Page 42 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

twenty-eight

For a moment, the world stilled. Every blade of grass, every wrapper on the street, every person going about their normal day. The silence shushed in Tia’s ears like water.

“What?” she heard herself say.

“I know it’s a secret,” Isabella assured her, one hand out as if to soothe. “I wouldn’t normally speak of it, but I think it proves my case, right?”

Glass shards ripped up her throat, ensuring her next words were raw. “She was pregnant.”

“Right, during their breakup. And he hasn’t treated her or you any differently, even with your not being his natural child.”

She might actually be sick.

Isabella peered at her. “Are you okay? Did you— Oh, fuck.” Under normal circumstances, that word from Isabella’s perfect pink mouth might have Tia laughing. Now her eyes were wide in the window reflection. “You knew, yes? Please tell me you knew.”

She wasn’t Peter Hightower’s daughter.

She wasn’t a Hightower.

Who the hell was she?

Tia swallowed the oncoming meltdown and concentrated on the facts. She didn’t want to have it out now in front of Isabella Castello. In front of anyone.

“Yeah.” She forced a smile, the curve feeling odd, and finally turned away from her reflection, mask in place. “I just don’t like being reminded.”

Relief stained Isabella’s cheeks a normal color. “Of course. I only meant if your father was different, maybe Henry could be, too.”

She couldn’t think about that right now. She just nodded.

Isabella hesitated. “Should I apologize for bringing it up?”

“No, it’s fine. I just…didn’t know you knew.”

“We’re privy to all matches and births. But it goes no further.” Isabella frowned, setting a hand on Tia’s arm, sending a shock wave of power across her skin. Tia barely felt it. “You look ill. Do you want something to eat?”

She leaped for the excuse. “Yeah. Yes, let’s get something.”

The sooner they ate, the sooner she could run back to the Hall, lock herself away. Try to make sense of things.

Funny. Like that would be possible. Even now, her gaze bounced around, thoughts sliding through her head so fast they didn’t make sense.

Like the man across the street that looked familiar. Damn familiar.

She focused on him, an anchor in the tsunami.

He moved like he was on the hunt, head down, shoulders back, dressed in a tan jacket, faded jeans and boots. And definitely familiar.

“Kole?” After a beat, she recalled the soundproof bubble and gestured at Isabella to break it. Immediately after the witch complied, she yelled his name. “ Kole! ”

Emma’s brother’s head jerked up. A moment of oh shit crossed his face. “Tia?” His gaze moved from her to Isabella, eyes bugging out. “Your Excellency?”

“Lord Bluewater,” Isabella purred, linking her hands behind her back. Her dimples made a showing, any trace of a real person hidden behind the facade. She lifted her voice. “How handsome you look today.”

He was handsome, Tia supposed, not that she’d ever really concentrated on that.

Kole had never had a problem finding willing witches in his bed, despite the fact he was gone most of the time overseas, researching water magic or something with scientists.

He shared Emma’s coloring, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, ruggedly handsome in an aww-shucks-ma’am kind of way.

They’d never been especially close, even though she’d been best friends with Emma for years.

Still, that didn’t stop her from charging right up to him, suspicious as hell about his coincidental appearance.

“Was it Emma or Leah?” she demanded as soon as she stopped in his path. Relief soothed her hollowed-out gut, relief that she could focus on this, locking the other thing away. Relief that she could be angry instead of in pain.

Kole scratched the back of his head. “What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, please.” Tia crossed her arms as Isabella fell in behind her, and Bianca behind her . “I can’t believe they sent you to look in on me.”

Kole flicked his eyes to the High daughter. “Maybe you need someone to look in on you.”

“Unbelievable.” It took skill, but Tia sidestepped all the times she’d meddled in Emma’s and Leah’s lives. She fisted her hands. “Well, you can portal your ass back home.”

“But I just got here.”

“Exactly.” Isabella preened, a picture of a Southern belle. “He can accompany us to the bakery.”

“He’s a spy,” Tia hissed between her teeth.

Isabella’s smile widened. “A spy, Lord Bluewater? Surely not.”

He rolled his eyes. “A friend can’t look in on another friend?”

“Uh-huh.” Tia pointed in the opposite direction. “Go home.”

“But I so rarely get such a handsome escort.” Isabella slid her hand around Kole’s arm, ignoring how he tensed. “Stay. You can tell us how Emmaline is doing. And dear Leah, of course.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. Maybe because of the power coming off Isabella, or maybe because Tia knew—like the whole world knew, except the woman in question—that Leah was a sensitive subject for him.

“I’m sure nothing I can say would be news to you, Your Excellency,” he said smoothly, though his eyes hardened into cold brown disks.

“I don’t know about that,” she mused, tapping her fingers lightly on his biceps. “I’m sure you have many secrets just dying to be whispered into someone’s ear.”

Isabella was playing again, Tia thought, part exasperated, part relieved, maybe even a touch entertained since Kole looked ready to flee.

She took pity on her oldest friend’s brother. “She’s just teasing, Kole.”

Kole glanced slowly between them.

Isabella smiled brightly. And hummed.

* * *

It wasn’t until Kole and Isabella retreated into their respective portals that Tia let herself think about the secret again.

The secret. As if something that brought her entire reality crashing down could be summed up in two simple words.

She didn’t return to Silkwood Hall. Way too many prying ears, eyes and magic.

Instead, she followed her feet to the town gazebo and ran a hand from the floor to the ceiling.

The soundproofing spell shimmered pale white before fading.

Only then did she pull out her compact. Her heart was thumping wildly, each beat painful, as she rubbed her thumb across the mirror and said her mom’s name.

