Page 2 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

two

Tia drummed her nails on the couch arm. Once.

Twice. Bored of that, she knocked her feet together on the expensive Aubusson rug, faded from age and sunlight.

She smacked her lips, running her tongue along her teeth in a lipstick check, then cracked her neck.

The noise echoed through the large, tastefully decorated room that many witches would die to be in. Idiots.

When she began to bounce her knees, Emma, her best friend and business partner at the bar, elbowed her. “Quit it. You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” Tia tried to sit still, curling and uncurling her toes to get rid of the excess energy. Late-afternoon sunlight shone through the high arched windows, casting golden puddles on the carpet. “I’ve only got an hour.”

Leah, the third in their trio, glanced over from a cushioned ivory armchair. “You didn’t need to be here.”

Tia gave her a get-real look.

The pretty blonde human sighed. “You know, I’ve officially been out in witch society for more than half a year.

I don’t think Isabella’s going to come after me with a hex bag.

” She said it like Tia was the one being ridiculous.

Fact: humans weren’t supposed to know witches existed.

It didn’t mean squat that, thanks to her warlock boyfriend, Leah had managed to wrangle probation into their society.

Tia was here to ensure nothing bad happened to her friend if her welcome ever wore out.

Even if these social visits were going to be the death of her.

She tapped her cell to illuminate the screen. Four oh three. She could practically hear Henry’s snide thoughts about taking time off in the middle of a workday. He probably had a crystal logging every second she was gone, citing it as lack of commitment. Bastard.

“I know that look.” Leah tipped her Cubs cap back as she leaned against the cushions, her fuchsia nail polish standing out against her fair skin. “What’s he done now?”

“Breathe,” Emma said drily to Tia’s left. “Exist.”

Tia transferred her glare from her phone to her friend. The brunette smiled, unrepentant.

Unwilling to prove them right, Tia lifted her chin. “Actually, it’s my mom,” she lied, or half lied, since the mirror message that’d come through four hours ago still stirred unease in the pit of her stomach. “She’s summoned me. Tomorrow, eight sharp.”

“Ah, so, it’s not what he’s done,” Leah mused. “It’s what you’ve done. Which is…?”

“Nothing.” Tia drilled her red nails on the couch arm again, a little harder. Right? She’d done nothing to deserve getting chewed out. At their doubtful looks, she added, “Seriously. I haven’t done anything to the jackass.”

“Hex bags?”

“Haven’t used any.”

“How many have you made up?”

Silence.

Emma snorted, shifting in place. “Pretty sure Henry could defuse them anyway.”

“Shit. You said his name.” Tia conjured a canister and thrust it at her friend. “Quick, salt a line before he’s summoned.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hey, it worked for the Winchesters.”

“Salt doesn’t stop a summoning, it stops ghosts,” Leah put in.

“As long as it stops him , I’ll buy stock in salt mines.”

“Wait, are there actually ghosts around?” Leah peered at both of them, blue eyes wide. “How have I not asked this before? Does Casper exist?”

Emma poked Tia before she stirred the pot. “Don’t freak her out. Goddess, mention Henry and you turn into a five-year-old.”

Because she recognized the partial truth, Tia grew sullen. “I don’t know why you don’t hate him as much as me.” She set the canister down on the table harder than necessary. “He turned away from you with everyone else.”

A Higher witch clinging to the lowest rung of the social ladder, Emma had been jilted by her childhood fiancé eight years ago and all of Higher society had blamed her for it. That was how their sucky society worked.

Bastian Truenote was a golden Truenote.

Ergo, it must have been Emma’s fault he’d run like a little bitch.

Henry, Bastian’s friend, was equal in status and could have helped Emma, if he’d stepped up. If.

Instead, Emma had ended up fleeing to Chicago, leaving witch society completely.

Emma shrugged as if that time hadn’t left scars only Bastian’s return had healed, though some color touched her pale cheeks. “Henry wasn’t one of the ones that shunned me. He didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly.”

Emma gave her a look, but Tia refused to back down.

Realistically, if it was just about him not standing up for her friend, Tia could have gotten over it, or at least not been mortal enemies with the guy.

