Tenth Grade Bleeds (15 page)

Vlad moved to the edge of his bed and slipped on a pair of jeans. Shirtless, he moved out his bedroom door and down the stairs as quickly as he could. Pulling back the curtains, he searched the scene outside, but no one was there. Vlad frowned. Maybe his vampire abilities were on the fritz. Or maybe it had just been his imagination.

He walked into the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. For some reason, he was famished. He grabbed three blood bags, bit his lip, and reached for a fourth, then a fifth.

As he sat at the table, biting into the bags with his razor-sharp fangs and gulping down mouthfuls of blood, Vlad's thoughts turned to Henry. Could it have been him lurking outside in the blowing cold? Maybe he had changed his mind. After all, Vlad could slip into Henry's thoughts. . . . Perhaps the bizarre camera trick wasn't a vampires-only kind of thing. Maybe he could see anyone with it.

And on the chance that Henry hadn't come to his senses, Vlad desperately needed to read through the
Compendium of Conscientia
and see just what lay in store for him and his drudge.

Tossing the empty bags into the biohazard container beneath the sink, and ignoring the still-hungry rumble of his stomach, Vlad hurried to the living room and slipped on his sneakers, tying them haphazardly. He was just slipping his coat on over his bare torso when he noticed a parchment envelope lying on the small table next to the front door. His heart jumped with hope . . . hope that he would spy Otis's familiar scrawls when he flipped it over. It didn't surprise him that Nelly would forget to give him his mail when she was working double shifts all week, but it did fill him with disbelief that she wouldn't give him a call to say that Otis had written.

When he flipped the envelope over, his hopes swirled down the drain, but not for long. The postmark was Siberia, and the handwriting belonged to Vikas.

That was something, at least.

He pocketed the letter and opened the front door, stepping out into the bluster of a midwinter night.

V
LAD SANK DOWN IN HIS CHAIR in the belfry, shivering. It had been a quick walk to his secret sanctuary, and one ended by the horrible task of learning just how to release his drudge. He stared, bleary-eyed at the tear-spotted page, rereading the words he'd hoped to never find.

 

Beyond anything, he wished that he hadn't been able to locate the passage, or that it had ever been written. But there it was, in black and white. Henry's salvation.

The temptation to ignore the page, or even to rip it from the book and burn in it the flickering light of the candle, overwhelmed Vlad, but he remained vigilant and reread the passage so that he would know exactly what he was doing the next time he and Henry had a moment alone. After all, he had sworn last year never to treat Henry the way Vikas treated his drudge, Tristian. Henry was more than a servant. And Vlad had vowed that cold, crisp night in Siberia that if Henry ever asked for his freedom, Vlad would find a way to give it.

And here it was. On a piece of parchment. Ripping Vlad's soul to shreds.

Candlelight flirted with every corner of the belfry, brightening his gloom against his will. Vlad pinched the wick, dousing the candle's flame.

So this was it. With a bite, Henry would be free. And Vlad would face the world alone.

He couldn't be angry at Henry anymore. After all, finding out that your will is lost to that of your vampire master would put a damper on anybody's day. So anger was no longer a part of what he was feeling. Just sadness. Deep, immense sadness that he was losing his best friend, that Henry didn't want to share that bond with him any longer.

It was agonizing. And Vlad's heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces, only to break away within him, jabbing at his insides with every splinter.

And because that pain couldn't be made any worse by any other, Vlad withdrew Vikas's letter from his pocket and read it over again.

 

 

 

Vlad sat back in his chair, sinking deeper into the soft, worn leather. It was bad enough that his uncle had been missing in action for over five months now, but losing Henry as a friend and a trusted drudge was unbearable. What's worse, Vlad had absolutely no one to turn to for advice. Nelly wasn't aware of Henry's drudge status, and Vikas didn't share his view of drudges. Vlad was alone in this. Alone and confused, with no way out but through.

He had to release Henry as his drudge, and trust that their friendship would be strong enough to survive the change. And if it wasn't . . . well, then he'd deal with it. He had no idea how, but he would. After all, he didn't have much choice in the matter.

He trusted Henry . . . or rather, he had, before he'd mistakenly thought Kylie had insinuated that Henry had divulged his deepest darkest secret. He'd just have to trust him on that too, and maybe everything would turn out all right.

Or . . . it would all go horribly wrong, and Vlad's world would fall into a dizzying array of pain and loss.

Either way, it had to be done. Vlad would have to release Henry, and soon.

At the thought of once more tasting Henry's blood on his tongue, two things happened almost simultaneously. Vlad's heart shrank with guilt and sorrow and his stomach growled. In a burst of self-directed fury, he threw the
Compendium
across the room with all the force he could muster. The tome slammed against the wall and dropped with a loud thud to the floor. Vlad glared into the darkness, wishing it away, wishing it all away.

He closed his eyes and pushed as hard as he could with his mind, calling out to his uncle, wherever he was.
“Otis, if you can hear me, please talk to me. Everything is so screwed up right now, and I desperately need your help. Please, please answer me. I need you.”

To his immense disappointment, only silence followed his plea.

After several minutes, Vlad dried his tears on his sleeve and stood, making his way slowly to one of the open arches. He stepped onto the ledge and closed his eyes momentarily, letting the breeze brush his hair from his eyes and gently dry his still-moist cheeks. When he was certain he had pulled himself together, he stepped forward and floated nimbly to the ground.

Soft voices found their way around the corner of the building. Vlad paused and, after a moment, made his way around to the front of the school.

October was the first to notice him. She smiled, her pale skin almost blue in the moonlight. “Out stalking the shadows tonight, Vlad?”

