Page 115 of Dream Weaver

With my phone out of reach, I tried screaming to my sisters in my mind, but my cries seemed to bounce back from a brick wall.

Liselle’s lips curled, and the lipstick that matched the peach stripe in her dress glinted.

Shit. I could resist her mind-bending tricks, but I was blocked from reaching out to my sisters. I couldn’t reach Mike or Greg either.

“Come now. It’s just a little brazier,” Liselle cooed. “That’s all you have to do.”

My mind spun, trying to formulate some plan. But all I could come up with was to stall for time.

So stall, I would. All night if necessary.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

ABBY

Liselle rolled up her sleeves, rubbed her hands together, and waved everyone back.

I rolled my eyes. Drama queen.

We were in the back lot of the shop, where she’d insisted on a test run of the brazier.

I’d slaved away for the last two hours, stalling at first, then speeding along when I realized help wasn’t coming and I needed another plan. An all-or-nothing, risky-as-hell plan, as it turned out. But it was the best I could come up with.

Liselle wanted a brazier that would help her tap into the energy of the vortexes? I would give her one. More energy than she’d bargained for.

“Get the wood, Doug,” she snipped to one of her men.

I made a mental note. Doug. Five-foot-ten, 160 pounds, dark hair, dark eyes. Tiny scar on his chin. If I ever had a chance to pick him out from a police lineup, I would be prepared. Not that I was all too optimistic of that ever happening.

Doug hustled over to his vehicle and returned with a couple of artificial logs — the kind city folk used in the fireplaces of fancy apartments because they didn’t want to chop wood or fuss with kindling.

“You’re kidding,” I muttered.

Even Jay wrinkled his nose to indicate,Real men chop wood.

Yeah, and real witches used real wood.

So, at least Jay and I saw eye-to-eye on something.

“I can’t believe you let that witch con you into this,” I hissed at him.

He shrugged. “Gotta make ends meet.”

I scoffed. “Ever consider a real job?”

He shook his head. “Not cut out for that.”

I cursed my twenty-year-old self. What had I ever seen in him?

“Is she even good in bed?” I snipped, keeping my voice low.

He looked at me, over to Liselle, then back to me, a little stuck.

I couldn’t help gloating a little. Then I caught myself. What the hell did I care what a lowlife like Jay thought?

Doug lit a match, and within seconds, a fire was crackling inside the brazier.

It was a smaller, rougher version of the one at Liselle’s home. The body of the brazier wasn’t much — just four legs, a bowl, and a lip made of sheet metal. The slots in the lip had been the tricky part, and Liselle had leaned over my shoulder the whole time as I let sparks fly with my plasma torch.

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