Ninth Grade Slays (11 page)

Minutes later, Otis, Nelly, and Vlad were sitting around the dining room table, sipping from china teacups. Vlad's cup matched Otis's in that each was filled with microwaved blood, but Otis had barely touched his, focusing more, in a way that sent Vlad's gag reflex crazy, on Nelly. As Nelly cleared the table, Vlad turned to Otis. “So, what have you been up to, traveling all over the world?”

The happy glimmer in Otis's eye faded, and it was clear his thoughts were in an unpleasant place. “I've been running, Vladimir. Running and trying to learn some things.”

Vlad swallowed a lump of guilt. “Who have you been running from? Elysia? Is it because of helping me last year?”

“Partly, yes. D'Ablo had many followers, and I broke many laws by helping you. The punishment, should they catch me, would be a most painful death. But there are other things. Darker things that I will not speak of. Suffice it to say we should enjoy our time together, Vladimir. Good things only rarely last.” Otis glanced over his shoulder at the window, as if suddenly fearful they weren't alone. Instinctively, Vlad looked, too, but he saw nothing. He guessed that Otis was watching for whatever ghosts were haunting his thoughts.

Vlad leaned in and whispered, “Otis, I need to know more about the slayer.”

But Otis's eyes were fixed on the window. He stood with purpose and crossed the room quickly. After a careful survey of the scene outside the window, he sighed wearily and rested his forehead against the glass. “Snow. Just snow.”

Vlad approached with careful steps and placed a hand on Otis's shoulder. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

Without looking at him, Otis reluctantly shook his head. “No. You rest. You'll need it tomorrow. We leave at four in the morning.”

Vlad opened his mouth to protest—after all, his uncle looked exhausted—but something in Otis's eyes when he glanced back at Vlad told him to keep his opinions to himself. He offered a nod and made his way slowly up the stairs. This wasn't exactly the reunion he'd hoped for.

Vlad lay on his bed and dozed in and out of sleep until a soft ball of fluff stepped on his forehead. With a grunt, he nudged Amenti off his face and sat up. The alarm clock glowed a cool blue 1:31. Vlad sat up and rubbed his eyes. His stomach rumbled its late-night demands, so he slipped out the door and downstairs for a snack.

The light in the living room was on. He peered around the corner, hoping to find Otis either snoring away on the couch or wide awake and ready to answer Vlad's questions about the slayer. What he found gave him pause.

Otis was sitting in the wingback chair, looking exhausted and sad. Nelly stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Otis covered her hand with his and squeezed. Each of them smiled wearily into the other's eyes, and as Vlad looked on, he couldn't help but smile, too. He'd never seen two people so immediately, unabashedly attracted to each other. Not since ...

Vlad's smile slipped.

His eyes brimmed with tears.

Not since his parents.

The scene in front of him changed. Vlad was ten and up hours past his bedtime. He'd snuck down the hall to his father's study, where he'd spied his parents exchanging loving glances and holding hands. His mother had been standing behind his father in his favorite chair.

It was the last time he saw his parents alive.

The next morning, he'd risen early, turned off their alarms so they could sleep in, and gotten himself off to school. That afternoon he'd found them dead.

Vlad blinked away more tears. Nelly had draped a blanket over Otis, who, despite his will, was beginning to doze off.

Suddenly, Vlad didn't feel hungry anymore.

He went back upstairs and looked at the framed photo of his parents on the dresser before crawling under the covers. His mom and dad were smiling at him, but tonight their smiles seemed forced—almost as if they were trying to hide the pain of missing him. He tried to block out the memory of finding their charred remains, but the nightmarish experience rushed through the forefront of his mind with a whiff of ash and smoke.

Vlad hugged his pillow and stared at the photo of his parents and cried until sleep took him over at last.

10

SIBERIA

AFTER TWENTY-SIX HOURS on various planes that took Vlad from Stokerton to New York, then Paris and after that, Moscow, Vlad was about as exhausted as a person could get. Everyone in the world seemed to be traveling with him and Otis, as each airport had been exceedingly, obnoxiously busy. On each plane Vlad had tried to nap, but apparently, flight attendants are part bloodhound and can sniff a sleeping person from a mile away. By their third flight, he'd become convinced that it was written in their flight attendant bylaws that if anyone within their reach on an airplane begins to feel remotely drowsy, they should offer them a drink . . . or some pretzels . . . or one of those stupid little pillows that were barely big enough to cover Vlad's ear, let alone cushion his head against the window.

