"That's enough!" he roared. Then, to Phil: "Are you all right?" And to James: "What's this all
about?"
Phil was rubbing his head dazedly. James said
nothing. Poppy couldn't speak.
"All right, it doesn't matter," Cliff said. "I guess
everybody's a little jumpy right now. But you'd bet
ter go on home, James."
James looked at Poppy.
Poppy, throbbing all over like an aching tooth,
turned her back on him. She burrowed into her mother's embrace.
"I'll be back," James said quietly. It might have been meant as a promise, but it sounded like a threat.
"Not for a while, you won't," Cliff said in a mili
tary command voice. Gazing over her mother's arm,
Poppy could see that there was blood on Phillip's
blond hair. "I think everybody needs a cooling-off period. Now, come on, move."
He led James out. Poppy sniffled and shivered, trying to ignore both the waves of giddiness that swept
over her and the agitated murmuring of all the voices
in her head. The stereo went on blasting out madcore
stomping music from England.
In the next two days James called eight times.
Poppy actually picked up the phone the first time.
It was after midnight when her private line rang, and
she responded automatically, still half-asleep.
"Poppy, don't hang up," James said.
Poppy hung up. A moment later the phone rang
again.
"Poppy, if you don't want to die, you've got to
listen to me."
"That's blackmail. You're
sick,
"
Poppy said, clutch
ing the handset. Her tongue felt thick and her head ached.
"It's just the truth. Poppy, listen. You didn't take
any blood today. I weakened you, and you didn't get
anything in exchange. And that could
kill you."
Poppy heard the words, but they didn't seem real.
She found herself ignoring them, retreating into a
foggy state where thought was impossible. "I don't
care."
"You do
-
care, and if you could think, you'd know
that. It's the change that's doing this. You're completely messed up mentally. You're too paranoid and
illogical and crazy to
know
you're paranoid and illogical and crazy."
It was suspiciously like what Poppy had
rea!ized
earlier. She was aware, dimly, that she was acting
the way Marissa Schaffer had after drinking a six
pack of beer at Jan Nedjar's New Year's party. Mak
ing a ranting fool of herself. But she couldn't seem
to stop.
"I just want to know one thing," she said. "Is it
true that you said that stuff to Phillip?"
She heard James let his breath out. "It's true that
I said it. But what
I said
wasn't true. It was just to
get him off my back."
By now Poppy was too upset to even want to
calm down.
"Why should I believe somebody whose whole life
is a lie?" she said, and hung up again as the first
tears spilled.
All the next day she stayed in her state of foggy denial. Nothing seemed real, not the fight with
James, not James's warning, and not her illness. Es
pecially not her illness. Her mind found a way to
accept the special treatment she was getting from ev
eryone without dwelling on the reason for
the
treatment.
She even managed to disregard her mother's whis
pered comments to Phil about how she was going
downhill so fast. How poor Poppy was getting pale, getting weak, getting worse. And only Poppy knew
that she could now hear conversations held in the
hallway as clearly as if they were in her own room.
All her senses were sharpened, even as her mind
was dulled. When she looked at herself in the mirror,
she was startled by how white she was, her skin
translucent as candle wax. Her
eyes
so green and fierce that they burned.
The other six times James called, Poppy's mother
told him Poppy was resting.
Cliff fixed the broken trim on Poppy's dresser.
"Who would have thought the kid was that strong?"
he said.
James flipped his cellular phone shut and banged a fist on the Integra's dashboard. It was Thursday afternoon.
I low you.
That's what he should have said to
Poppy. And now it was too late-
,
she wouldn't even
talk to him.
Why
hadn't
he said it? His reasons seemed stupid now. So he hadn't taken advantage of Poppy's innocence and gratitude
...
well, bravo. All he'd done
was tap her veins and break her heart.
All he'd done was hasten her death.
But there wasn't time to think about it now. Right
now he had a masquerade to attend.
He got out of the car and gave his windbreaker a twitch as he walked toward the sprawling ranchstyle house.
He unlocked and opened the door without calling
to announce his presence. He didn't need to an
nounce it; his mother would sense him.
Inside, it was all cathedral ceilings and fashionably
bare walls. The one oddity was that every one of
the many skylights was covered with elegant custom
made drapes. This made the interior seem spacious
but dim.
Almost cavernous.
"James," his mother said, coming from the back
wing. She had jet-black hair with a sheen like lacquer
and a perfect figure that was emphasized rather than
disguised by her silver-and-gold embroidered wrap.
Her eyes were cool gray and heavily lashed, like
James's. She kissed the air beside his cheek.
"I got your message," James said. "What do you
want?"
"I'd really rather wait until your father gets home...."
