Eighth Grade Bites (3 page)

Nelly looked pensive. “Vladimir . . . you didn't . . .”

Vlad scanned the page, only half listening to Nelly. When he realized what she was implying, his jaw dropped. “No! I wouldn't taste somebody's blood on purpose.”

“Except for Henry's, you mean.” Nelly sipped her coffee, eyeing him over her glasses.

Vlad rolled his eyes and slid the book closer to him. “Aunt Nelly, I was eight years old. Can we let that one go already?”

“Well, you said before that you were only able to read Henry's thoughts after you'd ingested some of his blood. So if you didn't taste this person's blood, how do you suppose you could read his mind?” Her tone was even, but careful.

Vlad leaned over the book and perused his various notes, theories, and scribbled thoughts on telepathy. “No idea. But then, it's not like I have an
Encyclopedia Vampirica
to consult. So far, all I have are theories.”

Nelly nudged a plate of sticky buns toward him and proceeded to cover her own plate with crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. Vlad grabbed one of the sweet pastries and dropped it onto his plate while Nelly refilled his glass with the blood he would need to begin his day. Nelly had never been squeamish when it came to Vlad's diet. She was a registered nurse and went to great lengths to sneak blood from the hospital for him. Nelly chewed a bit of bacon, watching him with great interest. “So what happened at midnight?”

“No clue. We left early.” Vlad shrugged. Then, thinking about his overnight guest, he asked, “Is it cool if Henry stays another night? His parents aren't going to be back until Monday afternoon.”

“So long as you boys can manage to find your way to school in the morning.”

As if awakened by the mere mention of his name, Henry came bounding down the stairs and burst into the kitchen with a bad case of bed head and a happy, well-rested grin. Aunt Nelly slid him an empty plate, finished her bacon, and placed a kiss on Vlad's forehead. “See you later, boys. I've got a long shift today.”

Vlad ran his finger thoughtfully along the lip of his glass. “Hey, Nelly, we've got this family tree project in history. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

She ruffled Henry's hair on her way to the door. “Have you checked the attic? I know your parents had some photo albums up there. They'd be more help than I would.” Vlad stared after her, dumbfounded. Nelly sighed. “Honestly, Vladimir, you've lived here for three years and still don't know about the hidden attic? The door to it is a foot from your bed, for goodness' sake! I thought vampires were supposed to have ultrasensitive powers of intuition.”

Vlad shrugged and picked up another sticky bun. “Don't you think if I had powers of intuition, I'd be doing better in math?”

Nelly groaned. “Let's hope you develop that next.”

With the click of the front door, Vlad and Henry were left alone for the day.

They finished breakfast and settled down in front of the television, bouncing back and forth between watching cartoons and saving the world through PlayStation until morning slipped into the comfort of late afternoon. Henry had already beaten Vlad twice at
Race to Armageddon
, but on the third round, it looked as if Vlad might be making some headway. The prize, of course, was glory and riches, combined with the godlike status of having been the android to defeat the menacing alien king. But just as Vlad was raising his laser sword to strike the alien king down, Henry hit the turbo button and interrupted the blow with one of his own. Vlad dropped his controller with a groan. “I suck at this game.”

“Yeah, but you can fly. I have to be better at something.” Henry dropped his controller on the floor beside Vlad's and reached for his open soda can. The floor in front of the beanbag chairs was a battlefield of open potato-chip bags and candy wrappers.

Vlad shook his head. “I can't fly. Only hover a little.”

“Fly, hover, whatever . . . it's cool! Plus, if you learn how to turn invisible, just think of the terror you could be in the girls' locker room.” Henry wiggled his eyebrows and took another drink. “I wonder if you'll be able to turn into animals and stuff when you get older.”

At first Vlad thought Henry was kidding, but when he stole a glance at his friend, he noticed that Henry's usually jovial demeanor had turned serious. Vlad shook his head. “That's stupid.”

“Think about it. In all those old stories and legends, vampires can turn into bats and wolves, and fog and stuff.” Henry shrugged at Vlad and dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor between them. “It's possible.”

