Ninth Grade Slays (13 page)

Otis sopped up the spilled bloodwine with a rag and nodded his thanks to Tristian as his mug was refilled. “Nine, actually. Stokerton, London, Siberia, Beijing, Paris, Athens, Edinburgh, Mexico City, and Cairo. And so far, I'm wanted by all but London and Siberia.”

“What happens if you get caught?” Vlad was sure he didn't want to know the answer but felt obliged to ask. The
Encyclopedia Vampyrica
had listed several horrific punishments for vampires who broke the laws of Elysia, and he couldn't stomach the idea of Otis enduring any of them.

As if Otis knew what he was thinking, he shook his head slowly.

Vikas shook his head as well and gestured for Tristian to refill his glass. “If you do not mind, I've had enough talk of death for the evening.”

Otis placed a hand on Vikas's shoulder and squeezed. They exchanged glances quietly, and it dawned on Vlad that they were likely carrying on a conversation he couldn't hear. After a moment, Vikas laughed warmly and looked back to Vlad. “Did your father ever mention me, Vladimir?”

Vlad shook his head. His dad hadn't even mentioned that he'd had a brother, let alone that there was an entire world of vampires out there. It bugged Vlad. After all, what could he have gained by keeping Elysia secret? Still, he reminded himself, his dad had fled Elysia and had likely done so for what he considered to be very good reasons. “He didn't really talk about his life before meeting Mom. Were you close?”

“Have you never mentioned me to this boy?” Vikas flashed an astounded glance at Otis, who stammered. Vikas looked back at Vlad with a bemused twinkle in his eye. “Close, yes. I was made into a vampire many years before your father and uncle, but we nevertheless shared a kinship from the day we met. It was immediate, as if we'd been friends all along. The man who made Otis had also made Tomas—they were brothers. And I was their grateful tagalong. For a time, they even shared my home here. Together we found more trouble and shared more laughter than any friends I have ever known.”

Otis swallowed a mouthful of the sweet liquid. “I'm sorry, Vikas. I should have told him more about you.”

“No need for apologies, my friend. If there is one subject I enjoy sharing tales about, it is of the three of us.” Vikas leaned closer to Vlad, as if energized by memories of the past. “Before young Vladimir returns to the Americas, we shall have a good, long chat about what troublemakers his father and uncle were in their younger years.” He offered Otis a wink, and Otis smiled through a cringe.

For several more hours they ate, drank, and spoke of happier times.

Vlad watched the scene before him in fascination. He couldn't speak. He could only nod occasionally and marvel at the company he was keeping. These vampires were nothing like those in Stokerton. They'd welcomed him in like family.

Vlad leaned closer to Otis. “What is it that Vikas keeps calling me?”

Otis smiled. “Mahlyenki Dyavol.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

Otis and Vikas exchanged glances. Both broke into bemused laughter. Otis raised his glass to Vlad with a drunken grin. “It means ‘Little Devil.' ”

After another bout of laughter, Vikas and Otis engaged in private conversation. They slipped easily from English to Russian and at one point into French. Vlad listened but didn't bother trying to figure out what they were saying. He couldn't help but wonder exactly why Vikas had given him such a weird nickname, but at the moment, he didn't feel like pressing the issue. Otis and Vikas were clearly enjoying their reunion, and he didn't really feel like distracting them from that. He reached out for his cup, his sleeve pulling up and revealing his mark. A thin, rather gray vampire across the table nodded to Vlad and smiled approvingly at the tattoo on Vlad's wrist. Vlad beamed, drank from his glass, and sank down in his chair, content to share space with his vampire brethren.

So this was Elysia.

As the night wore on, the room slowly cleared until only Vlad, Vikas, and Otis remained.

Otis placed his goblet on the table next to Vlad's. He looked happier than Vlad had ever seen him. “I owe you much gratitude for your hospitality, Vikas. I have not enjoyed the likes of Elysia in some time.”

Vikas smiled, refilling Otis's goblet. “It is my pleasure. I hope that you will consider remaining on a permanent basis. I'm quite certain we can clear up the misunderstanding in Stokerton.”

Otis's smile slipped. He shook his head. “No. I can't risk it. But thank you for offering.”

