"It's all right," Poppy told them. "Don't you see?
I'm
all right, so there's no excuse for you not to be."
And the strange thing was, it was the truth. She
was all right. She felt calm and clear now, as if every
thing had become very simple. She saw the road
ahead of her, and all she had to do was follow it, step by step.
Phil came over to squeeze her hand. "How does this how does this work?" he asked James huskily.
"First we'll exchange blood," James said-speak
ing to Poppy. Looking only at her. "It doesn't have
to be a lot; you're right on the border of
changing
already. Then the two kinds of blood fight it out
sort of the last battle, if you see what I mean." He
smiled faintly and painfully, and Poppy nodded.
"While that's happening you'll feel weaker and
weaker. And then you'll just go to sleep. The
change happens while you're asleep."
"And when do I wake up?" Poppy asked.
"I'll give you a kind of posthypnotic suggestion
about that. Tell you to wake up when
I come to get
you. Don't worry about it; I've got all the details
figured out. All you need to do is rest."
Phil was running nervous hands through his hair,
as if he was just now thinking about what kind of
details he and James were going to have to deal with.
"Wait a minute," he said in almost a croak. "When
------
when
you say 'sleep'-she's going to look
..."
"Dead," Poppy supplied, when his voice ran out.
James gave Phil a cold look. "Yes. We've been
over this."
"And then-we're really going to-what's going to
happen
to her?"
James glared.
"It's okay," Poppy said softly. "Tell him."
"You know what's going to happen," James said
through clenched teeth to Phillip. "She can't just dis
appear. We'd have the police
and
the Night p
eo
pl
e
after us, looking for her. No, it's got to seem that she
died from the cancer, and that means everything's got to happen exactly the way it would if she had
died.
Phil's sick expression said he wasn't at his most
rational. "You're sure there isn't any other way?"
"No,"
James said.
Phil wet his lips. "Oh, God."
Poppy herself didn't want to dwell on it too much.
She said fiercely,
"Deal
with it, Phil. You've got to.
And remember, if it doesn't happen now it's going
to happen in a few weeks-for real."
Phil was holding on to one of the brass bedposts
so hard that his knuckles were pale. But he'd gotten
the point, and there was no one better than Phil at
bracing himself. "You're right," he said
thinly,
with the ghost of his old efficient manner. "Okay, I'm dealing with it.”
'Then let's get started," Poppy said, making her
voice calm and steady. As if she were dealing with
everything effortlessly herself.
James said to Phil, "You don't want to see this
part. Go out and watch TV for a few minutes."
Phil hesitated, then nodded and left.
"One thing," Poppy said to James as she scooted
to the middle_ of the bed. She was still trying desper
ately to sound casual. "After the funeral-well, I'll be asleep, won't I? I won't wake up
... you know.
In my nice little coffin." She looked up at him. "It's just that I'm claustrophobic, a little."
"You won't wake up there," James said. "Poppy,
I wouldn't let that happen to you. Trust me; I've
thought of everything."
Poppy nodded. I do trust you, she thought.
Then she held her arms out to him.
He touched her neck, so she tilted her chin back.
As the blood was drawn from her, she felt her mind
drawn into his.
Don't worry, Poppy. Don't be afraid. All
his thoughts
were ferociously protective. And even though it only
confirmed that there was something to be afraid
of,
that this could go wrong, Poppy felt peaceful. The
direct sense of his love made her calm, flooded her
with light.
She suddenly felt distance and height and depth
spaciousness. As if her horizons had expanded almost
to infinity in an instant. As if she'd discovered a new dimension.
As
if there were no limits or obstacles to what she and James could do together.
She felt ... free.
I'm getting light-headed, she realized. She could
feel herself going limp in James's arms. Swooning
like a wilting flower.
I've
taken enough,
James said in her mind.
The
warm
animal
mouth on her throat pulled back.
"Now it's your turn."
This time, though, he didn't make the cut at his
wrist. He took off his T-shirt and, with a quick, im
pulsive gesture, ran a fingernail along the base of
his throat.
Oh, Poppy thought. Slowly, almost reverently, she leaned forward. James's hand supported the back of
her head. Poppy put her arms around him, feeling
his bare skin under the flannel of her nightgown.
It was better this way. But if James was right, it
was another last time. She and James could never
exchange blood again.
I can't accept that, Poppy
thought, but she couldn't
concentrate on anything for very long. This time, in
stead of clearing her brain, the wild, intoxicating
vampire blood was making her more confused. More
heavy and sleepy.
James?
It's all right. It's the beginning of the change.
Heavy
...
sleepy
...
warm. Lapped in salty ocean
waves. She could almost picture the vampire blood
trickling through her veins, conquering everything in
its path. It was ancient blood, primeval. It was chang
ing her into something old, something that had been around since the dawn of time. Something primitive and basic.
