Eleventh Grade Burns (3 page)

Otis brushed his lips against Nelly’s cheek, whispering his hello in her ear. Nelly blushed and smiled and eventually went back to cooking.

Vlad stood, money in one hand, Joss’s coin in the other, and left the room. His foot had just touched the bottom step on his way to his bedroom, when Otis said, “The silence between us is intolerable, Vladimir. The quiet in my mind ... it’s deafening.”

Vlad paused and glanced over his shoulder at his uncle. “I’m not the one who started it.”

Otis’s eyes shined with hurt. “True enough. Can we talk?”

Vlad shrugged casually, but inside, his muscles had already lost much of their tension in relief. “Sure.”

Then, inside Vlad’s mind, Otis’s voice, warm and welcoming—something Vlad missed more than he would ever admit to.
“Not here. I was thinking of your house. You haven’t been by to see it since the renovations were completed. I have things I’d like to show you, things I’d like to discuss with you.”

Vlad’s initial reaction was to jump at the offer—after all, he missed Otis’s company, and very much longed for the opportunity to sit down and chat. But there was their last conversation to be considered.
“First promise me that you’ll leave Joss alone, that you won’t harm him in any way.”

Otis’s jaw tightened.
“You know I can’t promise that.”

He met Vlad’s eyes, pleading aloud. “Please, Vladimir. Just a short chat between uncle and nephew. Let me have my say and you can go back to brooding.”

Vlad winced. Maybe he had been moping more than was sensible lately. “Okay But it can’t take long. Henry and I are going to the movies.”

Not that Henry had any inkling at all that they were hanging out. But Henry had proven to be enormously supportive ever since he’d come to the conclusion that being Vlad’s human slave was pretty cool. He had no idea that Vlad had another drudge in Snow, since Vlad had insisted that he’d released the goth girl. It was a lie, but one Vlad had needed to tell. He didn’t want anyone knowing about his continued feeding from a human’s veins.

The problem was ... sometimes he got the idea that Snow wanted to be much more than his drudge.

Vlad shook his head. The last thing he needed to be doing was thinking about Snow when Otis was lurking around in his head. He didn’t block Otis, but definitely changed gears in his thought process, instead mulling over Joss and the ever-looming first day of school.

The walk to his old house was long and quiet. Occasionally, Otis would give him a sidelong glance, but neither spoke. Once they turned down Lugosi Trail, Vlad smiled. His house had been given a fresh coat of paint, and brand-new windows had been installed. Even the shrubs alongside the porch looked brighter, happier now that someone was calling his house home. He’d never asked where Otis got the money to fix the house. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was being given new life.

It made looking at it easier to recall the memories he had of his life there, before the fire, before his parents’ deaths, before everything he knew had disappeared in a whiff of ash and soot.

Otis’s voice buzzed pleasantly in his brain.
“It’s so good to see you smile. You haven’t in some time.”

Vlad slowed his steps some, thinking, then he spoke to Otis with his mind.
“I haven’t had much of a reason to.”

Otis took on a hopeful tone.
“And now?”

They crossed the street, and Vlad cleared his throat. “The house looks nice. Mom would like the color you chose.”

Otis raised his eyes to the house. The siding was a pale yellow—a warm tone compared to the gray that it had been. “Nelly picked it. She said that it was Mellina’s favorite color.”

An image flashed in Vlad’s mind, an unexpected memory from years ago. His mom in a flowered skirt, a pale yellow sweater tied about her shoulders. She was laughing, running across the yard away from Tomas, away from Vlad. Something about them being out to get her, but Vlad couldn’t recall it clearly enough. And just like that, it was gone.

He shook his head, smiling at the memory, and stepped forward onto the porch, following Otis’s lead. Otis turned the knob and opened the door, gesturing with a small nod for Vlad to head inside. With a strangely light feeling of excitement in his chest, Vlad stepped into the house.

On some level, he’d expected that acrid, horrible scent of smoke and ash to assault his nostrils, but it didn’t. Instead, it smelled like Otis had been baking cookies. A glimpse into the new living room revealed the source of the smell—scented candles had been placed on a new mahogany coffee table. The walls were in golden tones, warm, homey. And as Vlad moved from room to room, he marveled that this was his house—the same house he’d been born in, the same house he’d lived in for so long. It looked different. Way different. The furniture, the cabinets, the paint on the walls had all been changed. It looked like an entirely new place.

