by L. J. Smith
“Okay,” she said finally, and it meant everything she’d just realized.
“I didn’t tell you this just to get it off my chest,” James said, his voice still muted. “I said I could save you, remember?”
“Vaguely.” Poppy blinked slowly, then said more sharply, “Save me how?”
His gaze shifted to empty air. “The way you’re thinking.”
“Jamie, I can’t think anymore.”
Gently, without looking at her, he put a hand on her shin under the blanket. He shook her leg slightly, a gesture of affection. “I’m gonna turn you into a vampire, kid.”
Poppy put both fists to her face and began to cry.
“Hey.” He let go of her shin and put an awkward arm around her, pulling her to sit up. “Don’t do that. It’s okay. It’s better than the alternative.”
“You’re…freaking…crazy,” Poppy sobbed. Once the tears had started, they flowed too easily—she couldn’t stop them. There was comfort in crying, and in being held by James. He felt strong and reliable and he smelled good.
“You said you had to be born one,” she added blurrily, between sobs.
“No, I didn’t. I said I was born one. There are plenty of the other kind around. Made vampires. There would be more, but there’s a law against just making any jerk off the street into one.”
“But I can’t. I’m just what I am; I’m me. I can’t be—like that.”
He put her gently away so he could look into her face. “Then you’re going to die. You don’t have any other choice. I checked around—even asked a witch. There’s nothing else in the Night World to help you. What it comes down to is: Do you want to live or not?”
Poppy’s mind, which had been swamped in confusion again, suddenly fixed on this question. It was like a flashlight beam in a pitch-black room.
Did she want to live?
Oh, God, of course she did.
Until today she’d assumed it was her unconditional right to live. She hadn’t even been grateful for the privilege. But now she knew it wasn’t something to take for granted—and she also knew it was something she’d fight for.
Wake up, Poppy! This is the voice of reason calling. He says he can save your life.
“Wait a minute. I’ve got to think,” Poppy said tightly to James. Her tears had stopped. She pushed him away completely and stared fiercely at the white hospital blanket.
Okay. Okay. Now get your head straight, girl.
You knew James had a secret. So you never imagined it was anything like this, so what? He’s still James. He may be some godawful undead fiend, but he still cares about you. And there’s nobody else to help you.
She found herself clutching at James’s hand without looking at him. “What’s it like?” she said through clenched teeth.
Steady and matter-of-fact, he said, “It’s different. It’s not something I’d recommend if there was another choice, but…it’s okay. You’ll be sick while your body’s changing, but afterward you’ll never get any kind of disease again. You’ll be strong and quick—and immortal.”
“I’d live forever? But would I be able to stop aging?” She had visions of herself as an immortal crone.
He grimaced. “Poppy—you’d stop aging now. That’s what happens to made vampires. Essentially, you’re dying as a mortal. You’ll look dead and be unconscious for a while. And then…you’ll wake up.”
“I see.” Sort of like Juliet in the tomb, Poppy thought. And then she thought, Oh, God…Mom and Phil.
“There’s another thing you should know,” James was saying. “A certain percentage of people don’t make it.”
“Don’t make it?”
“Through the change. People over twenty almost never do. They don’t ever wake up. Their bodies can’t adjust to the new form and they burn out. Teenagers usually live through it, but not always.”
Oddly enough, this was comforting to Poppy. A qualified hope seemed more believable than an absolute one. To live, she would have to take a chance.
She looked at James. “How do you do it?”
“The traditional way,” he said with the ghost of a smile. Then, gravely: “We exchange blood.”
Oh, great, Poppy thought. And I was afraid of a simple shot. Now I’m going to have my blood drawn by fangs. She swallowed and blinked, staring at nothing.
“It’s your choice, Poppy. It’s up to you.”
There was a long pause, and then she said, “I want to live, Jamie.”
He nodded. “It’ll mean going away from here. Leaving your parents. They can’t know.”
