Page 5 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

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When Tia saw the dress her nana had laid out—like she was twelve—she balked. “Absolutely not,” she’d stressed and then hissed as she was forced into it.

Now she stood in the large event space of one of the Hightower buildings, gritting her teeth against the cold that swept in from the open doors.

They led out to a large balcony where all guests would be invited to watch the fireworks at midnight, a few taking advantage of the fresh air—and shadows—early.

The party was a celebration of two new products being launched, but Tia knew it had been cobbled together for Lord Archibald Siddeley. If he ever showed.

“You sure this man’s coming?” she said out the side of her mouth.

Her nana, four feet with hair as white as her skin was dark, knocked Tia’s leg with her cane. And not gently. “Bite your tongue.”

Tia refused to rub the smarting ankle, well used to thwacks from that cane—and worse. When she’d been fourteen, she’d made the mistake of comparing her nana to Gandalf the White. She’d narrowly escaped being hit with a hex bag that would’ve cursed her for fifty years.

“It’s almost ten,” she said, hearing the sulk in her own voice.

“You got somewhere you need to be?”

Tia thought of her bar, the one she hadn’t had time to work at in months. She could be mixing cocktails, flirting with human men, joking with her best friends. Her escape from being “Tia Hightower.”

Instead, she was here, wrapped like a present with nipples so cold, they could cut glass. She’d conjure heat if her nana wouldn’t whack her again for being “a weakling.”

When the old witch eyed her for a response, she sighed. “No.”

None of the other guests seemed to mind the temperature, all in their finery and gossiping in buzzing groups. This was where Higher witches thrived: parties, socializing, gossiping.

A feather bobbing across the crowd caught her eye.

She shifted, immediately on edge. Maybelline, Richard and Henry had arrived two hours ago, the former dressed in peridot silk, the feather she always wore braided into her hair like some twenties flapper.

Henry’s mom’s eccentricity was well known, what with the habitual feather and the fact that she refused to wear anything but shades of green.

She’d never said why, but as powerful a family as the Pearlmatters were, she didn’t need to.

Tia had always loved it, figuring she’d probably turn out the same. No excuses, no apologies.

So far, Tia had managed to avoid her, though she knew it couldn’t last. The woman was a crocodile: she didn’t let go of her prey. And she’d never lost hope that one day Henry and Tia would get over their differences. Fat chance.

Tia didn’t slouch—she wasn’t about to get whacked again—but she badly wanted to. “You know, some grandmas cuddle their granddaughters.”

“You want a hug, get a dog,” was the no-nonsense, slightly bewildering answer. “Eyes on the prize, Celestia.”

Tia inwardly gagged at the name only her nana used. “Sir, yes, sir.”

The cane prodded her again.

Another half hour crawled by. Her mom and dad were in the thick of the crowd, dancing and schmoozing, but Tia wasn’t allowed to so much as get a glass of champagne. A year ago, she’d have defied the lot of them, refusing to let anyone tell her what to do. Now she ground her teeth and waited it out.

After another fifteen minutes, though, she gave in. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Her nana mulled—actually mulled —this over before giving a curt nod. “Don’t be long.”

Tia bit back a retort and stalked for the hall, which led to the bathrooms. Her skirts swished around her legs, the long slit that exposed her thigh allowing her to move quicker, meaning she reached the blessedly empty hall in seconds.

With a look behind her, she headed toward the front steps of the old Southern building.

She just needed some quiet. One minute to clear out the noise.

With a thought and a word, she created a bubble of warmth around herself so that when she stepped out, it was with a degree of comfort.

That vanished as soon as someone moved from where they’d been leaning against the balustrade. The twinkle lights draped around the porch railings bounced off platinum hair, and her stomach soured.

Henry tipped his head in greeting, one hand loosely clasping a glass of champagne. “Hightower.”

She didn’t say anything.

He chuckled, and the sound raised every hackle.

She went on the attack. “Why aren’t you inside?”

He shrugged. “Why aren’t you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

Steam whistled out her ears. She bit off an even more childish response, lapsing into frigid silence.

He leaned back, one elbow on the railing, trailing his gaze down her body. She refused to feel heat burn in its wake, standing stiffly under his inspection.

Finally, he drawled, “Hell of a dress.”

Tia bared her teeth in a facsimile of a grin. She drew a hand down the curve of her hip, triumphant when he watched. “Nana’s going fishing.”

