The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills (16 page)

Vlad took it all in, but was still left with a question poised on the tip of his tongue. “What happened? What happened exactly that day in the Bastille?”

“There is a law in Elysia. We can only change willing humans into vampires. It was a law created to limit the vampire population. A strange law, considering a vampire would have to reveal himself in order to gain permission.” He shook his head, as did Vlad, both marveling over the many inconsistencies in Elysian law. “Ignatius had arranged for my and Tomas’s imprisonment. I lived what I thought were my final days in that cell, with only the company of the man who would become your father. I thought I was doomed, Vladimir, and in the end I made a choice.”

A sinking feeling entered Vlad’s chest. His dad had lied. His dad had tricked Otis into becoming a vampire.

Otis shook his head. “Don’t think poorly of him. It was my choice to make and I don’t regret it at all. Ignatius—your grandfather—was a horrible man, and though Tomas had initially resisted his devious plan to gain my permission, he soon realized that while he might not have been strong enough to escape Ignatius alone, he might be strong enough with a brother there to back him up. He would be free, finally, of a tyrannical father, of the man who planned to enslave us both.”

“The way it’s been told to me, after I turned, Tomas attacked Ignatius, calling to me to assist and I did. Even then we were inseparable, you see. We fought, but I have no memory of it. Ignatius had wounded me—a fledgling, just a babe, not at all capable of facing a vampire as old or as strong as Ignatius—so terribly that I almost perished. But Tomas fended our father off and took me to Siberia, where Vikas tended to my wound.”

Otis’s eyes were wide and sad. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned to face Vlad. “So yes, both stories are correct. But if you hold any ill will at all against your father, I shall never forgive myself for telling these tales to you. He is a good man. I owe him my life.”

Vlad opened his mouth. He was about to say that he couldn’t possibly be angry at his dad for having followed the whims of his insane creator. His dad had been afraid, and besides, the entire act had given Vlad Otis. And that wasn’t anything he regretted at all.

But then the sound of raised voices edged its way around the corner of the house. Vlad and Otis exchanged glances, then moved wordlessly around to the front of the house to see what was going on.

What they saw had Vlad’s jaw on the floor.

Enrico was standing in the street, merely feet from Tomas—his eyes wide with lunacy, a sword in his hand. His fangs were bared, despite the fact that they were in public, where any human might see them.

They were arguing in Elysian code. Unable to understand the language in its spoken form, Vlad glanced at Otis, hoping he’d translate. But Otis had set his jaw and stepped forward, interrupting. “Gentleman, this conversation was unavoidable, but must it take place where any human can peer out their window and witness? Yes, Enrico, your beloved son has perished. But it was at the hand of a Slayer, and due to his own actions. You cannot blame Tomas for that.”

“I don’t, Otis. I don’t blame him.” Enrico shook his head, and then cast a cold glance on Vlad. “I blame his son.”

Then something happened that made Vlad realize that he was probably the only vampire there that hadn’t been aware of what was really going on, what Otis and Tomas were really trying to prevent.

Enrico moved behind Vlad with lightning fast speed, pressing the sharp blade to his throat. One small move and he would be beheaded.

The blade was cold and the cold was only warmed by the slight trickle of blood down Vlad’s neck as Enrico pressed the sword into him in a warning to Tomas and Otis. “One move and I’ll decapitate him. You both know I will.”

Enrico was crying. Vlad could hear it in his voice, feel it against his cheek. Then he whispered, “I have to do this, Vladimir. I am sorry, but my son ... my son was everything to me. Without him, I cannot go on.”

Raising his voice he cried out into the night, “I want justice!”

Then he whispered it again into Vlad’s hair, all sense of reason gone. “I want justice.”

Tomas didn’t step forward—in fact, both he and Otis seemed frozen to the spot—but he did raise a sharp eyebrow at Enrico. “If it’s justice that you want, I suggest you seek it in the blood of the Slayer Society.”

Vlad swallowed hard, then winced as the blade sank into his skin a bit deeper. He hoped like hell his dad had some idea of what he was doing. Turning his head slightly, he looked at Enrico. “Please, Enrico. It wasn’t me. I ... I loved Dorian. He was a good friend to me. I cried when he was killed.”