"Mom, I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry. I've got things
to do-I haven't even fed today."
"It shows," his mother said. She regarded him for
a moment without blinking. Then she sighed, turning
toward the living room. "At least, let's sit down....
You've been a little agitated, haven't you, these last
few days?"
James sat on the crimson-dyed suede couch. Now
was the test of his acting ability. If he could get
through the next minute without his mother sensing
the truth, he'd be home free.
"I'm sure Dad told you why," he said evenly.
"Yes. Little Poppy. It's very sad, isn't it?" The shade
of the single treelike floor lamp was deep red, and
ruby light fell across half his mother's face.
"I was upset at first, but I'm pretty much over it
now," James said. He kept his voice dull and concen
trated on sending nothing-nothing-through his
aura. He could feel his mother lightly probing the
edges of his mind. Like an insect gently caressing
with an antenna, or a snake tasting the air with its black forked tongue.
:
"I'm surprised" his mother said. "1 thought you
liked her."
"I did. But, after all, they're not really
people,
are
they?" He considered a moment, then said, "It's sort
of like losing a pet. I guess I'll just have to find an
other one."
It was a bold move, quoting the party line. James
willed every muscle to stay relaxed as he felt the
thought-tendrils tighten suddenly, coiling around
him, looking for a chink in his armor. He thought very hard-about Michaela Vasquez. Trying to project just the right amount of negligent fondness.
It worked. The probing tendrils slipped away from
his mind, and his mother settled back gracefully
and smiled.
"I'm glad you're taking it so well. But if you ever
feel that you'd like to talk to someone ... your father knows some very good therapists."
Vampire therapists, she meant. To screw his head
on straight about how humans were just for feed
ing on.
"I know you want to avoid trouble as much as I
do," she added. "It reflects on the family, you see."
"Sure," James said, and shrugged. "I've got to go
now. Tell Dad I said hi, okay?"
He kissed the air beside her cheek.
"Oh, by the way," she said as he turned toward
the door. "Your cousin Ash
will
be coming next
week. I think he'd like to stay with you at the apart
ment-and I'm sure you'd like some company
there."
Over my unbreathing body, James thought. He'd
forgotten all about Ash's threat to visit. But now
wasn't the time to argue. He walked out feeling like
a juggler with too many balls in the air.
Back in his car he picked up the cellular phone,
hesitated, then snapped it shut without turning it on.
Calling wasn't any good. It was time to change his
strategy.
All right, then. No more half measures. A serious
offensive-aimed where it would do the most good.
He thought for a few minutes, then drove to
McDonnell Drive, parking just a few houses away
from where Poppy lived.
And then he waited.
He was prepared to sit there all night if necessary,
but he didn't have to. Just around sunset the garage
door opened and a white Volkswagen Jetta backed
out. James saw a blond head in the driver's seat
Hi, Phil. Nice to see you.When the Jetta pulled away, he followed it.
CHAPTER
8
When the Jetta turned into the parking lot of a
7-Eleven, James smiled. There was a nice isolated
area behind the store, and it was getting dark.
He drove his own car around back, then got out to watch the store entrance. When Phil came out
with a bag, he sprang on him from behind.
Phil yelled and fought, dropping the bag. It didn't
matter. The sun had gone down and James's power
was at full strength.
He dragged Phil to the back of the store and put him facing the wall beside a Dumpster. The classic
police frisking position.
"I'm going to let go now," he said. "Don't try to
run away. That would be a mistake."
Phil went tense and motionless at the sound of his
voice. "I don't
want
to run away. I want to smash your face in, Rasmussen."
"Go ahead and try." James was going to add,
Make
my night,
but he reconsidered. He let go of Phil, who turned around and regarded him with utter loathing.
"What's the matter? Run out of girls to jump?" he
said, breathing hard.
James gritted his teeth. Trading insults wasn't going to do any good, but he could already tell it was going to be hard to keep his temper. Phil had that effect on him. "I didn't bring you out here to fight.
I brought you to ask you something. Do you care
about Poppy?"
Phil said, "I'll take stupid questions for five hun
dred, Alex," and loosened his shoulder as if getting
ready for a punch.
"Because if you do, you'll get her to talk to me.
You were the one who convinced her not to see me,
and now you've got to convince her that she
has
to
see me."
Phil looked around the parking lot, as if calling for somebody to witness this insanity.
James spoke slowly and dearly, enunciating each
word. "There is something I can do to help her."
"Because you're Don Juan, right? You're gonna heal her with your love." The words were flippant,
but Phil's voice was shaky with sheer hatred. Not just
hatred for James, but for a universe that would give
Poppy cancer.