Eighth Grade Bites (8 page)

“As a matter of fact, Miss Snert, I know that they are. Lycanthropy is the psychological belief that one is, in fact, a werewolf. It is well documented and still prevalent even today. And an entire family in Mexico has been reported to suffer from a rare genetic mutation that causes furlike hair to grow all over their bodies. It is known as the ‘Werewolf Disorder.' ”

Sylvia snorted. “And vampires? Are they real, too?”

Mr. Otis closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again; irritation mixed with his tone. “Of course. Take our own Mr. Tod, for example.”

Vlad couldn't breathe. Every eye in the class was on him. He shrank down in his seat, trying to be invisible. If he succeeded, he'd have to remember to take a trip to the girls' locker room, just for Henry's sake.

“He bears the first name of the most famous vampire of all, Vlad Tepes—also known as Vlad the Impaler. A Romanian prince who was known to take his supper among his tortured enemies and drink their blood with his meal as if it were a fine wine. He was a vicious, cruel, ingenious man.” Mr. Otis flipped open a book on his desk and regarded Sylvia with a stern glance. “But Vlad's day will come. Today we are talking about witches.”

Vlad relaxed and straightened in his seat. He smiled when Sylvia shot him a glare. It was pretty cool to know you shared a name with somebody famous—even if they were famous for human slaughter.

The rest of the day flew by, with Vlad daydreaming during most of it. When the final bell rang, Vlad slipped his books quickly into his backpack and, hoisting it over his shoulder, rushed toward the door. If he hurried, he might make it to the corner before Bill and Tom noticed his exit. Despite his mind-reading episode with Tom several weeks ago, their antics had continued, if not worsened. Vlad had had his books knocked out of his hands and his backpack run up the flagpole more times than he could count. He didn't care to repeat the experiences.

Mr. Otis was still at his desk, pen in hand, that now-familiar scrawl scribbled out on several papers in front of him. “Could I have a word with you, Vlad?”

Vlad hesitated, wondering if Mr. Otis had seen him in Mr. Craig's house the other night. He hadn't noticed anything particularly suspicious since then, but he'd been watching. Vlad dropped his bag on the floor, contemplating whether Bill and Tom would wait for him after school. They'd done it before and would again, he wagered, but there was no way he could rush off when his teacher had told him to stay. “Am I in trouble?”

Mr. Otis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No, no. Nothing like that. I merely wished to speak with you about a personal matter.”

“Oh yeah?” Vlad had no clue what sort of personal matter his teacher might want to discuss with him.

Then it hit him.

Maybe Mr. Otis wanted to reveal that he had known Mr. Craig, that he knew something about Mr. Craig's disappearance, or worse, that he'd been involved. Vlad's imagination seized every resource in his brain and flashed chilling images of abduction and murder through his mind. Some of the scenes were quite grisly and made his stomach twist and turn. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, his imagination's wanderings once more under control.

Mr. Otis shifted in his seat, as if the subject of personal matters was making him uncomfortable. “I met your aunt yesterday at the market. She inquired about my perhaps joining you both for dinner some evening, but I told her I'd like to discuss it with you first. Does that make you uncomfortable at all?”

Of course it made him uncomfortable. And a little nauseous, too, considering that his aunt had asked his teacher on what could be considered a date. But it would be the perfect opportunity to get Mr. Otis to spill his guts on just why his top hat was hanging in Mr. Craig's house. Vlad picked up his bag again and swung it over his shoulder. “I don't mind, but I should warn you . . . she's a terrible cook.” Vlad smiled and so did Mr. Otis. “I better go, though. Henry's waiting.” He turned and slipped out the door, hoping that Henry was indeed waiting for him or, at the very least, that Bill and Tom weren't.

Vlad rolled over and cursed at the alarm clock on his night-stand. It was almost two in the morning, and he still couldn't sleep.

He picked up the large book he'd found weeks ago in the attic and moved toward the door. The book was several inches thick; the leather of its cover felt old and warm in his hands. Two big buckles were strapped across the front. Vlad ran his fingers over the locks thoughtfully and wondered, not for the first time, what the pages contained. A rebel floorboard near the door betrayed him and squeaked loudly under his foot. He placed his ear against the door and listened. Nothing. The door creaked as he pulled it open and peered into the dark library. It was empty, but for the sleeping presence of Amenti.

Amenti was curled up in the leather wingback chair in the corner. She raised her head, blinked, and meowed at Vlad, her tone that of a question. “It's just me, Amenti.” He slid open the candle drawer as quietly as he could.

“What are you doing up?”

Nelly's voice startled him and he fumbled, nearly dropping the mysterious tome on his foot. Steadying his hands, Vlad smiled sheepishly at her. “Couldn't sleep. What about you?”

She offered a chastising head shake, and then her smile bloomed. “Me neither. Want some tea?”

By tea she meant, of course, microwaved blood in a teacup, but Nelly had such a sweet way of making him feel completely normal. Not that being a vampire was bizarre or anything, certainly not abnormal. But sometimes, when he was putting on his sunblock in the morning or when Henry would describe the incredible lasagna his mom made, he felt a small pang of jealousy for humans. They had it so easy. Try worrying about your fangs popping out at inopportune moments or having to avoid garlic because one taste could make you deathly ill or forcing yourself to stay awake all day even though down to the cellular level, you were more of a night person. Oh yeah—humans had it way easy, as far as Vlad was concerned.

He followed Nelly down to the kitchen, where she dropped the kettle on the stove and heated up a cup of tangy blood for Vlad in the microwave. Vlad dipped a chocolate-chip cookie into his cup and bit into it. Something about the taste of chocolate and blood mixed together in his mouth just felt right. Vlad sipped from his cup and picked up another cookie.

