"I'm sorry
"Forget it," James said shortly. He turned his back on Phil and examined the man. Poppy could feel him extend his mind. "I'm telling him to forget this," he said to Poppy. "All he needs is some rest, and he might as well do that right here. See, the wounds are already healing."
Poppy saw, but she couldn't feel happy. She knew Phil still disapproved of her. Not just for something she'd done, but for what she was.
What's happened to me? she asked James, throwing herself into his arms. Have I turned into something awful?
He held her fiercely. You're just different. Not awful. Phil's a jerk.
She wanted to laugh at that. But she could feel a tremor of sadness behind his protective love. It was the same anxious sadness she'd sensed in him earlier. James didn't like being a predator, and now he'd made Poppy one, too. Their plan had succeeded brilliantly-and Poppy would never be the old Poppy North again.
And although she could hear his thoughts, it wasn't exactly like the total immersion when they'd exchanged blood. They might not ever have that togetherness again.
"There wasn't any other choice," Poppy. said stoutly, and she said it aloud. "We did what we had to do. Now we have to make the best of it."
You're a brave girl. Did I ever tell you that?
No. And if you did, I don't mind hearing it again.
But they drove to James's apartment building in silence, with Phil's depression weighing heavily in the backseat.
"Look, you can take the car back to your house,"
James said as he unloaded the equipment and Poppy's clothes into his carport. "I don't want to bring Poppy anywhere near there, and I don't want to leave her alone."
Phil glanced up at the dark two-story building as if something had just struck him. Then he cleared his throat. Poppy knew why-James's apartment was a notorious place, and she'd never been allowed to visit it at night. Apparently Phil still had some brotherly concern for his vampire sister. "You, uh, can't just take her to your parents' house?"
"How many times do I have to explain? No, I can't take her to my parents, because my parents don't know she's a vampire.
Right at the moment she's an illegal vampire, a renegade, which means she's got to be kept a secret until I can straighten things out--somehow.':
"How-" Phil stopped and shook his head. "Okay. Not tonight.
We'll talk about it later."
"No, 'we' won't," James said harshly. "You're not a part of this anymore. It's up to Poppy and me. All you need to do is go back and live your normal life and keep your mouth shut."
Phil started to say something else, then caught himself. He took the keys from James. Then he looked at Poppy.
"I'm glad you're alive. I love you," he said.
Poppy knew that he wanted to-hug her, but something kept both of them back. There was an emptiness in Poppy's chest.
"Bye, Phil," she said, and he got in the car and left.
CHAPTER 13
He doesn't understand," Poppy said softly as James unlocked the door to his apartment. "He just hasn't grasped that you're risking your life, too."
The apartment was very bare and utilitarian. High ceilings and spacious rooms announced that it was expensive, but there wasn't much furniture. In the living room there was a low, square couch, a desk with a computer, and a couple of Oriental-looking pictures on the wall. And books. Cardboard boxes of books stacked in the corners.
Poppy turned to face James directly. "Jamie ... I understand."
James smiled at her. He was sweaty and dirty and tired-looking. But his expression said Poppy made it all worthwhile.
"Don't blame Phil," he said, with a gesture of dismissal. "He's actually handling things pretty well. I've never broken cover to a human before, but I think most of them would run screaming and never come back. He's trying to cope, at least."
Poppy nodded and dropped the subject. James was tired, which meant they should go to sleep. She picked up the duffel bag that Phil had packed with her clothes and headed for the bathroom.
She didn't change right away, though. She was too fascinated by her own reflection in the mirror. So this was what a vampire Poppy looked like.
She was prettier, she noted with absent satisfaction. The four freckles on her nose were gone. Her skin was creamy-pale, like an advertisement for face cream. Her eyes were green as jewels. Her hair was wind-blown into riotous curls, metallic-copper.
I don't look like something that sits on a buttercup anymore, she thought. I look wild and dangerous and exotic. Like a model. Like a rock star. Like James.
She leaned forward to examine her teeth, poking at the canines to make them grow. Then she jerked back, gasping.
Her eyes. She hadn't realized. Oh, God, no wonder Phil had been scared. When she did that, when her teeth extended, her eyes went silvery-green, uncanny. Like the eyes of a hunting cat.
All at once she was overcome by terror. She had to cling to the sink to stay on her feet.
I don't want it, I don't want it....
Oh, deal with it, girl. Stop whining. So what did you expect to look like, Shirley Temple? You're a hunter now. And your eyes go silver and blood tastes like cherry preserves. And that's all there is to it, and the other choice was resting in peace. So deal.
Gradually her breathing slowed. In the next few minutes something happened inside her; she did deal. She found ...
acceptance. It felt like something giving way in her throat and her stomach. She wasn't weird and dreamy now, as she'd been when she had first awakened in the cemetery; she could think dearly about her situation. And she could accept it.
And I did it without running to James, she thought suddenly, startled. I don't need him to comfort me or tell me it's okay. I can make it okay, myself.