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“Twelve years old, sir,” Thorn said meekly, her cheeks burning.

“And why did I agree to hire you?”

Thorn answered, but it came out so soft that only Mazby could hear it. She held her broom close to her chest—a shield between her and the world.

“What was that?” Master Tuwain cupped a hand around his ear. “Are you a mouse or a girl? Tell me. Why did I hire you?”

A small crowd had gathered around Number Thirty-Four First Street. Thorn wished she could sink into the muddy cracks between the wet cobblestones and live forever in the cool, dark underground. In such a place, no one could find her and yell at her.

No one could mistake her for her sister, and then feel disappointed when they realized she wasn’t.

“You hired me, sir,” Thorn said, her voice a mere thread of sound, “because my sister is a harvester.”

“And not only a harvester,” Master Tuwain carried on, “but the best one we’ve got.” Then, realizing how many people were watching and whispering, he said, rather louder than he needed to, “Rest assured, Thorn, that were it not for your sister, you would—”

But then the most famous girl in Aeria turned the corner onto First Street, and everyone flocked to her instead.

“Brier!” they called, waving their hats, offering up gifts—frosted cookies wrapped in sparkling paper, bundles of silver coins, chunky knitted scarves. “How are the storms looking?”

“Brier, tell us! How much lightning did you gather today?”

“Is it true, what people are saying?”

“Are the storms fading?”

Brier Skystone of the Vale, riding down First Street on the back of her unicorn, Norojedzia, waved at her many admirers. Everyone she laid eyes upon seemed to stand taller and straighter.

“Storms go through cycles,” said Brier, addressing the crowdwith a smile. “Sometimes they are loud and energetic. Sometimes they retreat to rest.”

Thorn stepped back into the pink rhododendron bushes flanking Number Thirty-Four’s front door and, with a pang in her chest, wished that she was already out of sight, back at home.

The people of Aeria followed Brier down the road with shining eyes. A bold few even rushed forward to drape garlands of paper flowers around Norojedzia’s neck.

Brier looked exactly like Thorn in every respect—same pale skin, same large brown eyes, same long, wavy brown hair. But if you stood the two girls side by side, you would immediately see past the physical similarities and notice the differences.

One girl had shining eyes and an easy smile. One girl wore her hair in a tidy, practical bun rather than letting it fly about loose and tangled. One girl knew exactly what to say and how to say it. One girl was a blazing bright sun.

The other girl was nothing but a shadow.

Brier looked around the street and found Thorn hiding in the flowers. Then she glanced at Master Tuwain, who was still scowling. Brier’s mouth tightened. She turned Noro toward Number Thirty-Four.

Thorn shrank back into the bushes. Maybe if she wished it hard enough, she would truly disappear.

“Please, don’t worry,” Brier was saying to the crowd. “And please don’t listen to rumors. Noro and I work in the mountains every day. We see the storms up close. If there was reason to worry, we’d be the first ones to tell you. Isn’t that right, Noro?”

Noro, who Thorn knew would be bristling at the indignity of wearing flowers around his neck like a child’s pony, said in his rich, smooth tenor, “Quite right, Brier.”

Then he pawed one white hoof against the cobblestones and let loose residual lightning from his long spiraled horn. The sour, hot smell in the air cut through the damp fog of Aeria’s streets, and when tiny white sparks snapped about Noro’s horn like firecrackers, the crowd cheered.

Brier reached down into the bushes, found Thorn’s hand, and pulled. Thorn dug her heels into the mud for only a moment before giving up and scrambling onto Noro’s back. The slight heat of Noro’s magic prickled Thorn’s legs, but with Brier there, she wouldn’t be truly hurt.

“My sister, Thorn!” Brier twisted on Noro’s back so she could throw an arm around Thorn’s shoulders. “The best street sweep in Aeria!”

Master Tuwain let out an incredulous guffaw, but the rest of the crowd drowned him out. They pumped their fists into the air and cheered as Noro carried Brier and Thorn down First Street toward home.

Thorn forced a smile and waved back at the crowd, but it seemed silly to be called the best sweep in Aeria, for it wasn’t true. She was too distractible, too caught up in her art and her daydreams. And anyway, who cared about being a sweep? Her wages were nothing compared to Brier’s. She might as well go hunting around the gutters for spare change.

Besides, none of those people were cheering for her. They had eyes only for Brier. Thorn wished her sister would stop trying to make anyone care about her, the shadow twin. She knew Brier meant well, but it was humiliating to sit on Noro’s gleaming white back in her stained, stinking sweep uniform as the crowd chanted her sister’s name.