Waves of chills washed over Phillip. No, he didn't know that, but he did know-he could suddenly picture vividly-what it was going to be like for him after Poppy died. How empty the world was going to be without her.
For a long time they both sat in silence.
Then Poppy fell back onto the pillows again. Phillip could see pastel blue smudges under her eyes, as if the conversation had exhausted her. "I don't think it matters," she said in a faint but frighteningly cheerful voice. "I'm not going to die anyway.
Doctors don't know everything."
So that's how she's dealing with it, Phillip thought. Total denial.
He had all the information he needed, though. He had a clear view of the situation. And he knew what he had to do now.
"I'll leave so you can get some rest," he said to Poppy, and patted her hand. It felt very cool and fragile, full of tiny bones like a bird's wing. "See you later."
He slipped out of the house without telling anyone where he was going. Once on the road, he drove very fast. It only took ten minutes to reach the apartment building.
He'd never been to James's apartment before.
James answered the door with a cold, "What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in? I've got something to say."
James stood back expressionlessly to let him in.
The "place was roomy and bare. There was a single chair beside a very cluttered table, an equally cluttered desk, and a square unbeautiful couch. Cardboard boxes full of books and CDs were stacked in the corners. A door led to a spartan bedroom.
"What do you want?"
"First of all, I have to explain something. I know you can't help being what you are-but I can't help how I feel about it, either.
You can't change, and neither can I. I need you to understand that from the beginning."
James crossed his arms over his chest, wary and defiant. "You can skip the lecture."
"I just need to make sure you understand, okay?" "What do you want, Phil?"
Phil swallowed. It took two or three tries before he could get the words out past the blockage of his pride.
"I want you to help my sister."
CHAPTER 9
Poppy shifted on her bed.
She was unhappy. It was a hot, restless unhappiness that seemed to swarm underneath her skin. Coming from her body instead of from her mind. If she hadn't been so weak, she would have gotten up and tried to run the feeling off. But she had spaghetti for muscles now and she wasn't running anywhere.
Her mind was simply cloudy. She didn't try to think much anymore. She was happiest when she was asleep.
But tonight she couldn't sleep. She could still taste the wild cherry Popsicle in the corners of her mouth. She would have tried to wash the taste away, but the thought of water made her feel vaguely nauseated.
Water's no good. Not what I need.
Poppy turned over and pressed her face into the pillow. She didn't know what she needed, but she knew she wasn't getting it.
A soft sound came from the hallway. Footsteps. The footsteps of at least two people. It didn't sound like her mother and Cliff, and anyway they'd gone to bed.
There was the lightest of knocks at her door, then a fan of light opened on the floor as the door cracked. Phil whispered,
"Poppy, you asleep? Can I come in?"
To Poppy's slowly rising indignation, he was coming in, without waiting for an answer. And someone was with him.
Not just someone. The one. The one who had hurt Poppy worst of all. The betrayer. James.
Anger gave Poppy the strength to sit up. "Go away! I'll hurt you!" The most primitive and basic of warning-off messages.
An animal reaction.
"Poppy, please let me talk to you," James said. And then something amazing happened. Even Poppy, in her befuddled state, recognized that it was amazing.
Phil said, "Please do it, Poppy. Just listen to him."
Phil siding with James?
Poppy was too confused to protest as James came and knelt by her bedside.
"Poppy, I know you're upset. And it's my fault; I made a mistake. I didn't want Phil to know what was really going on, and I told him I was just pretending to care for you. But it wasn't true."
Poppy frowned.
"If you search your feelings, you'll know it's not true. You're turning into a telepath, and I think you already have enough power to read me."
Behind James, Phil stirred as if uneasy at the mention of telepathy. "I can tell you it's not true," he said, causing both Poppy and James to look at him in surprise. "That's one thing I found out from talking to you," he added, speaking to James without looking at him. "You may be some kind of monster, but you really do care about Poppy. You're not trying to hurt her."
"Now you finally get it? After causing all this-?" James broke off and shook his head, turning back to Poppy. "Poppy, concentrate. Feel what I'm feeling. Find the truth for yourself."
I won't and you can't make me, Poppy thought. But the part of her that wanted to find out the truth was stronger than the irrational, angry part. Tentatively she reached for James-not with her hand, but with her mind. She couldn't have described to anyone how she did it. She just did it.
And she found James's mind, diamond-bright and burning with intensity. It wasn't the same as being one with him, the way she had been when they shared blood. It was like looking at him from the outside, sensing his emotions from a distance. But it was enough. The warmth and longing and protectiveness he had for her were all dear. So was the anguish: the pain he felt to know that she was hurting-,and that she hated him.
Poppy's eyes filled. "You really do care," she whispered.
James's gray eyes met hers, and there was a look in them Poppy couldn't remember seeing before. "There are two cardinal rules in the Night World," he said steadily. "One is not to tell humans that it exists. The other is not to fall in love with a human. I've broken both of them."