Chronicles Vladimir 01 - Eighth Grade Bites Page 14

  The brutes had apparently reached the conclusion that D’Ablo wasn’t worth dying for, as they released their hold on Otis and hurried back inside. Otis stood and brushed the grime of the alley from his clothes, but he didn’t speak. And, Vlad noted with interest, Otis didn’t move any closer.

  D’Ablo forced a smile. “It’s a fascinating instrument. May I have a closer look?”

  Vlad pointed the tube at D’Ablo as he rose to his feet. His rib screamed and his voice shook. “Stay back!”

  As if a light had gone on over his head, D’Ablo relaxed visibly. “Or you’ll what, Vlad? A real vampire wouldn’t point a Lucis at another without the full intention of using it. So are you merely threatening me until you can figure out how to use it, or do you understand the power that you now hold in your hands?” He stepped closer, his fangs long and fierce. Hunger flickered in his eyes.

  Vlad tore his frightened gaze away from D’Ablo. His breaths came in shaken gasps. His fingers trembled against the cylinder. The end facing him bore the symbol that mirrored his father’s tattoo, so like the symbol on the cover of the book.

  D’Ablo broke into a sure stride. Saliva glistened on the tips of his exposed fangs.

  Vlad pushed the sound of D’Ablo’s approach out of his head. He thought of the book, of the panel at the back of his dad’s suit closet. They’d both had the glyph. And when he’d touched it . . .

  D’Ablo threw his head back and opened his mouth as wide as he could.

  . . . when he’d touched it, the glyph had glowed. But not for Henry. It was a vampire shield—something to prevent humans from opening vampiric items. And if this thing had a glyph too . . .

  D’Ablo lunged forward, spittle dripping from his mouth. A low, hungry, guttural cry left his lungs as he descended on Vlad.

  . . . maybe, maybe . . .

  Vlad looked at Otis, who nodded, understanding Vlad’s thoughts without the use of telepathy.

  Vlad ran his thumb across the glyph. It glowed brightly, and the cylinder shook in his hands. He held it tightly. A piercing white light shot from the opposite end, filling the alley with a blinding flash. Vlad squeezed his eyes shut and ran his thumb over the glyph once more. When he opened his eyes again, the light had faded—contained once more within the small black cylinder.

  D’Ablo lay on the ground, clutching his stomach.

  Well . . . clutching where his stomach should have been.

  Through the enormous hole in D’Ablo’s torso, Vlad could see the dark, moist pavement on the other side. D’Ablo looked up at him with flickering eyes and forced a laugh. “You think you’ve won? You think you’ve defeated me?”

  Vlad tightened his grip on the tube, but stopped when Otis grabbed his arm. “It’s over, Vlad. Leave him here to die.”

  Vlad knelt. His face was mere inches from D’Ablo’s. “That was for Mr. Craig. And for anyone else you’ve ever hurt.”

  D’Ablo chuckled. Blood coated his lips. “Do you think it makes any difference, little one? There are thousands of vampires in the world, doing the same as I have.”

  Vlad held the Lucis up for D’Ablo to see. “Well, there’s one fewer tonight.”

  D’Ablo coughed, sending a spatter of blood across Vlad’s cheek, and then he was still.

  On the drive home, as Henry snored beside him, Vlad allowed himself a few more tears: these for the father he knew so little about, and for the mother who’d never kiss him as Nelly had tonight, and for himself, because beneath the relief and general sense of well-being lurked something dark and disturbing—the knowledge that he would one day return to Elysia, that his father’s journal would lead him there to seek answers to questions he had not yet asked.

  Otis was driving, and Nelly was in the passenger seat. The soft blue light from the radio illuminated the front seat, giving Vlad a clear view of their profiles. They’d been talking for a short while—muttered voices that had softened into whispers. But now they were quiet. They were also holding hands.

