Eighth Grade Bites (13 page)

Nelly slid the meat loaf into the oven. She set the timer for an hour, wiped off the counter with a damp rag, and washed her hands. Vlad frowned at the waste of blood as she sopped it up into the dishcloth. He'd been hungrier lately than he usually was—something he attributed to stress and Nelly attributed to hormones. With a tug, she opened the chest freezer and tossed him another bag of blood before slipping upstairs to change.

Vlad bit into the bag, forgoing the microwave, and drank the blood cold, then settled in front of the television. Nothing good was on, but he wasn't in the mood to watch anyway. He was dreading the inevitable arrival of their dinner guest and pondering the possible reasons Mr. Otis would have to kill his favorite teacher.

The doorbell rang.

Vlad raced to the door. He could see the outline of Mr. Otis standing on the porch, no doubt plotting the demise of an innocent boy and his far-too-trusting guardian.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he jumped. Nelly wrinkled her forehead. “Let him in, Vladimir. Don't be rude.”

Vlad swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to think fast. “I think I have the flu. Can't we invite Mr. Otis over some other time?”

Nelly touched the back of her hand to his forehead and looked him over before shaking her head. “Vladimir, you do not have the flu. You can't get the flu, remember? You're just nervous. I don't know a kid on this planet who wants his teacher over for dinner. I promise we won't talk about school, okay?” She opened the door.

Mr. Otis smiled brightly. To Vlad's horror, Otis was once again wearing his top hat. “Good evening, Nelly . . . Vlad. Thank you for inviting me.”

Nelly smiled back. “We're happy to have you, Otis. I hope you like meat loaf.” She led him into the dining room and Vlad remained by the door, looking out at the setting sun with longing. He'd rather be anywhere than here at any time but this. He kicked the door closed and went back to watching TV.

Nelly's voice floated in from the dining room. “Vlad tells me you taught mythology in Stokerton before taking the position here in Bathory.”

Otis said, “Oh yes. Quite enjoyed it, too. Not to say I'm not enjoying this school. I couldn't ask for better students.”

There was the clinking of dishes as they were moved about. Nelly must have been setting the table. “Why the move, if you don't mind me asking?”

Otis paused for a long time, and Vlad wondered if he'd ever reply. Not that he cared, but still, the silence was unnerving. Otis cleared his throat. “To be honest, I needed a change in scenery.”

Ten minutes into a rerun of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer,
Nelly called from the dining room, “Vlad, dinner's nearly ready.”

He pushed the button on the remote and the screen went blank. Vlad didn't stir from his chair. The prospect of dinner with the man who'd likely stolen Vlad's parents and teacher from him was enough to sink him into an angry bout of depression.

Nelly came in from the dining room, that look of concern once more wrinkling her brow. “Everything okay?”

Vlad blinked at her. He kept his voice low so their guest couldn't hear. “Do I have to eat dinner with him?”

“You most certainly do. Now go make nice with our guest while I finish making the biscuits.” Her eyes were filled with kind understanding. Vlad wanted to shake her, to hide her away from this monster, but what good would it do? Instead, he slouched into the dining room.

“Everything all right?” Mr. Otis was sitting at the table. He'd removed his hat and overcoat and was watching Vlad with an intensity that made Vlad's stomach flip.

Vlad pressed his lips together hard and slowed his steps. No, everything was not all right. It hadn't been for over three years. Ever since Mr. Otis had taken away almost everything that was important to him.

Behind him, Aunt Nelly's voice was cheerful and supportive. “Vlad's just nervous about having his teacher over.”

Vlad slumped down in his seat and muttered, “
Substitute
teacher.”

Mr. Otis kept his eyes on Vlad. “No need to be nervous, Vladimir. I'm looking forward to getting closer to you and your lovely aunt.”

Nelly smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I'm sure you are.” Vlad glared.

Mr. Otis cleared his throat.

Vlad continued to glare.

Mr. Otis cleared his throat again. “I enjoyed your oral report today, Vlad. It showed an enormous gift for creative thinking.”

