Amos returned with his jeans wet up to the knees, but he held up the container proudly. The water inside had a green-grayish hue, with little chunks of foam floating on top. Maren would need to boil it first to make it safe to consume, but the essence would remain.

“That’s perfect.” She stowed it away in her bag.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with that lady?” said Amos.

Maren sighed and made her way into the dark underbelly of the pier, where the rotten seaweed stench grew so strong she could taste it. “She’s a customer from the dream shop. She had some…special requests, and I’m making them for her.”

“Then what’s she doing at the hospital? Why isn’t she talking to you about it at the store?” Amos’s sneaker slurped into something marshy, and he leapt sideways with a squeak.

“Because Gran-Gran can’t know about it,” said Maren. “Can you reach that?” She pointed up into the dripping shadows.

“The spider? I can’t see if it’s…”

“No, just the web.” Maren wished she’d brought a flashlight, but Amos pulled out his phone and shone light into a gap between two slimy posts, where a gauzy web stretched. “There.” She pointed to the edge of the web.

Back when Amos lived on Maren’s street, they were the same height, but now he was a few inches taller. He stood on tiptoe and stretched. “Yeah, I can reach it.”

“Hang on.” Maren rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pair of nail scissors. “This way you don’t have to pull the whole web down—and the spider with it.” She shuddered and took a step back as Amos clipped the corner of the web, then held out a baggie for him to drop it into.

A new dream took shape in Maren’s mind, one where the dreamer got caught in a huge web. After a few frightful moments, she’d make the silk cocoon turn into a sleeping bag.

“Why can’t you tell your Gran what you’re doing?”

“Nobody can know,” said Maren, though she wished she could tell just one person who was conscious. “Sorry.”

“Is it bad?” Amos’s cheek caught a sliver of light that slipped through the pier. His expression was so kind and concerned, Maren had a hard time believing this was the same person who’d defended the meanest boy at school.

“Sort of,” she whispered.

“I knew it.” Amos’s eyes flashed with anger. “Why don’t you tell your parents? Or the police?”