Eleventh Grade Burns (16 page)

“Speaking of Thanksgiving weekend ...”

Vlad’s eyes went wide. He knew that tone. “Nelly, what did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing, really.” But her eyes gave her away completely. Whatever it was, she knew Vlad wasn’t going to be happy about it. “Matilda and I were talking earlier, and she invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Actually, she insisted that we come.”

Vlad blinked. “We’re having dinner at Henry’s? That’s all?”

“Yes, that’s all” She gave him an awkward smile, “Basically.”

“Basically? What does that mea—oh no.” His eyes widened. Vlad moved to the closest chair and sat down, his head falling into his hands. When he spoke again the sound was muffled. “Please tell me Joss isn’t going to be there.”

He raised his head to look at her. “Please tell me you didn’t agree to have dinner with the only vampire slayer in town!”

Vlad had stood up from the chair, and his voice had risen to a shout. He knew, but didn’t care. “I can’t believe you!”

He all but flew up to his room and barely had time to register that Nelly was saying that she’d had no idea until she’d already agreed and that it wouldn’t be all that bad before he slammed his door shut so hard that he splintered the wood.

So much for the slayer’s search for information. Joss had his father’s journal.

And somehow, Vlad had to get it back.

V
LAD WOKE FROM A SOUND SLEEP, but he didn’t open his eyes right away. He wasn’t exactly sure what had woken him, and he didn’t exactly feel like getting out of bed at oh-my-glob-o’clock, so he laid there in the darkness, somewhere between awake and asleep, and tried to stop thinking about whatever it was that had shaken him from his dreams.

As if coaxing him further from sleep, Vlad’s throat went dry, urging him to slip from his comfy bed into the bathroom for a sip of water. Reluctantly, Vlad opened his eyes.

Above him, seemingly suspended in midair, was a dagger. A familiar dagger, one that Vlad instantly recognized from the dark, bloody room that invaded his dreams every night, one filled with memories of a terrible ritual. Its blade gleamed some in the moonlight as it came down hard, aiming for Vlad’s chest. He dove out of bed, hitting the floor hard. As he did, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see his ever-present nightmare standing beside his disheveled bed.

Vlad gasped, “D’Ablo.”

D’Ablo, holding the ritual dagger tightly in his good hand, merely smiled. “The time has come, Master Pravus. Or should I say your time has come.”

He swung forward with the dagger again, and this time the blade caught Vlad’s sleeve before he could move. Once Vlad was across the room, he spoke quickly. “I let you live!”

D’Ablo wasn’t coming after him again—not yet—so Vlad seized the opportunity to explain. “Last year in Stokerton. I had the Lucis in my hand. I could’ve killed you. Otis urged me to kill you, but I didn’t. And then, when we were outside in the sunlight, you were on fire. I warned you that you were dying so you’d hurry into the shadows. I could’ve blown you away or let you burn, but I didn’t. Have you ever asked yourself why?”

For a moment, D’Ablo lowered the blade. But he did not speak.

Vlad’s heart rate settled some, but just barely. “You knew my dad. You were close to him, you said it yourself. In a twisted kind of way, we have something in common. Wouldn’t you say?”

A low chuckle, full of superiority. “Master Pravus, you presume too much.”

“About what? About you?”

D’Ablo sighed impatiently “Yes, about me. About your father, our relationship, your role in this world. It is your presumption that makes you weak. I despise weakness.”

Vlad wasn’t about to bring up the fact that D’Ablo had been weakened by the lack of a hand. He knew he could run out the door and speed his way to the safety of Otis and Vikas, but this wasn’t something they’d understand. Whatever it was between him and D’Ablo was between him and D’Ablo. They had to settle this on their own. Like men. Like vampires. “So set me straight. What am I presuming?”

D’Ablo sighed again. His tone was that of a weary adult explaining something to a young child. “The pieces are in place, Master Pravus, but this game is far from finished.”

Vlad shook his head. “You sound like Dorian. He never makes much sense either.”

D’Ablo shot Vlad a look that said that he very much disliked Dorian. With a raised eyebrow, he frowned. “Perhaps you’re not the only one guilty of making presumptions.”

Vlad kept a keen eye on the dagger, but lightened his tone. He had no doubts that at any second, D’Ablo would attempt to finish his ritual. “Why do you want to be the Pravus, anyway? Believe me, it won’t exactly solve all your problems.”

