He’s silent.

“Let her live her life.”

For a moment I think that perhaps my words are penetrating that thick skull of his. Then he says, “Bret has it coming to him.”

I see the gears in his head turning, and I don’t like it one bit. “Mr. Colburn, if you hope to become one of us, there is nothing you can do.”

“You said Sandmen protect their charges. But you’re going to let him get away with what he did? You know he’ll do it again. Julia’s too nice. Too naive.”

“It’s not that,” I say, but even as the words come out, I know he is right. Even as I argued with her, she was protecting Mr. Anderson, calling him her friend. She has no idea what she’s up against. “If you put him to sleep forever, you will ruin my chance at becoming human, and your chance of assuming your powers,” I say softly.

“But,” he says, “if you were the one who put him to sleep …”

I meet his eyes in the darkness. “What makes you think I’d risk—”

“Because you’ve done it before,” he says, grinning triumphantly.

I swallow. “What … what do you …”

“Chimere covered for you, right?” He shrugs. “Too bad she isn’t the best at keeping secrets.”

I clench my fists. Cursed Chimere!

“I didn’t know you had it in you, old man. You could have gone to the Last Place for years, if Chimere had told the elders. But she didn’t. You’re her pet, right? Still … I think the elders would be very interested if I told them, don’t you? You’d both end up in the Last Place. Right?”

I think about the last human whose life I ended, all those years ago. I suffered, yes, but even now I’d do it again, and again, if I had the choice. And looking at Mr. Colburn, his face red with rage, I know that he isn’t bluffing. I know that if he had the opportunity, he would damn both me and Chimere to the Last Place to protect Julia. I know he’d go there himself if he had to.

Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.

I whisper, “Yes. I will take care of it.”

Julia was seven when she was kidnapped by a horrible monster and made to spend three days in a dark, dirty trailer. I’m not sure how or why this creature selected her; all I know is that one morning, she and her mother left the house on a shopping trip, and that afternoon, her mother returned, alone and frantic. And when I sought out Julia to perform my duties, I found her whimpering in fear, curled into a ball on the floor of the vehicle, not three miles from her home. The man didn’t hurt her, other than scraping one gash in her cheek for every day he kept her. I saw his dreams. I know that he planned to do much worse to her, to hurt her in unspeakable ways. Ways I didn’t think possible.

I spent two days watching over her, keeping her safe. Keeping her asleep so she wouldn’t be afraid. So that every remaining night she spent on this earth wouldn’t be filled with nightmares.

But I knew how it would end if I did nothing.

After Mama, I simply could not stand by and let those despicable things happen to Julia. Not when I had the power to stop them.

I knew I had to take care of him.

And so I know, all too well, what Mr. Colburn must be feeling. Mr. Anderson sleeps as I stare over him, readying myself to perform the seduction. Readying myself to end his life. My hands shake. I spent my entire trip here hoping that the second time, it would be easier. But, no. I turn away, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. No.

The monster in the trailer dreamt of hurting Julia. I saw the knives. I could see his memories of other girls he’d hurt, and I could sense that he was proud of that. I look around Mr. Anderson’s room, hoping to find something, anything, to convince me that this boy is a monster as well. But there is nothing … just running trophies, pictures of performers, piles of classic novels and books on rocketry and science … It all seems so typical and benign. That is when I notice something on the bulletin board behind his desk. Pictures of Julia, all of them smiling down at me. There are some pictures of Mr. Colburn as well, but for the most part, they are Julia. In one, it’s just Julia and Mr. Anderson … and someone has drawn a heart around it.

I turn to him. Julia was right. You wouldn’t have hurt her. You’re in love with her.

My body quivers. What was I thinking? Mr. Colburn clearly has no idea what he is asking. Ending a life is not something to take lightly. This is a boy, not even a man. He can redeem himself. I had no hope of using my powers as Sleepbringer to save Julia from that madman in the trailer; she was trapped. Luring that man to death was my only choice.

But Bret Anderson is not the same threat to Julia. And if he does try to hurt her … in a few days, I will be human. I can devote my life to ensuring her safety.

That will be my unfinished business.

I take the sand from my pocket and spread more than the normal share over him. As it settles, I whisper in his ear, “If you ever see Julia again, you will apologize profusely. And you will never, ever lay another finger on her. Understood?”

He tosses his head and mumbles a yes.

The girl with the white-blond hair fumes at me. “What was that all about?” She runs to him, puts her hand over his forehead. “He’s going to sleep all day now.”

I nod and step to the window. “Exactly.”

CHAPTER 19

Julia

“Mom,” I say, “I would feel a little more confident about my abilities if you would remove your foot from the dashboard.”

My mother has been pressing her sandal-clad foot so hard against the glove compartment that I think she might leave an indentation. She pushes down so hard that her baby pink–polished toes turn white every time she wants me to brake. “Sorry, hon.”

She removes her foot, but slowly, and only for a second. When I stop at the next light, it pops above the seat again, toes peeking up like pretty pink soldiers readying for attack. “Mom!”

She shrugs. “You’re a lead foot. Just like your dad.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just late for work,” I explain, counting the hours until I’ll be able to drive alone, until I won’t have to con my mom into taking me for “practice” drives. Three days. Just slightly over seventy-two hours.

I drive down Main. It’s the quickest shot to the mall, though I’ve avoided it. I’m sure the tree is still there, with a massive bite in its side, just like I saw in the newspaper, but without Griffin’s mangled Mustang. I guess the wreckage is gone, but they wouldn’t uproot a tree. It wasn’t the tree’s fault, after all.

I try to keep my eyes straight ahead when we pass it, but of course we stop at a light, and there it is, staring at me. The white wound in the black bark is a hideous smile, taunting me. I imagine blood, pieces of Griffin’s bone burrowed permanently in that tree. I wonder if it was the last thing he ever saw. I take a breath. A car horn blares.

“Light’s green,” my mom reminds me gently. From her tone, I can tell she knows what I’m thinking about.

“Oh.” I press on the accelerator too quickly. The car bucks a little. Whoops. “Sorry.”

She kneads my shoulder, pats my knee. I feel goose bumps there prickling against her smooth hand.

We pull up to the mall entrance, and I throw the car into park, open the door, and start to slide out. Health week is clearly over, because my mother decides to climb over the console to the driver’s seat. If she were still in fitness mode, she would have gotten out and jogged around the car. She struggles a little, groaning and letting out a big “oof” as she plops into the driver’s seat. “Pick you up at nine. We can practice your night driving,” she says, not sounding very thrilled by the prospect. Seeing the place where Griffin met his end probably has that effect on lots of parents.