Chapter 6
James moved fast. He picked up the plastic tumbler on
the bedside table and handed it to Poppy. She understood.
Feeling giddy and uncoordinated, she took a
healthy swig of water and licked her lips to wash any traces
of blood away.
“What are you doing ?” Phillip repeated, striding into the
room. His eyes were fixed on James, which was good, because
Poppy was trying to position herself
to hide the side of her
neck that James had bitten.
“None of your business,” she said, and in the same instant
she knew it was a mistake. Phillip, whose middle name was
Stability, was looking distinctly unstable
tonight.
Mom told him. Poppy thought.
“I mean, we aren’t doing anything,” she amended. It
didn’t help. Phil was clearly in a mood to see everything
in
the world as a threat to his sister. And Poppy couldn’t really
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blame him—he’d walked in on the two of them in a strange
embrace on a rumpled hospital bed.
“James was comforting me because I was scared,” she said.
She didn’t even try to explain why James had been cradling her
head to his arm. But she glanced at James’s arm surreptitiously
and saw that the wound there was already closed, the mark
fading.
“Everything’s all right, you know,” James said, standing to
fix a mesmerizing silver gaze on Phillip. But Phil hardly gave
him a glance. He was staring at Poppy.
It’s not working, Poppy thought. Maybe Phil’s too mad to
be hypnotized. Or too stubborn.
She looked a question at James, which he answered
with a
barely discernable shake of his head. He didn’t know what the
problem was, either.
But they both knew what it meant. James was going to
have to leave. Poppy felt cheated and frustrated.
All she wanted
was to talk with James, to revel in their new discovery of each
other—and she couldn’t. Not with Phil here.
“How come you’re here, anyway?” she asked him irritably.
“I drove Mom here. You know she doesn’t like driving at
night. And I brought this.” He swung her boom box up onto
the bedside table. “And these.” He put a black CD case beside
it. “All your favorite music.”
Poppy felt her anger draining away. “That was sweet,” she
said. She was touched, especially since Phil hadn’t said “All
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your favorite weird music,” which was usually how he referred
to it. “Thank you.”
Phil shrugged, shooting a glare at James.
Poor Phil, Poppy thought. Her brother actually looked
disheveled. And his eyes were swollen.
“Where’s Mom?” she was starting to say, when her mother
walked in.
“I’m back, sweetie,” her mother said, with a very creditable
cheery smile. Then she looked surprised. “James—it was nice
of you to come.”
“Yeah, but he was just leaving,” Phil said significantly.
“I’ll
show him the way out.”
James didn’t waste energy on a fight he couldn’t win. He
turned to Poppy and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was a look in his gray eyes—gray, not silver now—
that was just for her. A look that had never been there before
in all the years she’d known him.
“Goodbye, James,” she said softly. “And—thank you.” She
knew he understood what she meant.
It wasn’t until he was out the door, with Phillip on his heels
like a bouncer after a rowdy customer, that a thought occurred
to her.
James had said that she would be in danger if she didn’t
get enough of his blood. But they’d gotten interrupted
almost
immediately after that. Had Poppy gotten enough? And what
would happen if she hadn’t ?
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She herself had no idea, and there was no way to ask
James.
Phil stayed right behind James all the way out of the hospital.
Not tonight, James thought. He just couldn’t deal with
Phillip North tonight. His patience was gone, and his mind
was occupied in calculating whether Poppy had taken enough
of his blood to be safe. He thought she had—but the sooner she
got more, the better.
“You’ll ‘see her tomorrow’—well, you’re not going to see her
tomorrow,” Phil said abruptly as they walked into the garage.
“Phil, give me a break.”
Instead, Phillip stepped in front of him and stopped dead,
forcing James to stop, too. Phillip was breathing quickly, his
green eyes burning.
“Okay, bud,” he said. “I don’t know what you think you’re
doing with Poppy—but it’s all over now. From now on you
stay away from her. Understand ?”
