Page 54 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

thirty-seven

For the next four days, a gift appeared on her hall table. Each one with a memory.

The first time I knew I loved you, we were arguing in my parents’ gardens.

I can’t even remember about what. But you lifted your chin, insulting me and looking so damn beautiful doing it, and I knew.

I suddenly realized this was where I wanted to be.

Forever. You probably don’t remember, but I cut you off by kissing you, taking you to the ground as if by holding you to the earth, I could hold you to me.

I was so damn happy and terrified at the same time, like I knew there was never any going back.

I think our best date was when you were nineteen and we snuck out to Bourbon Street and pretended to be human (with our magical fake IDs).

We drank our way down the bars, kissing in corners and making friends with everyone.

It wasn’t anything special, except it was the first time I’d felt normal.

Just a normal guy with his girl. But there are so many more.

Like the moment you tried whiskey for the first time, spraying it in my face and threatening to kill me because I’d told you it tasted like molasses.

Or our first adult event where you cornered me in a cloakroom and we did bad things on a pile of Higher witch coats.

Or the day you dared me to eat as many beignets as I could in a minute.

I still can’t stomach beignets, you know.

You know how you said you tricked me into kissing you that first night?

Well, I tricked you into saying “I love you” first. I was nervous you didn’t feel it, too, but at the same time, I was sure you must. I knew if I could get you mad, you might admit it, so I took you out to the fair.

I made you play all the games and beat you every single time.

Your eye started twitching and it was so adorable, I almost blurted out the truth.

I goaded you over and over, until I dared you.

I fucking dared you like I was twelve. But I can’t regret it because hearing those words from you, even at a volume that would shatter most windows, was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

I’ve always regretted not coming after you.

That last fight, our worst one, and I quit us.

I just accepted that was it. Didn’t push back.

Didn’t try. Every night for the first six months, I lay awake going over it, wishing I could replay it and talk you down, but I was so fucking stubborn.

Always wanting to win, both of us. I was just as brash, just as sure I was right.

I’ve thought about that moment over and over, but it wasn’t until England, when I heard you tell it that I realized.

You needed to see me fight for us again.

If you can’t forgive me, I’ll at least know that this time, I had the guts to fight, even if I lose.

Because you’re worth that. You’re worth everything.

With each memory, a glass memento. A small gazebo from the Pearlmatter gardens, beads from Bourbon Street, a cuddly toy that was a life-size replica of the one hidden in her closet. And a rose, a twin to the one he’d given her when he’d promised he’d always show up for her.

He hadn’t kept that promise.

Maybe it was that that made her stomach twist as she stared at the objects she’d carefully placed on her dresser. The reminder that they’d been here before.

Except…this time he was trying. He was fighting. For her . His memories were just as precious as the glass art, just as fragile. She’d felt exposed, giving him her memories. Now he was doing the same. He was trying.

She just couldn’t work out if it was enough.

And then the next day, the invitation arrived through the mirror.

The High Family invites Tia Hightower to a New Year’s Gathering at High House , it read on embossed font, with the details below. And one extra line that had her teeth sinking into her bottom lip:

A New Year for new beginnings.

Henry would be invited, too. Everyone who was a Higher witch would. Ready to gossip and sneer.

She swept a thumb over the font, drifting back to sit on the edge of her bed. She could choose not to go, she reasoned, as spikes of anxiety drilled into her spine. But when had she ever let society dictate her actions?

Of course, that was when she’d been sure of her place as a Hightower.

Hearing her own thoughts, she exhaled an annoyed breath. She was Tia Hightower. She cowered before nobody, and fuck it; she wasn’t about to be scared off by some snobs in overpriced dresses who couldn’t even say what was in a Sleep potion.

But if she went, she’d have to face them. Him.

I’ll at least know that this time, I had the guts to fight.

Did she?

She mustered a weak smile as she let the invitation drop. Well, she always had loved a party.

* * *

They lined up out front. Emma and Bastian flanked Tia on one side, Leah and Gabriel on the other.

