Page 15 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

ABBY

I stalked over to Walt, not at all pleased. It wasn’t often that I got invited “out,” even if that was just snacks in the metal shop. The urge to accept the invitation was even more rare, but this time, I really wanted to stay. Dinner with Cooper had been great, and I wouldn’t have minded more downtime with him — even with his mother there. Besides, seeing his mother exude unequivocal love switched on my inner anthropologist. Normal families were a source of endless fascination to me.

But no such luck. Not with Walt gesturing me over.

“Yes… Absolutely…” He nodded to the person on the other end of the line. “Not a problem.”

I stomped to the threshold of Walt’s office just as he concluded the call. “Perfect. I’ll send her over right now.”

I bristled. Whomever he was sending had better not be me.

Walt jotted an address on a slip of paper and handed it to me. “That was that woman — Miss Steinmeier. You know, the one who wants the brazier.”

“The one who’ll get her brazier next month ,” I corrected.

The witch, I nearly added, but I kept that to myself.

Walt shook his head. “You’re ahead of schedule with the axes, thanks to Cooper’s help.”

True. But we were on a roll. Why stop now?

“We can’t afford to lose her,” Walt said grimly.

For one fire pit? I frowned. Could witches cast mind-spells over the phone?

He rattled a set of keys. “Here, take the van. Whatever she wants, make it happen. You got that?”

“Listen, Walt—”

My boss stuck up a hand, definitely not in an indulgent mood. “The axes are important, but this is too. Now, go.” Every line in his face said, Don’t mess this up. Then he lightened up a little. “She says she has faith in you. I have faith in you too.”

Hmm. Was that Liselle’s mind-bending, or did that come from the heart?

Still, it was like I’d told my father. A job was a job, and there was only so far I could push my boss. Also, Liselle was a third-class witch at best. I had nothing to fear from her. I just had to watch my step so she wouldn’t figure me out.

A glance at the clock — two p.m. — had me hurrying along. If I was going to fit in this house call before picking up Claire from school, I had to get moving.

“Thanks so much,” I said, selecting a cinnamon doughnut from the box Cooper’s mother offered on my way out. At the door, I turned back to look at Cooper. Our eyes met one more time. And, oh. So much longing, so much said without uttering a word.

“Abby…” Walt grumbled.

Dammit. I did an about-face and marched to his van, munching the doughnut on the way.

The more I drove, the more bitter my mood became. First, my father, then having to turn down a nice invitation, and now this. I cursed all the rubbernecking tourists who drove at painfully slow speeds, and I grumbled at every McMansion and golf course I passed along Jacks Canyon Road. A golf course. With grass. In the desert.

I made a face. Okay, so maybe my values aligned with my father’s in one small way.

My frown deepened as another thought struck me. Did witches play golf?

I mulled that over, only half concentrating on the road. When a pickup sped by in the opposite direction, something caught my eye, and I whipped around. I turned back to watch it in the rearview mirror, unable to make out whatever it was that had caught my attention before it faded out of sight.

Shifting in my seat, I did my best to focus on the task ahead. Several twists and turns later, I pulled up to the entrance of a gated cul-de-sac, where a security guy leaned out of a little shed.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

I checked the address Walt had scribbled down. Wow. Maybe he was right about hanging on to this customer, witch or no witch. The development screamed big money — really big money, judging by the way houses backed on to the immaculate golf course. The helicopter landing pad in the middle of the development was another clue. Whoever lived here had the cash to buy magnificent views and major privacy.

“I’m here to see Liselle Steinmeier,” I said, going for an I so belong here vibe.

The guy glanced at the logo on the side of the van — so much for belonging here — and ran his eyes over a list. “Name?”

“Abby Carson.”

He made a check mark, then pressed a button to retract the gate. “Third villa on the right.”

Villa, indeed. I stared at the four-car garage, then parked in the vast, open space beside it. Shortly after, I rang the doorbell and stepped back, trying not to look awed. But, hell. The villa was a beauty, blending traditional adobe with modern lines and huge panes of glass that reflected Courthouse Butte. Not bad.