Otis had apparently no trouble snoozing his way from Moscow to Novosibirsk, Russia, as he'd snored quietly into Vlad's ear for roughly an hour before Vlad nudged him. Otis snorted and turned his head the other way, content to snore in the direction of the angry-looking woman across the aisle. Vlad watched out the window but couldn't see anything but clouds. His entire body felt alive with energy— soon he'd be getting instruction on telepathy from, what Otis had said, one of the oldest, most talented vampires around. The anticipation was making it increasingly difficult to keep still. He sighed and nudged Otis once more.

This time, Otis rubbed his eyes and sat up. “I must have dozed off. Did you get much sleep?”

Like a dog to a whistle, a thin flight attendant with brown hair tapped Otis on the shoulder. Vlad rolled his eyes before she could say, “Anything to drink, sir?”

He politely waved her away and turned back to Vlad, who shook his head. “Why are we going to Siberia? Isn't it cold there?”

“This time of year, yes, quite. But in the summer it's actually a rather warm and beautiful place.” Otis smiled. His eyes twinkled, and for a moment, Vlad longed for a time when they could be together for good. Like a real family—he, Nelly, and Otis. He wondered if that time would ever come or if the vampires of Elysia had made some solemn vow that they would do everything in their power to make sure that Vlad's life would never be happy or even remotely normal.

As if he were reading Vlad's thoughts—which, Vlad reminded himself, might actually have been the case—Otis's voice broke through. “I'm sorry I've not seen you in so long, Vlad. Unfortunately, I have reasons for having kept my distance.”

Vlad shrugged. “It's okay. I know you have stuff going on. And the letters have helped.”

Otis looked hopeful. “Have they?”

Vlad nodded. “I mean, it would be better if I could use my telepathy to get a B in English, but . . .”

Otis chuckled. “Oh, the stories I could tell you about your father and the trouble we got into reading minds.”

“So? Tell me.”

To Vlad's surprise, Otis's cheeks blushed pink. “When you're older. Much older. Let's just say we got slapped a lot.”

Vlad shook his head in bemusement. “What's Vikas like, anyway?”

“He's kind, warm, friendly, but stubborn.” Otis smiled and shook his head. “Incredibly stubborn. And very talented— the finest teacher I've ever known.”

Vlad nibbled on his bottom lip for a second. “Do you think he'll like me?”

Otis met his gaze with smiling eyes. “Vladimir, I do believe it would be impossible for Vikas not to like you. He adored Tomas, and you're very much like your father.”

Vlad sighed happily and settled back in his seat. He wanted to ask his uncle about what it was like to live among other vampires, and other things—like why he couldn't read the Pravus passages in the
Encyclopedia Vampyrica
, and why Otis hadn't mentioned the reality of vampire slayers before—but the proximity of the other passengers made him a little uncomfortable when it came to talking openly about who and what he was.

He lay back and watched the gray clouds rush by beneath them. To his surprise, Otis shook him from unexpected sleep. They exited the plane and, after a long wait in the customs line, they wandered through the crowd to the brisk outdoors, where a taxi was waiting. Otis spoke something in Russian and handed the driver a colorful slip of paper with the number 500 on it. The driver held the paper out to him and uttered something that sounded like surprise, but Otis waved him away and placed their bags in the trunk.

It didn't take long before the cab came to a stop in front of a small building just outside Novosibirsk. Otis handed the driver another 500-ruble note, and the driver uttered something that must have meant “thank you” in Russian.

They stepped out of the cab, and Vlad pulled the collar of his new winter coat up around his neck and drew his hat down around his ears. He knew Siberia was supposed to be cold, but negative temperatures looked a whole lot warmer on a computer screen.