Vlad thumbed his controller and tried not to sound too intrigued. It had been something he'd wondered about for some time. “I guess. But I'm not a hundred percent vampire anyway. My mom was human. Remember?”

Henry lowered his voice some and watched Vlad with a careful expression. “You must miss them a lot.”

“All the time.” Vlad held his breath for a second and tried not to give in to the sudden threat of tears that he could feel building up in his eyes. There was never a moment when he wasn't thinking about his father and the kind sparkle in his eyes, or the tender way his mother would kiss him on top of his head whenever she walked within a three-foot radius of him. Three years without them would have been impossible if it hadn't been for Nelly. It didn't matter that they weren't actually related. Nelly and his mother had been closer than sisters and that, in Vlad's mind, made Nelly family.

“It was weird how they died.” Henry unplugged his controller and wrapped the cord around it.

“Yeah. People don't normally just up and burst into flames.” Vlad took on a casual tone, but secretly wished Henry would forget the entire ordeal. He picked up his controller and reached for the console's reset button. “Let's play again, but this time I get to be the blue android.”

“I'm hungry.”

Apparently Vlad wasn't the only one with mind-reading abilities. “There's fried chicken in the fridge.”

Henry disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a plate of chicken in his hands and a drum-stick in his mouth. “I wuff Newwy's chippen.”

Vlad wrinkled his nose, suppressing his growing nausea at the smell of cooked flesh. “Speaking of Nelly . . . I'd better work on that family tree. If I get another D in history, she'll kill me. When's it due, anyway?”

“Friday.” Henry dropped a clean bone on the plate and looked at Vlad. “How much have you done?”

Vlad raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Does writing my name at the top of the page count?”

“I don't think so.”

“Doesn't matter. I haven't done that yet anyway.”

 

It didn't take long to find the hidden door to the attic. Vlad grabbed the flashlight from his dresser and slid in first, with Henry following close behind him. Narrow stairs hugged the wall and curved upward, leading them to the attic room above. At the top, Vlad reached up, hoping a string to a light would be dangling down somewhere nearby. Finding one, he tugged it once and illuminated the room with a soft glow.

Henry wrinkled his nose. “Dude, what smells like cat pee?”

“You mean besides your breath?”

“Don't make me get the holy water, Vlad.”

Boxes lined the walls in various towering stacks. Vlad lugged one of the boxes off a stack and placed it on the floor at Henry's feet. He reached for another, and Henry asked, “What are we looking for exactly?”

“Photo albums and birth certificates. And if we're lucky, a family tree.” Vlad pulled another box down and crouched on the wood floor. He tore the packing tape away from the seam and flipped open the flaps. The top was filled with nothing of interest. Tax papers, mostly, and the occasional folder of receipts. But toward the bottom Vlad found several shoe boxes overflowing with family photos. He set them to the side and reached for another box.

By the tenth box, they'd discovered several photo albums; two small velvet boxes containing his parents' wedding bands; and a leather-bound book with a strange symbol on the front, held securely in place by thick leather straps and two brass locks. Exhausted from the search, Vlad brushed a thin coat of dust from his knees. “I guess these will have to do.”

With a nod, Henry wiped a cobweb from his ear, picked up a stack of photo albums, and disappeared into the passageway.

Vlad was two steps from joining him when he spotted a cylinder poking out of a small box atop one of the stacks. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It was small, no more than six inches long, smooth and completely black, except for the strange gold symbol engraved at one end: three slanted lines slashed across the bottom, encased in what looked like parentheses. He slid the cylinder into his pocket before turning off the light and making his way down the stairs in the dark.

Henry was waiting for him in the bedroom, but before Vlad could show off his curious find, Aunt Nelly called up to them, “I'm home. Who wants hamburgers?” They bolted down the stairs, stomachs growling, and proceeded to help Nelly prepare their evening meal. Once the table was set and the fries had come out of the oven, she placed a bottle labeled KETCHUP on the table. When Henry reached for it, she stopped him and handed him a different bottle. “Use this one, dear. That one's for Vlad.”

