Tenth Grade Bleeds (23 page)

In an instant, D'Ablo had wrenched the blade from Jasik's hand and shoved him across the room. Jasik stumbled and fell, only to find D'Ablo atop him with the blade, growling to Vlad through Jasik's ears, “You'll be next, Vladimir Tod.”

He shoved the blade forward hard, piercing Jasik's chest and sinking the blade as deep as he could. Jasik struggled to pull it out, but it was too late. Blood poured from his heart, and Jasik's vision blurred, then darkened.

Sharp, horrible pain crashed through Vlad's mind. He staggered, and Otis caught him. “Vladimir, what's wrong?”

But Vlad couldn't speak. The pain . . . the pain of death was too much to bear. He could feel the blade in his own chest, though nothing was there. He could feel his life aching and ebbing from his limbs. He was alive, and apart from his wrist, which was already beginning to heal, in good health, yet he hurt as if it were he who was dying.

And then . . . the emptiness came.

Vlad weakened in Otis's embrace. He could almost feel himself going paler. It was over. Jasik was dead.

But the pain remained, coupled with the terrifying shadow of death that shrouded his being. Vlad was a living zombie now, an echo of what his living self had been. There was no going back. This was penance for what he had done to Jasik, and he deserved every nightmarish bolt of pain. He coughed, the feeling of blood pooling in his throat, and Otis whispered, “You were in his mind. He . . . died before you could withdraw.”

Vlad still couldn't make a sound, only nodded feebly. Unbelievably, the pain went on and on, and only Otis's presence brought him any comfort.

Otis blanched, but spoke in a commanding tone—one that he'd never used with Vlad before. “You have to block these feelings, Vladimir. Or they will haunt you until the end of your days. Now stand up. If Jasik is dead, then D'Ablo will be here shortly. I need you. So stand up.”

Vlad stood, because Otis told him to. But it was the only thing that could have made him move through the agonizing sensation of death. Otis needed him.

Otis again spoke in a commanding tone, all business now. “We need to get out of here, and fast. Unfortunately, the escape tunnel we used in the past has been blocked off, so we'll have to leave through the lobby. Stay behind me. Henry, you remain between Vlad and me for protection—I know your ankle hurts, but keep up and move quickly. When I stop, you stop. And don't make a sound.”

“Vladimir.” Otis met Vlad's gaze, then finished his sentence with his thoughts.
“Sunrise is in twenty minutes, and we are without sunblock. We need to get out of this building and into the cover of darkness as soon as we can. If anyone gets in your way, kill them quickly. We don't have time to be merciful. And we do not want to be in this building when the council members arrive.”

After a moment, Vlad nodded slowly. He'd had enough of death today, but apparently, death hadn't yet had enough of him.

Otis nodded in return. “Through the door now. Follow me.”

Otis led the way and Henry followed. Vlad, very much on guard and fighting to keep the pain of Jasik's death at bay, stepped in behind them. They moved quickly down the hall and through the open door. Otis led them through several dark corridors, always whispering before they determined which direction to take. “Left . . . now right . . . left again . . .”

As quietly as possible, they descended a long set of stairs that led to a small, dark room. They crossed the room, then Otis listened carefully at the door at the other end. “Here. This way.”

The door opened into another small room, this one full of copiers and a fax machine. As he followed Otis and Henry into the room, Vlad paused. Something wasn't right. He reached out, wondering where D'Ablo might be, and then he saw him, actually saw him. The gloved hands, the cane he held, the sinister, sneering face, the curled lip, the fierce fangs. He saw D'Ablo with his mind, as he'd seen Otis earlier this year standing in front of Mr. Craig's old house. Pulling away from his vision, he called out in a whisper, “Otis, don't . . .”

But Otis and Henry were already out the door. Vlad ran to catch up with them just as they reached the lobby doors. He cried out, “Otis, D'Ablo is—”

Otis stopped suddenly, and Vlad caught up. D'Ablo was standing just as Vlad had seen him in his mind, in front of the lobby doors, their exit. “—right there. . . .”

Otis sighed, sounding weary. “So he is.”