The door of the building opened and a man stepped out, dressed in layers of wool. A large hood covered his head, and though he wore a scarf over the lower half of his face, Vlad could tell he wasn't smiling. The man grumbled at Otis in Russian. Otis spoke with a friendly tone that turned slightly threatening. The man paused and glanced at Vlad. He nodded and led them around back, where a sled was waiting. Hitched to the front was a team of nine dogs. Vlad listened to Otis and the man debate something for a few minutes before approaching the largest dog in the front and holding out his gloved hand. The dog's ice blue eyes twinkled, and he nuzzled Vlad's hand.

Otis moved closer and scratched the dog behind the ear. “Beautiful animals, aren't they? Dmitri's family has been breeding huskies for years.”

Vlad looked back at the man, who was watching them with squinted eyes and stuffing colorful slips of paper into his coat pocket. “Did you give him money?”

Otis nodded. “Twenty thousand rubles to rent the dogs and sled.”

Vlad pulled his hand away from the dog and widened his eyes at his uncle. “That sounds like a lot.”

Otis bent over to check the dogs' harnesses. “It works out to roughly seven hundred American dollars. A fair price, considering what I'm asking these dogs to do.”

“What exactly are you asking them to do?” The wind had picked up, slicing through Vlad's layered clothes like a hot knife through butter. Vlad shivered and clenched his teeth.

Satisfied with the harnesses, Otis moved to the back of the sled, strapped their suitcases to a flat area there, and gestured for Vlad to sit on the rectangle of wood in front of him. “To take us to the hidden village of Elysia.”

Vlad lowered himself onto the sled and drew a wool blanket over his legs. Otis had stepped onto the sled and was busy pulling his gloves tight over his fingers. He didn't seem bothered by the cold at all. Vlad pulled the blanket up to his nose and said, “But I thought Elysia was in Stokerton.”

“Remember what I told you before? Elysia is anywhere our kind gather to share in one another's company. We're traveling to the hidden village of Elysia, home of the Siberian council.” Otis called something out to the dogs, but Vlad didn't hear what he said. The wind had picked up again. It howled in his ears as he, Otis, and the dogs moved quickly over breathtaking terrain. They passed forests and mountains, gliding over miles and miles of snow. Vlad stayed huddled under his blanket. Neither he nor Otis spoke.

The sky turned black and stars rose high above them. Vlad could no longer feel his toes.

After what seemed like ages, Otis brought the dogs to a stop and stepped toward the crest of a hill. Two men were standing there, each covered from head to foot in many layers of fur. The three men conversed, and with a nod, Otis stepped over to Vlad. “Come. These men will care for the dogs. The village is just down this hill, in the valley below.”

“When will I meet your friend?” Vlad strained to remember the name Otis had mentioned briefly in his letter.

“Vikas?” The corner of Otis's mouth rose in a smirk and his eyes moved to something behind Vlad. “You're about to.”

With a somewhat nervous breath, Vlad turned and looked behind him.

A tall, broad-shouldered man approached from the edge of the forest. He wore a long gray-and-white fur coat and tall, black boots. His wavy brown hair fell past his collar. The man smiled at Vlad, and his ice blue eyes twinkled.

Otis stepped forward and embraced the man. “Vikas. It's good to see you again, old friend.”

Vikas squeezed Otis in a hug before patting him solidly on the back. “It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend.” His eyes returned to Vlad. “So this is Tomas's son.”

For a moment, Vlad thought he saw within his gaze an eager glint. Removing his leather gloves, Vikas took Vlad's hand in his and shook. His grip was rough, his skin cool. “It will be a great honor to teach you. Tomas is my dearest friend . . . next to Otis, of course.”

Vlad smiled in relief. He'd half expected Vikas to look down his nose at him for only being half-vampire, but he could tell by Vikas's eyes that this was a kind soul, and that he'd cared very much for Vlad's father. “It's nice to meet you. Otis says you're the oldest vampire he knows.”

Vikas smiled warmly. “He speaks the truth, young one. But he forgets that I am also the best-looking, most charming, and—”

“Humble. You forgot humble.” Otis was wearing a smirk.

Vikas laughed and turned to Vlad. “What is your name, boy?”

“Vlad.”