Night World 1

by L. J. Smith

  The Night World, she thought, and tilted her chin back as James took her in his arms.

  This time the double sting at her neck hurt good.

  But best was when James’s mind touched hers. The feeling of oneness, of suddenly being whole—it spread through her like starshine.

  Once again she had the sense that they were melting together, dissolving and merging everywhere they touched. She could feel her own pulse echoing through him.

  Closer, closer…and then she felt a pulling-back.

  James? What’s wrong?

  Nothing, he told her, but Poppy could sense that it wasn’t quite true. He was trying to weaken the growing bond between them…but why?

  Poppy, I just don’t want to force you into anything. What we’re feeling is—artificial.…

  Artificial? It was the realest thing that she’d ever experienced. Realer than real. In the midst of joy, Poppy felt a surge of hurt anger at James.

  I don’t mean it like that, he said, and there was desperation in the thought. It’s just that you can’t resist the blood-bond. You couldn’t resist it if you hated me. It isn’t fair.…

  Poppy didn’t care about fair. If you can’t resist it, why are you trying? she asked him triumphantly.

  She heard something like mental laughter, and then they were both clinging together as a wave of pure emotion swept them.

  The blood-bond, Poppy thought when James raised his head at last. It doesn’t matter if he won’t say he loves me—we’re bonded now. Nothing can change that.

  And in a moment or so she would seal that bond by taking his blood. Try and resist that she thought, and was startled when James laughed softly.

  “Reading my mind again?”

  “Not exactly. You’re projecting—and you’re very good at it. You’re going to be a strong telepath.”

  Interesting…but right now Poppy didn’t feel strong. She suddenly felt kitten-weak. Limp as a wilting flower. She needed…

  “I know,” James whispered. Still supporting her, he started to lift one wrist to his mouth.

  Poppy stopped him with a restraining hand. “James? How many times do we have to do this before I—change?”

  “Once more, I think,” James said quietly. “I took a lot this time, and I want you to do the same. And the next time we do it…”

  I’ll die, Poppy thought. Well, at least I know how long I have left as a human.

  James’s lips slid back to reveal long, delicate fangs, and he struck at his own wrist. There was something snakelike in the motion. Blood welled up, the color of syrup in a can of cherry preserves.

  Just as Poppy was leaning forward, lips parted, there was a knock at the door.

  Poppy and James froze guiltily.

  The knock came again. In her muddled and weakened state, Poppy couldn’t seem to make herself move. The only thought that resounded in her brain was Oh, please. Please don’t let it be…

  The door opened…. Phil.

  Phillip was already speaking as he poked his head in. “Poppy, are you awake? Mom says—”

  He broke off abruptly, then lunged for the lightswitch on the wall. Suddenly the room was illuminated.

  Oh, terrific. Poppy thought in frustration. Phil was peering through the filmy draperies around the bed. Poppy peered back at him.

  “What—is going—on?” he said in a voice that would have gotten him the lead role in The Ten Commandments. And then, before Poppy could gather enough wits to answer, he leaned in and grabbed James by the arm.

  “Phil, don’t,” Poppy said. “Phil, you idiot…”

  “We had a deal,” Phil snarled at James. “And you broke it.”

  James was gripping Phil’s arms now, as ungently as Phil was grasping him. Poppy had the dismayed feeling that they were going to start head-butting each other.

  Oh, Lord, if she could only think straight. She felt so brainless.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” James said to Phil through clenched teeth.

  “The wrong idea? I come in here and find the two of you in bed, with all the curtains drawn, and you’re telling me I’ve got the wrong idea?”

  “On the bed,” Poppy interjected. Phil ignored her.

  James shook Phil. He did it quite easily and with an economy of movement, but Phil’s head snapped back and forth. Poppy realized that James was not at his most rational right now. She remembered the meted chair leg and decided it was time to intervene.

  “Let go,” she said, reaching in between the two boys to grab for hands. Anybody’s hands. “Come on, you guys!” And then, desperately, “Phil, I know you don’t understand, but James is trying to help me—”

  “Help you? I don’t think so.” And then to James: “Look at her. Can’t you see that this stupid pretending is making her sicker? Every time I find her with you, she’s white as a sheet. You’re just making things worse.”

  “You don’t know anything about it,” James snarled in Phil’s face. But Poppy was still processing something several sentences back.

  “Stupid? Pretending?” she said. Her voice wasn’t very loud but everything stopped.

  Both boys looked at her.

  Everyone made mistakes then. Later, Poppy would realize that if any of them had kept their heads, what happened next could have been avoided. But none of them did.

  “I’m sorry,” Phil said to Poppy. “I didn’t want to tell you—”

  “Shut up,” James said savagely.

  “But I have to. This—jerk—is just playing with you. He admitted it to me. He said he felt sorry for you, and he thinks that pretending he likes you makes you feel better. He’s got an ego that would fill Dodger Stadium.”

  “Pretending?” Poppy said again, sitting back. There was a buzzing in her head and an eruption gathering in her chest.

