Eleventh Grade Burns (11 page)

D’Ablo stepped into the street-lamp light. He was dressed in black from head to toe, complete with black leather gloves. Gloves. Plural. Which meant that D’Ablo had somehow sprouted a new hand. Vlad slanted his eyes, examining the hand. The fingers didn’t move. The muscles didn’t flex. When realization hit him, he said, “You’re wearing a false hand. How does the council feel about that? After all, vampires aren’t big fans of weaknesses and scars, are they, D’Ablo? It’s a wonder they haven’t removed you from office.”

D’Ablo pursed his lips. “They’re happy enough in their ignorance.”

Vlad tilted his head in disbelief, thinking about the gathered group of angry vampires at his old house just five weeks ago. “I know several people who aren’t so happy that a disfigured vampire is still president.”

The corner of D’Ablo’s mouth rose slightly in a small smile. “I assure you that
none
of those people matter.”

Vlad’s eyes traced D’Ablo’s face for any sign of scars. When he saw him last, flames had all but melted his face away, but now the skin was smooth, flawless, as if that maniacal moment in the sun had never occurred. “The sunlight ... it didn’t damage or scar you at all?”

“With enough blood, healing is possible, even from the likes of the sun. But you ... you didn’t burn at all. Did you, Master Pravus?” His eyebrows went up. It was as if he were defying Vlad to once again insist that he wasn’t the child the prophecy had spoken of.

Vlad set his jaw. “No.”

“So you’ve finally accepted that you are the Pravus?”

“Yes.” What did D’Ablo want, anyway? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to chat, so what is it you want, D’Ablo?”

D’Ablo chuckled under his breath. “You know what I want. My ritual is not yet complete.”

Vlad froze. The ritual. D’Ablo had said that the last part of the ritual required Vlad’s sacrifice. He darted his eyes to the front door of The Crypt and silently wondered if he could outrun D’Ablo, or if D’Ablo would chase after him if he did. “So you’re here to kill me?”

D’Ablo sighed, somewhat troubled. “Unfortunately, no. It seems I’ve misplaced my dagger. In order for the ritual to be completed correctly, the dagger is required. But never fear, Master Pravus. I am here to offer you a truce.”

Before Vlad could bite his tongue, he snapped, “In your dreams, D’Ablo. That is
never
going to happen.”

D’Ablo raised an eyebrow. “I am no threat to you without the dagger, and if I cannot be the Pravus I can at least assist him.”

Vlad shook his head, filled with loathing. “You’ve ‘assisted’ me enough. Almost into an early grave.”

D’Ablo held his palms out, pleading. “Hear me out.”

Vlad turned back to the club, tossing bitter words over his shoulder as he left. “Bite me.”

He’d barely taken a breath before D’Ablo was beside him, wrapping his hand tightly around Vlad’s throat. Vlad tried to inhale, but couldn’t. D’Ablo lifted him slowly off the ground and growled into his ear. “Of course, there’s always the appeal of killing you just to silence that mouth. All it would take is a snap.”

He squeezed tighter before letting Vlad go. A warning.

Vlad coughed, rubbing at his sore neck. In a hoarse, raspy voice, he called after D’Ablo, who was once again disappearing into the shadows, “You’ll never be the Pravus, D’Ablo. I don’t care what any ritual says. And a truce? You’re out of your mind.”

“A snap, Master Pravus.” He chuckled again, causing Vlad to shiver. “A snap.”

A
SOUND TO VLAD’S RIGHT, SHARP AND FAMILIAR. Vlad turned his head toward it, as did D’Ablo. Dorian was standing there, an expectant smirk on his face, his hand held up as if he’d just snapped his fingers. “Nothing? I did snap, after all.”

At the sight of him, Vlad’s chest grew tight. Fear. Intense fear. He was now standing in the presence of the two most dangerous vampires he’d ever encountered, both of whom wanted his blood for one reason or another. He swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back the urge to run.

D’Ablo’s jaw tightened. “Dorian. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“So I presumed. If you were, you likely wouldn’t have been threatening this boy.
This
boy, in particular, now would you?”

Dorian tilted his head, his eyes slanting. It was as if D’Ablo had been caught playing with one of his toys. Vlad shrank back, revolted. Is that what he was to vampirekind? Just an object to argue over, just a freak who might fulfill their needs?

