Ninth Grade Slays (12 page)

Vikas nodded, his eyes suddenly troubled. “A good Russian name.”

Vlad shrugged. “Well, it's actually Vladimir.”

“Still a good, strong Russian name. It means ‘to rule with peace.' ” Vikas smiled, but his smile was forced. “You must be hungry from your journey. Come. We will feast and you will tell me how Tomas has been these past fifteen years.” He patted Vlad roughly on the back and strode forward, toward the largest cabin nestled in the valley below.

Otis and Vlad exchanged glances and followed.

11

VIKAS

INSIDE THE CABIN, it sounded like a party was going on. Vikas stepped up to the large wooden door. To Vlad's amazement, the door lacked a knob. However, an intricate glyph was carved into the wood at its center. Vikas touched it, eliciting a cool glow from the strange symbol. Vlad wished that he could see Vikas's eyes from where he was standing, to note whether his eyes changed colors the way that Vlad's did whenever he touched a glyph, but it was impossible to tell from where he was standing.

The door swung open and Vikas stepped inside. Otis followed. Voices rose in greeting. But when Vlad stepped in after his uncle, every eye turned on him, and the room fell shockingly silent.

Vikas waved to the others to continue their feast. Almost immediately, the room returned to its previously chatterfilled state.

But that feeling—that creepy, crawly, “everyone is watching me” feeling stuck hard in Vlad's chest.

At one end of the long plank table in the center of the room was a high-back chair. Along the sides were groupings of wooden benches and smaller, semicircular chairs. Vikas took the large seat at the head of the table and directed Vlad and Otis to sit on either side of him. After they did so, Vikas looked at Vlad. “Do you enjoy meat?”

Vlad shifted his feet and glanced about the room. If these people were vampires, they sure didn't act like it. A rotund man at the table was reaching for a chicken leg, and across the table a woman was chewing thoughtfully on some ham. Vlad nearly retched at the idea of eating meat—especially cooked meat. He shook his head. “Not really.”

“A blood drinker only? You were well bred.” Vikas's lips wore the hint of a smile. He patted a rough hand on Vlad's shoulder. A young man, youngest of the crowd next to Vlad, rushed over and thrust a pewter goblet into Vlad's hands. It was full to the brim with what looked and smelled like blood. He filled Otis's glass and then Vikas's, inciting a grateful nod from Vikas. “
Spasibo
, Tristian.”

Vlad glanced at Otis, who nodded. He put the cup to his lips and sipped. The liquid was warm and spiced. It was clearly blood—O positive, Vlad was sure—but behind that tangy flavor was another, spicier taste. Herbs came to mind, like ginger or maybe curry.

Otis wasn't drinking. Instead, he was staring into his goblet, as if there he would find the words to tell Vikas that their friend, Vlad's father, was dead. When he looked up, it seemed he'd lost his courage. “I'm grateful you've agreed to instruct the boy, Vikas. It means worlds to both of us. I know Tomas would be bursting with gratitude if he were here to see it.”

“It is my honor to teach the boy, as I taught both his father and his uncle the ways of Elysia.” Vikas smiled and emptied his goblet. He held it out to Tristian, who refilled it without hesitation. “So, Vladimir, what think you of Russia so far?”

Vlad tried to think of a compliment. It wasn't hard. The countryside he'd seen by dogsled was breathtaking. But it sounded like such a cop-out to say Vikas's homeland was beautiful. Vlad cleared his throat and let his second thought slip out of his mouth. “It's cold here.”

All eyes around the table were locked on him again. At the same moment, each of the gathered vampires burst into hearty laughter. Vikas followed suit.

Vlad breathed a small sigh of relief.

That strange feeling that they were all still watching him lessened . . . but not by much.

Vikas relaxed back in his seat. “True, she may be a cold woman, our mother Russia, but her beauty is incomparable, and her loyalty unchallenged. Siberia is one of the great untouched places in the world.”

They ate and drank for over an hour—Otis even convinced Vlad to give the beef Stroganov a try. He hated it and immediately spit the cooked meat and sauce into his napkin, but at least he tried it. After he did, Vikas gestured for Tristian to refill Vlad's glass. “So tell me, Mahlyenki Dyavol, how my dear friend Tomas is fairing. I have missed his company greatly.”