The door opened, and I half expected a uniformed butler to appear. But no. Just Liselle Steinmeier, the lady of the house. She might be a witch, but no black dress and pointy hat for her. More like fashion fit for the cover of a magazine, with her peacock-blue-and-white striped shirt and matching white pants. Tiny blue studs sparkled from her earlobes. Sapphires?

“Oh, hello! Thanks for dropping by!” She waved me in as if this were a social call.

Entering a witch’s den was one reason I hesitated at the threshold. The other was the spotless white rug. I dragged my feet over the doormat six times, then followed her through the house. Cavernous rooms branched off both sides of the long hallway. Living room, parlor, study, office, music room, library, den…

I ran out of words for big rooms with impressive furniture, each sporting several couches with mountains of throw pillows. Lots and lots of throw pillows in every color of the rainbow.

Liselle Steinmeier — or her decorator — was definitely going for a bright, playful look.

The house was eerily quiet, though. Either everyone was out golfing, or Ms. Steinmeier lived alone.

Out golfing, I decided. Women like me might live alone — or as alone as a single parent got. But women like Liselle — young, rich, perfectly done up — had to have a dozen suitors to choose from, especially with a little magic to back them up. Famous race car drivers. CEOs. Up-and-coming artists. Fellow trust-fund babies…

I caught a faint whiff of leathery cologne, and charming rodeo jock ran through my mind. Then I spotted a leather couch and laughed the image out of my mind. If a woman like this ever had a fling with a guy like Jay, she sure as hell wouldn’t invite him or his dirty boots into her house. She would take a walk on the wild side and follow him home to his trailer, which she would find quaint for the brief duration of their crash-and-burn affair.

I peeked into the massive kitchen. Not a cauldron in sight, nor a broom. That didn’t put me at ease, though.

Eventually, we exited onto a terrace at the back.

“So, this is the spot.” She pointed to four couches forming a square around a metal frame blackened by the ashes of a recent fire.

A brazier, in other words. I looked at my hostess.

“It’s beautiful at sunset, and when the stars are out…” She looked around dreamily.

I nodded impatiently. Yeah, yeah. The stars shone over our ranch too. The point was the brazier.

“So, I see you already have one…” I tried moving things along.

“Yes, but I want another one. Exactly the same, but smaller, so it’s portable.”

I glanced around. The property was huge, with several nice spots for a fire. Also like our ranch, in fact. But one big fire pit suited any urge we got to sit around a fire under the stars. Why bother moving your fire around?

Unless, perchance, you were a witch.

I gulped, picturing her chanting over a fire. Could she summon spells that way?

My warlock father didn’t, and neither did Erin or her father. Not even pyromancers like Greg and Pippa did. But there were many types of magic and different types of witches with very different powers. Maybe some needed fire to weave spells.

Then it hit me. Hadn’t there been ashes near the dig marks at Airport Mesa?

My throat went dry. All my life, I’d done my best to distance myself from magic. Now, I half wished I knew more about that secret world.

I fumbled for my measuring tape and clipboard and started sketching before Liselle noticed my unease. “You want one identical to this?”

“Yes. Almost exactly. Those slots along the top edge are especially important. I love how they make the smoke swirl.”

Did she just love how it looked, or did that feature play a role in casting spells?

She watched me closely for any reaction.

“Got it,” I said as neutrally as possible, still sketching away.

I squatted for a better look, though my mind spun. Someone had recently disturbed the vortex at Airport Mesa. Someone who’d started a fire and used the lucky ax — an ax with magic woven into it.

Liselle?

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, then at the tool shed across the yard.

On the other hand, third-rate witches were a dime a dozen in Sedona, and the town occasionally attracted powerful supernaturals too. Dangerous ones, even. Liselle was just one possible suspect in a fairly large pool, and I doubted her magic was strong enough to cause any real trouble.

But if her magic combined with whatever I’d inadvertently woven into Kevin’s ax…

I made a mental note to talk to Ingo — and soon. Meanwhile, I sketched the design that ran along the body of the brazier.

“Very Lord of the Rings ,” I joked, though my mind was thinking, Runes. Magic runes?

Liselle laughed. “Lots of people say that. They’re actually Norse.”