“To be the Pravus is to be godlike. It is a gift unlike any other. Many have searched for a way to claim that status. All have failed. But for me.” He looked at Vlad then, his expression softening some. “Surely you’ve studied the elements of the prophecy well enough by now to understand that a time will come, Master Pravus, when you will be forced to rule over the very humans you love. This is not something you wish to do. After all, you are just a boy. But I ... I would take great pleasure in this act. Step aside. Allow me to rule.”

Vlad set his jaw. “As tempting as your offer is to give up and die, to let you enslave my family and friends and do who knows what to Elysia ... I’m afraid my answer is no.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then D’Ablo sighed. “Very well then.”

For a while, neither of them moved. Then, just as Vlad was beginning to wonder what D’Ablo was thinking, D’Ablo lunged at him with the dagger raised high, a terrible growl emitting from his throat. Instinctively Vlad ducked to the side, barely escaping the blade. When he looked back at D’Ablo, he couldn’t resist quipping, “It’s nice to know you’re no longer getting your cronies to do your dirty work for you.”

D’Ablo whipped around faster than Vlad anticipated. The blade sunk into Vlad’s shoulder, buried deep into his flesh. He screamed and fell to the floor, Nelly’s presence in the house an afterthought.

D’Ablo pulled the weapon out, sending a spurt of Vlad’s blood to the floor. With a smug smile, he slowly wiped the bloodied blade on his pant leg. “I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure of killing you, boy.”

Vlad cupped his wounded shoulder with his palm. Strangely the burning, the stinging, the pain of it disappeared. Normally it would’ve taken three days for a cut like that to go away, but this time ... it had taken only moments.

He flicked his eyes to D’Ablo, who didn’t seem to have any clue at all that Vlad wasn’t wounded anymore. D’Ablo shook his head and crouched in front of him. “What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost, Master Pravus? What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost to a better vampire?”

Vlad took a deep breath and slanted his eyes. “You tell me.”

Before D’Ablo realized what was happening, Vlad kicked the dagger from his hand, sending it flying to the other side of his bedroom. It clattered against the wall and fell with a thump near the secret door to the attic.

Infuriated, D’Ablo howled and reached for Vlad, but Vlad dove over him, past him, reaching for the dagger. Once he had it, he stood and gripped it tightly in his trembling hand.

D’Ablo stood as well, that air of smug superiority never leaving him. He approached Vlad slowly, but confidently, and chuckled. “What good will it do you? It’s not a stake. My life is intact. Wound me? Yes. But I will always return to claim what is rightfully mine.”

D’Ablo spun around with vampire speed, but it was just what Vlad had been hoping for. He spun too and plunged the dagger deep into D’Ablo’s shoulder. Through muscle, tendon, bone. The point of the blade stuck out of D’Ablo’s back. D’Ablo hissed, but didn’t scream.

Vlad gripped the hilt tightly and growled, then pulled the dagger upward in one clean jerk. His hand was covered in D’Ablo’s blood and still gripping the handle ... but the blade had broken off and was buried in D’Ablo’s flesh and bone.

D’Ablo cried out and fell to his knees. When he looked up at Vlad’s hand and realized that his ritual dagger—the one thing that might steal Vlad’s status as the Pravus for him—had been destroyed, his eyes filled with a venomous evil that Vlad had never witnessed before. Slowly, he stood again, and, digging into his wound before it could begin the healing process, he gripped the blade with his fingers and ripped it from the sinewy tissues of his shoulder.

The sound it made sent a shiver up Vlad’s spine. But Vlad managed to keep his voice both even and strong. “Get out. Now.”

To his utter shock, D’Ablo left without another word.

It took Vlad an hour to clean up all the blood. And Nelly didn’t make as much as a peep the entire time.

T
HE CAR WAS COMPLETELY SILENT on the drive over to Henry’s house. The only one who seemed remotely relaxed was Nelly, but even she wasn’t talking. Maybe she knew if she did, Otis and Vlad would snap at her for agreeing to drag her vampire boyfriend and half-vampire ward to a Thanksgiving feast with the one person in town who they knew wanted blood more than they did. Otis was usually incredibly giving when it came to Nelly, but even he looked irritated beyond belief. Vlad folded his arms in front of him, slumping as far down in the backseat as he could. He had no idea what Nelly had been thinking when she told Henry’s mom, Matilda, that they’d love to come. Granted, this was all Matilda’s idea. But still.

