Eleventh Grade Burns Page 8

  Vlad swallowed hard, vowing never to mention to Vikas or his uncle that Joss had already made the first move. Or that he was determined to find a way to free Joss from the Society’s clutches.

  Vikas released his hold on Vlad’s mind and began his lesson, despite Vlad’s protests. “The Slayer Society is a relatively small group of humans—all but a few male, all but a few middle-aged—who are bent on the destruction of vampirekind. We have no one to blame but ourselves, of course, as it was a vampire who created the slayers.”

  Vlad raised his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent, very much irritated at Vikas’s use of mind control.

  “As you know, there are laws. The highest law being that no vampire should dare take the life of a fellow vampire. However, that is not to say that there are not certain vampires that deserve death, or that there are not those who would use the death of another to increase their own standing in Elysia.” A puzzled look crossed Vlad’s face. Vikas answered the question that Vlad had not yet asked, “Politics are the same in all cultures, it matters not what type of government they follow. To work around this law, which brings with it the absolute punishment of death—”

  Vlad’s heart all but stopped. Otis had killed Ignatius last year. He could only imagine what that meant for his uncle.

  “—a vengeful vampire by the name of Terryn took it upon himself to inform a small group of humans that vampires existed, with the explicit purpose of training them how to take down his vampire enemies. Revealing the truth of Elysia is a high crime, yes, but with his new group of assassins behind him, no one on the council dared to defy him. So Terryn lived several happy years after organizing his group of slayers, until they killed him.”

  Vlad, intrigued by the history lesson, finally found his voice. “But why wouldn’t Terryn have just turned the slayers into his drudges and command them to obey him?”

  “You’re quite astute, Mahlyenki Dyavol, for that is exactly what he did, and he blinded them to the fact that he was a vampire.” Vikas smiled to see that Vlad had decided to turn this into a discussion rather than a lecture. Vlad could feel Vikas’s control release. He trusted Vlad to stay put. “However, that too is a violation of Elysian law. You see, a vampire is only allowed to bind himself to two humans. Any more than that and our connection with them becomes too diminished to maintain control over all of them at once. Terryn’s original group consisted of thirty-four. And he trained them so well to recognize a vampire’s characteristics that they eventually saw through his control and realized his true nature. He became a victim of his own creation.”

  Vikas had barely moved since he started talking. He was still sitting at the kitchen table with his hands clasped in front of him. Vlad noticed that the expression on his face had softened, but only just. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. There was a time that I had called Terryn my friend. But that was before he lost touch with Elysia. Before he decided to lift himself to a position of power that he knew was not meant for him.” A hint of remorse flashed in his eyes. “Even so, I was sad to hear of his death.”

  “So, then what happened?”

  Vikas finally shifted in his seat and regained his composure. “Ever since that day in 1835, there has always been a Slayer Society, though their beliefs have warped and twisted over time to the point where their goal—the destruction of vampirekind—borders on religion. They believe that new slayers are not chosen, but that the small piece of Terryn which was put into each of the original members shows itself in a member of their own family. The society members that exist now are all direct descendants of the original slayers. They believe that vampires are evil monsters, who drink babies’ blood and sleep in coffins. They are persistent, resilient, and will stop at nothing to do us in. They are our enemies. And as we created them, it is our right, our duty, to rid the world of them.”

  Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment before saying, “I understand your concerns, Vikas, but why are you telling me all of this?”

  Vikas met his gaze. “Because you’ve made it quite clear that you do not understand the severity of the slayer’s presence. To your uncle or me, dispatching the boy would be a fairly easy task. But to you, you who are still committed to a nonexistent friendship with him, it won’t be quite so simple.”

  Shaking his head, Vlad stood at last. “Joss isn’t going to try to kill me.”

  “It is your denial that will end your life, just as sure as his stake.” Vikas stood and crossed the kitchen to the window. As he stared out at the backyard, his fingers traced the lines on his forehead. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he turned back to face Vlad. “Prepare yourself for what will come, Vladimir, or you will die, and neither Otis nor I will be able to prevent it.”

