Eleventh Grade Burns

  At first, Meredith didn’t do or say anything at all. He wasn’t even certain she’d heard him. Then she looked Vlad in the eye and slapped him hard across the face.

  The sting shocked Vlad, and he turned his eyes back to her with a questioning look.

  Her own eyes brimmed with tears, as if he’d just insulted her in the worst way, as if he’d invented an outrageous story just to hurt her feelings and demean her intelligence. Her voice wavered as she spoke, but he couldn’t tell if it was out of fury or sorrow ... or maybe a bit of both. “Do me a favor, Vlad. Do us both a favor. Never speak to me again.”

  Vlad’s fingers touched his burning cheek lightly as she turned and found her way into Joss’s arms. She didn’t believe him. He’d told her the truth, his most guarded secret, and she thought he was lying.

  Before he could blink, October was in front of him, looking more than a little irritated. “What are you doing with Meredith? Where’s Snow?”

  “She’s ...” Vlad lost himself in thought mid-sentence. Meredith didn’t believe him. He’d only ever told Henry he was a vampire, only one other person in the world. Snow had learned with a bite; Joss had learned with a fight, and Nelly had known his entire life. But only Henry had been told. And Henry had accepted him without question. Meredith had shunned him, labeling his reality as nothing more than a cruel joke. As if he were no more than an insensitive jerk who’d broken her heart so he could be with Snow. Snow ... “She’s in the hall.”

  October turned with a huff to go retrieve Snow, but Vlad grabbed her gruffly by the arm. “No. I’ll get her.”

  He crossed the room, still stunned that he’d uttered those fateful words to Meredith and more stunned that she’d reacted the way she did. He found his way to the hall, where Snow was struggling to stand. He helped her up, then acted as a brace for her until her strength returned. When she spoke, her voice sounded broken, distant, sad. “What did you tell her?”

  Standing at the end of the hall was Eddie Poe, looking more than a little interested in their conversation. Vlad tensed and wondered aloud, “What does he want?”

  “The same thing he wants when he visits The Crypt. Answers. Answers I refuse to give him. Y’know, even if you hadn’t ordered me not to talk to him, I wouldn’t. That guy is such a weasel.”

  Vlad almost managed to swallow his esophagus. “He comes to The Crypt? When? For how long now? What does he do?”

  Snow held up a hand, stopping his ramble. She waited for Eddie to disappear back into the gym before saying, “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you stressing out over nothing. Mostly, he just stands in the corner and gawks at me. This last time, he asked me questions about you. It took him a while to work up to the vampire question, but he got there with some determination. But stop worrying about Eddie Poe. I have him under control. Now ... what did you tell Meredith?”

  Barely able to tear his eyes from the door Eddie had walked through, Vlad’s words fell into disbelieving whispers. “I told her I’m a vampire.”

  Snow’s eyes widened. “Seriously? What did she think about that?”

  He shook his head, trying to erase the memory of Meredith’s face when he’d finally told her the truth. She didn’t believe him. She thought it was just a ploy to get between her and Joss. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. All that matters is that I’m sorry I left you to chase after her, Snow. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Snow shrugged and smiled up at him, looking more than a little relieved that Meredith had rejected him. “I missed you feeding from me.”

  Vlad raised an eyebrow. What a weird thing to say. “Really? Cuz it seems like it makes you sick or something.”

  “Maybe it’s having you close that I miss.” She ran her finger delicately along the buttons of his vest and met his gaze. “Vlad?”

  Was it getting warm in here? Vlad swallowed hard, resisting the urge to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. “Yeah?”

  She tilted her head to the side, curiosity filling her lovely eyes. “Do you really like that Meredith girl still?”

  He didn’t have to think about it, not for a second, and he didn’t want to lie. But he knew if he were another boy, a boy like Henry maybe, he wouldn’t have answered. He would have bent down and kissed Snow so deeply before dragging her back onto the dance floor with whispered promises and sweet nothings. But he wasn’t that kind of boy. He was Vlad. Almost guilty, he said, “Yeah. I do.”

