Page 39 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

twenty-five

The game had been a stroke of genius. Air cleared, situation back on track, and Henry had gotten to ask his questions in a way Tia was, mostly, fine with.

She didn’t think about her answers, or how he’d watched her as she’d said them.

It made her feel edgy and she didn’t want that. Things were fine.

Or they would be if he’d drop this conversation.

“You had your shot,” she muttered as he followed her to their seats at the dinner table. She speared him with a look. “Not my fault if you didn’t ask all twenty questions.”

“We never specified a time frame,” he countered, wiggling his eyebrows and looking stupidly adorable. “Therefore, the game’s still running. Don’t look so pissy,” he added, lifting a hand to touch her nose and grinning as she batted him away. “You’ll get your payment. In full.”

Her skin heated and she turned her nose up on his laugh. She couldn’t help huffing in amusement as he pulled her chair out with an exaggerated air.

“A gentleman when Lady Mildred is here,” she murmured.

“Always.” He leaned in as she sat, his whisper warm against the shell of her ear. “Didn’t I prove earlier the lady always comes first?”

A shiver tickled her skin.

“What are you whispering about down there, Lord Henry?” Mildred demanded from the head of the table. She lifted her wineglass and a staff member in a snowman tie came forward to fill it.

Henry dropped into the chair next to Tia’s. “I was complimenting your table arrangements, Lady Mildred.”

She nodded at him in approval. “A good arrangement sets the tone of the evening, much as the music does.”

Considering the instrumental version of “Silent Night” was playing, Tia hoped not.

“You may want to take notes,” Mildred directed to Sawyer, who sat on Tia’s left. Condescension dripped like melting ice. “In case you ever host a dinner for your…clients.”

The confectionary warlock tilted his already empty wineglass at her. “Top tip,” he said, his accent making it hard to tell if he was knocking on the door of sarcasm or already had a foot inside.

Mildred harrumphed and shifted to Mina on her right.

Tia chuckled under her breath. “No headway with her, then?” she asked the Brit.

“Other than our countryland, the only thing I have in common with that witch is our lack of tolerance for bullshit.” His eyes slid lazily to Henry. “Table arrangements?”

Henry shrugged. “Better than what we were actually talking about.”

Tia dug a telekinetic finger into his ribs and he jumped.

Sawyer’s lips curled. “You know, Griffith doesn’t believe you two. You want to watch him.”

“You’re not worried about losing?”

“Archie and me go way back. He’s already invested capital with me. Besides, I’m not a potion maker.” He looked at Griffith across the table, talking quietly with Annaliese. “He’s feeling the heat.”

“Good.”

As Sawyer snorted, Tia glanced around. Siddeley was noticeably absent, as was his dog and familiar. “Where is our festive host?”

Sawyer shrugged.

They waited another ten minutes before Siddeley’s voice boomed through from the hall.

“There he is,” Mildred announced, as if they’d all gone collectively deaf. “Archie, you’re late and our guests are already seated.”

“Apologies, Mother.” Siddeley appeared, bundled in tan pants, a white sweater with a reindeer nose that flashed and a tan gilet. Excitement made him bounce. “I wanted to wait outside for our guest.”

Tia slanted Henry a questioning look. He squeezed her knee, slipping his thumb behind to stroke the soft skin there. She squirmed, warning him with a harder telekinetic poke.

Devilry made the pale green of his eyes dance.

She tugged his hand away, sighing when he only threaded his fingers through hers, nipping at the knuckles. She refused to smile at his antics.

“We’re so happy you extended the invitation,” crooned a familiar feminine voice that made Tia’s blood freeze before it rushed straight to her head. Black spots twirled around her vision.

There was no way. No. Way.

But there she was. Isabella Castello, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and about to fuck Tia and Henry over.

The High daughter was dressed in teal, a pretty A-line dress with a black patent belt and matching shoes. Oblivious to the snow outside, she carried only a black purse tucked under her arm. Her white hair curled softly around her shoulders as she nodded at the guests.

When she reached Tia and Henry, her smile was slow and feline. “My, my, if it isn’t my friend Tia,” she greeted her, flicking her amber gaze to Henry. Then their joined hands. “And her arch nemesis.”

Tia flinched. She didn’t bother letting go of Henry’s hand; shit was already sprayed around the room by the fan. Damage control was all she had left.

“Isabella,” she returned, voice strained.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” Isabella teased, hands linking behind her back.

“I’m just surprised.”

“Don’t you love surprises?” Isabella tucked an arm into Siddeley’s, who flushed red. “Dear Archie here knew I was coming into town to talk to the English High Family about boring politics and invited me to dinner. Isn’t he a lamb?”

“Such a lamb,” Tia echoed. Henry’s hand tightened on hers.

Isabella’s smile deepened. “You’ll have to sit by me. We have so much to catch up on.”

“Lady Isabella,” Mildred intoned from up the table. “What do you mean by ‘archnemesis’?”

Griffith smirked in his seat. Asshole.

To Tia’s surprise, Isabella waved that away. “Just teasing, Lady Mildred. Referring to their past locking horns.” Isabella’s pretty face didn’t show a flicker of her lie, but she was raised in a cradle of them.

Her next words landed like a well-aimed hex bag. “Sometimes it feels like only last month they hated each other.” Before Tia could even think of a reply, Isabella was sauntering up the table. She stopped by Sawyer. “If you’d be so kind, handsome gentleman?”

Sawyer grinned in appreciation as he rose. “For a pretty girl, always.”

