She blew on. “I knew I’d have the name if I thought about it hard enough. Kept thinking it was rabbity, and it was. Lop. Lop. Yeah, so, the cabin, the studio, the Dadaist. It was going to be my dreaming masterwork, inspired by these dioramas. That’s the way a good artist works, isn’t it? She takes in the things around her and delivers not a copy but a response to the world she’s absorbed. I behold this supposed West Virginia Museum of Living History with its static figures frozen in staged historical moments and I raise you real people in actual historical properties, a surrealist in a surrealist piece. Now that’s living art. That’s what Dadaism is all about. This is the Hennessy museum, discounts available for children under twelve and parties over twenty!”

Bryde gave her a withering look, but it had worked—all her words had drained him of his. He just shook his head and tossed Ronan’s jacket at him. “Get your things. It’s three hours to the next nearest ley line. We’ve got to get going before this one turns the lack of ley into an emergency again.”

“I’m not that damn fragile,” Ronan protested.

Bryde just said, “Don’t forget your bird.”

After Bryde stalked off through the doors, Hennessy held out an arm to help Ronan up from the hay. “Must’ve been a helluva dream.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ronan said.

“Fuck off yourself. You’re welcome.”

Ronan shouldered on his jacket. “What was it going to be? Your dream. Don’t say Ploplop.”

“Loplop, you Neanderthal,” Hennessy said. She didn’t want to talk about the dream. She didn’t want to talk about Jordan. She just wanted to keep moving so she didn’t have to think about any of it too hard while she was awake, because when she thought about it, she got sad, and when she got sad, she got angry, and when she got angry, she wanted to kill Moderators, and when she wanted to kill Moderators, Bryde told her to bide her time. She didn’t want to bide her time. “That’s the crankiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe he’ll get tired of us and piss off to whatever he was doing before.”

This was a topic she and Ronan had already discussed, briefly in whispers, when they had moments here and there without Bryde. Who was this person they were following? Where had he been before? They knew he’d been infamous when they first met him, that his name was already whispered around black markets … but for what? And how eager was he to get back to it?