Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You know! Start talking!”
Elara’s accusation rang in Tripp’s mind louder than church bells sounding in a belfry. Her upset prompted him to abandon his self-reflection and find her. After narrowing down her location, he popped into the alley beside the bookstore.
Bohdan was already there, in his massive beast form, pacing back and forth with raised hackles. Upon sensing Tripp, he whirled around and snapped his dangerous jaws. A wolf during the daylight hours wasn’t usual, and he was left to assume stronger magic was at play here.
“Hey, Bo,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing as he eased backward. The last thing Witchmere needed was a feral animal attack. “I’m friend, not foe, remember?”
Shifting rocks alerted him of another presence, and he whirled in time to see Archer, transformed into his gargoyle shape, stomping in his direction.
What the hell was going on?
A wave of unsettling fury washed through him.
Not his, but someone with enough power to alter moods and trigger shifters.
Who?
It came to him in an instant.
A Titan.
More specifically, Elara .
“Sorry to do this, fellas, but I don’t have time to rumble with you.”
So saying, he envisioned steel cages rising from the cobbled road, encasing Bohdan and Archer. They might not hold the mighty beasts for long, but it would be enough time for him to calm Elara and have her reverse the enchantment she was unknowingly weaving.
He’d almost reached the door when claws ripped down his back. The searing pain caused him to cry out, and the release of his surprised shout sent out an explosion of energy. Shingles along the rooftops lifted as if fans were performing a stadium wave, and decorative shutters rattled before tumbling to the ground.
Tripp spun back to confront Archer. “I see my cage couldn’t hold you.”
The gaping mouth was nothing more than a grotesque grin, with teeth as sharp as those damned curled claws he’d raked down Tripp’s back. Archer was preparing another attack.
Tripp had two choices: Stay and fight or permanently incapacitate the gargoyle. He hated the second option, but there was no time for the first.
One life or the many.
No contest. Tripp would always sacrifice the one for the many—unless that person was Elara.
Holding up his hands, he called forth the elements of wind and water, merging them into an arrow-sized waterspout. “Sorry to do this to you, friend, but you left me no choice.”
He threw the arrow straight at Archer’s chest, blasting him apart. Boulders rolled in every direction, and Tripp dodged razor-sharp nails and teeth as they flew through the air. Shoving down his sorrow for the loss of the ancient gargoyle, he dashed through the doorway.
The pulsing purple wall was a surprise, and he felt his way along it, following to see where it might end. On his journey through the bookstore, he noticed patrons frozen mid-action reading or pulling items from shelves. Some who’d sensed the coming storm were locked mid-run, prepared to flee.
Elara had no idea of her power, and Tripp had to warn her before she seriously hurt someone. Archer was on him, and if or when she discovered his fate, Tripp wouldn’t let her blame herself.
Once again, he quieted his mind and felt for her.
Office.
Drawing his ancient magic around him like a cloak, he trudged through the ever-thickening wall she’d created. His protection spell was useless, and his flesh burned as wave after wave of her rage struck him. Blood flowed freely down his back from Archer’s strike, weakening him.
About five feet from the doorway to the room, he found Hermes. He, too, looked like he’d traveled through hell to get there. Bloody and bruised, his left eye—the one not swollen shut—locked on Tripp.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?” Dread was building at the finality in Hermes’s voice. He would only apologize for one thing: Elara’s death. “No! Let me talk to her.”
“Zeus has spoken.”
“I don’t give a shit. You’re not killing my mate!”
A sly smile curled Hermes’s bleeding mouth. “Then get your ass in there and stop this.”
“Dick!”
“Trickster,” his cousin replied. Sighing, he slumped against a shelf and slid to a sitting position. “Hurry, man. I can’t contain her magic in this shop much longer.”
“It’s already seeped out. Out-of-control shifters are converging in the alley.”
Hermes shook his head. “Not from her, they aren’t. Don’t know whose power is stirring them up, but it isn’t Elara’s.”
Tripp didn’t have time to figure it out as he dashed toward the storeroom.
When he skidded through the open doorway, Elara and Payton were confronting Florence, who resembled a cornered rabbit ready to bolt.
Acting on instinct, he wrapped an arm around Elara’s waist, drawing her back against his chest. “Listen to me, flitter-mouse. You need to let this go. Whatever you think you’re doing here, it’s the exact opposite. The containment spell you’re unleashing is creating chaos.”
She tilted her head back, and her startled blue eyes locked with his. “What do you mean?”