Vlad wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

On the one hand, he’d assured Otis that a change was definitely needed, that maybe a new look would ease the pain of visiting his once-happy home. On the other, he felt somewhat intruded upon, as though Otis had tried to erase the memories of his parents by redoing the house—a stupid thought, but there it was. He flicked his eyes to his uncle, who was watching him carefully. “Is ... is
everything
different?”

Otis continued to watch him for a moment, as if trying to gauge his reaction to the changes. Finally, seeming to accept that there was no way he could ease any concerns in Vlad’s mind, he took a breath and said, “Not everything. Come upstairs.”

Otis led the way through the kitchen to the back stairs, then up. Vlad followed, taking in every inch of his renewed former home. The wood floors had been sanded and stained, and the distinct lack of that smoky scent continued throughout the house. It was a missing link in the experience—a bad thing that had been there for years and was suddenly gone. Vlad didn’t miss it, but felt a wave of guilt at its absence, as if by not whiffing that scent, he were somehow trying to forget that awful day, the day he lost his parents forever.

Otis paused on the top step and peered over his shoulder at his nephew. The look in his eyes said he’d picked up on Vlad’s tension, but he couldn’t identify the source, wouldn’t without reading Vlad’s thoughts—something Otis had promised he would only do if Vlad granted him permission. He wet his lips as if to speak, to offer some sort of comfort, but turned his head at the last moment and continued his trek up the stairs and down the hall to the door of Tomas’s office.

Vlad halted on the stairs, wishing for a moment that Otis would read his mind so he wouldn’t have to say the things he was thinking out loud. After exchanging troubled glances with Otis, he followed, hesitant to see what now lay behind the door to his dad’s sanctuary.

“This room was the most difficult to renovate.” Otis waited, gesturing with his eyes to the doorknob.

With a deep, hesitant, hurting breath, Vlad reached out and turned the knob, opening the door.

Inside, the walls were exactly the same as they had been, down to the scrape where Tomas’s chair had rubbed the paint away. His dad’s desk remained, though the chair was new. Everything looked exactly the same as it had been before the fire. Only cleaner.

He turned to Otis with a questioning look.

Otis smiled, his eyes shining. “It was so difficult, in fact, that I left it as it was. Gave it a good scrubbing, of course.”

Vlad ran the tips of his fingers across his dad’s desk, looking around, taking it all in. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you, Otis. This means a lot to me.”

“There’s one more room that I left untouched.” Otis’s eyes moved to the hallway, to the door of Tomas and Mellina’s bedroom. From his pocket he pulled a silver key and placed it in Vlad’s palm. “The room is exactly as it was that day. I merely had workers seal it off to prevent the scent of smoke from pervading the rest of the house.”

Vlad turned the key over in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, his chest full of gratitude. “Why?”

Otis’s voice was kind and warm. “Because it’s not up to me to decide when it’s time to leave that moment behind, Vladimir.”

Vlad couldn’t help but notice that Otis had used the word when, not
if. When
it was time. As if there was no question that that time would come.

And he was right. Sooner or later, Vlad was going to have to let go of his guilt and say goodbye to the haunting memories of that day.

But not today.

Vlad nodded and slipped the key into his front pocket. “The house looks amazing, Otis. You’ve done a great job.”

Otis was looking at him, a troubled expression on his face. “You ooze sorrow, Vladimir. What I would do to ease your every pain ...”

Vlad tried to ignore his uncle’s words, but couldn’t. “I really like the floors. Dad always loved mahogany.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s troubling you so deeply. Is it Joss? Is it Meredith? You’ve been so distant since I moved to Bathory. Is it me?”

Vlad swallowed hard. “It’s ... nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly, anyway. The fact of the matter was that it was a combination of all of those things, and more. So much more than he could ever tell Otis.

