I find some orange-flavored gum and offer a piece to the girls next to me. They decline. I shove a piece into my mouth and yawn again.

And again.

It’s got to be the fluorescent lighting and the dull walls. Why can’t these places ever look more exciting? It’s like they hope to scare people away. I close my eyes and realize that’s what they want. To be closed. To stay that way.

“Is there a Coke machine here?” I ask my mom.

She shrugs. “You might try getting enough sleep instead of—”

“Mom, I slept fine. I’m just thirsty,” I groan, standing. I walk around the room until I find a line of vending machines. I see Mountain Dew. Eureka. I pop in my quarters and drink it down. Better. I stand there, reading some boring signs on the wall about child restraint laws and penalties for DUI, because even that is more exciting than being near my mom.

Suddenly, my mom nudges me. Somehow, without even knowing how I got here, I’m sitting next to her again. The two girls are gone. My soda can is empty in my hand. I can’t remember taking the walk back from the vending machines. “What the …,” I begin.

“You’re up,” my mom says. She must be at a really good part of her manual, because she doesn’t glance up. There is a chubby man waiting in the doorway. He looks sort of like the Michelin Man, but in plaid, and not as cute or happy. This man looks a little like someone spit in his morning coffee. Great. Before I know it, my bag slips from my hands, its contents spilling onto the ground with a clatter.

Michelin Man doesn’t move, but my mom reaches down and grabs my cell. She studies me. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Oh, sure. Fine.” I summon every last bit of my energy to prove the point. I jump up and put on my most confident smile.

“Good luck, hon,” she says.

“Hi,” I say brightly, bounding up to meet the man.

He grunts and just keeps staring at his clipboard. “Miss Devine.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

He grunts again and leads me outside to the back of the building, where there are three identical Ford compact cars waiting. It’s a hot day but my palms begin to sweat even before the chill of the air-conditioning has worn off. I’m suddenly aware I have to pee—obviously, since I just downed an entire can of Dew. I yawn again, a long one, and I can’t shut my mouth for the life of me. Of course, that’s when the man looks at me. I try to stretch it into an open-mouthed smile, but that doesn’t work. His frown deepens.

He motions me to the middle Ford and hands me the keys. I walk around to the driver’s side and sit in the seat. It’s not very comfortable, so I attempt to adjust it, pretending like I am an old pro at this even though I have no idea how the seat works. In the silence of the car, I notice that Michelin Man has a problem with breathing. His breath is so loud it sounds like my dad’s snoring. How can anyone concentrate on their driving around him? After I fiddle with the seat for a few minutes, he finally lets out a sound like snarf from the back of his throat and reaches under my seat. It slides backward easily. By that time, we’ve been in the car with the windows up for five minutes and it’s like an inferno. My bangs are sweat-glued to my face.

I put the key in the ignition, turn it. The car starts up. The sun beats down through the windshield. I can’t help it: I yawn again. The man clucks his tongue. I wrap my fingers around the hot steering wheel and pray to the caffeine gods for my Mountain Dew to kick in.

“Please pull out and drive to the third cone.”

I check my mirrors, then press gently on the accelerator. Twinge.

The car bucks. What was that?

I will my eyes to stay open, but I feel the lids sliding shut.

Oh, no.

And that’s when I see Griffin.

CHAPTER 30

Eron

“Are you angry at me?”

I blink. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the black waves as they crash upon the rocks below. Chimere is beside me.

“What is this?” I ask. “Where am I?”

She smiles. “You’re dreaming.”

“I’m … sleeping?”

“Yes, you are human. You are my charge. I lured you here. Remember? Just like in the old days.”

“Oh.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this state, unconscious, unaware. From the moment I left Julia’s house early this morning, things became fuzzy. I can’t recall what I did after I climbed quietly out her window as the sun stretched above the horizon. I’m thankful that the kiss hasn’t disappeared from my memory. Neither has the feeling of lying next to her, really lying next to her, with her head on my shoulder for hours on end. I wiggle my fingers and feel the nubby worn fabric of Harmon’s old couch. Somehow, I’d made it there. “But if I am human, then Mr. Colburn …”

“That is why I lured you here; so that I might speak to you.” Her eyes turn troubled. “Mr. Colburn has disappeared once again.”

I shake my head. Of course. Did I expect any different? Then I realize that something is peculiar about this instance. “If he is neglecting his duties and not performing the seduction, shouldn’t I be a Sandman?”

“Yes, that is what troubles me.”

I back away from the edge of the cliff, pondering. Chimere wrings her hands; I can tell she already knows what this means, and she’s none too pleased. “What does it mean, then?”

Her voice is mouse-like. “That he’s still performing his duties.”

I squint at her. “You mean … he may be attempting to seduce her to sleep? Now?”

“Yes.”

“He’s going to try to hurt her.”

She nods. “I am afraid so.”

I remember what she said to me last night. I have my driver’s test tomorrow. Driver’s test. I grab Chimere by the shoulders. “I need to wake up. The sand …”

“I only did enough for a catnap,” she answers, her eyes downcast. “You may wake yourself easily.”

I smile sadly at her. I know that if she wanted to serve her own selfish motives, she could very well have let Griffin carry on, fail in his duties, so that I would be forced to be a Sandman forever. But Chimere is and always has been, above all, a Sleepbringer. My protector. I reach out and stroke the smooth skin of her jaw. “You’re wonderful,” I say, and the last thing I can recall from the dream is the way she takes my hand in her own, clearly savoring the feeling of my skin against hers.

I concentrate on something real—the fabric of the couch. I dig my fingers into it, hard, then quickly pull myself out of sleep. I open my eyes and the first thing I focus on is the lazily spinning ceiling fan. My head is thick, my eyesight bleary. I stand, try to catch my bearings.

Julia.

Some confusing moments later, after inquiring with nearly a dozen people on the street and receiving conflicting information as to where this “driver testing facility” is, I race down the shoulder of the highway, avoiding the automobiles that are honking their horns at me. The parking lot is full; the Devine family automobile, now repaired, is parked in it, but there is no sign of Julia.

I call her name as I rush toward the building, and that is when I hear the screech of tires. I turn toward an empty concrete lot in the distance and see a small white automobile swerving around a bend. I can just make out Julia’s head—the low ponytail, the pale skin—in the driver’s-side window.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Julia!”

The car is moving closer. I can see her white knuckles on the wheel, and I can also now see her eyes.

They flutter closed.

She is asleep.

The automobile skids through a stop sign, and when the right tire hits a curb, the car is momentarily airborne. It strikes the ground hard, then barrels straight across the lot, toward a busy intersection. Paralyzed, I watch as it swerves again, this time racing at breakneck speed, directly toward me. The heat and dust rise off the pavement surrounding the vehicle, but in the blurred distance beyond, I’m almost positive I see Mr. Colburn. And he’s smiling.