Tenth Grade Bleeds (24 page)

He opened his eyes, but couldn't stand, couldn't run from the sun's murderous heat. Something was on top of him.

D'Ablo shrieked as his hair and flesh burst into flames, but not with pain . . . with laughter. He growled into Vlad's horrified face, “Perhaps it's better this way, Vladimir Tod. Perhaps it's better that we die together.”

Then Vlad realized that the flames he felt weren't coming from him. D'Ablo's burning flesh had set his clothing on fire. Vlad was perfectly fine . . . and in full sunlight.

He screeched, “D'Ablo, get to the shadows! You're dying!”

In a horrific, gravelly voice, flames framing his face as his skin charred before Vlad's very eyes, D'Ablo said, “We're both dying.”

He withdrew the ritual dagger with his only hand from somewhere behind him and lifted it high in the air.

Vlad almost choked from the smoke coming off D'Ablo's burning flesh. He pushed as hard as he could with his mind, into D'Ablo's thoughts, just long enough to make him drop the blade. Once metal had clanged against pavement, Vlad grabbed the dagger and pointed at his attacker.

D'Ablo stood, still aflame, and ran toward the nearest dark alley. All the while, he screamed.

Vlad dropped the weapon and rested his head on the concrete. After a moment, he held up a hand in the sunlight. It felt warm. It felt good.

And it erased any small remaining doubt that he was the Pravus the prophecy had spoken of.

V
LAD PULLED OPEN THE DOOR and stepped back into the lobby, where Henry and Otis were waiting for him. Otis lurked back near the elevator, where the shadows were at their heaviest, covered in what smelled like Ignatius's blood. Vlad threw his uncle an exhausted glance. “I thought drinking my blood would render the drinker immune to sunlight.”

“You thought wrong.” Otis frowned, watching the alley across the street. “As did he. I told you, Vladimir. Fairy tales and nonsense.”

Henry stood near the front windows, gazing at the alleyway that D'Ablo had disappeared into with an intensity Vlad didn't know he was capable of. Henry pursed his lips. “We should go after him, Vlad. Finish him off. Otherwise, he'll never stop trying to kill you.”

Vlad looked back over his shoulder at the bright, sunny day and shook his head. “My dad would have let him live.”

Otis's voice was gruff. “Are you so sure of that, Vladimir?”

Vlad paused. In truth, he wasn't, but he hoped that his assumption was right. “Even if he wouldn't, I'm going to. It's the right thing to do.”

The sidewalk began to fill with people. The city had awakened, and very soon, the building would be bustling with activity. “We should find some sunblock for you, Otis, and get home. I'm sure Nelly will be furious that I've been out all night.”

“Not to mention worried out of her mind.” A small smile curved Otis's lips. “But I'm sure she'll understand once we explain that you had important vampire business to attend to . . . such as saving my life.”

Otis grabbed Ignatius's corpse from where he had left it near the end of the hallway and slid it along the floor to the waiting elevator. He dropped it, ran a shaking hand through his hair, and sighed. “ That's going to mean a lot of paperwork for someone.”

Vlad chuckled. “After everything we've just been through, you're worried about somebody's paperwork?”

Otis merely blinked at him.

Vlad sighed. “I will never understand grown-ups, vampire or otherwise.”

Vlad and Henry stepped inside the elevator with Otis and what was left of Ignatius. Otis opened the panel of buttons that led to the offices of the Elysian council. With a press of a button, they were on their way back to the room where D'Ablo had attempted to steal Vlad's invincibility from him.

“You know, whatever that was that D'Ablo took out of you . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment, as if something occurred to him that had not before. “. . . we should probably get it back inside you where it belongs. If there's any truth at all to D'Ablo's ramblings, perhaps ingesting it would shield you against the Grim Reaper's trespasses once again.”

“Ingest it?” Vlad looked disgusted. “You mean I have to drink that crap?”

Vlad wasn't sure he wanted to find out what flavor his essence was, but he wasn't about to take his chances. Being invincible, it turned out, came in very handy. Especially with psycho vampires lurking around every corner trying to kill you.

