Page 47 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“I don’t know. We haven’t reached the soft-spoken word or gentle-touch stage. We’ve been at odds over those cursed boots.”

“Cursed boots?”

“I should explain.”

Ten minutes later, Harrison looked shell-shocked by the information Tripp imparted. “And she can’t simply remove them? How does she sleep?”

“They come off at night but form a protective bubble so no one can touch them but her. Every morning, she’s compelled to put them back on.”

The doctor’s expression turned outraged. “Trickster magic is taking away her agency?”

“Yes and no. Yes, in that she’s forced to see this enchantment through. No, because she’s ultimately in charge of her fate. And all of ours.” Tripp rested his elbows on his knees as he considered how to explain. “Your brother was unkind to Payton, and Elara sent him running away with his tail between his legs. She’s powerful. More than anyone in this town while she’s wearing those things.”

“But if they are compelling her to be mean?—”

“They aren’t. Her life experiences are bubbling up, and she’s not taking any prisoners.”

Harrison appeared concerned. “Tripp, I can’t betray her confidence, but she has a lot of issues from this lifetime alone. Add in her experiences from the previous ones, and you may have a ticking time bomb on your hands.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. We have about forty-eight hours to resolve this mess. What am I missing?”

“What haven’t you given to her?”

The question caused Tripp to jerk upright. “She asked the same thing.”

“She’s clever. I’d be surprised if she hadn’t.” Harrison tilted his head. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I turned the question on her.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she doesn’t remember and that I was the one who always found her,” Tripp said.

“And is she correct?”

“Yes. I’m a fucking moth to her flame, but I’m not sure why. What power does she hold that no other woman does?”

Harrison laughed. “If you figure that one out, I want to be the first to know.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tripp Nightshade.

If Elara didn’t work with him and find a way to appease the Trickster, he and all the lovely Witchmere would die. She couldn’t bear the idea of his beautiful light extinguished.

Leaning on the balcony railing, she observed the bustling street below with detachment. What good did it do to care? Christmas was less than four days away, and their town, with all its holiday tourists, might never see it—all because ofher.

She closed her eyes and said, “Come to me, Hex, er, Hermes.”

When she lifted her lids, she was startled to see him standing before her. Those green eyes were more penetrating as a human, and his ire at being summoned was stronger than any irritation Hex had displayed. This time, he couldn’t hike a leg and lick his balls to show annoyance.

Elara almost laughed at the mental image.

“What do you want?”

“Maybe I miss my cat,” she replied with a chin lift.

His eyes raked her body. “I wouldn’t mind curling up with you again.”

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