Eighth Grade Bites (19 page)

Vlad reached out slowly and brushed his fingers against the glyph. It brightened in response. A wave of sadness washed over him.

“The mark is normally given the day following a vampire's creation,” Otis went on, “but as your beginning was one of a kind and you were nowhere near Elysia . . .”

“Just another thing I missed out on, huh?”

They exchanged sad smiles. Otis moved to leave, then turned back to Vlad. “It would be my great honor to give you your own mark, Vladimir. Of course, if you're not interested, I completely under—”

“I'd like that. I mean, it would mean a lot to me.” Vlad tried hard to keep his eyes dry, but they brimmed with tears despite his efforts. “Will it hurt?”

“A bit. But a mark of your own will open worlds to you that you did not know existed.” Otis smiled.

Vlad bit his bottom lip and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Otis reached for Vlad's wrist and gently pushed up his sleeve. Vlad watched as his uncle's pearl-white fangs elongated and slipped easily into his wrist. At first Vlad tensed as the teeth punctured him, then he began to feel weary, strangely dizzy. Otis's grip on Vlad's arm tightened, and Vlad felt a sudden surge of energy through his veins, like liquid fire. It was strange—he could feel Otis there, in his veins, in his blood, burning his energies into Vlad, and suddenly Vlad understood what it was to belong to Elysia. That by sharing space with any other of his kind, he was part of something bigger—that he was a vampire, a part of an ages-old family that would never leave him. He would never again be truly alone.

Otis pulled his mouth away, then helped to steady Vlad.

“Watch, Vladimir. Your mark is forming.” Otis held Vlad's arm gently.

Vlad grew a little weak at the sight of blood on his open wrist, but marveled as the skin began to heal and the blood seeped back into his flesh, leaving behind a strange, glowing scar that darkened until Vlad's own tattoo had been created from within him. It was small, about the size of a fifty-cent piece, and looked just like Otis's mark, but for the two vertical lines inside the parentheses. When Otis released his arm, the mark dimmed some. Vlad whispered, “Thank you.” He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come.

Otis brushed a small tear from his eye and smiled. Then he walked to the front door and stepped outside.

Vlad stepped out after him, rubbing his wrist and feeling stronger already. “Uncle Otis? Promise you won't leave forever.”

Otis turned back to him and slid his top hat on. “That's a promise. But you have to promise me something, too.”

Vlad nodded.

“That you'll be on the lookout for others like us. D'Ablo had many friends.” Otis checked his pocket for keys. Triumphant in his search, he offered Vlad a nod. “And I expect you to get an A on the spelling test next Friday.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. Apparently saving your teacher's life wasn't enough. “Three quick questions.” Vlad followed him down the sidewalk toward the car. “What do I do if Henry asks me to explain what a drudge is?”

“That's up to you—you tell him or you don't. But I rather think you should.” He opened the car door and cast Vlad a weary smile. “What else?”

Vlad bit his bottom lip and looked at the ground, then back at Otis. “Why did D'Ablo hate my dad so much?”

“He didn't, Vlad. In fact, they were good friends. D'Ablo was merely doing what he thought was the right thing to do.” Otis pulled the door closed. “That's all any of us can really do.”

Vlad wrinkled his forehead, trying to recall the word he'd heard D'Ablo use to describe him. “And . . . what's a . . . Pravus?”

Otis looked at Vlad, his face grave. He searched the air around him for the right words, and when he found them, they came out with a croak. “Just an old vampire legend, Vlad, about a boy who was born a vampire. Pay it no mind.” With the rev of the engine, he drove off, leaving Vlad standing at the end of the driveway.

The sky was bright pink and gold. Vlad watched Otis drive off into the sunrise, like some sort of vampire cowboy. It had been a long night. And he hadn't even finished his math homework.

Vlad stepped back into the house and closed the door quietly behind him. Henry was still sleeping on the couch. Nelly was no doubt nestled under her flowered comforter upstairs. Vlad climbed the stairs, and after pausing to stroke Amenti's fur, he slipped into his bedroom, where he was greeted by the framed smiles of his mom and dad and by his bed—the most welcoming sights he'd ever seen.

L
IKE A MAN WHO HAS wandered through shadowed forests, seeking reprieve from their looming darkness and strange, creaking, haunting sounds, only to collapse in relief at his first glimpse of light, Vlad sat down heavily at his desk on his last day in eighth grade and surveyed the class around him. He wasn't exactly sure what the point of the last day of school was supposed to be, other than easing the summer janitor's duties by emptying the desks and lockers. Principal Snelgrove ensured that this task was done by making it a requirement in order to attend Freedom Fest—an afternoon that began with the final game of the Bathory Bats, the high school's much-celebrated baseball team, and ended with the last dance of the year in the school gym.

It should have been a happy day for Vlad. After all, he was finally leaving junior high, and next year was full of possibilities. Bill and Tom would be freshmen, too, and have to deal with bullies of their own. He and Henry would be high schoolers, and life would begin anew. But overshadowing what should have been a pleasant day was the knowledge that tonight Otis would be leaving, and though he'd reassured Vlad several times that he would return, his words hadn't lifted the deep, heavy, hollow feeling in Vlad's chest.

A flash of pink caught Vlad's eye. Meredith was wearing a pretty pink sundress. Vlad managed a smile, and to his delight, she smiled back, her cheeks blushing before she looked away. Vlad looked away, too, but only long enough to glimpse the tattooed symbol on the inside of his wrist. Feeling a surge of confidence, he straightened in his seat, returning his gaze to Meredith once again. “Hey, Meredith.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes twinkling, and when she smiled again, Vlad felt like he was flying. “Hey, Vlad. How are you?”

“I'm great.” He cleared his throat and glanced around before meeting her eyes. “But I'd be better if you went to the Freedom Fest dance with me.”

Her lips parted, a glimpse of white porcelain as her smile spread into a grin. “I'd love to.”

Vlad's heart drummed out an elated beat, and as he uttered the most ridiculous thing possible (
Did I just say thank you?
he asked himself), Mr. Otis entered the room, ushering in the final stragglers so they could get down to the business of their last day. “Good morning, class. I'm afraid I have bad news.”

Otis dropped his bag on his chair and leaned against the desk. “After today, you are all finally free of my tyrannical grasp and now-infamous pop quizzes. Pressing matters are taking me away from the town of Bathory, despite much pleading on the part of the school board. So after the game this afternoon, I'll bid you all a fond farewell.

“But never fear. It may be my last day here . . . but you are collectively beginning an exciting journey. I'm sure the coming years in Bathory High will prove far more fascinating than any one of my classroom hours.” Otis smiled at his students, pausing for a moment with his eyes on Vlad.

Outside the open door stood Henry, most likely on his way to the final student council meeting of the year. He'd already been elected president of the ninth-grade student council beginning the following term, a big promotion from treasurer. He waved frantically at Vlad, who returned the favor. Henry held up a finger and turned his head for a moment. When he looked back at Vlad, he was wearing a pair of cheap plastic fangs and dancing around like such a dork that Vlad could no longer contain his laughter.

Mr. Otis looked at Vlad, then Henry. There was a silent pause before the door closed with a slam. Otis offered Vlad a wink. “Must be the wind.”

Otis turned to the board and began scratching out details that needed to be addressed before the end of the day and the beginning of Freedom Fest.

Vlad leaned forward in his seat and pressed his cheek against his palm. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his new tattoo glow slightly. Poking out of his backpack was his father's journal, carefully bookmarked where Vlad had left off reading. Beside it was a composition notebook.

Scribbled on the cover was
The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod.