Eleventh Grade Burns (21 page)

When he caught up with his uncle, Otis started rambling, and Vlad could tell the scent of blood had him now. Otis looked captivated by the crowd. “Let me put it into perspective for you. Being raised among humans, you have adapted many of their so-called morals. You’ve been raised to believe that you shouldn’t bring harm on humankind, that humans are not food, that you should do everything in your power to protect your fellow man. I was raised that way too, and for twenty years after I turned, I struggled with guilt at the things I was doing. The urges inside me were too powerful to ignore, but eventually, I realized that I was only hurting myself by ignoring them. I was no longer human, so I needed to learn a new way of living, a new way of looking at the world. You, Vladimir, may be half human, but every bit of you that I have seen is a vampire. And this is the vampire way.”

Vlad shrugged, unwilling to listen to his uncle when he was chattering on like some starved lunatic. “I guess ...”

Otis gestured to the crowd with a nod. “All that blood, just waiting to be devoured. You may never hunt, but at least let me show you how to do it right. Look around, smell the blood pumping through their veins. Find the one whose blood really calls to you.”

“I ... I can’t, Otis. I think, I mean, you’re not acting like yourself.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay. Not that Otis could reason that at the moment. “Look over there. The man in the blue business suit? His blood smells like a mixture of blackberries and pomegranates to me. So, now that I’ve found my meal, I’ll plant thoughts in his head to direct him up the street to the park.”

Vlad shook his head in disgust. He didn’t dare mention that the man was neither sick, nor elderly. “Not so much a hunt than it is herding people like cattle, huh?”

“The hunt really begins when we hit the park.”

Once the man had stepped from the cold, hard streets of Midtown Manhattan, into the lush green of Central Park, he slowed his steps, turning some in mild confusion, as if he were waking from a dream. Vlad glanced at Otis and said, “I thought group hunting was illegal in cities.”

“While I’m thrilled you’ve been reading the
Compendium,
you may have missed the short paragraph about the only un-governed city. As you might guess, it makes New York a popular area for vampires to visit.”

The man stepped forward, moving deeper into the woods. Vlad could feel the tension rise up in Otis and, with it, his hunger. Otis’s face had paled; his fangs had elongated. He looked positively fierce in the light of the street lamps. Vlad stuttered, actually frightened by the changes he saw in his uncle. “S-so as long as you hunt here, you w-won’t get in trouble?”

“That’s right.” Otis barely glanced at him, like it was virtually impossible to tear his gaze from his prey. His pupils were pinpoints. His voice was accompanied by a guttural growl. “Let the games begin.”

Otis bolted across the few yards between where Vlad stood and where Otis’s intended victim was wandering in a daze. In an instant, the man seemed to gather his senses and realize that someone ... some
thing
was coming up behind him fast. He turned, eyes terrified and round, mouth opening wide to scream. Otis jumped up, pouncing on the man in a catlike move. Saliva dripped from his fangs, and he growled, “Run. Or you will die.”

The man shoved Otis off of him—or thought he did; Vlad knew that Otis had let him go—and ran deeper into the park, much to Otis’s visible pleasure. He sat there, crouched, giving the man time to flee, and when Vlad approached him, he looked up with a strange light in his eye. “It seems cruel, I know. But his adrenaline will ease the pain of death some, so it’s better that he’s afraid.”

A hard, hot, hollow spot formed at Vlad’s center. “You are seriously freaking me out, Otis.”

“I can’t stop now. He’d run for help, expose us all. Besides,” Otis grinned, his sharp fangs bared. “It makes the blood even sweeter.”

It was very apparent that Otis—the real Otis, the one who taught mythology at Bathory High and nuzzled Nelly’s neck when he thought Vlad wasn’t looking—wasn’t here anymore. This man, this vampire, wasn’t the Otis that Vlad knew. He was a hunter through and through, a creature that thirsted for blood and would do anything within his power to get it. The sight of him scared Vlad like nothing ever had before.

After another moment passed, the vampire Otis took off at a sprint, delaying the chase purposefully. Vlad followed at a distance, watching out for Otis in a way that made him feel very much like the responsible one of the two. He’d smelled the guy’s blood, so rich and warm and tangy with fear, but couldn’t understand why the hunt hadn’t taken control of him the way it had his uncle. Maybe it was because Vlad had never hunted before. Maybe it was because he was part human. Whatever it was, he was glad. Otis seemed hypnotized, bewitched by the power of an ancient, carnal need, and Vlad wanted no part of it ... no matter how much his gums throbbed and his stomach growled.

As he followed Otis, ignoring the terrified screams of the man he was chasing, Vlad passed Enrico feeding on a platinum blonde in the bushes. He looked drunk, like Otis, and the human part of Vlad wanted very much to run like hell.

When he caught up to Otis, he had the man cornered by a large tree. Otis was growling. Then, in a flash, as if he’d reached the pinnacle of his thrill, Otis leaped on the man. He tilted his head back, his long fangs glistening, ready to tear open the man’s throat and swallow mouthfuls of his blood.

A monster. Otis was a monster. Maybe Joss and the Slayer Society weren’t so wrong after all. Maybe vampires really were horrible beings, bent on human pain and destruction. Maybe their use of stakes wasn’t entirely misguided.

Despite his horror, Vlad found himself moving closer to Otis’s victim. The scent of the man’s blood was almost too much to bear. He wanted it. Desperately.

But more than that, he wanted his uncle back.

“Otis! NO!”

Otis seemed to have just noticed him for the first time. Blinking, he looked up from his impending meal.

Vlad shook his head sternly. “I’m not going to let you do this, Otis. It’s wrong. Look at him; he’s terrified!”

The vampire Otis glanced briefly down at the man, as if the very idea that humans could feel terror had never occurred to him.

“You call this hunting. You chase innocent people through the woods, terrify them, then kill them. That’s not hunting, Otis. It’s not sport. It’s murder and you know it. If this is the vampire way, then I’m really glad my dad took me away from Elysia. It’s ... it’s horrible. And you’re horrible for doing it.”

That scary light left Otis’s eyes at last, and he looked sober again and filled with shame.

But Vlad didn’t hang around long enough to be sure. He took off running, the wind whipping through his hair, moving with vampire speed until he was back at the hotel. He stepped into their room and closed the door, lying on the bed for what seemed like an eternity.

Otis would feed. Of that he was certain.

Disgust filled him, and guilt too. He’d never spoken to his uncle that way before. But then, it wasn’t his uncle he’d been speaking to. It had been the vampire Otis, someone he didn’t even know.

After a long time, the door opened and Otis stepped inside. His eyes were red, his expression drawn. He didn’t meet Vlad’s gaze, but sat on the foot of the bed, his shoulders slumped. He was quiet for a long time. Then, as if unable to stand the silence anymore, he spoke. “It hurts that you see me as a monster, Vladimir.”

“I never said that Otis. I never said you were a monster.”

He’d thought it. Oh yes, he’d thought it. But he would never admit that to his uncle, never reveal that for a moment, he understood Joss’s motives.

“You don’t have to say it. And ... you’re right, to an extent.” Otis sighed, burying his head in his hands. “It’s so difficult to resist gorging myself on their blood. Every day in Bathory, I somehow manage, always teetering on the verge of a thirst-fueled madness. I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you manage to refrain from slaughtering the entire town. You’re immensely strong. Far stronger than me.”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. He’d never thought of himself as particularly strong before. “What about Nelly? You two cuddle all the time, but you don’t seem to be chomping down on her. You’re strong too, Otis.”

Otis shook his head. “That’s different. I don’t think of her in that way. But everyone else ... especially the humans I don’t know by name ... it’s immensely difficult to resist.”

Vlad swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a vampire used to taking meals by force and then going stone sober. It had to be an awful habit to break. “Did you kill that man, Otis?”

He looked up then and closed his eyes. Vlad couldn’t be sure if his expression was one of relief or regret. “No. I did not. I wiped the experience from his memory and returned him to Times Square. Then I went for a long walk before returning here to beg your forgiveness.”

Vlad sat up, reached forward, and squeezed Otis’s shoulder. Otis placed his hand over Vlad’s and met his eyes.

“You don’t need to, Otis. There’s nothing to forgive.”

