Eleventh Grade Burns (6 page)

“A crime in its own right.” A familiar voice sent Vlad’s head around and his eyes searching for the speaker. When he found him sitting in an easy chair in the far corner of the room, Vlad couldn’t help but smile. Vikas. It was good to see him again.

“—it seems that the Stokerton council is becoming less a system of government and more a religious sect. The vampires there follow D‘Ablo blindly, as if he were a prophet whose wisdom were not based on fairy tales and hidden agendas. And it gets worse.” Cratus swallowed hard, raking a trembling hand through his wavy, dirty blond tresses. “D’Ablo has somehow managed to weasel his way onto the Council of Elders.”

The room erupted in shouts of disdain. Several vampires stood, making loud threats on DAblo’s life. Through the chaos, Vlad met Vikas’s gaze, which shifted from troubled to pleasant, as if Vikas was happy to see him. Vlad nodded, of fering a smile, and turned to look at Otis, who had stood. “Please, my brethren. We must remain calm.”

His voice was just that—calm, almost serene, but Vlad could sense the disquiet beneath Otis’s cool exterior.

It took a minute, but eventually, they all returned to sitting and listening as Cratus continued. “His presence on the Council of Elders has upset more than a few Elysian councils, and yet, he remains, having taken Mortimer’s place as the youngest vampire in the group. Vikas will speak further on this, I’m sure.”

Vikas stood and an air of awe fell over the group. Clearly, Vikas was a highly respected vampire, someone whom they all trusted inherently. “Some background for those not so familiar with the Council of Elders.”

Vlad shrank back in his seat. He was pretty sure he was the only one here who had no idea what they were talking about, so even though Vikas was doing him the favor of not pointing him out directly, it still made him squirm.

“The Council of Elders has been convening on rare occasions—that is to say, whenever a matter cannot be resolved by a single council—for centuries. We are, normally, the nine oldest vampires in existence. And as D’Ablo is but a
tuneyadec—
” Vikas caught his abrupt shift into Russian and flicked an apologetic glance to Vlad. “Pardon me. I meant to call the dog a parasite.”

The room erupted in laughter. Despite the tension in his bones, Vlad chuckled. Clearly, there was at least one thing they could all agree on—D’Ablo was a jerk.

Vikas continued. “D’Ablo has no place on the council. He is not among the nine oldest vampires, and his so-called wisdom has been questioned several times by those of us who do have a right to sit on the council. With rumors that Em, the oldest of our kind, has fallen in with his cultlike following, there is no question of how he managed to get his name to be listed among ours.”

“Cultlike following?” Vlad hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but when he did, all eyes turned on him, many with sympathy.

Cratus shook his head at Otis. “Enough coddling the boy, Otis. Tell him the truth. Tell him what’s waiting for him in Elysia. Tell him about D’Ablo’s twisted belief system.”

Vlad glanced at Otis, but before Otis could speak, Vikas spoke for him. “Indeed, it is time that Vladimir knew about the divided factions in Elysia. I am certain, Mahlyenki Dyavol, that you know a bit about the division in vampirekind. There are those who believe as most do, that the prophecy of the Pravus is little more than a fairy tale, passed down through the ages like a ghost story. But there is another group, an ever-expanding group of vampires, who believe the prophecy to be real. These vampires believe that you are the Pravus and that you will assert vampirekind’s place in the world. No more hiding from humans, no more limits on feeding. They believe that you will rise up as their leader and put humans in their place, along with all who oppose them.”

Of course Vlad knew the story. He’d heard it from Vikas’s own lips on a cold night in Siberia his freshman year, and had never forgotten it. “What’s that have to do with D’Ablo?”

Otis, Cratus, and Vikas exchanged glances. It was Otis who spoke. “It’s recently been discovered that D’Ablo ... is the leader of this cult.”

Vlad furrowed his brow. If that were true, wouldn’t D’Ablo be trying to protect Vlad and raise him up as the Pravus, maybe suck up a little and get on his good side?

Otis nodded, as if he knew what Vlad was thinking without the use of telepathy. “Apparently for years, he was in full support of locating the person they deemed the Pravus and protecting him at all cost. But something changed—we don’t know what, but whatever it was, it made DAblo rethink his plans and strive to take the so-called Pravus’s place. Thus his little ritual last year.”

