100% That Witch - Celia Kyle Page 0,4

more shell-shocked than before, Tiffany rose on unsteady feet and plodded to the door. It was as if her steps cut into the floor, but her head floated above, disconnected. The corridor was alive with activity, all seeming to race past her at hyper speed. She alone moved underwater.

Shaking her head as if she might be able to dispel the reality of things, she looked at her test again. The F was the same livid crimson as before. In that instant, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the screen.

Dad.

Shit. Of course he had to call right now.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, doing what she could to force brightness into her voice. “What’s up?”

“I was calling to see if your roommate from the Judiciary had taken off yet. I think you said it was today?”

“Yeah! We even had a little farewell thing for them last night.” In spite of herself, she could hear the falter in her chipper tone. It was impossible to lie to her father. His mild clairvoyant powers seemed uncannily capable of cutting through the phone.

“What’s wrong, Tiffany?”

“Nothing. In fact, things are really great. I’ve started dating this incredible necromancer, and he was at the dinner last night.” If she held out any hope this might impress her father, it was short-lived.

“Is that right?” he said with a disinterested dryness. “How wonderful for you. It must really take the sting out of whatever it is you’re keeping from me.”

Damn, he was good. Not wanting to have this particular conversation within steps of the class she was tanking, she made her way to the massive doors that led out into the green.

“How did you get so good at this?” she asked as lightly as she could.

“Practice. What is it, Tiffany?”

“Well,” she heaved a sigh and decided to step right into things. “It’s Dr. Judd’s Potions class.”

Her father’s silence grew tight, and even over the phone, she could feel his disapproval.

“What about it?” His voice was flat, which was even more dangerous than if he had shouted.

“It looks like I’m failing. At the moment,” she hastened to add. “We just talked about it, and he said he thinks I can still turn things around…”

“Dammit, Tiffany,” her father cut in with an exasperated grunt.

Here it comes. As if it wasn’t bad enough to feel like such an idiot, now she needed to grit her teeth and bear whatever her father had in store for her.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he drove on. “If you knew, you wouldn’t be failing. Would you?” He really knew how to stick it in and break it off. “We had a deal. You remember that. Right?”

“I remember.”

“As long as you passed your classes, I would support you,” he reminded her, as though she hadn’t just said she remembered their deal. “I never dreamed we would actually find ourselves in a conversation like this one, but...here we are.”

“What are you saying?” The line was quiet. “Dad, what do you mean ‘here we are’?”

He sighed, suddenly sounding defeated.

“I’ll continue to pay for your education, of course—”

“Wait, Dad—”

“But until you get your grades up, that’s all the financial assistance you’re getting.”

She opened her mouth but then closed it again. It was like being struck by a lightning bolt. Tiffany felt like she was shrinking under her skin at the note of finality in her dad’s voice.

“What…” she stammered when her voice finally came back to her. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Well, if you want to keep living the high life that your grades indicate you’ve been enjoying, I suggest you get a job. Think about it, and let me know if anything changes.”

She looked at the phone, which was suddenly inert in her hand. Her stomach was a shriveled, icy mass, and she looked out at the sun streaming down the middle of a gorgeous afternoon. The whole of Othercross seemed to be mocking her with its perfection.

Almost without meaning to, she started walking back toward Hollow House. If she had been a crier, this might have been the perfect moment to indulge. But it was almost a point of pride with her to eschew tears. She may manifest her magic in cutesy little ways, but that didn’t mean she was a softie.

Even so, a thin rim welled up along her lower lids, and she reached up to brush them off as quickly as possible. The last thing she needed were thick streaks of eyeliner running down her cheeks. That kind of thing