The mirror flickered for a few seconds. Then a few more.

Tia hadn’t even considered she might not pick up. She couldn’t wait; she had to know. Now . Her toes scrunched in her heels as she paced the confines of the gazebo, refusing to hang up.

After a solid minute, Gloria’s face appeared, looking harried. “Tia, I’m in a meeting,” she said, voice clipped. “I have to get back. We’ll talk later.”

“Is my dad really my dad?” Tia blurted out before Gloria could disconnect.

Her mom’s expression blanked. And Tia knew.

Her breath hitched as she pressed her lips together, struggling to keep the grief in, to hide it so nobody would see.

Her fingers spasmed around the compact. She wanted to crush it under her boot.

She wanted to smash it until it was silver and shards, until it was dust and floated away, far away from her. Fuck. She couldn’t breathe.

The wind chimes that hung in the gazebo rafters tore off their hook in a jangle of discordant notes, hurled to the floor. Tia stared at them as she focused on drawing a breath through the band around her ribs, ignoring her mom’s progressively loud demands from the mirror.

Only when she felt like she wouldn’t scream did she lift the compact again.

“Why?” she rasped. “How?”

The background had changed, her mom clearly having moved to her office. Gloria’s eyes were pinched. “Are you secure? How did you find out?”

“Does that fucking matter?”

“Please don’t swear at me.”

Anger crawled like ants over her skin, making it impossible to sit, to be calm. She paced, the click of her heels too polite when she wanted to rage.

“I know you’re upset—”

Tia cracked a laugh.

“Please. Just answer me. Are you secure?”

“Yes,” Tia bit out. “Nobody’s around to hear your precious secret.”

“It was for your own good.”

Tia didn’t even bother acknowledging that crap. “Isabella told me.”

“Isabella who?”

“Castello.”

Gloria’s eyes widened. “She’s there?”

“She turned up a couple days ago. Does it matter how I found out? What the hell, Mom? That’s still true, right? You are my mother?” Tia wiped her free hand down her face, hardly caring if her mascara streaked.

“Your dad and I discussed it—”

“You mean Peter?”

“I mean your dad,” Gloria said, stern. “It takes more than sperm to make a father.”

Tia dug her nails into her palms. “Who’s my—who got you pregnant?”

Gloria hesitated, exhaling on a sigh. “He was a warlock I met in London, when your dad and I broke up for a few months. It was casual. I was hurting and didn’t want another relationship. It wasn’t until after Peter and I resumed that I realized I was pregnant.”

Tia continued to eat up the ground, back and forth, again and again, the background a blur of fading twilight. “Who is he?”

Gloria paused. “Are you sure you want to know?”

No. Yes. No. She sent telekinesis into the loose stones around the bench. They scattered like gunfire. “Does he know?”

“Yes.”

Tia read everything in that one answer. “He didn’t want to be a dad,” she said flatly.

“We were young. And he had responsibilities.”

Goddess, she was so sick of that being used as an excuse.

“He married shortly after,” Gloria continued, only a hint of nerves in her eyes betraying her feelings. “All he asked was that I never tell anyone. His wife wouldn’t take it well.”

Rejected before she was born. One more person finding her a disappointment. Tia sent more stones scattering, her throat burning with that knowledge. “So you decided to raise me as a Hightower?”

“Peter wanted you to be one. He thought we could raise you together.”

It clicked. “That’s why you got married so quickly after the breakup.”

“Among other reasons. It was a good match. And you know I love him.”

Her childhood passed before her in a long row of lectures, the endless string of admonishments and expectations that forced her to chase approval and never find it.

“That’s why you always told me to act more like a Hightower.” The realization tasted bitter. “You were scared someone would see that I’m not one.”

“Yes, you are,” her mom snapped, sharp enough to cut. “Blood isn’t everything.”

“Tell that to Higher society,” Tia muttered.

She slumped against the wall, stretched to the point of pain. Everything she’d ever been told—how she was a leader in society, how what she did mattered because of her position—all of it sugar spun out of pretty lies.

She wasn’t a real Hightower. She wasn’t a real Legacy.

Which meant she wasn’t a match for any warlock who was.

Her throat burned hotter and she trembled. Hating herself for even thinking of that right now.

Her mom cleared her throat. “I know this is a shock, and we can talk about it when you get home. But I need you to think of the company, Tia. You can’t let anyone know.”

The noise Tia let out wasn’t audible.

Her mom wasn’t completely unmoved, even Tia could see that, but Gloria Hightower was practical, first and foremost. “Mildred Siddeley is a stickler for bloodlines. If anything, this is where you and Henry have the advantage.”

His name was like a hot poker to the heart.

“You come back next week, anyway, so you only have to hold it together until then.”

How was she going to act normal with this hanging over her head? She was already fake dating and real sleeping with her ex-not-ex. It was practically a Shakespearean comedy. All they needed was for a long-lost twin to show up. Honestly, she wouldn’t even be surprised.

She needed to talk to someone. She needed to scream. To sink her magic into something and watch it explode. She wished she had fire magic; a giant blaze would feel so cathartic.

“I know this seems cruel but it’s for the best.” Gloria softened, adding, “I am sorry, darling.”

Her mom’s sympathy made it worse. Tia bore down on the tears that sank tiny daggers into the backs of her eyes. She managed a nod.

“I promise we’ll sit down with your dad and talk when this is over.” She paused. “This doesn’t really change anything. You are who you are.”

When Tia closed the compact seconds later, the words rang in her head, hollow.

You are who you are.

The trouble was she wasn’t sure who that was anymore.