Tenth Grade Bleeds (16 page)

“ The Pravus.” Ignatius laughed.

Vlad shivered inside.

“Isn't that what they call you? The halfling boy who will come to rule over vampirekind and enslave the human race. Yet you can't even manage to escape an old vampire's grip.”

Ignatius effortlessly tossed Vlad several feet through the air. As Vlad flew, he gasped. It felt like it wasn't happening—a weird sensation, almost like he was watching a movie rather than truly experiencing it. Then Vlad collided with the trunk of a large oak tree, and reality sank in. The air left his lungs in the form of a yelp. He had to get away, far away, but the moment he stood, Ignatius was on him once again, gripping his throat and choking him into silence. For a moment, Vlad thought he might pass out.

Ignatius's lips were so close to Vlad's ear that they brushed his skin as he spoke. “I have spent over eight hundred years walking the earth as a vampire, and you are nothing more than a mistake made by an idiot daydreamer. I shall take great pleasure in introducing you to my blade. After all, I wouldn't compromise my palate by tasting the filth that runs through your veins. Be glad your parents are already dead, boy, or I'd kill them myself tonight, and you along with them.”

Fury boiled through Vlad, and as he met Ignatius's eyes, he saw a grim flicker, as if his attacker had witnessed something he hadn't expected. Vlad bet that his eyes had flashed that weird iridescent purple again, and for once, he was glad. With all the anger he was feeling, Vlad peeled Ignatius's hand from his throat, leaving Ignatius a bit stunned. But Ignatius wasn't the only one. Vlad marveled silently at his sudden onset of vampiric strength and continued to twist his attacker's hand back, forcing the man down on one knee. The pained expression on Ignatius's face reassured Vlad that his words would be heard. “Don't you ever talk that way about my parents. My mother was a saint, and my father was a far better man and far better vampire than you ever dreamed of being.” He shook his head. “Whatever you want from me, you're not getting it.”

Vlad released the man's hand at last. “I suggest you leave.”

Ignatius stood and loosened the leather strap that bound his curved dagger to his thigh. He met Vlad's gaze with clouded eyes. “I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for.”

Vlad tightened his hands into fists and growled, his fangs long and bare like that of an animal. “ Then come and get it already.”

Ignatius moved so quickly that Vlad didn't see the raised dagger till it had nearly pierced his side. He swung around and picked Ignatius up, then tossed him several yards. Ignatius slid to a stop in a catlike pose, poised to strike again. He sprang forward, and Vlad mustered all his strength. He punched Ignatius as hard as he could in the chest. Ignatius fell again, this time losing his balance and meeting the pavement with the side of his face. As Ignatius began to stand, Vlad could see the scrapes on his cheek beginning to heal. Vlad moved. He wasn't sure how, but he moved with a speed that he hadn't known before. Ignatius had managed to make it up onto one knee before Vlad appeared next to him. The surprised expression on the old vampire's face mirrored the thoughts in Vlad's mind. Vlad struck out with his foot, making contact with Ignatius's side. He felt ribs breaking. Ignatius got up and flew down the street, crashing down on the hood of a parked car. Again, Vlad found himself standing next to this older, more experienced vampire. He was winning. He didn't know how, but he was winning.

He grabbed the collar of Ignatius's shirt and moved in until their faces were mere inches apart. “It looks like you're gonna have to leave here empty-handed.”

As Vlad pulled back his fist, ready to plant it in the face of his foe, the first rays of the sun peeked out over the horizon. Before Vlad's fist had the opportunity to fall, Ignatius let out a howl of pain, and his fist met Vlad's chest. Vlad flew back, coming to land in his own front yard. He braced for the next blow, but Ignatius was nowhere to be found.

Vlad was alone. He stood and began to make his way up the front steps. He reached out with his mind to Otis, but as expected, no answer came. Vlad was beginning to think that his uncle had abandoned him.

Once inside, he climbed the steps to his bedroom, where he would find no rest.

