Daphne and Greta made a circle around Winnie, with Gus, Clive, and Flora placing their hands on each of the women’s shoulders
Calla held up a hand, poking her head between Clive and Flora. “Wait! Can this hurt anyone?”
“Don’t you worry about us, girlie. Just sit back and watch the show!” Gus cackled.
Winnie eyed everyone, holding up the dress and her wand. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
She hurled the dress in the air, raising her arm high and pointing the wand at the pink fabric as, almost in slow motion, it flew upward and fluttered, the soft material billowing.
Winnie began to chant in what Calla was almost sure was Latin—the words picking up rhythm and speed. Daphne and Greta chimed in while the seniors mumbled something indistinguishable.
Sparks sizzled red and orange in midair, appearing then disappearing. The room shook, a quaking Calla felt in her chest. The air in the room evaporated for a moment then whooshed around them like the winds of a hurricane, almost knocking her over.
She scrambled to hold herself upright, clinging to Greta’s sturdy shoulder while they continued to chant.
A roar of fire cascaded down on them, as though someone had ignited a match; it swooped up and outward, turning the dress to ashes.
Winnie’s signature purple smoke swirled around them when she popped her eyes open and turned her wrist, aiming the wand at the cyclone the dress had become. The dress disappeared, leaving only a few ashes in its wake.
Daphne leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees and gasping for breath, while Greta did the same. Beads of sweat dripped from Gus and Clive’s foreheads. Flora shook, her small frame wavering.
Calla dove for Flora, catching her at the waist and setting her on the edge of Nash’s bed. “Flora! Are you okay?”
Flora threw her head back and laughed. “Best damned time I’ve had in a hundred years!”
Calla ran to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to wipe Gus and Clive’s faces, but they were too busy fist-bumping and slapping each other on the back to need her assistance. “Seven hells, buddy! Did ya see the flames?”
Clive grinned wider than she’d seen him grin in a long time. He whirled his finger in a cyclone-like motion. “And the dress? Like a damn Tasmanian devil!”
“Okay, what the hell just happened?” What did burning the dress, aside from keeping it from getting into the wrong hands again, do but incinerate it?
Daphne stood up straight as an arrow, her blonde hair askew, her eyes grim. She held out her hand to Calla. “We used the dress to find Kirby, honey. She left her imprint of magic on it. What she forgot was, it’s a sure way to lead us right to her.”
Oh, thank God. Her throat was dry, her stomach in turmoil, making her force the words out. “Where is she?”
Winnie gripped her shoulder, her fingers still shaking, her face pale. “She has Nash, Calla.”
Chapter Eleven
Kirby paced the floor, her movements jerky, her words erratic, as Nash tried to piece together what the hell was going on. She had him bound by something invisible, something much stronger than any warlock magic he possessed.
And she rambled, striding back and forth across the floor of old man Greely’s barn as Nash sat on a bale of hay, as helpless as a damn newborn.
Fuck.
She stopped short, coming to stand in front of him, but as she spoke, she almost looked right through him. “I don’t understand what went wrong? I did everything the spell said to do. What went wrong?” she wailed, clenching her fists.
He cleared his throat, wishing he’d spent more time practicing spells than roping cows. “What don’t you understand, Kirby? Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
Now she saw him, her eyes wild and furious, connected with his. “You shut up, you stupid, stupid shit-slinger! I hate you!” she spat, beads of her spit lashing his face.
Whoa now. “Why do you hate me, Kirby? I thought we were friends. You’re always so nice to me when I come to the center to see Calla—”
“Don’t you say her name, you filthy barn animal!” she screamed in his face, literally making his hair move. “She deserves so much better than you! So, so much better. I’m better. Me, me, me! But she just can’t see that. Why can’t she see that?”
Calla. This was about an infatuation with Calla? “So you did this, Kirby?” he kept his question calm, his voice steady, but his mind was reeling.
