Eleventh Grade Burns (20 page)

“Only one. But there is always hope.” He winked again and then stole away down the length of the bar to help another customer.

“Otis Otis.” A man’s voice behind them, warm and inviting.

Before even turning around, Otis smiled broadly. “Enrico Ciotti.”

An Italian man with dark features embraced Otis tightly. “It has been too long, my friend.”

“You say that every time I see you, Enrico.”

Enrico laughed and released him. “Well then, maybe you should come by more often.” He smiled at Vlad and thrust out his hand. “This must be your nephew. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Vladimir. Your uncle sings your praises constantly.”

Vlad shook his hand, not mentioning that today was the first time Otis had ever mentioned Enrico, and certainly not making mention of his dad. “Nice to meet you.”

As Enrico settled onto the stool beside him, Otis said, “I trust you know why I’m here.”

He nodded in response. “Ah yes. The pretrial. I was so elated that the Council of Elders chose my fair city for it that I offered up space.”

“They turned you down, I trust?”

“On the contrary, they leaped at the offer. Apart from D’Ablo, of course.”

“Of course.” Otis wet his lips, suddenly looking nervous. Maybe it was just now hitting him that this was his last chance to be proclaimed innocent. “I admit, I’m surprised. I’d thought Central Park or perhaps the library ...”

“And insult me with their choice?” Enrico shook his head confidently. “Apart from D’Ablo, I am good friends with every member of that council. Refusing my offer would have created a rift—one I’m sure they’d rather avoid, considering my son.”

Otis’s jaw tightened. “Is he here?”

“He’s around, I’m sure. Probably sleeping. We all can’t be day owls like yourself, Otis.” Laughter bubbled out of Enrico as natural as breath.

“To be fair, the sun has begun to set. It’s not as if we came at noon.” The tension hadn’t left Otis, but he was trying hard to smile and act casual. But Vlad knew otherwise. Something was troubling Otis. Likely the mention of Enrico’s son ... whoever he was. “Still, perhaps it’s best that he remains resting while my nephew and I are here. We’ll retire to our hotel room in a bit and return for the pretrial at midnight.”

Enrico waved a hand through the air, dismissing the notion. “Nonsense. There’s no sense avoiding him.”

Their conversation continued, but Vlad’s attention waned. He felt the strangest compulsion to leave the bar. He shook it off for a good ten minutes, trying to focus on the conversation between Otis and Enrico. Finally, the pull was too strong to ignore, and he slipped from his bar stool and quietly made his way to the door. He paused there, taking the time to look back at Otis, who didn’t even glance at him. In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all. The bartender finished wiping off the counter. There was a woman who kept sipping her wine and feverishly scribbling something on the page in front of her. Enrico and Otis kept chatting. All of them seemed blissfully unaware that Vlad had even moved at all. Raising an eyebrow, Vlad stepped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

He turned south, following the pull at his core, and his steps only began to slow when he recognized the man standing at the end of the block. Dark eyes. Pale skin. A thin Cupid’s-bow mouth. Copper-colored hair. Vlad would have recognized that face anywhere.

Dorian.

So that’s who Otis and Enrico had been talking about. Dorian. And Vlad would have bet anything that Dorian was Enrico’s son.

Vlad couldn’t help but wonder if Dorian was responsible for the irresistible pull he’d felt at the center of his being, urging him to leave the bar and wander down the street.

Dorian nodded. At first Vlad thought it was in greeting, but then Dorian spoke. “I am responsible for that. I do apologize, but it was really the only way to get you alone without alerting the others.”

Vlad remained stiff, the thought of Dorian’s cravings for his blood never far from his mind. “And you brought me here why?”

A smile crossed Dorian’s lips. “Not for the reason you might expect, though I’m still very open to tasting your blood if you’re interested.”

Vlad crossed his arms in front of him.

Dorian chuckled. “No? Well then, onto my real motives. Do you have any idea how many vampires are allowed to know the prophecy of the Pravus in its entirety Vlad?” He paused, but only slightly. “Four. Just four. And I am the last of that four. I am the only vampire in existence that can carry such knowledge. I am the Keeper of the Prophecy.”

