Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tripp Nightshade.
Murderer.
Though not by choice.
Still, from the time he’d announced he’d killed Archer, a lead weight had settled in Elara’s belly and refused to budge. She hadn’t known the man, but he’d seemed like a quiet, gentle giant. Until she’d gotten a good look at Tripp’s shredded back. The entire time he’d been trying to calm her and teach her to control her energy, he’d been wounded. Suffering on her behalf.
Elara wrung out the washcloth and dabbed at the gash as gently as she could while doing her damnedest not to notice the contoured muscles under her hand. It wasn’t the time to lust over his perfect body when he was in pain.
“Are you all right, Tripp,” she asked softly.
He took his time answering. “Yeah.”
Although she couldn’t say how, she sensed the lie. Perhaps she was a human lie detector he’d declared her to be.
“You’re not.” She stroked back his thick, dark hair with her free hand, exposing his profile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” she argued without heat.
Whatever she’d called up to make the supernatural residents crazy had created a short-lived battle between two formidable men, resulting in the loss of life for one. She’d darted past Tripp to confront the gargoyle gang, but they’d transformed back into humans by the time she’d arrived outside.
Hermes misdirected them on Tripp’s behalf, allowing them to escape to her apartment.
Tripp half rolled to meet her gaze. “Listen to me, flitter-mouse. Whatever happened in that alley wasn’t your fault. Inside the building, yes. Outside was something else. Some one else. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“But you just did when you claimed to be all right.” She managed to keep the censure from her voice and merely stated what she knew to be true.
“True,” he agreed. With a self-deprecating grin, he said, “My back aches like a bitch, and I’m concerned it hasn’t healed yet.”
“Yet? It’s only been an hour.”
“I heal in minutes, Elara. This new development is concerning.”
“Either you’re losing your magic, or …” She didn’t know what the second reason could be. The first was scary enough.
“Or Archer’s claws were dipped in a poison,” he concluded grimly.
“Which ones might hurt you?”
“Few. Witch’s bane would make me sick but not kill me, and I avoid it when I can.”
Having never been required to study the basics as any standard witch might, Elara’s knowledge of poisonous herbs was woefully lacking. “What about your mother or Hermes? Might they know what could take down a demigod?”
“Probably. I would, too, if my brain wasn’t fuzzy.” His eyes drifted shut after a series of heavy-lidded blinks. “I’m going to rest, then I’ll give it more thought,” he murmured.
“Tripp?” When she received no answer, she shook him. “Tripp?”
Nothing.
Not a murmur or a muscle twitch.
“Enguerrand!” she shouted.
Again, no response.
“Hermes!” she thundered. “Get your ass here, now!”
His arrival was instantaneous. “What the fuck? Why do you keep—Tripp?” His scowl transformed into a disturbed frown. “Did you slip him something?”
“Hell no! Besides, I wouldn’t know what to give him. That’s why I called you. I’d hoped you could tell me.” Elara lifted the gauze from his back. “Archer did this while in his gargoyle form, and Tripp’s not healing. These scratches are looking angrier by the minute.”
“Having never fought one, he might not know, but Gargoyles distribute a toxic venom through scratches and bites. It’s lethal to humans, but gods should be immune.”
“Isn’t he technically half-human? Would that half be susceptible to the toxin?” she asked.
“Possibly.” Hermes appeared perplexed and as worried as she felt. “We have to call Brelenia.”
Hating the idea of bringing his meddlesome mother into their business, Elara agreed all the same. If there was poison in Tripp’s system that could be neutralized or extracted, she had to take the chance Brelenia could do it.
“Make the call.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth before the Goddess stood beside the bed.
“What happened to my son?” Brelenia demanded.
Elara felt the woman’s rage to her pinky toes and beyond. “When he was trying to get into the bookstore, he was attacked by Archer Roche. He’s a gargoyle.”
Bending, his mother examined the wounds. “This wasn’t Archer’s doing.”
“You knew him?”
“Know. His mission has always been to protect.”
“Tripp killed him,” Elara admitted, with pain in her heart for Witchmere’s premier protector. “He?—”
“Didn’t,” Brelenia said.
“What?”
“Archer is perched atop your building, dear. Step outside and see if you don’t believe me.”
She smiled, and her kindness set off an ache in Elara’s heart. What must it be like to have such a caring mother? Yes, recalled memories gave the impression Tripp avoided his mom whenever possible, but Elara also understood that Brelenia’s actions were born from her love for him. Whatever she had done, these damned boots included, it was her misguided motherly attempt to make him happy.
“I believe you,” she found herself saying. “But if it wasn’t Archer, who was it?”
The Goddess sent Hermes a commanding glance. “Find out, please.”
“On it.”
Then, she was alone with Tripp’s mother, suddenly terrified.
“You don’t need to fear me, dear,” the Goddess assured her as she removed her overcoat and rolled her sleeves. It belatedly occurred to Elara that the outfit blended with those worn by the townsfolk. No one looking at Brelenia would see anyone other than a classy, well-dressed woman.
“How often do you visit the mortal world?” Elara asked with a gesture toward the clothes. “And what can I find you to treat Tripp’s back.”
“Often, and nothing but fresh water, please.”
She ran to fill the kettle but halted when Brelenia’s hands covered hers.
“Not like that, dear. Utilize your elemental magic to conjure what I need.”
“Won’t it be easier to turn on the faucet?” Elara asked.
“Yes, but then the liquid won’t possess the special healing power only you, a water nymph, can create.”
