“That’s Cyril,” said Obscura. “Did he tell you he was working for me?”

“Kind of.” Maren slipped the spider leg inside a sachet. He hadn’t exactly, but it was better to let Obscura think her henchman was giving away secrets. “Where did he come from?”

“He grew up right here in Rockpool Bay,” said Obscura. “Cyril has smoke magic. The ability to manipulate dirty, dark, unhealthy smoke. As you can imagine, he didn’t feel very welcome in this town, either.”

“Does he know we’re here?” said Maren. “My grandmother and Amos and me, I mean.”

“He knows what he needs to know,” snapped Obscura.

I’ll take that as a no, thought Maren.

“I found him waiting outside the stage door of a theater one night in Prague,” said Obscura. “He recognized me from Rockpool Bay and had been following my tour for months before working up the courage to speak to me.” The tall ballerina squared her shoulders. “Cyril does whatever I want, without needing nightmares or whispering dust. He doesn’t quite have my level of…artistic vision, but he’s rather clever at slipping into buildings, turning off freezers and replacing swarms of wasps in the Gree—”

“STARRRLIGHT THEATERRR.”

A croaking bird shout boomed through the auditorium.

“MAREN IS IN THE STARLIGHT THEATER.”

“What did he say?” Obscura peered out into the auditorium. Maren gripped the sides of the table and drew her breath in and out, in and out. Shut up, Henri, she thought with every fiber of her being.

“MAREN IS INNN…”

Muttering angrily, Obscura dumped a bin of dream ingredients onto the stage and began to rummage.

“Please, please don’t say it again, Henri,” whispered Maren.

“MAREN PARRRTRIDGE IS INNN THE STARRRLIGHT THEATERRR.”

Obscura pulled a safety pin and a fist-sized chunk of concrete out of the clutter. Then she jumped into the orchestra pit and crept up the aisle. Amos dove behind a row of chairs.

“Henri,” she called in a honeyed tone. “I’ve got a shiny new safety pin for you.” She held the pin high overhead as she drifted through the rows of seats.

From the balcony came a greedy squawk.

“Pretty bird,” she crooned. “Come get it.”

“VOUS ETES VISQUEUSE COMME UNE ANGUILLE.” Henri appeared on the balustrade. Obscura wound up like a baseball pitcher and hurled the chunk of concrete at him.

“No!” yelled Amos.

The bird let out a broken squawk and fell backward. A single gray feather floated down through the dusty air.

Maren choked on a sob. Henri was a member of her family, whether she liked it or not.

“Get back to work,” barked Obscura. Maren’s throat burned as she tucked the pink sachet under a strip of flowered wallpaper. Even with Henri gone, she couldn’t bring herself to give up on this plan. Working on it had been the only thing keeping her from falling apart.