Eleventh Grade Burns

  No.

  He pulled back hard, and stumbled backward, keeping his distance, gathering himself. Snow crumbled to the ground, dazed. He watched her, wondering if she had any idea how close she’d been to dying, and a wave of guilty nausea washed over him. He almost gagged, but took slow, deep breaths, calming his stomach, collecting his thoughts. What was wrong with him, anyway? He’d promised Snow, promised himself, that he would only feed when he physically needed to. He shook his head, feeling the nausea settle some. He had to get a grip, or he was going to become something that he couldn’t stand to be. A monster. Just like Joss had said.

  Snow stirred, rubbing her neck absently, and smiled over at Vlad. “Wow, hungry much?”

  Vlad breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You need it.”

  Not that time. Vlad hadn’t been more than a little snacky. But Snow had no way of knowing that. And he’d almost killed her, almost took her life without her even knowing. His veins filled with horror, his heart raced. He was an almost-murderer. A bloodthirsty maniac. A near-killer.

  She struggled to stand, and Vlad moved across the alley and helped her, the beast within him contained once more. He dared a glance at her neck, which had healed already. “Are you all right?”

  But she wasn’t all right. She was still in the presence of the boy who’d selfishly taken her life-giving blood just to satisfy some stupid craving. She was like a cookie to him now, not a person.

  What the hell was he becoming that he could treat her that way?

  Snow nodded, her arms draped over his shoulders, her body still wobbly. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. I always feel weird after you feed. Like I’m floating through a haze.”

  “I’m sorry.” He said it again, had to say it again. He was sorry. For hurting her. For changing her life. For needing not to stop.

  A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Vlad. I actually enjoy it. It makes me feel close to you.”

  Vlad allowed himself a small smile. “I feel close to you too.”

  She tilted her head for a moment, eyeing him with uncertainty. “Something wrong? You seem kinda stressed tonight.”

  Sighing, Vlad said, “It’s a lot of stuff. That slayer I told you about is back, Henry’s acting way too noble for my tastes, and earlier I got the weirdest feeling that Otis knew about our meetings.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “Bad? No. More like horrible. Because if Otis realizes that I’ve been lying to him ...”

  “Why are you lying to him, anyway?”

  Vlad sighed, his heart heavy. “Sometimes I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay, Vlad. I understand.” She met his eyes and Vlad’s tension melted away. She did understand. At last, he had a friend who he didn’t have to hold back with. She really, truly understood.

  Without warning, Snow leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He was surprised—she’d never done it before—but he didn’t stop her, not at first. Her lips were warm and sweet. She was a great kisser, soft and giving, but not ... not Meredith.

  He pulled away—it was more difficult than he thought—and blinked at Snow, his terror over nearly killing her settling, replaced by confusion. “What are you doing?”

  She rolled her eyes slightly. “Duh. Kissing you.”

  Suddenly Vlad was very aware of how close she was standing. Still, he didn’t back away. Not yet. “But... why?”

  Snow smiled. “Because I like you, Vlad. Why else? I don’t go around kissing just anyone, y’know.”

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. And his inaction made him feel terribly guilty. What would Meredith think of him making out with Snow after he’d broken her heart in front of the entire population of Bathory? She’d be heartbroken. She’d be furious.

  Snow leaned in again, her lips tempting him. Vlad pushed her back—a little more forcefully than he had intended—and growled. “Stop. Just stop. Just ... let me think.”

  She immediately relaxed back against the wall, following a direct order from her vampire master.

  Vlad stepped back, pacing some in the dark alleyway. “I think you’re confused, Snow. This ... this isn’t a ... a ...”

  “Relationship?” she offered.

  Vlad nodded. “You’re my drudge, my food source. You shouldn’t be kissing me. You don’t really like me; you’re just confused.”

  She shook her head, serious. Hurt lurked in her dark eyes. “I knew and liked you for a whole hour before I became your drudge, Vlad. If you don’t want me to kiss you, why not just order me not to?”

