“Julia?”

I jump. In the darkness is Mrs. Devine, clad in a pale yellow nightshirt that matches her moonlit complexion.

“Mom?” Julia mumbles.

“What are you doing in here?” she barks, jabbing her finger at me. Then she turns to Julia. “Oh, you are in so much trouble, young lady.”

I stand there, straight as an arrow. I can just hear Mama groaning her disapproval. In my time, a mother would have had every right to beat a boy senseless over something like this. And I would have applauded her. I bow my head in respect, then follow her out the bedroom door. She seethes at me, and as I’m descending the staircase, I hear her exchanging heated words with her daughter.

Outside, I am trembling in the midnight air. I’m not sure where to go; I don’t want to leave her. After a moment, I see Julia watching me from the window. Her cheeks are still red from the lashing she took from her mother. She leans over and whispers, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Julia, I’m concerned … about Griffin.” My teeth chatter as I speak, but it’s more from awe than from fear.

“Why? He was my boyfriend. He wouldn’t hurt me….” Her voice trails off. I know what is finally dawning on her. People you know, even very well, can surprise you.

“Julia, don’t sleep. You must do everything you can not to.”

She yawns. “I’m so beat. And I have my driver’s test tomorrow.”

“As long as I am human, Griffin is in charge of putting you to sleep. And I have no idea what he might do.”

“What do you mean? How can I …” She yawns again.

I wrap my fingers around a low branch of the familiar tree outside her home. When I reach her window, I climb inside, realizing that I’ve never before worked to keep someone awake. But I suppose that these days, I am used to new experiences.

Julia leans against her headboard, pulls her knees up to her chest, and snorts. “I can’t believe this. So, like, all this time, we’ve all had Sandmen putting us to sleep? And we can’t sleep without them?”

“Yes.”

“Are they always as … um, attractive as you are?”

She is blushing, and I feel the blood running to my cheeks as well. “A human’s Sandman is always someone they would find physically appealing, yes. It’s easier for us that way.”

“But what does Griffin have to do with this?”

“He is your Sandman now,” I explain. “Our tenure is only one hundred years. My time is almost expired, and I am due to hand my charges to Mr. Colburn shortly.”

“Oh, great, the king of practical jokes is my Sandman. Figures,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And then what will happen to you?”

“I will be human again.”

“Really? Well, now it all makes sense, I guess. Why you act so different, look so different … You haven’t been human since … what? Nineteen ten?”

I nod.

“Are you scared?”

“I was.” Up until now.

“Did you really mean what you said about wanting to build buildings?” Julia asks me.

“Yes. My mother took me to see the Flatiron Building when I was ten. I was fascinated.”

“My dad was interviewing at grad schools when I was twelve and he took me into the Empire State Building. I loved the Art Deco. From that moment on, I was hooked. I used to build things out of Popsicle sticks,” she laughs, pointing at a misshapen square building model in the corner of her room. I remember the hours she spent putting that together, working well into the night, yawning and concentrating under the dim lamplight, until she could no longer fight me off. She pulls off her covers and walks to her bookshelf, which is filled with everything from Wuthering Heights to the picture books her mother used to read her every night before bed. She removes a big book, one I’ve never seen before. “Have you heard of this place?”

I sit on the pale pink carpet, using her bed as a backboard, and she sits next to me, legs crossed. She places the book open in my lap and I gasp. Buildings that defy logic are there. “Are these … real?”

She nods, inspecting the pictures as I flip. “It’s a place called Dubai, in the Middle East. Over here, there are all these rules you have to follow. But there, architects are given free rein to create whatever crazy building designs they like. Aren’t these amazing?”

I gape in wonder. “Amazing” doesn’t begin to describe them. Not only are they tall enough to reach the moon, but the shapes are gorgeous. Some look like they are made entirely from mirrors. Others are shaped with soft curves instead of harsh angles. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

She opens to a page where I’m greeted by the most magnificent structure I have ever seen. “The Burj Khalifa,” she says. “Tallest building in the world.”

“Can they … can they touch the moon from there?” I ask.

She laughs. “Almost. It won’t be the tallest for long, though; they keep building them higher and higher. But I want to go there. I want to see them in person.”

I nod. At this moment, I do, too.

“I met with a professor when I was applying for the Architectural Journal summer session—that’s where I’m going this summer—because I wanted to make my application package the best it could be. Most of the other applicants are high school seniors or college freshmen, so I knew it was a long shot,” she explains. “And he told me something that Winston Churchill once said. ‘We shape our buildings; thereafter, they shape us.’ There are few professions where you can influence people in a positive way like that.”

I assume Winston Churchill must be a famous architect. “Yes, I would much rather add to this world than take away from it.”

“Exactly.” She closes the book and studies me. “You have been with me my whole life, haven’t you?”

I nod. “Does that bother you?”

She shrugs. “It’s a little creepy. But kind of cool, I guess. You’re like my guardian angel.”

“Oh, no,” I say, pressing my back against her bed. “I’m not quite as powerful as that. And I wouldn’t want you—I don’t know—trying to fly from a bridge because you think I can save you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You can’t?”

I shake my head.

“Then what good are you?” she says in mock disappointment, and then laughs. “Tell me about the Sandmen. Everything.”

I take a breath and prepare for a long story. But I suppose we have all night. “Where shall I start?”

CHAPTER 29

Julia

“You’re more than grounded for life, you know,” my mom says with a snort as we pull into the DMV’s driver testing course. “We’re nailing the windows shut. How irresponsible can you be? You’re lucky we’re still taking you for your license.”

I’m still thinking about Eron, so my mom’s words don’t register. When I was three, I accidentally stuck my finger into an outlet and got a shock, but this is like a thousand times more intense. My lips still tremble when I think of it. And I am the one who started it. Me. I always let Griffin lead me around, dictate what happened next. Now I am in control. I like that. “That’s fine,” I say solemnly, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “I am very sorry.”

She pats her purse nervously and sticks her foot on the dashboard again when I pull rather quickly into an open parking spot. “And to think I’m sending you off on your own in a couple weeks.”

“I thought you said I can take care of myself,” I say.

She snorts. “Well, I thought so, until last night.”

We walk into the DMV and I hand my forms and identification to the lady at the desk. She smiles and says, “Just go on and have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I smile at a couple of fidgety girls. One is sitting on the edge of her seat, looking like she might fall off, and the other is bouncing her knee so quickly that her flip-flop keeps making a smack-smack-smack noise against the bottom of her foot. My mom picks up a driver’s manual—which, while not exactly Redbook, is the only reading around—and starts to page through it. I just sit beside her, yawn, and rifle through my purse for some gum.