Page 47 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

thirty-two

Tia paced the length of the bedroom to the bathroom door and back, staring at the cell on the dresser.

After the fifth pass, she muttered a curse and snatched it up, pulling up her contacts.

When Emma answered, Tia said, “I’m in trouble.”

“Okay.” The background noise faded. A door shut on her side. “Where do I portal and do I need to bring a shovel?”

A half laugh, half groan came out of Tia’s mouth. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. Though if we’re really talking body, I feel like Bastian might be good—telekinetic skills and all. Plus, he’ll know the best place to hide a corpse with all the digs he’s done.”

“There isn’t a body.” Nervous energy rolled through her. “Is Leah there?”

“No, she’s at Gabriel’s.”

“Is there—could you portal to her?”

“Okay, now I’m actually worried. What did you do?”

“Be a complete ass, that’s what.”

“Because I’m genuinely concerned you’ve got a loaded wand at your head or something, I’m gonna portal to her. Hang on.” Emma paused and the line fizzed with static for a few seconds as magic interfered with the signal.

Then Tia heard an annoyed British voice demand, “Don’t you knock?”

Followed by Leah’s worried, “Emma? What’s wrong?”

“Tia needs us.”

“Bye, babe.”

“May I be of assistance?”

Emma came back on the cell. “You need Goodnight?”

“ No ,” Tia said emphatically.

“We’re good, thanks. Leah, move your butt.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Another bark of static. “Okay, T, you’ve got both of us. What’s wrong?”

Tia sank her magic into the curtains, watching them twitch open and closed. So much , she wanted to say but couldn’t. “I’m in trouble,” she repeated.

“Animal, vegetable or mineral?” Leah demanded.

“What would a vegetable disaster even look like?” Emma asked.

“I’m sure people have been impaled on carrots before.”

“Pretty sure that’s in your head.”

“Let’s Google it. After,” Leah added belatedly. “Tia, use your code phrase if you’ve been kidnapped.”

“I haven’t been kidnapped,” she said, lost between despair and humor. “I’m… It’s Henry.”

She could just imagine the shared expressions on the other end of the phone. She pressed a hand to her head, rubbing at the tension there. “He’s… I’m…” She trailed off, heart thudding harder at the thoughts that came into her head.

For once, her friends didn’t tease.

“You’ve fallen for him again,” Emma said softly.

Tia gritted her teeth. “Asshole,” she muttered.

“Me?”

“Him. And myself.” Tia thought about it. “Mostly him.”

She thought it might have been Leah who chuckled. It was definitely her voice. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to.” Tia plopped onto the bed, running her bare toes along the carpet. “I don’t even know how he feels.” Not with his memories.

“Yes, you do.” Emma’s voice was pointed, though she didn’t know the whole situation. “You’re both as hardheaded as quartz, but you know he’s never gotten over you.”

“Multiple orgasms give that kind of thing away,” Leah added.

“That’s just sex.”

Another beat. “She’s serious,” Leah said, sounding awed.

Tia covered her face with her hand and flopped backward onto the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the curtains swish. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Yes, you do. You want him. You’ve always wanted him.”

She did. Had. She’d hated that fact, despised it, tried to burn it, lock it out, tear it up by its roots, but no use. He’d carved his name into her heart all those years ago when she’d dropped a cat from a tree and looked down into annoyed green eyes.

“I can’t let him hurt me again,” she whispered, real fear twisting her insides at the idea.

“Tia.” Leah’s sympathy bled down the phone like a hug. “He’s going to.”

That stopped her cold. “What?”

“Yeah, I second that,” Emma echoed in a what-the-fuck voice.

Leah huffed. “I’m not saying in the way you think, but you can’t protect yourself forever. Once you let someone in, they always have the power to hurt you. You just have to decide if he’s worth that risk.”

How did anyone know if someone was worth it? Especially when Henry had already weighed that decision once before. The Henry that might come back when Lionel finally mastered the antidote.

It was so fucking complicated.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, low and pained.

Her friends paused.

Tia curled her fingers around the cell so tightly they hurt.

Emma cleared her throat. “You’ve been running a long time, T. Maybe…maybe it’s time to trust him to catch you.”

* * *

It was the night of the Snowflake Ball before she knew it. Time had proven to be a bitch again and raced past, the seconds and minutes like a blurred watercolor.

She’d painted baubles, fed a reindeer (real name Blitzen), taught a few more potions to Siddeley, suffered through a lineage lecture from Mildred when she hadn’t moved quick enough at breakfast, gone Christmas shopping with Annaliese and Mina and mocked Damon mercilessly until he’d threatened to put her in an oven.

And in amongst those moments of tinsel and twilight was Henry, grinning with her over a renewed attempt at a snowman (failure), walking Rudy with her in the snow and rescuing him when he went into the pond, looming over her in the hall, warning her to be quiet as his fingers wandered, kissing her under mistletoe that suddenly hung all over the house…

And now this was it. The final event before everyone headed home.

Siddeley hadn’t made any announcement; she didn’t even know if he would.

Her parents weren’t happy about that—not that her mom had been able to lecture her, considering everything.

She doubted Richard was happy, either, but Henry didn’t say anything and she really didn’t want to bring up his dad again.

She’d like to say that was what she was obsessing over as she readied herself in the bathroom. But it was pure crap.

The last night. Their last night.

It actually caused a pang, an ache that cracked her heart in two.

Only if you’re too chicken shit to ask for what you want , her inner badass retorted.

Unfortunately, her inner lameass was running the show and one second away from whimpering in the shower.

At least she was a damn fine-looking lameass. She turned this way and that, examining her reflection critically.