  Vlad was looking at the man who had been his friend and mentor for two years now—one of the very few people on the planet who knew his secrets (well, most of them anyway) and who he knew he could trust, and had, trusted with his life. Even though he stared directly into Vikas’s eyes, they both knew that Vlad was somewhere else, lost in his own thoughts.

  Vikas was right. No matter how much Vlad hoped and wished that he wasn’t, he was right. The Joss he knew from his past was muted by the Joss he’d become, and clinging to the memory of the boy he knew two years ago was putting Vlad and those he cared about in danger. He would never hunt Joss, nor would he allow anyone else to. He would cling to the hope that a new friendship could be built between them, and that Joss may yet be saved from the cultlike ways of the Slayer Society. He would cling to the tense peace that existed between them. But if Joss should break that peace, Vlad needed to be prepared.

  And he would be.

  Reluctantly, he sighed. “Okay. Tell me what I need to know.”

  10

  MONSTERS

  IN-SCHOOL SUSPENSION was clearly invented by someone who really, really despised the idea of kids doing anything but homework and who thought that staring blankly at the wall without speaking was just about the most entertaining thing in the world to do. They were obviously evil to the core, and Vlad was cursing their unknown name during his entire trek down the hall and over to the old wooden door at the end of the hall, just past the cafeteria.

  The door was scraped up and ugly—fitting, considering it opened up to a fate worse than most prisons. And lucky Vlad, he wasn’t serving this sentence alone. Bad enough he’d be spending the day doing schoolwork in a forced silence that many monks would envy, but he had to do it all in the company of the one boy who’d already come close to killing him once and probably would try again.

  With a deep, depressed breath, Vlad turned the knob and opened the door.

  He’d never seen the inside of the ISS room, so he really had no idea what to expect. Immediately, there were three small steps to climb and once his feet hit the wooden floor, he recognized what the room had once been. He’d heard that many years ago there had once been a stage attached to what now served as the cafeteria, but that it had been walled off and turned into storage. Apparently, that storage room was also home to ISS. Boxes and various odds and ends lined three of the walls. Five desks sat facing an empty one. Two were occupied by boys that looked like bad news. Vlad took his seat nearest the door.

  A moment later, the door opened again. Joss took a quick look around and approached the desks. After a glance at their rather scary-looking company, he begrudgingly took the seat next to Vlad.

  Vlad chewed the inside of his cheek absently. He very much wanted to say something to Joss, something that would break the tension, but nothing came to mind.

  The ugly door opened and Mr. Hunjo wedged his immense shoulders inside. He went straight to the small desk at the front of the room and barked, “What are you staring at? Get to work!”

  Vlad finished up his schoolwork relatively quickly, and af terward, sat quietly, waiting for the day to come to an end. The room’s silence was only broken by the soft snoring of Mr. Hunjo, who’d succumbed to boredom and had decided that
his best defense was a good nap. Vlad looked over at Joss and dared to whisper, “Why are you in Otis’s class? What do you want?”

  Joss shrugged halfheartedly. “What else, but to learn mythology? You know ... unicorns, trolls ... vampires.”

  He met Vlad’s eyes then, and Vlad resisted the urge to read his thoughts. He didn’t really want to understand how a slayer thinks, what a slayer feels. He just wanted to be left alone.

  Remembering they weren’t the only ones in the room, Vlad said, “So you have an interest in the make-believe, eh?”

  Joss leaned closer and, after they both jumped at a particularly loud snort from the sleeping gym teacher, he responded, “I believe in truth and justice and the good of mankind. No matter how much bloodshed it takes to protect those things.”

  Joss’s eyes were full of an eagerness that sent a terrified chill through Vlad. He shook his head in shock. “You’re a monster.”

  Joss was quiet for a while. Then he sat back and returned to his schoolwork, but not before uttering, “It takes one to know one, Vlad.”