It was chilly but her skin burned as she stared at the open doors. Music swirled out alongside polite laughter and chatter. Stray sparks of magic from portals opening and closing drifted by. The same as any other society event.

Except this wasn’t any other event.

As if summoned by the thought, two witches a couple years older than Tia walked out of the doors and stopped dead as they caught sight of her. They whispered behind their fans as they slowly began to walk again, eyes flitting to her and away. A giggle floated on the air.

Leah glowered. She took one step before Gabriel caught her arm.

“Let me go,” she growled. “I’m about to cut a witch.”

“Let’s at least wait until we’re inside before assaulting the guests,” he suggested. But the one who’d giggled at Tia suddenly stumbled into her friend, sloshing wine down their gowns with a cry of dismay.

Uptight Goodnight was defending her. The world really had turned upside down.

She let out a breath and felt her friends crowd closer.

“You sure about this?” Emma murmured. “We can leave.”

“I’m sure.” If she said it firmly enough, maybe she’d believe it. Her hands found theirs. “Thanks for coming with. I know there are other things you could be doing.”

“Our date with whipped cream can wait,” Leah chirped. On cue, pink scored Gabriel’s cheeks. He shifted in place.

Bastian snorted. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Goodnight. Tell me, does she hold the can or…?”

Emma elbowed him. “Behave.”

“You sure?” he teased, tucking her hair behind her ear and then whispering something that made equally fiery color sweep down her face.

Tia might’ve groaned aloud if she hadn’t been seized with envy. That was what she wanted, what she’d had with Henry. Well, that, but less sickening. Tonight could make or break it.

She smoothed a hand down her dress. It wasn’t red; she felt that was too telling. Instead, the gown was deep purple, with a corset-style waist that hiked her boobs up to display the glass beads Henry had created. Wearing them made her feel naked. Exposed.

What if…?

She cut off the thought before it could poison her mind. No. She’d made the decision, and she was Tia fucking Hightower. She didn’t second-guess.

Chin high, she started forward. Each step was easier than the last, her friends falling in behind her like security. She might have teased them if she could have drawn enough breath.

Intellectually, she knew it wasn’t a big deal when she entered High House.

For one, they came into the foyer where only a few witches gathered, most already wandering to the hall leading to the ballroom.

For another, it wasn’t like the music stopped, trumpets sounded, or she was announced on a PA system.

And yet, it felt like the air shivered as she crossed the threshold. Like everyone who used to kiss her ass now turned to stare at her. And gawk.

Nothing has changed , she repeated to herself as she moved through the quiet murmurs, shoulders back, gaze level. Her heart galloped, wild and frenetic, but she kept her face serene, holding herself so tightly, her muscles ached.

When she walked into the ballroom, a dozen or so heads swiveled to face her. She’d never been more thankful for her friends as they stepped up next to her. Even Emma, whose social anxiety would always make her awkward in crowded settings, frowned fiercely at one warlock whispering to his companion.

She scanned the faces, searching for a familiar platinum head, when she spotted two women arrowing straight for her.

“Do I need to run interference?” Leah asked under her breath, the pint-size blonde ready to shuck her stunning gold dress and wrestle both witches to the ground.

“I…ah,” Tia began but stopped as Mina and Annaliese arrived in their circle.

“Tia,” Mina said, her lightly accented voice louder than necessary. “It feels like it’s been an age.” She leaned in and kissed Tia’s cheek, whispering, “We figured you might need backup with the sharks.”

An ache squeezed Tia’s heart and she smiled shakily at Mina, accepting Annaliese’s kiss on the cheek next. Both were Higher witches; both carried weight in society. And both had shown up to throw that weight behind Tia.

Not only them, she realized, as Sawyer swaggered up behind Mina and Annaliese. When she caught his eye, he shrugged. “Figured us mongrels better stick together.” He winked, softening the words with a squeeze of her shoulder.

Tia introduced her friends and let the conversation flow, long enough for the worst of the gossip to subside. The dancing started, couples whirling before the orchestra and the chairs where some of the High Family sat, bored out of their minds. Isabella was nowhere to be seen.