Enrico’s crazy, metallic laughter filled the air. Vlad could hear the madness on its edges. Apparently, he really had lost his mind. Vlad’s fingers trembled, giving his whole body a cue to shake in fear as well.

Crazy vampires were terrifying, and more dangerous than he ever wanted to witness.

Enrico’s laughter died down at last. “You cried. You cried when my Dorian was taken from me. But did you tell me when I came to see you that day with Em? Or did I have to learn of my son’s demise—his
murder
—” Enrico gripped a handful of Vlad’s hair, “—through a casual conversation with Cratus?”

Otis took a bold step forward. In response, Enrico tightened his hold on Vlad’s hair and yanked it back, exposing his bleeding neck. It was a wordless warning: stay back, or I’ll kill him faster. Then Enrico loosened his grip some and said, “My pain is immeasurable, and without you, Vladimir, this pain would not be.”

Vlad swooned. His world became a blending of colors and sound. Just when he thought he might black out, everything came into focus again.

He was seeing clearly. He knew what he had to do.

Vlad reached up with his right hand and gripped Enrico’s wrist. The moment his thumb brushed Enrico’s Mark, a surge of power shot through Vlad, the power of the Pravus. After all, a Mark was merely a glyph by another name, and glyphs had a tendency to heighten and unleash Vlad’s Pravus gifts.

At least, that was a theory. Every time he touched a glyph, his eyes glowed. Every time he touched a glyph, he felt more powerful than he had before. So, it was a theory. But one he was willing to bet on.

Vlad focused on his hand, willing it to become hot—hotter than ever before. The glow from the Mark traveled down Enrico’s arm, until it enveloped the blade with a heat that even Enrico could not withstand. He cried out, dropping the sword.

And Vlad was free.

The sword was no longer pressed against his throat. Enrico was no longer standing behind him, holding him prisoner.

Enrico was no longer standing, period. The moment his weapon had fallen, Tomas and Otis were on him, pinning him to the ground. Once Enrico was under control, Tomas stood again and moved toward Vlad, but cautiously, as if Vlad might cause him harm if he moved too quickly. He plucked Enrico’s sword from the ground and turned it over in his hands, then met Otis’s eyes. “It seems there may be something to this Pravus prophecy after all.”

V
LAD WAS SITTING ON THE COUCH, staring at the floor between his feet, wondering if his family, the closest vampires to him, were ever going to shut up and explain to him exactly what had just happened.

Because Vlad knew but couldn’t understand. And it scared the hell out of him.

His hands were shaking.

Once Tomas had collected the sword, Otis tapped into Enrico’s mind, calming him, soothing his tortured thoughts with mind control, putting him to sleep for the time being. Vlad’s dad then placed a call to Enrico’s brother, who promised to come collect him immediately. Then he and Otis had ushered Vlad silently across town, not wanting to wake Nelly, wanting to be alone to discuss whatever it was that had occurred. And that meant going to the house on Lugosi Trail, where Vikas was waiting. Where Vlad was now sitting, waiting for answers.

He only wished they would stop arguing already and get on with their explanation.

“What other explanation is there for the things that Vlad is capable of, Otis?” His dad sounded completely aggravated, frustrated with Otis’s stubbornness.

“What is he capable of? No more than any other vampire, Tomas. Vladimir is as normal as they come.” Otis was trying his absolute hardest to remain calm, to keep any twinge of tension from his voice, but his tone was slipping.

Tomas looked as if his brother had just slapped him. “You can’t be serious. What about his speed? What about his unconscious control? His vampire detection? His mind control? From what Vikas tells me, Vlad is skilled beyond any of us.”

Otis shook his head. He looked frazzled, desperate. “You’d like to think that, Tomas, but I assure you, Vlad is an ordinary creature of the night. He is nothing at all like the so-called prophecy describe.”

“What about his eyes, Otis?” Tomas had leaned forward, meeting his brother’s gaze. Otis winced, as if not wanting to be reminded. Tomas’s voice was calm, collected, kind, but insistent. “They flash iridescent purple at the oddest times. Much like Dorian’s eyes used to flash iridescent blue.”

Vlad’s voice came out scratchy and rough. “What happened to me?”

As if noticing him for the first time, all eyes fell on Vlad.