Maybe Matilda thought that if she could get Joss and Vlad together over the holidays, they’d get along just dandy once again. For some reason, Matilda was just crazy enough to think that some pumpkin pie and cranberries were enough to heal a rift as big as the one between them. But she was wrong. There was no way Vlad was forgiving anything that Joss had done—not after he’d invaded Vlad’s sanctuary and stole the most precious thing Vlad owned. Maybe once that would have been possible, but after the attack on Vikas, and the conniving thievery, Vlad had come to realize that there could never be a peace between them. And by the look on Otis’s face, Vlad would have bet he felt the same way.

Vlad sighed and decided he’d be the first to break the silence. “What am I supposed to eat for nourishment while we’re there, Nelly?”

“I told Matilda you were fighting a stomach bug, so you wouldn’t feel much like eating. She’s just happy you’re feeling up to joining us.”

“I think I’m coming down with a bug too.” The corner of Otis’s mouth rose in a smirk as Nelly shot him a glance. “It’s a vampire bug. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“Would you two stop whining? It’s not going to kill you to sit through dinner with Joss.” She grew quiet for a moment, as if contemplating the possibility that her sentence might contain at least a smidgeon of irony. Then she shook her head. “Really. It’s not.”

Vlad shook his head, amazed by her innocence of the severity of the situation, her unfailing belief that good really lurked inside the hearts of everyone.
“She really doesn’t get it, does she?”

“What human does?”
Otis smiled. By the look on Nelly’s face, she knew a conversation was going on that she couldn’t be a part of. He reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“She just wants everyone to get along. No matter how impossible that might seem.”

Vlad folded his arms in front of him and sank down in his seat.
“I’m not sitting by Joss. She can’t make me forgive him for all he’s done. Why would she even want that?”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s trying to accomplish, Vladimir. I believe she’s merely looking for a sense of family around the holiday season. And we
. . .
not to mention the McMillans . . . are her family. No matter how dysfunctional that idea might be to you, Joss, or me. Blood doesn’t make a family, Vladimir. Love does.”

Otis turned the wheel, pulling his car into Henry’s driveway. Vlad had pulled into this driveway countless times before in the seat of many different cars. Only this time, it felt different. This time it felt less like Vlad was arriving at his second home and more like he was about to enter the Temple of Doom. Holding his breath, Vlad opened the door and stepped out into the chilly November air.

It took Otis and Nelly a few seconds to exit the car. Vlad would have bet that Nelly was taking a moment to tell Otis that it meant a lot to her that he was joining them for Thanksgiving, and that Otis was reassuring Nelly that he’d be on his best behavior. Vlad, however, wasn’t about to make that promise. He’d keep his distance from Joss, but so help him if his former friend whipped out a sharp hunk of wood ...

It wasn’t that he hated Joss—he didn’t. And it wasn’t that he felt that vampires were better than slayers—they weren’t. It was the fact that he and Joss were being forced together by their own aunts, the two people in the world who should’ve wanted them to stay as far apart as possible. After all, Nelly knew what Joss had done—she’d seen the bandaged wound, had wept at his bedside as he healed, still flinched whenever Vlad talked about his time in the hospital. She’d listened to Vlad when he’d needed to talk about his friend’s brutal betrayal, and she’d spoken words of comfort when Vlad needed to hear them. Most importantly, she backed off when he needed to be alone with his thoughts, understanding that no one else on the planet could make things a hundred percent okay for Vlad ... not even her. So it hurt that Nelly had agreed to dinner with the McMillans, knowing that Joss would be there. In a weird way, it felt like she was choosing Joss over Vlad. That bugged him ... and he wasn’t sure why, exactly, except for the fact that she was his guardian. She was the one who was supposed to have his best interest at heart. Why she would want him to spend the day with the person who had tried to kill him? But deep down, Vlad knew that she would never put him in harm’s way. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly why today bothered him so much. Maybe it was because Joss had claimed Bathory as his hometown, the McMillans as his family, and Meredith as his girl. He couldn’t have Nelly. She was all Vlad had left, apart from Otis, and Vlad was pretty sure that Joss didn’t want him.