The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills (8 page)

Tomas pursed his lips, looking more than a little berated, frustrated, and embarrassed. What’s more, the look in his eyes said that he knew he’d wronged Otis, had wronged everyone, and he wanted to make amends. “The truth, then. The complete and utter truth, which is all I’d intended to give you, Otis. They were going to kill me. They were going to kill me and kidnap Vlad, turning him to their own hateful purposes if I came into contact with him. With my absence, Vlad had a chance. I distracted them with mind control and confused them with glyphs. I led them away from my son so that he would have a chance at a fulfilling life, a normal life. If I hadn’t fled, who knows what might have happened? His blood might have been spilled all over the playground.”

Otis dropped his eyes to the ground and his voice became lower, quieter, overflowing with disappointment. “That’s why you left, but why did you stay gone? Why did you stay silent all these years? You could’ve reached out. Through me. Through Vikas. But you did nothing. You abandoned your own son.”

“To protect him!”

“To protect yourself.”

Vlad’s jaw hit the ground, shocked. “Otis...”

Tomas looked hurt. “What are you saying, Otis?”

“I’m saying you’re a coward.” Otis slanted his eyes, his words turning bitter. “You left him, Tomas. When your son needed you the most, you left him. Don’t deny it. And don’t you deny it either, Vladimir. He left. When things got rough, he left. Just to protect himself. He’s selfish. He’s always been selfish.”

The air was thick with tension. Vlad reached up and squeezed Otis’s shoulder, but Otis shook it away. “Forgive him if you want, nephew. I have better things to do.”

Vlad’s heart felt heavy, hollow. Here he was, standing between the two men who meant the most to him in this world, and he’d never felt so unhappy before. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Uncle Otis, please don’t leave.”

Otis turned away then and Tomas took a step after him, desperation filling his tone. “So what you’re saying is that I left him ... like I left you, when you needed me the most?

With barely a pause beforehand, Otis whipped around, shoving Vlad out of the way. His fist flew through the air, connecting with Tomas’s eye. Tomas flew back several feet, landing on the ground with a thump. Dazed, Tomas sat up and touched his eye gingerly.

Otis walked away without another word.

Tomas sighed, his shoulders sagging. He watched after his brother, so quiet, absolutely overwhelmed by the severity of his mistake.

And it was just that. A mistake, a poor decision that he had made, hoping to protect his son. Even Vlad could see that.

After a moment, Tomas looked up and met Vlad’s eyes, his cheeks flushed. The puffy bruise around his eye was already healing with vampiric speed, turning from purple to blue to green to yellow right before Vlad’s eyes. In seconds, it looked as if the punch had never happened. “Your uncle is a difficult man. Stubborn. Terribly stubborn.”

After a pause, Vlad helped his father to his feet and turned to follow Otis back to the house. “He may be, but he does have a point.”

The walk back to Vlad’s old house was short, brisk, and quiet ... too quiet. He could hear his father’s footsteps behind him.

One thing was sure. If Otis could see Tomas too, then Vlad wasn’t crazy. The thought made him breathe a sigh of relief. But his uncle had raised some good questions. Questions that sent a prickle of angry electricity over Vlad’s nerves. Why had his dad waited so long to reveal himself? And where had he been this entire time?

Vlad pulled open the back door and walked in, surprised to see Otis having a frantic conversation with Nelly who cut him off the moment she noticed her ward. The door behind Vlad opened and Tomas stepped inside. Awkwardly, almost sheepishly, he smiled and approached Nelly with open arms. “Nelly.”

Nelly’s face paled. For a moment, Vlad thought he spied the glimmer of tears. “Tomas. You’re ... you’re ...”

“Alive, yes.” Tomas looked reproachful. “I’m sorry, Nelly. So very sorry.”

“You should be. You’ve ruined that boy’s life, Tomas. He blamed himself for your death. And for Mell—” Nelly’s trembling hand found her mouth and covered it in hopeful sorrow, her engagement ring twinkling in the low light.

But Tomas shook his head in reply to an unasked question. Mellina was dead.