Vlad shook his head. To think, if whatever it was that happened hadn’t happened, D’Ablo might be kissing up to him all the time instead of trying to kill him. “Just how big is this cult, anyway?”

Otis looked to Cratus, who said, “Intelligence suggests the following has grown substantially over the years.”

Vlad shifted his eyes between the two of them. “By how much?”

When it seemed no one was going to answer, Vikas spoke up. “We suspect roughly a third of Elysia follows this thinking, but there’s no way to be certain. The followers are incredibly secretive.”

“So what does it mean?”

Otis sighed heavily. “It means that you can trust virtually no one, Vlad. It also means that D’Ablo’s presence on the Council of Elders most assuredly has something to do with you, as he’s convinced that you are this ... this Pravus.”

“I
am
the Pravus.” Vlad tightened his jaw and locked eyes pointedly with his uncle. “I am. But just because I am doesn’t mean I’m going to become some psychopath.”

He looked around the room at the other vampires. Some looked fearful. Most looked doubtful. “I’m not like the rest of you. You know that. A few of you have seen it firsthand. So call me what you will—Pravus. freak of nature—I’m different. Now what are we going to do about D’Ablo?”

After a long and poignant silence, Cratus sighed. “We wait. And we watch.”

Vikas shook his head. “It is troubling, my friends, that D’Ablo should hold the thread of Otis’s life in his treacherous hands.”

The realization hit Vlad hard. The trial—they were talking about Otis’s trial. The one that would decide if Otis lived or died, the one that would determine whether or not his uncle was a vampire of honor or a criminal doomed to death. And D’Ablo was one of the people who was going to make that decision.

He bit his bottom lip, dropping his eyes to the carpet.

Vikas’s voice, deep and strong, continued to speak. “What’s more, Otis’s pretrial comes fast on the heels of D’Ablo’s lust for vengeance.”

Otis spoke, his voice gruff. “When?”

Vikas held Otis’s gaze, his expression grim. “D’Ablo insisted that it be held this All Hallows Eve.”

All eyes were on Vikas, whose mouth slowly curled into a smile. “But I insisted that it take place at the end of the year. And as he is but a babe and I am an old man, it seems the council is more apt to side with me. Otis has been granted a stay of execution, so to speak, until December twenty-sixth.”

Everyone seemed to exhale at once.

Apparently, the pretrial was something you wanted to put off as long as possible.

“There is more,” Vikas said in his thick Russian accent. “D’Ablo had planned for the pretrial to take place in Stokerton, but the other members of the Council of Elders and myself have determined that the pretrial—like the trial—must be held in the only city without a governing council.”

Otis spoke, his voice just that of a whisper. “New York.”

Vikas nodded. Several vampires looked uncomfortable, but most just looked relieved.

Vlad watched them with intrigue. He’d had no idea that there was a town that wasn’t governed by a council. He thought all cities were governed by the nearest council. Clearly, New York was not. Huh. That wasn’t in the
Encyclopedia Vampyrica.
Nor was it something Otis had ever mentioned. Vlad pondered that for a few minutes, until Vikas took his seat and the conversation broke off into what was happening elsewhere in Elysia.

To Vlad’s left, two vampires were telling what he thought were dirty jokes in French. To his right, one vampire recounted his last meal to another in plain English. Across the room from Vlad, a young, handsome vampire with copper-colored hair was staring intently, silently at him. Vlad shifted in his seat and was about to call Vikas over when the vampire stood and pointed a long, pale finger at Vlad. The other vampires fell silent. “You. The child of a vampire and a human, if the stories are to be believed. Tell me your name.”

Vlad swallowed. The air in the room chilled. “Vlad. And they’re not just stories.”

Vikas spoke under his breath from his spot in the corner. “Tread carefully, Mahlyenki Dyavol. Dorian is . . .”

But he didn’t finish his sentence, leaving Vlad to wonder just what Dorian was.

Otis looked guarded.

Dorian stepped closer, sniffing the air. He was handsome and young-looking, having made the change in his mid-twenties, with dark brown eyes and a pale bronze to his skin. He looked like an old friend that you just couldn’t place, like anyone that you might have once known. Remarkable, yet completely forgettable. The perfect vampire.

Dorian moved slowly, smoothly, in a way that struck Vlad as feline. Vlad got the distinct impression that if he moved, Dorian would be on him like a cat. “Ah, yes. I can smell it in your veins. So ... unique. Tantalizing.”