  But that was the problem. Vlad didn’t know what he wanted. Not exactly.

  On one hand, it felt really nice to kiss Snow. But on the other ... there was Meredith to be considered, and whether or not he was ready to be with another girl so soon. Not to mention that probably the only girl he’d feel safe being so close to right now would be Snow. She didn’t seem to mind his urge to feed. But Meredith might. And he missed her. Missed seeing her, missed kissing her, missed holding her hand.

  Plus, he wasn’t entirely certain that he deserved to kiss any girl after the pain he’d put Meredith through at the Freedom Fest. He deserved little more than to be kicked in the face with baseball cleats.

  He looked at Snow—pretty, small, sweet, understanding Snow—and shook his head. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again, okay? Not ... not yet. I’m just ... I’m not ready.”

  Snow nodded slowly, thankfully not pointing out the obvious—that he hadn’t ordered her not to kiss him ever again. She looked a little hurt, but Vlad turned away before he could examine her expression further. He yanked the door open and was enveloped by the sounds of the club. To his immense surprise, Henry was sitting on the edge of one of the velvet sofas, talking to Kristoff.

  With a raised eyebrow, Vlad crossed the room, slugging Henry in the arm lightly. “What’s going on?”

  Henry’s eyes widened at him. “Dude, who busted your lip?”

  Oh no. Snow’s blood.

  Vlad kept his cool on the outside, casually rubbing at his lip with the back of his hand and mumbling something about tripping, but Henry didn’t seem to be buying it, so he shrugged and said, “Lipstick.”

  At this, he earned a glare from Kristoff, who didn’t approve of the idea of Vlad making out with anyone in their little circle. In fact, Vlad was pretty sure Kristoff didn’t want Vlad in their little circle at all. Henry shook his head with a look of disapproval. Vlad shrugged. After all, who was Henry to judge what girls he kissed. “Are you ready? I don’t wanna be late for the movie.”

  Henry muttered, “Are you kidding? I was ready to leave before we walked in the door.”

  October left the dance floor, nearly breathless. “Where’s Snow?”

  Vlad shrugged with one shoulder, fighting back the enormous guilt that was creeping up his spine. “She’s ... around.”

  Then, before anyone could speak, Vlad tugged Henry off the couch and through the crowd, up the ramp, and out the door. After they were in the car and driving down the road to the mall’s movie theater, Vlad asked, “So what were you and Kristoff talking about?”

  Henry furrowed his brow for a moment, confused. “Oh, you mean David? We were just talking about some of the stuff that happened when he lived next door to me in the second grade.”

  Vlad blinked. How could he and Henry have known each other their entire lives and he had no idea that Kristoff, once David, had ever lived next door to Henry? Shaking off the surprise, he looked out at the night, at the streetlights and taxicabs. It briefly crossed his mind that they were merely three or four blocks from the Stokerton council, but he didn’t worry. Otis had assured him that D’Ablo and the rest of the council were busy with preparations for the coming trial—Otis’s trial. Even though it wasn’t scheduled until the spring.

  Vlad’s trial, it turned out, had never been sch
eduled. Call it a miracle. Vlad certainly did.

  As they pulled into a spot in the mall parking lot, Henry cleared his throat. “So it looks like you’re over Meredith, huh? That was fast.”

  Vlad raised an irritated eyebrow. “For your information, Snow kissed me. Not the other way around. And what’s with the attitude? Weren’t you just saying I needed to see other girls?”

  “I was thinking someone less ... scary.”

  That was it. Vlad raised his voice in protective defense. “Snow is sweet, smart, and pretty, Henry. The only thing scary about her are her military boots, and that’s only because she could put a grown man down with a single kick.”

  Henry snorted. “Whatever. You’ve been acting so weird since you started hanging with the Halloween brigade.”

  “Kinda like how you’ve been acting weird ever since you became Melissa’s pet?” As Henry opened his mouth again, Vlad shot him a glare. “I’ve changed my mind about the movie. Take me home, Henry. And don’t say a word until we get there.”

