Eighth Grade Bites (18 page)

D'Ablo snarled. He drew his hand back and it whistled through the air.

Vlad's cheek exploded with pain. The heels of his hands scraped the pavement as he fell to the ground.

D'Ablo looked pleased. “You'd better watch that sharp tongue of yours, child. Before I rip it from your skull.”

Vlad reached up with shaking fingers and touched his cheek lightly. He spat a mouthful of blood on the ground and looked up at his attacker. “You're pathetic. If Elysia is full of guys like you, my dad was right to leave.” He slipped his hands inside his front pockets. A stick of gum, a broken pencil . . . nothing remotely useful.

D'Ablo drew his leg back and kicked Vlad in the ribs. Hard.

Something cracked, and Vlad let out a scream.

D'Ablo was bent over him, so close that Vlad could feel the vampire's breath against his skin. “Will you run like your father, Vlad? Or will you stand and fight?”

Vlad clutched his torso and let out a sob. This was it, then. D'Ablo was going to kill him if he didn't do something soon. Slowly, he moved his hand to the back pockets of his jeans. Tears threatened to fall, but Vlad choked them back. His bruised cheek and injured rib seemed to throb in the same rhythm. In his head, he was repeating his mantra of “never let them see you sweat, never let them see you sweat,” but what he said out loud, with a quaver in his voice, was, “What's the matter, D'Ablo? Do the other vampires pick on you? You feel a need to take it out on someone smaller than you, is that it?” He pulled a small object from his pocket and looked at it. It was the black cylinder he'd found in the attic.

D'Ablo's eyes widened. He took a step back.

Vlad looked from the smooth tube to D'Ablo. D'Ablo couldn't possibly be afraid of it. Could he? It was nothing, really, just a trinket that had belonged to Vlad's father. Probably about as dangerous as ChapStick. Still, Vlad was ready to utilize any tool he could. He held it out toward D'Ablo, who stepped back again—far enough that Vlad wondered where he was going. The men who were holding Otis down were exchanging terrified whispers.

“Where did you get that?” D'Ablo had stopped his retreat. He looked warily from Vlad to the object in his hand.

Vlad feigned both knowledge of the tool and the confidence that he could use it. “It was a gift from my father before he died.”

The brutes had apparently reached the conclusion that D'Ablo wasn't worth dying for, as they released their hold on Otis and hurried back inside. Otis stood and brushed the grime of the alley from his clothes, but he didn't speak. And, Vlad noted with interest, Otis didn't move any closer.

D'Ablo forced a smile. “It's a fascinating instrument. May I have a closer look?”

Vlad pointed the tube at D'Ablo as he rose to his feet. His rib screamed and his voice shook. “Stay back!”

As if a light had gone on over his head, D'Ablo relaxed visibly. “Or you'll what, Vlad? A real vampire wouldn't point a Lucis at another without the full intention of using it. So are you merely threatening me until you can figure out how to use it, or do you understand the power that you now hold in your hands?” He stepped closer, his fangs long and fierce. Hunger flickered in his eyes.

Vlad tore his frightened gaze away from D'Ablo. His breaths came in shaken gasps. His fingers trembled against the cylinder. The end facing him bore the symbol that mirrored his father's tattoo, so like the symbol on the cover of the book.

D'Ablo broke into a sure stride. Saliva glistened on the tips of his exposed fangs.

Vlad pushed the sound of D'Ablo's approach out of his head. He thought of the book, of the panel at the back of his dad's suit closet. They'd both had the glyph. And when he'd touched it . . .

D'Ablo threw his head back and opened his mouth as wide as he could.

. . . when he'd touched it, the glyph had glowed. But not for Henry. It was a vampire shield—something to prevent humans from opening vampiric items. And if this thing had a glyph too . . .

D'Ablo lunged forward, spittle dripping from his mouth. A low, hungry, guttural cry left his lungs as he descended on Vlad.

. . . maybe, maybe . . .

Vlad looked at Otis, who nodded, understanding Vlad's thoughts without the use of telepathy.

Vlad ran his thumb across the glyph. It glowed brightly, and the cylinder shook in his hands. He held it tightly. A piercing white light shot from the opposite end, filling the alley with a blinding flash. Vlad squeezed his eyes shut and ran his thumb over the glyph once more. When he opened his eyes again, the light had faded—contained once more within the small black cylinder.

D'Ablo lay on the ground, clutching his stomach.

Well . . . clutching where his stomach should have been.

Through the enormous hole in D'Ablo's torso, Vlad could see the dark, moist pavement on the other side. D'Ablo looked up at him with flickering eyes and forced a laugh. “You think you've won? You think you've defeated me?”

Vlad tightened his grip on the tube, but stopped when Otis grabbed his arm. “It's over, Vlad. Leave him here to die.”

Vlad knelt. His face was mere inches from D'Ablo's. “That was for Mr. Craig. And for anyone else you've ever hurt.”

D'Ablo chuckled. Blood coated his lips. “Do you think it makes any difference, little one? There are thousands of vampires in the world, doing the same as I have.”

Vlad held the Lucis up for D'Ablo to see. “Well, there's one fewer tonight.”

D'Ablo coughed, sending a spatter of blood across Vlad's cheek, and then he was still.

On the drive home, as Henry snored beside him, Vlad allowed himself a few more tears: these for the father he knew so little about, and for the mother who'd never kiss him as Nelly had tonight, and for himself, because beneath the relief and general sense of well-being lurked something dark and disturbing—the knowledge that he would one day return to Elysia, that his father's journal would lead him there to seek answers to questions he had not yet asked.

Otis was driving, and Nelly was in the passenger seat. The soft blue light from the radio illuminated the front seat, giving Vlad a clear view of their profiles. They'd been talking for a short while—muttered voices that had softened into whispers. But now they were quiet. They were also holding hands.

