In the meantime, led by Tanvi’s will, the smokelike wisps she’d reaped floated over to the vial. Now she physically motioned them inside. As if the girl knew her dream had been lured elsewhere, she twisted again, craning her neck at an awkward angle. But as long as she didn’t wake up, Tanvi couldn’t care less if the girl sleep-somersaulted onto the floor.

The instant the final wisp entered the vial, Tanvi jammed the cork back in. Just like that, the glut of emotion dissolved. Tanvi was herself and only herself. Her head clear, she examined the vial. She’d definitely captured the nightmare—the purple dreamstone flickered with a faint inner fire—but it had cut off right as things had gotten interesting.

“Come on,” she muttered into the gloom. She’d made the trek to this upscale apartment complex, staking her night’s take on the people who lived here. She’d let her inner sense tell her, with its bright and dark spots, who dreamed and how deeply. And all she’d gained for her efforts was the sludge at the bottom of the barrel?

At least this one had some meat to it; the scraps she’d harvested from the girl’s neighbors weren’t worth the vials Tanvi had stored them in—running out of toilet bowl cleaner and studying for an exam that got canceled. Junk-drawer dreams.

A last bit of residual fear quivered through her. What if Venkat doesn’t want them?

Dreams were Tanvi’s bread and butter, or in naga terms, her roti and ghee. Without engaging ones, she had no boon. No boon meant no bracelet. She’d have to keep hunting if she wanted to bulk up her skimpy harvest.

Shaking off the fear, she stowed the vial next to the other dreamstones in the pouch at her waist and pulled the drawstring shut.

The bedroom and the hallway past it were silent. Sometimes pets detected her presence and would meow or bark until their owners woke up. Nobody was home to check on this girl, it seemed. Good.

Not bothering to glance back, Tanvi tiptoed to the window, sucked on a lozenge that made her as boneless as liquid, and stole out into the night.

A haze of exhaust shrouded the early autumn sky over Philadelphia. It seared Tanvi’s lungs as she prowled through the city streets, determined to fill her two unused dreamstones.

In the distance, the Ben Franklin Bridge arced over the river, glittering like the sea goddess’s giant tiara it had been in a vision she’d harvested a few months ago.

Now that had been a boon-worthy dream.