Maren stood in the wings of the Rockpool Bay Community Theater, dressed in an itchy red and gold sequined leotard and matching hat. Shivering a little, she watched the stage, where the level-four jazz class shimmied and sashayed in black fringed costumes. Counting dress rehearsal, this was the second time she’d been on a stage since those awful days in the Starlight Theater.

Today, she had nothing to worry about, other than forgetting the steps to the routine. Nobody was making mind-control nightmares or brandishing killer moth-bees. Maren’s brain knew that, but her wobbling knees and flapping stomach didn’t seem to have gotten the message. When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel that hideous insect’s wings buzzing against the back of her head.

No.

She patted the hairnet holding her bun tight, adjusted a bobby pin on her hat, and shook out her legs, carefully keeping the taps on her shoes quiet. Obscura was locked away, Maren had outwitted her, and she had saved Lishta, Amos, and all of Rockpool Bay. She might not be big or strong, but she was smart and brave. And being brave meant ignoring the butterflies in her stomach and the phantom moth behind her head; it meant getting on that stage and moving forward with her life.

The stage lights blinked out as the level-four jazz class shuffled off the stage to loud applause. Maren’s heart rocketed as the darkness closed around her, just like it had in the trap room under the Starlight Theater’s stage. But then she spotted the glowing green tape that marked the various locations on the stage. The girls from her class filed out from the wings, and someone gave Maren’s hand a quick squeeze.

She had this. She knew her steps. She was as ready as she’d ever be.

In the front row, a tiny red light shone. Her parents had gotten special permission to livestream Maren’s performance so Hallie could watch it at Whittaker with Lishta. This was Maren’s birthday present for her sister, and Hallie said it was utterly perfect. The doctors said she’d be ready to come home after just a few more weeks of physical therapy. Maren could wait a few more weeks.

“Love you, big sis,” she whispered as she took her place in the second row, set one hand on her hip, and placed the other on the brim of her hat.

The lights beamed on, bounding off the sequins on seventeen dancers’ costumes. A visual explosion of flashing, sparkling, scintillating red and gold.

Maren’s smile shone brighter than all the sequins combined.

The music swelled, and her feet began to tap.

Acknowledgments

A massive, blue-whale-sized thank-you to my agent, Kathleen Rushall. I truly appreciate your encouragement, guidance, and persistence over the years. Thanks for always having my back, for bringing such positive energy to everything, and for nudging my ideas in just the right direction.