“Something like that,” Nate said.

“Cool,” Pigeon said, examining himself. “I was kind of hoping for black.”

“We better get moving,” Nate said. “We’ve got only an hour in our disguises.” They followed the jogging path to Greenway, then took Greenway to Main, where the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe stood, the darkness inside making the windows opaque. With Nate in the lead, they ran across Greenway and hurried along Main. The museum was on the same side of Main as the candy shop, a couple of blocks down.

The stores and offices along Main were all dark, except for a bar on the far side of the street with neon signs glowing in the window. Antique streetlights shed a peach fluorescent luminance at regular intervals. A single car zoomed along the street, going well over the speed limit. The wooden sidewalks, carved hitching posts, and barrel garbage cans contrasted with the electric guitars in the window of the music shop Nate was passing.

With no other pedestrians on the street, Nate felt conspicuous. He noticed the silhouette of a man in an overcoat standing in front of the bar, apparently staring at them. The man had every reason to be watching them—they were a group of fifth graders walking along an empty street at one in the morning! Nate stole covert glances at the man until he turned and wandered into the bar.

Soon they arrived at the William P. Colson Museum. A hundred years ago, the two-story building might have housed the richest people in town. The sizable structure had a single turret and a covered porch. On the far side of the museum ran a side street. The neighbor on the near side was a small, old-fashioned post office. A narrow, shadowy alley ran between the post office and the museum.

Nate, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon slipped into the alley. A cardboard box jiggled as a scrawny brown cat darted away from them. “I don’t feel good about this,” Pigeon whispered.

“It’ll be fine,” Nate said, although he had similar misgivings. Why did witnessing the fear of others tend to boost his courage? “We need to do what we planned. In and out. Pidge, you and Summer wait in the alley. You have the whistle?”

Summer unzipped a side pocket of her backpack and removed a plastic whistle, looping the string around her neck. “I’ll give it one long blow if you need to abort,” she said.

“Look,” Pigeon said, pointing at a high corner of the alley. “The bubble.”

The kids all looked up and saw a bubble the size of a baseball hovering near the roof of the post office. The bubble wobbled, drifted a bit higher, and floated out of the alley and out of sight.

“It looked the same as the bubble I saw outside the Nest,” Pigeon reported.

“Weird,” Nate said.

“What do you think it means?” Trevor asked.

Nobody had an answer. “I don’t like it,” Summer said.

“Me neither,” Nate agreed. “But we can’t do much about it now. We have to keep on task.”

Trevor and Summer started portioning out candy. Everybody got three Moon Rocks and a small handful of Shock Bits. Nate accepted the slender tube of Proxy Dust and the surgeon doll. “Remember to spit out your Moon Rock before using the Shock Bits,” Pigeon cautioned. “Mrs. White said the Mixers can be used with other candy, but that most of her sweets don’t combine well.” The others nodded.

“I want to come inside with you guys,” Summer complained.

“It only takes two,” Nate said quietly. “Keeping watch is just as important.”

“And way more boring,” Summer said. “Next time I’m doing the fun job.”

“I’ll keep watch again next time,” Pigeon volunteered.

Nate and Trevor crept to the front of the alley. Trevor held a short, rusty rod they had found at the creek. The street was quiet. Stepping into the street in front of the museum’s covered porch, Nate and Trevor each put a Moon Rock in their mouths. Nate recognized the familiar lightening sensation.

Trevor took a small hop and drifted mildly up toward the roof. Nate jumped as well, quickly passing Trevor and rising much higher than necessary. Nate was level with the second-story roof before he started descending. He landed lightly on the porch roof a little ways ahead of Trevor.

Two second-story windows opened onto the porch roof, just as the blueprints had indicated. Trevor glided to the window on the left, and Nate followed him, stepping carefully so he would move low and slow over the wooden shingles. At the window, Trevor spit out his Moon Rock, as did Nate, shingles creaking underfoot as they became heavier. Nate crouched low, eyes scanning the street, wishing they had more cover. At least the street looked empty.

Trevor removed a plastic bottle from his pocket and squirted a pane of glass with the clear solution Mrs. White had given him. The pane almost immediately disappeared. He reached his hand through the vacant square, unlocked the window, and opened it. He and Nate entered, shutting the window behind them.

The room was dark, illuminated only by light filtering in from the streetlamps outside, and it contained a female mannequin positioned as if she were weaving wool yarn into cloth on a large loom. A spinning wheel stood in the corner. A velvet rope spanned the doorway opposite the window.

Trevor and Nate walked across the room and ducked under the velvet rope into a dark hall. Trevor produced a small flashlight, and it took only a moment to find the door with the narrow window above it. “Boost me,” Trevor said.

Nate laced his fingers, and Trevor stepped into the impromptu stirrup. Nate held him as high as he could. Reaching up, Trevor squirted the window with the fluid and it vanished. Trevor jumped down.

“You’re up,” Trevor said, taking a spool of kite string from his back pocket.

Setting the surgeon doll on the floor, Nate tore off the end of the Proxy Dust tube and slipped the tiny scrap of paper into his pocket. He sprinkled a little dust onto the doll. Upending the tube, he dumped the rest into his mouth. The dust tasted like slightly sour tangerines.

Nate instantly felt lightheaded, and reached out to support himself against the wall. The room seemed to teeter. He sat down on the floor, which swayed so steeply that he tipped onto his back, all sense of equilibrium lost.

When the room stabilized, Nate sat up, staring down at his plastic hands. He flexed his fingers, then rubbed his palms together, but felt nothing. He had no nerves. “No way,” he said, his mouth soundlessly forming the shape of the words.

He glanced up at Trevor towering over him, then over at the Indian version of himself, slumped unconscious against the wall. Trevor stooped, grabbed him around the waist, and lifted him up. Nate could not feel Trevor’s hand, and he experienced no sensation as Trevor raised him. If not for his sight, he would not have known that he was moving. “That you?” Trevor asked.