As she opened the tweezers over the first sachet, a few flecks of whispering dust fell onto the table. Maren pretended not to notice. “You could make us forget all about this whole kidnapping thing and take us back to the shop. You could also make us forget about the three-nightmare rule.”

Obscura scowled and rubbed her mascara-crusted eyes.

“Then you could come in the store and ask us for a favor, and we could custom-make anything you wanted. Because we’d be friends, right? And then you wouldn’t have to lock us up and…you know.” Maren’s hand shook as she added dust to the rest of the sachets and a bit more to the table.

Bzzzzzzzz.

Obscura’s index finger, with the killer moth-bee perched on it, hovered inches from Maren’s earlobe. Maren gulped and forced herself to hold statue-still.

“Doesn’t sound like a very foolproof plan.” Obscura turned away, dragging Amos with her.

“VOUS DANSEZ COMME UN HIPPOPOTAME.”

The victorious croaking voice boomed through the theater. Maren never thought the day would come when she was thrilled to see Henri, but this was it. Her magnificent, implausible, only-option-left plan was still alive.

“That blasted bird.” Obscura shielded her eyes and scanned the auditorium. Quickly, Maren scooped up the extra particles of whispering dust with a scrap of paper and tipped them inside the pink sachet.

“I think he’s behind there.” Amos pointed at a curtain on the other side of the stage, in the completely wrong direction, and flashed Maren a thumbs-up as Obscura stalked over, dragging him with her.

Maren sewed up the edge of the pink dream and tucked it into her sleeve. Moments later, Obscura returned with Amos and no bird. She checked her watch, then glared at Maren.

“I’m going to lie down for an hour. Get back in the trap room.”

It was time.

As she crossed the stage, Maren let the pink dream slip out of her sleeve. She gave a quiet, pretend cry of dismay and crouched to scoop it up.

Obscura kicked the sachet away before Maren could take it. “What is that?”

“N-nothing.” Maren added an extra quaver to her voice.

“Tell me.”

Buzzing wings tickled Maren’s eyebrow, and this time the quaver in her voice was real. “I made it for my sister to give her strength and energy and—” She snatched a glance at Obscura, whose tired eyes gleamed. “Power. The power to heal, that is. I was going to give it to her the other day at the hospital.” Maren let all of the terror and stress and agony of the past two days pour out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and even though she’d started out pretending, they were real. “Please, please don’t get rid of it. I’ve never made anything so beautiful and potent in my life, and I just wanted her to have it.”