Chronicles Vladimir 01 - Eighth Grade Bites Page 8

  It was love at first glimpse—something only fairy tales speak of.

  I visited her every night for three years, and then, one fine spring day, we wed beneath the sycamore tree in the park not far from her home. Her belly was already full of young Vladimir by that time—an enormous, delightful surprise to us both. But it was also a time of great secrecy, as vampires are forbidden to become entangled in romantic webs with humans.

  We decided to flee from the city, away from the watchful eye of Elysia—somewhere safe where we could raise Vlad in peace. On the day we left, as we packed our belongings into her car, I was approached by an old friend. He disagreed with what I was doing, warned me that he couldn’t protect me from the council’s punishment. And while I believed at that moment and have believed ever since that he was perfectly correct about the danger that surrounded my love affair, I had to leave, to begin life anew with my bride and my son.

  And so I did.

  Mellina and I stole away to the town of Bathory, where Mellina had grown up. It was much smaller than the city I knew and loved—barely a speck on the map and practically nonexistent as far as the rest of the world was concerned. My wife introduced me to her most cherished friend—a nurse by the name of Nelly—to whom we entrusted my deepest secret. Nelly took the news of my vampiric nature in stride. She was more curious than terrified, and so my secret, Mellina’s secret, became Nelly’s as well. Not thirty days later, young Vladimir was born in the master bedroom of our new home, with Nelly’s careful assistance.

  I’d feared Vladimir would be deformed—a punishment for having abandoned ages-old laws and customs. But he was healthy. Pale and ravenous, but healthy. Mellina joked that breast-feeding was out of the question. And oh, how those words made me laugh. I can recall looking at them together—she on the bed, Vladimir swaddled snugly in a white blanket in her arms, one tiny fang protruding from his puckered mouth—and marveling that all I had feared had been wrong. I had a family, and one like no other vampire before me.

  Vladimir grew into a healthy, happy child. His hair is black as midnight—so like mine, and his eyes . . . exquisite. His skin has retained its paleness. He is a thin child—I expect due to the lack of proper nourishment. Oh, he eats well enough—always from the blood Nelly brings home from the hospital. (No one ever notices her thievery, as whole blood “expires” after forty-five days and Nelly only brings home blood that is close enough to that mark that no one is aware it is being stolen and not disposed of.) Despite Nelly’s insistence, there is a strong difference between drinking bagged blood and blood from the source. I hear her arguments without countering, as Nelly is human and cannot possibly understand the delicacies of the vampiric palate.

  As of this writing, Vlad is two years old and has brought his mother and me more joy than either of us has ever known. He is our light, our life, and I will do all that I can to protect him from the wrath of Elysia.

  I plan to rid myself of my mark tomorrow. It’s too dangerous to keep, though I cannot remember a time that my wrist was without this black, heavy ink . It will be painful, as it cannot be removed by human means. I must expose it to sunlight until all of Elysia is burned from within me. I wonder what my fellow vampires would think of my decision to remove the tattoo, but it doesn’t matter. I will do what I can to protect my family.

  The entry ended two-thirds of the way down the yellowed page. Vlad closed the book and hugged it to his chest.

  Henry shuffled his feet, apparently uncomfortable over Vlad’s discovery. “We should get back. My mom will be wondering where we’ve been all day.” Outside, the sky had turned a rich purple as the sun made its descent.

  Vlad followed him out the door. Neither spoke all the way to Henry’s house. When they stepped inside, they were greeted by the smell of chocolate and cookie dough. Henry’s mom was baking again. Vlad smiled at the flash of apron from the kitchen.

  “Hello, boys!” Henry’s mom, Matilda, had never failed to greet them with a singsongy voice, full of brightness and cheer. Vlad loved it, but the sound of her voice made Henry’s eye twitch. Vlad glanced at Henry, and yep, it was twitching already. But not nearly as much as it did when she referred to Henry as “we.”

  “Hey, Mom.” Henry brushed past her, toward the smell of sugary treats. He was only gone a moment, just long enough for Vlad to exchange smiles with Matilda. When he returned, he handed Vlad a cookie.

  Matilda eyed Henry suspiciously. “And where have we been all day, young man?”

  Henry’s eye twitched again. He lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “You know, out and about.”

  At first she didn’t look as though she believed her son was capable of innocence, but then she dried her hands on her apron and smiled warmly. “Well, you boys had better wash up for dinner.”

  Vlad shot Henry a look, but he was already offering up the usual excuse. “Vlad already ate, Mom.” In protest, Vlad’s stomach rumbled. Safely tucked inside Vlad’s backpack were two bags of blood. It couldn’t be easy for Henry to keep Vlad’s secret, especially from his family, but he did it anyway.

  Some humans were so cool.

  Matilda turned back to the kitchen and called over her shoulder, “Honestly, Vladimir, I’m not that terrible a cook. You don’t have to eat before you come over.”

  “He just has a picky appetite, Mom.” Henry winked at Vlad and grinned, the tension of the day behind them at last.

  Later that night, as Henry lay snoring on his bed, Vlad wriggled out of his sleeping bag and opened his dad’s journal. He read with a flashlight until his eyelids felt so heavy that he could barely hold them open anymore, but decided to read just one more entry before giving up the fight against sleep.