“Yeah, I was just realizing that. Sort of like getting a new identity from the FBI, huh?”
“More than that. You’ll be living in a new world, the Night World. And it’s a lonely world, full of secrets. But you’ll be walking around in it, instead of lying in the ground.” He squeezed her hand. Then he said very quietly and seriously, “Do you want to start now?”
All Poppy could think of to do was shut her eyes and brace herself the way she did for an injection. “I’m ready,” she said through stiff lips.
James laughed again—this time as if he couldn’t help it. Then he folded the bed rail down and settled beside her. “I’m used to people being hypnotized when I do this. It’s weird to have you awake.”
“Yeah, well, if I scream you can hypnotize me,” Poppy said, not opening her eyes.
Relax, she told herself firmly. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how awful it is, you can deal with it. You have to. Your life depends on it.
Her heart was thumping hard enough to shake her body.
“Right here,” James said, touching her throat with cool fingers as if feeling for a pulse.
Just do it, Poppy thought. Get it over with.
She could feel warmth as James leaned close to her, taking her carefully by the shoulders. Every nerve ending in her skin was aware of him. Then she felt cool breath on her throat, and quickly, before she could recoil, a double sting.
Those fangs, burying themselves in her flesh. Making two little wounds so he could drink her blood…
Now it’s really going to hurt, Poppy thought. She couldn’t brace herself anymore. Her life was in the hands of a hunter. She was a rabbit trapped in the coils of a snake, a mouse under the claws of a cat. She didn’t feel like James’s best friend, she felt like lunch.…
Poppy, what are you doing? Don’t fight it. It hurts when you resist.
James was speaking to her—but the warm mouth on her throat hadn’t moved. The voice was in her head.
I’m not resisting, Poppy thought. I’m just ready for it to hurt, that’s all.
There was a burning where his teeth pierced her. She waited for it to get worse—but it didn’t. It changed.
Oh, Poppy thought.
The feeling of heat was actually pleasant. A sensation of release, of giving.
And closeness. She and James were getting closer and closer, like two drops of water moving together until they merged.
She could sense James’s mind. His thoughts—and his feelings. His emotions flowed into her, through her.
Tenderness…concern…caring. A cold black rage at the disease that was threatening her. Despair that there was no other way to help her. And longing—longing to share with her, to make her happy.
Yes, Poppy thought.
A wave of sweetness made her dizzy. She found herself groping for James’s hand, their fingers intertwining.
James, she thought with wonder and joy. Her communication to him a tentative caress.
Poppy. She could feel his own surprise and delight.
And all the time the dreamy pleasure was building. Making Poppy shiver with its intensity.
How could I have been so stupid? Poppy thought. To be afraid of this. It isn’t terrible. It’s…right.
She had never been so close to anybody. It was as if they were one being, together, not predator and prey, but partners in a dance. Poppy-and-James.
She could touch his s
oul.
Strangely enough, he was afraid of that. She could sense it. Poppy, don’t—so many dark things—I don’t want you to see…
Dark, yes, Poppy thought. But not dark and terrible. Dark and lonely. Such utter loneliness. A feeling of not belonging in either of the two worlds he knew. Not belonging anywhere. Except…
Suddenly Poppy was seeing an image of herself. In his mind she was fragile and graceful, an emerald-eyed spirit of the air. A sylph—with a core of pure steel.
I’m not really like that, she thought. I’m not tall and beautiful like Jacklyn or Michaela….
The words she heard in answer didn’t seem directed toward her—she had the feeling they were something James was thinking to himself, or remembering from some long-forgotten book.
You don’t love a girl because of beauty. You love her because she sings a song only you can understand.…
With the thought came a strong feeling of protectiveness. So this was how James felt about her—she knew at last. As if she were something precious, something to be protected at all costs….