Vlad paused at the strange name and exchanged glances with Otis. Otis's eyes shimmered, and Vlad cleared his throat. It had to be said. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, Vikas. But . . . my parents died four years ago in a house fire.”

The crowd grew grimly silent. Stunned faces turned to look at Vlad. One vampire dropped his chicken leg back onto his plate. Goblets of bloodwine slowly found their way back to the table.

Vikas slumped back in his chair, and with terrible, disbelieving pain in his eyes, he looked at Otis. “Is this true? Tomas is dead?”

At his nod, Vikas dropped his eyes. For a moment it seemed the revelry had ended, but then Vikas raised his goblet high and called out, “To our fallen comrade!”

Every glass was raised and every voice cried out, “To our fallen comrade!” over and over again. Vlad's eyes misted over. He had no idea his dad had been so beloved.

Or that his dad had ever been to Siberia.

At the far end of the table, a group of vampires began to sing in thick Russian accents. They swayed back and forth as their voices rose and fell. Vlad smiled at them and listened, wondering what exactly they were singing. Otis leaned closer and explained, “They sing a tribute to your father—a song of brotherhood and valor. It's an old tune that Tomas used to sing whenever he would return triumphant from a hunt during the Middle Ages, when so much human blood was tainted by the Black Death. Many vampires survived those dark times due to your father's skill.”

Vlad looked back at Vikas, who seemed to be expecting his glance. “You saw this? This fire?”

Vlad nodded slowly and returned his goblet to the table. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore.

“Tomorrow, we will hold a funeral in your father's honor— a blissfully rare occasion for vampirekind.” Vikas took the pitcher from Tristian and refilled Vlad's glass himself before thrusting the goblet back into his hands. “But today, right now, we will drink to your father's memory, and you will tell me the details of this horrific event, Mahlyenki Dyavol. No vampire should suffer such a tragic loss alone. We are family. And we shall shed tears for Tomas as one.”

Hot tears rolled from Vlad's eyes and coated his cheeks. When he lifted his gaze to Vikas, he saw that Vikas was crying, too. Vlad said, “It was my fault.”

Otis and Vikas exchanged looks. Otis shook his head. Vikas settled back in his chair. “Tell me what happened.”

Vlad's breath shook, but once he began speaking, the words poured out of him—and in his mind's eye, he could see the day so clearly, as if it were just now happening to him. “I woke up early that morning and snuck into their bedroom to turn off their alarms. They never got to sleep in, y'know? So I thought I'd be nice and get myself ready for school, let them rest late. If I hadn't done that . . . if I hadn't turned off their alarms, they wouldn't have been sleeping when the fire started.”

Otis sat stone-faced, all color gone from his lips. Vikas gestured to Vlad's glass, and Vlad drank. “Were you there when it began?”

“No. I was at school. The office sent a girl down to get me. I asked her if I was in trouble. She said, ‘No, your house is on fire.' Just like that. No empathy. No pity. Just ‘your house is on fire,' like it happens every day.” Vlad's tears lessened in momentary anger. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. After a moment, he spoke again, but this time his voice was lower, as if speaking these things aloud might awaken something ugly within him. “I ran home after that. Smoke was pouring out of the windows of their bedroom. A fire truck was there, police cars, an ambulance, I think. It's all a blur now. I ran past them all just to get upstairs. I had to find Mom and Dad, make sure they were okay. But when I reached the bedroom . . .”

Vlad burst into tears. He didn't fight them, couldn't fight them. His mom and dad were dead. Dead and gone and never, ever coming back. Worse yet, he didn't know for certain if it was an accident that took them or somebody's sick idea of justice.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and continued, though his voice broke several times. “They were on the bed, already gone. And when I saw them, I felt more alone than I'd ever felt.”

He looked to Otis, who had his face buried in his hands. It was the first time Vlad had revealed any details of the accident to anyone but Henry. “I don't remember how exactly, but I ended up at Nelly's house, and I've been there ever since.”

