“Good morning,” I say.

She doesn’t answer; she’s too busy inspecting me, clearly wondering why I’ve come. As I’ve said, this is solitary work.

I know she isn’t going to like what I have to say, so I speak in my friendliest voice. “You may leave. I’m going to take care of your charge until he wakes.”

She moves in front of the window. “Hell you will. Bret Anderson is mine.”

I can tell she’s new to the seduction. I haven’t had much inter action with the new ones, other than Mr. Colburn, but besides their less than adequate formal dress, they can be so crass. So boorish. And so overly possessive. “There is a … rather perplexing situation. I don’t have time to explain, but I should like to read his dreams. He will be perfectly safe.”

She stiffens. “That’s not allowed!” she spews, but I can tell she’s thinking, Or is it?

I move closer to the window, and she scurries away like a frightened mouse, still grimacing at me. I pass inside, into a dark room. Mr. Anderson has not yet woken. He’s snoring loudly and the room smells like old cigarettes and alcohol. I move to the side of the bed and put my hand over his head.

The dream is horrific. In it, he’s with Julia, and so much of her pale skin is visible I can only gasp. Her makeup is heavy and her features are distorted in such a way that she looks cheap and obscene, almost like Evangeline. Her body is pressed against Mr. Anderson’s and I can barely tell where she ends and he begins. He’s running his tongue along her neck and she’s making a horrible, animal noise I’ve never imagined someone like Julia could make. But this is his dream. This is how he sees her, as wrong as it is. I pull myself out quickly, my body hot with rage. When I turn to the window and pass the blond girl outside, she is studying her fingernails. The shadows darken her face, but she is grinning, triumphant, happy to see me speechless as I slip away.

•  •  •

Mr. Colburn joins me as I’m trembling on the sidewalk outside Julia’s house, thinking about Bret Anderson’s dream. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right. When I tell him this, his face twists. “How do I protect her, then?”

“You warn her, in her dreams. That is the best you can do.”

“That’s not enough. I tried to get through to her last night, and she didn’t listen.”

“She was in quite an agitated state. Something you created, mind you. And if she isn’t willing to listen, there’s nothing you can do.”

“There is something I can do,” he whispers, his eyes sparkling like firecrackers. “Something you can do, actually. You are going to be human.”

I don’t like the wild look in his eyes. He had it when he tried to seduce Julia, and I am not at all comfortable with it. “And?”

“I may not be able to protect her. But you can.”

I remember the way she looked at me when I introduced myself. It was so cold. “I’m but a stranger to her. She’d never believe me.”

His eyes are intent. “Tell her it’s a message from me.”

This is what I was afraid of. “That is completely out of the question. Chimere would be—”

“Saint DeMarchelle. Afraid of getting your hand slapped by the old lady, are you?”

I glare at him.

“Why did you go to the school, anyway, old man?” he says, prodding. “You weren’t just passing through. You wanted to see if what I said was the truth. You went there to protect her.”

“No, I …,” I begin, but I know that the truth is written everywhere on me. It’s in my nature to protect her. It’s something I cannot not do.

He moves so that his face is level with mine, and presses his palms together. “You want her to be safe, don’t you?”

I don’t answer. He knows already. He knows what buttons of mine to press. And though I promised myself, promised Chimere, I’d never disobey the rules again, I can already feel my resolve weakening. That is not a promise I can keep.

Something dawns on me as a slow smile spreads on his face. He can see my strength crumbling. “It would be a shame if I wasn’t able to take your place, wouldn’t it? I mean, if I can’t manage my duties as a Sandman? If I get thrown in the Last Place? You would be stuck up here for another hundred years, right?”

I nod, the heat rising in my neck. “But you wouldn’t …”

He laughs and looks up at the pink clouds swirling through the early-dawn sky. “If you don’t help me, you bet your ass I would.”

CHAPTER 17

Julia

A car horn beeps in my driveway, right on time, but by then, I’ve been sitting in the hallway for a full twenty minutes, twiddling my thumbs anxiously. I almost called to cancel with Ebony about fifty times, but then I decided I was just being stupid. Everything that had happened to remind me of Griffin was only a coincidence. That is the most logical explanation, and a hell of a lot more believable than the idea that his ghost is haunting me. School is out. I should be happy. Instead, for the past two days, I’ve been walking around scared of my own shadow, when in two weeks I’ll be going to New York City. Growing up. This is no time to slink back into being the poor victim that everyone thinks I am.

I slide into the backseat, next to two other girls. Ebony is driving, and the girl in the front passenger seat, Gloria, is smoking a cigarette. When Ebony speeds away, the hair I spent an hour trying to get just right blows around like a tumbleweed, in a cloud of thick smoke. Perfect. As I’m smoothing it down, Ebony glances at me in the rearview mirror. “So we’ve all been talking about you. And we want to know. Give us the scoop.”

My first thought is Oh, God, they saw the kiss. The kiss that I’ve regretted since the second it happened. I didn’t even need a pinch in the ass for that. Luckily, since then, Bret has probably been too busy recovering from his hangover and preparing to walk the football field in his cap and gown to track me down. “Um, what?”

“Duh. The hot guy at lunch?”

Oh, him. I’d almost been able to forget him. Well, sort of. I still catch my breath when I remember those gorgeous dark eyes. But there is really nothing to tell. I convinced myself that he had the wrong Julia. “I have no idea who he is,” I say.

The girls sigh collectively. Clearly they were looking for some good dirt. The one next to me, Amber, laughs, and I can smell something fruity on her breath. Peach schnapps. I think they already started drinking, without me. She says, “I was hoping he was your long-lost brother or something, and you could fix me up.”

Ebony turns onto Main Street. “He was fine. I still think he was a stripper. He looked like he had a nice bod under that tux. What did he say to you?”

“Nothing really.”

“Oh, wow. Totally mysterious. Maybe it was a strip-o-gram. Too bad the bell rang before he got naked for us.”

I shrug, doubtful. The guy was hot, but stiff; he didn’t look like he was ready to peel off his tuxedo shirt. Besides, who on earth would send me a strip-o-gram? Griffin, maybe. No, not possible. It was a mistake. That’s all. He just had the wrong girl.

When we arrive at the party, I look up at the stately white colonial. All windows are lit, and I can see the outlines of people. It’s almost like the walls are pulsing in beat with the music coming from inside. Screams and shouts emanate from the brightly lit backyard. I hold my hands together, since they are about to drip sweat onto my denim skirt. Every party I’ve ever been to, I was cut off from the rest of the world. I had my two bookends, my two buffers, shielding me from the outside. Now I can’t stop quivering. It’s nerves, yes, but something more. Excitement. Before, my outlook was limited, but now anything can happen.

Amber wraps her arms around Gloria and the other girl and they stumble toward the front of the house. Yep, definitely drunk. I follow them like a tail, wishing I had the guts to join in. Ebony stuffs her keys into her wristlet and says, “Let’s get this party started.”