Otis’s jaw tightened. “Dorian.”

Dorian ignored Otis, edging ever closer to Vlad. His tone was soothing and kind, and if Otis and Vikas weren’t looking so concerned about his proximity to Vlad, he might not find the vampire alarming at all. “I bet you carry tasty delicacies in your veins.”

Vlad blinked, suddenly realizing why everyone in the room was watching in fascination. Dorian wanted blood. Vlad’s blood. Vlad sputtered, “But I’m a vampire. I thought that wasn’t allowed. Feeding on your own kind.”

Dorian shrugged slightly, smelling the air again. Then he smiled. “But you are also half human, and that makes you prey to my predator.”

Vlad gulped.

Vikas took a bold step forward, “How forgetful I am. I brought with me several cases of bloodwine, and the bottles are just waiting to be uncorked. Vladimir, would you assist me?”

Before Vlad knew it, he was being ushered quickly into the kitchen. Dorian’s eyes followed him the whole time—a curious smile on his lips. After a moment, Otis joined Vlad and Vikas in the kitchen, looking more than a little troubled. Vikas spoke first. “That was close.”

Otis nodded, “Too close. I hadn’t thought of the repercussions. It’s so easy to forget Vlad’s human heritage.”

Vlad looked at Otis. “Are you going to fill me in on what we’re all doing here, and maybe explain why that Dorian guy wants to take a bite outta me?”

Otis grabbed several bottles of bloodwine and uncorked them, speaking to Vikas. “This may be a problem for us. Please, do what you can to keep the peace.”

He looked at Vlad then, an oddly frustrated look on his face, and barked, “And you—stay away from Dorian.” Then he disappeared back into the living room.

Vlad furrowed his brow. It wasn’t like it was his fault Dorian thought he smelled tasty. He looked back at Vikas, who was smiling. “Your uncle is troubled. Pay him no mind, Vladimir. He is merely concerned that Dorian may force us to order his departure before he can fully help Otis’s case. You see, Dorian is unlike any vampire in existence. He is skilled beyond all of us, and he has resources that we believe may free your uncle of the charges against him. But should we insult him by not catering to his every whim ...”

Vlad’s stomach shriveled up in realization. “Oh. So if he wants to feed from me and you say no, then he leaves and Otis ... Otis ...”

“Otis will face the justice of Elysia.” Vikas gave Vlad’s shoulder a squeeze. “It would be wise to keep your distance from Dorian. It is rumored that he has a taste for rare and sometimes even vampiric blood. I am certain the mixture of vampire and human in your veins appeals to his palate. It makes yours the most rare blood type in the world.”

Vlad’s throat suddenly resembled a desert. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

Vikas, calm and cool, said, “Dorian is a vampire used to getting what he wants, and we cannot disappoint him. So let’s make certain that what he wants is not you.”

A worried crease settled on Vlad’s forehead. “Should I go home?”

“I think the safest place that you could be tonight is under this roof, Mahlyenki Dyavol. After all, what’s to stop Dorian from sniffing his way into your bedroom while you are alone and indulging in every last drop of your blood? At least here you will be watched after. You should remain here until the vampires depart, which will be in a few hours. If you grow weary, I will have Tristian watch over you. If he sees anything to be alarmed by, I will know it.”

Vlad nodded, utterly freaked out that someone would want to bite him and drink his blood. He couldn’t help but wonder if Snow ever felt this way. The thought sent a guilty shiver up his spine. “Why isn’t anyone using telepathy?”

Vikas popped open a bottle of bloodwine and drank deeply, then met Vlad’s eyes with a weary glance. “As I said, Dorian is skilled beyond any of us. If our minds remain open, there is no telling what he might dredge up ... or do. Be on guard. But be polite. Dorian is our guest, and an important figure in Elysia. He deserves both our respect and our fear. But ... do not let his presence taint the celebration for you, Vladimir. Besides, you should be celebrating, yourself. If Elysia has not yet called you to trial, you are likely free of the possibility. Enjoy your freedom.”

He turned and made his way back into the living room with an armful of open bloodwine bottles.

Vlad uncorked a bottle that was sitting on the counter and took a swig. It was as delicious, tangy, and spicy as he recalled it to be. After another swig, he followed Vikas back into the crowded room.