Vlad stretched. Before he could form the words I'm tired on his lips, Vikas said, “Rest now, Mahlyenki Dyavol. Tomorrow we honor your father's memory, and the next day, we begin lessons on mind control and the finer points of telepathy.”

With a yawn, Vlad followed Tristian to one of the spare bedrooms and collapsed into bed. His head had barely hit the pillow before his eyes were closed and he was sleeping peacefully.

12

HONORING TOMAS TOD

VLAD HEAVED THE LOG onto the pile and brushed the flakes of bark from his gloves. With little effort Otis tossed on two more—each twice as large as the one Vlad had struggled with, Vlad noticed with an exhausted sigh. As Otis turned back to the wood that Vikas had chopped to grab another two pieces, Vlad looked around the village with a curious crinkle in his brow. “Not many people here this morning. Where are they all?”

Otis dropped the new logs on the pile and smiled. “A large percentage of the Siberian council chooses not to rise during daylight hours, believing it to be against vampiric nature.”

Vlad glanced over at Vikas, who had removed his shirt and was raising an ax over another large log. “But isn't Vikas their president?”

“Oh yes. And much beloved.” Otis crossed his arms in front of him and leaned up against the pile of wood they'd created. It was already waist-high.

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “So shouldn't they follow his example?”

Otis chuckled. “If citizens followed their leaders' example throughout history, the human race would have died out centuries ago.”

Vlad weighed this for a moment and then looked back at Vikas, who had paused to wipe his brow. “What do they think of him being out in the sun?”

“From what I've heard, they think his willingness to move about on human time borders on sacrilege. Nevertheless, when they travel to Novosibirsk every month for supplies, they are sure to purchase plenty of sunblock.” Otis patted him on the shoulder and met his eyes. “Just because they disagree with him doesn't mean they love him any less, Vladimir.”

Vikas dropped the axe and carried the remaining pieces of wood over to the pile. After setting them carefully on top, he patted the wood. “A good kindling for our funeral pyre.”

Otis nodded, agreeing with his assessment.

Vlad blinked. “But doesn't a funeral pyre usually contain a . . . a . . .”

“A body? Yes.” Vikas offered him a reassuring nod. “Normally the wood is set aflame at dusk and kept burning all through the night until the body is placed on the flames moments before dawn. Words are said, good-byes are given, honor is bestowed, and the living vampires retire inside just as the sun begins to rise. The body bursts into flames at dawn, when the sun's rays touch it, and it continues to burn until the next evening, when all that is left are ashes . . . and memories.”

Vlad bit his bottom lip gently for a moment. “But my dad is buried back in Bathory.”

“A defilement that we will one day correct, Mahlyenki Dyavol. Burying the dead is barbaric. It has no honor. Putting a body in a box as a keepsake for mortals to cling to long after everything that was that person is gone—it turns my stomach. Graveyards are for the living, not the dead.” Vikas tore his eyes from the woodpile and lowered his head. “Pardon me, Vladimir. I don't mean to insult your heritage.”

Vlad didn't speak. He couldn't. For a brief moment, he'd felt like he'd belonged somewhere, that he was simply another vampire. But the spell had been broken by Vikas's observation. He was just as much of a freak to vampires as he was to humans.

Aside from that, it was astounding to learn how drastically different vampire traditions were from the human traditions he'd grown up with. They really had little in common, apart from hunter and hunted, if you thought about it.

Vlad's stomach rumbled.

Vikas smiled. “I hunger as well. But hold your fast, Mahlyenki Dyavol. We cannot eat until the dusk following your father's funeral. It is tradition. Tomas can no longer imbibe the essence of life, and so we, too, will not imbibe until his memory has been honored.”

Vlad nodded in understanding. The sun had already begun its descent, and the sky was turning various shades of pink and gold. As it darkened, lights appeared in the windows of the cabins. It seemed the rest of the vampires were awake. Which meant Tomas's funeral was about to begin.

