“This is Eden, a Weaver-in-training,” Iris said. “Eden, this is Angel. She’s a Nature Artist.”
My brow puckered. “A Nature Artist.”
“One of the Dreamers responsible for all of nature’s art on Earth,” Stardust whispered in explanation. “They create the shapes Mortals find in the clouds when they watch the sky, each unique snowflake, every sunrise and sunset, among other things.”
Angel shoved the lollipop in her mouth, her suspicious gaze continuing to study me intently. “Hmm, you seem a little old to still be in training,” she said. “How old are you?”
Iris gasped. “Angel, that’s a terribly rude thing to ask.”
Angel didn’t seem bothered that her inquiry might have come across as rude, and she didn’t retract her question. Instead she merely prodded me with her gaze for an answer.
“Seventeen?” I said hesitantly. Angel’s and Iris’s eyes widened.
“Eden, are you stupid?” Stardust hissed in my ear. “If you’ve been mistaken to be at least one hundred, didn’t you deduce you needed to give an age higher than that, not drastically lower?”
Oh great, I was already failing miserably at blending in.
Angel pointed her lollipop at me, wielding it like a sword ready to poke me with if she deemed me too untrustworthy, and I leaned away. “That’s impossible; seventeen-year-olds are toddlers.”
“She’s not lying,” Petals said. “I can feel her honesty.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Then she’s delusional.”
Iris laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t be so harsh with her; she simply misspoke.” She turned to me. “Did you perhaps mean you’re one hundred seventeen?”
“Yes,” I said hastily.
Iris beamed. “How perfect, that’s about how old I am. I’m a hundred and twenty-four, whereas Angel is a bit older, a hundred and thirty. We’re sisters, you see.”
They looked as unrelated as sisters could possibly be, especially with Angel’s suspicious expression, a huge contrast to the trust lining Iris’s heart-shaped face. But although Angel still seemed dubious, she made no further inquiries. Instead she stuck her sucker in her bun to save for later and turned her attention to sorting through the bouquet in her arms.
“Are those for tonight’s Weaving?” I asked, trying to sound more confident about the way this strange world worked than I felt.
“Yes,” she said, her tone kinder. “I’m determined to win tonight; Blaze has somehow finagled his way to winning two in a row.”
Iris frowned. “But he rarely beats you.”
“Except when he’s cheating, obviously,” she snapped. “You’d think he’d be a better Weaver, considering he’s on his fifth Mortal and currently weaves for two at once. I’m convinced he’s responsible for my dream dust that went missing the other day. Thieving slime.”
Stardust—who’d buried herself in her coloring book—looked up eagerly. “Ooh, are you one of the victims of the recent dream dust thefts? I’m investigating that case. Would you be willing to sit for an interview?”
Angel dismissed Stardust with a wave of her hand. “I’ve already given my statement to the Investigations Team. They haven’t been able to deduce how it happened, except for concluding it was undoubtedly the doings of dark magic. Hence Blaze must have something to do with it.”
“Of course,” Stardust said, already taking notes. “A Weaving would give your Nightmare partner the perfect chance to commit such a crime. Did you notice your dust missing before or after the Weaving?”
“Almost immediately after I won, which proves it was definitely him.”
Iris fiddled with her bag strap. “We don’t know that, Angel. There’s no proof he—”
“There’s no proof he didn’t either,” Angel snapped. “Who else could it have been? I don’t make it my habit to interact with Nightmares on a consistent basis. I’m sure it’s all bitter revenge for my frequently creaming him.”
“Ample opportunity, a solid motive…he’s the perfect suspect.” An eager glint filled Stardust’s eyes as she flipped to a fresh page and continued scribbling. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d be trapped in her investigations all night, and I’d never learn more about how dreams were constructed.
“What sort of dream are you creating?” I asked Angel, ignoring Stardust’s death glare.
“A love dream.” She showed me her flowers, and midst some of the swirling auras were pattering rain, clear hearts, and the vibrant color of pink. “I ran out of time tonight to do something original, so I’m recreating a dream I gave my Mortal the other night that yielded me a lot of dust. I’ll weave all of these details together to create the sensation it’s raining hearts.”
Iris clasped her hands together. “Delightful. You’re such a talented Weaver.”
Angel studied her flowers. “I don’t know…it needs something more, a detail that will really create the romantic ambiance I’m going for. Perhaps I’ll combine it with the scent of roses to add an extra romantic layer.”
“Why not use a love emotion flower?” I suggested.
Angel rolled her eyes. “Did you daydream through Dream Weaving 101? Emotions aren’t grown; they can only be created by Mortals themselves.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” Iris scolded. “Remember, she’s still in training.” She turned to me, her ever-present smile caressing her face. “Emotions are what give dreams their power, and that determines which dream a Mortal views. It’s a Weaver’s job to create a dream that evokes strong emotions in the Mortal viewing it, because the more powerful a Mortal’s emotion, the more dream dust the dream yields.”
Angel nodded. “Exactly. Without creating a dream that causes my Mortal to think of her strong feelings for her crush, my dream will be nothing but a bunch of heart-shaped rain. Boring. Alice deserves only the best dreams, so if I could just find a flower that would—”
“Wait, did you say Alice?” I interrupted, the name and the familiarity of the dream she was recreating connecting in my mind. “Alice the baker’s daughter, from the village of Oak Creek?”
Angel raised her eyebrows. “You know her?”
“She has the most remarkable dreams,” I said. “Just the other night she dreamed she was sailing on a tree ship, and each branch led to something wondrous to explore.”
Stardust tore herself from her coloring and gave me a warning nudge; too late
