Page 89 of Switching Graves

Within one blink, Poppy deflates. Her posture slumps, shoulders pulling forward and hands tightening into fists. For an empath, she is horrendous at hiding her own emotions.

“It’s fun. Lots of work.” She keeps her eyes cast down, focused on twirling a string from her comforter through her fingers.

I wait for her to add more, but it’s clear that’s all she has to say about it. Which is odd for someone like Poppy, who can hardly stop talking about the most menial things.

She’s hiding something—plain and simple.

I suspected it before, in our very limited talk about her situation. The way she allowed me to monopolize conversations, then quickly signed off when it was her turn to share. I went along with it, too distracted by whatever I was going through to dedicate the energy it would take to pull some information out of her.

“I bet it is. Do you get along with your group?” I try again, overcorrecting. My voice raises an octave too high, and it sounds more like I’m speaking to a toddler than a grown woman.

She raises a suspicious brow and shrugs. The motion causes the collar of her shirt to fall, revealing a very bony shoulder and collarbone. I noticed some hollowness on her face earlier. That her shirt draped across her body a bit more than usual.

But this is far worse. She has to have lost at least fifteen pounds since I saw her last.

Following my widened gaze, she quickly pulls it back up, shifting uncomfortably away from me.

“We get along well enough. You sound like my mom, trying to fish for information,” she sneers defensively.

“I’m just making conversation.” I sigh. Every fiber of my being wants to push for more.

Why is she being so evasive? Why does she look so frail? What is going on down there?

Instead of prying, I stamp down all my concern temporarily and force a smile. “Let’s talk about something else then.”

“I’m still tired from the flight. Raincheck?” She even fakes a yawn.

Pushing my lips to the side, I nod. “Sure. No problem.”

“I promise. We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she adds.

“Sounds good.”

She watches quietly as I take my time scooting off her bed and padding over to the door. It’s awkward and cringe, but I’m hoping that if I linger long enough, she’ll change her mind and this alternate version of her will disappear.

Of course, that doesn’t happen. We mumble a quick goodnight and I disappear behind her door.

When I step out of her room, Divina is leaning against the wall beside my bedroom, waiting for me.

“I’m just going to bed,” I tell her, pointing toward my closed door.

She pushes off the wall and closes the distance between us with a couple of steps. “This will be quick.”

“Ookay,” I drawl. Dread coats my stomach like molten lava. Divinaneverspeaks to me one-on-one. In fact, it’s rare she bothers to speak to me directly, if at all.

She crosses her arms over her chest, widening her stance. “Poppy is deteriorating before my eyes. I’m not sure what is going on between you two, but I promise, it won’t be good if I find out you’ve somehow put my daughter in harm’s way.”

Straightening my shoulders, I lift my chin. I won’t be cowering for her anymore. Not after I’ve exposed so many of her secrets. “I have nothing to do with how Poppy is taking care of herself.”

A smirk pulls at the side of her mouth, her brow quirking up in excitement at the challenge I’m posing. Divina has never been one to back down from her opponents. “We’ll see about that,” she snarks, then turns and walks away down the stairs.

I stand there for a moment, staring at Poppy’s door and contemplating if I should tell her what just happened. This isn’t going to work for much longer. Not if Poppy continues to go off script. She needs to know how much she’s jeopardizing things.

But we said we’ll talk tomorrow, and I don’t want to push her further away.

I’ll bring it up then.

45

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