Vlad glanced at Otis, who was sitting somberly on the bench next to him. His uncle looked tired but proud, sad but grateful that this moment was being shared. Vlad could tell, because he felt the same. The vigil had lasted all night, just hours and hours of stoking the flames and of complete and total silence—both in voice and in telepathy. All of the gathered vampires focused quietly on one thing: their memories of Tomas Tod, Vlad's father.

At last, Vikas stood and moved to the center of the gathered crowd, near the crackling funeral pyre. Each vampire looked up at him then, as if coaxed by a thought. Then Vlad heard Vikas's voice in his head, too. It was deep and thickly accented, warm and comforting, just like his spoken voice. He said, “We begin.”

Suddenly, Vlad's weary body and mourning mind relaxed, and he settled back on the bench in awe of the towering flames.

Once Vikas had their attention, he spoke aloud. “Tomas Tod was many things. Friend, family . . .” He gestured to Vlad with a nod. “Even father. But before all of those things, he was a vampire. The greatest, in fact, that I have ever known in all my nine hundred and ninety-eight years.”

Vlad suppressed a gasp. Vikas looked no older than thirty-five, had not a single strand of gray in his hair, and yet here he was, proclaiming to be just two years short of a millennium. Vlad made a mental note to ask Otis later what the oldest vampire had lived to be.

Vikas glanced to the fire and took a shuddered breath, fighting tears that had been threatening to fall since he heard the news of Tomas's death. “Tonight we honor him in death as he honored us in life. And as Tomas embraced his son, Vladimir, so shall we embrace him as a brother, a vampire, a son. As for Tomas's chosen bride . . .”

Several vampires shifted uncomfortably. One stood to leave, and then, at Vikas's glance, he sat once more. Vikas looked at Vlad and nodded. “Mellina stood by Tomas's side when none of us could, during the extended period he spent without the comfort of Elysia, and also during his most terrible and unexpected demise. We owe her, young Vladimir's mother, great respect. And tonight, we honor her as we honor her husband, our brother.

“Tomas was but a fledgling vampire when first he was brought into my teaching. Wise beyond his years, eager to learn, with an amazing—and somewhat distracting—sense of humor. It was that same day that he and Otis would meet, and through them both, I would learn the true value of friendship.” Vikas's smile grew and his eyes glistened. “Tomas was a gifted student, particularly in the skill of manipulating the minds of others. I recall fondly our first visit to Moscow together. I'd been teaching Tomas for just two weeks. To my amazement, he manipulated several dozen tourists to dance around a grand fountain there. And when the humans sent their police to break up the impromptu celebration, Tomas had them join in with grand pirouettes. It was quite the sight.”

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, several vampires laughed aloud. Vikas dried his eyes, and once the laughter ceased, he spoke again. “It was troubling for many of us to learn that Tomas had abandoned Elysia for the love of a human. But we must remember that Tomas was not one to follow in the footsteps of others, but rather seek out fresh ground and make his own way. He was a criminal, yes, but he was also a pioneer, a great man, and one who more vampires should seek to emulate.”

Vikas looked from vampire to vampire until each had met his gaze and understood the seriousness of what he was about to say. Vlad swallowed his tears and listened.

“A part of me—a part of us—has died. Let us never forget that.”

Vikas stared into the flames for a moment in what looked like silent prayer, then glanced up at the lightening sky and released his tears. One by one, each vampire stood in silence near the flames before turning away and moving indoors. Otis gestured to the pyre with a nod. Vlad stood and followed, but once they were at the fireside, he didn't know what he was expected to do.

“It is customary to say good-bye, but none can ask that of you, just as none can ask that of Vikas or me.” Otis met Vlad's eyes and squeezed his shoulder.

“Just tell him whatever you would if he were listening. He is, you know. From wherever we go after life, Tomas is listening.” Otis choked back more tears. He and Vikas turned and made their way slowly to the largest cabin, leaving Vlad alone at the pyre.

Vlad stood there for several minutes. The sun was breaking over the horizon. If he was going to at least try to keep with vampire tradition, he'd better think of something to say soon. But what could he say to his dad that he hadn't said aloud to Tomas's picture every night for four years now?

He cleared his throat and looked into the flames. “I miss you, Dad. Otis is teaching me a lot. And Vikas is about to. I hope . . . I hope that I make you proud. I'm trying.”