Magic crafted to resemble fireflies danced in rhythm above their heads, sometimes as a swarm, sometimes individually. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t fully appreciate it. It was edging toward midnight and she still hadn’t seen Henry.

Maybe his dad had forbidden him from coming. Except refusing an invite from the High Family wasn’t a great move, socially or financially. Maybe it was a statement. Maybe he’d been joking. Maybe…

Maybe she should calm the fuck down and get out of her head.

So she waited. And waited. And the glass beads became heavier around her throat.

* * *

Henry paced the foyer of his parents’ house, pausing to holler up the stairs. “If you’re not done in two minutes, I’m going alone.”

“You hold your horses, Henry Charles,” came his mom’s tart reply.

He might have grinned if the idea of Tia waiting alone at the party didn’t make him crazy. He knew what society was like. They’d scent blood in the water and attack. A rush of urgency descended like fog. He wasn’t leaving her to face that without him.

Finally, his mom appeared, wrapped in dark green silk cut low enough he wasn’t sure where to look.

“I know,” she said, sticking her chest out. “I’ve still got it.”

“Goddess,” he muttered, conjuring her cape and holding it out for her. “Let’s go.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s at the office. He can meet us.”

Maybelline put a hand on his arm, slowing him. Her eyes searched his. “Are you sure?”

He knew what she meant. “Never been more sure of anything.”

Her smile was radiant and she tweaked his cheek like he was a child. “All right, then. Let’s—”

She was cut off when the front door flung open.

The temperature dropped ten degrees as his dad stormed in. His face was clouded, skin stretched over his cheeks as he took them in.

“No,” was all he said.

Henry’s stomach jittered but he kept his gaze level. “Yes.”

“Son, this is a mistake.”

“You’ve never liked her, have you?” he challenged, ignoring the way his bones ached at the disapproval in Richard’s eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it. Blind stubbornness or ignorance, he hadn’t wanted to see that Tia had been right—he’d become a doormat for his dad.

He hadn’t meant to be; hadn’t started out that way.

Yet somehow, over the years, for one approving nod, for every office conversation where his dad patted him on the back, he’d sacrificed everything else.

It had taken a month of being an outsider to his life to see it. And make some changes.

“It’s not about her.” His dad’s jaw looked equally tight, hair mussed as though he’d been running his hands through it.

Henry snorted. “Right.”

“It’s about you. She’s hurt you before. She’s not serious enough.”

“Richard,” Maybelline cautioned as Henry all but snarled at his dad’s words. She slid in between them, one hand on his chest.

He pressed his own hand to his wife’s but didn’t take his gaze off Henry. “It’s a mistake,” he repeated softly.

“No.” Henry shook his head. “The mistake was thinking I’d ever be good enough for you.”

Something like shock passed through Richard’s eyes. He took a stuttered step back.

Because he’d said it aloud, Henry thought. Finally, no more games.

“I’m done trying to play the perfect son for you. It’s never won me anything, but I lost someone vital because of it.” He angled his jaw up and felt the last ties wither and fall away as he echoed Tia’s words. “I’m done.”

He created a portal in the few seconds of silence, his footfalls determined as he strode toward it. He cast a silent apology at his mom, pale under the foyer lights.

“Henry,” his dad suddenly said, stricken. “Wait. I’ve never thought—”

The rest was stolen as the portal snapped closed. He took a moment for regret, a bittersweet ache that things between him and his dad would never be the same. Then he stashed it to confront later. He had bigger potions to uncork.

He appeared in one of the private meeting rooms of High House, one he’d become familiar with a few days ago when a certain High daughter had summoned him.

He’d have been pissed if he hadn’t been so desperate for news.

Tia hadn’t reached out about his gifts. He’d thought she might have destroyed them, refusing to give him another chance. Instead, Isabella had offered hope.

He quietly exited the room and strode along the upper level, examining the scene below. Society whispered, their poison slipping through the air like fumes.

Scandal , their eyes sang.

Hold on to your brooms , he thought with a curl of his lip.

He was about to give them a better one.