“Flip your senses, not your fingers, Ronan,” Bryde told him. “This division between your waking and sleeping selves is artificial, and I promise you, one day soon the space between them will not bring you joy. Get your things, Hennessy. We’re here for the night.”

“Just what I was hoping you’d say.” Hennessy groped around like a zombie. “I’ve lost Burrito. Ronan Lynch, tell me if I’m getting warm—oof, never mind.”

Burrito, the car, wasn’t truly invisible, because Bryde had cautioned against dreaming true invisibility. He didn’t like them to dream anything that was permanent, infinite, repeating, impossible to undo. He didn’t like any creation that left an invulnerable carbon footprint after its maker was gone. So the car wasn’t invisible. It was simply ignorable. Ronan was pretty proud of it. Bryde had specifically asked him for a discreet vehicle, and clearly had no doubts Ronan could deliver. It had felt good to be needed. Trusted. He wished the process of dreaming it into being had gone a little bit more elegantly … but win some, lose some.

As Hennessy shouldered on a sword that matched Ronan’s, apart from having a hilt that read from chaos, Ronan called up, “Chainsaw, we’re going in!”

The raven tunneled down through the air to him. Ronan turned his head just in time to keep from getting a faceful of talons as she landed on his shoulder.

Bryde pushed open the door to the museum.

“Was it locked?” Hennessy asked.

“Was it?” Bryde replied. “After you.”

Inside, the West Virginia Museum of Living History was unkempt and unintentionally hilarious. Cluttered, dim hallways led them past room upon room of life-sized dioramas with vintage props and faded mannequins. Here, students in overalls and/or pigtails gave rapt attention to a mannequin teacher in an old-fashioned schoolroom. There, a sturdy doctor examined a less sturdy patient in a field hospital. Here, women’s rights activists lobbied for votes. There, miners descended into a concrete cave mouth. The mannequins’ faces were cartoonishly simple. It all smelled, even above and beyond what one would expect from a building abandoned since the 1970s.

Ronan said, “This place is looking at me. What is that reek?”

“ ‘The West Virginia Museum of Living History provides an immersive experience through sight, sound, and smell.’ ” Hennessy had found a brochure and she narrated it as she stepped around boxes and furniture pulled out into the hall. “ ‘Over five hundred unique scents are piped into diverse’—Diverse? Really?—‘scenarios. Students fall back through time in a one-of-a-kind outing they’re sure to remember!’ ”

“Give me a hand,” said Bryde.