Page 49 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

thirty-four

Betrayal. It simmered in her blood, powering her tense smile as she moved through Siddeley’s guests, pretending a bomb hadn’t gone off in her personal life.

Again. He’d fooled her again . Fooled her into thinking…

Well. It didn’t matter. She just had to get through this one event and then she could go home.

What home?

She ignored that whisper, just as she ignored the male specter shadowing her every step, grim-faced and making poor attempts at small talk.

They were supposed to be a couple, the next generation love affair that would clinch the investment. Except her stomach roiled every time she looked at him.

Siddeley hadn’t appeared yet but Mildred was holding court from an ornate chair tucked in the corner of the decorated ballroom.

The theme was in the title, the walls iced over thinly so they formed frost, while overhead, snowflakes blew in a night sky.

The humans would think it an optical illusion and pretend.

She got it. Simpler sometimes to bury your head in the sand.

A band played from the raised platform they’d erected on one side of the rectangular ballroom, all classical music with contemporary numbers mixed in.

The guests mingled in their party dresses and tuxes, people from the town mostly, along with a few Tia would bet were English witches.

The expressions of boredom gave them away.

The ballroom opened up to a balcony that stretched its width and they’d offset the chill by using a more powerful than usual heating system around the doors—Annaliese’s efforts.

Food was served in some of the smaller rooms that adjoined the ballroom, but Tia thought she might throw up if she even tried.

Same for the champagne that circulated. Less inhibition wouldn’t be good for this party.

She might push Henry off the balcony. He was just lucky she’d left her hex bag supplies at home.

It was almost ten when she felt him stir. “Siddeley’s coming.”

When his hand cupped her elbow, she jerked it away and didn’t care if anyone saw. “Don’t touch me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips press tight together but he didn’t reprimand her. How could he?

Like her, Siddeley was dressed in Christmas colors, a velvet green tuxedo with a white bow tie. It shouldn’t have worked, but on him, he looked…spiffy.

Which was what she told him when he got close enough.

He didn’t smile or offer any compliments in return. Instead, he fiddled with his sleeve, addressing the floor at their feet. “Lady Tia, Lord Henry. Would you accompany me to the drawing room?”

Tia didn’t frown but a sliver of concern worked its way into her chest as she nodded.

She didn’t look back at Henry—they were not on the same team—but he stayed close as all three wove their way through the throng and exited out the far right door. Their steps were muffled by the runner as they passed a few partygoers, Siddeley only polite and reserved each time.

Her concern mounted as Siddeley shut the drawing room door behind them. Mildred stood in front of the lit fireplace, one hand perched on the mantel. She’d worn silver, looking every bit the ice queen as she speared a frosty look their way. “Sit.”

In silence, both Tia and Henry took up positions on the low-backed antique couch. Tia clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

Siddeley stopped behind an armchair opposite to them, face unusually drawn. He said nothing.

“It has come to our attention,” Mildred said with no preamble, “that we have been harboring snakes in our midst these past weeks.”

A chill swept through Tia like a warning. “Lady Mildred?”

The older witch ignored her. “Earlier tonight, someone came forward with information about the two of you. Ironclad information that cannot be refuted.”

Tia’s throat went dry as she stared, searching for something to say.

“Is it true?” Siddeley’s weak question made her pulse skip. His face was cast into sorrow as she turned helplessly to him. “Were you really faking a relationship to manipulate me?”

She swallowed, the truth harsh as he laid it bare. Beside her, Henry stiffened.

“Of course, it’s true,” Mildred hissed, spinning from the fire toward her son. “He presented us with recordings.”

“Lord Siddeley,” Henry appealed, obviously ruffled. His hands curled into his palms. “If you let us explain…”

She felt like she’d hexed a puppy as Siddeley’s expression fell. “I can’t be in business with people who’d lie to me for weeks.” His voice was low. Pained. “Who I can’t trust.”

The echo of her own words ripped into her. She winced.

Mildred sneered, sweeping a dismissive hand at Tia. “But what else could we expect from a lesser witch masquerading as a Legacy?”

Everything went quiet. Cold.

Henry’s hands flattened with great care. “With all respect,” he said neutrally, though she heard the tremor of fire beneath, “watch your words very carefully.”

“I speak as I find.” Diamonds quivered at Mildred’s throat as she hiked her nose into the air. “Not only did you lie to my Archie, to me, about your relationship, but about who you are. I think it’s disgraceful. You should be ashamed.”

Each word dug into Tia like spiked thorns curling toward her rapidly beating heart. Every staggered breath caused her pain. Because she was right. They’d lied. For weeks. For profit. To someone who’d only ever been kind.

She was just as bad as Henry.

She was dimly aware that Siddeley had shifted, uncomfortably saying, “Mother;” that Henry had surged to his feet, hotly chastising Mildred for her bald words.

If anything, that spurred her on. “Forget the investment,” she declared in a shrill voice. “I will personally ensure that every witch across the world knows of this lie you’ve been perpetuating. Soon, everyone will know who you really are, Tia Hightower—a surname you have no right to.”

“She has every right to it,” Henry ground out, the flames in the grate dancing higher with his anger. “I’m sorry we lied, I really am, but you don’t have any right to talk to her like that.”

“I can speak to liars however I choose. This is my house, my land and I’ll thank you to remove yourselves from both within the next half hour or I’m calling our High Family to remove you for us.”

Henry muttered something rude and held out his hand for Tia.

She didn’t take it, staring down at the carpet as she rose to leave.

