James was breathing hard, speaking rapidly. "Poppy-this is why I didn't want Phil to know-"
"And no wonder," Poppy raged. "And no wonder you wouldn't say you loved me," she went on, not even caring that Phillip was listening. "And no wonder you would do all that other stuff, but you never even kissed me. Well, I don't want your pity-"
"What other stuff?. All what other stuff?" Phil shouted. "I'm gonna kill you, Rasmussen!"
He tore free of James and swung at him. James ducked so that the fist just grazed his hair. Phil swung again and James twisted sideways and grabbed him from behind in a headlock.
Poppy heard running footsteps in the hall. "What's happening?"
her mother gasped in dismay, regarding the scene in Poppy's bedroom.
At almost the same instant Cliff appeared behind Poppy's mother. "What's all the shouting?" he asked, his jaw particularly square.
"You're the one who's putting her in danger," James was snarling in Phillip's ear. "Right now." He looked feral. Savage.
Inhuman.
"Let go of my brother!" Poppy yelled. All at once her eyes were swimming with tears.
"Oh, my God-darling," her mother said. In two steps she was beside the bed and holding Poppy. "You boys get out of here."
The savagery drained out of James's expression, and he loosened his hold on Phillip. "Look, I'm sorry. I have to stay.
Poppy ..."
Phillip slammed an elbow into his stomach.
It might not have hurt James as much as it would a human, but Poppy saw the fury sweep over his face as he straightened from doubling up. He lifted Phil off his feet and threw him headfirst in the general direction of Poppy's dresser.
Poppy's mother let out a cry. Cliff jumped in between Phil and James.
"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 better 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 military 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, clutching 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. Making 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. Especially not her illness. Her mind found a way to accept the special treatment she was getting from everyone without dwelling on the reason for the treatment.
She even managed to disregard her mother's whispered 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.