WILLOW picked up her ringing cell phone. “Hello?”
Blubbering spilled out of the speaker.
Ember looked over from where she was examining a rack of shoes, looking for a deal. “What’s that?”
Willow stared at it. “The caller ID says that it’s Bethany, but it doesn’t sound like Bethany. It sounds like someone having a conniption fit.”
Ember took the phone out of Willow’s hand and listened. “She keeps repeating ‘buckets of glitter’ over and over.” She listened intently, her eyes narrowed. “She said, ‘I tried to scoop it up and toss it over the balcony, but it won’t go away. It blows back in. Every time I breathe, it all blows out of the dustpan.’”
“Oh, no,” Willow said, her hand over her thumping heart. “You don’t suppose she’s had another glitterbomb incident, like The Great Junior Prom Glitter Catastrophe?”
Ember visibly shuddered. “If it’s half that bad, she needs our help, now.” She shouted into the phone, “Bethany! Pull yourself together and listen to me, woman! Drop a broom on WitchyMaps, and we’ll find you.” She waited and then hung up. “We’ll have to pick up lunch on the way. She whispered ‘Bring a vacuum’ like she was being held in a serial killer’s basement. We’d better get there fast.”