Nelly dunked a tea bag into the steamy water in her mug. She ran a curious finger over the symbol on the front of the book. “What are you reading? I don't remember this. Is it one of mine?”

“I found it in the attic. I'm not reading it, though.” He pointed to the locks with his cookie, still tinged deep red with his “tea.” “It's locked and I have no idea how to open it.”

Nelly tapped the cover. “I'll just bet you this was one of your father's. Tomas was always collecting strange old books.”

“This was the only one I found up there.”

Nelly wasn't listening. She was up and rummaging around in a drawer, mumbling to herself the way she did whenever she was looking for anything. With a triumphant squeal, she turned back to Vlad and dropped a ring of keys on the table. “Your parents gave me copies of all their keys on the off chance they lost any of them. I'll just bet you it's on there.”

Vlad sucked down the last of his tea and, shoving two more cookies into his mouth, grabbed the book and keys and headed back upstairs to his bedroom. He flopped on the bed with the book in hand. There were more than a dozen keys on the ring, and Vlad shuffled through the ones he recognized, as there was no use trying them: keys to the house, the garage, the lockbox where Mom had kept things like birth certificates and Social Security cards, the cars. That left ten keys. Vlad slipped the first one in and turned it. Nothing. He moved through them one by one until there was only one key left to try.

The remaining key was longer than the rest, and its tip was shaped like a woman's head. At least, it looked like a woman's head to Vlad. She had round, pudgy cheeks and pursed lips. On her head was a small crown. He placed the tip of the key against the lock.

It was too big.

Cursing under his breath, Vlad tossed the keys onto the bed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He pulled the book closer and ran a finger along the shape on the cover. The glyph glowed brightly at his touch. Vlad pulled his hand away with a gasp.

The symbol darkened.

Vlad looked from the book to his hand and back, and with a curious eyebrow raised, he placed his palm against the glyph. It flashed, as if charged by his touch. He tried to pull his arm away, but his hand was glued to the spot. Frowning, he pulled again. His hand wouldn't budge. The locks clicked, and as they popped open, the light dimmed and released Vlad's hand. He rubbed his palm, debating whether or not he should look inside when the outside was so bizarre.

Nudging the straps aside, he opened the front cover and was greeted by a line of strange symbols. He flipped through the pages—some had strange drawings of weapons and altars; most were filled with paragraphs of a bizarre symbol language that Vlad couldn't understand. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back.

The book slipped off the bed and made a rather loud thump on the floor. Vlad reached for it, pausing with interest at the page that had fallen open in the book's descent.

In the margin at the bottom were some scribbles that he recognized at once to be his father's handwriting. Vlad ran the tip of his finger along the slanted words and read aloud. “Look to my study. There lie the answers to all that I've hidden.” Beneath the script his father had written
Yours in Eternity
. Vlad blinked back tears at the familiar phrase. For as long as he could remember, that was how his father had signed every birthday card, every letter, every book inscription to him.
Yours in Eternity
. His father was speaking to him from the grave.

He read the note over again and curled up on his side, again tracing with his fingertip the words his father had written. His eyelids fluttered closed, and Vlad fell into the deepest sleep he'd had in three years.

T
HE GYM WAS DECORATED with several hundred silver and white balloons and enough streamers to wrap around the entire planet twice. Shiny aluminum-foil stars hung from the ceiling. A large white banner draped over the DJ's booth proclaimed in swirling blue script that the students were indeed at Bathory Junior High's Annual Snow Ball. Vlad was leaning up against the wall near the punch bowl, watching two girls giggle excitedly to his left. Henry punched him lightly in the arm. “You could at least be nice to her. I mean, she's not Meredith, but she is your date. Besides, she's pretty cute.”

But Vlad didn't want to be nice to Carrie Anderson. He wanted to be nice to Meredith, whom he hadn't seen since winter break. She was currently laughing at something witty that Tom Gaiber had just said. Vlad raised his head up and thumped it against the wall. “I should've stayed home.”

Carrie leaned over to Kelly Anbrock, and both girls erupted in another fit of giggles. Henry smiled at Kelly and she blushed. “Hey, Kelly, you wanna dance?”

“Sure.” They moved onto the dance floor. Kelly draped her arms around Henry's neck and they turned in slow circles together. On their second turn, Henry gestured to Carrie with his eyes.

Vlad glanced at Meredith, whom Tom was clutching too close for Vlad's comfort. “Carrie—”

“I'd love to!” Carrie dragged him onto the dance floor. She flung her arms around him, and Vlad suddenly remembered what Henry had told him when he'd arranged their dates for the evening. Carrie was a great kisser.

But he didn't reflect long enough to explore how Henry had come by this information.

Vlad placed his hands on her waist and shifted his feet back and forth until they were turning just slightly. He hated dancing. And he didn't especially want to kiss Carrie, but it was better than not having a date at all. Besides, it wasn't like Carrie was a troll or anything. She had sparkling green eyes and curly red hair. Henry was right—she
was
pretty cute.

Tom was laughing so loud that everyone in the gym turned their heads to see what was so funny. Vlad turned his head to look at the far end of the gym behind him, where Tom was looking, but there wasn't anything particularly humorous there—unless you counted the horrific tissue flowers the dance committee had taped to the wall in the shape of a snow-flake. But that was more scary and ridiculous than funny. Vlad turned his head back to Tom, and his heart sank.

Tom was pointing directly at him.

“Hey, goth boy, how much did you have to pay Carrie to dance with you?” Bill was snickering along with Tom. To Vlad's immense surprise, Carrie giggled and pulled away. A few stragglers near Tom and Bill chuckled openly.