Sleepless by Cyn Balog Page A

trouble was. Colburn hadn’t told me exactly what in the human world he’d touched, but her anxiety made me certain that it was something of Julia’s, and that she’d noticed it. She is not a stupid girl, after all.
    I stand there, watching for a moment, as they chat and giggle. In the sunlight, Julia glows, unlike I’ve ever seen. I’m used to taking in her delicate form by moonlight, so I had no idea her skin was so luminous, so pale, so fragile. She is the most reserved of all the girls, and it pleases me somewhat to see how uncomfortable she is among the group; it’s just another thing we have in common. When she offers her plate of fries to the table, her voice is nearly drowned out in the breeze.
    She is safe. This should be enough for me. I am but a stranger to her, and I know I shouldn’t stare or else risk looking like a lunatic. But as a Sleepbringer, I had the luxury of gazing at her for as long as I wanted, and perhaps that is why I can’t seem to look away.
    One by one, the girls turn to me. The combination of amusement and shock on their faces is palpable. My firstinstinct is to run away, but before I can, Julia turns. Her eyes narrow and then widen as she takes me in. I’ve never before felt the weight of her eyes on mine. It’s so dizzying I have to lace my fingers through the fence to steady myself. I wonder if she always has that effect on people.
    I realize I am still wearing my hat—what a boor I am—and quickly remove it. “Good day,” I say, and my voice quavers awfully; how disgraceful. But it has been years since I’ve spoken to any human female, much less four of them. I feel a trickle of sweat slide down my temple; for the first time in a hundred years, I am perspiring.
    One of them, a girl with dark skin and even darker hair, straightens to get a better look at me. “Are you going to get naked?”
    I turn my ear toward her, certain I’m mistaken. “Beg pardon?”
    She shrugs. “Damn. I thought someone had sent us a strip-o-gram. You’re fine .”
    A strip-o-…? I hope they’re not implying what I think they are. Julia is too young and upstanding to dabble in such things; it is a disappointment to discover that she is again choosing to surround herself with individuals who are beneath her. “Yes, I am fine, thank you very much,” I answer. “How do you do?”
    A moment of silence passes before they all break into laughter. I’m doing frightfully well, if my intention was to be a comic act.
    I know I should just say farewell and be on my way, but something about this moment is so thrilling I can’t resist. The opportunity to talk to the girl I’ve guided her entire life, tohave her regard me as well. I remember with a stab of pain in my heart those countless decades I spent regretting never asking Gertie to the church social, the many nights I spent knowing I would do things differently, had I only the chance. I realize I’m clutching my hat to my chest so tightly I’m digging holes into the silk with my fingernails. Her name escapes my mouth naturally, since it has been on the tip of my tongue for years. “Julia.”
    They all look at her. Slowly, she rises from the seat, swinging her leg over the bench, and walks to me, timidly, as if being pulled against her will. She stops more than arm’s distance away from the fence. It strikes me at that moment that as a human, I have always made women uneasy. I seem to threaten them just as much as they threaten me.
    She’s wearing a long flowered skirt; it’s delicate and suits her. “Yeah?” she asks in a brusque voice that does not.
    “Hello. My name is Eron DeMarchelle,” I say softly, bowing my head in respect.
    Behind her, one of the girls shouts in a brash tone better suited to a bartender, “Take it all off, baby!”
    Julia turns to them for barely a second and then to me, blushing charmingly. “How do you know my name?”
    I could tell her much more about herself, probably more than even she knows, but that is