Vlad pulled his backpack close and laid his head against the door. He was too riled up to sleep and had no idea how Henry could, so he stared out the window and counted stars as the lights of the city faded into blackness.

All that was ahead of him was the twinkle of starlight—and the comforting return home.

H
ENRY WAS SPRAWLED ACROSS the couch in Vlad's living room, already asleep. Vlad tossed an old afghan over him and joined Nelly and Otis in the dining room. Nelly looked weary, but relieved, and managed a smile. She pushed her teacup aside and got up from the table. “I'll be off to bed now, boys. My old bones just can't take the nightlife anymore.” She kissed Vlad on the forehead, the way his mother used to. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I told you, I'm fine.” Vlad took a seat across from Otis. He winced as he sat, holding a hand to his injured rib. Nelly had given him and Otis pills for pain as soon as they got home, but Vlad's hadn't kicked in yet. But his rib would heal in a few days and the pain would be but a memory. Vlad glanced at the steaming blood in his cup, raised it to his lips, and drank.

Nelly nodded and retreated upstairs after a brief good night to Otis.

Otis placed his cup in the saucer and cleared his throat. He looked at Vlad. “I've been searching for you for years. It's been a real pleasure getting to know you, Vlad.”

“Why does that sound like a good-bye?” He met Otis's eyes, the familiar feeling of loss already pricking his insides. “You can't just throw all this at me and then disappear. Besides, you're the only real family I've got.”

Otis shook his head. “I wouldn't say that. Nelly is a wonderful guardian.”

Vlad ran his finger thoughtfully over a knot in the wood of the table. Otis was right, of course, but it didn't stop Vlad from longing for something more concrete, for blood relations. Nelly was great, but she didn't know anything about being a vampire. “Why didn't you just tell me who you were when we first met?”

Otis managed a smile. “Because I wasn't sure if you were a vampire or not. Since you had a human mother, I couldn't be sure that you had inherited that part of your father's being. You're the first of your kind, Vlad. You're also remarkably gifted at blocking telepathy. I wasn't sure if it was your gift as a vampire or a charm Tomas had given you that blocked my telepathy. So I had to use other means to find out, such as the oral report and the essay—and the garlic.”

“Oh, and thanks for that.” Vlad dunked a cookie into his cup and took a bite. “I spend my whole life trying to hide what I am and you make me get up and tell the whole class.” He gave Otis a grin. “Not awkward in the least.”

Otis stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Outside, the sky was turning pink. It was almost dawn. “I needed to know where Tomas was so I could warn him that D'Ablo and the rest of Elysia had learned he was in Bathory. I couldn't reveal myself to you if you were human—that's a crime.” Otis glanced out the window, looking a little concerned. From his jacket, he pulled out a small tube and proceeded to rub sunblock on his skin.

“But you told Nelly.”

“Yes. And I would likely be punished for it if Elysia were to find out.” Otis finished coating his exposed skin and put the tube back in his pocket.

Henry's snores drifted in from the living room. Then, after one loud snort, he was silent once again.

Vlad lowered his voice so as not to wake Henry. “When we were in Elysia, you mentioned that my dad had been vice president of that council.”

“Yes. Well, that was a long time ago.” Otis shifted in his seat, as if the sunrise were making him restless.

“So tell me about it.” Vlad plucked another cookie from the plate on the table and nibbled.

Otis yawned again. Vlad resisted following suit. “Tomas had been on the council for more than a hundred years when I was turned from human into vampire, and for another three hundred before he left Elysia to raise you.”

Vlad nearly choked on his cookie. “We live that long?”

“Most of us, yes.” Otis drew his arms up around himself, as if the temperature had plummeted several degrees.

“Will I live that long?”

“I'm not sure, Vladimir. You're . . . special.” He shifted his eyes about the room, as if checking to make sure they were alone.

Vlad looked over his own shoulder for any unwanted presences. Otis's fidgeting was unsettling. “What do you mean?”

Otis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vampires are made by sharing blood with a human and giving that human part of your essence. It's been this way since the beginning of time. But you . . .” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Well, you were born this way, and that's extremely unusual. As I said before, you're the first of your kind.”

Vlad cast Otis a worried glance. “Now that D'Ablo is gone, won't Elysia just send someone else to look for my father—and me?”

“No.” Otis smiled at Vlad reassuringly. “I'm going to send word to the council that Tomas died in Bathory. And they now know you have the Lucis and are capable of using it. They won't come after you, Vlad.”

“Otis . . .” Vlad looked from his uncle to the hole in his shoe and back. “If D'Ablo didn't kill my parents, do you . . . do you know who did?”

Otis was quiet for a moment, then met Vlad's eyes. “No, Vlad, I don't.”

Vlad nodded. He was deeply disappointed, but not surprised. He wondered if he would ever know.

“Otis, will you”—he paused, trying to keep the doubt out of his voice—“will you teach me everything you can about being a vampire? There's no one else who can do it.”

Otis's eyes sparkled warmly. “I would be honored to, Vlad.”

Vlad cleared his throat. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Otis got up to check that Henry was still sleeping before turning back to Vlad. “When school is over, I'll return to Elysia and go into hiding. But I'll always return for you, whenever you need me.”

Vlad hesitated, then blurted out, “What if I said I needed you now, that I need you to be around all the time?”

Otis was quiet for several minutes before rolling up his sleeve and exposing the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It glowed slightly when he moved it closer to Vlad. “Do you remember when I told you about my mark—this symbol that, in the vampiric language, is my name? Well, it's also my tie to Elysia, to all of the vampiric brotherhood. Whenever I am scared or alone or saddened by events that I cannot control, I touch it and I'm reminded that I am part of something very special.”