Eleventh Grade Burns Page 5
“So what does it mean?”
Otis sighed heavily. “It means that you can trust virtually no one, Vlad. It also means that D’Ablo’s presence on the Council of Elders most assuredly has something to do with you, as he’s convinced that you are this ... this Pravus.”
“I am the Pravus.” Vlad tightened his jaw and locked eyes pointedly with his uncle. “I am. But just because I am doesn’t mean I’m going to become some psychopath.”
He looked around the room at the other vampires. Some looked fearful. Most looked doubtful. “I’m not like the rest of you. You know that. A few of you have seen it firsthand. So call me what you will—Pravus. freak of nature—I’m different. Now what are we going to do about D’Ablo?”
After a long and poignant silence, Cratus sighed. “We wait. And we watch.”
Vikas shook his head. “It is troubling, my friends, that D’Ablo should hold the thread of Otis’s life in his treacherous hands.”
The realization hit Vlad hard. The trial—they were talking about Otis’s trial. The one that would decide if Otis lived or died, the one that would determine whether or not his uncle was a vampire of honor or a criminal doomed to death. And D’Ablo was one of the people who was going to make that decision.
He bit his bottom lip, dropping his eyes to the carpet.
Vikas’s voice, deep and strong, continued to speak. “What’s more, Otis’s pretrial comes fast on the heels of D’Ablo’s lust for vengeance.”
Otis spoke, his voice gruff. “When?”
Vikas held Otis’s gaze, his expression grim. “D’Ablo insisted that it be held this All Hallows Eve.”
All eyes were on Vikas, whose mouth slowly curled into a smile. “But I insisted that it take place at the end of the year. And as he is but a babe and I am an old man, it seems the council is more apt to side with me. Otis has been granted a stay of execution, so to speak, until December twenty-sixth.”
Everyone seemed to exhale at once.
Apparently, the pretrial was something you wanted to put off as long as possible.
“There is more,” Vikas said in his thick Russian accent. “D’Ablo had planned for the pretrial to take place in Stokerton, but the other members of the Council of Elders and myself have determined that the pretrial—like the trial—must be held in the only city without a governing council.”
Otis spoke, his voice just that of a whisper. “New York.”
Vikas nodded. Several vampires looked uncomfortable, but most just looked relieved.
Vlad watched them with intrigue. He’d had no idea that there was a town that wasn’t governed by a council. He thought all cities were governed by the nearest council. Clearly, New York was not. Huh. That wasn’t in the Encyclopedia Vampyrica. Nor was it something Otis had ever mentioned. Vlad pondered that for a few minutes, until Vikas took his seat and the conversation broke off into what was happening elsewhere in Elysia.
To Vlad’s left, two vampires were telling what he thought were dirty jokes in French. To his right, one vampire recounted his last meal to another in plain English. Across the room from Vlad, a young, handsome vampire with copper-colored hair was staring intently, silently at him. Vlad shifted in his seat and was about to call Vikas over when the vampire stood and pointed a long, pale finger at Vlad. The other vampires fell silent. “You. The child of a vampire and a human, if the stories are to be believed. Tell me your name.”
Vlad swallowed. The air in the room chilled. “Vlad. And they’re not just stories.”
Vikas spoke under his breath from his spot in the corner. “Tread carefully, Mahlyenki Dyavol. Dorian is . . .”
But he didn’t finish his sentence, leaving Vlad to wonder just what Dorian was.
Otis looked guarded.
Dorian stepped closer, sniffing the air. He was handsome and young-looking, having made the change in his mid-twenties, with dark brown eyes and a pale bronze to his skin. He looked like an old friend that you just couldn’t place, like anyone that you might have once known. Remarkable, yet completely forgettable. The perfect vampire.
Dorian moved slowly, smoothly, in a way that struck Vlad as feline. Vlad got the distinct impression that if he moved, Dorian would be on him like a cat. “Ah, yes. I can smell it in your veins. So ... unique. Tantalizing.”
Otis’s jaw tightened. “Dorian.”