When she got to the door, she hesitated, flattening a hand on the handle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the apology rough and raw.

“I’m so—” She pressed her lips together tight and left.

Henry snapped something else she didn’t hear before his hand was cupping her elbow. “Tia.”

She didn’t want to hear it. The investment was dead.

Worse, they knew . And soon the world would.

You should be ashamed .

She hated the creeping feeling of cobwebs, binding her ribs, slipping over her skin until it prickled. Her mind went over everything, weighing, measuring, trying to figure out how she’d failed, where she’d messed up.

Her foot froze in its next step as Mildred’s words came back to her.

He presented us with recordings.

Anger blossomed, unfurling until she saw red.

He.

“Griffith,” she swore. She didn’t give Henry a second look, bolting toward the main ballroom. An arrow in search of a target.

When she spotted him in the corner with Chrichton and Annaliese, she didn’t hesitate.

“Feeling smug?” she launched at him as she got close. Her fingers pulsed with magic she didn’t hide. “Celebrate all you want but you’re still an asshole.”

Griffith, elegant in a tux, spared her a bored look. “And what’re you babbling about tonight?”

“Don’t even. Siddeley kicked us out, you’ll be happy to hear.” Conscience twanged and she added, “We shouldn’t have lied to him, but you didn’t have to tell him about me .”

“Seriously, no idea what you’re on about. Pearlmatter, maybe you need to keep a closer eye on your date, huh? Too much champagne can go straight to a witch’s head.”

She pushed into his face, ignoring Annaliese’s confused expression. “How long have you been spying on us? Are you some kind of pervert, getting off on recording people having sex?”

His face flushed. “I have better things to do with my time than concern myself with you.”

“Right. So I’m supposed to believe the warlock who’s always in our business wasn’t the one who told the Siddeleys we were faking it?”

She saw it, the flash of surprise, before his sneer returned.

It knocked her back a step. “You weren’t?”

Griffith passed a disdainful glance over both her and Henry. “I don’t need to sink to those tactics to win an investment. Besides, anyone with eyes could see what was fake clearly turned real.”

She didn’t want to hear that. “And you didn’t tell him about…me?”

“What about you?” Exasperation colored his tone. “I haven’t told anyone a fucking thing.”

“I did.”

Tia’s lips parted. Her gaze slid slowly away from Griffith, past Annaliese…to Chrichton. Quiet Chrichton, whom nobody paid much attention to. Non-Higher witch Chrichton, who wanted the investment and whose efforts to win Mildred over had always failed.

“You?” she echoed stupidly.

He nodded, something close to apology on his face. “I knew something was going on, so I’m afraid I’ve been keeping tabs.”

“Keeping tabs?” Henry echoed from behind her, his anger warming the air until her face felt hot. “You’ve been fucking spying. How did you even get recordings?”

Annaliese made a noise. Paler than she’d been a second ago, she put a hand to her belly. “You asked me about my spells.” She shook her head, color circling her cheeks as she rounded on him. “Made out like you were interested.”

“I was interested,” he confirmed, smoothing down his lapel.

“Interested to know how to break through a soundproofing spell. Not very inconspicuous of you, by the way,” he threw at Henry and Tia.

“It made it fairly plain you were hiding something. Admittedly, the other fact about your lineage was a surprise, if fortuitous.”

Fortuitous. Like her parentage was just another nail in their investment coffin.

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Henry growled, stepping forward like he’d make him.

Tia’s head was throbbing. “Why now?” she asked faintly.

He shrugged. “I heard Siddeley was going to make an announcement, and after your little confession earlier, I knew it was my one shot. You’ve been the clear favorites for a while.”

Annaliese shook her head in disgust. “That’s the way you do business?”

“Whatever gets the job done, Annaliese. Surely, you understand that.”

She screwed up her face and turned to Tia. “Can I help?”

Surprised and not a little touched, Tia shook her head numbly. “It’s done. We’ve been told to leave.”

“Well, look me up when we’re on the other side of the Atlantic. Maybe Mina and I can visit your bar.”

Tia wondered if she’d still be saying that after she learned the truth. “Sure.”

“And you.” The demure, ladylike Annaliese rounded on Chrichton. “You can eat shit.”

As she sailed off, Tia stared Chrichton down. Everything inside her quivered, longing to rage, to scream, but what would be the point?

In the end, all she did was back away, pausing at Griffith’s side. “Sorry.”

He inclined his head, unruffled. “Be seeing you, Hightower.”

She didn’t respond, much too aware of the warlock that followed her out of the ballroom.

Luckily, because it was the last night, most of their stuff was already packed. She threw the rest into a bag as Henry brooded by the bed.

“She was wrong, Tia,” he said as she zipped up the suitcase.

“Was she?” Tia pushed hair out of her eyes as she created a portal to her apartment and began shoving suitcases through. “As far as I can tell, we screwed them over like you did me.”

His lips thinned. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s really not.” She hefted the last suitcase and forced herself to meet his eyes. “And now that the investment is dead, so are we.”

Something broke at that, deep inside where she could no longer shield it. The investment. Her parents. Henry. She had nothing left. She’d failed on every count. And if she wasn’t a real Hightower and couldn’t even do this right, what did she have to offer?

Henry’s nostrils flared and he took a step. “Tia.”

She drew on the anger, let it make her strong. “I’m serious, Henry. And not in a trading snipes, making-pig-curses way.” She stalked to the portal. “ Done .”

If he responded, she missed it as she left him behind.