The dress was long and followed her curves, as was her style. Because of Mildred, she’d gone for a demure collarbone neckline with tiny spaghetti straps, but the back was a different story, with the entirety cut out and scooped so low she’d had to leave her panties in the drawer.

And it was red. Bright, bold, brilliantly red.

She’d gone for diamonds, at her ears and in her hair, a clip that appeared to be the only thing keeping her hair up (such a lie when about sixteen thousand pins and a bit of telekinesis were involved).

Her shoes were the highest she’d worn all trip, open-toed silver to show off toenails painted to match the dress.

The woman in the mirror looked ready to slay. Until she saw her eyes.

“Tia?”

Henry’s voice made her pulse trip. She tapped her fingers on the vanity, then smoothed her hands down her thighs.

“Yeah?” she called back.

“You almost ready?”

Was she?

The answer lost in a tornado of nerves, Tia walked to the door and opened it.

Henry was facing the mirror, head tilted as he slid in a cuff link, muttering something as he fought the clasp. A white-blond lock fell over his forehead, drawing her eyes down.

Because of the breakup, she’d never allowed herself to stare during the many parties they’d both been forced to attend.

Now she drank him in, and damn if he hadn’t been made for a tuxedo, the crisp angles of the bow tie, the snappy lines of the suspenders overlaid on a white shirt.

He’d done something to his hair that made him look sleek and sophisticated, minus the rebellious lock. She liked it.

“I think he wanted us there by eight,” he said when she didn’t speak.

“Sure,” she answered, relieved her voice didn’t wobble. “Ready whenever you are.”

“I figure we get some drinks first, then do the rounds. Maybe—” He glanced up and stopped dead. His gaze dipped, slowly returned. His lips tipped up. “You’re wearing my color.”

She wasn’t sure why that sentence made her heart turn over. So she scoffed, folding her arms. “Please. I happen to like red. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” He finished with his cuff link, keeping his gaze on her. Then he moved, gliding across the carpet to meet her. He skimmed two fingers down her bare arm until he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. When he kissed her palm, she felt weak in the knees.

Then he said, “You’re beautiful, Tia.”

No teasing. No heat. No smoke screens.

She trembled.

“You’re already guaranteed to get lucky.” She tried to mask it, even though she didn’t pull away. “No need to dust off the compliments.”

He shook his head, nothing but sincere. “You’re always beautiful to me.”

She couldn’t think of a word to say. Literally. All she could do was stare at him.

As if sensing she was at a loss, he flashed her a smile and tapped her gently on the nose. “One day you won’t feel so awkward when I tell you that.”

One day. Energy exploded in her veins, and her mouth parted on a breath.

He moved away to pick up something from the dresser but she was rooted to the floor. Fear twisted inside her, wringing itself out until it hurt. But hope, that bitch, fluttered in her chest.

“It’s our last night,” she blurted out.

The muscles in his back tightened. When he faced her, his expression was a study of neutral. “That’s what you want?”

“It’s what it is.”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Do you?” she challenged. Sweat dampened every pulse point.

He slid one hand into his pocket, casual while she was ten seconds from a nervous breakdown. “I think I’ve made it clear what I want.” When she opened her mouth to contradict that, he simply stated, “You.”

Breath burst from her lungs in a wheeze. She blindly reached for the bedpost, relieved to have something to prop her up.

“You might regret saying that when you get your memories back,” she managed.

“No, I’ll mean it the same.”

He seemed so confident and maybe he was. Henry always had been decisive. Known what he wanted and never faltered. But…even if it was true, he couldn’t be with anyone who had a scandal waiting in the closet. His dad, maybe even Maybelline for all her kindness, would have a fit.

Always obstacles between them.

A fractured laugh slipped free as she slumped. “Henry…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.” His stance shifted as if preparing for a fight. “I know you, Tia. You can’t hide it.”

“I’m not saying that.” Although her hackles rose from the arrogant statement. “I’m saying there are things you don’t know.”

He rolled his eyes upward. “You’re being ridiculous.”

And that just pissed her off. “You really have a way with women,” she retorted. “We love being told what we think and that we’re being dramatic.”

“I said ridiculous . Because there’s nothing that could change how I feel about you.”

She longed for that to be true. It surprised her how much. “Henry…”

“Fuck’s sake,” he exclaimed. “Then tell me these things . Tell me the dark, twisted secrets that will stop me from…caring about you.”

She was too busy freaking out to obsess over the small pause. “You see?” She changed tack, desperate now. “This is why we could never be more than a vacation hookup. We can’t have one conversation without arguing.”

“That’s because you frustrate the hell out of me!”

“And you’re a dick!”

“And this isn’t a vacation hookup.” Real anger shone through those words. “You can try and hide all you want, but we both know this, us, never went away. It was always waiting.”

Her heart beat faster.

“You need me to say it first?” Challenge gleamed in his eyes.

Actual panic pushed her into action. “I told you, there are things—”

“Then what are they? Because I thought we’d finally found some middle ground the last few weeks. What aren’t you telling me?” He faltered and some of the anger drifted away, replaced by realization. “That day, the day you got back from Westhollow…”

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Something happened. Tell me.”

“Henry.”

He ignored her weak protest and walked right up to her. He didn’t touch her; he didn’t need to. Being this close to him was enough. “ Trust me ,” he pleaded.

She closed her eyes. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like she shook from it. But she forced the words out. “I’m not really a Hightower. Peter Hightower isn’t my dad.”

The pause was excruciating. The rush of blood in her ears was overwhelming, even as she strained to hear anything. Regret. Condemnation. Him walking away from her again.

Which was why she knew it had to be a mistake when she heard him say in his deep voice: “I know.”