It was the catalyst that had forced them apart, an easy excuse Tia could cling to and keep her pride in public, but deep down, below the shields and walls she’d built, she knew the real reason she couldn’t let it go.

Put simply, that night had been the final time he’d shown, once and for all, that she hadn’t been enough.

He’d run from their relationship, chasing his dad’s approval, instead of even trying to make her a priority.

She hadn’t been worth the effort, she guessed.

Found wanting, yet again. The Hightower misfit who always strove for acceptance but never managed it.

And now he was in her face every day.

She dragged her hands through her hair, magic collecting under her skin like iron shavings to a magnet. “I swear, I can’t take much more of him,” she muttered. “Him and his endless staring and unspoken words and his smug, stupid face. Arrogant warlock asshole.”

“Maybe…” Emma hesitated, then went for it. “I mean, wouldn’t it be easier just to let things go? You know, forgive him?”

Her eye twitched. “I will never be that weak.” Again . Before her friends could nag, she said flatly, “Let’s just change the subject.”

It wasn’t the time to get into it, not when they were sitting in one of the parlors at High House, waiting for their hostess to arrive. If she ever did.

Four oh seven.

Ever since Leah’s initiation into witch society, the three of them had been coming to New Orleans once a month to have tea with Isabella Castello, one of the High daughters.

The High Family was the witch equivalent of royalty, or at least, an overseer family that governed all North American witches.

All of the siblings, the main ruling body, were beyond powerful.

They brooked no opposition, took no prisoners—well, unless laws were broken, and then she imagined they did—and were scary-ass mothers to deal with.

Which was why Leah’s insistence on coming alone to the monthly afternoon teas was laughable.

Especially since the High daughter had some kind of fascination with Leah.

Whether it was because she was human or because she’d snared Gabriel Goodnight, the so-called Warlock of Contempt, who knew.

Luckily, the fascination was on the innocent side. So far.

The teas had been…fine. Gossipy, light, frivolous. But the High Family never did anything without reason. So here Tia sat, when she should be staring Henry down from the desk across from his.

Four ten.

“Maybe she forgot,” Emma posed, half-hopeful, her social anxiety probably playing the xylophone on her ribs.

Tia opened her mouth to respond when the door swung open.

“Ladies.” A stunning brown-skinned witch spoke, her voice a touch Southern.

Dressed in a mint summer dress, matching cardigan and with a hair ribbon tying her heavy white curls back, all Isabella Castello needed to round out her picture of innocence was a coterie of doting woodland creatures.

But not even that would’ve concealed the magic that pulsed in the air around her.

The first moment it hit was the worst, breaking over Tia like thrashing waves against a cliff face.

Thankfully, the effects lessened with time.

The witch waved her manicured hands, conjuring a groaning tea trolley. Swiftly, four gilded side plates appeared on the coffee table, along with a cake tower stacked with French fancies. A teapot materialized next to them, steam lazily wafting from the spout.

Isabella took her seat, saying over her shoulder, “We’re fine, Bianca.”

The door shut on the butler, leaving the four of them alone.

“We’ll leave the tea to steep,” Isabella said, smoothing her skirts out. “Emma, how is the wedding planning going?”

Emma’s throat bobbed but she managed a smile. “G-good, thank you. We’ve decided to get married at Bastian’s parents’ mansion. His parents offered and I don’t mind where we do it, so it makes sense.”

Isabella clapped once. “I do love a wedding. And the Truenote mansion is so charming. I assume you hired a wedding planner?”

Emma nodded, fingers curling into her jeans. Tia laid her hand on Emma’s and answered for her tongue-tied friend. “Tamsin White.”

Isabella hummed. “Tamsin is a treasure. You couldn’t have better in charge.”

Emma nodded again, then ventured, “She’s great. I feel so much better knowing she’s handling it all.”

“As you should. It’s your job to enjoy all the lead-up to the ceremony, not get bogged down with details.”

As minutes passed, Isabella continued to pry answers out of her nervous friend, only pausing to pour them all lemon verbena and to pass out the tiny cakes.