“With you as the lure?” She could’ve sworn his jaw tightened as he saw the slit, her thigh. “Siddeley might cut bait and run as soon as you open your mouth.”

Although she was surprised at the bite in his voice, all she did was smirk. “I’ve never had complaints from men about my mouth.”

His gaze sharpened. “Ah. So, your escort for the evening is…?” He looked past her, knowing already, the bastard, that the warlocks around here were too spineless to date her. She hadn’t had a date—at least a magical one—since him. Thank the Goddess for human men.

She clamped down on her snarl. “What simpering witch has the bad fortune to be your date tonight?”

An easy shrug. “Came alone.”

“Don’t tell me your charms aren’t working anymore?” She made a moue. “Are all the Higher witches finally bored with Daddy’s little boy?”

“ Little isn’t something I’ve ever heard from women,” he parried, turning her own words around.

And she hated herself for the flash of jealousy. For the fact that it made her step into his space, chin lifted. Also hating that no matter how high the heel she wore, he’d always look down on her. “You’re not winning this one, Pearlmatter. I’m taking you down.”

All she got was a slow smile. “In that dress, I might let you.” Something darkened in his eyes. “You know I like you in red, little moth.”

She did. She did, dammit, which was why she hadn’t wanted to wear the stupid thing.

A long wash of red silk crisscrossed around her breasts and tied behind her neck.

The fabric parted to showcase the gentle rise of Tia’s full breasts, her warm brown skin glowing against the red silk, catching the eye of every man there.

Designed to catch one eye in particular.

The bait wasn’t for Siddeley; it was for Henry.

And he knew it.

Worse was that nickname on his lips. Little moth. Once used as he’d kissed her, teasing about her playing moth to his fire magic.

She didn’t have time to snap at him before he sighed dramatically. “Sadly, I’m on my best behavior tonight so I’d better leave before you throw any more insults.”

“Me?” she managed, watching him smoothly move around her and toward the doors. “After that escort crack?” And the old nickname that dragged up baggage she already felt weighing heavily around her neck.

He tossed a grin over his shoulder before leaving her alone.

She scowled down at the ground, tempted to release some of her frustration in a burst of magic, but she wouldn’t give Henry the satisfaction.

Good thing, too, because seconds later, a portal opened without warning and the man they’d all been waiting for stepped out.

He was dressed up, clad in a three-piece evening suit with tails, and carried a decorative cane he twirled idly as he looked around. A plump white cat coiled around his legs as four people exited after him, three women and one man, all matching Siddeley’s formalwear.

As he caught sight of her, Archibald Siddeley clapped his hands with boisterous cheer.

“A welcome party? How brilliant. I say, am I late? There was a spot of bother with the cravat and then we somehow ended up in the desert of all places. Portal-mapping’s not our strong suit, eh, Nige?

” He slapped the man on the back, sand falling from the latter’s hair at the blow.

“Nige” offered a thin-lipped smile, still clearly sore from what had presumably been Siddeley’s incompetence.

Tia hid her grin and walked forward, her steps light. If Henry hadn’t tucked tail and run— again —she’d have had to share the first impression. Maybe this would teach him to hold his ground in future. Then again, she couldn’t expect the impossible.

“Lord Siddeley,” she greeted him as she came down the stairs, offering her hand when he lifted his, only slightly bemused when he bowed over it. “Welcome to Hightower Seven. I’m Tia Hightower.”

“Pleasure, pleasure. Let me escort you inside, Lady Hightower, bit nippy out here after all!” Missing her jolt at the honorific she barely claimed, he squeezed her hand, threading it through his arm as he continued to chatter about their journey.

Tia led him inside with an encouraging smile, tasting the sweetness of victory when Henry’s eyes narrowed on her.

She winked as she steered Siddeley away from the Pearlmatters and over to her parents.

* * *

That dress.

Flames licked under his skin, his fire magic a torrent of heat Henry struggled to control even as he showed the world ease and charm. Even as wrath stirred with every warlock’s face that went slack as she swished by, curves and red silk. Sadly, there were no handy bushes around to destroy tonight.

She’d been told to curb her temper; that much was obvious.

He and his parents joined the Hightowers and all Tia did was smile thinly before introducing Archibald Siddeley to “Lord Henry Pearlmatter.” He bet she choked on that.

He couldn’t deny a small part of him loved it.

Even as he found his gaze on her for the tenth time.

That fucking dress.