V
LAD SHUT THE RUSTY CAR DOOR behind him, thankful that it didn't fall off its hinges, and followed Andrew to the sidewalk, where the other goths were waiting. They'd ridden in Andrew's car. Andrew was the only one among them with a license, and also the only one with what could possibly pass as a vehicle. But it didn't matter that Andrew's car was rusty, loud, and unlikely to survive the winter. It didn't matter that the chill of mid-February couldn't be kept out by its metal frame as it barreled down the highway. It didn't matter that the outside was four different colors, and that the inside smelled like old milk. Vlad—and the rest of Andrew's friends, he was certain—was incredibly envious that Andrew even had a license, let alone a car. Truth be told, Vlad was dying to own anything that he could refer to as a car—even a piece of crap like this. A car meant freedom. A car meant cool.

The outside of the club didn't look like much. In fact, it resembled all sorts of places Vlad had seen in movies—mostly, places people ended up dying in. It had no windows, and but for the spray-painted sign above the door that read
The Crypt
in large, swirling letters, Vlad would have no idea that this was the club his new friends were taking him to.

October smiled at Vlad, her lip piercing glinting in the streetlight. “You okay, Vlad?”

Vlad shrugged. He was actually pretty nervous about tonight, but he wasn't about to give the goths any reason not to like him. “Yeah, I'm cool. This is it, huh?”

“Wait till you see inside. It's Goth Heaven.” Sprat grinned and tilted a handful of open Pixy Stix up, filling his mouth full of flavored sugar. He offered some to Vlad, but Vlad shook his head. His stomach was already jumping from nerves. The last thing it needed was sugar.

Kristoff brushed his silver hair from his eyes, lined thick with black, and pulled the dull black door open. Music, heavy with bass, poured out from inside the club, reverberating through Vlad's chest in a strangely familiar way, even though he didn't recognize the tune at all. Suddenly, Vlad was seized by a warning sensation in his chest. It was something he couldn't explain, but he was overwhelmed by nervousness inspired by the unfamiliar. And there was no way out of this . . . not that he was necessarily against the idea of hanging out with the goth kids. After all, hadn't he wanted to do this for a while now? To connect with them? Just what was he afraid of?

Kristoff gestured inside with a snort. “Come on already.”

October led the way, followed by Andrew, who couldn't seem to stop staring at his shoes. Sprat tugged the shoulder of Vlad's jacket until they were heading down the hallway. Behind them, Kristoff kept his distance, as if signaling to anyone who might see that he wasn't a follower. The door closed, sealing them all inside the long hallway that led, presumably, to the club. The walls were painted a deep blood-red. The carpet matched. The floor slanted downward, and as they walked, Vlad felt like they were descending deep into the earth. The sensation was discomforting.

They turned a corner at the bottom of the hallway ramp and entered the club. Vlad gasped.

The walls and floors of The Crypt were painted black. There were no windows, but the corners of the room were home to long velvet drapes in rich eggplant purple. Along the walls, there were hundreds of empty picture frames.

October caught his eye and smiled again, straining to be heard over the music's pumping vibes. “Empty picture frames are supposed to catch the souls of any ghosts that might be lurking around.”

Vlad raised a sharp, disbelieving eyebrow. “Really?”

She shrugged and moved out of Kristoff's way as he walked to one of the fluffy velvet sofas in the corner of the room. “ That's what they say.”

“Who?”

“You know . . .
they.
” She laughed softly and pointed to a long black counter, lit by black lights. The entire room was fairly dim, but the bar seemed to be its heart. “ They have juice, soda, glow jewelry, candy, coffee, tea, this vampire energy drink, and a bunch of other stuff, if you're interested.”

Vlad bit his tongue in surprise at her mention of the V word. “Vampire energy drink?”

She nodded and wrinkled her nose. “It's way too sugary for me, but Sprat loves it, says it's better than Red Bull. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.”

She led him across the room to the group of velvet couches in the corner. On the wall above one couch hung an oversize mirror that looked like it had seen better days. Between the couches, which were covered with several throw pillows—each one more tasseled and velvet than the last—sat an old trunk that had been painted black and acted as a coffee table. October gestured to the group that was sitting there. “Everyone, Vlad. Vlad, everyone.”