  “Oh.” The hurt was there in her eyes, hurt that shouted loud and clear. Snow wanted to be his everything, no matter the cost.

  “It’s ... complicated.” Vlad made sure she was steady, then backed away from her. The hall cooled considerably.

  “Love usually is.” She shrugged again and smiled, all traces of sadness erased. “What’s it like to be a vampire?”

  “It’s ...” Vlad sighed, shaking his head. “It’s complicated too.”

  “Would you ever ...” She had her well-groomed eyebrows raised, but then lowered them, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

  But Vlad couldn’t help but wonder if Snow were about to ask him to make her into a vampire as well.

  Clearing his throat, Vlad gave the subject a shove in another direction. “Do you wanna dance?”

  Snow beamed.

  Vlad held out the crook of his arm and led her back into the gym. He hardly thought about Meredith Brookstone the rest of the night.

  Not more than five or six thousand times, anyway.

  23

  V BAR

  THE CAB PULLED TO A STOP and Otis slipped the cabbie some money before opening his door. Vlad slid out after him and yawned. The flight to New York City had been short, but uneventful—there had been minor excitement when Otis pointed out the Statue of Liberty as they were landing, but Vlad couldn’t see it, so he just nodded noncommittally when Otis asked if he had. From the airport, they drove straight through to Greenwich Village, with promises from Otis that they’d stay in Midtown Manhattan so that Vlad could see Times Square. Vlad was trying to be excited about the trip, but the fact remained that they were here for Otis’s pretrial. And according to Vikas, this was Otis’s last chance at getting out of the charges filed against him alive.

  The cabbie pulled their suitcases from the trunk, wished them a nice day, and before Vlad could open his mouth to say goodbye, he was gone, barreling down the street as if he were in a hurry to get away from his pale, thin, ravenous looking fares. Maybe, Vlad thought, he was.

  Otis picked up their suitcases and nodded toward an unassuming café behind Vlad. A small sign hung over the door, painted blue—like the door and window trim—with white letters that read V Bar. Otis leaned closer and said, “Any idea what the V might stand for?”

  Vlad mulled the possibilities over for just a second. “A vampire bar? Really?”

  Otis nodded. “The owner is a good friend of mine. Though not, as it were, a good friend of your father’s.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve never been clear on that. But trust me. You didn’t want to be in the same room with Tomas and Enrico.” Otis stepped forward, leading the way inside the bar.

  The moment Vlad stepped over the threshold, he felt at home. V Bar was small, but cozy, with worn wood and small tables. A long bar lined the right side of the room, and a large chalkboard hung over the bar proclaiming the menu to thirsty visitors. To his left was a compilation of interesting artifacts—a statue of an armless woman, an old Ouija board. On the bar sat a picture of Count Chocula. In the corner, a piece of wooden trim was painted to look subtly like blood-tipped fangs.

  It was probably the coolest place Vlad had ever been in.

  Otis stepped up to the bar and took a seat. After admiring the room a bit more, Vlad sat beside him. A man behind the bar with curly light brown hair and a lean, muscular form smiled at them and gave them a nod, as if to say he’d be with them in a moment. There was quite a selection on the menu, everything from tea to wine, but nothing, Vlad
noted, that would satisfy a vampire’s palate. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps the V in V Bar simply referred to who owned the establishment, not the patrons. He frowned, somewhat disappointed. After such a long trip, he could really use a drink.

  “What can I get you gentlemen?” The bartender had warm eyes and a kind smile. The blue of his T-shirt matched the shade of his eyes perfectly. Vlad bet that he was a really nice guy.

  Otis smiled back. “The house red, please. For both of us.”

  The bartender beamed, offering Vlad a sly wink before turning back to Otis. “I thought your guest was part of the club but had to ask to be certain. Are you here on business or pleasure, Mr. Otis?”

  “Business, unfortunately.”

  The bartender nodded, his smile fading some. “I’ll make it a double then.”

  “Would you please let Enrico know that I’m here, and I’ve brought a guest?”

