Shoes squeaked out in the hall, and Maren held her breath until they passed. She got up and checked the door one more time, then pulled a robin’s-egg-blue sachet from her pocket. It didn’t matter if Obscura was filming—she already had more than enough to ruin Maren.

“I made this,” she said as she tucked it under her sister’s tongue. “It’s not very good, but it’s based on a memory of me and you. Just in case I can’t come visit you for a while and you can’t remember why you need to come back. Please come back. Preferably within the next seven days, okay? I love you, big sis.”

Maren watched Hallie’s unmoving face for a long while and then she tiptoed out of the room, careful not to disturb her sister in case she was dreaming.

* * *

As the elevator doors opened to the lobby, Maren spotted Amos sprawled in a chair. He put away his phone and let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms wide.

“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” said Maren.

“I swear I’m not,” said Amos. “I was on my way home, but then I decided to hang around and make sure that lady wasn’t here being creepy again.”

You’re about an hour late for that, thought Maren. But the fact that he knew something was wrong, even though he had no idea what exactly, made her feel a little less alone.

“She’s gone.” Maren felt more hopeful than certain about this. “How’s your grandpa doing?”

“His heart is better, but his memory isn’t.” Amos shrugged in a casual way, but his eyes were a little watery. “We’re moving him into a nursing home next week.”

Another long-term place where nobody was expected to get better. Maren’s heart hurt for Amos and his family.

“What are you doing now?” she said.

Amos looked startled. “Uh, probably going home?”

“Do you want to come with me to the pier? I have to collect some ingredients for dreams.”

“Sure.” Amos didn’t hesitate for a second, and Maren’s shoulders eased a little. “Can I help?”

“Okay,” said Maren.

Sixteen

“Singing bubbles, five dollars a bottle!” called the freckled woman. A couple wearing identical Rockpool Bay T-shirts stopped to inspect her wares while their three kids raced in circles, singing along with the purple bubbles and trying to clap them between their hands. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the harbor’s flat water and gulls wheeled overhead. Chattering tourists jammed the pier, looking for dinner and entertainment and maybe a little bit of magic.

“You hungry?” Amos inclined his head toward the disco donut machine, which blared thumping music from the seventies. No one knew who operated the machine or how it worked, but the donuts that came out were covered in flashing sprinkles and were utterly delicious.