Several kids nodded at him. Some found their way to the dance floor. A few excused themselves to unknown destinations. Vlad took a seat at the end of one of the couches. Its cushions were worn and well-loved. He sank into its fluffiness and slipped off his jacket. He still couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom, but attributed it to the fact that outside of Henry, Joss, and Meredith, he'd never really hung out with anyone for an extended period of time. He wasn't sure how to act. Or what to say.

Sprat flopped down on the couch beside Vlad. From the way he couldn't seem to stop moving, Vlad thought the sugar rush from all those Pixy Stix had probably finally hit him. The lapels of Sprat's many-buckled jacket were covered with buttons. Most of them belonged to bands, but a few were pretty funny. Like the one that read MY FAMILY'S A FREAK SHOW WITHOUT A TENT and the one that boldly proclaimed I (HEART) BEING AWESOME. Vlad pointed to the one that read I'M SO GOTH PEOPLE ASK ME TO AUTOGRAPH BOXES OF COUNT CHOCULA and smirked. “Where'd you get that?”

Sprat looked down at the button and beamed. “You want it?”

But before Vlad could insist that he wasn't goth, Sprat had removed the button from his lapel and pinned it to Vlad's shirt. Vlad nodded his thanks, but he wasn't sure Sprat saw, as Sprat had all but run onto the dance floor.

October returned from the bar and thrust a plastic goblet into Vlad's hand. The thick red liquid inside sloshed against the glass, almost spilling. Vlad sniffed, but it was hard to discern what he smelled in the glass. At first, he thought it might actually be blood, but then he realized that not only would that be ridiculous—after all, why would a human hand him a cup of blood?—but also that the scent of blood pumping furiously through veins as the teens danced behind him was throwing off his sense of smell. He took a sip. It was sugary sweet, and nothing at all like blood, except for its appearance. Vlad wrinkled his nose but drank it anyway. He didn't want to be rude.

Kristoff lounged on the couch across from him, one leg flung over the lap of a very pretty girl with raven black hair and pale china skin. The girl shoved his leg away and leaned forward, smiling at Vlad. “You have such lovely eyes.”

Vlad swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. He'd never been smooth at taking compliments. “Uh, thanks.”

She extended a hand, her silver bracelets clinking together on her wrist. “I'm Snow.”

Vlad took her hand in his, and the moment their skin touched, he inhaled a whiff of her scent, the blood pumping through her veins. It was almost dizzying. He managed a smile. “Cool name.”

Snow smiled, parting her burgundy lips. “ Thanks.”

Vlad took another drink of the red, slushy liquid, hoping to distract himself from the delectable scent of Snow's blood. It was almost irresistible. AB negative, he was certain.

As if tiring of not being the center of attention, Kristoff eyed Vlad with an air of indifference, and said, “Just so you know, I'm a vampire.”

Vlad nearly spit out a mouthful of “blood” and resisted the urge to laugh. Kristoff was no more a vampire than Principal Snelgrove.

Kristoff opened his mouth, revealing pretty realistic fangs—they'd probably been made by a professional costumer. They were impressive. But not real.

Vlad dropped his eyes momentarily to his glass, suddenly cautious of the strange feelings that were boiling up within him. He was tempted to reveal that he was one too.

He mulled over the idea, all the while sipping the sickly sweet concoction that October had given him. On one hand, he knew that Kristoff was pretending. On the other, he had an edge, an insight to what vampires were really like—not to mention the urge to one-up the guy who seemed to think he was so much better than everyone else. Besides, as far as Kristoff knew, Vlad was pretending too. Trying hard not to think about possible repercussions, Vlad forced himself to swallow and met Kristoff's serious gaze with a knowing smirk. “ Then we have more in common than I thought.”

Snow grinned and moved from Kristoff's side to Vlad's. The scent of her was maddening. “I knew it! The moment I saw you, I was all ‘That guy's a vampire.' How long have you been playing?”

Playing? Vlad blinked. He had absolutely no clue what she was talking about, but if she didn't keep her distance, he was going to make a seriously bad first impression. Vlad scooted over half a cushion. The distance wasn't much, but it was something. “For as long as I can remember.”

“Liar.” Kristoff's voice was low, but ragged. He glared at Vlad, then looked aghast at the rest of the group. “What? He's clearly lying.
Vampire: The Masquerade
has only been in existence for like a decade.”