Twelfth Grade Kills Page 4

  “And then?”

  “Then he disappeared.”

  Otis took this all in for a long, silent moment, then nodded. Vlad couldn’t read his expression, exactly, but he was fairly sure that Otis believed him. “I trust you’re off to find him then?”

  “Yes. Alone for now. If I don’t find him on my own, though, I’ll need your help.”

  “You are going to sweep this mess up first, yes?”

  Vlad cringed. “I was planning on blaming Amenti for the mess.”

  Otis flashed him a look that screamed “get the broom,” before he chuckled and looked around the room. “Where is that cat, anyway?”

  Vlad shrugged. “Probably chasing mice. Really fat, really slow mice.”

  After sweeping up the shattered remains of what once was Nelly’s favorite lamp, Vlad headed out the front door.

  He hurried across town, to the place where Joss had attacked him. The memories of what had transpired flooded through his mind, through his very soul, until Vlad’s heart felt heavy and hollow.

  Joss had tried to take his life. Again.

  Dorian—crazy, strange, knowing Dorian—was dead. By Joss’s hand.

  And one other thing was decidedly missing from the area.

  His dad.

  Which meant Vlad probably was crazy, after all.

  Vlad’s shoulders slumped and he turned back toward town, determined to search every inch that was accessible even into the nighttime, until he either found his dad or accepted the insanity that he was now plagued with. As stupid as it was, he’d really, really been hoping against hope that he wasn’t crazy, that maybe—just maybe—the vision of his father had been real, and that he’d been miraculously given a second chance.

  He walked along the outskirts of Bathory until he came to Long Road Cemetery. Stepping under the gate, his eyes swept over the shadowy stones and unkempt lawn in a search for the impossible, in search of his dad. But he found no one. Just tombstones, trees, rocks, and grass.

  And memories.

  Exiting the cemetery, he made his way across town, walking along Lugosi Trail until he came to his old house. His dad wouldn’t be inside—he could guess that much—but Vlad wanted to search every bush, every tree, in hopes that his father had, in some small way, come home again. He had to be there, had to be somewhere in Bathory. Vlad had seen his dad with his own two eyes. He knew it. He wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t been infected by Dorian’s blood in the worst way imaginable. Had he?

  He reached out with his blood, focusing, hoping for a hint that any vampire, aside from those he already knew about, was in town, was anywhere that he could reach. But he sensed nothing. He stretched out with his abilities, further than he’d ever done before, but there was no one to find. So he went back to searching the town, hoping he’d find at least minor evidence that might point to his dad actually still being alive.

  Five hours later, Vlad stumbled home.

  His search had been fruitless.

  5

  THE LONG SEARCH

  A WEEK HAD PASSED since the first night Vlad had searched the town over for any sign of his father, any sign that he might not be completely crazy.

  At least he wasn’t alone in his quest. Sometimes Vlad’s searches were conducted with Henry, sometimes with Otis. Sadly, each night, Vlad came home completely convinced that Dorian’s blood had infected him with bizarre hallucinations.

  But he couldn’t stop searching. It was—real or not—his dad, after all.

  He’d reached out with his blood a hundred times or more, to no avail. The only vampires besides himself in Bathory were Otis and Vikas.

  It was as if his dad had vanished into thin air. Thin, empty, nonexistent air.

  Vlad had told only Em, Enrico, Otis, Henry, and Vikas about what he thought he saw the night Joss went to the hospital.

  With his head swimming from thoughts and theories about who and what he’d encountered that night, Vlad moved his fork around in his spaghetti and sighed heavily.

  After a moment, he looked up from his plate to find Vikas, Otis, and Nelly staring at him expectantly. Blinking, he said, “What?”

  The three exchanged looks, and then Nelly reached over and patted his hand. “You were just muttering, dear, something about not being crazy. Is something wrong?”

  Vlad blinked again. Had he been muttering? He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he wasn’t really sure. Maybe this was what crazy felt like. Maybe first you start seeing dead people, and second, you start mumbling things under your breath without realizing.

  A hard knock on the front door echoed throughout Nelly’s house. Then the doorknob turned and the door opened.