The elevator door opened, and the trio made their way down the hall to the room with the large metal door. Otis opened it and Henry immediately cringed. Jasik lay on the floor, dead, his gray, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. At the sight of him, Vlad felt that horrible emptiness again, just as he had at the moment of Jasik's death. And he felt an unshakable pang of guilt for having controlled Jasik's mind. After all, if Vlad hadn't intervened, Jasik wouldn't have suffered D'Ablo's wrath and he might still be alive right now.

Vlad knelt and closed Jasik's eyes with his palm. He looked around the room for a sheet or blanket—something, anything to cover Jasik's dead body—but there was nothing lying around to serve that purpose. Otis squeezed his shoulder, and they exchanged looks of understanding.

“Oh no. No . . . no . . . no . . . no . . . no.” Across the room, Henry muttered several curse words under his breath. “Um, guys. I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

Henry held up the vial that had contained the iridescent purple liquid. The glass was cracked in several places, and the top of the vial had been broken completely off.

Vlad frowned and crossed the floor to where Henry was still crouched down, holding the broken tube. He could see the crusty spot on the floor where the liquid from the vial had puddled and dried. His invincibility. One of his Pravus powers reduced to no more than a carpet stain. Vlad's mind began to ask questions: What if the rest of his powers could be lost as easily? What if D'Ablo did come back to try again? What else might he lose? Had he made the right decision letting D'Ablo live? He silenced the thoughts before they had the chance to consume him.

After a moment of silence, Otis said, “Look on the bright side, Vladimir. Now there is no question of your mortality.”

Vlad snorted. He was about to ask a question when Henry intervened with the same thing he was thinking. “How is that a good thing?”

Otis met Vlad's eyes. The concern Vlad saw there was almost overwhelming. “Because maybe now you will be more careful when facing your enemies.”

“Do you think I've been careless? I've tried my best not to have to face any enemies at all.” Vlad could feel his face get hot. “I really don't find this an enjoyable way to spend my Saturday nights, Otis.”

“Vladimir, you misunderstood my intent.” Otis's voice was soft and understanding, as if he could sense Vlad's emotions starting to get the better of him. “I simply meant that with these vampires believing that you are the Pravus—”

“Really? Because it sounded like you were saying that I tend to seek out all this life-in-danger crap.” After all that he had been through in the past twelve hours, it seemed so unfair that his uncle blamed him for it all. Vlad had to fight to hold back the tears. “I just want to be left alone to live my life, but the psycho fanatics won't let that happen. And frankly, knowing that I couldn't be killed made facing them a lot easier. Now I . . . now I'm just scared.”

Vlad fell to his knees. Though he had won his fight against D'Ablo, he'd never stood a chance in the battle he now fought. Now he had to face the world, and whatever lurked in the shadows, without his ability to survive it.

His emotions won out. Vlad let out a shuddering sob and wrapped his arms around himself.

Henry took a step toward Vlad to comfort his friend, but Otis held up his hand, stopping the boy in his tracks. He spoke softly to his nephew. “Vladimir, you have been through a lot in the last few years. More than any boy. More than any vampire. I wish I could say that I understand what you are feeling, but I can't. When you've lived for centuries you learn to deal with fear and loss in different ways.”

Otis bent down in front of his nephew and put his hands on Vlad's shoulders. “All I can say for sure is that whatever it was that was in that vial is not you. It is not who you are and it is not what you do. There is nothing different about you now than there was before D'Ablo took out whatever that was.” He pulled Vlad in closer and let him cry into his chest. “And you don't have to worry anymore. You've shown D'Ablo that you're a lot tougher than he thought. I don't think he'll be trying anything anytime soon. And if he does, I'll be here to protect you.”

Vlad lifted his head and looked into his uncle's face, blinking away his tears. “Does that mean you're staying? For good?”