“You might say that.” He stepped closer, nodding in greeting to the skinny boy called Sprat. “What are you guys up to?”

October shrugged. “Just hanging out, as usual. Some creep attacked me on my way home earlier, so we were thinking of going after him.”

Vlad furrowed his brow. “Somebody attacked you?”

She nodded, adopting a casual tone, but her still-frightened eyes betrayed her. “Yeah, but lucky for me, Officer Thompson showed up in the nick of time.”

Vlad's memory reached back a few years, to the officer who had questioned Nelly about Vlad's nighttime activities. “I hate that guy.”

He blinked apologetically at October. “I mean, I'm glad he was there for you. I just don't like him.”

October smiled. “Who does?”

Kristoff glared in their general direction. “Are we going after this psycho or not?”

Vlad wondered briefly what they would do once they caught up to her attacker. He mumbled, “Bad idea, following some crazy guy like that.”

October seemed to mull this over for a minute before looking at Kristoff. “No. Not tonight. I think we'll let the cops handle this one.”

She met Vlad's eyes, whispering, “He really cares, y'know? It might not seem like it, but Kristoff is a real sweetie. He just wants to watch out for his own kind.”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “Is that why he's always glaring at me?”

She chuckled. “You're catching on.”

Sprat bounded up to Vlad with such a spring in his step that Vlad wondered if he had been downing sugar packets all night. His speech was equally overflowing with boundless energy. “Hey, do you think you might wanna check out The Crypt in a couple of weeks? They're having a Blood Ball in honor of Valentine's Day.”

Sprat's eyes were eager, and try as she might to hide it, so were October's. Vlad glanced at Andrew, who managed a halfhearted shrug. Kristoff didn't react at all to Sprat's invitation. Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment and thought it over. Thanks to Meredith's dad, she was going to be busy that weekend, so it wasn't as if his plans with his girlfriend were standing in his way. He wasn't sure why he was hesitant to hang out with them. Maybe it was because, for as long as he could remember, only Henry wanted to be his friend. Maybe he'd been scarred forever—both literally and figuratively—by the one time he'd befriended someone who wasn't his drudge. His experience with Joss last year had left him once staked, twice shy. Still . . . they seemed harmless. And how many nights had he spent watching them in curious fascination? Here was his chance, and he felt obligated to take it.

“Sure. What time?”

Sprat grinned broadly, and October squealed. Andrew managed a half smile. Kristoff snorted and said, “Valentine's night, nine o'clock. Don't be late or we'll leave without you.”

“Don't worry. I'll be here.” Vlad turned toward home, flashing a small smile at Sprat. On his way, he stuck to the sidewalks.

It was a strange thing for Vlad, hanging out with people other than Henry or Joss or Meredith. And Vlad was beginning to wonder if the kids at school had kept their distance over the years because of his staunch unpopularity or because they could detect his differentness on some level. Was that why the goth kids seemed drawn to him now? Or was it something else, an obligation of some sort to repay his good deed of rescuing Sprat? Whatever it was, Vlad didn't want to analyze it too much. He desperately needed the distraction from Henry and Otis for a night.

He made his way down the sidewalk, past houses with dark windows. Everything was shrouded in a cloak of black tonight, as the moon was new. Only fireflies lit his way.

A shadow amongst shadows shifted, and Vlad paused. It was a man, that much he was sure of. But he wasn't sure if it was human or if D'Ablo had returned.

The man chuckled, low and gruff. “No. Not D'Ablo.”

Vlad furrowed his brow, doing his best to block his thoughts. “ Then who are you and what do you want?”

The man moved again, pulling up his sleeve. The tattoo on the inside of his left wrist glowed a cool blue, illuminating his face for a moment. “ To talk for a moment.”

Vlad stepped back, uncertain. He recognized the man from Eddie's photograph. So he'd been following Vlad. But why? “Did D'Ablo send you? Are you here to . . . hurt me?”

The man laughed again. “It is clear that you have not been raised around your own kind, boy. You have no manners. It is customary to show your mark before we discuss things that pertain to Elysia. We must follow protocol, or hasn't your uncle taken the time to teach you the finer points of vampire society?”

Vlad's jaw tightened at the mention of Otis—Elysia, it seemed, knew too much about him these days. He pushed his sleeve up, revealing his own glowing mark, his eyes never leaving that of the strange vampire. “Answer my question, please.”

“I have been awaiting this moment for a long time. In fact, it wasn't until recently that I actually believed you existed.” He slid his sleeve down, his features darkening once again. His voice was a harsh whisper. “ Tomas always had his own agenda. I just never dreamed he would actually manage to mate with a human. Not to mention, how he could stomach the touch of one without devouring every drop of her.”

Vlad bristled. Before turning to walk away, he said, “I don't have to stand here and listen to you insult my parents. If it's the journal you want, you can tell D'Ablo that the answer is still no.”

Then the man appeared before him, quicker than Vlad could blink. He growled, “I know nothing of the journal you speak of, boy. I've only come to see what
thing
Tomas has created, before dragging your lifeless body back to the council in Stokerton.”

Vlad swallowed the frightened lump in his throat and said, “Well, I guess that answers the question about D'Ablo. But you still haven't told me who you are.”

The man's hand shot forward, clutching Vlad by the throat. His raspy voice was surprisingly rich in tone, as if he were enjoying himself. “I am Ignatius. And to you, I am the end of all things.”

Ignatius threw Vlad back, and Vlad hit the ground hard. Before Vlad could stand, Ignatius was there in a blink, grabbing Vlad once again by the throat. Vlad pulled at his fingers, to no avail.