“What happened to me just now? And what happened to Enrico? Did I actually burn him just by thinking about it?” His heart had sank into his stomach. He had a horrible feeling that he’d injured Enrico somehow.

Tomas and Otis exchanged glances, but it was Vikas who decided to reply. “You don’t know how you burned Enrico, Mahlyenki Dyavol?”

Vlad swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Not... not really. I wanted to stop him. And then the sword grew hot. It was like I willed it to happen, and then it happened.”

Otis took a seat beside him, and sat quietly for a moment before he spoke, his voice soft and full of shock. “It was amazing. You forced him to drop the weapon without seriously injuring or killing him. But what stunned me most were your eyes. So bright purple, but that was almost drowned out by the shimmer overlaying it. An iridescent glow that reeked of power.”

Tomas had been eyeing Otis the entire time that he was speaking. At last, he said, “My son is the Pravus, Otis. You cannot deny what you have seen.”

Otis flung an arm up in aggravation. “Preposterous! There is no such thing. It’s drivel. All of it! There’s a sound explanation for his eyes changing and for what he did to Enrico. There has to be!”

Vikas shook his head. “My friend, even I am at a loss to explain what I have seen this boy accomplish. Perhaps there is more to this so-called prophecy than we realize. Perhaps Vladimir is this Pravus of which the stories speak.”

The color drained from Otis’s face. “It’s just a story. And if it were true, Vladimir would be evil incarnate. I refuse to believe such things about my own nephew. I cannot. I will not.”

Tomas’s voice grew softer. “Nothing says the Pravus will be evil, Otis.”

“It is said that the Pravus will come to rule over vampirekind and enslave the human race. How can that be interpreted as anything but evil?” Otis’s entire body seemed tense. Every muscle was tight, every nerve on alert. He was deep in denial and ready to defend his cause.

“Dorian said that I will enslave the human race out of charity.” Everyone grew silent for a moment as Vlad spoke. He stood and moved in front of Otis, meeting his gaze and refusing to stand down. He kept his voice calm, subdued, but certain. “I am the Pravus, Otis. Even I can’t deny it anymore. You have to believe me, though, I’m not evil. But I am the Pravus.”

Otis’s face went from white to bright red in a manner of seconds. He flicked his eyes from his nephew to his brother to his friend and back to Vlad again. As Otis opened the door, he paused, his face returning to that same ghostly pale. He shook his head and looked back at Vlad. “Good night, nephew.”

Something about the tone in his voice created a knot in Vlad’s stomach. As did the fact that Vlad hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Otis about what he’d found in the closet.

V
LAD ROLLED OUT OF BED, scratching his head and yawning as he made his way downstairs. The sun was just barely peeking in through the windows, and the house was eerily quiet. As he hit the bottom step, the front door opened to reveal Otis. His shirt was covered in dried blood, his eyes wide and surprised to see Vlad. He seemed to gauge Vlad for a moment before speaking. “you’re up early. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

Vlad shrugged. “Nightmares. Had a hard time sleeping. Were you out feeding all night?”

“Feeding?” Otis raised an eyebrow, then a look of realization crossed his face. “Ah yes ... of course. I was ... famished. Stress does that to me.”

Otis unbuttoned his blood-soaked shirt and tossed it in the bathroom hamper, then grabbed a black T-shirt from a nearby clothes basket and slipped it on. He didn’t speak.

He was wearing a T-shirt, which Vlad had never seen him do before.

Once Otis was dressed again, he moved to the kitchen and filled a coffee mug with blood. He moved as if his mind were completely somewhere else, focused on things that were more important than his day-to-day tasks. After he set the mug inside the microwave, Vlad said, “I thought you were out feeding all night.”

Otis nodded. “I was.”

Vlad looked from his uncle to the microwave with a perplexed glance. “Then what’s with the mug of blood?”

Otis furrowed his brow and snapped, “Not everything I do must meet with your approval, Vladimir.”

The room grew very quiet, only filling with sound as the microwave beeped. Otis collected it and sat at the table, sipping quietly and reading the morning paper. Vlad watched him for a moment, wondering exactly what Otis had been up to. His uncle had only snapped at him on rare occasions, but something about this time was different. Otis seemed distant, lost in thought.