I did my best to sound dumb. “Oh wow. Is it a good-luck rhyme or something?”

Something like that, her scheming eyes said. Or was I imagining that?

“I’m not sure, actually.” She chuckled. “Maybe I should check in case it’s a curse.”

We both laughed. Ha-ha. Such a hoot.

Ash smeared my finger as I traced the pattern cut along the brazier’s upper lip. Liselle tensed.

Me too, because, yikes. A warm current ran through the metal, as if it was wired to a live battery. Very faint, but definitely there.

Someone had been using this brazier for more than just fire.

I forced myself to drag my finger nonchalantly along the design. Then I started a second sketch to detail the runes on the other side.

“So hard to get this just right…” I muttered for show. “Do you have a copy of the design I can work from?”

“Let me check…” She wandered into the house, then returned, flicking through a tablet. “Maybe I still have it…”

She took forever, and my eyes strayed to the clock on the wall. Two thirty-five. Still enough time before school let out, even allowing for the longer drive from this location.

“Here’s one…” She showed me the tablet. “Oh, wait. That was just the draft. Let me see…”

She flicked through her files. Lots and lots of files. The clock ticked.

“I liked this one too, but it didn’t fit…” she murmured, going off on a tangent.

I inched toward the door. “You know, just take your time. You can email Walt when you find the design.”

“Well, I’d love to get this settled right now,” she murmured, still flicking away. “It should just take a moment…”

Another minute dragged by. Then another, punctuated by exclamations now and then.

“Oh! Here it is.” She would smile, then frown. “Oh, wait. Not that one…”

One dead end after another ensued. I scratched my head and checked the clock.

Then I froze, sensing an itch in my mind — just like that day Liselle had visited the shop.

Beep! Beep! Beep! My watch alarm sounded. I stared at it, then the wall clock.

My watch said three. The wall clock said a quarter to.

Liselle followed my eyes, then shook her head. “Oh, sorry. That always runs late.”

My eyes nearly bugged out as I rechecked my watch. The few minutes that had ticked by were more like twenty. Shit. Liselle had managed to mind-bend me after all.

With a yelp, I headed for the door. “I have to go.”

“Oh, sorry. Did I keep you too long?” Her voice had a victorious note to it.

I nearly turned to glare, but I didn’t have time. Departing the metal shop at three o’clock gave me a sufficient buffer for picking up Claire. But I was an additional fifteen minutes away here.

The van tires screeched as I tore out of her driveway.

Liselle waved me off cheerily. “I’ll send you that design.”

Witch. Bitch. I cursed all the way to the front gate, where the security guard leaned out of his hut.

“In a rush, huh?” He hit the button that retracted the gate.

I fumed as it inched aside. Yes, I was in a rush. I couldn’t be late to picking up Claire. I just couldn’t. Not just because the school frowned on that, but for myself. I’d sworn my daughter would never experience the utter dejection of being too low in someone’s priorities to be picked up on time. I’d waited hours sometimes. I’d even been completely forgotten, and no amount of kindness from teachers or the police officers they eventually called made up for that.

Damn that Liselle for making me late!

I froze. Making me late…purposely?

I revved impatiently as the gate slid aside, then raced down the road.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why would Liselle want to make me late?

My heart twisted. Claire. She would be alone. But why?

I couldn’t fathom why Liselle would care. Still, panic coursed through my veins.

I sped around several corners and onto the main road, blaring my horn. The school would only release Claire to those listed on an official form. That meant me, my sisters, Greg, and Mike. So, Claire would be fine, right?

Still, I grabbed my phone, desperate to reach Pippa, who would be nearest the school. But she didn’t pick up, and neither did Erin, who I tried next.

I darted into the oncoming lane to pass a huge camper, then cursed, trying to think. Who else was close enough to hold the fort at Claire’s school until I got there?

I hesitated, then dialed a different number. A familiar voice answered on the third ring.

“Heavy Metal Sedona. Walt speaking.”

My words came out in a rush. “This is Abby. Can you get me Cooper?”

“Cooper?”

“Yes, Cooper. Right now.”

Walt caught the urgency in my voice. “Is everything all right?”

I sped down the road. God, I hoped so.