“Why are you doing this?” said Maren.

Obscura left the barre and pulled the moth from her sleeve. “Do you know what this is, my darling?” The insect let out a harsh buzzing sound that made Maren’s skin crawl. “It’s a hybrid species I picked up in Brazil. Scarlet tiger moth crossed with killer bee.” Obscura held up the killer moth-bee to show Maren the two-inch-long barb on its rear end.

Maren tried to leap out of her chair and grab her backpack, but the zip tie dug into her ankle. Tutting, Obscura waggled her finger as the killer insect crawled down her knuckle.

“Please,” said Maren, her throat so dry the word barely came out. “I need my EpiPen. I could die.”

“Well then, you’d better listen very carefully to what I need you to do.” Obscura sauntered closer, and Maren realized she had no intention of getting the EpiPen, didn’t care if Maren died if she didn’t get what she wanted. A bead of chilly sweat slid down the back of her T-shirt.

Obscura leaned in to whisper to the insect. “We don’t like her, do we?”

Maren shrank back as far as she could in her chair, eyes watering, as the killer moth-bee’s sawlike hum filled her ears. “I’ll make three,” she said, fighting the tremor in her voice. “Then you’ll show me Gran-Gran and Amos. That’s what you said.”

“Now it’s four.” Obscura took a graceful step backward, still holding the insect aloft. “I don’t like your attitude.”

Maren pulled the lid off the first bin. Empty dream sachets in various colors lay scattered among mint leaves, cigarette butts, splinters of plastic, candle ends, metal screws, a paper coffee cup, a book of matches, and a handful of dead ladybugs. Obscura must have thrown everything she could find inside, because Lishta would never have been so sloppy.

Maren’s foot began to tap a fast, nervous rhythm. “Did you bring the coffee grinder?” she said.

“It’s in there.” Obscura set the killer moth-bee on her shoulder and returned to the barre.

“And I’ll need my backpack,” said Maren. “There’s a jar of something important in there.” Maybe she could grab her EpiPen and her phone while pretending to search for the dreamsalt.

“I already took it out for you.” Obscura pointed beside one of the bins, and Maren’s heart sank as she spotted the square glass jar. She must have taken her phone and EpiPen, too.

“Why isn’t my grandmother making dreams for you?” said Maren.

“She’s even less cooperative than you are.” Obscura rose to the tips of her toes and floated across the stage. “Though I’m sure her dreams are far superior.”