Dorian ignored Otis, edging ever closer to Vlad. His tone was soothing and kind, and if Otis and Vikas weren’t looking so concerned about his proximity to Vlad, he might not find the vampire alarming at all. “I bet you carry tasty delicacies in your veins.”
Vlad blinked, suddenly realizing why everyone in the room was watching in fascination. Dorian wanted blood. Vlad’s blood. Vlad sputtered, “But I’m a vampire. I thought that wasn’t allowed. Feeding on your own kind.”
Dorian shrugged slightly, smelling the air again. Then he smiled. “But you are also half human, and that makes you prey to my predator.”
Vlad gulped.
Vikas took a bold step forward, “How forgetful I am. I brought with me several cases of bloodwine, and the bottles are just waiting to be uncorked. Vladimir, would you assist me?”
Before Vlad knew it, he was being ushered quickly into the kitchen. Dorian’s eyes followed him the whole time—a curious smile on his lips. After a moment, Otis joined Vlad and Vikas in the kitchen, looking more than a little troubled. Vikas spoke first. “That was close.”
Otis nodded, “Too close. I hadn’t thought of the repercussions. It’s so easy to forget Vlad’s human heritage.”
Vlad looked at Otis. “Are you going to fill me in on what we’re all doing here, and maybe explain why that Dorian guy wants to take a bite outta me?”
Otis grabbed several bottles of bloodwine and uncorked them, speaking to Vikas. “This may be a problem for us. Please, do what you can to keep the peace.”
He looked at Vlad then, an oddly frustrated look on his face, and barked, “And you—stay away from Dorian.” Then he disappeared back into the living room.
Vlad furrowed his brow. It wasn’t like it was his fault Dorian thought he smelled tasty. He looked back at Vikas, who was smiling. “Your uncle is troubled. Pay him no mind, Vladimir. He is merely concerned that Dorian may force us to order his departure before he can fully help Otis’s case. You see, Dorian is unlike any vampire in existence. He is skilled beyond all of us, and he has resources that we believe may free your uncle of the charges against him. But should we insult him by not catering to his every whim ...”
Vlad’s stomach shriveled up in realization. “Oh. So if he wants to feed from me and you say no, then he leaves and Otis ... Otis ...”
“Otis will face the justice of Elysia.” Vikas gave Vlad’s shoulder a squeeze. “It would be wise to keep your distance from Dorian. It is rumored that he has a taste for rare and sometimes even vampiric blood. I am certain the mixture of vampire and human in your veins appeals to his palate. It makes yours the most rare blood type in the world.”
Vlad’s throat suddenly resembled a desert. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
Vikas, calm and cool, said, “Dorian is a vampire used to getting what he wants, and we cannot disappoint him. So let’s make certain that what he wants is not you.”
A worried crease settled on Vlad’s forehead. “Should I go home?”
“I think the safest place that you could be tonight is under this roof, Mahlyenki Dyavol. After all, what’s to stop Dorian from sniffing his way into your bedroom while you are alone and indulging in every last drop of your blood? At least here you will be watched after. You should remain here until the vampires depart, which will be in a few hours. If you grow weary, I will have Tristian watch over you. If he sees anything to be alarmed by, I will know it.”
Vlad nodded, utterly freaked out that someone would want to bite him and drink his blood. He couldn’t help but wonder if Snow ever felt this way. The thought sent a guilty shiver up his spine. “Why isn’t anyone using telepathy?”
Vikas popped open a bottle of bloodwine and drank deeply, then met Vlad’s eyes with a weary glance. “As I said, Dorian is skilled beyond any of us. If our minds remain open, there is no telling what he might dredge up ... or do. Be on guard. But be polite. Dorian is our guest, and an important figure in Elysia. He deserves both our respect and our fear. But ... do not let his presence taint the celebration for you, Vladimir. Besides, you should be celebrating, yourself. If Elysia has not yet called you to trial, you are likely free of the possibility. Enjoy your freedom.”
He turned and made his way back into the living room with an armful of open bloodwine bottles.
