Page 172 of Sweet Nightmare

It doesn’t take a genius to know that each of the colors is supposed to correspond with a time period, so I randomly assign them—red to the past, purple to the present, and green to the future.

And then I try my hand at closing all of Remy behind the window.

It takes a few different times, but eventually it gets to the point where I don’t see him at all—like I can block the present Remy just as easily as the past or future Remy. And anytime I want to see one of them again, I crack open the corresponding window.

“You’ve got it!” Remy says when I try to explain to him what I did. “That’s brilliant.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, just as the shower finally stops.

Jude calls up to the others, and as they start coming down the stairs, I turn to them and try to do the same thing I just did with Remy. It takes a little more doing—each one requires his or her own window—but eventually I’ve got it down until I only see the present version of each of them.

It’s the most amazing feeling in the world, like a giant sensory overload has just been turned off. I’ve never been more grateful to anyone in my life.

After thanking Remy again, I lean into Jude just as the sound of an electric razor starts up.

“What the actual hell?” Luis says, looking baffled.

“Hygiene is very important,” Jude says with a grin—an actual grin—that sends electric sparks dancing along my nerve endings.

Yes, I could very definitely get used to this Jude.

I turn toward Remy, wanting to thank him again for teaching me how to stay focused in the moment—with Jude and with the rest of my friends. But when I turn toward him, he’s not the only one there.

CHAPTER NINETY

HERE COMES

THE SON

A flicker has shown up just behind Remy, a guy, about seventeen, dressed in jeans and a worn black shirt. He’s tall—as tall as Jude, but not as heavily muscled—with spiky black hair, studs in his ears, and a scattering of freckles across his nose.

When he notices me looking at him, he grins widely.

Instinctively, I step closer to him, and as I do, I can’t help but notice that he’s got different-colored eyes—one blue and one green and silver. And that’s when it hits me—he’s in full color, unlike most of the flickers who are in black and white. And not only that, I realize I’ve seen him before, twice. He’s the boy in the dungeon and the one in the T-Rex pajamas on the center mall in the rain, all grown up.

I raise a hand to wave to him, and his grin gets even bigger. “Looks like you found him,” he tells me with a quick lift of his brows.

“Who?” I ask, confused.

“Dad, obviously.” He gives a little nod toward Jude and the tapestry man, who has just stepped out from behind his blurry curtain.

Shock holds me immobile for a second, and I whisper, “What’s your name?”

If possible, his grin gets even bigger. “It’s Keats. I’m named after the poet. You know, from the class that started it all.” Then he gives a little wave and disappears.

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to take care of all that. And let me tell you, my skin is wicked dry,” the guy from the tapestry says as I stare after Keats, reeling. “Do any of you have any lotion? I could really use some of the good stuff.”

I kind of want to tell Jude what just happened, but I know there’ll be time. So I turn to the guy and blink in surprise, because he looks a million times different than the man who walked in a couple of minutes ago.

Gone is the wild, shaggy hair. In its place is a sophisticated, slicked-back taper. His dirty, faded smoking jacket has been replaced with a three-piece pinstripe suit, complete with a bright-pink paisley tie. Even his shoes have been replaced—the old house slippers have become a pair of inlaid leather brogues. Oh, and the beard is completely gone.

I’m not sure how he managed all that in fifteen minutes in a corner, but magic is magic for a reason.

“Thank you for your patience,” he tells the group of us with a benign smile, though I have the uncomfortable feeling that he’s looking mostly at me.

I’m not the only one who notices that, either. Jude definitely picks up on it, and though he doesn’t make any overt comments, he does position himself just a little bit in front of me.

The guy realizes Jude’s doing it, too, and seems to grimace ever so slightly. Which makes me more inclined to appreciate Jude’s protectiveness. If the guy is full of good intentions, why does he care where my mate stands?

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