  SEPTEMBER 6

  I’ve just returned from Stokerton, where I found a faded letter nailed to the door of Mellina’s long-empty apartment. My old friend wrote, pleading with me to return to Elysia, swearing that all would be well, and promising that he would approach the council himself concerning my crimes. But he lies. He’s never had the strength to stand up to the president, let alone plead to the council for the safety of a known criminal. He cannot be trusted.

  I told Mellina that I spent the evening on the couch, but I can see in her eyes that she knows I am lying. I cannot bring myself to tell her the truth—that I stole away once more to spy on Elysia—so I shall continue to lie, in order to protect her and Vlad from the curiosity that I cannot contain.

  Vlad continues to amaze me with his clever wit and ease of secrecy. Though I find concern in his close friendship with Henry, I do not believe Vlad would risk our way of life by exposing our truth to a human—even one so remarkable as Henry.

  Today was Vlad’s first day of kindergarten. I resisted enrolling him, but Mellina pleaded with me, and I can refuse her nothing. Mellina will bring his lunches, and Vlad has been strictly forbidden to expose his fangs in front of the humans, but how long our restrictions will hold, I dare not guess. Vlad is a mature boy, no doubt, but he is also a child. A child cannot be expected to behave as adults do.

  Vlad returned unscathed from school, but every moment he is away from me, I am saddened. I find the spirit of Elysia within him. He is more than my son. He is my brother in blood.

  While I was in Stokerton, I uncovered further notes regarding the Pravus. My studies must be intensified on this matter, and so I will steal away once more to Elysia over the next few weeks so that I can consult the sacred texts. I must act stealthily, lest I become a prisoner of Elysia’s council. The texts are in the council’s library.

  What a chore. Were it not for the tunnel my old friend and I had dug, it would be impossible.

  As it is, it shall be a damned, despicable chore that I must steal from my brethren in order to confirm my suspicions concerning my son.

  Vlad read the passage again and paused to reflect on the word Elysia. He had no idea what it meant, but the tone of his dad’s words raised more than a few of the hairs on the back of his neck. His dad had sounded fri
ghtened.

  Vlad ran his fingers over the scribbled text before pressing his cheek to the page and allowing his eyelids to flutter closed.

  He did not dream.

  10

  A MEETING OF MONSTERS

  VLAD WAS RUBBING SUNBLOCK on his face when Henry knocked on the bathroom door. “Be right out.” Vlad smeared a bit across his nose until it was all absorbed, then opened the door. Henry was sitting at the foot of his bed, sulking.

  “So are you still reading that stupid journal?” Henry glanced over at the journal, which was poking out of Vlad’s open backpack.

  Vlad grabbed his bag and led the way down the stairs. “It’s not stupid.”

  They walked to school, winding their way through the streets without speaking a word. When they reached Room 6, Henry said, “I hope you haven’t forgotten anyone.” He nodded toward Meredith, who was exchanging Valentine’s gifts with Kara and Melissa.

  The classroom looked like Cupid had thrown up all over it. Vlad cringed at the lace doilies, the pink and red hearts, and the winged infants that dotted the walls. He moved toward his desk and sat down. Mr. Otis entered the room right after Vlad. He wasn’t wearing a costume. In fact, he looked pale and rather sickly. He dropped his bag on his desk and took his seat.

  Mike Brennan held up one of the fallen paper cupids and piped up from the back of the room, “Hey, Mr. Otis. Is today the day we start studying fairies?”

  The class erupted in laughter, but Mr. Otis remained stony. His voice was gruff. “Today will be a free day to work on your presentations.”

  Vlad relaxed in his seat and lost himself in his father’s journal for the better part of an hour. After some time, he came to a curiously short passage and paused.

  SEPTEMBER 21

  A year of studies has convinced me. The Elysian prophecy is being fulfilled in Vlad. He will be a great man, of that there is no doubt.

  Vlad jumped when Mr. Otis’s voice—hoarse, as if he were suffering from a cold—boomed into the room. “That doesn’t look like your presentation, Mr. Tod.” He gestured for Vlad to come forward, and after giving a heavy sigh, Vlad carried the journal to the teacher’s desk. Mr. Otis looked at the cover for a moment and then flipped through the book’s pages briefly. He pursed his lips and met Vlad’s gaze. “See me after class.”

  The remaining minutes of class dragged on for just short of an eternity. Mr. Otis alternated between staring blankly at his desk and flipping through pages of Tomas’s journal—something that really irritated Vlad. Wrong or not, Vlad deserved a little privacy. But the likelihood was that Mr. Otis wouldn’t see the journal as anything but a creative fiction, so he watched the clock tick the time away and let out his irritation with deep, calming breaths.

  The bell rang and the class filed out into the hall. Vlad approached Mr. Otis’s desk, ready for the lecture that was coming. Through the door, he could see Meredith talking with Henry in the hall. She was twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger and looking from Henry’s shoes to his eyes and back. Henry had his hands in his pockets and his trademark grin on his lips. Henry must have said something funny, because Meredith laughed and touched his arm.

