Eleventh Grade Burns (29 page)

“But why? Why do our eyes do that? Why were we chosen?”

A knowing smile, full of wisdom that Vlad couldn’t comprehend, knowledge of the ages. “You’ll know that soon enough.”

Vlad spoke, his voice gruff, the weight of the world on his shoulders as Dorian’s life slipped helplessly through his fingers. “Why now? Why didn’t you come to me when I was ten or thirteen? Why did you wait?”

“You were a boy before, but with this—” He sucked in his breath, the pain on his face intense and real. “—all of this, you’ve become a man. You’ve finally become the vampire I see in my visions. The timing of our introduction was never up to me.”

Fresh blood, warm and heavy, drizzled from Dorian’s back. Vlad tensed, realizing that he could see the end. His voice grew hoarse. “I wish we’d met sooner. There’s so much I need to ask you, so much I don’t know.”

A look of fear washed over Dorian, and astonishment at feeling that fear, as if he’d never been afraid before. “Our time together draws short.”

Vlad clutched Dorian to him. He heard the slayer closing in but couldn’t bring himself to face him just yet. He whispered, “Don’t die, Dorian. Don’t die.”

It was odd, but he’d come to feel a strange sort of connection to Dorian, a connection that felt even stronger now. Dorian was a lost soul; so was Vlad. Freaks, in every sense of the word. And now Dorian was dying.

Something strange and terrifying raced through Vlad’s veins. He got the oddest impression that the same brilliant madness was rushing through Dorian. A moment later it felt as if his insides were on fire, as if the prophecy itself was being burned into his very soul. In his mind’s eye, he saw a vision—it was the only word he could think of to describe it. It was like a movie image, but more, as if he were standing on set while they filmed. He saw himself standing on the steps of Bathory High, his arms raised. The ground was littered with bodies. Dead bodies. People Vlad knew. People he’d known his entire life, right alongside those he’d only met in recent years. Blood and carnage surrounded him, and his only reaction was immense control over the situation. His face lit up with power. Vampires and humans were everywhere, on the steps, in the parking lot, in the street, engaged in combat and defense. Vlad watched in horror as his eyes flashed that iridescent purple, much more brilliant than ever before. Everyone froze at his command.

He was controlling them. He was ruling their every move. He was the Pravus, reigning over vampirekind and enslaving the human race. Vlad’s thoughts shrank back, terrified of the thing he’d become, or would become.

Then the vision was over. End scene.

Vlad gasped, his heart sinking. It was true. The prophecy was true. And it was going to happen right here in Bathory. There was nothing Vlad could do to stop it, nothing at all.

Dorian gasped for air, the blood from his wound slowing at last. “I have foreseen the comings of kings and the crumbling of empires. But I never saw ... this.”

Then Dorian went still.

Vlad watched him, waiting for him to move, but he didn’t. He felt Dorian’s weight grow heavy, felt the life ebb from him as his flesh settled into a dead state. And rather than feel sorrow, rather than feel a sense of mourning, Vlad felt an enormous amount of anger and fury and want of justice welling up from inside of him.

A whisper behind him. “For you, Cecile. And for me.”

With an infuriated roar, Vlad slipped from under Dorian and turned with vampiric speed, landing on his feet just inches from a very surprised Joss, who held the stake in his hand. It was still covered in Dorian’s blood.

Vlad grabbed Joss by the shirt, picking him up in the air, and threw him against a tree several yards away.

On the ground lay Joss’s messenger bag. Sticking out of the open flap was Vlad’s father’s journal.

Before Joss could recover, Vlad moved as fast as he was able to stand in front of his once friend, his ultimate betrayer, the lying fiend, throwing punch after punch after punch until Joss’s face was bleeding, his body trembling in pain.

But still the slayer gripped the stake.

Vlad ripped the wooden instrument from Joss’s hand and pulled back his arm, ready to end this, ready to stop Joss forever, ready to send a message to any slayer who dared enter Bathory with blood on his mind. It would be easy. And the price would be worth it. He gripped the stake tightly in his hand and pulled back farther, aiming for Joss’s heart.

And then ... he heard a familiar voice. A voice he would have known anywhere. “Stop, Vlad. Let him live.”

Suddenly, Vlad couldn’t breathe. It was as if all the air that surrounded him refused to enter his lungs. His mouth fell open in utter shock. His fingers trembled. He released Joss, who slid down the trunk of the tree, and turned to face the speaker. He grasped at words, but at first nothing came. Then he met the eyes of the intruder and all he could think was a single word—a word that would change his life forever, a word that shook as it left his lips and shattered everything that he ever thought he knew about his life.

“Dad?”