She reared back, gulping for air, her chest heaving. “Of course I did, you moron! All men are morons. Stupid, stupid bottom feeders. I enhanced a spell Winnie put on that dress so that when the day was over, you wouldn’t just forget Calla, you’d despise her very existence. But you ruined everything! God, she looked so beautiful last night, didn’t she, Nash?” Her voice went soft and dreamy, light and faraway.
He remembered now. He remembered everything. Every single detail of he and Calla’s first night together, and if it killed him, they were going to have a bunch more. “She did look beautiful. But how did you know Calla would borrow that specific dress, Kirby?” Had she been planning this long?
She put her hand over her mouth and giggled like a small child. “I didn’t. It was just dumb luck, and the way it all came together so perfectly must mean it was fate. Oh, I’d been planning to do something from almost the instant I met Calla, but last night all the pieces of the puzzle fell in place. Just like magic.” She snapped her fingers, creating a puff of orange smoke.
“And Winnie’s magic? Why steal her magic?”
“You can’t really be that stupid, can you? Winnie’s far more powerful than I am. But not for long. When I realized all my dreams were coming true, that opportunity had just fallen into my lap with that dress, I had to act fast to protect the dream. I knew once someone located Winnie, she’d come running back to save her friend. So I took the necessary precautions to prevent it. But I’d always planned to steal Winnie’s magic, from the moment I met that stupid, always preaching right from wrong bitch. I’d really hoped to just let this all play out and once you were out of the picture, convince Calla she was my destiny.”
“Your destiny…”
Kirby snaked a hand out and gripped his chin, squeezing it. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You shouldn’t be allowed to even refer to her! She’s too perfect. Too good for the likes of you!”
Okay, he had to find a way to calm this situation down. She was like a ticking time bomb. “You’re right. She is.”
In the blink of an eye, she reared her hand back and slapped him across the cheek, the crack of it echoing to the rafters of the barn. “I hate you! Hate, hate, haaaate!”
His head fell back on his neck from the force of her contact with his face, but he lifted it, trying to figure out how to diffuse this if every word he spoke infuriated her.
Then she was childlike, her voice soft, her expression innocent. “You weren’t supposed to remember her. How did you remember her, Nash? By midnight, you should have been a seething monster full of hate, but you’re not. You called her Cupcake Lady… Somehow, you remembered. You must really love her. It means your love is stronger than my spell.”
Yeah. He did remember, and no doubt, he damn well loved her. Now he wanted to live long enough to enjoy it. He could kick himself for this morning, after her confession from last night. He’d never forgive himself for that asinine reaction to her prosthetic, but he was going to try and make it right.
Yet, he remained silent. He only exacerbated the situation when he spoke, but his mind raced as he looked for a way out.
She was silent for a long time, too. Eerily so, as he tried every spell he knew in the book to break whatever was binding him.
Her auburn hair was mussed as she ran her hand through it again, finding her way to a hay bale opposite him and slumping down beside it. She tightened the sweater she wore around her waist and gazed at him by the glow of the lone candle she’d lit.
She began to chew on her nail, examining it under the light of the candle. “You
know what comes next, right?” she asked offhandedly.
Answer? Don’t answer? He chose answer. “What comes next, Kirby?”
Her head flew upward, her eyes full of an oddly serene delight. “You die, Cowboy. You. Die.”
Well, now he understood what Fate meant when he said Calla had to show him in one day.
One day was apparently up.
* * *
Winnie held up her finger as they neared old man Greely’s barn. “Okay, you wait outside. I’m not taking a chance she’ll hurt one of you. Understood?”
Calla shook her head. Oh, no. Baba Yaga would kill her if anything happened to Winnie. Not to mention, she’d never be able to live with herself if something happened to her. “The hell I’m waiting outside, Winnie! I’m not letting your risk your life. You have children and a husband. I’m a werewolf. I’m pretty strong and really fast. I can just run in there and grab him.”