At all costs. No matter what happened to him. Poppy tried to follow the thought deeper into his mind, to find out what it meant. She got an impression of rules—no, laws…
Poppy, it’s bad manners to search somebody’s mind when you’re not invited. The words were tinged with desperation.
Poppy pulled back mentally. She hadn’t meant to pry. She just wanted to help….
I know, James’s thought came to her, and with it a rush of warmth and gratitude. Poppy relaxed and simply enjoyed the feeling of oneness with him.
I wish it could last forever, she thought—and just then it stopped. The warmth at her neck disappeared, and James pulled away, straightening.
Poppy made a sound of protest and tried to drag him back. He wouldn’t let her.
“No—there’s something else we have to do,” he whispered. But he didn’t do anything else. He just held her, his lips against her forehead. Poppy felt peaceful and languid.
“You didn’t tell me it would be like that,” she said.
“I didn’t know,” James said simply. “It never has been before.”
They sat together quietly, with James gently stroking her hair.
So strange. Poppy thought. Everything is the same—but everything’s different. It was as if she’d pulled herself up on dry land after almost drowning in the ocean. The terror that had been pounding inside her all day was gone, and for the first time in her life she felt completely safe.
After another minute or so James shook his head, rousing himself.
“What else do we have to do?” Poppy asked.
For an answer, James lifted his own wrist to his mouth. He made a quick jerking motion with his head, as if tearing a strip of cloth held in his teeth.
When he lowered the wrist, Poppy saw blood.
It was running in a little stream down his arm. So red it almost didn’t look real.
Poppy gulped and shook her head.
“It’s not that bad,” James said softly. “And you have to do it. Without my blood in you, you won’t become a vampire when you die, you’ll just die. Like any other human victim.”
And I want to live, Poppy thought. All right, then. Shutting her eyes, she allowed James to guide her head to his wrist.
It didn’t taste like blood, or at least not like the blood she’d tasted when she bit her tongue or put a cut finger in her mouth. It tasted—strange. Rich and potent.
Like some magic elixir, Poppy thought dizzily. And once again she felt the touch of James’s mind. Intoxicated with the closeness, she kept drinking.
That’s right. You’ve got to take a lot, James told her. But his mental voice was weaker than it had been. Instantly Poppy felt a surge of alarm.
But what will it do to you?
“I’ll be all right,” James said aloud. “It’s you I’m worried about. If you don’t get enough, you’ll be in danger.”
Well, he was the expert. And Poppy was happy to let the strange, heady potion keep flowing into her. She basked in the glow that seemed to be lighting her from the inside out. She felt so tranquil, so calm….
And then, without warning, the calm was shattered. A voice broke into it, a voice full of harsh surprise.
“What are you doing?” the voice said, and Poppy looked up to see Phillip in the doorway.
CHAPTER 6
James moved fast. He picked up the plastic tumbler on the bedside table and handed it to Poppy. She understood. Feeling giddy and uncoordinated, she took a healthy swig of water and licked her lips to wash any traces of blood away.
“What are you doing?” Phillip repeated, striding into the room. His eyes were fixed on James, which was good, because Poppy was trying to position herself to hide the side of her neck that James had bitten.
“None of your business,” she said, and in the same instant she knew it was a mistake. Phillip, whose middle name was Stability, was looking distinctly unstable tonight.
Mom told him. Poppy thought.
“I mean, we aren’t doing anything,” she amended. It didn’t help. Phil was clearly in a mood to see everything in the world as a threat to his sister. And Poppy couldn’t really blame him—he’d walked in on the two of them in a strange embrace on a rumpled hospital bed.
“James was comforting me because I was scared,” she said. She didn’t even try to explain why James had been cradling her head to his arm. But she glanced at James’s arm surreptitiously and saw that the wound there was already closed, the mark fading.
“Everything’s all right, you know,” James said, standing to fix a mesmerizing silver gaze on Phillip. But Phil hardly gave him a glance. He was staring at Poppy.
