The door creaked open. Lishta pulled out the chair beside Maren and removed a dusty gray Smith Corona from its carrying case. “How did it go at the station?” she said, picking up a square of sandpaper and scrubbing at the V key.

“Not too bad.” This was the second morning Maren had spent at the police station making various official statements. She’d answered the same questions over and over, so many times now that the horrible fear swirling in her chest whenever she thought of the Starlight Theater had been replaced by brain-numbing boredom.

The police hadn’t found Cyril yet, but they assured her it was only a matter of time. All of the black and silver signs had disappeared from the town’s businesses overnight. The Green and Fresh, Maisie Mae’s, the pharmacy, and Beverly’s tea stall had reopened, though the Zotterys loved New Zealand and wanted to stay there. The fortune-teller’s tent remained on the boardwalk—apparently she had nothing to do with Obscura and Cyril’s plot.

Business at the dream shop was booming. After word of Obscura’s plot to take over the town had gotten out, loads of people were interested in buying nightmares. However, Lishta had decided to stop selling them—at least the truly frightening ones. She said she might consider selling dreams like the pyramid teddy bears in a few months, once all the hype died down.

“I was foolish to let that woman into the shop again.” Lishta ground her sandpaper into the letter B. “But she was banging on the door all in a tizzy, yelling that something had happened to you.”

Maren sneezed. “Amos said the only person we should be blaming is Obscura,” she said. “It’s really hard to do that, but I think he’s right.”

It was more of a hopeful question than a statement. Lishta dabbed a droplet of polish onto a rag. “He’s a smart boy. But the next time an evil moth-wielding ballerina tries to blackmail you, you must promise to tell a grown-up.”

The old woman’s eyes sparkled, and Maren could almost see the humor in the situation now that it was over. Everything still felt a little bit empty without Hallie, and she still missed her old life, but this new life was much easier to appreciate now that she’d almost lost it. Maren scrubbed at the slugs of her typewriter, which slowly changed from black to silver, and she marveled at how wonderful it felt to have a full stomach and clean clothes and not be constantly afraid of dying.

“I have a proposal for you,” said Lishta. “If you’re willing to help me with some experiments, I might consider shortening the time of your ban from the dream shop.”

“Yes!” Maren leapt up, knocking over a can of compressed air. “What?”

With a smile, Lishta reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the tin of whispering dust.

* * *