“Your mother will be here soon,” said Lishta. “Do you want to wait for her, or shall I bring you home?”

“I just want to go home,” said Maren. She felt guilty about leaving Hallie, but she just couldn’t hope any more today. And she needed to figure out how to get the nightmares for that woman.

Lishta nodded, and her eyes were soft. “Of course.”

Maren followed her out into the dimming evening and was relieved to see no trace of the creepy woman or her car. Lishta’s yellow Beetle sat near the entrance. Silver tape covered the entire back of the vehicle, all the way up to the rear window, though Lishta had left the license plate and taillights exposed. It was hard to tell where the bumper even was.

Lishta proudly inspected her handiwork. “That thing won’t be falling off again anytime soon.”

Even through her misery, Maren was spellbound. “How many rolls did you use?”

Lishta silently counted on her fingers. “Sixteen. It was lucky the hardware store was still open.”

Maren squeaked open the passenger-side door, yanked on the front seat until it pitched forward, and crawled into the back. Over the years, Lishta had repaired the seat with almost as much duct tape as the bumper. As the familiar smell of gasoline and lemons and tape enveloped her, Maren closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Did you see that woman again today?” Lishta asked.

“No.” Maren’s foot gave a guilty little shuffle step.

“Good,” said Lishta. “She didn’t come to the shop, either, though I haven’t had any luck in finding out her name. Let’s just hope that’s the end of that.”

Maren rubbed her thumb along a crease of silver tape. She wasn’t sure she believed that Maybe Ms. Malo was only taking the dreams herself, considering she’d tried to give her brother a nightmare as a child. But the consequences of not obeying her were too severe. Hopefully once Maren handed over the dreams, that would be the end of it. But she’d have to steal them when Lishta wasn’t at the shop, because she wasn’t allowed to touch the nightmares unsupervised. They were too dangerous if they started to leak.

“Look,” said Lishta, slowing and pointing to a pink building. A tall, spindly man pushed a paint roller up and down its front wall, slowly turning it black. “Didn’t you have a party there once?”

Maren peered through her dusty window. “That’s the Zottery family’s paint-your-own-pottery shop.”

“Used to be,” said Lishta, pointing to the rainbow-colored Zottery Pottery sign, which lay on top of a pile of trash by the street. A new sign had been propped up against the building’s door. In swirling silver letters on a black background, it read, “Coming Soon: The Nightshade Emporium.”