“And she has magic, and we have no gauge on how powerful it is. But I have magic, too,” she said, gripping Calla’s shoulders. “You will, under no circumstances, come into that barn, Calla Allen, or I’ll put the mother of all whammies on you and turn you into some swamp dweller, hear me?” She then turned to the group. “That means all of you. You know I’m the strongest witch here, right? But I can’t get a feel for Kirby’s powers at this point. For all I know, she could be stronger than I am, but that’s unlikely. No one needs to get hurt if you’ll all just listen.”
Calla swallowed hard, her throat so tight she almost couldn’t speak. She pulled Winnie into a hug. “One wrong move, one peep of distress, and I’m right behind you, understood?”
Winnie chucked her under the chin and smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Now, stay put. Especially you, Gus. Your daughter’s old-school witch and she’ll burn us at the stake if you’re harmed in the making of this coup. No heroics.”
Without another word, she blew them all a kiss and disappeared into the ebony folds of the night.
Calla almost couldn’t stand still, but Daphne put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Winnie’s got some serious mojo. Has she told you about what she did last year when—”
Winnie’s scream, so raw, so terrifying, cut off Daphne’s words.
Everyone looked at each other, but Calla was the first to react. Shrugging off her shoes, she shook her head, centering her thoughts inward and shifting until the crunch of her bones had morphed into her wolf form.
Her clothes fell in a pool at her feet. She swiftly scooped them up between her teeth and leaned back on her haunches.
“Calla! Winnie said no matter what, you were to stay out here,” Greta warned, the tremble in her voice very real.
But she wasn’t listening. She took off like a bat out of hell, heading straight for the barn as the sound of thundering footsteps from behind rang in her ear.
* * *
Winnie dangled lifelessly above him from the rafters of the barn while Kirby held a shiny blue box in her hand. A box that held Winnie’s magic—an appropriation box.
How the fuck had she gotten her hands on one of those?
It was as though Kirby had known Winnie would show up. The moment Winnie snuck into the barn, soundlessly no less, she’d whipped around and opened that box,
Kirby had clearly given the idea of getting caught some thought if she’d found a box as powerful as the one she held in her hand.
“Where did you get that, Kirby?” He had to keep her talking just a little longer. Just a little longer while he focused on the energy of the spell she’d placed on the restraints. If he could just figure out the last piece of the puzzle…how to break these damn bonds.
Kirby held it up, letting it balance in the palm of her hand, and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Cowboy? It’s pretty, right?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of fur at the barn door entrance and fought not to call out to Calla to run.
Fuck. What next?
He decided to play devil’s advocate so Calla knew what was happening. “It is pretty, Kirby. Very pretty. So what’s the plan? Where do we go from here? Winnie’s seen you now. When she wakes up, she’ll be pretty angry that you stole her magic. You can’t hide that you’re the one responsible for this. The Council of Elders won’t like it…”
Way to threaten, Ryder. She’s not afraid to kill you, facing the Council is like kinder-care for her.
She set the box on the bale of hay beside her and put her hands behind her back. “Oh, I know that, dimwit. I just did time, idiot. I know all about the elders and the Council. I also know Winnie’s friends probably aren’t very far behind. But I planned for that, too. Everything in this place is rigged, including our restraints. If someone tries to take them off you, they die. Boom!”
He instantly stopped fiddling with his wrists. Shit, shit, shit.
“None of this would have happened if you’d just gone away. Why did you have to fall in love with Calla? If you had kept your dirty bits where they belong, she would love me. I know she would!”
He worked the last of the magic in his fingertips over the invisible bonds holding him. “But Calla loves me, Kirby. Don’t you think she’ll be angry with you when she finds out you’re the one who killed me and one of her best friends?”
Kirby smiled wide and, no doubt, tinged with insanity. “Oh, she won’t, because after I make all of you go away, I’m going to make her forget, too. Forget everything—all of you. Well, but me. Only me, and then we’ll leave Texas forever.”