  Vlad pulled his backpack close and laid his head against the door. He was too riled up to sleep and had no idea how Henry could, so he stared out the window and counted stars as the lights of the city faded into blackness.

  All that was ahead of him was the twinkle of starlight—and the comforting return home.

  15

  THE END OF A DARK JOURNEY

  HENRY WAS SPRAWLED ACROSS the couch in Vlad’s living room, already asleep. Vlad tossed an old afghan over him and joined Nelly and Otis in the dining room. Nelly looked weary, but relieved, and managed a smile. She pushed her teacup aside and got up from the table. “I’ll be off to bed now, boys. My old bones just can’t take the nightlife anymore.” She kissed Vlad on the forehead, the way his mother used to. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I told you, I’m fine.” Vlad took a seat across from Otis. He winced as he sat, holding a hand to his injured rib. Nelly had given him and Otis pills for pain as soon as they got home, but Vlad’s hadn’t kicked in yet. But his rib would heal in a few days and the pain would be but a memory. Vlad glanced at the steaming blood in his cup, raised it to his lips, and drank.

  Nelly nodded and retreated upstairs after a brief good night to Otis.

  Otis placed his cup in the saucer and cleared his throat. He looked at Vlad. “I’ve been searching for you for years. It’s been a real pleasure getting to know you, Vlad.”

  “Why does that sound like a good-bye?” He met Otis’s eyes, the familiar feeling of loss already pricking his insides. “You can’t just throw all this at me and then disappear. Besides, you’re the only real family I’ve got.”

  Otis shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. Nelly is a wonderful guardian.”

  Vlad ran his finger thoughtfully over a knot in the wood of the table. Otis was right, of course, but it didn’t stop Vlad from longing for something more concrete, for blood relations. Nelly was great, but she didn’t know anything about being a vampire. “Why didn’t you just tell me who you were when we first met?”

  Otis managed a smile. “Because I wasn’t sure if you were a vampire or not. Since you had a human mother, I couldn’t be sure that you had inherited that part of your father’s being. You’re the first of your kind, Vlad. You’re also remarkably gifted at blocking telepathy. I wasn’t sure if it was your gift as a vampire or a charm Tomas had given you that blocked my telepathy. So I had to use other means to find out, such as the oral report and the essay—and the garlic.”

  “Oh, and thanks for that.” Vlad dunked a cookie into his cup and took a bite. “I spend my whole life trying to hide what I am and you make me get up and tell the whole class.” He gave Otis a grin. “Not awkward in the least.”

  Otis stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Outside, the sky was turning pink. It was almost dawn. “I needed to know where Tomas was so I could warn him that D’Ablo and the rest of Elysia had learned he was in Bathory. I couldn’t reveal myself to you if you were human—that’s a crime.” Otis glanced out the window, looking a little concerned. From his jacket, he pulled out a small tube and proceeded to rub sunblock on his skin.

  “But you told Nelly.”

  “Yes. And I would likely be punished for it if Elysia were to find out.” Otis finished coating his exposed skin and put the tube back in his pocket.

  Henry’s snores drifted in from the living room. Then, after one loud snort, he was silent once again.

  Vlad lowered his voice so as not to wake Henry. “When we were in Elysia, you mentioned that my dad had been vice president of that council.”

  “Yes. Well, that was a long time ago.” Otis shifted in his seat, as if the sunrise were making him restless.

  “So tell me about it.” Vlad plucked another cookie from the plate on the table and nibbled.

  Otis yawned again. Vlad resisted following suit. “Tomas had been on the council for more than a hundred years when I was turned from human into vampire, and for another three hundred before he left Elysia to raise you.”

/>   Vlad nearly choked on his cookie. “We live that long?”

  “Most of us, yes.” Otis drew his arms up around himself, as if the temperature had plummeted several degrees.

  “Will I live that long?”

  “I’m not sure, Vladimir. You’re . . . special.” He shifted his eyes about the room, as if checking to make sure they were alone.

