Maren watched closely as the ballerina jumped in and out of the beam of light, catching the shadow moths in her hands and tossing them into the air. She visualized the phone, nestled under something woolen in the far corner of the duffel bag. As Obscura swung into a dizzying quadruple pirouette, she lunged, jammed her outstretched fingers deep into the bag, and closed them around her cell phone.

“VOUS PUEZ COMME UN CHOU POURRI.”

A screeching bird-voice reverberated through the empty theater. Maren’s chair leg lifted off the ground and she tipped backward, suspended for a long, sickening moment, before managing to right herself and shove the phone under her thigh. Obscura stopped, midturn, and jogged over to turn off the projector. As the shadows disappeared, a bloodcurdling squawk filled the auditorium, and understanding dawned on the tall dancer’s face.

“Is that the bird from your shop?”

Maren winced. As if this day weren’t awful enough, here was Henri.

Obscura cocked her head. “I smell like a rotten cabbage?” she called. “Why don’t you come say that to my face, you little feather duster?”

A feathery gray shape whirred down from the balcony and came to rest on the ballet barre. Henri cocked his head to the side, gave a trilling whistle, and croaked, “JOLIE MADEMOISELLE. BONJOUR, BONJOUR, CHERIE.”

Obscura smirked. “Come to rescue your humans, have you?”

Henri hopped closer to Obscura and bobbed his head. “JOLIE, JOLIE,” he chirped. Then he cocked his head toward Maren, lowered his voice, and let out a burst of rapid French. Maren squirmed in her chair as Obscura gave a delighted laugh.

“You’re a vile little thing, aren’t you?” She clicked her tongue and held out her arm, and without a second’s hesitation, the traitorous bird flew straight to her wrist. Every mean thought Maren ever had about Henri was suddenly validated. She had a few more mean thoughts as she slid the phone out from under her leg.

Obscura drifted across the stage on her toes, with Henri perched on her shoulder. “I wonder if I could train you to deliver nightmares, too,” she mused. Henri flapped his wings to maintain his balance as she twirled.

“Watch out,” said Maren. “He loves to eat moths.”

Obscura startled at that. While the ballerina made sure Henri didn’t have his eye on the moth-bee in her hair, Maren turned her body and crossed one leg over the other so that it shielded the phone. She swiped her finger over the screen and pulled up the keypad.

9-1-

“Is something wrong with your chair?”

Maren slammed her leg down over the phone as Obscura strode toward her. “No,” she squeaked. “It was just…sticky.”

“Why are you in my seat, anyway?” Obscura kicked the duffel bag away, destroying Maren’s chance of dropping the phone back inside.