Page 9 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

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“Fuck, fuck, fuck .”

Henry watched the woman pace up and down the room he’d been hustled into an hour ago.

It was a nice enough room, two couches in soft gray with a teak table between, and a large fireplace with a wooden mantel in the same finish.

Bookcases with hardbacks lined all the walls except for the tall window that offered a view of the darkness beyond.

He caught his reflection in it. Sharp jaw, long nose, high cheekbones, white-blond hair cut short and shaggy.

All familiar. Attractive, if you listened to any of the girlfriends he’d had over the years.

Except—when he tried to think back over the women in his past, there was a black haze he couldn’t penetrate.

The last one he could remember in detail was Missy Greentower when he’d been sixteen, and then there was…

He concentrated hard, frustrated at the blank spaces.

Annoyingly, it wasn’t the only gap.

When he’d admitted he didn’t know who the woman—Tia—was, she’d full-on freaked out and herded him from the laboratory or wherever the hell they’d been, past some kind of party and into this room before leaving him with instructions to stay put.

She’d returned with a small group, among them his parents and the woman who’d interrupted that kiss.

One of the group was a warlock who’d examined Henry with a crystal wand as he and the rest fired questions at him.

Did he know his name? Yes, Henry Charles Pearlmatter. Born April twenty-fifth.

Did he know where he was? The land of Oz (turned out, joking wasn’t appreciated).

Did he recognize anyone in the room? His parents—whose faces cracked with relief at that—but the tall Black woman with striking features was a mystery; so was the older woman with a cane who glared at him the entire time, and Tia remained a huge blank.

A blank but one he’d kissed by instinct when he’d first woken up.

He found that interesting. As was the way her eyes skittered away from his whenever they met.

It made him want to catch her attention.

“Tia,” the woman from the doorway chided at the string of swear words. Tia’s mom, maybe.

“No, let her curse,” the short crone who also resembled Tia snapped. “Girl’s got a right to. She fucked up.” She thumped her cane on the carpet. “You’re saying this fool’s lost his memory?”

Henry snorted softly.

The warlock only nodded, placing the crystal wand back in a black leather case. “From what Lady Hightower said and from the tests I’ve performed, the potion Lord Pearlmatter drank stripped away his memories, but only ones where…” He hesitated, throwing Tia a glance.

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. Her eyes were not green or brown, but a mix of both, and full of passion as they glowered. That look was vaguely familiar but when he tried to catch the memory, it remained elusive as a butterfly.

The warlock sighed. “It seems any memory connected to Lady Hightower has been veiled.” He hesitated. “What did you put into the potion?”

Potion? Henry’s head throbbed with confusion as they continued to talk around him. Had Tia hexed him? She’d mentioned something about that back in the lab but he’d been pretty focused on getting her mouth back on his. Probably should’ve paid more attention.

Ingredients were listed, arguments raised, dismissed, blame tossed, voices rising.

His mom sat next to him, hand resting on his shoulder. She masked her concern behind a bright smile, a common habit. “How do we fix it?” she interrupted, her Southern accent smooth like honey.

The arguments stopped.

His mom settled her skirts around her with one hand, rubbing his shoulder with the other. “If it’s magical, surely there’s a cure?”

The warlock brightened. “Of course. For every magical malady, there is an antidote.” He grimaced. “It may just take some time.”

“How much?” The clipped voice belonged to his dad. He was hard to read—like always—tall and intimidating as he faced off against the women with a scowl. Clearly, there was some beef there.

“Well, I… The potion Lady Hightower brewed isn’t known, so…”

Henry didn’t miss Tia’s jaw flexing, the hot color in her cheeks.

“Then we’ve lost this investment.” His dad paced, cutting a glare at Tia. “This is all your fault.”

“It was your son’s idea,” she shot back.

“Which you led him to, I have no doubt.”

Henry frowned.

“Keep your broom parked, Richard,” the old woman snapped, pointing her cane at him like a javelin. “Celestia knows what she did. Not everything is lost. Siddeley loved the idea of the two of them together. Peter’s showing him off the property now and he’ll steer him to come back.”

Before his dad could retort, Tia’s mom put up her hands. “Enough. Maybelline’s right. We can cure this but until we do, this disaster stays in this room.” She tossed her daughter a meaningful look. “The last thing we need is for it to get out that one of our potions gave Henry amnesia.”