D'Ablo tilted his head slightly, eyeing them with utter disdain. In stark contrast, he kept his tone light. “Yes. Yes, he is. And he's grateful that you chose to come to him instead of making him come after you.”

Vlad saw Otis's jaw tighten. Something told him there was a dark history between them that he knew nothing about. Otis growled, “Even you can't be stupid enough to face two vampires alone, D'Ablo. The odds are against you, powerful as you may be. Let us pass and you can go back to whatever it was that you withdrew from my nephew.”

D'Ablo's eye twitched, and Vlad couldn't help but wonder how Otis knew what had transpired during the ritual. Most likely, he guessed, Otis had been lurking around in D'Ablo's thoughts from the moment he had tasted Henry's blood.

Otis took a bold step forward, and Henry followed. Vlad felt a surge of pride. His best friend knew when to follow orders, that was for sure.

“ That”—D'Ablo gripped the handle of his cane and twisted, withdrawing a long sword from the belly of the cane—“can wait.” The ritual dagger was nowhere to be found—Vlad guessed that a psycho like D'Ablo had deemed its purposes too holy for the likes of killing Otis. D'Ablo stood there, eyeing Otis. Vlad wondered how much of their conversation was occurring in telepathy.

“ Then leave them out of this. I'd be happy to take your life on my own.”

D'Ablo tilted his neck one way, then another, cracking it. “ Then take it. If you're vampire enough.”

All Vlad saw was the corner of Otis's mouth twitch, and then Otis flew across the room. D'Ablo swung the sword, slicing a button from Otis's shirt in half, but Otis changed directions before the cold metal could pierce his skin.

D'Ablo moved in a blur, slashing the sword toward Otis, who ducked it, but just barely. Then D'Ablo snarled, his fangs dripping with saliva.

Vlad turned to check on Henry, but he seemed to have disappeared. He wondered if Henry had had the wits to get out while he still could. After all, being a human in the middle of a vampire battle was not a good way to foster one's promising future.

Otis kicked D'Ablo in the chest, and D'Ablo stumbled back. But once D'Ablo regained his composure, he swung the blade around again, catching Otis's cheek.

Otis cupped the gash in his face with a trembling, surprised hand. The look in his eyes was fierce and daring. “I'll heal in but a moment, but you'll always look the fool. What vampire needs a weapon to take down a foe?”

D'Ablo hesitated before throwing the sword across the room. He hissed, “I may look the fool for now, but it is the victor who writes the history books. And you'll be lucky to end up as a footnote.”

With dizzying speed, so fast that Vlad almost missed it, D'Ablo darted to Otis, picked him up, and threw him toward the receptionist's area. Otis slid over the desktop, catching its edge with his fingertips, and pulled himself up, so that he landed on the desk in a perch. He grinned at his attacker, the cut in his cheek healing closed. “You're playing with me now. Surely you can't think that maneuver is enough to keep me down.”

D'Ablo laughed. “Not at all. But it was enough to put you farther from your dear nephew.”

Otis's eyes darted to Vlad, and before Vlad could blink, Ignatius gripped him by the throat from behind, the blade of his knife poised to plunge into Vlad's chest. Ignatius squeezed hard, and Vlad felt his air supply cut off. After a moment, he could no longer tug at the hands that were suffocating him, could no longer fight. All sound seemed very far away. Even the color began to bleed from the room. He thought he heard someone scream, and then Ignatius released his grip. Vlad fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and gasping until air returned to his lungs.

Ignatius was on the floor to his left. Otis was on top of him, swinging his fists so fast they were a blur. Ignatius gnashed his teeth forward at every swing, biting with his fangs into Otis's knuckles. But Otis kept punching, despite the pain. Blood flew from his hands, and the knuckles healed over until Ignatius bit them again. Finally, Ignatius managed to push Otis off him and they were both standing again, circling each other, like territorial felines. The two circled closer as the sun began to rise, shrinking the shadows of the room. Otis's voice was harsh. “ The next time you touch him will be your last.”

