Daphne flapped a hand at her and chuckled. “I went through a heavy Black Sabbath period where I loved everything Ozzie Osborne.”
Out of the blue, a pang of fear struck Calla for no reason. An unsettling, irrational fear. “Do you think Winnie’s okay?”
Daphne’s nod was quick. “I’m sure of it, honey. Maybe she just lost her phone or something. But the entire witch world would know if something happened to her. Trust me. Now, let’s do this before we miss our time period.”
Calla hesitated for a moment, fighting her fear. This was their last big hurrah, and she was trying not to dwell on the fact that it might not work any better than any of the other scenarios they’d relived.
Daphne pulled her into a hug, squeezing her hard. “I have a good feeling about this.”
“Me too,” Greta chirped, massaging Calla’s shoulders. “You ready, champ?”
She forced a smile to her face and thumbed her nose. “Ready, coach.”
“Places, everyone!” Daphne bellowed into the megaphone.
As she positioned herself once more on the blanket in front of the campfire, Nash looked over at her and shot her an encouraging smile and a wink. “I have a good feeling about this, Cupcake Lady.”
Calla gasped, words escaping her.
Nash’s head shot up, his eyes concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She grinned just before she threw herself at him, knocking him backward onto the blanket. Planting a kiss on his lips, she rubbed her nose against his. “You called me Cupcake Lady!”
He looked surprised, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around her. “Did I? Wait. Why would I call you Cupcake Lady?”
“Because I bake all the time! But we haven’t mentioned it once today. Not one single time. Cupcakes are how I talked you into helping me paint the center shortly after we reconnected! You love my cupcakes!”
“I do? Wait. I do! Holy hell, I do like your cupcakes. I love your cupcakes, in fact—”
“Are cupcakes another strange metaphor for the smexy? Because we really need to get on with this, kittens. You industry folk are hard to keep focused,” Daphne groused.
Calla pulled herself to her feet, taking Nash with her. “No! He called me Cupcake Lady!”
“He called you Cupcake Lady?” Greta shouted, her face splitting into a grin. “Yahooooo!”
As everyone began cheering, she reached for Nash, her heart pounding so hard she wasn’t sure she could keep it in her chest.
But when she turned back around—he was gone.
Like, totally and completely gone.
Everyone sat in stunned silence around the large table at Winnie’s house. No one spoke, no one moved—not even when two of the witches made sweet tea and poured it into tall glasses.
Nash was gone and they’d looked everywhere for him. From his ranch and everywhere in between. Nothing. Just nothing.
Flora held her hand, stroking the back of it in soothing circles while Ezra let her rest her head on his shoulder and Twyla Faye nested at her feet.
Thunder cracked in loud rumbles outside, lightning followed shortly thereafter, sizzling across the sky and lighting up Winnie’s kitchen windows.
“Okay, people. I can’t take this anymore,” Icabod said from the far end of the table, where he was propped up against Greta’s chest. “Tell me what happened again?”
“He was there one minute, gone the next,” Daphne said into her hands, her defeat crystal clear in her tone.
“Into thin air,” Gus muttered.
“Yep,” Flora said, snapping her fingers. “Just like that.”
Dread filled Calla’s chest, clawing its way up to her throat. What did this mean? Did it mean they’d failed? Had the invisible timer on this madcap day buzzed and this was the outcome to the one-day theory?
Was this the something awful? Because wow—this was pretty shitty.
Greta’s head snapped up. “You know, just a couple of seconds before the ruckus broke out, I smelled magic. But it wasn’t male magic…”
“Okay,” Icabod encouraged. “That’s a clue! So you smelled magic. What kind of magic, BIC? Good, bad, playful, angry?”
She cocked her head. “I don’t know. It was just a whiff. I didn’t stop to examine it because we were all in such a rush. I just know there was no need for it. I mean, Nash didn’t use his magic when he was asking you to be his steady, did he, Calla?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “No magic.” Unless you counted the magic his words filled the air with that night. “But then, how would I know? I’m a werewolf. I smell emotions, detect shifts in body language, and I run fast. I wouldn’t know the scent of magic if it hit me in the eye. But is that what made him disappear? Maybe it had to do with what Fate said? Maybe Nash’s disappearing was his fate?”
Daphne popped up from the table, slapping her hand on it as she did. “Okay, who was using their magic tonight?” she demanded. “Fess up or I’ll use mine, and I know none of you wants to experience the wrath of my decimator!”
“Jesus in a Speedo! Not the decimator spell. You put that finger down right now, Daphne Martin!”