  The drive home was quiet, and Henry didn’t so much as glance at him, but Vlad couldn’t care less. Henry was acting like a prime-time jerk.

  By the time the car had pulled into the driveway, Henry looked as if he was ready to explode. Vlad opened the door and got out, but not before Henry muttered something rather unpleasant in his general direction. Vlad ignored it. After all, Henry had called him out, and then he had called Henry out in return. They were pretty even, and saying anything back to his grumble as Vlad had exited would’ve only continued the tense moment between them.

  As for directly ordering Henry to take him home and keep his mouth shut ... well, it didn’t make Vlad feel good to boss his drudge around, but he wasn’t about to sit there while Henry insulted his friends. So what that they wore black? So what that they liked hanging out in cemeteries and lighting candles? They were nice. And perfectly normal, as far as Vlad was concerned.

  He made his way up the porch steps and opened the front door, only then realizing that the lights were all off inside and a note was taped to the front door.

  Vladimir—

  It is of the utmost importance that you come to your parents’ house the moment that you read this note. I will explain later why I did not contact you in the usual manner. Please make haste.

  Yours in Eternity, Otis

  Vlad read the note over again, focusing intently on “in the usual manner.” Otis hadn’t wanted to contact him through telepathy, but why? His words had sounded shaky, nervous, frightened. Vlad could only imagine what kinds of things could manage to scare his uncle.

  With a deep breath, Vlad turned from the door and made his way down the stairs, hoping that Joss hadn’t had time to unpack his stake while he and Henry were arguing over Henry’s really stupid prejudices. As he stepped from the porch, the scent of something carried by the breeze caught his attention. It was dark and ancient and made Vlad shiver, despite the warmth of the evening.

  Vampires. There were vampires in Bathory.

  6

  THE VAMPIRE DORIAN

  VLAD MADE IT ACROSS TOWN without incident. He’d been tempted to walk by the house that Joss now called home, just to see for himself that the slayer was now an official resident of Bathory, but his good sense won out over his curiosity. He found his way quietly to the back door of his old house. He knocked—which felt very weird to do, but something about his uncle living here made him feel that knocking was warranted—and when there was no reply from within, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  Muffled voices were coming from the front of the house. He hesitated, then strode forward, making his way to the living room, where the voices were coming from. At the arched entryway to the living room, Vlad paused. The large room was host to a dozen or so vampires.

  A few glanced at him, but otherwise, the conversation continued as if he hadn’t entered the room at all. Vlad scanned the room and found Otis perched on the arm of the couch. He met Vlad’s eyes and gestured to an empty seat near the entryway to the kitchen. With more than a few questions on his tongue, Vlad sat and spoke to Otis with his thoughts. “Otis, who are all these pe—”

  But Otis cut him off abruptly.

  Vlad looked at him, but Otis merely shook his head and returned to listening to one vampire in particular, who was speaking in Elysian code—something that Vlad still didn’t quite understand. As if remembering this, Otis cleared his throat. “Please, Cratus, speak English so that we can all understand.”

  The vampire he’d addressed didn’t miss a beat, picking up where he was in English. “The changes to the Stokerton council are greatly disturbing. Under D’Ablo’s continued leadership—”

  “A crime in its own right.” A familiar voice sent Vlad’s head around and his eyes searching for the speaker. When he found him sitting in an easy chair in the far corner of the room, Vlad couldn’t help but smile. Vikas. It was good to see him again.

  “—it seems that the Stokerton council is becoming less a system of government and more a religious sect. The vampires there follow D‘Ablo blindly, as if he were a prophet whose wisdom were not based on fairy tales and hidden agendas. And it gets worse.” Cratus swallowed hard, raking a trembling hand through his wavy, dirty blond tresses. “D’Ablo has somehow managed to weasel his way onto the Council of Elders.”

  The room erupted in shouts of disdain. Several vampires stood, making loud threats on DAblo’s life. Through the chaos, Vlad met Vikas’s gaze, which shifted from troubled to pleasant, as if Vikas was happy to see him. Vlad nodded, of fering a smile, and turned to look at Otis, who had stood. “Please, my brethren. We must remain calm.”

