Though Lyric’s story was different from Claire’s, the words were familiar to her. There had been so many times—even before the ladder—that Sophie had gone off and left her.

“She’s just spreading her wings,” Claire said, repeating what Mom had often said to her about Sophie.

Lyric snorted, and Claire remembered how useless those words had first sounded to her. What had actually cheered her up was when Mom said that she could invite her friend Catherine over, and they’d spent a fun afternoon together, watching movies that Sophie would have called babyish. There were no screens in Arden, but that didn’t mean she and Lyric couldn’t do something fun. Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out what she’d stopped to collect from her room: a bit of chalk.

“Hand me your Flyers?” Claire said, and when Lyric looked at her, startled, Claire just smiled and shook her head. “It’s a surprise. Trust me.”

With the chalk, Claire began to draw lightly on the underside of her dance shoe. A comfortable silence settled over the room, but with Lyric around, the quiet never lasted long.

“I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly from her pile of pillows.

“For what?”

“For your thoughts getting Gathered. If I hadn’t been caught, you wouldn’t have had to turn around to rescue me.”

“True,” Claire admitted, and paused her sketch. “But then I wouldn’t have known how to ask the Spyden my question.”

“Do you remember what you asked?” Lyric said, sitting up. “Are your memories coming back?”

“Uh, no,” Claire said, trying not to feel too bad about deceiving Lyric. Because technically they weren’t coming back. She’d always had them.

Again she began to draw, and the images flowed, as if they’d always meant to exist …

“Oh, wow!” Lyric grabbed the shoes from Claire moments later. “It’s beautiful!” She held the soles out so Claire could examine her own handiwork. Two unicorns now pranced on the bottom of Lyric’s Flyers. One reared up, his horn piercing a crescent moon Claire had just managed to fit in the corner, while the other unicorn jumped over a curtained stage.

“When my sister had a dance recital, she’d always ask me to draw something lucky on the soles for her before she went out to perform,” Claire explained. “And the chalk should stop you from slipping again.” It wasn’t Gemmer magic, though chalk was made from crushed stone—just something useful she’d learned at Sophie’s dance classes as she’d watched the students rub the dust onto their slippers. Okay, maybe she’d done a little Gemmering, just to make sure the chalk would stick longer than usual and hold its design, but that was it.