Every molecule in her body, changing
...
Poppy, can you hear me?
James was shaking her
slightly. Poppy had been so engrossed in the sensa
tions that she hadn't even realized she wasn't drink
ing any longer. James was cradling her.
“Poppy.”
It was an effort to open her eyes. "I'm all right. Just
...
sleepy."
His arms tightened around her, then he laid her
gently on the mounded pillows. "You can rest now.
I'll get Phil."
But before he went, he kissed her on the forehead.
My first kiss, Poppy thought, her eyes drifting shut
again. And I'm comatose. Great.
She felt the bed give under weight and looked up
to see Phil. Phil looked very nervous, sitting gingerly,
staring at Poppy. "So what's happening now?" he
asked.
"The vampire blood's taking over," James said.
Poppy said, "I'm really sleepy."
There was no pain. Just a feeling of wanting to
glide away. Her body now felt warm and numb, as
if she were insulated by a soft, thick aura.
"Phil? I forgot to say-thank you. For helping out.
And everything. You're a good brother, Phil."
"You don't have to say that now," Phil said tersely. "You can say it later. I'm still going to be here later,
you know."
But I might not be, Poppy thought. This is all a gam
ble. And I'd never take it, except that the only alterna
tive was to give up without even trying to fight.
I fought, didn't I? At least I fought.
"Yes, you did," Phil said, his voice trembling.
Poppy hadn't been aware she was speaking aloud.
"You've always been a fighter," Phil said. "I've
learned so much from you."
Which was funny, because she'd learned so much
from
him,
even if most of it was in the last twenty
four hours. She wanted to tell him that, but there
was so much to say, and she was so tired. Her tongue
felt thick; her whole body weak and languorous.
"Just
...
hold my hand," she said, and she could
hear that her voice was no louder than a breath.
Phillip took one of her hands and James the other.
That was good. This was the way to do it, with
Eeyore and her lion on the pillows beside her and
Phil and James holding her hands, keeping her safe and anchored.
One of the candles was scented with vanilla, a
warm and homey smell. A smell that reminded her
of being a kid. Nilla wafers and naptime. That was
what this was like. Just a nap in Miss Spurgeon's
kindergarten, with the sun slanting across the floor
and James on a mat beside her.
So safe, so serene
...
"Oh, Poppy," Phil whispered.
James said, "You're doing great, kiddo. Every
thing's just right."
That was what Poppy needed to hear. She let herself fall backward into the music, and it was
like fall
ing in a dream, without fear. It was like being a
raindrop falling into the ocean that had started you.
At the last moment she thought, I'm not ready. But she already knew the answer to that. Nobody
was ever ready.
But she'd been stupid-she'd forgotten the most
important thing. She'd never told James she loved
him. Not even when he'd said he loved her.
She tried to get enough air, enough strength to say
it. But it was too late. The outside world was gone
and she couldn't feel her body any longer. She was floating in the darkness and the music, and all she could do now was sleep.
"Sleep," James said, leaning dose to Poppy. "Don't
wake up until I call you. Just sleep."
Every muscle in Phil's body was rigid. Poppy
looked so peaceful-pale, with her hair spread out in
coppery curls on the pillow, and her eyelashes black
on her cheeks and her lips parted as she breathed
gently. She looked like a porcelain baby doll. But the
more peaceful she got, the more terrified Phil felt.
I can deal with this, he told himself.
I have
to.
Poppy gave a soft exhalation, and then suddenly
she was moving. Her chest heaved once, twice. Her
hand tightened on Phil's and her eyes flew open
but she didn't seem to be seeing anything. She simply
looked astonished.
"Poppyl" Phil grabbed at her, getting a handful of
flannel nightgown. She was so small and fragile in
side it. "Poppyl"
The heaving gasps stopped. For one moment Poppy
was suspended in air, then her eyes closed and she
fell back on the pillows. Her hand was limp in Phil's.
Phil lost all rationality.
"Poppy," he said, hearing the dangerous, unbalanced tone in his own voice. "Poppy, come on.
Poppy, wake up!"-on a rising note. His hands were
shaking violently, scrabbling at Poppy's shoulders.
Other hands pushed his away. "What the hell are
you doing?" James said quietly.
"Poppy? Poppy?" Phil kept staring at her. Her
chest wasn't moving. Her face had a look of-inno
cent release. The kind of newness you only see in
babies.
And it was-changing. Taking on a white, trans
parent look. It was uncanny, ghostlike, and even though Phil had never seen a corpse, he knew instinctively that this was the death pallor.
Poppy's essence had left her. Her body was flat and
toneless, no longer inflated by the vital spirit. Her
hand in Phil's was slack, not like the hand of a sleep
ing person. Her skin had lost its shine, as if somebody
had breathed on it softly.