Visions of breaking Phillip’s neck like a new pencil danced
in James’s head. But Phil was Poppy’s brother, and his green
eyes were surprisingly like hers.
“I would never hurt Poppy,” he said wearily.
“Give me a break. Are you going to stand there and tell me
you don’t want to move in on her?”
James couldn’t come up with an answer immediately.
Yesterday he could have truthfully said no, he didn’t want
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to move in on Poppy. Because it would have meant a death
sentence for him and Poppy both. It was only when Poppy
had received a death sentence of her own that he’d allowed
himself to look at his feelings.
And now . . . now he’d been close to Poppy. He’d touched
her mind, and had found that she was even braver and more
gallant than he’d thought; even more compassionate—and
more vulnerable.
He wanted to be that close to Poppy again. He cared
about her in a way that made his throat ache. He belonged with
Poppy.
He also realized that that might not be enough.
Sharing blood forged a powerful bond between two
people. It would be wrong of him to take advantage of that
bond—or of Poppy’s gratitude to him. Until he was sure that
Poppy’s mind was clear and her decisions were her own, he
should keep a little distance.
It was the only honorable thing
to do.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt her,” he repeated.
“Why can’t you believe that?” He made a half-hearted attempt
to capture Phil’s gaze as he said it. It failed, just as it had in the
hospital. Phillip seemed to be one of those rare humans who
couldn’t be influenced by mind control.
“Why can’t I believe it? Because I know you. You and
your—girlfriends.” Phil managed to make the word sound
like a curse. “You go through six or seven a year—and when
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you’re through with them, you dump them like trash.”
James was distracted briefly by amusement, because
Phil
was dead on. He needed six girlfriends a year. After two months
the bond between them became
dangerously strong.
“Poppy’s not my girlfriend and I’m not going to dump
her,” he said, pleased at his own cleverness. He’d avoided an
outright lie—Poppy wasn’t his girlfriend
in any normal sense.
They’d merged their souls, that was all—they hadn’t talked
about dating or anything.
“So you are telling me you’re not gonna try to put the
moves on her. Is that it? Because you’d better be sure.” As he
spoke, Phil did what was probably the most dangerous thing
he’d ever done in his life. He grabbed James by the front of
the shirt.
You stupid human, James thought. He briefly considered
breaking every bone in Phil’s hand. Or picking
Phil up
and throwing him across the garage into somebody’s windshield.
Or . . .
“You’re Poppy’s brother,” he said through his teeth. “So I’m
going to give you a chance to let go.”
Phil stared into his face a moment, then let go, looking
slightly shaken. But not shaken enough to keep quiet.
“You have to leave her alone,” he said. “You don’t understand.
This disease she’s got—it’s serious. She doesn’t need anything
messing up her life right now. She just needs . . .” He
stopped and swallowed.
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Suddenly James felt very tired. He couldn’t blame Phil for
being upset—Phil’s mind was full of crystal-clear pictures of
Poppy dying. Usually James got only general images about
what humans were thinking, but Phillip was broadcasting so
loud it nearly deafened
him.
Half-truths and evasions hadn’t worked. It was time for
Outright Lies. Anything to satisfy Phil and get James away
from this.
“I know that what Poppy has is serious,” he said. “I found
an article about it on the Net. That’s why I was here, okay? I
feel sorry for her. I’m not interested in Poppy except as a friend,
but it makes her feel better if I pretend that I like her.”
Phillip hesitated, looking at him hard and suspiciously.
Then he shook his head slowly. “Being friends is one thing,
but it’s wrong to mix her up. In the end, pretending isn’t going
to do her any good. I don’t even think it makes her feel better
now —she looked pretty bad in there.”
“Bad?”
“Pale and shaky. You know Poppy; you know how she
gets overexcited about things. You shouldn’t be fooling around
with her emotions.” He narrowed his eyes and said, “So maybe
you’d better stay away from her for a while. Just to make sure
she hasn’t got the wrong idea.”
“Whatever,” James said. He wasn’t really listening.
