“What, were you expecting a cauldron?” Dorothy’s voice communicated her indignation at her younger sister Emily’s surprise.
“But a soup pan on the stove?”
“All the recipe calls for is a metal container that’s heated.”
“But a soup pan on the stove. That’s how you’re going to summon a…”
“Not another word.” Twenty-seven year old Dottie pressed a pale, stiff index finger against Emily’s pouting, ruby lips. For an instant, she felt a forbidden thrill at touching her sister so intimately, but then realized it was probably just the fumes from the potion affecting her. On the other hand, she did find Emily kind of hot.