  Henry poked his head inside. “Hey, Vlad, are you ready?”

  It was time. Time for another search. Vlad sighed and pushed his chair back from the table.

  Nelly looked worried. “Where are you going?”

  Otis patted her on the hand. “It’s nothing, dearest. Just some guy time, I’m sure. What’s for dessert?”

  After casting Otis an appreciative glance, Vlad followed Henry out the door.

  Henry met his eyes as they made their way back to the car. “So have you spoken to Snow lately? October mentioned something when I ran into her at the park the other day.”

  Vlad swallowed hard and opened the passenger door. “No. No, I haven’t spoken to her. In fact ... I released her as my drudge.”

  The words left his mouth so easily, almost casually, but they sent a bolt of pain through the center of his soul. He missed Snow, missed her deeply, and totally regretted releasing her. But nothing could be done about that now.

  Henry’s jaw hit the ground, but Vlad flashed him a look that said not to inquire further if he wanted to live out the night. After a moment, Henry closed his mouth.

  Vlad didn’t want to talk about Snow. He could barely think about her without his heart breaking. So he looked at Henry and struggled with his words. “So how’s Joss doing?”

  “Much better. They say he’s up and walking around now. His parents still won’t say where they’ve taken him. It’s kinda weird, actually.” Henry glanced at him. “You shouldn’t worry, dude. He’ll be fine. Besides ... he kinda had it coming, right?”

  A lump formed in Vlad’s throat and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to swallow it. “Right.”

  As they were getting into Henry’s car, Vlad said, “So did you notice if he had my dad’s journal or not? It was in his backpack. Did you check?”

  Henry slid the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. It rumbled to life. “As far as I can tell, Joss doesn’t have that journal, man. Would you stop worrying? It’ll turn up. Just like your dad.”

  Hours later, Vlad stared down at a crudely drawn map of Bathory on the table with hopeless, helpless eyes. He’d searched every square inch of the town he called home, a dozen times over. His dad was nowhere to be found. And Vlad was beginning to wonder if his dad wanted to be found. If he was still really alive, that is.

  After hours of fruitless searching tonight, he and Henry had returned to Nelly’s in the wee hours of the morning. Nelly had already left for work, much to the comfort of Vlad, who was sitting at the table, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

  “What apout vhe cemepewey?” Henry pulled his head out of the fridge, a leg of ’chippen’ barely held in his teeth, his arms loaded with what Vlad could only assume would soon become a sandwich.

  “C’mon, the cemetery? Really? Try to be a little more stereotypical.” Vlad continued to stare at the map, his head resting on his hands, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Besides, I’ve already checked there ... three times.”

  “Oh yeah, we were there Thursday, weren’t we?”

  “And Saturday.” A heavy sigh flew from Vlad’s chest.

  “Well, there has to be somewhere we haven’t tried.” Bread and mayo and cheese and meat were being thrown together, confirming Vlad’s initial suspicions. The strawberry yogurt was a surprise, but when you’v
e spent as much time with Henry as Vlad had, you learned not to ask questions.

  “No, there isn’t. We’ve been over the whole damn town!” Vlad pushed himself away from the table, moving it as he did so. He walked over to the window above the sink, stared out for a moment, then returned right back to the place he’d started. Flopping down in the chair, he stared at the map again.

  He was never going to find his dad. Because his dad was dead. And he was just a hallucinating lunatic.

  “Calm down, man. We’ll find him.” Henry took the first bite of the monstrosity that he had built between two slices of bread. As toppings spilled out onto the plate Vlad marveled at the fact that his friend hadn’t shouted, “It’s ALIVE!” before digging in.

  “You mean if he’s actually out there. If I haven’t lost it completely.” Grumbling his frustrations, Vlad crumpled up the map and threw it across the room.

  Otis caught it effortlessly in midair. He looked from the wad of paper in his hand to his nephew. “I take it you haven’t had much luck in your search for Tomas.”

  Vlad glared, but he wasn’t mad at Otis. He was mad at his situation.

  He sighed heavily, and winced slightly at the hunger pain that shot across his stomach. “No. No luck at all. What about you, anything?”

