Page 62 of Dream Weaver

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, andcharming rodeo jockran 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 onthe 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.

---