Vlad proceeded to squirt a healthy glob of blood onto his plate, dipped a fry in it, and bit off the end. His hamburger was raw, and the blood from it had seeped visibly into the bun. He picked it up in both hands, feeling his fangs extend at the scent of it, and tore off a bite. Henry watched in disgust as the blood dripped from Vlad's bun to his plate, but Vlad responded only by chewing. Years of watching Vlad eat had apparently not been enough to keep Henry from getting grossed out.

It was dark outside, but after their meal, the boys settled onto the porch with a drink and watched the stars peek slowly out from behind their velvet-sky blanket. On their way out the door, Nelly had handed Henry one of those juices that come in the foil bags, with the sharp-ended straw poked into one end. She'd handed Vlad a drink of blood in the same manner. They enjoyed their drinks and the lingering sounds of approaching night for several minutes before Vlad spoke. “I wonder who will sub for Mr. Craig. We can't possibly get stuck with the principal for much longer.” It was one of a thousand things running through his mind. He certainly didn't want it to be Mrs. Bell, with her blue hair, crooked teeth, and equally crooked, painted-on eyebrows. For some strange reason, she always smelled like aftershave and sore-muscle cream. It really made you wonder about her after-school activities. “Mrs. Bell took over for two weeks when Mr. Craig's brother died last year.”

“Can't be her. She's teaching full-time at the high school now.” Henry had cupped a moth in his hands and was watching it fluttering against his palms.

Vlad took the last sip from his drink and set the container on the steps. Remembering the cylindrical object he'd found upstairs, he slipped it from his pocket and held it out for Henry's perusal. “Check this out. Found it up in the attic.”

Henry released the moth, and as he slid the object out of Vlad's palm, Vlad felt a strange urge to close his hand and pull the cylinder away. Henry turned it over in his hands, admiring the engraved symbol on the bottom. “What is it?”

Vlad reached out and plucked it from Henry's hand. “No clue.” He slid it back into his pocket and felt an instant blanket of comfort surround him.

Henry yawned and stretched his arms up toward the night sky. He had big, dark circles under his eyes.

Vlad yawned, too. Six in the morning came awfully early, and tomorrow he had the annoyance of some substitute teacher to deal with. With a stretch, Vlad moved up the steps and into the house, the promise of sleep heavy on his weary eyelids.

A MAN DRESSED ENTIRELY IN black looked from the crumpled newspaper photograph in his gloved hand to the boy up ahead of him who was timidly crossing the street, clutching a bag from the Stop & Shop in one hand and wearing an old thirty-five-millimeter camera around his neck. Returning his attention to the photograph, the man nodded in satisfaction and moved stealthily up the street after the boy.

The boy proceeded into a dark alleyway. The moon was full and high, casting a cool blue over the town of Bathory. Long shadows stretched across the street.

The man in black stuffed the clipping back into his pocket and quickened his pace.

The Stop & Shop bag hung limply from the boy's hand. With his other hand, the boy fiddled with the lens cap of his outdated camera, watching it far more closely than he watched where he was walking.

The man swung around him, standing in the boy's path.

It wasn't until the boy collided with the strange man that he noticed his presence. The bag fell from the boy's hand as he stumbled. “Oh jeez, sorry. I . . . I didn't see you there.” He smiled weakly, apologetically, up at the stranger.

The man smiled, careful to keep his fangs hidden behind closed lips. “It's quite all right. Edgar Poe, isn't it?”

Eddie brushed some grime from his jeans and checked his camera for damage. “Yeah. Uh . . . well, Eddie, actually. Nobody but, uh . . . my mom calls me Edgar. Why? Do I know you?”

A large vein on Eddie's neck pulsed, sending a pang of hunger through the man's stomach. “Eddie, I was wondering if you could assist me.”

The boy looked wary, but he didn't run.

The man slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the newspaper clipping. He held it up for the boy to see. “Do you recognize the boy standing next to you in this photo?”