  “Of course.” He turned and picked up the phone, speaking quietly into it. Once he hung up, he filled two wineglasses with what looked like red wine and sat them on the bar. With a glance at Vlad, he poured one glass into a plastic cup with a lid and straw. As he slid the cup forward, he said, “For appearances. We wouldn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, would we?”

  Vlad chuckled and shook his head. The cup was completely see-through, but whatever. He’d just claim it was cranberry juice if anyone asked. He sipped from the straw and recognized the spice immediately. Bloodwine.

  Vlad spoke to Otis with his thoughts. “Is the bartender ... like us?”

  Otis chuckled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Taking another sip, Vlad looked around to be certain no one would hear. Then he met the eyes of the bartender, who seemed to be awaiting his words. “Excuse me, but are you a vampire too?”

  He furrowed his brow, looking quite confused and said, “A vampire? Are you putting me on? They don’t exist.”

  Vlad blinked, lost. He’d been almost certain that the bartender had known exactly what Otis was, what Vlad was. He started to mumble an apology, when Otis and the bartender broke into laughter. The bartender shook his head, his eyes sparkling. “No, little one, I am not. I’m blessed to be one of Enrico’s drudges, but I am not a vampire—though I certainly wish to be.”

  Vlad couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Like Tristian, this man looked like a vampire, carried himself like a vampire. Maybe drudges took on those traits after so many years in Elysia. He couldn’t ever imagine Henry doing so, but then, he wasn’t sure he moved the way they did, either. “Has Enrico changed many of his drudges?”

  “Only one. But there is always hope.” He winked again and then stole away down the length of the bar to help another customer.

  “Otis Otis.” A man’s voice behind them, warm and inviting.

  Before even turning around, Otis smiled broadly. “Enrico Ciotti.”

  An Italian man with dark features embraced Otis tightly. “It has been too long, my friend.”

  “You say that every time I see you, Enrico.”

  Enrico laughed and released him. “Well then, maybe you should come by more often.” He smiled at Vlad and thrust out his hand. “This must be your nephew. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Vladimir. Your uncle sings your praises constantly.”

  Vlad shook his hand, not mentioning that today was the first time Otis had ever mentioned Enrico, and certainly not making mention of his dad. “Nice to meet you.”

  As Enrico settled onto the stool beside him, Otis said, “I trust you know why I’m here.”

  He nodded in response. “Ah yes. The pretrial. I was so elated that the Council of Elders chose my fair city for it that I offered up space.”

  “They turned you down, I trust?”

  “On the contrary, they leaped at the offer. Apart from D’Ablo, of course.”

  “Of course.” Otis wet his lips, suddenly looking nervous. Maybe it was just now hitting him that this was his last chance to be proclaimed innocent. “I admit, I’m surprised. I’d thought Central Park or perhaps the library ...”

  “And insult me with their choice?” Enrico shook his head confidently. “Apart from D’Ablo, I am good friends with every member of that council. Refusing my offer would have created a rift—one I’m sure they’d rather avoid, considering my son.”

  Otis’s jaw tightened. “Is he here?”

  “He’s around, I’m sure. Probably sleeping. We all can’t be day owls like yourself, Otis.” Laughter bubbled out of Enrico as natural as breath.

  “To be fair, the sun has begun to set. It’s not as if we came at noon.” The tension hadn’t left Otis, but he was trying hard to smile and act casual. But Vlad knew otherwise. Something was troubling Otis. Likely the mention of Enrico’s son ... whoever he was. “Still, perhaps it’s best that he remains resting while my nephew and I are here. We’ll retire to our hotel room in a bit and return for the pretrial at midnight.”

  Enrico waved a hand through the air, dismissing the notion. “Nonsense. There’s no sense avoiding him.”

  Their conversation continued, but Vlad’s attention waned. He felt the strangest compulsion to leave the bar. He shook it off for a good ten minutes, trying to focus on the conversation between Otis and Enrico. Finally, the pull was too strong to ignore, and he slipped from his bar stool and quietly made his way to the door. He paused there, taking the time to look back at Otis, who didn’t even glance at him. In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all. The bartender finished wiping off the counter. There was a woman who kept sipping her wine and feverishly scribbling something on the page in front of her. Enrico and Otis kept chatting. All of them seemed blissfully unaware that Vlad had even moved at all. Raising an eyebrow, Vlad stepped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  He turned south, following the pull at his core, and his steps only began to slow when he recognized the man standing at the end of the block. Dark eyes. Pale skin. A thin Cupid’s-bow mouth. Copper-colored hair. Vlad would have recognized that face anywhere.

  Dorian.

  So that’s who Otis and Enrico had been talking about. Dorian. And Vlad would have bet anything that Dorian was Enrico’s son.

  Vlad couldn’t help but wonder if Dorian was responsible for the irresistible pull he’d felt at the center of his being, urging him to leave the bar and wander down the street.

  Dorian nodded. At first Vlad thought it was in greeting, but then Dorian spoke. “I am responsible for that. I do apologize, but it was really the only way to get you alone without alerting the others.”

  Vlad remained stiff, the thought of Dorian’s cravings for his blood never far from his mind. “And you brought me here why?”

  A smile crossed Dorian’s lips. “Not for the reason you might expect, though I’m still very open to tasting your blood if you’re interested.”

  Vlad crossed his arms in front of him.

  Dorian chuckled. “No? Well then, onto my real motives. Do you have any idea how many vampires are allowed to know the prophecy of the Pravus in its entirety Vlad?” He paused, but only slightly. “Four. Just four. And I am the last of that four. I am the only vampire in existence that can carry such knowledge. I am the Keeper of the Prophecy.”

  “The other three are dead?”

  “The Foreteller and Transcriber of the Prophecy are both dead. They died to hide this knowledge from Elysia. I keep it so that I may educate vampirekind when the time is right.” He wet his lips and stepped forward cautiously, as if knowing how on edge his presence made Vlad feel. He seemed to know just about everything there was to know about Vlad. His eyes met Vlad’s and once again, Vlad was struck by how harmless he looked. “I’d like to educate you right now, if you’re willing.”

  Vlad was about to ask about the third person who knew the prophecy, as Dorian had only named two others besides himself, but then in his mind, a film jumped, and he knew that Dorian was sharing a memory with him. The grainy image of two men in a small, dark room came to life, then sharpened. Vlad
couldn’t shake the feeling that the room seemed somehow familiar, and then it hit him. It was the training room in Siberia. The sounds of their breathing filled Vlad’s head, and Vlad knew that he was seeing the memory from Dorian’s point of view. Silently, Dorian moved forward and knelt before the men. One knelt beside him and seemed to enter into a trance, then started speaking in Elysian code to no one in particular, as if he were reading a book aloud. Dorian’s heart drummed in Vlad’s ears.

  The third man turned around, messing with something on the small table behind him. When he turned back, Vlad could see he was holding a quill in his hand. There was no ink in sight and the metal tip was glowing, like a red-hot coal. Then, in a moment of sheer horror, Vlad saw the man holding the quill lean forward and press the burning pen into Dorian’s skin. Dorian cried out but held very still as the man worked over his skin. When the tip would cool, he’d move back to the fireplace and then return to Dorian’s skin with a fresh quill, burning words into Dorian’s exposed flesh. Vlad couldn’t get a good look at what the man was writing, but he was almost positive that it was whatever the chanting man was saying aloud.

  Once Dorian healed, the man would begin again, branding and carving words into Dorian again and again. At one point, Dorian tried to break away, unable to face the pain any longer. The man with the pen pulled him back, his face sympathetic, and attached chains to Dorian’s wrists to stop him from fleeing. Then he continued to inscribe words on Dorian’s skin, over and over again. All Vlad could do was watch in horrified disbelief.

  Dorian’s thoughts broke in over the memory like the narrator in an old movie. “They continued for a year, breaking only to feed, though I was not allowed to partake. By the time we were done, I had not only put the prophecy of the Pravus to memory, but ingrained it on my soul.”