“Time within the shop has been suspended, and shop customers are locked in place.” Dipping down, he rubbed his nose against hers. “You’ve got to take a deep breath and approach this conversation with Florence in a rational manner. Remember, the volcano is active beneath us, love.”
With a suspicious frown, she looked beyond him to the main desk. Her eyes widened, and she tightened her grip on his arms.
“I did that?”
“You and Hermes. He’s doing his damnedest to contain your anger to just the shop.”
“Holy shitballs!” Payton exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Tripp agreed, never taking his gaze from Elara. He kissed her temple. “Try to clear your mind and breathe in, then out again for the count of five. Can you do that for me?”
Her nod was jerky, as was her inhale. The exhale was smoother but still shaky.
“Good. Again,” he urged. After two more rounds of coached breathing, Tripp could feel the enchantment diminishing. “Excellent. Now, how about you and I walk down to Wily Witches for coffee?”
“My grandmother needs to tell us what she knows, Tripp. She lied. Rupert isn’t any old descendant of Helios. He’s his son.”
Tripp jerked, feeling lightheaded. “Son? Which one?”
“Rhalassar.”
He’d never heard the name, but it didn’t mean anything. Helios produced offspring like it was his personal mission to repopulate the world. But the news made Tripp see Elara in a new light. Her Titan abilities were second generation, and that power made her extremely dangerous to anyone who incurred her wrath.
Him included.
“I told the gel; this is news to me, Nightshade,” Florence said, flipping open her cigarette case and selecting one from the remaining three. “I got the information through my daughter Mae.”
The beauty of being a demigod was the ability to discern truth among lies along with intent. “Florence speaks the truth, flitter-mouse,” he said gently. “I can sense it, and so can you if you listen with your heart.”
Elara focused on Florence. “How do I do that?”
“Set aside your preconceived opinions and clear your head of what you’ve heard. Take her hand and ask your most pressing question. Let the truth wash over you.”
With a nod, she patted his arm, and he released her.
“You’re a human lie detector now, love. You’ve got this,” he assured her.
Determination on her beloved face, she approached Florence, stopping only a foot away. She held out her hand. “Are you willing to try?”
“I’ll tell you the truth, gel. I owe you that much.”
Hands clasped, they had an open dialogue. With every probing question Elara or Payton asked, Florence responded with the truth as she knew it.
“Do you know where my father is now?”
“I don’t, but I suspect as far away from Olympus as he could get.” The older woman drew back and fumbled for another cigarette, eventually remembering the unlit one tucked in the corner of her mouth. “He left here in a hurry with you gels when you were just out of diapers.”
“What about our mother? She was with him for a time.”
“She found him , not the other way around. I don’t know if it was prearranged, but Rupert hightailed it with you and Payton, not Mae.” The sincere eyes eating up her granddaughter’s expressions were filled with sorrow. “She’d been helping me in the shop that day. Rupert had assured her he’d care for the two of you, easing her fears about leaving you gels alone with him. When she returned home, it was to find he’d absconded with both of you and a special artifact they’d kept on the mantle.”
“Was it a blue globe with a smaller replica of the Earth in the center?” Payton asked, her brows drawn together in memory.
“Yes.”
“A transporter,” Hermes said from behind Tripp. “Only three exist, though they were once plentiful. The Titans used them to open portals between continents and dimensions.”
“Who has the other two?” Elara asked.
“No one knows, but it was believed Helios hoarded them.”
“Is it possible my father has them all?”
“Possible, yes. Probable?” He gave a “meh” shrug.
“He had to have at least two,” Elara said, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Our mom had one when she showed up.”
“How could you know that, gel?” Florence asked skeptically. “You were far too young.”
“I remember everything.” Wide, china-blue eyes danced over Tripp’s face before dropping to stare at her boots. “Every second of every lifetime I’ve ever had.”
“Holy shitballs!” Payton grinned. “That’s badass.”
“Not really.” The gaze Elara turned on them was filled with pain. “It’s a fucking curse to know you’ve never been enough.”
Tripp’s heart sank as the mountain rumbled.
“But you are, flitter-mouse. You always have been.”
Her twisted smile reeked of sadness. “Not for you.”
“Especially for me,” he assured her. “You’ve never been the problem, Elara Elizabeth Hawthorne. I have.”
A series of ferocious roars cut through the air, chilling Tripp’s blood.
“What the hell is that?” Payton gasped.
“Gargoyles. They want revenge for their leader,” he said grimly.
Elara gripped his forearm as more bellows rent the air. “Revenge? What leader?”
“Archer Roche.”
“What happened to Archer?” they all asked him in stereo.
“I killed him.”