* * *
Whoa, crackers in the house.
As Calla shifted back, realizing her speed and strength really weren’t a match for Kirby, she pulled on her clothes and listened to the sweet, soft-spoken woman who’d worked for her for almost a year talk to Nash as if she’d lost every marble in her head.
She was Kirby’s target?
Her heart pounded in her chest, crashing against her ribs. Winnie’s magic was in a box and Kirby planned to steal her memory, too?
Oh, these witches made werewolves seem like fuzzy kittens.
Daphne bumped into her from behind. “Plan?”
“Go back!” she hissed.
“Um, yeah. No. Not going to happen. What’s going on?”
“She has Winnie’s magic in a box. Can you put magic in a box?”
Greta gripped her whistle. “Oh, hell. Seven damn hells. She has a box. How did she get her hands on an appropriation box?”
Calla turned to look at them both. “This is bad, yes?”
“The worst,” Gus said.
“Because?”
“Because if we don’t get that box back, Winnie’s magic is gone forever,” Clive whispered.
“Note to self, read the witch’s guide on all things crazy. Are you kidding me?”
“Not a joke,” Flora assured her.
“I thought Winnie was super-duper powerful?”
“Oh, she is, but magic can be stolen. And getting your hands on an appropriation box is huge,” Daphne said. “It’s like the Holy Grail of vessels to steal and contain magic.”
“I thought bloody wands were the Holy Grail?”
“Okay, so we have two Holy Grails. Do you want to dicker about numbers or do you want to make a plan here?” Greta asked.
A plan. She’d never felt more inferior in her entire life. She was a mere werewolf, with nothing but brute strength on her side. How did you fight off crazypants with a good right hook?
A good right hook.
If she could knock that box out of Kirby’s hands and someone could grab Nash and Winnie, they might stand a chance.
Turning to the group, she said. “Okay, here’s the plan…”
* * *
“Kirby? Hey, honey. What are you doing?” Calla asked softly, strolling through the barn doors and across the floor littered with straw and dirt. She refused to even look at Nash, or she might break and take Kirby out before it was time. It was all about the timing.
Kirby whirled a
round, the box firmly in her grasp. Her eyes were glazed and shiny, her skin damp with perspiration. “Calla!”
Calla smiled, focusing on one thing, and one thing only. Getting that damn box. “Oh, Kirby,” she chided softly. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you just come to me and tell me how you felt?”
Kirby’s mouth opened but no words came out.
Calla clucked her tongue. “I’m so hurt.”
Kirby faltered, her eyes darting around the room before she focused on Calla’s again. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you. I love you so much, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t love you. He forgot all about you!”
Calla kept approaching, her feet shuffling in slow, forward steps. “He did, didn’t he? Kind of a jerk, right?”
Her face went ugly then, distorted and so unlike the Kirby she thought she knew. “He’s no better than a trough of pig slop. All men are filthy creatures. All of them!”
“So why all the fuss, Kirby? I’ll go with you, if you want.” She smiled then, tamping down the greasy slime of her disgust.
Kirby’s face brightened in surprise and hope. “You…you will?”
“Of course I will. All you had to do was ask. Now, give me your hand and let’s walk out of here before we find ourselves in a whole lot of trouble we don’t need. Okay?”
Kirby’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying!”
Calla continued to move toward her, her hand outstretched. “Why would I lie to you? You’re my friend, aren’t you? Friends don’t lie to each other.”
But Kirby began to back away. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll disappear forever and take that stupid bitch’s magic with me! I hate her, too! All of her crappy stories about how awesome it is to be a good witch. I hate the timed showers and cooking meals for those idiots who are simpletons with brooms. I hate the smell of the seniors and their stupid dentures. The only thing I loved was you, Calla. You and the center. Because you loved the center.”
“That’s true. I do love the center, Kirby. But I love you, too. So if that means leaving the center behind, we can start one somewhere else, right?”
Romancing the Paranormal Page 49
