Poppy squealed with delight, dancing toward Elizabeth’s car. “I’d like to thank Damien Hirst for inspiring me, Egon Schiele”—she wiped an imaginary tear from her eye—“Bansky and Robert Rauschenberg for providing me with such incredible art that helped my creative mind develop, opening delicately like a bud and for—” “Stop it,” Elizabeth hissed through gritted teeth. “They’re still watching us.” “Oh, they are not, don’t be so paranoid.” Poppy’s tune changed from elation to frustration. She turned around to face the cabin on the site. “Don’t turn around, Poppy!” Elizabeth spoke as if giving out to a child. “Oh, why not, they’re not watchi— Oh, they are, BYEEE! THAANKSSS.” She waved her hands wildly. “Do you want to lose your job?” Elizabeth threatened, refusing to turn around. Her words had the same effect as they would on Luke when she threatened to take away his PlayStation.