  Otis shook his head, his face drawn, and returned the crumpled map to the table, smoothing it out as best he could. “Nothing. Not a trace. If Tomas is really out there, something tells me he doesn’t want to be found.”

  Vlad stared at the map again, but didn’t really see it. All he could see was the invisible clock that was ticking away the remaining minutes of his life. His uncle had said aloud just what he was thinking. What if his dad was hiding from him? What if he had no plans to come forward again at all? It was almost worse than the idea of his dad being dead.

  “Otis ...” He met his uncle’s eyes, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Should I run? I mean, they’ll kill me either way, right? If I find my dad and hand him over they might kill us both, or if I don’t find him at all, I’m probably still as good as dead, aren’t I? So what’s the difference? Why make it easy on them?”

  “They’ll torture you for months before killing you if you run.” Otis shrugged, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Maybe, Vlad thought with a shudder, it was. “That being said, it is an option. But not one without a price.”

  Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “They’d go after you and Vikas, wouldn’t they?”

  “And Nelly. And Henry. And everyone you’ve ever known and loved.” Something foreboding was lurking in Otis’s gaze, but Vlad couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

  “They didn’t come after me when they thought my dad was on the run.”

  Henry looked up from his monster sandwich and nodded. He didn’t speak, but only because his mouth was full of the yogurt-coated monstrosity.

  Otis cocked an eyebrow at Vlad, as if what he were about to say were painfully obvious. “That’s because of who you are, Vladimir. Much of Elysia fears you, fears what you are capable of.”

  “What am I capable of?” The room grew silent. Vlad was taunting his uncle on purpose, baiting him, trying to get Otis to admit that there was even a tiny smidgeon of possibility lurking within the Pravus stories that Otis had deemed fairy tales. When his uncle refused to respond, Vlad met his gaze and said, “Otis, do you believe in the prophecy ... even a little bit?”

  Obvious tension filled his uncle. He paused for a moment, as if summoning the courage to speak, or perhaps just putting the words together in his mind before speaking them aloud. “I cannot deny what I’ve been witness to over the past few years, but I refuse to believe that you are capable of enslaving the human race.”

  “Dorian said I’ll do that out of charity.”

  “Dorian was a madman.”

  Vlad’s jaw tightened. It was time to come clean and tell Otis the truth about what happened the night Dorian died. No matter what Otis might have to say about it. “What if I’m a madman now, Otis? What if you are?”

  Otis met his gaze, his forehead lined with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  With a deep breath, Vlad released words from his lips, words that he’d been holding in all summer long. “I drank from him. I drank from Dorian.”

  Otis pursed his lips. He seemed angry, but Vlad wasn’t sure why exactly. Vlad had never promised his uncle that he wouldn’t feed from Dorian. In fact, Otis had never said anything about the subject at all. Still, his uncle looked like he’d been betrayed in the worst way. “And you wonder why you’re seeing visions of your father?”

  Vlad tried hard to ignore that. Even though it stung, especially coming from his uncle.

  He counted two heartbeats, then a third. After a deep breath, he met Otis’s eyes again, calm.

  Well, mostly calm, anyway.

  “We both drank his blood, in some manner. I drank his, you drank his son Adrian’s. What’s the difference? Because I really don’t see it. If it’s so bad that I did it, then you’re just as guilty.” He hadn’t raised his voice, not quite, but his tone was defiant. Otis was acting like he was ashamed of Vlad’s actions. But really, when it came down to it, crazy or not, Vlad was glad he drank from Dorian, glad that he honored a dying vampire’s final wish.

  Even if it did make him hallucinate things that could not possibly be.

  Otis’s face flushed pink, but only for a second. He tossed the wadded up map into the recycling bin. “I made a huge mistake, Vladimir. A drunken, stupid, imbecilic mistake born of pain and loss. I was mourning your father and blood-drunk and stupid enough to listen to Dorian. But you ... what were you thinking? You’re better than me-so much better than me. And now...”

  Otis shook his head sadly. “His blood ... it taints people.”

  “He told me to do it.” Vlad held his uncle’s gaze, determined. “And I trusted him. So I drank.”