It’s not working, Poppy thought. Maybe Phil’s too mad to be hypnotized. Or too stubborn.
She looked a question at James, which he answered with a barely discernable shake of his head. He didn’t know what the problem was, either.
But they both knew what it meant. James was going to have to leave. Poppy felt cheated and frustrated. All she wanted was to talk with James, to revel in their new discovery of each other—and she couldn’t. Not with Phil here.
“How come you’re here, anyway?” she asked him irritably.
“I drove Mom here. You know she doesn’t like driving at night. And I brought this.” He swung her boom box up onto the bedside table. “And these.” He put a black CD case beside it. “All your favorite music.”
Poppy felt her anger draining away. “That was sweet,” she said. She was touched, especially since Phil hadn’t said “All your favorite weird music,” which was usually how he referred to it. “Thank you.”
Phil shrugged, shooting a glare at James.
Poor Phil, Poppy thought. Her brother actually looked disheveled. And his eyes were swollen.
“Where’s Mom?” she was starting to say, when her mother walked in.
“I’m back, sweetie,” her mother said, with a very creditable cheery smile. Then she looked surprised. “James—it was nice of you to come.”
“Yeah, but he was just leaving,” Phil said significantly. “I’ll show him the way out.”
James didn’t waste energy on a fight he couldn’t win. He turned to Poppy and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was a look in his gray eyes—gray, not silver now—that was just for her. A look that had never been there before in all the years she’d known him.
“Goodbye, James,” she said softly. “And—thank you.” She knew he understood what she meant.
It wasn’t until he was out the door, with Phillip on his heels like a bouncer after a rowdy customer, that a thought occurred to her.
James had said that she would be in danger if she didn’t get enough of his blood. But they’d gotten interrupted almost immediately after that. Had Poppy gotten enough? And what would happen if she hadn’t?
She herself had no idea, and there was no way to ask James.
Phil stayed right
behind James all the way out of the hospital.
Not tonight, James thought. He just couldn’t deal with Phillip North tonight. His patience was gone, and his mind was occupied in calculating whether Poppy had taken enough of his blood to be safe. He thought she had—but the sooner she got more, the better.
“You’ll ‘see her tomorrow’—well, you’re not going to see her tomorrow,” Phil said abruptly as they walked into the garage.
“Phil, give me a break.”
Instead, Phillip stepped in front of him and stopped dead, forcing James to stop, too. Phillip was breathing quickly, his green eyes burning.
“Okay, bud,” he said. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing with Poppy—but it’s all over now. From now on you stay away from her. Understand?”
Visions of breaking Phillip’s neck like a new pencil danced in James’s head. But Phil was Poppy’s brother, and his green eyes were surprisingly like hers.
“I would never hurt Poppy,” he said wearily.
“Give me a break. Are you going to stand there and tell me you don’t want to move in on her?”
James couldn’t come up with an answer immediately. Yesterday he could have truthfully said no, he didn’t want to move in on Poppy. Because it would have meant a death sentence for him and Poppy both. It was only when Poppy had received a death sentence of her own that he’d allowed himself to look at his feelings.
And now…now he’d been close to Poppy. He’d touched her mind, and had found that she was even braver and more gallant than he’d thought; even more compassionate—and more vulnerable.
He wanted to be that close to Poppy again. He cared about her in a way that made his throat ache. He belonged with Poppy.
He also realized that that might not be enough.
Sharing blood forged a powerful bond between two people. It would be wrong of him to take advantage of that bond—or of Poppy’s gratitude to him. Until he was sure that Poppy’s mind was clear and her decisions were her own, he should keep a little distance. It was the only honorable thing to do.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt her,” he repeated. “Why can’t you believe that?” He made a half-hearted attempt to capture Phil’s gaze as he said it. It failed, just as it had in the hospital. Phillip seemed to be one of those rare humans who couldn’t be influenced by mind control.