  11

  A SNAP

  SPRAT BOUNDED FROM THE CAR to the door of The Crypt, dragging October along behind him. Kristoff was already inside and Andrew was following at a leisurely pace. Vlad was bent over, tying his shoe near the car.

  He was relieved to be back at The Crypt for a night, as the past month of classes with Joss were already seriously stressing him out and he needed to blow off some steam. Plus, it had become a regular thing to do with his goth friends.

  Friends. Vlad had friends. He shook his head, smiling.

  As the door to the club closed behind Andrew, Vlad stood and moved toward it, ready to feel the thumping of bass in his chest and smell the adrenaline in the dancers’ veins.

  “It does smell delicious, doesn’t it?”

  Vlad clamped down on his thoughts and turned. He knew that voice. His eyes scanned the shadows until he noticed something dark moving within them. His chest tightened—partly from fear, partly from surprise. “What do you want?”

  D’Ablo stepped into the street-lamp light. He was dressed in black from head to toe, complete with black leather gloves. Gloves. Plural. Which meant that D’Ablo had somehow sprouted a new hand. Vlad slanted his eyes, examining the hand. The fingers didn’t move. The muscles didn’t flex. When realization hit him, he said, “You’re wearing a false hand. How does the council feel about that? After all, vampires aren’t big fans of weaknesses and scars, are they, D’Ablo? It’s a wonder they haven’t removed you from office.”

  D’Ablo pursed his lips. “They’re happy enough in their ignorance.”

  Vlad tilted his head in disbelief, thinking about the gathered group of angry vampires at his old house just five weeks ago. “I know several people who aren’t so happy that a disfigured vampire is still president.”

  The corner of D’Ablo’s mouth rose slightly in a small smile. “I assure you that none of those people matter.”

  Vlad’s eyes traced D’Ablo’s face for any sign of scars. When he saw him last, flames had all but melted his face away, but now the skin was smooth, flawless, as if that maniacal moment in the sun had never occurred. “The sunlight ... it didn’t damage or scar you at all?”

  “With enough blood, healing is possible, even from the likes of the sun. But you ... you didn’t burn at all. Did you, Master Pravus?” His eyebrows went up. It was as if he were defying Vlad to once again insist that he wasn’t the child the prophecy had spoken of.

  Vlad set his jaw. “No.”

  “So you’ve finally accepted that you are the Pravus?”

  “Yes.” What did D’Ablo want, anyway? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to chat, so what is it you want, D’Ablo?”

  D’Ablo chuckled under his breath. “You know what I want. My ritual is not yet complete.”

  Vlad froze. The ritual. D’Ablo had said that the last part of the ritual required Vlad’s sacrifice. He darted his eyes to the front door of The Crypt and silently wondered if he could outrun D’Ablo, or if D’Ablo would chase after him if he did. “So you’re here to kill me?”

  D’Ablo sighed, somewhat troubled. “Unfortunately, no. It seems I’ve misplaced my dagger. In order for the ritual to be completed correctly, the dagger is required. But never fear, Master Pravus. I am here to offer you a truce.”

  Before Vlad could bite his tongue, he snapped, “In your dreams, D’Ablo. That is never going to happen.”

  D’Ablo raised an eyebrow. “I am no threat to you without the dagger, and if I cannot be the Pravus I can at least assist him.”

  Vlad shook his head, filled with loathing. “You’ve ‘assisted’ me enough. Almost into an early grave.”

  D’Ablo held his palms out, pleading. “Hear me out.”

  Vlad turned back to the club, tossing bitter words over his shoulder as he left. “Bite me.”

  He’d barely taken a breath before D’Ablo was beside him, wrapping his hand tightly around Vlad’s throat. Vlad tried to inhale, but couldn’t. D’Ablo lifted him slowly off the ground and growled into his ear. “Of course, there’s always the appeal of killing you just to silence that mouth. All it would take is a snap.”

  He squeezed tighter before letting Vlad go. A warning.

  Vlad coughed, rubbing at his sore neck. In a hoarse, raspy voice, he called after D’Ablo, who was once again disappearing into the shadows, “You’ll never be the Pravus, D’Ablo. I don’t care what any ritual says. And a truce? You’re out of your mind.”