“The other three are dead?”

“The Foreteller and Transcriber of the Prophecy are both dead. They died to hide this knowledge from Elysia. I keep it so that I may educate vampirekind when the time is right.” He wet his lips and stepped forward cautiously, as if knowing how on edge his presence made Vlad feel. He seemed to know just about everything there was to know about Vlad. His eyes met Vlad’s and once again, Vlad was struck by how harmless he looked. “I’d like to educate you right now, if you’re willing.”

Vlad was about to ask about the third person who knew the prophecy, as Dorian had only named two others besides himself, but then in his mind, a film jumped, and he knew that Dorian was sharing a memory with him. The grainy image of two men in a small, dark room came to life, then sharpened. Vlad couldn’t shake the feeling that the room seemed somehow familiar, and then it hit him. It was the training room in Siberia. The sounds of their breathing filled Vlad’s head, and Vlad knew that he was seeing the memory from Dorian’s point of view. Silently, Dorian moved forward and knelt before the men. One knelt beside him and seemed to enter into a trance, then started speaking in Elysian code to no one in particular, as if he were reading a book aloud. Dorian’s heart drummed in Vlad’s ears.

The third man turned around, messing with something on the small table behind him. When he turned back, Vlad could see he was holding a quill in his hand. There was no ink in sight and the metal tip was glowing, like a red-hot coal. Then, in a moment of sheer horror, Vlad saw the man holding the quill lean forward and press the burning pen into Dorian’s skin. Dorian cried out but held very still as the man worked over his skin. When the tip would cool, he’d move back to the fireplace and then return to Dorian’s skin with a fresh quill, burning words into Dorian’s exposed flesh. Vlad couldn’t get a good look at what the man was writing, but he was almost positive that it was whatever the chanting man was saying aloud.

Once Dorian healed, the man would begin again, branding and carving words into Dorian again and again. At one point, Dorian tried to break away, unable to face the pain any longer. The man with the pen pulled him back, his face sympathetic, and attached chains to Dorian’s wrists to stop him from fleeing. Then he continued to inscribe words on Dorian’s skin, over and over again. All Vlad could do was watch in horrified disbelief.

Dorian’s thoughts broke in over the memory like the narrator in an old movie.
“They continued for a year, breaking only to feed, though I was not allowed to partake. By the time we were done, I had not only put the prophecy of the Pravus to memory, but ingrained it on my soul.”

The film jumped forward then. Exhausted and aged by his ordeal, Dorian lay on the floor of the training room, spent. The chanting man had stopped chanting and the man with the pen had ceased as well. A fourth man, one Vlad knew well, entered the room and set Dorian free. Vlad watched as Vikas killed the Foreteller and the Transcriber, though neither fought it. It was as if they’d expected it, as if they all knew they had a role to play and were willing to play it. Dorian crawled forward, lapping at the blood from their fatal wounds.

The image froze on Dorian’s hand lovingly caressing the dead face of the Inscriber, and just like that, Vlad was no longer watching Dorian’s memory.

Dorian said, “So to answer your question of where the prophecy is, the answer stands before you. Simply put, it is within me.”

Vlad took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to erase those images from his mind. “I don’t suppose you could jot it down for me.”

A smile touched Dorian’s lips. “No. I’m afraid I can’t. Nor can I tell you the prophecy verbatim. I have discussed portions of it with various vampires over time and books have been written on the subject based on those conversations, but none but I know the prophecy in its entirety. However, I can answer direct questions. And I will ... in time.”

Dorian turned around and started walking away. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Your uncle will notice your departure in a moment. I suggest you hurry back.”

“Wait. First tell me something. Something not about the prophecy. Something about you.” Dorian paused and Vlad ran to catch up with him. Once he reached his side, he asked, “Where do you get your powers from?”

Once again, Dorian smiled. “Ask your uncle.”

“Is that one of your secrets, Dorian?”

“I have only one secret, and that is not it. Perhaps one day I will share my secret with you, but that day isn’t today.” Dorian started walking again, and this time, Vlad didn’t follow.