  “Poppy, he’s crazy,” James said. “Listen—”

  But Poppy wasn’t listening. The problem was that she could feel how sorry Phil was. It was much more convincing than anger. And Phillip, honest, straightforward, trustworthy Phillip, almost never lied.

  He wasn’t lying now. Which meant…that James must be.

  Eruption time.

  “You…” she whispered to James. “You…” She couldn’t think of a swear word bad enough. Somehow she felt more hurt, more betrayed than she had ever felt before. She had thought she knew James; she had trusted him absolutely. Which made the betrayal all the worse. “So it was all pretending? Is that it?”

  Some inner voice was telling her to hold on and think. That she was in no state to make crucial decisions. But she was also in no state to listen to inner voices. Her own anger kept her from deciding if she had any good reason to be angry.

  “You just felt sorry for me?” she whispered, and suddenly all the fury and grief that she’d been suppressing for the last day and a half flooded out. She was blind with pain, and nothing mattered except making James hurt as much as she hurt.

  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 realized 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 love 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 ranch-style house.

  He unlocked and opened the door without calling to announce his presence. He didn’t need to announce it; his mother would sense him.

  Inside, it was all cathedral ceilings and fashionably bare walls. The one oddity was that every one of the many skylights was covered with elegant custom-made drapes. This made the interior seem spacious but dim. Almost—cavernous.

  “James,” his mother said, coming from the back wing. She had jet-black hair with a sheen like lacquer and a perfect figure that was emphasized rather than disguised by her silver-and-gold embroidered wrap. Her eyes were cool gray and heavily lashed, like James’s. She kissed the air beside his cheek.

  “I got your message,” James said. “What do you want?”

  “I’d really rather wait until your father gets home….”

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry. I’ve got things to do—I haven’t even fed today.”

  “It shows,” his mother said. She regarded him for a moment without blinking. Then she sighed, turning toward the living room. “At least, let’s sit down…. You’ve been a little agitated, haven’t you, these last few days?”

  James sat on the crimson-dyed suede couch. Now was the test of his acting ability. If he could get through the next minute without his mother sensing the truth, he’d be home free.

  “I’m sure Dad told you why,” he said evenly.

  “Yes. Little Poppy. It’s very sad, isn’t it?” The shade of the single treelike floor lamp was deep red, and ruby light fell across half his mother’s face.

  “I was upset at first, but I’m pretty much over it now,” James said. He kept his voice dull and concentrated on sending nothing—nothing—through his aura. He could feel his mother lightly probing the edges of his mind. Like an insect gently caressing with an antenna, or a snake tasting the air with its black forked tongue.

  “I’m surprised,” his mother said. “I thought you liked her.”

  “I did. But, after all, they’re not really people, are they?” He considered a moment, then said, “It’s sort of like losing a pet. I guess I’ll just have to find another one.”

  It was a bold move, quoting the party line. James willed every muscle to stay relaxed as he felt the thought-tendrils tighten suddenly, coiling around him, looking for a chink in his armor. He thought very hard—about Michaela Vasquez. Trying to project just the right amount of negligent fondness.

  It worked. The probing tendrils slipped away from his mind, and his mother settled back gracefully and smiled.

  “I’m glad you’re taking it so well. But if you ever feel that you’d like to talk to someone…your father knows some very good therapists.”

  Vampire therapists, she meant. To screw his
head on straight about how humans were just for feeding on.

  “I know you want to avoid trouble as much as I do,” she added. “It reflects on the family, you see.”

  “Sure,” James said, and shrugged. “I’ve got to go now. Tell Dad I said hi, okay?”

  He kissed the air beside her cheek.

  “Oh, by the way,” she said as he turned toward the door. “Your cousin Ash will be coming next week. I think he’d like to stay with you at the apartment—and I’m sure you’d like some company there.”

  Over my unbreathing body, James thought. He’d forgotten all about Ash’s threat to visit. But now wasn’t the time to argue. He walked out feeling like a juggler with too many balls in the air.

  Back in his car he picked up the cellular phone, hesitated, then snapped it shut without turning it on. Calling wasn’t any good. It was time to change his strategy.

  All right, then. No more half measures. A serious offensive—aimed where it would do the most good.

  He thought for a few minutes, then drove to McDonnell Drive, parking just a few houses away from where Poppy lived.

  And then he waited.

  He was prepared to sit there all night if necessary, but he didn’t have to. Just around sunset the garage door opened and a white Volkswagen Jetta backed out. James saw a blond head in the driver’s seat.

  Hi, Phil. Nice to see you.

  When the Jetta pulled away, he followed it.

  CHAPTER 8

  When the Jetta turned into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, James smiled. There was a nice isolated area behind the store, and it was getting dark.

  He drove his own car around back, then got out to watch the store entrance. When Phil came out with a bag, he sprang on him from behind.

  Phil yelled and fought, dropping the bag. It didn’t matter. The sun had gone down and James’s power was at full strength.

  He dragged Phil to the back of the store and put him facing the wall beside a Dumpster. The classic police frisking position.

  “I’m going to let go now,” he said. “Don’t try to run away. That would be a mistake.”

  Phil went tense and motionless at the sound of his voice. “I don’t want to run away. I want to smash your face in, Rasmussen.”