A
FTER A SHORT SUBWAY RIDE, Otis and Vlad headed back to V Bar. The city had come alive in the nighttime hours, something that was the absolute opposite of life in small town Bathory. Even V Bar was overflowing with customers, so it took Otis a minute to garner the attention of the bartender. Once he did, the bartender led them through the cellar door in the sidewalk to the storage area beneath. He closed the metal doors over them, and Otis moved to the small glyph behind a table and brushed it with his trembling fingers.

This was it. The moment that determined whether Otis would live or die.

“Otis?” Vlad’s voice shook slightly. “I’m scared.”

A section of wall opened to the right. Otis met Vlad’s eyes and sighed. “Me too, Vlad. Me too.”

After Otis entered the room, a familiar person stepped from the shadows. Dorian whispered, “It is important that you don’t speak at this hearing, Vlad, unless you are called on. Also, telepathy is not allowed. Do you understand?”

Vlad nodded and Dorian placed a hand on Vlad’s elbow to guide him inside. Beside the door was a second glyph. Ignoring all the fear that Dorian had inflicted on him, Vlad tapped Dorian’s hand and nodded to the marking. “What’s that?”

“That’s insurance that my influence cannot enter this room. It’s a new addition to pretrials. Apparently my gifts at bringing about true justice are not appreciated. As Em, the president of this council, despises me ...”

Vlad’s entire body went cold. “All it takes is a glyph to stop you?”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth rose in a smirk. He whispered, “No, but I like to let Em think it will. Besides ... Em is probably the only vampire in this world capable of killing me. I had hoped that she would be absent, as she normally is for such proceedings, and I would be able to influence the others, but alas ...” He sighed and Vlad could see that he was troubled. “Suffice it to say that Otis is on his own, my young friend. His future lies in Em’s hands.”

With a deep breath, Vlad stepped through the door with Dorian at his side. He was oddly comforted by Dorian’s presence.

The room was surprisingly posh for such a small, hidden space beneath the streets of Greenwich Village. A long, mahogany table commanded the front of the room, home to nine vampires. Vikas sat to the far right, D’Ablo to the far left, and at the center sat a girl who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a band T-shirt, her hair cut in such a way that her burgundy-colored bangs curtained her left eye. Her Converse-clad feet were tapping the concrete floor beneath the table, as if she was having a difficult time holding still. Otis stood before the table and several vampires sat in chairs behind him, waiting for the proceedings to begin. Dorian led Vlad to an empty chair and then took one himself, only a few chairs away.

Every vampire in the room had their eyes locked on Dorian, their expressions a mingling of disgust, fear, and immense respect. The vampires to either side of him stood and moved to the back of the room. The look in Dorian’s eyes said he was used to this response, used to being the most feared, loathed, and respected vampire in all of Elysia. Almost immediately, Vlad felt immensely sorry for him. Dorian might be used to getting what he wanted, but there was a reason his social skills were tacking—no one wanted to be social with him. Dorian glanced at Vlad, his eyes betraying a sadness. Without telepathy, it seemed Dorian knew that Vlad had witnessed his pain. He looked grateful.

The girl at the center began. “Otis Otis, you face a variety of charges, and as this is your pretrial, not yet your trial, we shall approach this with a more casual effort and assume that you know of the charges of which I speak?”

Otis’s voice was sure and strong, but hushed. “I do”

“And do you have any evidence-supported reason that these matters should not go to trial?”

Otis’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I do not have such evidence, but I do have suspicions of treachery.”

“Treachery?” She rolled it over on her tongue, as if unfamiliar with the word. “How so?”

“Em ... I ... I would rather we speak in private, as my theories involve a certain member of this council.” His eyes darted to D’Ablo, who merely scowled in return.

“I see” She wet her lips, as if debating his request, then said, “Speak here. This council holds no secrets from one another.”

A small bead of sweat ran down Otis’s forehead. “I believe that D’Ablo holds personal prejudice against me. Me ... and my nephew. I can better explain this in private. Please ...”

The room grew very silent. Finally, Em stood. “If the council will pardon us ...”

She left her place at the table and she and Otis moved outside, into the storage area, for several minutes. When they returned, she acted as if nothing had happened and took her place once more. “As there is no evidence to support not going to trial—”