  Vlad looked over his own shoulder for any unwanted presences. Otis’s fidgeting was unsettling. “What do you mean?”

  Otis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vampires are made by sharing blood with a human and giving that human part of your essence. It’s been this way since the beginning of time. But you . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Well, you were born this way, and that’s extremely unusual. As I said before, you’re the first of your kind.”

  Vlad cast Otis a worried glance. “Now that D’Ablo is gone, won’t Elysia just send someone else to look for my father—and me?”

  “No.” Otis smiled at Vlad reassuringly. “I’m going to send word to the council that Tomas died in Bathory. And they now know you have the Lucis and are capable of using it. They won’t come after you, Vlad.”

  “Otis . . .” Vlad looked from his uncle to the hole in his shoe and back. “If D’Ablo didn’t kill my parents, do you . . . do you know who did?”

  Otis was quiet for a moment, then met Vlad’s eyes. “No, Vlad, I don’t.”

  Vlad nodded. He was deeply disappointed, but not surprised. He wondered if he would ever know.

  “Otis, will you”—he paused, trying to keep the doubt out of his voice—“will you teach me everything you can about being a vampire? There’s no one else who can do it.”

  Otis’s eyes sparkled warmly. “I would be honored to, Vlad.”

  Vlad cleared his throat. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Otis got up to check that Henry was still sleeping before turning back to Vlad. “When school is over, I’ll return to Elysia and go into hiding. But I’ll always return for you, whenever you need me.”

  Vlad hesitated, then blurted out, “What if I said I needed you now, that I need you to be around all the time?”

  Otis was quiet for several minutes before rolling up his sleeve and exposing the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It glowed slightly when he moved it closer to Vlad. “Do you remember when I told you about my mark—this symbol that, in the vampiric language, is my name? Well, it’s also my tie to Elysia, to all of the vampiric brotherhood. Whenever I am scared or alone or saddened by events that I cannot control, I touch it and I’m reminded that I am part of something very special.”

  Vlad reached out slowly and brushed his fingers against the glyph. It brightened in response. A wave of sadness washed over him.

  “The mark is normally given the day following a vampire’s creation,” Otis went on, “but as your beginning was one of a kind and you were nowhere near Elysia . . .”

  “Just another thing I missed out on, huh?”

  They exchanged sad smiles. Otis moved to leave, then turned back to Vlad. “It would be my great honor to give you your own mark, Vladimir. Of course, if you’re not interested, I completely under—”

  “I’d like that. I mean, it would mean a lot to me.” Vlad tried hard to keep his eyes dry, but they brimmed with tears despite his efforts. “Will it hurt?”

  “A bit. But a mark of your own will open worlds to you that you did not know existed.” Otis smiled.

  Vlad bit his bottom lip and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  Otis reached for Vlad’s wrist and gently pushed up his sleeve. Vlad watched as his uncle’s pearl-white fangs elongated and slipped easily into his wrist. At first Vlad tensed as the teeth punctured him, then he began to feel weary, strangely dizzy. Otis’s grip on Vlad’s arm tightened, and Vlad felt a sudden surge of energy through his veins, like liquid fire. It was strange—he could feel Otis there, in his veins, in his blood, burning his energies into Vlad, and suddenly Vlad understood what it was to belong to Elysia. That by sharing space with any other of his kind, he was part of something bigger—that he was a vampire, a part of an ages-old family that would never leave him. He would never again be truly alone.

  Otis pulled his mouth away, then helped to steady Vlad.

  “Watch, Vladimir. Your mark is forming.” Otis held Vlad’s arm gently.

  Vlad grew a little weak at the sight of blood on his open wrist, but marveled as the skin began to heal and the blood seeped back into his flesh, leaving behind a strange, glowing scar that darkened until Vlad’s own tattoo had been created from within him. It was small, about the size of a fifty-cent piece, and looked just like Otis’s mark, but for the two vertical lines inside the parentheses. When Otis released his arm, the mark dimmed some. Vlad whispered, “Thank you.” He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Otis brushed a small tear from his eye and smiled. Then he walked to the front door and stepped outside.

