Page 61 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“I’m sorry.”

Storm’s expression softened. “You have no reason to be, dear heart. You are as much a victim of his games as anyone.”

“True.” Raising her voice, she called, “Shitbag!”

Storm’s laughter blended beautifully with Hermes’s as the sound met Elara’s ears. Harmonious humor, as it were.

“So, about this shared father who isn’t as mortal as I believed,” she said. “What can you tell me?”

“The man you know as Rupert Hawthorne is Rhalassar of Hawthorne, son of Helios. No one knows who his mother is, not even our father, but for certain, she was a Goddess.” Storm shrugged as if it were an everyday occurrence not to know your parentage. Perhaps in the world of immortals, it was the norm, but it wasn’t something Elara would grow used to.

“Andyourmother?”

“Varinnia.”

Sadness tinged the spoken name, and though Elara didn’t want to pry, she felt she needed to ask. “What happened?”

“Posideon banished her for consorting with Rhalassar. She was promised to another.”

“So she came to your bay to have you?” Elara guessed.

“Yes. My birth brought forth an epic storm here in the Amazon.”

“Ah! Hence the name Storm.”

“More formally, Storm Bringer,” her sister said with a careless shrug. But she couldn’t fully disguise her hurt.

“What happened to your mother?”

“She languished, heartbroken and betrayed. When I was barely more than a child, her life force left her, and she transformed into the crystal stalagmite that serves to support my home.”

Elara pressed her hands to her mouth, holding back a cry of dismay. It was easy to envision the entire scenario. The man she knew as Rupert Hawthorne would’ve never thought about leaving his daughter to survive on her own. It’s why the story seemed plausible. Also, something about the woman’s proud bearing reminded Elara of Payton.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Both for your loss and for our absent father..”

“It’s not your fault. And it’s not your mother’s, either. Between mine and yours, there were many women, and Rhalassar broke hearts aplenty.”

“He always made it seem like he had no choice but to follow my ‘flighty’ mother, but it must’ve been the other way around.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe your mother was one he truly cared for. It matters not after all this time.”

Elara shook her head. “How are you so chill about it? I’m sure I’d be furious.”

“I suppose it’s the one thing I can be grateful to Hermes for. He taught me the Gods are fickle creatures out for their pleasures. When they receive what they want, they move on.”

Hadn’t Elara thought the same thing during the meeting?

Movement in the mirror caught her attention. Hermes was sitting upright and glaring toward the bay. “You kicked me out of your bed, Stormy! I didn’t leave you.”

“Because you’re a self-indulgent shitbag!” Storm shouted back.

The ground rumbled, and lightning flashed, causing Tripp to run toward them. Her sister threw up a hand, and a wall of water blocked his path. At the same time, Hermes tackled him to the sand.

“What the fuck did I tell you about entering the bay?” he shouted at Tripp. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

“Why can’t he enter?” Elara asked her sister.

Storm placed a finger to her lips before creating a secondary bubble to encase the two of them. To test the sound-proofing, she hollered. Neither Hermes nor Tripp reacted. With a nod of satisfaction, she said, “Technically, he can, but he might become sick if his intentions aren’t pure of heart. My mother cursed these waters, and unless they offer a sacrifice, one cannot enter without permission.”

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