Tears welled in Nelly’s eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. She shook her head. Her tone remained calm, but Vlad could tell that she was furious. “Damn you, Tomas Tod. Damn you for every tear you made that boy shed. Damn you for every worried thought in his head. Mellina would never have—”

“I did it for him, Nelly. I left to protect Vlad.” Tomas’s words rang true, but even so, his reasons didn’t sit well with Vlad’s guardian. Or Vlad.

“Did it ever occur to you that he might have been better off with one parent than with neither?”

“He
was
better off. He had you.” A small, charming smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and Vlad wondered how anyone could resist that charm.

But then Nelly slapped his dad so hard that the sound echoed across the room. She moved out the door, Otis on her heels, without another word.

Tomas stood there, looking hurt. His cheek had flushed pink, but quickly paled again. “I suppose I deserved that.”

Vlad was still angry, but he felt guilty for feeling that way. His dad couldn’t have intended any harm in doing what he did. And then when he finally comes back, to right his wrongs, and to help any further complications, he’s greeted with nothing but fury and rejection. Vlad swallowed hard. “They’re just angry. We’ve all been through so much.”

Tomas’s eyes shimmered. His pain was evident. Vlad couldn’t help but wonder what had hurt him more, their words or the punishment he was putting himself through. “Did no one miss my presence enough to overlook the pain I’ve caused you ... even for a moment?”

Vlad was about to say that he had missed his father terribly, but just was so overwhelmed with everything that had happened. But his words were cut short while still poised on the tip of his tongue.

“For a moment, my friend.” It was a familiar voice. Warm and friendly and thickly accented in rich Russian tones. Vlad was glad to hear it.

Judging by the sound in his dad’s voice, so was he. A smile lit up his features as he turned to face his old friend. “Vikas, you old dog.”

Vikas embraced him and patted his back roughly, letting out a relieved laugh. “You’ve been missed, my old friend. That, I assure you. It has been too long, Dyavol, and it seems you’ve already made such a stirring with your return from the dead.”

The look in Tomas’s eyes was a pained one as they moved to the door and back. “Otis—”

“—will be fine. Give him time.” Vikas smiled, looking back and forth between Vlad and his father. “Now, let’s toast to this happy reunion, and you and your son can catch up some, eh?”

Z
a Vas!”
Vikas’s voice was jubilant, even if it was slurring slightly. In the last hour, the three of them—Vlad. Vikas, and Tomas—had emptied three bottles of bloodwine. Vlad’s portion had been exactly one glass ... one glass which had remained untouched and sitting in front of him the entire time. He stared into it, trying to wrap his head around his father’s miraculous return. He should have been happy.

He wasn’t. And he was feeling more than a little ashamed about it.

After all, here he was, with his dad. Together again, at last. But all Vlad could think of was how he was supposed to turn his dad over to Em’s monstrous whims. By the end of the year, he was going to have to say goodbye to his dad again. This time, forever.

Tomas raised his glass with a bleary grin.
“Za Vas!”

Vlad set his goblet on the table. “So where were you? This entire time you were gone, I mean. Where?”

Tomas took another drink and said, “Everywhere and nowhere, my son. I traveled the globe, visited my home in London, stayed unseen. It was lonely, Vlad. More lonely than you can ever imagine. I couldn’t speak with many vampires, since I’d risk revealing myself to Em and others who cry out for my blood. So I had a lot of time to think. By happy circumstance, I traveled to Siberia one day, and as I was spying on my vampire brethren there—out of loneliness, I suppose—I witnessed a funeral pyre. A curious thing, with no body to be found.”

Vlad took in a sharp breath. His dad’s mock-funeral. His dad had been there, after all.

“Imagine my surprise to see a younger version of myself, standing before the pyre.”

A lump formed in Vlad’s throat at the memory. “It was a tribute to you. But I couldn’t say goodbye.”

His dad squeezed his hand and held his gaze. Warmth and compassion ebbed from him. “I know. Thank you for that.”

Vikas took another swig from his goblet. “You have a good son, Dyavol. And he has a good father. I hate to taint our conversation with bad news, but we have yet to discuss the foreboding shadow of Em and what has transpired in your absence.”

Tomas nodded and refilled his glass. “Of course. Please.”