Vlad uncorked a bottle that was sitting on the counter and took a swig. It was as delicious, tangy, and spicy as he recalled it to be. After another swig, he followed Vikas back into the crowded room.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Vikas had meant by it being a celebration, so when he made it across the room to Otis, he said, “Vikas called this a celebration.”
“He’s right.”
“What exactly are we celebrating, Otis?”
Otis blanched, growing silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “We are celebrating my life, as it were.”
Vlad frowned, his heart suddenly very heavy. “Otis ... you still have a chance. The Council of Elders might—”
He was going to say “find you innocent,” but Otis shook his head and walked away, the threat of tears in his eyes, before Vlad could utter another word. Vlad stared after him, dumbfounded.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder, and Vlad turned to see Vikas, who was watching after Otis with a troubled expression. “As I said, he is troubled, your uncle. It would do little good to attempt to cheer a dying man.”
Vlad’s heart felt heavy and shriveled. “But, Vikas, you’re on the Council of Elders. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Something you will soon learn about Elysia, Mahlyenki Dyavol, is that trials are but a formality.” Vikas squeezed his shoulder once, lowering his voice. What he said next broke Vlad’s heart in two. “You should enjoy your time with your uncle, Vladimir. It grows short despite my efforts to lengthen it.”
Another vampire said something in Elysian code to Vikas, and he laughed openly before leading the vampire to the kitchen. When Vlad turned around, Dorian was there, waiting, wearing that same kind, expectant smile on his lips, that same harmless demeanor. “You will offer your blood to me.”
At once, every eye in the room turned to Vlad. After a minuscule pause, several vampires, including Otis and Vikas, began to speak, to argue with Dorian over what he had just said to Vlad, or to plead with him not to do whatever it was that he was about to do. Vikas offered Dorian Tristian’s blood—AB negative, as much as he’d like—in exchange for what he wanted of Vlad. Bemused, but insistent, Dorian whispered, “Hush now.”
At his spoken words, the crowd fell utterly silent.
Vlad looked them over—none could move, none could speak, but by their blinks and the look in Otis’s eyes, they were well aware what was happening. Vlad, however, had no idea what was going on. He only knew that Dorian had stopped their every action, their every sound, with a whisper. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up in confused fear. He looked at Dorian but didn’t speak.
Dorian stepped closer, a dark, hungry look in his eye. “You will offer your blood to me now.”
Before Vlad realized what he was doing, he’d reached up with his hand and pulled the collar of his T-shirt back. He bent his head to the side, exposing his neck, and all the while, he had no control over his actions. It wasn’t mind control—this was something else, something worse, something more powerful than Vlad had ever dared imagine could exist.
And he couldn’t resist it.
Dorian looked at Otis and nodded. His demeanor was very apologetic. “Your pleading and absolute refusal makes this moment that much more enticing, I’m afraid. I really don’t understand what the fuss is about. Vlad will likely survive. And if he doesn’t ... well, then, I am deeply sorry. But I must have the boy, you understand.”
Vlad’s insides turned to mush. Dorian was going to drain him of blood. And there was nothing anybody could do about it.
Except Vlad.
Panicking, he struggled with all his might to move, to let go of his collar and straighten his head, but the more he attempted to struggle, the more cooperative his movements became. Against his will, he stepped forward, coaxing Dorian to drink.
Dorian’s eyes brimmed with apologies. “I am sorry, Vlad. But I must have your blood. It calls to me, and I shall heed that call no matter the cost.”
Dorian stepped closer, ready to bite. He was poised over Vlad’s neck when the answer came.
Otis couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, but only because Dorian had stopped him—not because Dorian was controlling him. Quickly, Vlad slipped into Otis’s thoughts and, with an apology, took control over his uncle’s actions. With his control, Otis stepped forward, shoving Dorian from Vlad. Dorian stumbled back, blinking in confusion.
His spell over the crowd broke, and angry voices erupted.
Vlad’s heart raced, and he shot Otis an apologetic glance for having used mind control, but Otis shook it off in gratitude. Then Otis turned to Dorian. “You will leave my home and keep your distance from my nephew.”