“Okay,” Phillip said. “We have a deal. But I’m warning
you, if you break it, you’re in trouble.”
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James wasn’t listening to that, either. Which was a
mistake.
In the darkened hospital room Poppy lay and listened
to her
mother’s breathing.
You’re not asleep, she thought, and I’m not asleep. And
you know I’m not, and I know you’re not. . . .
But they couldn’t talk. Poppy wanted desperately to let her
mother know that everything was going to be all right—but
how? She couldn’t betray James’s secret. And even if she could,
her mother wouldn’t believe her.
I have to find a way, Poppy thought. I have to. And then a
great wave of drowsiness overtook her. It had been the longest
day in her life, and she was full of alien blood already working
its strange magic in her. She couldn’t . . . she just couldn’t . . .
keep her eyes open.
Several times during the night a nurse came in to take her
vital signs, but Poppy never really woke up. For the first time
in weeks, no pain interrupted her dreams.
She opened her eyes the next morning feeling confused
and weak. Black dots swarmed through her vision when she
sat up.
“Hungry?” her mother asked. “They left this breakfast tray
for you.”
The smell of hospital eggs made Poppy feel nauseated.
But
because her mother was watching her anxiously,
she played with
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the food on the tray before she went to wash up. In the bathroom
mirror she examined the side of her neck. Amazing—there
was no trace of a mark.
When she came out of the bathroom, her mother was
crying.
Not floods of tears, not sobbing. Just dabbing her eyes on
a Kleenex. But Poppy couldn’t stand it.
“Mom, if you’re worried about telling me . . . I know.”
The whole sentence was out before Poppy could even
think about it.
Her mother’s head jerked up in horror. She stared at Poppy
with more tears spilling. “Sweetheart—you know . . . ?”
“I know what I’ve got and I know how bad it is,” Poppy
said. If this was the wrong strategy, it was too late now. “I listened
when you and Cliff were talking to the doctors.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
What can I say ? Poppy wondered. It’s okay, Mom, because
I’m not going to die; I’m going to become a vampire. I hope. I
can’t be sure, because sometimes you don’t make it through the
transformation. But with any luck, I should be sucking blood
in a few weeks.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t asked James exactly how
long it would take to change her.
Her mother was taking deep, calming breaths. “Poppy,
I want you to know how much I love you. Cliff and I will
do anything—anything—we can to help you. Right now he’s
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looking into some clinical protocols—those are experimental
studies where they test new ways of treating people. If we can
just . . . buy time . . . until a cure . . .”
Poppy couldn’t stand it. She could feel her mother’s pain.
Literally. It came in palpable waves that seemed to echo through
her bloodstream, making her dizzy.
It’s that blood, she thought. It’s doing something to me—
changing me.
Even as she thought it, she went to her mother. She wanted
to hug her, and she needed help standing
up.
“Mom, I’m not scared,” she said, muffled against her
mother’s shoulder. “I can’t explain, but I’m not scared. And I
don’t want you to be unhappy over me.”
Her mother just held on fiercely, as if Death might try to
snatch Poppy out of her arms that minute. She was crying.
Poppy cried, too. Real tears, because even if she wasn’t
going to die truly, she was going to lose so much. Her old life,
her family, everything familiar. It felt good to cry over it; it was
something she needed to do.
But when it was done, she tried again.
“The one thing I don’t want is for you to be unhappy
or
worry,” she said, and looked up at her mother. “So could you
just try not to? For my sake?”
Oh, God, I’m coming off like Beth in Little Women, she
thought. Saint Poppy. And the truth is, if I were really dying,
I’d go kicking and screaming all the way.
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Still, she’d managed to comfort her mother, who drew back
looking tearstained but quietly proud. “You’re really something,
Poppet,” was all she said, but her lips trembled.
Saint Poppy looked away, horribly embarrassed—until
another wave of dizziness saved her. She allowed
her mother to
help her back into bed.