“For now, not for good.” He smiled down at Vlad. “After what I've endured in the months since my capture, I could certainly use a vacation. However, I am still a fugitive in the eyes of Elysia, and I cannot stay in one place for too long. Speaking of which . . .” Otis's eyes scanned the room to make sure that Henry was still nearby. He spotted him rummaging through the drawer of a cabinet against the wall. “We should find a way to get out of here before council members show up.”

From across the room Henry held up a small bottle of sunblock, SPF 40. “It looks like this is all they have. Will it be enough?”

Otis took the bottle, frowning a little. “It'll have to be.”

Vlad regained his composure. Otis was right. There was more to him than some weird purple liquid. He was the Pravus. He knew that to be true now, could feel the . . . right-ness of it down to his very cells. And no one, not even D'Ablo, could ever take that away. He crossed the room and pulled open the large metal door, but Otis stopped him with a thought.
“Aren't you forgetting something? Your father's journal, perhaps? After all, it is . . . precious to you, is it not?”

Vlad hesitated.

“I'm not sure I want it anymore, Otis.”
The backs of the pages now contained a horrible memory. After all, it had been a tool for his demise—something that troubled Vlad deeply. Why would his father's journal contain such a horrible ritual, especially knowing that Vlad was the only vampire born to a human mother?

“I'm sure your father had sound reasons for not destroying the ritual when he had the chance.”
Otis's lips formed a thin line as he nodded at Vlad.
“We just have to trust that.”

Vlad was ashamed to admit that he didn't trust that . . . and that he wasn't sure why, exactly.
“Why did my dad's journal contain the ritual that could destroy me?”

Vlad thought for a moment.
“Do you think that D'Ablo put it there before he gave the journal to him?”

Otis's forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows came together.
“What are you talking about? Vikas gave your father that journal.”

“Is that what he told you to get you to give him the journal?”
Otis shook his head and laughed, his voice warm and friendly in Vlad's mind.
“No, Vlad. The D stands for Dyavol, the nickname that Vikas used for your father. The same that he uses for you. Mahlyenki Dyavol. Besides, when a vampire gifts another vampire with something, we always inscribe our name in Elysian code, not in English.”
Otis placed the journal into Vlad's hand on his way out the door. “If for no other reason, to remember him by.”

Vlad squeezed the journal tightly. It had been a lie. Just another lie told to him by D'Ablo. And he had stupidly believed it.

Vlad followed his uncle to the elevator.

When the three of them stepped inside, they were greeted by the Muzak version of “ Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance. Vlad and Henry exchanged looks of horror, and Vlad sighed. “Is nothing sacred?”

N
ELLY PICKED UP A LONG WOODEN SPOON from the counter and stirred the concoction on the stove that she kept referring to as “soup.” Vlad grinned. Otis was looking rather exhausted, not from his encounter with Elysia, but from all of Nelly's pampering. “Nelly, darling, I'm not ill. You can't treat a vampire's malnourishment with chicken soup. How many times must I tell you that?”

Nelly shook her head—desperate, Vlad wagered, to have some sort of control over the situation. She'd been trying to nurse Otis every day over the last four months. Otis had healed completely in a week, but Nelly insisted on mothering him. It was enormously funny to watch. “You had three broken ribs, a cracked tibia, countless abrasions, and a horrific amount of blood loss, Otis.”

“Yes, but through all of that, I didn't catch the flu.” He caught Nelly's hand and pleaded with her with his eyes. “Please. Stop making me eat soup. What I'd really like is a nice mulled glass of O positive.”

Nelly lost herself for a moment in his eyes, and Vlad began to feel uncomfortable, as if he were intruding. Finally she sighed, relenting. “Okay, but I'm mulling it myself. I have to do something to help.”

Vlad flexed his well-healed wrist and pulled the Slayer coin from his pocket, turning it over in his hand. It felt like a lucky charm to him now. After all, it had been there in the clearing when he was staked last year—and survived. It had been in his front pocket during his most recent struggle with D'Ablo, which he'd walked away from virtually unscathed. Sure, it had come from a boy who was intent on killing him, but that boy had failed. In a bizarre kind of way, maybe the coin was lucky to Vlad.