D’Ablo flicked his gaze to Vlad with a warning. “I assure you, it was no mere threat.”

No surprise there. D’Ablo hadn’t exactly been shy about trying to kill Vlad in the past.

“You’re telling me.” Dorian took what seemed like a casual step closer to D’Ablo, then another, and another. With each, D’Ablo appeared a bit more on edge. It was nice to see him afraid, for once. “You’re actually telling me that you would kill Tomas’s son? You, who once preached that Tomas was deserving of a seat on the Council of Elders?”

D’Ablo said nothing in reply.

Dorian clucked his tongue, quieting his voice as if they shared a secret. “I think we both understand why that would be a poor choice.”

Vlad had been ready to back away and break into a run, but now he furrowed his brow in slight confusion, the thought of running suddenly evaporating in the cool night air. “What about my dad? What are you hinting at?”

Dorian and D’Ablo looked back at Vlad, looking like they’d only just remembered his presence. Dorian moved his eyes back to D’Ablo and nodded toward Vlad. “Tell him.”

D’Ablo scowled. He wasn’t about to tell Vlad anything.

But then Dorian’s expression grew serious. He repeated, “Tell him.”

Immediately, D’Ablo turned to Vlad and spoke. “If I took your life, everyone who ever loved your father would not stop until I was tortured and killed. A life for a life. I would lose my position as president, my belongings would become the belongings of your loved ones, and my name would be mocked for centuries to come. Your father was a very powerful and influential man. If I were to murder his son, I would regret it.”

Once the final word passed over his lips, he seemed to regain control of himself. His face reddened in anger and hatred, and if his eyes could have shot lasers, they would have burned a hole right through Dorian.

Dorian merely smiled, obviously enjoying his control over D’Ablo. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s fun to tell the truth. Is there any other truth you’d like to share with Vlad?”

A curt reply, one filled with venom. “No.”

Dorian raised a sharp eyebrow, as if defying D’Ablo to speak. “Nothing about his father? Nothing about your plans?”

Vlad shot a look between the two older vampires. Plans? How did any of D’Ablo’s plans have anything to do with Vlad’s dad?

D’Ablo’s scowl deepened, hatred spewing from every pore in his body. “No.”

“Very well, then.” Dorian turned back to Vlad, then glanced over his shoulder at D’Ablo in an afterthought. “You may go now.”

D’Ablo stalked off without another word, dismissed, like a household servant.

Dorian sighed, shaking his head at Vlad like they were old friends. “I have never liked that guy.”

Now Vlad was alone with Dorian. Immediately, Vlad’s heart picked up its pace. As if listening to a symphony, Dorian closed his eyes, his head swimming with the sound of Vlad’s heartbeat. In an effort to snap him out of his day-dream, Vlad said, “Nobody likes D’Ablo. At least, nobody I know.”

“You’ll be surprised.”

Vlad furrowed his brow.
You’ll
not
you’d.
As if Dorian knew something he wasn’t telling Vlad.

“Less people like me than our friend D’Ablo, I’m afraid.”

“Something tells me you’re never afraid. Of anything.” In an afterthought, Vlad took a step back.

A strange smile lit up Dorian’s face and he shrugged casually, almost sheepishly.

Several seconds passed before Vlad said, “So ... what do you want?”

“I’ve come to proposition you. It is within my power to save your uncle’s life, but he is too stubborn to agree to a trade. So I implore you. Give me your blood and I will help your uncle survive his trial.” He spoke so matter-of-factly that it sounded as if he’d rehearsed his speech all the way here, as if he’d practiced it over and over again, perhaps out loud, until it sounded perfect, until his demand seemed sane and rational, everything that Dorian most certainly was not. His eyes told Vlad that he was completely serious, but his eager nod seemed almost childlike. He waited, and when Vlad failed to give him a thumbs-up on the idea, he sighed, troubled. “If I have to take your blood by force, Otis will die. I’m sorry, Vlad, but I cannot control this urge. I must have your blood, at any cost.”

Vlad’s heart rammed against his ribs. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Dorian wanted his blood, now he was left to choose between his life and Otis’s. He swallowed hard, wondering how both Dorian and D’Ablo had chosen this exact night to get on his case, and if they were somehow working together. After all, they both seemed to be after the same thing. “Why ask? Why not force me right now?”

