Page 34 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Hm. Maybe I dated the wrong Hawthorne,” he drawled.

The comment detonated a rage bomb inside Tripp’s head. This time, he was the one who produced the elemental shit-storm. The overhead lights flashed, thunder boomed, and the bookshelves rocked precariously.

“Rein it in, Enguerrand,” Florence said, sidling up to him. “And get your arse over to the meeting.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll escort Dailey myself. But if you boys believe for one second that I’ll allow fighting in my store, magical or otherwise, you’ve another think coming. Understood?”

“But El?—”

“In case you missed it, Elara has a spine of steel,” Payton assured him as she joined their small group and accepted books from the next wide-eyed customer in line. “Hello, Mr. Caldwell. Will there be anything else today? No? How is Mrs. Caldwell?”

Tripp looked at Elara with new eyes.

His girl possessed a fire in her soul, and her hands were balled into fists as she stalked back to the counter. “I thought you had somewhere to be, Flo. I told you Payton and I could handle things here.”

“And I believed ya, gel, but when the Mayor accosted me on the street and threatened to shut down my shop, I thought it was best to return.”

“She didwhat?” Payton shoved Caldwell’s purchase into his hands with more force than necessary and slammed the register drawer. “That miserable cow! What I wouldn’t give to turn her into a toad!”

Elara nodded. “We should?—”

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Tripp responded with a vehement shake of his head.

“Don’t even think it, Elara.” Placing his mouth next to her ear, he lowered his voice and said, “Remember the boots, flitter-mouse. A Trickster conjured them if you recall, and you’ll be unable to remove any curse you create while they’re on your feet.”

Peeling his fingers away, she glared.

“I don’t like being controlled, Tripp Nightshade, and I’ll advise you to knock it off,” she growled.

Florence and Payton wore equally challenging expressions, causing him to throw up his hands in defeat.

“Teach her about consequences, Florence,” he warned. “It’s your job, now.”

“She already understands, and if you truly knew anything about her, you’d see she’s a responsible adult.” Florence thumped his chest. “Get yourself and that momma’s boy out of my shop. Neither of you had better set foot in here again until you’ve learned to show respect for my granddaughters.”

Tripp’s jaw sagged, not from the challenge itself but because of her slip.

Dailey shifted forward as he registered Payton’s shock, but Tripp’s pot of give-a-shit-about-anyone-but-Elara was on the back burner, and he held up a hand to halt Dailey’s progress.

Tears filled Elara’s wide china-blue eyes as she gaped at Florence. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

The store grew silent as everyone held their collective breath, waiting for the answer.

“I wanted to,” Florence confessed hoarsely. “So many times I started to tell you, but I…” She shook her head in despair.

Unable and unwilling to let others witness their pain, Tripp snapped his fingers, freezing the entire room except for the Hawthornes and Florence.

“Now’s not the time,” he warned gently. “The gawkers?—”

“I don’t give a flea on a rat’s ass what these people think,” Florence snapped. “I never did. I only care about my gels.”

“If you cared so damned much, why didn’t you say something?” Payton cried. “You hadyearsto find us—in addition to the three we were here!”

“I didn’t want you to hate me for causing your parents’ disappearance,” she confessed.

Tripp’s heart ached for her. “You aren’t to blame. You never were.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

From her corner of the bookshop, Brelenia observed her son’s interactions with the mortals. Whether he cared to admit it or not, he loved Elara. She hadn’t been worthy in her incarnations as Elaina, Élise, or any other women Tripp had been attracted to. But now, the girl stood a fighting chance. For the first time in history, Elara ruled the boots, not vice versa.

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