All the cupboard doors opened, and an invisible hand plucked two five-quart mixing bowls from the upper shelves. They settled on the counter, ready to be filled.
“Place a palm over the opening of each bowl,” Brelenia instructed.
“Like this?” Elara centered her hands two inches above the lip.
“Precisely like that.” The Goddess beamed like she was the brightest of pupils. “Now, concentrate on your power. At first, it will seem strange. However, you’ll find the nymph cells within you differ from those of your Titan.”
“How?”
“They’ll be thirsty.”
Initially, Elara didn’t understand, but the more she centered herself and looked inward, the more aware she became of her body’s workings. There were two distinct forces within her, and after a few minutes, she isolated her nymph.
“I found it!” she cried, excited to have someone teach her and hopeful she might help Tripp.
“Excellent.” Brelenia waved her hand, and the French doors swung wide. “A snowstorm is brewing. Draw the moisture from outside and add it to the bowls.”
“I don’t?—”
“Concentrate, dear. Feel the cooler air. Sense the droplets in the clouds overhead.”
As if hypnotized, Elara felt her entire demeanor calm, and she closed her eyes, doing as instructed. Her body wanted to drink in the dampness to hydrate itself, but she stopped short of giving in to the gluttonous urge. Lifting her lids, she was shocked to see the shimmering water balls hovering just beyond her reach. She fumbled and quickly dove to recover them. When she straightened, she felt like a talented Cirque de Soleil performer and beamed in delight.
“I’m doing it,” she crowed, awed she could.
“Yes, my dear girl, you are.” The deep satisfaction in Brelenia’s voice caught Elara’s notice, and she sent her a sharp glance. But the only emotion reflected back was a pride similar to hers. “Now, guide the liquid to the bowls.”
Visualizing was the key to all magic, and Elara imagined the water cradled by the ceramic. For once, her spellwork was successful, with no fumbling or screwing up on her part. The liquid went right where she directed it.
“Very good, darling girl. Next, you will remove the impurities.”
Her dismay must’ve shown because Brelenia patted her arm. “I’ll guide you.”
A clock ticked in the back of Elara’s mind, making her hyperaware of Tripp’s slumbering form in pain. But his mother refused to be rushed, taking precious time to teach her the proper way to perform each task. When they were done, the Goddess gave her one bowl, grabbed the other, and then led her to the bedroom.
“Follow my lead. Scoop a bit of water up and slowly disperse it over his back. Like this.” After demonstrating, she nodded to Elara. “Your turn, dear.” She smiled after Elara completed her task. “Excellent. Now, scoop more, but place it on his back this time and hold it there. The consistency should be gel-like, contacting his skin from shoulder to hips.”
“Like this?” Elara created a cooling gel and layered it on Tripp’s open wounds, keeping her arms spread to encompass the width and length of his torso.
“Perfect. Do you think you can maintain that until he’s healed?”
“I can try.”
Brelenia narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something. After a second’s pause, she nodded. “Do your best, please.”
“Why is my water nymph magic so important to his healing? Isn’t your power stronger?”
“I understand that Enguerrand and Hermes brought you to Storm Bringer’s Bay, yes?”
“Yes,” Elara said, watching her closely for any sign of displeasure.
“And your fever was helped by the Storm Bringer’s magical water, yes?”
“Uh-huh.”
Brelenia was making a point and wouldn’t be hurried. “Water nymphs, such as the two of you, possess a far greater ability to heal. Water is life.”
“I still don’t get it. I’m sorry.”
“Your parents will get a piece of my mind if ever they return here. It’s shameful they denied you the proper tutelage.”
The Goddess huffed out a breath when Elara said she was sorry again. Waving off a third apology, Brelenia continued her explanation. “The brain and heart are comprised of roughly seventy-three percent water, while the lungs are higher, at eighty-three percent. Each organ demands its fair share. Even bones require water.” She gestured to the closing wounds. “The poison was acidic. And do you know what neutralizes acid?”
“Water.”
“Precisely. Water is life. It is healing. Without it, we would all die.”
Elara nodded. “Is that why the volcano issue is such a big deal? Because the heat, flames, and lava flow will dissolve and evaporate the mountain’s snow and suck the moisture from the air?”
“Partially. It’s the ash and lack of oxygen that will kill the people here.”
“Yes. But you can stop it, right?”
“No, dear. You can.”
“I don’t know how,” Elara admitted, feeling stupid and miserable for her part in the threat to Witchmere.
“When the time comes, you’ll possess the knowledge. I promise.”
She wanted to cry. Why did everyone have to be so damned vague?
“Because you need to sort these things for yourself, dear. You and Enguerrand are two highly intelligent individuals, and between you, you have what it takes to save your little village of Witchwood.”
Unaware she’d spoken aloud, she jolted when Brelenia answered. Losing some of the slushy water and almost undoing all the hard work she’d managed so far with Tripp’s wounds made her eyes burn with tears of frustration.
“Witchmere,” Elara corrected with a sniffle.
Brelenia’s lips twitched, and Elara guessed the Goddess had purposely goaded her with the wrong name. What was it Tripp said about the Gods testing mortals?
“Even water nymphs need a little fire inside them, my dear,” Brelenia said, patting her cheek in a motherly fashion. “You have more than most, but you have to dig to find it. I suspect, like a volcano, yours isn’t far below the surface. But it can bubble up and consume you if you don’t learn to manage it.”