Page 4 of Dream Weaver
Firefighter,my nose said.
A heightened sense of smell was one of the few supernatural traits my mother had passed down to me. And as far as I was concerned, the fewer, the better.
Unfortunately, picking out a person’s scent from half a workshop away was normal for me — and not particularly practical in a shop filled with sweaty men.
But underneath that smoky aroma was something nice. Different. I found myself sniffing delicately, picking apart a dreamy scent that swept me away to the banks of a mossy creek somewhere high in the Rockies.
I closed my eyes. The scent was that soothing.
Then someone started banging at metal, and the feeling evaporated. I blinked and went back to work.
Several paisleys later, something bumped my legs, and I turned to find Louie, my boss’s floppy-eared mutt.
I petted him, then tensed, spotting his master approaching.
“Hi, Abby,” Walt said, smiling broadly.
Uh-oh. Something was up.
Walt gave me The Look — the one that saidRemember who’s boss here— then shooed Louie away and indicated one of the two men beside him.
“You know Rich, right?”
I forced a tight smile. “Hi.”
Not that I didn’t like Rich. As the leader of the elite firefighting crew based in Sedona, he was one of a handful of men on my green list. The remainder of his crew were on my equally short list of neutral yellow, while every other man in the world fell into the red list. Maybe they didn’t all deserve to be there, but it was safer to assume that.
Like the flannel-clad, dark-haired Paul Bunyan crowding the space next to Rich. Definitely red-list material. No matter how good he smelled or how well he faked a friendly smile.
“This is Cooper, who’s joined our squad for this season. Cooper, meet Abby,” Rich said. “She used to work on a hotshot crew back in Colorado.”
You could judge a man by his facial hair, and this Cooper guy had long, slicing sideburns that angled toward his chin, like Hugo Jackman in one of Wolverine’s more endearing moments. A man to lust after, maybe, but definitely,definitelynot to be trusted.
“Hi,” Cooper rumbled.
The voice went with the scent — all deep, earthy, and grainy.
“I guess you’re here about the ax, huh?” I asked, knowing Rich had called Walt yesterday.
Rich nodded. “Axes, actually.”
I tilted my head. The ax I’d made three years ago might have been laced with a little low-grade magic, but it certainly wasn’t capable of asexual reproduction.
Well, I hoped not. But, yikes. Anything was possible, given the hit-or-miss nature of my magic. The little bit I had inherited from my father, at least.
“You know the theft of our ax made the Phoenix newspapers, right?” Rich asked, and I nodded for him to go on. “One lady was so touched by the ax and…well, you know, Kevin’s story…” His voice went a little gritty, and he cleared his throat. “She wants to sponsor a new set of lucky custom axes — twenty, enough for the whole squad.”
My jaw swung open and stayed there. So many reasons, such mixed emotions.
Three years ago, I’d made the ax in honor of a local firefighter killed in a horrific blaze. His family had gifted it back to thesquad, saying that was where his spirit would live on. Over the years, the ax had gained a reputation as a lucky charm.
And now, I was supposed to make twenty of them? Not just twenty axes, butluckyaxes for men and women in one of the world’s most dangerous professions?
Pressure, anyone?
“Um… Uh…” I hemmed and hawed, trying to figure out how to talk my way out of this.
Yes, the original ax had a little magic forged into the metal. But only a tiny dose, and very amateurish, in hopes of keeping it sharp and shiny. Otherwise, all I’d poured into that project were heart, soul, and sorrow. I hadn’t known Kevin, but I’d been a firefighter too, and every tragedy struck deep into my soul.