Vikas placed a hand on Otis’s shoulder, but something about the way he looked told Vlad he was positioning himself to pull Otis back if a fight erupted.
Dorian’s fangs slowly shrank back into his gums. He kept his eyes on Vlad, a strange blend of curiosity and confusion filling them. After a moment, he nodded and moved through the kitchen and toward the back door.
Otis shook Vikas off and stepped away. He was calmer now that he’d had his say, but Vlad couldn’t help but wonder about the tension that seemed to ebb from his uncle in response to Dorian’s actions. He also couldn’t help but wonder why a vampire as powerful as Dorian would leave without even so much as an argument.
Otis turned back to Vikas. He looked worried, and equally as surprised as Dorian had. “I’ve never seen Dorian back down like that. I can’t help but wonder why.”
Vikas shook his head slowly, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “The answer, my old friend, is simple. Dorian has never backed down before. Perhaps he is ... conflicted.”
As Dorian reached the back door, he called out to Otis, his tone shaken. “When you want my help—and you will, Otis—you know where to find me.”
He opened the door, pausing long enough to meet Vlad’s eyes. With a single nod, he stepped out into the night.
Two hours later, Vlad had tired of the vampire crowd and felt safe enough to be alone, but not quite safe enough to head home. He retired upstairs to his old room, where Tristian stood watch from the hall—but not before Otis stopped him to make certain he wouldn’t leave without an escort. “Just stay here until our guests depart. Then Vikas or I will walk you home, all right?”
Vlad moved into his old room and before he closed the door, he replied, “I don’t need a babysitter, Otis.”
And he didn’t. He was the Pravus, for crying out loud. But ... he was really glad he didn’t have to worry about Dorian, Joss, or anyone else who might be out for his blood on his walk home tonight. He didn’t need a babysitter. But he certainly appreciated the company.
The room was painted in the same soft blue as it had been in his childhood. He wagered Otis had wanted to preserve those younger years for him in some way. As if color could do such a thing.
Vlad lay back on the bed, his eyes quickly fluttering closed. Drifting in that place between wakefulness and sleep, he thought about his mother and how she would sometimes enter his room at night, just to press her lips to his forehead. She’d whisper, “I love you, Vlad.” And Vlad would pretend to sleep, cuddled all warm and snug and safe under his blue blankets, which matched the color of his walls.
Maybe there was something to this color thing after all.
What a stupid thing to hope for. After all, just because he missed her, just because this was the first night he had slept in his house since that horrible day when he’d lost his parents ... that didn’t mean his mom would be here, watching over him from beyond death.
Did it?
Vlad looked around the room, at the shadowed blue walls, at the new carpeting, the new light fixture, at everything that wasn’t his past and was his present.
No. She was gone. Gone forever. To someplace much happier, much brighter, and full of goodness, full of light. She had to be.
He curled up on his side, and as he gave in to the call of sleep he thought of his mother and all the wonderful moments that they had shared. For the first time since her death, he didn’t think of smoke and ash and that horrible moment when he’d lost her forever. He thought only of happy times and the warmth of his mother’s embrace.
A hand—warm. gentle—brushed the hair from Vlad’s still-closed eyes. Following its light touch was Otis’s voice, equally as caring. “Vladimir, I hate to wake you, but our guests have gone. We should get you home.”
Vlad rolled over, content to sleep, and mumbled, “Five more minutes, Dad.”
After a pause, Otis’s only reply was to cover Vlad with a soft blanket. As his footsteps faded out the door and down the hall, Vlad snuggled into his blanket and slipped back into a deep and restful slumber.
7
A RUDE AWAKENING
VLAD SAT UP, STARTLED OUT OF SLEEP by the realization that his first day of school was today—his backpack, the clothes he wanted to wear, even his schedule was back at Nelly’s house, and he was still at his house, resting peacefully, dreaming of his mother. Rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes, he dragged himself out of bed and through the still-dark room, stumbled down the hallway and stairs, and yawned several hundred times before checking the time (4:36 A.M.). He scribbled Otis a note that said he’d see him at school later and ducked out the back door.