Poppy was shocked. She reached out and pulled the mask away.
It wasn't James. It was a boy with ash blond hair, even lighter than Phil's. Why hadn't she noticed his hair earlier? His eyes were green-and then they were blue.
"Who are you?" Poppy demanded. She was afraid.
"That would be telling." He smiled. His eyes were violet. Then he lifted his hand, and she saw that he was holding a poppy. At least, it was shaped like a poppy, but it was black. He caressed her cheek with the flower.
"Just remember," he said, still smiling whimsically. "Bad magic happens."
"What?"
"Bad magic happens," he said and turned and walked away.
She found herself holding the poppy. He didn't ' leave any footprints in the sand.
Poppy was alone and the ocean was roaring. Clouds were gathering overhead. She wanted to wake up now, but she couldn't, and she was alone and scared. She dropped the flower as anguish surged through her.
"James!"
Phil sat up in bed, heart pounding.
God, what had that been? Something like a shout in Poppy's voice.
I'm hallucinating.
Which wasn't surprising. It was Monday, the day of Poppy's funeral. In-Phil glanced at the clock about four hours he had to be at the church. No wonder he was dreaming about her.
But she had sounded so scared....
Phil put the thought out of his mind. It wasn't even hard. He'd convinced himself that Poppy was dead, and dead people didn't shout.
At the funeral, though, Phil got a shock. His father was there.
He was even wearing something resembling a suit, although the jacket didn't match the trousers and his tie was askew.
"I came as soon as I heard...."
"Well, where were you?" Phil's mother said, the fine lines of strain showing around her eyes, the way they always did when she had to deal with Phil's father.
"Backpacking in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Next time, I swear, I'll leave an address. I'll check my messages.... He began to cry. Phil's mom didn't say anything else. She just reached for him, and Phil's heart twisted at the way they clung to each other.
He knew his dad was irresponsible and hopelessly behind in child support and flaky and a failure. But nobody had ever loved Poppy more. Right then, Phil couldn't disapprove of him, not even with Cliff standing there for comparison.
The shock came when his dad turned to Phil before the service.
"You know, she came to me last night,"
he said in a low voice. "Her spirit, I mean. She visited me."
Phil looked at him. This was the kind of weird statement that had brought on the divorce. His father had always talked about peculiar dreams and seeing things that weren't there. Not to mention collecting articles about astrology, numerology, and UFOs.
"I didn't see her, but I heard her calling. I just wish she hadn't sounded so frightened. Don't tell your mother, but I got the feeling she's not at rest." He put his hands over his face.
Phil felt every hair on the back of his neck stand up.
But the spooky feeling was drowned almost immediately in the sheer grief of the funeral. In hearing things like "Poppy will live on forever in our hearts and memories." A silver hearse led the way to Forest Park cemetery, and everyone stood in the June sunshine as the minister said some last words over Poppy's casket. By the time Phil had to put a rose on the casket, he was shaking.
It was a terrible time. Two of Poppy's girlfriends collapsed in near-hysterical sobs. Phillip's mother doubled over and had to be led away from the casket. There was no time to think-then or at the potluck at Phil's house afterward.
But it was at the house that Phil's two worlds collided. In the middle of all the milling confusion, he saw James.
He didn't know what to do. James didn't fit into what was going on here. Phil had half a mind to go over and tell him to get out, that the sick joke was over.
Before he could do anything, James walked up and said under his breath, "Be ready at eleven o'clock tonight."
Phil was jolted. "For what?"
"Just be ready, okay? And have some of Poppy's clothes with you. Whatever won't be missed." Phil didn't say anything, and James gave him an exasperated sideways look.
"We have to get her out, stupid. Or did you want to leave her there?"
Crash. That was the sound of worlds colliding. For a moment Phil was spinning in space with his feet on neither one.
Then with the normal world in shards around him, he leaned against a wall and whispered, "I can't. I can't do it. You're crazy."
"You're the one who's crazy. You're acting like it never happened. And you have to help, because I can't do it alone.
She's going to be disoriented at first, like a sleepwalker. She'll need you."
That galvanized Phil. He jerked to stand up straight and whispered, "Did you hear her last night?"
James looked away. "She wasn't awake. She was just dreaming."
"How could we hear her from so far away? Even my dad heard it. Listen." He grabbed James by the lapel of his jacket. "Are you sure she's okay?"
"A minute ago you were convinced she was dead and gone.
Now you want guarantees that she's fine.
Well, I can't give you any." He stared Phil down with eyes as cold as gray ice. "I've never done this before, all right? I'm just going by the book. And there are
always things that can go wrong. But, " he said tersely when Phil opened his mouth, "the one thing I do know is that if we leave her where she is, she's going to have a very unpleasant awakening. Get it?"
Phil's hand unclenched slowly and he let go of the jacket.
"Yeah. I'm sorry. I just can't believe any of this." He looked up to see that James's expression had softened slightly. "But if she was yelling last night, then she was alive then, right?"
"And strong," James said. "I've never known a stronger telepath. She's really going to be something."
Phil tried not to picture what. Of course, James was a vampire, and he looked perfectly normalmost of the time. But Phil's mind kept throwing out pictures of Poppy as a Hollywood monster. Red eyes, chalky skin, and dripping teeth.
If she came out like that, he'd try to love her. But part of him might want to get a stake.