  Vlad seethed.

  Then, as if the flirtatious torture weren’t enough, Meredith withdrew a carefully made valentine from her English book and handed it to Henry. Vlad’s heart slammed against his ribs like they were iron bars and it was a prisoner trapped within his chest.

  Life had a nasty way of being increasingly unfair.

  Vlad reached into his backpack and pulled out a pathetic box of chocolates. He scowled at his crooked handwriting. To Meredith—sweets for the sweet, Vlad. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed them into the trash can beside Mr. Otis’s desk.

  Mr. Otis looked from the chocolates to Vlad with a distinct lack of sympathy. “When you are in my class, Vladimir, you will do as I instruct. You will not review materials that have nothing to do with the assigned subject matter. Do I make myself clear?”

  Tomas’s journal lay open on Mr. Otis’s desk. Vlad tore his attention from it and looked his teacher in the eye. “Crystal.”

  Otis dropped his gaze. His tone softened greatly. “If it’s not too personal, Vlad, may I ask why you live with your aunt and not with your parents?”

  “My mom and dad . . .” Vlad swallowed a growing lump in his throat. He rarely spoke to anyone about Tomas and Mellina. And why was Mr. Otis asking about them? “They died three years ago.”

  Otis shifted in his seat. A great weight seemed to settle on his shoulders and he slouched over his desk. “I’m terribly sorry. How exactly did they die?”

  “It was an accident—a house fire.” Vlad shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Why do you want to know?”

  Otis shook his head, lost in thought. “Tragic. You must miss them very much.” His voice caught in his throat in what seemed like empathy. “Were you close to your father?”

  That was enough. Vlad pressed his lips together and flashed Mr. Otis a firm look. “Can I have my journal back now, Mr. Otis?”

  “But this isn’t your journal, Vladimir, not really.” Mr. Otis’s voice softened further, until it was almost a whisper. He caressed the pages of the journal lovingly before handing it to Vlad. “You should be careful what you believe, Mr. Tod. The world is full of monsters with friendly faces.”

  Vlad snatched the journal and swung his backpack over his shoulder. His blood was sizzling. Without surprise, Vlad could feel his fangs scraping the inside of his lip. When he reached the door, he paused and turned back, careful to keep his fangs hidden. “Thanks for the advice, Mr. Otis. But I know more about monsters than you can even imagine.”

  Mr. Otis merely nodded.

  As Vlad opened his locker, he looked around for Henry, but didn’t see him anywhere. He did, however, see Meredith. She smiled and bounded over to him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Vlad.”

  Vlad cleared his throat. He was still angry at her for flirting with his best friend, but getting mad at pretty girls is easy; staying mad at them is another story altogether. “Yeah, you too.”

  “I didn’t see you after English, so I left a valentine I made for you with Henry.” She raised her hand and twirled one of her perfect brown ringlets around her finger.

  Vlad melted into the floor. “Oh . . . I . . . I forgot yours at home.”

  A slight blush tinged her cheeks pink. “It’s okay. You don’t have to get me anything.”

  “I already did. It’s . . . it’s really nice.” The hallway was becoming quickly less populated, which meant there wasn’t much time before the bell rang. Vlad managed a smile without blushing too much. “Well, I’d better hurry or I’ll be late for math.”

  Meredith groaned. “Isn’t Mr. Harold the worst? I have him fourth period.”

  Vlad nodded. “Yeah, he’s pretty bad.”

  “See you later, Vlad.”

  “Yeah.” Vlad closed his locker and floated down the hall to Mr. Harold’s second-period math class.

  Vlad finished reading the journal for the night and marked the page with a paper clip before closing it. Despite Henry’s objections, he had been learning a lot from his dad’s entries lately. He stood and moved his lawn chair closer to one of the belfry’s arched windows. The town of Bathory was eerily silent, and the air was charged with a particularly uncomfortable vibe. Even the goth kids had neglected their place on the high school’s steps for the evening.

  Vlad extinguished the candles and stepped out onto the ledge. He looked over the town, feeling more than just literally above it. In his journal, Tomas had spoken of an entire world populated by vampires. Tomas ranted about a vampire who he thought would come for him and his family, because Tomas had committed the horrendous crime of loving a human and deserting vampirekind. The idea of other vampires sent a chilling thrill through Vlad’s veins. It was both terrifying and undeniably exciting. And the journal gave Vlad all the proof he needed to believe his parents had been murdered.

&nbs
p; A low, muffled sound that might have been shouting reached Vlad’s ear. He turned his head toward the parking lot of the junior high school two blocks over. Two men were arguing loudly. Vlad tucked the journal in his inside jacket pocket and floated down to a nearby oak. Willing his body forward, he bounced gingerly from tree to tree until he stood in the crook of another large oak tree, over the heads of the two arguing men.

  Mr. Otis opened the door to his car. His usual smile had been replaced with a sneer. He dropped his bag in the front seat and turned back to the man dressed in black. “This conversation is over.”

  “Don’t speak to me like I’m one of your students, Otis.” The man slanted his dark eyes. His words were fog in the cool air. “Where is Tomas?”