Images of Snow flitted through his mind, of their monthly sessions in the alley behind The Crypt. Vlad had kept those moments secret, so secret that Henry was convinced that Vlad had a crush on Snow, and that was why he needed to frequent the goth club. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The Crypt was an absolute blast to hang out at, and the only feelings Vlad had for Snow were reminiscent of how a human might feel about a Big Mac.

A really sweet, amazingly understanding, pretty Big Mac. A Big Mac that got what he was saying before he even said it. A Big Mac that listened in ways that Meredith never would have been capable of.

Otis furrowed his brow. “I will not lay a hand on the slayer unless he presents a threat. While I don’t understand your feelings, I will respect them, Vladimir. If that is what it takes to heal whatever is broken between us, then so be it.”

Vlad shook his head. “Thank you for that. But it’s not you, Otis. I’m just dealing with a lot of unexpected stress.”

“I’m not surprised. You haven’t been eating right.” Otis’s voice softened, as did the expression in his eyes. “Nelly says you only manage four or five blood bags a day anymore—significantly less than you were eating.”

Vlad’s entire body tensed. “Yeah, well ... I haven’t been hungry lately.”

“She’s also commented that you have a new group of friends—”

“Your point?” Vlad snapped. He hadn’t meant to, but he did. He was trying to stay calm. Otis knew. He knew about Snow. He knew Vlad had been feeding on a human. But how? Vlad had been so careful to hide his feeding sessions. Even Henry didn’t have a clue. And Otis wouldn’t dare break his trust by reading his thoughts unwanted.

Otis’s tone was calm and somewhat pleading. “I just want you to know that you can always talk to me, Vladimir, about anything. I will never judge you.”

Vlad’s heart raced along with his thoughts. Otis couldn’t know. There was no way. Vlad had guarded his secret too carefully for his uncle to find him out. Hadn’t he? “Well, there’s nothing to judge, is there? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Otis grew silent. After a moment, he gave Vlad’s shoulder a squeeze. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong, Vlad.”

He turned and headed down the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs. Without looking back, he said, “I know.”

Vlad froze at his uncle’s words. No truer words had ever been spoken—Otis knew. Somehow, he knew all about Vlad’s late night trips to The Crypt. He knew about Snow. He knew that while Vlad might be strong enough to stand up to D’Ablo and fight to the near death with a vampire slayer, he didn’t have the strength to admit when he was wrong.

He stood there for a long time, listening to his heart pounding in his ears. After a while, he slowly made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Otis was sitting on a stool next to the large island, a coffee mug of blood in his hand. He didn’t bother to offer any to Vlad, almost as though he assumed that Vlad’s hunger had been recently satisfied.

It had. Just a week before.

Vlad tightened his jaw and let another lie escape his lips. “I have to meet Henry now.”

As Vlad hurried out the door, slamming it behind him, Otis called out, “See you at dinner tonight.”

Great. Just what he needed.

N
ELLY, THIS STEAK IS DELECTABLE!”

Nelly smiled her gratitude across the table at Otis. Vlad poked his steak with his fork. It was good. Nice and raw, warm enough to encourage the blood to pool on his plate.

But it wasn’t human—a fact that was making it increasingly difficult for Vlad to finish his meal.

Otis met his eyes momentarily before engaging Nelly in some inane conversation that Vlad completely tuned out of. After several minutes of their chatter, Nelly cleared her throat, eliciting his attention. “You seem distracted tonight, Vladimir. Anything going on that I should know about?”

Plenty of stuff,
Vlad thought.

Otis raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak. Vlad flashed him a look.
“Lurking around in my mind, Uncle Otis?”

Vlad turned his outward attention back to his aunt, balancing the two conversations—verbal and telepathic—with ease. “Nothing’s going on. Just not hungry, I guess.”

Otis took another bite of steak, chewing thoughtfully.
“Lurking, but not poking around. What’s
stuff,
anyway?”

“What time is Henry picking you up?”

“Around six. Movie starts at eight, so we’ll probably wander the mall for a while. I might be back late though. I promised Snow I’d stop by The Crypt and bring her my copy of
Dracula.”
Simultaneously, he spoke to Otis with his mind.
“It’s
...
nothing, like I said this afternoon.”