  His voice was just that—calm, almost serene, but Vlad could sense the disquiet beneath Otis’s cool exterior.

  It took a minute, but eventually, they all returned to sitting and listening as Cratus continued. “His presence on the Council of Elders has upset more than a few Elysian councils, and yet, he remains, having taken Mortimer’s place as the youngest vampire in the group. Vikas will speak further on this, I’m sure.”

  Vikas stood and an air of awe fell over the group. Clearly, Vikas was a highly respected vampire, someone whom they all trusted inherently. “Some background for those not so familiar with the Council of Elders.”

  Vlad shrank back in his seat. He was pretty sure he was the only one here who had no idea what they were talking about, so even though Vikas was doing him the favor of not pointing him out directly, it still made him squirm.

  “The Council of Elders has been convening on rare occasions—that is to say, whenever a matter cannot be resolved by a single council—for centuries. We are, normally, the nine oldest vampires in existence. And as D’Ablo is but a tuneyadec— ” Vikas caught his abrupt shift into Russian and flicked an apologetic glance to Vlad. “Pardon me. I meant to call the dog a parasite.”

  The room erupted in laughter. Despite the tension in his bones, Vlad chuckled. Clearly, there was at least one thing they could all agree on—D’Ablo was a jerk.

  Vikas continued. “D’Ablo has no place on the council. He is not among the nine oldest vampires, and his so-called wisdom has been questioned several times by those of us who do have a right to sit on the council. With rumors that Em, the oldest of our kind, has fallen in with his cultlike following, there is no question of how he managed to get his name to be listed among ours.”

  “Cultlike following?” Vlad hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but when he did, all eyes turned on him, many with sympathy.

  Cratus shook his head at Otis. “Enough coddling the boy, Otis. Tell him the truth. Tell him what’s waiting for him in Elysia. Tell him about D’Ablo’s twisted belief system.”

  Vlad glanced at Otis, but before Otis could speak, Vikas spoke for him. “Indeed, it is time that Vladimir knew about the divided factions in Elysia. I am certain, Mahlyenki Dyavol, that you know a bit about the division in vampirekind. There are those who believe as most do, that the prophecy of the Pravus is li
ttle more than a fairy tale, passed down through the ages like a ghost story. But there is another group, an ever-expanding group of vampires, who believe the prophecy to be real. These vampires believe that you are the Pravus and that you will assert vampirekind’s place in the world. No more hiding from humans, no more limits on feeding. They believe that you will rise up as their leader and put humans in their place, along with all who oppose them.”

  Of course Vlad knew the story. He’d heard it from Vikas’s own lips on a cold night in Siberia his freshman year, and had never forgotten it. “What’s that have to do with D’Ablo?”

  Otis, Cratus, and Vikas exchanged glances. It was Otis who spoke. “It’s recently been discovered that D’Ablo ... is the leader of this cult.”

  Vlad furrowed his brow. If that were true, wouldn’t D’Ablo be trying to protect Vlad and raise him up as the Pravus, maybe suck up a little and get on his good side?

  Otis nodded, as if he knew what Vlad was thinking without the use of telepathy. “Apparently for years, he was in full support of locating the person they deemed the Pravus and protecting him at all cost. But something changed—we don’t know what, but whatever it was, it made DAblo rethink his plans and strive to take the so-called Pravus’s place. Thus his little ritual last year.”

  Vlad shook his head. To think, if whatever it was that happened hadn’t happened, D’Ablo might be kissing up to him all the time instead of trying to kill him. “Just how big is this cult, anyway?”

  Otis looked to Cratus, who said, “Intelligence suggests the following has grown substantially over the years.”

  Vlad shifted his eyes between the two of them. “By how much?”

  When it seemed no one was going to answer, Vikas spoke up. “We suspect roughly a third of Elysia follows this thinking, but there’s no way to be certain. The followers are incredibly secretive.”