Vikas sat quietly for a long time, and when his tears dried, he looked pointedly at Vlad. “You are not alone, Vladimir. You are never alone in this world. You are a member of Elysia. And had Tomas a choice, he'd have raised you among your own kind. But these laws . . . they must be changed.”

Otis dried his eyes on a linen napkin, as if in desperate need of a subject change—something Vlad certainly didn't object to. Otis leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Have you heard anything from the Stokerton council?”

Vikas shook his head slowly. “Nothing but lies, my friend. They insist you are a criminal. What did the council in London have to say about your plight?”

Otis's shoulders slumped some as he sighed. “Only that upon confirmation from Stokerton I would be regarded as a fugitive, and they would be forced to take me into custody immediately to be charged with assisting in an attack on the Stokerton council president, aiding and abetting a known fugitive, and revealing my true identity to three humans.”

“The fugitive is Tomas?” One of Vikas's eyebrow rose in a pointed arch. He did not look pleased.

Otis released a sigh. “They refuse to believe that he is dead.”

Vlad bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What if I tell them what I saw? Then they'd have to believe it.”

Otis pursed his lips and shook his head once, his stern eyes locked on Vlad. “I don't want you anywhere near those councils until this matter is cleared up.”

Vlad sank down in his chair, clutching his half-empty goblet to his chest. “I'm just trying to help.”

Otis managed a smile then, and his features softened. “Don't worry, Vlad. I'm in good hands here with Vikas, and I have friends all over the world who are willing to help me.”

“Vampire friends?”

“Of course.”

Vlad furrowed his brow in confusion. “Wait a minute. You only revealed to two humans that you're a vampire— Nelly and Henry.”

“I also revealed it to you. Remember, Vladimir, so long as you carry the Lucis, all of Elysia insists that you are human—even though they know that is not the case. They would rather insist on that than admit that they are incapable of bringing a child to justice, due to the terrible possibility that you may be what they fear you to be. Pride is a terrible weakness to have.” Otis released a sigh and reached for his glass. “Of course, should they find a way to take the Lucis from you . . . you'll be in as much trouble as I am.”

Vikas shook his head. “If not more. He did take D'Ablo's life. His very existence, in fact, is an abomination in the eyes of their ridiculous laws.”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “Are the laws different here in Siberia?”

“Here we live as free men. We come and go as we please, and only the most heinous crimes are tended to by council.”

Otis's voice had grown gruff. “Some might not think their laws ridiculous, Vikas. I could have stopped Vlad from taking D'Ablo's life but didn't. I knew of Tomas and Mellina's love affair but assisted in their escape by not telling anyone. And I did reveal my true nature to humans; that I won't deny. My quibble is not whether or not I did these things, but whether or not I did them for the right reason.”

Vikas's eyes met with Otis's. “The majority of Elysia says that you were wrong.”

“And perhaps they are right. If I am, I will face justice.” Otis nodded at his possible fate, as if the torturous punishments Vlad had read about in the
Encyclopedia Vampyrica
were nothing at all to endure.

Vlad stared in fascination.

Vikas shook his head in disgust. “You have a skewed view of the world, Otis. Tomas would never have wanted—”

Otis slammed his goblet on the table. “Tomas DIED believing in those laws! He was the Stokerton council vice president, Vikas. Or have you forgotten?”

The room grew eerily silent then. Vlad squirmed in his seat.

Otis closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, once more calm. He flashed Vlad an apologetic glance. Without needing telepathy, Vlad could tell that his recollection of the day he'd found his parents dead had shaken Otis's nerves. Why else would he snap like that?

After a moment, Vikas spoke. His voice was soft and calming. “I have not forgotten. Nor have I forgotten how deeply you questioned that choice when he made it. But we all make mistakes. Tomas chose to enforce unjust laws. I chose to judge you for your past actions in front of your nephew. And you have always supported your brother, even when he was wrong. There is no crime in that. However, you've also spilled your bloodwine, and that, my friend, is a crime.” The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk, and soon, Otis's followed.

Relieved that the sudden, strange tension had dissipated, Vlad cleared his throat. “So there are three councils altogether?”