  Vlad stepped out after him, rubbing his wrist and feeling stronger already. “Uncle Otis? Promise you won’t leave forever.”

  Otis turned back to him and slid his top hat on. “That’s a promise. But you have to promise me something, too.”

  Vlad nodded.

  “That you’ll be on the lookout for others like us. D’Ablo had many friends.” Otis checked his pocket for keys. Triumphant in his search, he offered Vlad a nod. “And I expect you to get an A on the spelling test next Friday.”

  Vlad rolled his eyes. Apparently saving your teacher’s life wasn’t enough. “Three quick questions.” Vlad followed him down the sidewalk toward the car. “What do I do if Henry asks me to explain what a drudge is?”

  “That’s up to you—you tell him or you don’t. But I rather think you should.” He opened the car door and cast Vlad a weary smile. “What else?”

  Vlad bit his bottom lip and looked at the ground, then back at Otis. “Why did D’Ablo hate my dad so much?”

  “He didn’t, Vlad. In fact, they were good friends. D’Ablo was merely doing what he thought was the right thing to do.” Otis pulled the door closed. “That’s all any of us can really do.”

  Vlad wrinkled his forehead, trying to recall the word he’d heard D’Ablo use to describe him. “And . . . what’s a . . . Pravus?”

  Otis looked at Vlad, his face grave. He searched the air around him for the right words, and when he found them, they came out with a croak. “Just an old vampire legend, Vlad, about a boy who was born a vampire. Pay it no mind.” With the rev of the engine, he drove off, leaving Vlad standing at the end of the driveway.

  The sky was bright pink and gold. Vlad watched Otis drive off into the sunrise, like some sort of vampire cowboy. It had been a long night. And he hadn’t even finished his math homework.

  Vlad stepped back into the house and closed the door quietly behind him. Henry was still sleeping on the couch. Nelly was no doubt nestled under her flowered comforter upstairs. Vlad climbed the stairs, and after pausing to stroke Amenti’s fur, he slipped into his bedroom, where he was greeted by the framed smiles of his mom and dad and by his bed—the most welcoming sights he’d ever seen.

  16

  THE MARK OF A VAMPIRE

  LIKE A MAN WHO HAS wandered through shadowed forests, seeking reprieve from their looming darkness and strange, creaking, haunting sounds, only to collapse in relief at his first glimpse of light, Vlad sat down heavily at his desk on his last day in eighth grade and surveyed the class around him. He wasn’t exactly sure what the point of the last day of school was supposed to be, other than easing the summer janitor’s duties by emptying the desks and lockers. Principal Snelgrove ensured that this task was done by making it a requirement in order to attend Freedom Fest—an afternoon that began with the final game of the Bathory Bats, the high school’s much-celebrated baseball team, and ended with the last dance of the year in the school gym.

  It should have been a happy day for Vlad. After all, he was finally leaving junior high,
and next year was full of possibilities. Bill and Tom would be freshmen, too, and have to deal with bullies of their own. He and Henry would be high schoolers, and life would begin anew. But overshadowing what should have been a pleasant day was the knowledge that tonight Otis would be leaving, and though he’d reassured Vlad several times that he would return, his words hadn’t lifted the deep, heavy, hollow feeling in Vlad’s chest.

  A flash of pink caught Vlad’s eye. Meredith was wearing a pretty pink sundress. Vlad managed a smile, and to his delight, she smiled back, her cheeks blushing before she looked away. Vlad looked away, too, but only long enough to glimpse the tattooed symbol on the inside of his wrist. Feeling a surge of confidence, he straightened in his seat, returning his gaze to Meredith once again. “Hey, Meredith.”