“Gran-Gran.” Maren dropped to her knees beside the old woman, whose face was sunken and slack. “Gran-Gran!” She shook her shoulder, but Lishta didn’t respond. Panic crushed Maren’s chest as she felt Lishta’s wrist for a pulse. There it was, beating weakly under the papery skin. Maren held her finger under Lishta’s nose. Little puffs of breath came out. Worryingly faint, but there.

“Gran-Gran, please wake up. Please, please, please.” Maren shook her grandmother’s shoulder, and Lishta’s head lolled sideways as she let out a wispy sigh and murmured something about bat fur and tea.

“Let’s carry her upstairs,” said Maren.

“Are you sure?” Amos eyed the sleeping old woman dubiously.

Maren swatted another moth away. “We can’t just leave her down here with all these nightmares flying around. And given how much dreamsalt I put in Obscura’s dream, she’ll be out cold for hours.”

Amos helped her hoist Lishta out of bed, draping her arms over their shoulders. Even though the old woman was bird-light, they struggled to get her down the hall and then move her trailing feet up each step as the moths circled and swarmed.

“Watch out!” yelled Amos, jerking his head toward Lishta as he swung them around the banister of the landing.

A furry yellow moth carrying a black sachet landed on the old woman’s chin. Maren slapped it off, but the insect stuck to her damp hand, and when she wiped it off the nightmare smeared across her palm.

Lishta’s eyes fluttered, then she tipped suddenly backward and nearly sent them all tumbling down. Maren needed to clean her hand, but it was physically impossible while holding up her grandmother. A skeleton with long, stringy, black hair darted across the landing overhead. Already, the nightmare was taking effect.

“It’s not real,” muttered Maren. “It’s not real.”

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs, dragged Lishta into the wings, and propped her against the wall. Obscura lay unmoving on the stage, covered from head to toe in writhing, flapping, crawling moths. The sound of all those beating, whirring wings set Maren’s teeth on edge. More insects zoomed in from the wings, but there was almost no space left on Obscura to land. A few remained in flight, circling the high ceiling of the auditorium.

As much as Maren detested the woman, it was hard to look at her under all those moths. Especially her face. Quickly, Maren turned toward the table, but the skeleton sat there, sewing up a dream with its bone fingers and watching her with empty eye sockets. Its greasy hair looked exactly like her Halloween witch wig from two years ago. She’d helped Lishta make this dream using strands from that wig, but that didn’t make it any less scary.