Winnie?
Winnie was suddenly there, right in the middle of the room, a puff of sparkly purple smoke surrounding her, dressed in slacks that looked suspiciously like MC Hammer pants and a cropped jacket with big shoulder pads.
She looked down at her clothes and giggled. “We threw Baba a ‘surprise, you’re eleventy-billion years old’ party, and you know how she likes her Hammer time.” Snapping her fingers, she went from retro ’80s to a pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt.
“Where have you been? We’ve texted, called. We were just shy of Greta sending smoke signals. You’re never out of touch!” Daphne accused.
“That’s what brought me back. Something happened to my phone. Damnedest thing, too. I haven’t gotten a single message since just after I left yesterday—not even Greta’s daily update. When I tried to call with Ben’s phone, no one was picking up. Something just didn’t feel right. That, and a weird premonition I just couldn’t shake brought me back.”
“Thank God you’re here,” Daphne muttered. “We’ve got a problem—a big one.”
Rolling up her sleeves, she sat down at the table next to Calla and gave her a hug. “Okay, what the hell is going on here? I’m gone one day and all hell breaks loose.”
Everyone began talking at once, sharing their versions of what had gone down since this morning when she and Nash woke up, while Winnie held Calla’s hand and listened, absorbing the information.
Twenty minutes later, they were all silent again.
Winnie blew out a breath. “Okay, so he just up and disappeared and no one but BIC smelled magic or saw anything. Nothing happened at the dance? Did someone maybe slip something in his drink?”
Calla firmly shook her head. “Nothing.”
Gus snorted and popped his lips. “They weren’t there long enough to put anything in his drink. They danced one dance and went off to make the whoopee.”
Daphne and Greta both nodded their heads. “But oh, Winnie. You should’ve seen our girl,” Daphne breathed. “She looked beautiful. Just amazing. All dark hair and a pink dress that fit her like a glove. She was gorge—”
“Pink dress?” Winnie asked, her head cocking to the left. “Did you end up borrowing one of my dresses, Calla?” The tone of her question was urgent.
Calla’s anxiety rose. “Yeah. It really was amazing, too. I felt so feminine and sexy in it.”
Now Winnie rose, her fists clenched. “A pink wraparound?”
Calla rose, too, her heart pumping. “That’s the one. It was the only pink one you had…”
Winnie gripped her hand, her eyes intense, just as another crack of lightning screeched across the sky. “Where’s the dress, Calla?”
At the scene of the crime? “Back at Nash’s. I think. I left in such a hurry, but I’ll replace it. I promise.”
“No! That’s not what I mean. Just hold on!” she yelped and snapped her fingers.
The next thing Calla knew, they were all in Nash’s bedroom, falling into each other like a bunch of dominos.
Flora was the first to speak from beneath Clive, who’d fallen on top of her. “Clive! Put your pickle away and get off me, you old buffoon!”
Sprawled on the floor, Calla tried not to waste time thinking about how she’d gotten here. As she rose to a sitting position, she saw the dress. Nash had draped it on the edge of his neatly made bed. “There! On the bed!”
Winnie snatched it up, her eyes widening as Calla helped Flora and Clive up off the floor. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no!”
Panic seized Calla again. Her eyes flew to Winnie’s. “What’s wrong?” Oh God. What now?
Winnie held up the dress and shook it in the air. “This is my get lucky dress!”
Oh, she’d gotten lucky…“Okay, Voodoo Lady, what does that mean?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“I should’ve burned this dress! It was my Vegas dress. Zelda and I used to joke about it all the time.”
Zelda—Winnie’s best friend, the one she’d done time with in magic-abusers jail before she’d come to Paris, or something like that. “And?”
“And before I came to Paris, I was…well, I was freer with my affections than even I like to admit. I put a spell on this dress, so whomever I chose as my prey—er, date, wouldn’t remember me or anything that happened between us the next day. Sort of a play on ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’. I just made sure it really stayed in Vegas.”
“OMG, how clever!” Daphne cooed. “What happens in the dress stays in the dress. I bow to your genius. Love it!”
Greta blew her whistle, her face full of disapproval. “Out of bounds, Daphne. Curb the enthusiasm.”
Daphne winced. “Sorry.
Winnie winced, too. “I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done in my past, but I did it to protect my anonymity. It’s no excuse, I know, but I’m a different person now.”