“She’s far more than a girl, Mister Sawyer,” Mildred barked. The sapphire collar around her throat quivered with her noble indignation. “This is Isabella Castello, daughter of the American High Family.”

Sawyer tipped two fingers to his forehead in a salute.

Far from insulted, Isabella inclined her head. “And you are…?”

“Theodore Sawyer.”

She offered her hand and he took it, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Yes, I believe my butler enjoys your death-by-dark chocolate.”

“Orgasmic, some say,” he said, winking.

“ Mr. Sawyer .”

He just laughed and took the seat next to his original. Isabella held up a hand to the fuming Mildred. “It’s fine, Lady Mildred. I recognize a scoundrel when I see one.”

“Archie invited him. And this one.” Poor Chrichton stiffened as a thumb jerked his way. “Please be assured we don’t usually have such a…mix. Only for his business would I be welcoming them to my table.”

Isabella tilted her head, never letting the sweet smile slip. “Of course. I never imagined you any differently, Lady Mildred.”

Her words were polite, soothing, but Tia swore there was a jab underneath. Of course, this was Isabella. Every word she spoke should be weighed, measured and sifted to understand its true meaning.

Isabella gracefully took Sawyer’s abandoned seat and angled her face to Tia. Although her lips barely moved, the words projected right into Tia’s ear.

“My friend, you have some explaining to do.”

* * *

Friend , Tia thought later, when she and Isabella were out under the cloudy night sky.

A net of tiny glowing orbs Isabella had conjured drifted over their heads as they walked, illuminating the snow crunching under their shoes.

Isabella had swapped her patent heels for boots, motoring over Tia’s lame excuses to herd her into the chilled air.

They walked in silence broken only by Rudy, who’d followed as soon as he’d clocked they were headed outdoors. But inside Tia’s head, Isabella’s voice kept repeating.

Friend. Friend . Friend? Were they, in Isabella’s mind, friends?

She had no idea what to think about that. How could they be friends when Isabella had so much power over her? It wasn’t like the afternoon teas were optional.

“What do you think of Archie?” Isabella asked as they started into the part of the garden where the copse of trees grew and the bushes sparkled with lights.

Tia burrowed her hands into her pockets. “I like him.”

“He’s a character.”

“That’s why I like him.”

Isabella’s smile was soft as she brushed bare fingertips over a frosted branch. “He’s honest. Possibly one of the only people I know who always means what he says or does.”

Tia would argue, but her fake-relationship act kind of kicked that in the teeth.

Isabella’s gaze turned sly as she released the branch. “And his mother?”

She hesitated only a moment. “She’s pretty much every society witch I don’t like in one being.”

Rudy looked over at the bright sound of Isabella’s laugh, wagging his tail furiously. Isabella touched a finger to his nose affectionately, steering him back onto his path.

“Indeed,” was all she said. She let the silence spin out another few seconds. “Things have changed between you and Lord Henry.”

Tia wrapped her arms around her middle, staring ahead. She fought to keep her breath even, her shoulders low, her muscles loose. She’d known this was coming and still, she had no answer. There wasn’t a way to win here; Isabella loved playing games.

Friends.

She rolled her lips. “Are we friends?’ she asked bluntly. “I mean, do you feel like we’re friends?”

Isabella clasped her hands, her face a perfect mask of contemplation. “I talk to you more than most witches of my acquaintance.”

That was kind of…sad. But she guessed in Isabella’s world, everyone wore two faces. How could you trust anyone to have your back?

She liked Isabella, at least, in the way you liked a Pallas cat—you admired its beauty and watched for the claws.

She liked that the witch could be compassionate, that she didn’t hold herself too high, even with her name and power.

And she was kind of funny. Maybe they could be friends, or at least start on that path. They just needed a step.

She set a bauble in a tree swinging and braced herself. “Then as a friend, can we not talk about it?”

Isabella stopped. Tia did, too. The bauble was the only thing that moved for the next ten seconds.

“Why?”

“It’s…complicated.”

Being under Isabella’s keen gaze was like being under a spotlight. Tia didn’t underestimate the witch’s sharpness for a minute and tried not to drop all her cards face up. Her magic didn’t help, roiling in response to her nerves.

She almost leaped out of her skin when Isabella made a noise.

Of surrender, she realized, as the witch lifted an easy shoulder. “Fine. But for the record, I really hate being out of the loop.”

It was like winning an impossible bet. Victory roared through her, leaving her to sag in relief. She surreptitiously wiped her clammy hands on her sides. “I’m the same.”

“Mmm.” Isabella glanced upward at the starry net she’d cast. “I could demand you tell me.”

Tia wet her lips. “But you won’t.”

Isabella’s chin ducked sharply. A laugh briefly lit her eyes. “So, this is friendship? I can’t say I like it.”

“It has its moments.”

Isabella hummed again. “If you’re not going to spill secrets, maybe we’d better get back before Mildred skewers what’s left of the men’s pride.”

They didn’t go three feet before Isabella halted again. The pause had every worst-case scenario flying through Tia’s mind.

“I’ll be around for a few days,” she eventually said, a trace of… something in her voice. “Most of my time will be spent dealing with the English High Family, but…maybe you’d want to…get a drink?”

Uncertainty. It had been uncertainty in her voice.

A step from Tia. A step from Isabella. And all the while praying to the Goddess none of these steps sucked her into quicksand.

“Uh…sure.” Her voice came out a pitch higher than normal and she breathed out, adjusting. “That’d be cool. Henry has his moments but he can’t girl talk worth a damn.”

Isabella’s eyebrows arched. “What kind of moments?”

Well, she’d stepped into that one. “I’ll save that for the girl talk.”