James didn't say that his people didn't think of Phillip's people as people. He said, "We only do what we have to do to survive. And Poppy's already agreed."
Phillip froze. "No. She wouldn't want to become like you."
"She wants to stay a!ive---or at least, she did, before she got mad at me. Now she's just irrational because she hasn't got enough of my blood in her to finish changing her. Thanks to you." He paused, then said deliberately, "Have you ever seen a three-weekold corpse, Phil? Because that's what she's going to become if I don't get to her."
Phil's face twisted. He whirled around and slammed a fist into the metal side of the Dumpster. "Don't you think I know that?
I've been living with that since Monday night."
James stood still, heart pounding. Feeling the anguish Phil was giving off and the pain of Phil's injured hand. It was several seconds before he was able to say calmly, "And you think that's better than what I can give her?"
"It's lousy. It stinks. But, yes, it's better than turning into something that hunts people. That uses people. That's why all the girlfriends, isn't it?"
Once again, James couldn't answer right away. Phil's problem, he was realizing, was that Phil was far too smart for his own good. He thought too much. "Yeah. That's why all the girlfriends," he said at last, tiredly. Trying not to see this from Phil's point of view.
"Just tell me one thing, Rasmussen." Phillip straightened and looked him dead in the eye. "Did you"-he stopped and swallowed-"feed on Poppybefore she got sick?"
"No."
Phil let out his breath. "That's good. Because if you had, I'd have killed you."
James believed him. He was much stronger than Phil, much faster, and he'd never been afraid of a human before. But just at that moment he had no doubt that Phil would somehow have found a way to do it.
"Look, there's something you don't understand," he said.
"Poppy did want this, and it's something w e've alre ady started.
She's only just beginning to change; if she dies now, she won't become a vampire. But she might not die all thee way, either.
She could end up a walking corpse. A zombie, you know?
Mindless. Body rotting, but immortal."
Phil's mouth quivered with revulsion. "You're just saying that to scare me."
James looked away. "I've seen it happen."
"I don't believe you."
"I've seen it firsthand!" Dimly James realized he was yelling and that he'd grabbed Phil by the shirtfront. He was out of control-and he didn't care. "I've seen it happen to somebody I cared about, all right?"
And then, because Phil was still shaking his head: "I was only four years old and I had a nanny. All the rich kids in San Francisco have nannies. She was human."
"Let go," Phil muttered, pulling at James's wrist. He was breathing hard-he didn't want to hear this.
"I was crazy about her. She gave me everything my mom didn't. Love, attention-she was never too busy. I called her Miss Emma."
“Let go.”
"But my parents thought I was too attached to her. So they took me on a little vacation-and they didn't let me feed. Not for three days. By the time they brought me back, I was starving.
Then they sent Miss Emma up to put me to bed."
Phil had stopped fighting now. He stood with his head bowed and turned to one side so he wouldn't have to look at James.
James threw his words at the averted face.
"I was only four. I couldn't stop myself. And the thing is, I wanted to. If you'd asked me who I'd rather have die, me or Miss Emma, I'd've said me. But when you're starving, you lose control. So I fed on her, and all the time I was crying and trying to stop. And when I finally could stop, I knew it was too late."
There was a pause. James suddenly realized that his fingers were locked in an agonizing cramp. He let go of Phil's shirt slowly. Phil said nothing.
"She was just lying there on the floor. I thought, wait, if I give her my own blood she'll be a vampire, and everything will be okay." He wasn't yelling anymore. He wasn't even really speaking to Phillip, but staring out into the dark parking lot.
"So I cut myself and let the blood run into her mouth. She swallowed some of it before my parents came up and stopped me. But not enough."
A longer pause-and James remembered why he was telling the story. He looked at Phillip.
"She died that night but not all the way. The two different kinds of blood were fighting inside her. So by morning she was walking around again-but she wasn't Miss Emma anymore. She drooled and her skin was gray and her eyes were flat like a corpse's. And when she started to-rot-my dad took her out to Inverness and buried her. He killed her first." Bile rose in James's throat and he added almost in a whisper, "I hope he killed her first."
Phil slowly turned around to look at him. For the first time that evening, there was something other than horror and fear in his face. Something like pity, James thought.
James took a deep breath. After thirteen years of silence he'd finally told the story to Phillip North, of all people. But it was no good wondering about the absurdity. He had a point to drive home.
"So take my advice. If you don't convince Poppy to see me, make sure they don't do an autopsy on her. You don't want her walking around without her internal organs. And have a wooden stake ready for the time when you can't stand to look at her anymore."
The pity was gone from Phil's eyes. His mouth was a hard, trembling line.
"We won't let her turn into ... some kind of halfalive abomination," he said. "Or a vampire, either. I'm sorry about what happened to your Miss Emma, but it doesn't change anything."