A shadow man appeared on the screen. He stretched his arms and yawned, then climbed into bed. A shadow moth flitted over his head and dropped a gleaming dot into his mouth. In the corner of the screen, shadow Obscura crouched, watching. The shadow man jerked upright and silently screamed.

“After two weeks, he was too afraid to leave his house and go to work. Then he was too scared of his wife to leave his room.” Shadow Obscura lunged and whirled and tossed handfuls of tiny dream sachets that sparkled on the screen. “I hunted down all of his old friends, too. And when people started leaving town, I realized the wonderful opportunity I had to remake this place in my own image.”

Maren had been bullied half her life, but she’d never considered taking it out on everyone in her school, let alone the whole town. There was no excuse for that level of destruction. In one swift, silent move, she reached again, and this time her fingers slid over something metallic. A water bottle. She twisted her chair sideways by a fraction and dug her fingers deeper, through knitted fabric and extra pointe shoes. The phones had to be there somewhere. And maybe the EpiPen.

“I’m getting rid of all the magic in Rockpool Bay,” said Obscura. “And now that I’ve got that whispering dust, I’m going to turn this place into something better. Something darker. People are going to respect my kind of magic, and they’ll come to this theater every night to watch me dance. They’ll hang on my every word. They’ll bring me gifts. They’ll do whatever I say. Finally, everyone is going to adore and worship me.”

Shadow moths flitted off the screen’s edge and flapped across the backdrop. They scuttled across the floor, getting closer and closer to Maren’s feet. She knew they were just illusions, but she hated the thought of them touching her. Giving her shoulder a hard twist, she shoved her hand deep inside the bag, and her fingernail grazed the rubbery edge of something. Her phone case. She’d held it so often that it felt like an extension of her hand.

Obscura came to a halt with a hungry glint in her eyes, and Maren snatched her hand back, but she held tightly to the mental image of the phone’s exact spot inside the bag.

“Who will you give the whispering dust to?” Maren asked, wincing as shadow moths darted over her shoes. She swore she could feel their feathery wings brushing her ankles.

“Anyone. Everyone.” Obscura’s shadow whirled and leapt. “Imagine who I can control. Imagine what I can make them think, now that I’ve got my very own personal dream-maker.”

“I’m not your personal dream-maker,” muttered Maren. But she was already making the dreams. She didn’t know how else to keep Lishta and Amos safe.