Page 88 of Dream Weaver

“Dammit,” Abby muttered. “What the hell is Jay doing out here? And who was that with him?”

“Lisa,” I grumbled. “I think.”

Abby cocked her head. “You mean Liselle?”

After quickly comparing notes, we decided, yes, we were talking about the same woman. Brown hair, blueish-purple eyes. Rich, stylish, entitled.

But was that who we’d seen rush by with Jay? Neither of us had gotten a clear glimpse, but we both agreed the vibe fit.

“So…Lisa or Liselle?” Abby asked. “And, wait. You know her?”

I nodded curtly. “I wish I didn’t, but yes.” Then I motioned over my shoulder. “Do we follow them or keep going?”

Clearly, I’d internalized our roles. She was Batman to my Robin, and I would follow her wherever she went. I just hoped that didn’t get us hexed or killed.

Abby thought for a moment, then pointed ahead. “Keep going. I know where Liselle lives.”

She sent a text to update Ingo whenever he was back in cell phone range. Then she motioned for me to pull into atrailhead parking lot. Once there, she jumped out and scanned the landscape.

It was stunning. Quiet. Timeless. But eerie and foreboding too.

“The disturbance was out there.” She pointed down a trail lit by the predawn light.

“What’s out there?”

“Devil’s Bridge.”

Even more foreboding. Great.

Abby set off briskly, and I followed.

“Is there a vortex there?” I asked, remembering our last sleuthing trip.

“Not a permanent one, but from time to time, there are reports of an upflow. I’ve never felt it myself.”

“And now?”

She puffed out a concerned breath. “I guess we’ll see. I can feel the disturbance, though. Whatever they were doing out here, the vortex isn’t happy about it.”

I tried to picture a happy vortex, but a swirling, angry force was easier to imagine — and much scarier. So, why exactly were we heading to one?

My bear grumbled.Because if Lisa is involved, that means trouble. And with Jay around, Claire could be in danger too.

I clenched my hands, resisting their urge to turn into claws.

There was a lot to puzzle out, but walking and talking didn’t work — not at the scorching pace Abby hit, and not over the loud crunch of gravel as we jogged down the trail.

After a brisk twenty minutes, the flat trail turned uphill, and a short time later—

Abby pulled up and gestured. “Devil’s Bridge.”

I stuck up a hand, blocking the sun. A bulky mesa reared over the terrain ahead, and the first ray of sunshine had just broken over it, pointing directly to a long, slender natural arch.

This wasn’t a sight-seeing tour, but we couldn’t help stopping to soak it all in. Sedona was stunning no matter where you looked, but wow. This really was a superlative spot. The air smelled of pine and juniper, and my bear longed to explore at a leisurely pace.

Some other time, because Abby took off again, heading for the natural bridge. She strode right out onto it, then stopped in the middle and looked around.

I followed slowly. We bears liked to keep solid ground beneath our feet, and a bridge that slender — even if it was rock — wasn’t a natural choice, especially if a witch had been poking around out there.

---