“We’ll be right with you, madam,” said Lishta. The woman gave her a curt nod and picked a thread off her cardigan. On her collar, she’d pinned a brooch in the shape of a snow-white moth.

“JOLIE MADEMOISELLE. BONJOUR, BONJOUR, CHERIE.” Henri flapped down to the counter beside the woman. Maren had purposely chosen to take Spanish instead of French at school because it was better not to understand what Henri said. But she was fairly sure “jolie” meant pretty, but she had never heard Henri say anything nice about anyone besides Lishta. He sidled up to the woman’s purse, and then Maren understood. The clasp was shaped like a safety pin. Henri was obsessed with safety pins.

“That dream you’re holding is one of our most popular,” said Lishta to the bald man. “It’s a flying dream. Our customers often tell us the euphoria lasted the whole next day. Sometimes two or three days.”

Maren nodded along as Lishta spoke, feeling the dark-haired woman’s steely gaze on her. Customers generally didn’t want to hear a sales pitch from a twelve-year-old, but Lishta said her presence made them more trusting. And this year, Lishta had finally started teaching her how to create her own dreams.

“Our dreams can help with all kinds of ailments, physical and psychological,” said Lishta. “High blood pressure, gout, thyroid conditions, lovesickness.” She gave the man an appraising look. “Anxiety, perhaps?” He nodded nervously, and Lishta pulled out a wooden box filled with green sachets. Maren had helped her mother craft this batch of calming dreams: powdered midsummer raindrops, the softest edges of goose-down feathers, a scratching of fresh nutmeg, and a tiny snip from the lining of a brand-new pencil box.

“How do I take this?” The man handed the pink sachet back to Lishta. Beside him, the tall woman let out an irritated tsk and ruffled the feathers on Henri’s chest. Maren couldn’t believe he didn’t snap at her finger.

Lishta selected three fresh green dreams from the box and tucked them inside a plastic pouch. “Place one of these under your tongue when you get into bed,” she said. “You won’t even notice it, I assure you. The mesh will dissolve as you sleep, and there won’t be any trace when you wake up. Just make sure not to get it wet before then.”

Lishta’s Canadian cousin hand-wove the dream sachets and mailed them to her in giant boxes. Maren wasn’t sure exactly what they were made out of, but they were designed to let the dream leak out as soon as moisture touched them. You had to be very careful about keeping the dreams dry—especially the nightmares, which let out a nauseating smell when they were released and could seep through a person’s skin and give them terrible hallucinations, even if they were awake.