Vlad was watching the scene unfold with great intensity when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that D'Ablo had retrieved his sword and was creeping up on Otis. Vlad acted before he could think about it. In a flash he recalled every action movie he had ever seen, every stupid wrestling match that he had been forced to endure on Saturday mornings at Henry's house. He ran as fast as he could toward D'Ablo, jumping high into the air at the last minute. Two size 10 shoes connected with D'Ablo's face. A letter-perfect drop kick that even Hulk Hogan would be proud of knocked D'Ablo off his feet and away from Vlad's uncle.

D'Ablo wiped blood from his already healing lip and pulled himself back onto his feet. “I'm growing very tired of you, boy. I am going to enjoy killing you.”

“Oh my God, you broken record. Why don't you get your cronies to write you some new material?” Vlad glanced quickly to check on his uncle, but Otis and Ignatius had disappeared down the hall. Vlad could only hope that Otis was strong enough to defeat his own father. He turned his attention back to D'Ablo, balling up his fists in fury. “Now do you want to go ahead and admit that your little plan has failed and give up? If not, then I suggest we finish this.”

D'Ablo cast a condescending smile, “As you wish.” His sword having been knocked away when Vlad kicked him, D'Ablo lashed out with his fist, catching Vlad under his jaw. Vlad flew several inches into the air and came down hard on the floor. But he wasn't down for long. When D'Ablo jumped to cover him, he kicked him in the chest with both feet, sending him flying, then did a flip and was on his feet again.

Henry had reappeared, and he yelled Vlad's name. Vlad looked just in time to see a small object flying through the air toward him. He turned his attention back to D'Ablo long enough to deliver a kick to his side that sent the vampire skidding across the floor. He turned back and reached out his hand to catch what Henry had thrown. His friend had one small bit of advice: “Just make sure you don't miss.”

Vlad furrowed his brow, and then opened his hand. What he saw there completely explained why Henry had disappeared and very nearly made him hug Henry on the spot. He turned the familiar black cylinder over in his palm, and all he could hope was that what he was holding was the real Lucis, not the copy he'd been tricked with last year. He turned just as D'Ablo reached down to retrieve his sword. Holding his breath, Vlad aimed and brushed his thumb against the glyph on the end of the Lucis.

The room lit up with a brilliant white light. Otis came running back into the room, having apparently defeated Ignatius. He ducked just in time for the powerful beam of light to miss hitting him square in the side of the head. Vlad brushed the glyph again, closing the greatest weapon known to vampirekind.

D'Ablo howled. His hand had been blown completely off, leaving nothing but a charred stump behind. But “off” wasn't an exact description, as the hand was nowhere to be found. It had been blown into oblivion, into nonexistence.

D'Ablo's screams echoed in the lobby of the empty office building, blending with a myriad of curse words in every language he could think of, including one that Vlad guessed to be Elysian code. Vlad gripped the Lucis tightly, but he didn't turn it on again. Something sick and horrible filled his insides. He couldn't kill D'Ablo. He couldn't kill anyone that his father had called friend, despite the fact that he hated D'Ablo with a passion. He lowered the Lucis and met Otis's eyes.
“I can't kill him, Otis. I'm sorry.”

Otis stood, his eyes wide in disbelief. He stepped toward his nephew.
“I can. Give me the Lucis. This menace will not be stopped until we stop him, Vladimir. It ends today.”

Vlad flung the Lucis away, letting it fly from his hand. It tumbled through the air, and time stood still.

Otis pleaded with his eyes, but Vlad tightened his jaw stubbornly.
“It does end today. But not that way, Otis. I couldn't live with myself knowing I allowed my dad's friend to die.”

Otis shook his head. The Lucis clattered onto the floor.
“He won't stop. He will never stop.”

The Lucis rolled over the slatted top of an open vent. Vlad whispered, “I know.”

Otis dove forward, but it was too late. The Lucis slipped between his fingers and down the vent shaft. He hung his head, defeated.

A curved blade sang through the air, stabbing through Otis's hand. Otis screamed, and Ignatius pulled him back into the dark shadows of the hallway.

Vlad jumped forward to follow, but something large slammed into his side, knocking him through the air. He managed to glance in the direction he was flying quickly enough to shield his face with his hands. He smashed through the glass of the front door, and suddenly he could feel the sunlight on his skin as he fell outside. The smell of acrid smoke filled his nostrils, and fire lit up his sleeve. He was burning.