Vlad snorted and rearranged his silverware. “Yeah, well, that's me. I love to tell a good story.”

“I'm sure we can agree that all stories are embedded with a grain of truth. Wouldn't you say?” Mr. Otis leaned back in his chair and looked toward the kitchen, where Nelly was pulling biscuits out of the oven.

Vlad met his gaze and held it for a moment. The air in the room was growing increasingly thick. “I guess.”

Mr. Otis folded his hands together and regarded Vlad with a grim smile. “I'm also sure we can agree that the existence of vampires is little more than a fairy tale. Can't we?”

“What are you driving at,
Mister
Otis?”

Otis paused, as if gathering his thoughts, and then said, “I wanted to discuss your father's journal with you.”

“That's none of your business.”

“I believe it is.”

“Well, pardon the pun, Mr. Otis, but you can bite me.” Vlad slammed his fork on the table. “That was your real reason for coming over tonight. Wasn't it?”

Mr. Otis relaxed back in his seat, his expression genuinely surprised. He clucked his tongue. “My, my. It seems my secret is out. You
are
a smart lad.”

Nelly entered the room, carrying a basket of steaming biscuits. “Everything okay in here?”

Otis smiled. Vlad scowled.

Nelly looked from one to the other. “I thought I heard a noise.”

“No need for concern, Nelly. Vlad merely dropped his silverware on the table by accident. Didn't you, Vladimir?” Otis raised an eyebrow. His smile looked crooked and threatening.

Vlad sat stony-faced. He remained that way for the rest of the meal, listening to the conversation and moving bits of food around his plate without eating. Nelly kept giving him chastising glances, but Vlad ignored her. After Otis had complimented her on her talent in the kitchen, Nelly's eyes twinkled, reminding Vlad of his mom for a moment. It was strange how their mannerisms could be so alike at times, despite the lack of relation between them. “I'd better freshen up. Vlad, you can clear the table.”

She slipped upstairs, and Otis smiled after her. “You have a remarkable aunt. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to either of you.”

The pressure in Vlad's gums was immediate and intense. His fangs were growing out of both hunger and anger. “Get out.”

“Pardon me?”

“Get out of my house, right now. And don't come back.”

Mr. Otis showed not even a hint of upset. Nelly walked back into the room and, to Vlad's surprise, Mr. Otis smiled pleasantly. “I should be going. Would you mind if I washed up first?”

Nelly seemed disappointed by his abrupt departure. “Not at all. Upstairs, second door on the left.”

After Otis had gone, Nelly leaned against the doorjamb. “What did you do?”

Vlad's eyes grew wide. “Nothing!”

“Well, is there something you want to talk about?”

Vlad ran his tongue along the sharp points of his teeth. “Not really.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” But Vlad wasn't fine. He needed to be alone, to figure out what he was supposed to do to stand against a vampire who was not only much bigger than he was, but had a habit of killing people. Vlad ran up the stairs to his room. He closed his hand over the doorknob, but stopped when he heard a noise on the other side of the door. A scratching noise, like claws against wood. Vlad cracked open the door. Mr. Otis was standing in front of his dresser, his back to Vlad, hunched over Vlad's top drawer. The scratching noise paused, and Vlad shrank back as Mr. Otis raised his head, listening. Vlad stepped back and into the bathroom to hide. He watched Mr. Otis leave his bedroom and walk down the stairs.

Vlad stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the room to his dresser. Inside his chest his heart was rattling in a nervous spasm. He pulled open the drawer, but nothing looked out of place. Socks, boxers, belts, his secret box. He was sliding the drawer closed again, a perplexed wrinkle on his brow, when his eyes widened at the sight of his secret box. It had been a gift from his father when he was only four years old, and Vlad's most prized possession before he found the journal. Clutching the box, Vlad held it up and looked at the bottom. The shape of Mr. Otis's tattoo was carved into it.