After a moment, it hit him. Vlad took in a shaky breath. “You’re afraid you’ll fail again. I beat you before, and that scared you. Because no one beats you, do they, Dorian?”

Dorian’s mouth settled slowly into a frown, as if he were uncomfortable with the idea of anyone knowing his secrets. The irony did not escape Vlad. An all-powerful vampire, afraid of anyone finding out his deepest fears? That was one for the books. Dorian cleared his throat before speaking. “That’s not all. I ... derive pleasure from the idea that the boy who would be Pravus would bend to my will.”

Vlad’s stomach turned. “Not just hungry for blood, but power too, eh? You’re just like some spoiled kid, used to getting his way.”

Dorian grew quiet for some time, finally breaking it to whisper, “You might say that.”

Vlad shook his head. “The answer is no. You can’t have my blood. Not one drop. I’ve had enough excitement for the night, thanks.”

As Vlad turned to walk away, he felt his body stiffen. Before he knew what was happening, he turned to face Dorian again ... but not of his own free will.

Dorian nodded apologetically. “I am sorry, but you do force my hand.”

Against his will, Vlad moved closer, bending his head to the side, beckoning Dorian to drain his veins dry. Dorian’s fangs slipped from his gums, ready, eager to partake, his eyes locked on the throbbing blue vein on Vlad’s neck.

Inside Vlad’s skull, Vlad ranted, raved, screamed, but there was nothing he could do to stop this moment from happening.

To his left, there was the familiar squeak of the club door, followed by October’s voice. “What’s taking you so long?”

Without a word, Dorian released his mental grip and stepped back. Strangely, he looked almost as relieved as Vlad felt. He moved down the street, disappearing into the night, but not before his voice echoed in Vlad’s mind.
“That girl just saved you. She saved us both.”

Vlad’s hands were shaking. That was close. Too close. And what had Dorian meant, saved them both? He wasn’t the one in danger of being drained here.

He turned back to October, who had a sharp eyebrow raised. “Who was that?”

Vlad rubbed absently at his neck, wondering silently what the look in Dorian’s eyes, what the words in Vlad’s mind, had meant. “Nobody. It was nobody.”

V
LAD CHEWED A BITE of his peanut butter, jelly, and blood-capsule sandwich and swallowed, but it didn’t go down easy. He couldn’t stop watching the exchange that was happening two tables over and wishing like crazy that he had some kind of supersensitive hearing. Unfortunately, vampires were nothing at all like superheroes. So Vlad watched, trying to learn on the spot how to read lips and failing miserably.

He kept fighting back yawns, completely exhausted by his recent training sessions with Vikas, who had promised him that they would only get more difficult. Not to mention how much sleep he’d been losing since his encounter with both D’Ablo and Dorian two weeks before.

After a few more seconds of squinting at Joss’s moving lips, he almost smacked himself in the forehead, wondering how exactly a vampire momentarily forgets about that whole mind-reading thing. He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes, slipping stealthily into Joss’s head, content to linger long enough to learn what Joss and Eddie were discussing.

Joss’s head hurt. He was tense and anxious, but not uncertain in the least. He was doing the right thing ... for the good of mankind.

Vlad rolled his eyes. Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep through the night, Joss.

Eddie’s voice came out in a breath. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can. I knew he was a vampire, but I had no idea you knew. Who else knows?”

A picture of Henry popped into Joss’s thoughts, but he couldn’t out his cousin, couldn’t endanger Henry’s life because he was being stupid and reckless ... and was likely under Vlad’s control. “Just us. And we have to keep it that way.”

“So what do we do? I mean, he has to be stopped. And ... I want proof to show people.”

Joss raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

Eddie leaned forward, excitement in his tone. “No, I believe you. But I want the newspapers to believe me. I want the television programs to believe me.”

“You want to be famous for proving to the world that vampires exist?”

“Yes.”

Joss tightened his jaw, disgusted. If Eddie weren’t proving to be useful, he’d walk away from this conversation and deny it had ever taken place. But he did seem to be of use, which is why Joss had confided in him in the first place. Joss wet his lips and a lie escaped his mouth. “Give me time, and I’ll make you more famous than you have ever dreamed.”