallowed the bitter taste and stole some time by patting her lips with her napkin. “We were young.”

“It’s true. Young people never know what they want. That is why they need experienced adults to guide them.” Mildred nodded to punctuate that condescending statement. “And you, Lord Pearlmatter. I hear you’re quite proficient in fire magic.”

He inclined his head.

“Such a rare gift,” she congratulated. “I should like a demonstration.”

“A demonstration?”

“Of your magic.”

Tia watched Henry’s throat bob as he placed his knife and fork exactly together on his plate. His hands went to his lap where they wound together to form a fist. “Of course,” he said, betraying none of the nerves. “I can light the candles for you, if you like.”

“That’s a parlor trick,” Mildred dismissed with a wave before Tia could panic. “I should like to see some of the pyrotechnics I’ve heard others gossip about.”

Dread solidified into a fist that jammed down her throat. She’d taught him those. Which meant the knowledge of how—even if he could control his magic—would be lost.

He hesitated.

Griffith, the bastard, leaped on it. “Having stage fright, Pearlmatter?” he drawled, slouching in his chair, wineglass in hand. “I heard you took any opportunity to show off.”

“That would be you,” Tia retorted, trying to divert attention to her.

It didn’t work. “When did you learn the art of casting creatures out of fire? Remind me of the spell?”

Henry faltered. “I, uh, I’m not…” Something flickered in his eyes, something that made her heart unexpectedly twist. “I think it was…”

That ache intensified as color spread into his cheeks.

So she snorted loudly. “Who cares? Remind me of your special talent, Griffith?”

“Pretty fast to jump in.” Griffith tilted his glass to Henry. “Good luck putting up with that for an eternity, my friend.”

Her cheeks went hot and she opened her mouth to counter.

“I don’t need luck,” Henry stated firmly. He covered Tia’s hand where it curled on the table. “And you should rethink how you talk about my girlfriend in the future, my friend .”

“Can you taste the testosterone?” Mina murmured across the table. Even with everything, amusement made Tia’s lips twitch. She rolled her eyes at the witch, pretending that the phrase my girlfriend hadn’t tripped her pulse like an alarm.

“I think we may have got a little off track.” Siddeley hurried to cover the tension. “An exciting day has overtired us all. Perhaps a demonstration another time, Mother.”

She harrumphed. “Very well. But you must tell me how you learned, Lord Pearlmatter. I am quite proficient with rain and wonder if I could apply the same techniques.”

Henry’s hand tightened on Tia’s momentarily. “Sure. But I… I need some time to…go over it. To make it clear for you.”

“Good. Good. I look forward to the lesson.” Her smile was all teeth. “Shall we say tomorrow?”

“Oh, but we have the mulled wine tasting tomorrow,” Lord Siddeley said in dismay.

“Pish posh. Surely Lord Pearlmatter can squeeze in a lesson.” She turned expectant eyes on him.

His skin went sickly white under the dim lighting. “I…”

Apologizing silently to Rudy—though part of her thought he deserved it after the fountain—Tia sent a well-aimed dart of telekinesis his way.

It was gentle, but unexpected, and the sheepdog howled, bumping his head on the underside of the table, knocking over glasses and clattering cutlery everywhere.

“What the devil?” Siddeley exclaimed, bending to peer underneath, right as the dog barreled forward.

Siddeley let out an oomph as Rudy catapulted himself onto his master’s lap. The chair went head over heels and so did both dog and man with a resounding crash.

That put an end to that.