And it was then that she finally found a way to pose the
question she needed to ask.
“Mom,” she said slowly, “what if there was a cure for me
somewhere—like in some other country or something—and
I could go there and get better, but they wouldn’t ever let me
come back? I mean, you’d know I was okay, but you wouldn’t
ever be able to see me again.” She looked at her mother intently.
“Would you want me to do it?”
Her mother answered instantly. “Sweetheart, I’d want
you cured if you had to go to the moon. As long as you were
happy.” She had to pause a moment,
then resumed steadily.
“But, honey, there isn’t such a place. I wish there were.”
“I know.” Poppy patted her arm gently. “I was just asking.
I love you, Mom.”
Later that morning Dr. Franklin and Dr. Loftus came by. Facing
them wasn’t as horrible as Poppy expected, but she felt like
a hypocrite when they marveled over her “wonderful attitude.”
They talked about quality time, and the fact that no two cases
of cancer were the same, and about people they’d known who’d
beaten the percentages. Saint Poppy squirmed inside, but she lis-
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tened and nodded—until they began to talk about more tests.
“We’d like to do an angiogram and a laparotomy,” Dr.
Loftus
said. “Now an angiogram is—”
“Tubes stuck in my veins?” Poppy said before she could
help herself.
Everyone looked startled. Then Dr. Loftus gave a rueful
smile. “Sounds like you’ve been reading up on it.”
“No, I just—I guess I remember it from somewhere,”
Poppy said. She knew where she was getting the images—from
Dr. Loftus’s head. And she probably
should cover her tracks
instead of talking anymore,
but she was too distressed. “And a
laparotomy’s an operation, right?”
Dr. Loftus and Dr. Franklin exchanged glances. “An
exploratory
operation, yes,” Dr. Franklin said.
“But I don’t need those tests, do I? I mean, you already
know what I’ve got. And the tests hurt.”
“Poppy,” her mother said gently. But Dr. Loftus was
answering slowly.
“Well, sometimes we need the tests to confirm a diagnosis.
But in your case . . . no, Poppy. We don’t really need them.
We’re already sure.”
“Then I don’t see why I have to have them,” Poppy said
simply. “I’d rather go home.”
The doctors looked at each other, then at Poppy’s mother.
Then, without even trying to be subtle about it, the three
adults went out into the corridor to deliberate.
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When they came back, Poppy knew she’d won.
“You can go home, Poppy,” Dr. Franklin said quietly.
“At
least until you develop any further symptoms.
The nurse will
tell your mother what to look out for.”
The first thing Poppy did was call James. He answered
on
the first ring and said, “How do you feel?”
“Dizzy. But pretty good,” Poppy said, whispering because
her mother was outside talking to a nurse. “I’m coming home.”
“I’ll come over this afternoon,” James said. “Call me when
you think you’ll have an hour or so alone. And, Poppy . . . don’t
tell Phil I’m coming.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll explain later.”
When she actually got home, it was strange. Cliff and Phil
were there. Everybody was unusually nice to her, while still
trying to pretend that nothing unusual was going on. (Poppy
had heard the nurse tell her mother that it was good to try and
maintain a normal routine.)
It’s like my birthday, Poppy thought dazedly. Like some
terribly important birthday and graduation rolled into one.
Every few minutes the doorbell would ring as another flower
arrangement arrived. Poppy’s bedroom looked like a garden.
She felt badly for Phil. He looked so stricken—and so
brave. She wanted to comfort him the way she’d comforted her
mother—but how?
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“Come here,” she ordered, opting for direct action. And
when he obeyed, she hugged him tightly.
“You’ll beat this thing,” he whispered. “I know you will.
Nobody’s ever had as much will to live as you do. And nobody’s
ever, ever been as stubborn.”
It was then that Poppy realized just how terribly she was
going to miss him.
When she let go, she felt light-headed.
“Maybe you’d better lie down,” Cliff said gently. And
Poppy’s
mother helped her to the bedroom.