His mom’s hand squeezed his shoulder once more before falling away.

“Exactly. We’ll fix this. We just need to stay calm and keep Henry out of the office for a few days until his memory returns.

” She brushed back the hair that swept over his forehead.

“You can move home until this is sorted, honey. We’ll help you remember what you’re missing.

” She winked as if she wasn’t worried at all.

It seemed as good a plan as any. His mind was like a book with the odd page ripped out.

Kind of hard to get the full story, and from the animosity in the room, it seemed like there was a good one here.

He smiled at her, patting her knee to erase the hint of anxiety he sensed.

It’d all be fine. He refused to think otherwise.

“I’ll work with Lionel,” Tia muttered, scuffing her heel on the carpet.

The warlock—Lionel—nodded gratefully. “Your assistance would be most welcome.”

The door opened on the heels of that comment and a man stepped in, dressed as the rest in a tuxedo. Tia’s dad.

He pressed his back to the door to close it, gaze on Henry. “Diagnosis?”

“Magical amnesia,” his wife returned, just as the old lady said, “Boy’s gone potty.”

“Only memories connected to Tia,” Maybelline explained, the feather in her hair flopping as she gestured at the woman in question. “But unfortunately, that includes a lot.”

“Like the merger.” Tia’s dad nodded, slipping a hand in his pocket. He looked to Tia. “You’ll help fix this.”

Tia didn’t point out she’d already volunteered, only dipped her head.

“Siddeley’s sorted,” the man continued, the calm in a storm. “For now. He loves that our children are…together.”

His dad scoffed. “And what, we just let him believe that?”

“Yes.” Tia’s dad shrugged. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Better he believe in a fake relationship than we lose this investment.”

“What if he tells someone?” Tia asked, gripping her sides so hard, the blood bleached out her skin. Henry watched, wondering why everyone was so hard-up for this man.

“He’s leaving for England in a couple of days. He won’t have the time. In the meantime, Richard and your mom will make the pitch.”

“But—” Tia cut off at his steady look.

“You’ve done enough,” Richard snapped.

Nobody stepped up to Tia’s defense. Henry might have, if he’d known what the hell had happened.

It was strange having his memory but not at the same time.

Like the morning after the night before, a hangover that obliterated the best and worst bits.

Maybe he should’ve been freaking out, but that was a life with magic.

Expect the unexpected. And this was definitely the unexpected.

He’d get his memories back sooner or later. Why dwell?

So he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the woman everyone was ganging up on. Okay, it was kind of a clusterfuck, but he still thought it was pretty shitty of Tia’s parents not to back her up, like family should. Across the room, separate from everyone, she looked very…alone.

His chest seized and he rubbed it with the heel of his hand, frowning slightly.

“Then, we’re agreed?” Tia’s dad stepped away from the door, attention on all of them. “We keep this between us until Henry regains his full memory?”

They all nodded. Henry didn’t bother; nobody was looking at him.

His mom leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, tweaking it like she’d done when he was five. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll have you back to your old self in no time.”

Whoever that was, he thought, eyes lingering on Tia.

* * *

Tia sat, spine straight, on the antique couch in Maybelline’s parlor. The clock on the mantel chimed and sunlight swirled across the floor through the window. For November, it was a gorgeous day, but she couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks and from all reports, Henry still hadn’t regained his memories.

She refused to let guilt nibble at her. It wasn’t like amnesia had ever killed anyone. He just…got a vacation from remembering her for a while. Sounded nice, actually. There were definitely days with him she’d like to forget.

She picked at the skin around her fire-red thumbnail, jittery at this out-of-the-blue summons to the Pearlmatter mansion.

Even without the whole screwed-up situation, she didn’t like being here.

The past haunted every corner: her laughing up at Henry as he leaned over her in dark spaces, his breath hot in her ear as she teased him after dinner, his hand in hers as he led her out to the gardens.

She’d taught him how to make creatures with his fire magic in those gardens, had pored over old textbooks for weeks mastering the words and hand gestures, all so he would be in awe of her.

He had been: chasing her down, flinging her over his shoulder to her laughing protests and spinning around, shouting to the world how amazing his witch was.