  Otis’s eyes widened in surprise. Something else lurked there too. Betrayal, maybe. Maybe regret. But Vlad wasn’t certain why. He knew that Otis hadn’t trusted Dorian and that Otis had wanted to protect Vlad from him, but he wasn’t at all certain he trusted his uncle’s motives. In fact, he was a bit concerned that maybe Otis had wanted him to stay away from Dorian to ensure that Vlad wouldn’t entertain any idea at all that he was the Pravus. After all, to this day Otis was still in denial about Vlad’s status. Maybe he was afraid of it. And if that were true, then maybe he was afraid of Vlad.

  Otis sighed in frustration and defeat. “But why? Why did you listen to him? How could you trust Dorian?”

  Vlad chose his words carefully and spoke them crisply so that Otis could not shut them out of his doubting, fearful mind. “Because he’s the Keeper of the Prophecy, Otis. And I’m the Subject of that prophecy.”

  Otis turned away, throwing his arms up, muttering something in Elysian code that had to be a curse word. Henry winced at the sound of it, even though he—like Vlad—had no idea what Otis was saying. When Otis turned to Vlad, Otis began pacing back and forth across the room. “Who told you that? Who told you those words? Who told you that there was such a thing as a Keeper and a Subject?”

  Vlad wet his lips and tried hard to keep his voice calm, even though it sure felt like Otis was trying to fight with him. “Dorian did.”

  “And you believed him.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Vlad offered a single nod in response.

  Otis stopped pacing and shook his head slowly, sadly—as if he’d failed at saving his nephew from something truly frightening. He placed his palms on the table, closed his eyes, and simply breathed deeply for several minutes before speaking again.

  The silence was deafening, and droned on for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Have you experienced any ... strange effects ... since feeding from him?”

  “Only if you count seeing my dead father.” Vlad sighed, his eyes flicking to Henry and back to his uncle. “Dorian said I could know the prophecy if I dran
k from him. That’s why I did it, Otis. Because he said that it was his job as the Keeper of the Prophecy to deliver the prophecy to me, and that the only way to do it was for me to feed from him. The prophecy ... it’s in his blood. Or was. Now it’s in mine.”

  Otis released a sharp, disbelieving breath—one that immediately filled Vlad with shame. “And have you complete knowledge of this so-called prophecy now, Vladimir?”

  Vlad’s heart slid up into his throat.

  Otis didn’t believe him.

  He swallowed hard and met his uncle’s gaze, certainty and confidence filling him to the brim. “Otis, I’ve seen the prophecy, and whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s real. As real as the blood in my veins.”

  Henry had finally finished his sandwich and joined the conversation with something Vlad had expected to come from Otis’s mouth. “What if Dorian was lying?”

  “He was not lying.” Vikas’s voice rumbled into the room as he entered. “Dorian was mad, this is true, but he was an honest man. An honest madman. And I happen to know for a fact that he did indeed carry the prophecy in his veins.”

  Vlad really looked at Vikas for the first time since he’d drank from Dorian. His voice was quiet, and tinged with a strange sense of disbelief. “You were there that night. You killed those men—the Foreteller and Transcriber—once Dorian knew the prophecy.”

  Vikas offered a single nod. “That I did, Mahlyenki Dyavol, as it was to be Dorian’s task, but the boy was too weak, and far too gentle to commit such an act. As twisted as his mind was, it was only out of reaction to all that he had been faced with. I rather liked Dorian and was sad to hear of his passing. Apart from his madness, he was a kindly vampire.”

  Vlad nodded in agreement, relieved to learn that he wasn’t the only one who’d come to understand Dorian, to like him. Otis was staring at them both as if they’d lost their minds, but he didn’t speak.

  Vikas stepped closer, his smile warm. “Have you had any visions, Mahlyenki Dyavol?”

  Vlad sighed. In fact, he had. Right after drinking Dorian’s blood, he’d had a vision of himself ruling over vampirekind and enslaving the human race. But admitting that was admitting that he would one day soon be the evil thing the prophecy had foretold. So he lied. “No. Nothing yet.”