Page 36 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“I’ll watch you torture your son with enchanted footwear,” he quipped with a wicked grin.

Brelenia narrowed her eyes. “What did you do, Hermes?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” she asked dryly, raising a stern brow.

“Because you’re supremely untrusting, love.”

“Fair.” She turned her gaze back to her son’s drama, confident she appeared suspended like the Witchmere residents. Hermes was visible only to her or Enguerrand, should he happen to glance their way. “What are their chances this time, do you suppose?”

“The stakes are higher.”

Her heart rate increased. “How so?”

“Rainier is active beneath the Earth’s crust. It won’t take much for them to trigger it.”

Just as she suspected!

“Like Pompeii?” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“And Witchmere will be lost?”

“Along with this entire corner of North America.”

“What did you do, Hermes? How can we help them succeed?”

“It’s why I’m here. This is their final chance, Brel. Either they get it right, or the mountain blows.” He covered her hand and squeezed. “I didn’t alter the boots. Tripp and Elara did that, causing them to gain strength from the chaos of the past. Lovers have seven lifetimes to succeed. These two have already had six.”

Her heart sank. Enguerrand was as stubborn as they came, and getting him to acknowledge his affection for Elara would be difficult. “Do I tell him?”

“That he and all those he’s come to care about have less than seventy-two hours to live?” Hermes grimaced.

“Hermes, help me. Please.” Tears burned her eyes. “I cannot lose my son.”

His gaze dropped to their clasped hands, and his mouth firmed. Brelenia felt his fingers tighten, and his unimaginable power boosted hers.

“You won’t, love. We’ll do what we must.”

He brushed away the single tear she shed. Balancing the drop on his finger, he shifted in Tripp’s direction and blew, sending Brelenia’s tear across the room to mingle with Elara’s. Magic existed in the single drop.

“Courage, dear girl,” he said. “Stand firm in your convictions this time.” Shooting Brelenia a side glance, he grinned. “Perhaps you should invite her around for tea tomorrow, love. I have a plan to shake the ground under Tripp’s feet.”

“And not in an erupting volcano way?” she asked.

He laughed, snapped his fingers, and disappeared into a shimmering light.

The accusatory looks from her granddaughters hurt Florence. They’d been left alone to fend for themselves since they were teenagers. Yet, they weren’t entirely alone. She’d always watched over them, instilling a magical tracker on their vehicles when they were out on dates, creating trusts for them to draw from after their parents disappeared, and chasing away anyone who didn’t have their best interests at heart.

She glanced at Tripp.

He was the exception.

Although Flo suspected he truly cared about Elara, the man would ultimately break her girl’s heart. Just as George Shaw had hers and Rupert Hawthorne had her daughter, Mae’s. The Shaws were cursed in love. Had been from the beginning of time. All it took was one ancestor to run afoul of a jealous deity, and their family was marked for eternity.

Cutting a fleeting glance at the alcove, Flo grimaced. When Brelenia came to her with her cockamamie plan, Flo should’vetold her no. But the Goddess had promised she’d break the Shaw curse, stating if Flo didn’t interfere between Tripp and Elara, things would be set to rights for their family.

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