As the woman counted out her money, Maren transferred the dream from her sleeve to her pocket. Hallie loved the Egyptian tomb dream, even though it wasn’t very frightening. Unfortunately, Lishta always kept the nightmares locked up, and stealing one would be nearly impossible. Anyway, it wasn’t right to give somebody a nightmare without their consent, even if it was just a training nightmare.

Guilt nibbled at Maren’s skin. Giving Hallie any kind of dreams without her consent meant messing with her subconscious.

Hop shuffle step, hop shuffle step, shuff—

“Sweetheart?” Lishta’s curious eyes blinked, inches from Maren’s nose. Maren let out a tiny squeak and leapt backward.

“ELLE A LA TETE DANS LES NUAGES!” screeched Henri from his ladder perch. The tall woman was gone.

“Hadn’t you better get going?” said Lishta.

One of the clocks on one of the lower shelves read five twenty. Another read five forty, which meant it was somewhere around five thirty. Maren’s gaze strayed to the jar of flying dreams. It wasn’t wrong to want to cure her sister. If this worked, they’d see that she was right and all would be forgiven.

“Would you like a few of those for yourself?” said Lishta. “They might cheer you up, and we can make another batch later this week.”

“Thank you,” Maren said, slipping two more dreams into her pocket and feeling even guiltier now that Lishta had gifted her the exact thing she’d stolen.

“Give your sister one of these, and tell her happy birthday,” said Lishta, and Maren flinched before realizing she had blown two kisses at her and she was meant to give one of those to Hallie. Lishta wasn’t giving her permission to give Hallie a dream. That would never happen.

Maren shouldered her bag and headed for the door. She imagined the dreams dissolving, ripping a hole in her jeans, and shouting her secret out through it, though of course they could never do that. As Maren cast one last glance over her shoulder, Lishta opened the combination safe where she kept the money and set the tin of whispering dust all the way in the back.

Three

Maren raced through the alley, leaping puddles and dodging cracks. In the street ahead, a heavy engine grumbled. The bus. If she missed this one, she’d never make it to the hospital in time. Pumping her legs harder, she skidded around the corner. Suddenly, the post office door swung open. Maren threw her arms out, ricocheted off the glass pane, and tumbled to the cobblestones.

“Are you all right?” A boy’s voice, one she’d rather not have heard, but there was no time to react. The bus was already at the stop, and the doors were going to shut any moment now. Maren shoved away the hand trying to help her up and staggered to her feet.