Vlad almost dropped the box, but then squeezed his hand around it and returned it to the drawer. He left the room and crossed the library, making sure to stand in the shadows at the top of the stairs, where Nelly and Mr. Otis wouldn't notice his presence. He watched them at the front door. Nelly handed Otis's top hat to him and smiled. “It was lovely having you, Otis. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Mr. Otis put his hat on and, as he was slipping on his overcoat, said, “It was enlightening speaking with you, Vladimir.” He looked up the stairs and met Vlad's eyes. “I'll see you in class tomorrow.”

Vlad froze.

“By the way . . . I love your shirt.” Mr. Otis winked at Vlad and disappeared out the front door.

V
LAD GRIPPED THE HANDLE of his backpack and pulled, sliding it along the floor behind him until he reached the top of the stairs. Nelly stood at the bottom, looking up at him with a curious glint in her eyes. “You look pale.”

Vlad began his descent. The book bag thumped loudly against each step as he moved down them. “I always look pale.”

“Yes, but today you look positively cadaverous.” She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling all right?”

Vlad pushed her hand away. “Why do you always do that? I don't get fevers, remember?”

“Must be force of habit from the hospital. Sorry, grouch.”

“I'm sorry, Aunt Nelly. You're right. I'm not feeling very well today.” In fact, he was feeling terrible, though it couldn't be attributed to any known bacterium floating around in the air. According to his dad's journal, vampires had been through some of the worst epidemics in history. And apparently, during the days of the Black Plague, their biggest complaint had been rotten “food.”

“Maybe you should stay home today.” She gave a nod and headed for the door. “Get some rest. I'm working a double shift, so I'll be late tonight, but I'll call later to check on you.”

Vlad sat his backpack on the bottom step. He was feeling better already. “Hey, before you go, have you ever seen anything like this?” He dug around in his backpack and pulled out a notebook, hastily flipping to the page where he'd scribbled the symbol with the slanted lines and parentheses. “This here.”

Nelly squinted over her glasses. “Why, yes. It looks remarkably like Tomas's tattoo. Where did you see it?”

“In a book I read.” Vlad wrinkled his forehead and held the notebook closer for inspection. “I don't remember Dad having a tattoo.”

“Oh yes. It was thick black ink and right here.” She pointed to the inside of her left wrist. “He had it removed when you were a baby. I think I have pictures.” Before Vlad could say more, Nelly walked off in the direction of the living room and returned a moment later with a handful of snapshots. She spread them out on the small table near the door. Her eyes filled with sadness as she looked at a picture of her best friend's family—Vlad just a baby then and snuggling close to his mother for comfort. Vlad turned his head, unable to handle the pain the pictures brought. Nelly pointed to Tomas's wrist in one picture. “You can see the tattoo in this one.”

Vlad plucked the picture from the table and eyed his dad's tattoo closely. It was an exact copy of the symbol he'd seen in the book, on the porch. “I remember he had a scar there. He told me it was from an accident he had when he was a kid.”

When he looked at Nelly, her expression had changed. Her face had become gray, the concerned crease in her brow deepening. She brushed away tears. “Vlad, did I ever tell you about my dog—Gilbert?”

Vlad blinked, unsure where her question was coming from and, more importantly, where it was going.

“Gilbert was a fine dog. No special breed or even particularly attractive, but he'd fetch anything I threw for him, and he slept at the foot of my bed from the time I was five until I was about your age. Then, one night, Gilbert disappeared. I spent months looking for him and cried every night he was gone, hung posters all over the town offering a reward. I lost sleep searching for him, let my grades slip. It really took over my life, looking for that dog. Finally, my father sat me down and told me that he'd taken Gilbert out to the woods behind our house and shot him.” She blinked away another tear and patted Vlad on the shoulder, comforting him when, clearly, she was the one in need of comforting.

“Oh, my father wasn't a monster or anything, but it turned out that Gilbert had a very painful bone disease, so my father put him down. To this day, I can't think of my father the same way. Every sweet memory I have is soured by what he did to my dog.”

She slung her purse over her arm and looked pointedly at Vlad. “All I'm saying is that you should be grateful that there are some things you don't know about your father, and that sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone.”