Page 45 of Dream Weaver

My eyes went wide. “What about Abby’s father? A warlock?”

Ingo shrugged. “No idea.” Then his eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with witches?”

I opened my mouth to protest, then caught myself. Did I?

“Just wondering,” I said a little lamely.

Ingo’s eyes bored into mine. “Pippa is a pyromancer, like Greg. A fire dancer, actually.”

My jaw swung open. I’d heard of fire dancers but never seen one in action. I’d never wanted to either. But if Ingo trusted Pippa — hell, if he loved her and shared a ranch with all three sisters…

“They’re awesome,” Ingo assured me. “The other sister, Erin, is a wind whisperer, and her father is a weathermonger.”

I stared.

“Throw out any preconceptions you have about witches and warlocks, Coop,” he cautioned. “The same way we’d like folks to throw out their views on shifters.”

A fair point. “Sorry. I’m getting that…slowly. It’s just hard not to be on guard, I guess.”

Ingo snorted. “It’s not like she’ll turn you into a frog.”

I gave a dry laugh. “Let’s just hope she only channels her magic into metal.”

Ingo chuckled, then went serious. “Well, I’m glad you’re in the shop with her. In case Jay decides to pull something.”

My inner bear flexed its claws at the mention of Abby’s ex. “You think he will?”

Ingo shrugged. “Hard to tell. Never met the guy. Pippa and Erin agree he’s a shithead, but…well, these sisters…” He grinned fondly. “When they get riled up about something, they get riled up. You don’t want to be on their bad side.”

That much, I’d already figured out. And, yikes. Abby times three…

The door of the pizza parlor swung open, and Abby stepped back in.

I leaned back so as not to give the impression that we’d been in a secretive huddle, though we absolutely had.

Abby slid into the booth, and I rotated the pizza pan so she could reach the last slice.

“Thanks.” She chomped down with the same desperate, elbows-out hunger she’d attacked her first piece with.

“So, the disturbance at Airport Mesa…” Ingo prompted her.

Abby was still chewing away, so she nodded for me to do the talking.

“We went up there a few days ago,” I said. “The earth had been dug up around the vortex—”

Abby mumbled, signaling with her elbow.

“Right,” I corrected, reading her sign language. “The real vortex, not the one where all the tourists go.”

“And?” Ingo stirred the air impatiently.

I traced a semicircle on my placemat. “Someone cut a curved line like this, and the marks were exactly what a Pulaski would make.”

Ingo frowned, and Abby motioned to me.

“Exactlylike a Pulaski,” I emphasized.

Ingo’s brow furrowed as he looked at me, then Abby with an expression that asked,You can actually understand that mumbling?

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