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 stand
ing 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.
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 al
lowed 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 mo
ment, 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 listened 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 some
where," Poppy said. She knew where she was getting
the images-from Dr. Loftus's head. And she proba
bly should cover her tracks instead of talking any
more,
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.
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 an
swered 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?
"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 peo
ple 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: responsi
ble, 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 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 be
tween 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 dis
missal. "How's the pain?"
"It's
gone,"
Poppy
said. "Isn't that weird? It didn't wake me 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. 1 was worried-" He broke off and
went to turn Poppy's CD player on. Plaintive Bantu
wailing's 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 revul-
sion 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."
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 perma
nently, 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."
CHAPTER 7
Then you must have had a reason," Poppy said
flatly. When he looked at her, she shrugged. "I know
you." She knew him in a way she'd never known
anyone.
James looked away. "I didn't have a reason, but there were some ...
extenuating circumstances. You
could say I was set up. But I still have nightmares."
He sounded so tired-so sad.
It's a lonely world, full
of secrets, poppy
thought. And he'd had to keep the biggest secret of all from everyone, including her.
"It must have been awful for you," she said, hardly
aware that she was speaking out loud. "I mean, all your life-holding this in. Not telling anybody. Pre
tending
..."