The wave of understanding, of horror, of sheer alone-ness nearly knocked Maren to her knees. If nobody started searching for them until Sunday, that meant at least two nights in this awful old theater. It meant at least two days of making nightmares, of appeasing Obscura so she wouldn’t hurt Amos or Lishta, of not getting stung by that hideous moth-bee. Maren didn’t know how she’d manage, but surviving was her only option. She had to do it for Amos and Lishta. She coughed and tried to clear the terror out of her throat.

“I’m ready to make more dreams,” she said.

Twenty-Two

Obscura was back in her pointe shoes, repeating the same dance sequence over and over and over. A series of quick, hopping steps into a string of dizzying turns that traveled all the way across the stage. It looked perfect to Maren, who had finished fifty-seven nightmares so far, but Obscura had grown increasingly frustrated and had started swearing each time she finished the third turn in the sequence.

“Supposed to be a triple,” she muttered, stalking back to the opposite side of the stage with her hands on her hips. She had stripped off her warm-up suit and now wore a black leotard and tights.

Maren wondered if she’d make it to her own dance class on Tuesday. There were only three rehearsals left before the recital. It seemed like a silly thing to worry about, considering her entire life was in danger, but Maren’s brain had kicked into worry overdrive.

“Is that one of your old solos?” she said.

Obscura didn’t answer; she was halfway across the stage again, arms whirring. The moth perched on top of her bun now. Maybe it was asleep. Maren set down her needle and wiped her trembling hands on her jeans. She hoped Lishta’s nightmare had ended by now, and she’d slipped into an empty, calm sleep.

After two more repetitions, each ending like all the others, Obscura let out an angry howl and stalked to the front of the stage, where she pulled a water bottle from her bag.

Keeping her face carefully neutral, Maren tied off a knot of thread and clipped it with scissors. “If you bring your left shoulder around a little quicker, I think you’ll be able to do a triple.”

Obscura’s eyes widened. She set her water bottle down and wiped her mouth on her wrist. Without a word, she jogged to the back of the stage and started again. This time, her triple pirouette was flawless. Maren wondered how a person who did such beautiful things with her body could have such an ugly heart. Obscura repeated the perfect sequence two more times, then leaned on the edge of Maren’s table, her hand planted beside a pile of crow feathers.

“What do you know about ballet?” she said.