Vikas met Vlad’s eyes for a moment, and Vlad was almost certain that he was going to use telepathy, to ask Vlad what he wanted his dad to know and what he might not want to discuss on his dad’s first night officially back from the dead. But then Vikas shook his head, as if indicating that Tomas had the right to know all of it. Fortunately, Vlad agreed. Then Vikas began. “Vlad traveled to New York to accompany his uncle to his trial. But in a rather shocking turn of events, Vlad’s own pretrial was announced. It was unexpected and completely against any context of law that the Council of Elders has ever acknowledged. It was shocking to hear his name fly from Em’s lips. Of course, now ... your return changes all that, Dyavol.”

“How, exactly?” Tomas’s eyes grew wide, almost fearful. For a moment, the bloodwine released its bleary hold on him.

Vikas and Vlad exchanged knowing glances. At their silent response, Tomas darted his eyes to his son. “Vlad. Tell me.”

Vlad pushed his chair back silently, and stood. He didn’t know how to tell his dad that he had to choose between turning his father over to Elysia or facing his own demise. He moved to the sink and tossed the contents of his goblet into it. The bloodwine splashed against the sink’s insides and swirled down the drain. Crimson against stainless steel. Down the drain—just as Vlad’s everything was about to be. He couldn’t turn his father in. So death would come for him. He had no choice.

Vlad leaned against the counter for a moment, taking a deep breath. He blew it out slowly before turning around and meeting his father’s gaze. Then, like a coward, he turned to Vikas. “What good will telling him do, Vikas? No one can stop this; no one can help me.”

Vikas held up a calming hand. “One man can help you, Mahlyenki Dyavol. Your father. Now tell him. Tell him what it is that Em expects you to do.”

Tomas paused briefly at hearing Vlad’s nickname, then turned to face his son. “What can I do, Vlad? I’ll do anything.”

Vlad’s hands were shaking. He looked from Vikas, who nodded encouragement, to his father, who was waiting on edge. There was only one thing that Em wanted. “Em says that I should turn you in by New Year’s Eve, or face my trial and expect death. But I can’t do that, Dad. I can’t turn you over to her. She’s a monster.”

Tomas returned his goblet to the table with a thump. His tone shifted slightly, as if he was losing patience with his son. “You should have told me. The moment you saw me, you should have said something.”

Vlad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why do you sound angry?”

“Because I am angry. Not at you. At myself. For running away in fear, for putting you through hell, thinking that I was helping you, thinking that I was protecting you all this time. But no. I was making it worse!” Tomas’s voice had risen, his eyes growing moist with anger and sorrow, regret and frustration. “Up until this point, I have failed you as a father, Vlad. But no more. I will face Elysian justice this December, and nothing will change my mind about that.”

A long silence passed. His dad held his gaze, and Vlad’s heart sank with understanding. His dad would rather die than hurt him again. No matter what Vlad said or did, he was going to lose his family all over again. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I’ll be damned if you’re going to take my dad away from me again after all of this time.”

The room grew terribly quiet.

Vlad set his jaw and glared at his dad, the man he’d missed so much since the day of the fire, since the day he’d lost everything. His words were sharp, like dagger blades, and aimed straight at Tomas.

Tomas, who’d left him behind.

Tomas, who’d made him believe that his parents were both gone forever.

Vlad shook his head, overwhelmed with emotions. Anger at losing his parents. Anger at the possibility of losing his dad again. “Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear another word.”

Vikas clucked his tongue. “Vladimir, that is no way to speak to your—”

Tomas raised a hand, silencing Vikas’s chastising interruption. His eyes never left Vlad’s, but he didn’t speak. He was waiting, waiting for Vlad to have his say.

“I hate the idea of losing you again. But what’s worse is that I hate you for being gone in the first place. I hate you for not telling me where you were and that you were okay. I hate you for endangering my life, Nelly’s life, and Otis’s life with your lies. And I hate you for letting Mom die, for not protecting her. I hate you”. Vlad crossed the room and gripped the doorknob. It was only then that he realized that his hands were shaking. Before stepping out the door, he whispered, because it was all he could bear to do. “But the worst part is that I hate myself for hating you.”

Vlad stepped outside. He wasn’t sure where he was going, he only knew that wherever it was, it had to be away from here, away from his dad, away from the pain that had seeped into his chest, into his soul. He had no idea what had come over him. He’d forgiven his father for being gone, and was so undeniably happy to have him back. He had no explanation for the barbs on his tongue. Except ...