He hurried back to V Bar and, just as he’d entered the door, Otis straightened and looked around. His expression darkened when he saw Vlad returning. While Vlad found his seat once again, Enrico excused himself to go help the bartender. Otis eyed Vlad for a moment before he spoke. “Enrico has invited us along for dinner. I’m assuming you missed that part of the conversation.”

Vlad swallowed hard, feeling very much like he was in trouble, but not knowing why. “I did. Good, though. I’m starved.”

Otis emptied his glass and sat it on the bar. “He’s asked us to join him in hunting humans for sport.”

At Vlad’s gawk, he said, “You don’t have to take part, but I’m not about to leave you alone in a hotel room in New York City.”

O
TIS WHISPERED, as if he didn’t want the other vampires to hear, which struck Vlad as enormously stupid, what with them having telepathy and all, but hey ... whatever floated Otis’s boat. They had just exited the subway and were now walking along the sidewalk, making their way north, toward Times Square and beyond it, Central Park. “Are you ready for this, Vladimir? The hunt is exhilarating, but not something I’m sure you’d agree with.”

Actually, Vlad found himself more intrigued by the idea than he’d ever admit. “I don’t want to be rude or anything. It’ll be okay.”

“After your reaction to the very idea of hunting in Siberia a few years ago, I thought the notion might sicken you.” Otis cocked an eyebrow at him, as if defying him to deny it, or perhaps coaxing him to admit he was curious. “But if you’re all right with it ...”

Vlad chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “How is it done? I mean ... we won’t hurt anyone, will we?”

“We?” Otis slowed his steps, as if in disbelief. “You plan to hunt?”

“No. I just ... no.” He swallowed hard, resolving that he wouldn’t be partaking in any fresh human blood tonight. Not even a drop. No matter how much it appealed to him.

Licking his lips, as if parched by the subject, Otis said, “Every vampire hunts differently. I always aim for the sick or homeless, those who don’t have a chance of surviving much longer anyway. Enrico prefers tourists.”

“But don’t they have families to go home to?”

“Think of it this way, Vlad. Do the chickens and cows that humans devour have families who will miss them? Perhaps. But whether or not they do is of no consequence on the hunt.”

Vlad furrowed his brow, more than a little disturbed. “You can’t kill them, Otis. You just can’t.”

After a thoughtful pause, Otis called up to Enrico. “Let’s try to let them live tonight.”

Enrico’s laughter drifted back to them. “Let them live? That
would
be a cruel fate.”

Vlad shot a glance at Otis. “What does he mean by that?”

“He means that killing them would be fast. Letting them live will require a satisfying chase. And I can’t guarantee that the thirst won’t cloud our reasoning a bit. We may kill them anyway.” Otis paused midstep, as if he were having second thoughts about bringing Vlad along. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You look a little green. Maybe I should take you back to the hotel.”

Vlad shrugged. He didn’t want Otis to miss out on the fun. Even if he was having a hard time with the idea of attacking innocent people. “It would be easier if I knew they were willing victims.”

“Victims are never willing, Vlad. That’s why they’re called victims and not volunteers.” Otis sighed. “You don’t have to participate. Neither do I if it makes the evening more ... palatable for you.”

Enrico’s voice found them again with a tone of celebration. “Ah ... as usual, our hunting ground is full. Herd your choices to the park, gentlemen, and let the games begin.”

Times Square was far cooler than any of the times he’d seen it on TV. Bright lights were everywhere. The smells of food filled the air. And the people ... so many people.

Otis spoke in a hurried tone, as if he’d all but forgotten his suggestion that maybe they should sit this hunt out. “The key to a good hunt is to choose a human who fits your mood. If you’re looking for a struggle, if you truly want a fight that will fulfill your animalistic urges, choose a strong human, preferably a runner. If you want a fast meal, the elderly are a good choice.”

Vlad flinched. “The elderly?”

“You’re feeling conflicted. That’s normal.” Then Otis hurried ahead into the crowd.

Vlad shook his head and followed, albeit reluctantly. “Nothing about this is normal, Otis.”