  “A snap, Master Pravus.” He chuckled again, causing Vlad to shiver. “A snap.”

  12

  NOBODY

  A SOUND TO VLAD’S RIGHT, SHARP AND FAMILIAR. Vlad turned his head toward it, as did D’Ablo. Dorian was standing there, an expectant smirk on his face, his hand held up as if he’d just snapped his fingers. “Nothing? I did snap, after all.”

  At the sight of him, Vlad’s chest grew tight. Fear. Intense fear. He was now standing in the presence of the two most dangerous vampires he’d ever encountered, both of whom wanted his blood for one reason or another. He swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back the urge to run.

  D’Ablo’s jaw tightened. “Dorian. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “So I presumed. If you were, you likely wouldn’t have been threatening this boy. This boy, in particular, now would you?”

  Dorian tilted his head, his eyes slanting. It was as if D’Ablo had been caught playing with one of his toys. Vlad shrank back, revolted. Is that what he was to vampirekind? Just an object to argue over, just a freak who might fulfill their needs?

  D’Ablo flicked his gaze to Vlad with a warning. “I assure you, it was no mere threat.”

  No surprise there. D’Ablo hadn’t exactly been shy about trying to kill Vlad in the past.

  “You’re telling me.” Dorian took what seemed like a casual step closer to D’Ablo, then another, and another. With each, D’Ablo appeared a bit more on edge. It was nice to see him afraid, for once. “You’re actually telling me that you would kill Tomas’s son? You, who once preached that Tomas was deserving of a seat on the Council of Elders?”

  D’Ablo said nothing in reply.

  Dorian clucked his tongue, quieting his voice as if they shared a secret. “I think we both understand why that would be a poor choice.”

  Vlad had been ready to back away and break into a run, but now he furrowed his brow in slight confusion, the thought of running suddenly evaporating in the cool night air. “What about my dad? What are you hinting at?”

  Dorian and D’Ablo looked back at Vlad, looking like they’d only just remembered his presence. Dorian moved his eyes back to D’Ablo and nodded toward Vlad. “Tell him.”

  D’Ablo scowled. He wasn’t about to tell Vlad anything.

  But then Dorian’s expression grew serious. He repeated, “Tell him.”

  Immediately, D’Ablo turned to Vlad and spoke. “If I took your life, e
veryone who ever loved your father would not stop until I was tortured and killed. A life for a life. I would lose my position as president, my belongings would become the belongings of your loved ones, and my name would be mocked for centuries to come. Your father was a very powerful and influential man. If I were to murder his son, I would regret it.”

  Once the final word passed over his lips, he seemed to regain control of himself. His face reddened in anger and hatred, and if his eyes could have shot lasers, they would have burned a hole right through Dorian.

  Dorian merely smiled, obviously enjoying his control over D’Ablo. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s fun to tell the truth. Is there any other truth you’d like to share with Vlad?”

  A curt reply, one filled with venom. “No.”

  Dorian raised a sharp eyebrow, as if defying D’Ablo to speak. “Nothing about his father? Nothing about your plans?”

  Vlad shot a look between the two older vampires. Plans? How did any of D’Ablo’s plans have anything to do with Vlad’s dad?

  D’Ablo’s scowl deepened, hatred spewing from every pore in his body. “No.”

  “Very well, then.” Dorian turned back to Vlad, then glanced over his shoulder at D’Ablo in an afterthought. “You may go now.”

  D’Ablo stalked off without another word, dismissed, like a household servant.

  Dorian sighed, shaking his head at Vlad like they were old friends. “I have never liked that guy.”

  Now Vlad was alone with Dorian. Immediately, Vlad’s heart picked up its pace. As if listening to a symphony, Dorian closed his eyes, his head swimming with the sound of Vlad’s heartbeat. In an effort to snap him out of his day-dream, Vlad said, “Nobody likes D’Ablo. At least, nobody I know.”