Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Tripp Nightshade.
Such a ridiculous name!
Brelenia sighed her irritation.
“We’ve found him, my queen.”
“Excellent. Where?” She held back her smile of satisfaction.
“A small town in the Pacific Northwest.”
“And?”
“It appears he’s formed an attachment.”
Yes. She’d felt the moment he kissed his potential mate. They all did here on the island of Messia, where their family of gods and goddesses dwelled. Her wayward son had made a monumental mistake today. So much so, the repercussion could be felt in the rumbling vibration of the ground beneath her feet.
Having it confirmed, she waved away the handmaiden. “You may go, Eloisa. Thank you.”
After the young woman bowed and backed away, Brelenia allowed herself a triumphant smile.
“You’ve met your downfall, Enguerrand,” she said aloud as if her son were in the room. “Watching you navigate the maelstrom will be entertaining to the extreme.”
She almost felt sorry for him, for what was to come.
Almost .
Brelenia crossed to her wardrobe and swept aside the gossamer curtains. The room was larger than her bedchamber and contained clothing she’d favored throughout the centuries, from creation day to the present. As one inclined to prefer tidy surroundings, she maintained staff who were as organized as she was and cared for her precious treasures as if they were their own.
But the one thing Brelenia never shared, the prized possession she’d kept hidden, was a unique pair of footwear, able to adapt to the person wearing them. They might sometimes appear as sandals or, at other times, clogs or boots. When possessed by the unworthy, they created catastrophic chaos. But a chosen one could wield their magic, given the proper incentive.
As their first owner, she ultimately found a partner in Enguerrand the Second. Their journey hadn’t been without its trials, as were all deity-mortal relationships. However, they’d developed a deep, abiding love the bards wrote songs about and other couples coveted.
Enguerrand the Third, or Tripp, as he preferred to be called, was the first of their five offspring who refused to settle down. Like his father before him, her firstborn was stubborn to a fault and refused to take direction. The boy would cut off his left arm if it meant spiting Brelenia. The foolish child believed he could hide from her .
Born of a drunken union between Cronus and a lesser goddess, Darana, Brelenia was the unknown half-sister of Zeus. Her birth had been hidden by necessity, as Cronus was fond of killing his children so they didn’t overthrow him and reign supreme.
She had never desired the responsibility Zeus assumed when he defeated their father, and she was happy ruling her island for eternity as a relative unknown. Her job as ruler to hard-working, kind people who wished for peace above all things fulfilled her and kept her too busy to bother with war and the headaches it brought.
“What has you so deep in thought, my darling?”
She glanced up to see her lover. “What else?”
“Ah, Tripp.” Eyes dancing, Rand smiled. The gesture was broad and engaging, causing her to sigh, much like she had when she was a mere girl and first saw him wield his wicked grin at another.
“If you knew, darling, why did you ask?”
“You like to say, ‘He’s stubborn like his father,’ but it’s you he takes after, Brel. How many centuries have you been trying to marry the poor boy off?”
“I’ve lost count.”
His chuckle was felt to her toes, and she curled them in response. She tilted her head to let him lavish her neck with nibbling kisses.
“Our ‘poor boy’ is hopeless, Rand! His rebellion is delaying my job to see the rest of our children settled.”
“There’s no reason you can’t see to their futures. Let Tripp run free, Brel. It’s not causing any harm.”
“Of course it is! Did you forget about the last disaster?”
“The Titanic?” At her nod, he frowned. “I keep telling you it was faulty ship design and an iceberg, darling.”
“And I keep telling you it was because he tried to dodge the Fates. Those poor people might still be alive if it wasn’t for his obsessive need to avoid entanglement.” Rand’s snort annoyed her, and she sent him a sour look as she crossed the room. “Roll your eyes all you want. We both know the truth, and so does Enguerrand.”
“For the love of Messia, Brelenia! Stop buying into this madness.”
Hurt he couldn’t see her point of view, she shrugged and poured herself more wine from one of three carafes sitting on the sideboard. “Believe it or not, but his relationship woes have caused fifty percent of the world’s natural disasters—and a good forty percent of the man-made ones.”
“Look, I’ll grant he was misguided during the French Revolution, but didn’t he rectify it by encouraging Wellington to remain strong, leading to the capture of Napoleon?”
“Precisely my point! If he hadn’t put ideas in the heads of those poor peasants, none of it would’ve happened.”
“It would’ve happened anyway, Brel. The people were hungry, and their living conditions were abysmal.” Rand approached and hugged her from behind. “Their monarch could’ve used your counsel in running their country.” With a nod toward the balcony, he pointed out the group laughing in the courtyard. “Everyone is happy here because you’ve provided what they need. You’re an excellent ruler of Messia. Tripp realizes that, too. He simply went about helping the underprivileged the wrong way.”
She twisted to see Rand’s face. “He’s a hothead who refuses to learn. Tell me, exactly how many years have you wasted trying to teach him about crops and what’s needed to maintain the balance for optimal growth?”
He grimaced.
“I rest my case! His burning desire is to be human. I should remove his magic and let him live like the rest of the mortals.”
“I recognize that look. Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Brelenia,” he warned. “He’s not the only one who’s made a muck of things in the past. Those damned sandals of yours—” He groaned when he saw her guilty flush. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
“What are you planning to do?”
She shrugged a shoulder.
