“Is the pottery shop moving?” Lishta waved to the man, who had turned to peer at them. His stringy, braided goatee reached midway down his chest, and he’d gathered what little hair he had left into a thin ponytail, with a round patch of bald on top of his head. He didn’t return her wave.

Maren pulled out her phone and typed in the name of the store. A rainbow-colored website covered in paintbrushes flashed onto her screen, with a banner across the top.

“After many beautiful decades in Rockpool Bay, our family is moving to New Zealand. Zottery Pottery’s last day of business will be Saturday, June 10. We’d like to thank all of our customers for their wonderful artistic contributions over the years, and we wish you all the best!”

Maren’s stomach sank. Tara Zottery was a year behind her in school. Her family had clay magic; they sculpted the most intricate, whimsical creations and let people paint and keep them for a small fee. Maren hadn’t been there in a few years, but the shop’s presence had been comforting, full of happy memories from her childhood. Now another part of her old life—and Rockpool Bay—was disappearing.

The spindly man set down his paint roller and stalked toward the car. “Can I help you with something?” His voice was low and slithery, and it sounded like the last thing he wanted to do was help. If a centipede could talk, Maren thought, it would sound exactly like that.

“I don’t like the look of that guy,” she whispered.

“Neither do I.” Lishta gave the man a little salute and stepped on the gas. Once the pottery shop had disappeared around a bend, she sighed.

“I’m sorry you got your hopes up so high about Hallie. I suspect the next few weeks will be full of those ups and downs. If you don’t want to come into the shop, I understand.”

“No, I do,” said Maren. “It helps to keep my mind busy, actually.”

Lishta flashed her a smile in the rearview mirror. “And I love having you.”

The pool of warmth in Maren’s stomach lasted about three seconds before freezing to ice as she remembered what she had to do. She had to steal a dozen nightmares by tomorrow afternoon. Lishta usually arrived at the shop just after dawn to get started on mixing, so it would be hard, if not impossible, to get there before her. Even if she managed, it would look incredibly suspicious, considering Maren never went to the shop before ten.

She’d have to do it tonight.