“Does Dad know?” she asked as her mother moved around
the bedroom, straightening things.
“I tried to get hold of him yesterday, but the people
at the
station said he’d moved to somewhere in Vermont. They don’t
know where.”
Poppy nodded. It sounded like her dad—always on the
move. He was a DJ—when he wasn’t being an artist or a stage
magician. He’d split up with her mom because he wasn’t very
good at being any of those things—or at least not good enough
to get paid much.
Cliff was everything Poppy’s father wasn’t: responsible,
disciplined,
hardworking. He fit in perfectly with Poppy’s mom
and Phil. So perfectly that sometimes Poppy felt like the odd
one out in her own family.
“I miss Dad,” Poppy said softly.
“I know. Sometimes I do, too,” her mother said, surprising
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her. Then she said firmly, “We’ll find him, Poppy. As soon as
he hears, he’ll want to come.”
Poppy hoped so. She didn’t suppose she’d get a chance to
see him—after.
It wasn’t until an hour or so before dinnertime, when Phil
and Cliff were out doing errands, and her mother was taking a
nap, that Poppy got the chance to call James.
“I’ll come right over,” he said. “I’ll let myself in.” Ten
minutes
later he walked into Poppy’s bedroom.
Poppy felt strangely shy. Things had changed between
her
and James. They weren’t simply best friends anymore.
They didn’t even say “Hi” to each other. As soon as he
came in, their eyes caught and met. And then, for an endless
moment, they just looked at each other.
This time, when Poppy felt the quick pang in her chest
that always came when she saw James, it was a throb of pure
sweetness. He cared about her. She could see it in his eyes.
Wait a minute, hang on, her mind whispered. Don’t jump
the gun here. He cares about you, yes, but he didn’t say he was
in love with you. There’s a difference.
Shut up, Poppy told her brain soberly. Aloud, she said,
“How come you didn’t want Phil to know you were here?”
James threw his light windbreaker over a chair and sat
down on Poppy’s bed. “Well—I just didn’t want to be interrupted,”
he said with a gesture of dismissal.
“How’s the pain?”
“It’s gone,” Poppy said. “Isn’t that weird? It didn’t wake me
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up at all last night. And there’s something else. I think I’m
starting to—well, read people’s thoughts.”
James smiled slightly, just one corner of his mouth up.
“That’s good. I was worried—” He broke off and went to turn
Poppy’s CD player on. Plaintive Bantu wailings emerged.
“I was worried you didn’t get enough blood last night,”
James said quietly, resuming his seat. “You’ll have to take more
this time—and so will I.”
Poppy felt something tremble inside her. Her revulsion
was gone. She was still afraid, but that was only because of the
consequences of what they were going to do. It wasn’t just a
way to get closer or to feed James. They were doing it to change
Poppy.
“The only thing I don’t understand is why you never bit
me before.” Her tone was light, but as she spoke the words, she
realized that there was a serious question behind them.
“I mean,” she said slowly, “you did it with Michaela and
Jacklyn, didn’t you? And with other girls?”
He looked away but answered steadily. “I didn’t exchange
blood with them. But I fed on them, yes.”
“But not me.”
“No. How can I explain?” He looked up at her. “Poppy,
taking blood can be a lot of different things—and the Elders
don’t want it to be anything but feeding. They say all you
should feel is the joy of the hunt. And that’s all I ever have
felt—before.”
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Poppy nodded, trying to feel satisfied with this. She didn’t
ask who the Elders were.
“Besides, it can be dangerous,” James said. “It can be done
with hatred, and it can kill. Kill permanently,
I mean.”
Poppy was almost amused by this. “You wouldn’t kill.”
James stared at her. Outside, it was cloudy and the light in
Poppy’s bedroom was pale. It made James’s face look pale, too,
and his eyes silver.
“But I have,” James said. His voice was flat and bleak. “I’ve
killed without exchanging enough blood, so the person didn’t
come back as a vampire.”
21-12-09, 07:57 PM
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