“Woman, if you interfere in his life again, he’ll never forgive you.”
“Oh, posh! Of course, he will. Besides, didn’t you feel the quake?”
He nodded with a dark frown, reminding her of their wayward son when confronted with something he didn’t particularly care for.
“That was Enguerrand kissing his mate.”
Rand hung his head. “Wonderful. We’re about to have another major catastrophe on our hands.”
“Perhaps not,” she said slyly, glancing at the box with the magical shoes.
“Brelenia of Messia, don’t you dare send those things?—”
They disappeared in a puff of smoke, and she grinned her satisfaction. “Too late.”
“I need to warn him.”
She snapped her fingers, and her clothing fell away.
His surprised blink turned into a hot stare, and his mouth curled into a wide, wicked grin. “What sandals?”
Brelenia laughed and opened her arms.
Tripp Nightshade.
Since their kiss last Wednesday, he’d taken up residence in Elara’s mind and refused to leave. The week had led to avoidance on both their parts. By unspoken mutual agreement, they headed in opposite directions whenever they saw each other.
“The least you could do is pay rent, you kissing pirate,” she muttered as she cut through the tape of yet another box. When she saw the contents, she groaned. “Flo is going to freaking kill me.”
“Why?”
A surprised scream escaped Elara, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “Oh, Pixy Stix, Payton! You know better than to sneak up on me in the storeroom. It’s creepier than a graveyard at midnight in here.”
Her sister grinned. “You’re just a ‘fraidy cat, El. Admit it.”
“Suck a lemon.”
Payton wandered around, picking up random things, blowing the dust off, and half-heartedly examining them before returning them. “So, why is old Florence going to kill you?”
“I screwed up the order again,” Elara admitted. Heat crept up her neck, and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassed flush.
“Again?” Payton frowned and knelt by the box.
Trying to keep her nosy sister from examining its contents, Elara slapped her hands on the cardboard flaps and scowled. “What are you doing here, anyway? It’s not like you read.”
With narrowed eyes, Payton peeled Elara’s fingers away, one by one, leading to a tussle. Her sister released a triumphant cry when she pinned Elara to the ground and used her for a chair as she dug into the order.
“Vibrators?”
“You don’t need to crow about it,” she growled, shoving Payton off her. “And why don’t you say it louder? I’m sure they didn’t hear you across the road at Wily Witches Brew-Ha-Ha .”
“Oh, pfft. Stop acting like an uptight virgin. Who cares what these people think?”
“Me. And so should you.”
“I gave all that up when I dumped Mayor Cobb’s son,” Payton said, waving her hand in dismissal. Her breezy attitude didn’t match the troubled light in her aquamarine eyes. And with good reason! She’d loved Dailey Cobb with her entire being, insisting she’d left him at the altar for his own good.
“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”
“At a distance.” Her pain was difficult to witness, and Elara hugged her, only to be brushed off. “Our break up was two years ago, El. It’s old news.”
“You can kid yourself and the rest of Witchmere, but not me, P. You still care.”
“Maybe, but it was for the best. I’m not wifey material,” Payton replied, morose.
“Who is?”
They both screeched, nearly falling over when Florence stepped from the shadows.
“What the hell is wrong with you gels? You’re powerful witches, and you jump at every shadow.”
“In case you didn’t know, this attic is horror story worthy,” Elara retorted. “Even Hex refuses to come up here.”
“Because that cat is too lazy to move off the sofa. Goddess forbid he’d have to chase a mouse or seek out a meal.” A cough rattled in Florence’s chest, but it didn’t stop her from placing another home-rolled cigarette between her lips.
“Don’t you dare light that in here!” Payton jumped up and tossed the offending cigarette away. “Not only are they cancer sticks, but if you drop an ash in this tinderbox, we’re likely to be burned alive.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Flo muttered. “Besides, fags settle my nerves. Maybe you’d know if you had a puff or two.”
“I suspect you roll weed in with that tobacco, so I suppose you’ve got a point. But skip the toxic crap and go straight to that golden high already.”
“You have a hippy heart like your mother, gel.”
With a litany of swear words, Payton stormed away.
“Was that necessary, Flo?” Elara asked softly, careful to keep censure from her tone. Her cantankerous old boss hated to be in the wrong and turned surly if confronted head-on.
“No. But I see so much of—” The older woman clammed up, compressing her lips as if to lock the words inside.
Elara took a wild guess. “You see so much of my parents? You knew them?”
When they were young, Payton and Elara lived with their parents on the outskirts of this town. But nothing had kept Rupert and Mae Hawthorne in one place for long. As Flo said, they possessed hippy hearts, and their bohemian lifestyle invited scorn.
“Yes,” Florence snapped.
Elara stared, waiting her out. Eventually, the old curmudgeon softened, and her gaze dropped to the box.
“Vibrators, hmm?” Florence’s laughter surprised Elara. “The first box sold like hot cakes at an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“What?” Aghast, she stared at her boss. “You said you were sending them back!”
“Enguerrand suggested I put them on the social media shopping site. That TickerTape video went vital.”
“Viral, and it’s Tik—you know what, never mind. Who’s Enguerrand? A new beau?”
Florence narrowed her eyes in consideration, then opened her mouth. Whatever she was about to say was lost when Tripp stepped from the shadows.
Elara screamed.
These constant surprises were precisely why she was likely to have a heart attack in this blasted storeroom!