Emma slumped in relief when the High daughter turned her laser focus onto Leah. “And how is darling Gabriel?”

“He got angry at the microwave last night.” Leah, who, at most, had a passing acquaintanceship with fear, shot Isabella a delighted grin. “He’d accidentally pressed defrost and yelled for a minute straight about how it was out to sabotage his attempts to make dinner.”

“Why didn’t he just use magic?” Tia asked, genuinely baffled.

“Male pride?” Leah shrugged. “Those three months living as a human made him think he could master everything. Spoiler: he can’t. You don’t want to know how many times I’ve had toast for dinner in the last month.”

Isabella’s laugh joined Leah’s, and even Tia smiled. She wouldn’t have believed serious Gabriel could hook up with her sunshine friend but that was the power of Leah. And love, Leah would say, but she was mushy like that.

As if Isabella could sense her thoughts wandering, she pounced on her. “And how is work, Tia? Other than the bar.”

“Fine.”

“That’s what you said last month.”

Her smile stretched tighter, plaster covering the cracks. “And it’s still the case.”

Isabella hummed. “I would never have pictured the Hightowers and Pearlmatters merging. Then again, you and Henry Pearlmatter…you were involved, yes?”

Tia would sooner gargle with bat dung than talk about this but you didn’t exactly refuse the High Family. She gave Isabella a clipped nod.

Amber eyes gleamed. “Not an easy breakup?”

“You could say that.”

“I think you said it. Earlier when you said he was a—what was it? Arrogant warlock asshole?”

Emma choked on her tea.

Isabella’s smile broadened. “Walls have ears in this place. I’d never have guessed you and Henry are so at odds. Such…passion.” She considered Tia’s face, which she knew had gone sour. “Are you still in love with him?”

Tia’s jaw tightened. “No.”

“He’s very handsome,” the other witch murmured, sly. Searching.

“You date him, then,” Tia muttered before remembering who she was talking to.

It wasn’t that Isabella was cruel. In fact, she had a reputation as the most compassionate High Family member, but considering the family, that wasn’t saying much.

Isabella only laughed, a husky peal that relaxed even Emma’s shoulders. “I don’t think we would be a suitable match,” she said, amusement dancing in her voice. “I doubt I’m his type, and I like a different kind of warlock.”

“What is your type?”

All eyes swung to Leah, who turned bright red at the obvious social faux pas.

As if the personal question had flummoxed her, Isabella sipped her tea, watching them over the rim. “Is this girl talk?” she finally said.

The frankly shy question took Tia aback.

The few seconds of awkward silence were broken by Emma. “Talking about men is pretty standard for that, yeah. But you don’t h-have to…” Nerves tangled her tongue, as they sometimes did, when the witch’s stare moved to her.

Expression still faintly baffled, Isabella let out a considering noise. She drank more tea, eyebrows threading as she thought about it.

Tia snuck a look at her cell.

Four thirty-seven .

“I don’t suppose it matters,” the High daughter concluded, setting her teacup aside. “I will most likely marry for reasons other than love.”

Leah opened her mouth, then caught Tia’s glare and shut it. The diehard romantic looked inches from bursting at the unfairness. Tia, though, wasn’t surprised. A lot of witch society marriages were for power or magic; the High Family couldn’t be any different. It sucked.

It was why her family insisted on keeping a candle of hope alive for her and Henry.

As her mom and nana said with great passion and frequency, his Legacy line was equal to the Hightower’s.

Legacies were the pedigree dogs of the witch world, and to a society where breeding mattered, the idea of throwing away such an influential and powerful bond…

Inconceivable. They should be a match in every way—except that Tia would like to take that match and set fire to his dick.

“Obligation ties us all,” Isabella murmured, and when Tia raised her gaze, the woman was staring at her. “But smart witches make their own rules in the game.”

Unsure if she was trying to comfort, help, or mock her, Tia settled for a wary nod. As Isabella tactfully changed topics to books, she brooded into what was left of her tea.

Smart witches might make their own rules, but she also bet they never got entangled with Henry Pearlmatter in the first place.