Ninth Grade Slays (15 page)

Vlad turned to his uncle with a surge of curiosity. “Otis, if all a vampire has to do to create a drudge is bite them, why isn't the world overrun with drudges?”

Vikas and Otis exchanged glances before Otis spoke. “Most humans do not survive our bites, Vladimir. We often kill to be kind, to end what would be a life of slavery for them before it has begun.”

Vikas's jaw grew tight. “Do not gloss over the larger truth, my friend. Most vampires kill out of pleasure, not pity.”

Vlad mulled this over for a bit, then asked, “So why don't drudges turn into vampires?”

Otis snapped his eyes back to Vlad, as if breaking off a silent conversation with Vikas. When he spoke, his voice was soft, kind. “A vampire infuses his essence with his intended creation—this is sometimes done with a blood exchange, but can be carried on in many ways. However, as with setting glyphs—something you'll learn more about later—the vampire's intent is key.”

Vlad nodded. Intent made a lot of sense.

Vlad was awakened by the sound of someone slamming their fist down on a table. He sat up in bed and listened. Through the door drifted Otis's voice, shaking with anger. “He is not what gossip deems him to be!”

Vikas's voice, calm but certain, followed. “And what if he is? What if Vladimir Tod is the Pravus?”

A long, silent moment went by.

Finally, Otis spoke again, but this time, his voice was broken by tears. “I am at a loss for words.”

“Then allow me to speak. How did Vladimir obtain the Lucis? That is an enormous amount of power for a young boy to wield.”

Otis exhaled a long sigh. “Tomas stole it from the Stokerton council. I imagine he'd wanted to protect Vlad from their vengeance—much good it has done.”

“Vladimir is safe, so perhaps Tomas's thievery was wise after all.” It sounded like Vikas refilled his goblet, and after several swallows, he continued. “It frightens you that he carries the Lucis with him?”

“Of course. But it frightens me more what might happen should he lose it.” Otis's tone changed then, as if his utterance had surprised even him. “As you said, it's an enormous amount of power for a young boy.”

Vikas's words quieted some. “Who could imagine Dom Augustine Calmet, kindest soul to ever enter Elysia, lover of humankind, builder of a bridge between our worlds, would be the creator of such a monstrous weapon?”

Vlad could hear his uncle pacing, as if growing increasingly impatient with their conversation. “He thought it was time for vampires to pass on from this world, that humans were fit to be the dominant species on Earth.”

A small laugh from Vikas. “The fool.”

“At least he knew where his loyalties lay.”

“You question my loyalty?”

“I only question your reasons for not assisting me.” A pause from Otis. “Come to Bathory. Watch over Vladimir in my absence. You can keep him safe. The Stokerton council wouldn't dare—”

“Let the boy stay here, then.”

“I can't. His guardian would be heartbroken.”

“Just as I would be heartbroken to abandon my post to act as nursemaid for a child who hardly needs one.” It sounded like Vikas was pouring more bloodwine. He sighed and said, “You are troubled, Otis. And with good reason—running from Elysia has proven quite taxing on your soul. It has affected your reasoning.”

Then, just as suddenly as the pacing had begun, it stopped. “Don't do this for me, then. Do it for Tomas, for our brother, our friend. Do it so that his memory will not perish along with his son. Protect him, Vikas. Protect Vlad.”

Vikas spoke slowly, as if he wanted to be sure Otis understood his every word. “You ask too much, my friend.”

Another moment of silence, followed by hurried footsteps and the slamming of a door—so loud that Vlad's heart jumped into his throat.

Vlad shivered, slipped out of bed, and closed the door behind him.

The fire was still crackling in the immense fireplace, filling the main room with a warm glow. Vlad moved toward it, rubbing his hands over the goose bumps on his arms. Vikas was seated in the chair facing the fire, watching the flames with intense focus. Vlad took the chair across from him. They were the only two in the room—something that both intrigued and comforted Vlad.

Heavy drapes covered the windows, but Vlad could see moonlight peeking into the room where the curtains met.

Vikas held up a pitcher of bloodwine. Vlad nodded and grabbed a goblet from the nearby table. Vikas filled it to the brim, and they settled back in their chairs with their drinks.

Vikas watched the flames in silence.

Vlad mulled over how to begin, what to say, but everything he thought of sounded like he'd be dancing around what he really wanted to talk about. After several minutes, he met Vikas's eyes. “I heard you arguing.”

Vikas nodded, but he did not speak. Nor did he seem surprised.

Vlad cleared his throat. “You called me something.”

“Does it bother you to be called Little Devil? I apologize.”

“No, it's not that.” Vlad looked into his goblet. “You called me the Pravus. What does that mean?”

Vikas's eyes were careful. He looked over Vlad's shoulder to the door Otis had slammed on his way out and then back at Vlad. “The story of the Pravus is an ancient one. Your uncle has not shared this tale with you?”

Vlad shook his head and took another drink. The spiced blood sent a delicious warmth through his body.

Vikas drained his glass and refilled it. He glanced over Vlad's shoulder again, before looking at Vlad with something that resembled determination in his eyes. “Long ago, when my grandfather was young . . . now mind you, Mahlyenki Dyavol, that my grandfather—that is to say the man who made my creator, my father, into a vampire—is now well over two thousand years old . . . but back then, when the wounds of his creation had barely had time to heal, an ancient prophecy was unearthed. It was probably the most important prophecy ever discovered for vampirekind. It told of a vampire of unique origin. One who was born, not made.”

Something wet dripped onto Vlad's jeans. He looked down and cursed under his breath at the bloodwine he'd spilled. He hadn't even noticed he'd been leaning forward on the edge of his seat. He sat the glass down and relaxed back in his chair.

Vikas handed him a handkerchief and continued as Vlad dabbed at the stain. “The prophecy stated that a great and powerful vampire would one day come into our midst. One that laws would be broken to create. One who would be born of a human mother. He would have no sensitivity to sunlight, he would be able to manipulate the minds of most living creatures, and, it said, that he could not be killed by any means known to vampire or humankind. Injured, yes. But not killed. This man is the Pravus.”

Vikas drained his glass and sat it beside Vlad's. “It is the belief of many in Elysia that the Pravus has come. And I know of only one vampire who has been born, Vladimir.”

Vlad's eyes grew wide. His heart thumped hard against his insides, then settled into a quiet, steady beat. “Me.”

“Not everyone believes that you are. In fact, a much larger group believes that you are not, and that the so-called prophecy is but a fairy tale. But there's more.” Vikas stood and stepped closer to the fire. He placed one elbow on the mantel and propped his chin on his open hand, then tilted his head some so that he was looking at Vlad once again. “It is what I am about to share with you that steals peaceful sleep away from many of our brethren, Mahlyenki Dyavol, no matter what they believe about you.”

Vikas turned to face Vlad. His shadow flickered against the wall to his right. His voice was gruff, as if the subject could easily bring even a man of his power to tears. He held Vlad's gaze. “It is prophesied that the Pravus will come to rule over all of vampirekind and that he will enslave the entire human race.”

Vlad's jaw dropped.

Vikas nodded, as if to tell him that yes, it was true—even though Vlad hadn't offered otherwise.

The tattoo on the inside of Vlad's left wrist glowed brightly. He shook his head again, hardly able to comprehend what he was hearing. “I'm not the Pravus. Even if the prophecy is right and there will be some guy born someday like that . . . it's not me. I'm not him.”

“Are you so sure?”

Vlad dropped his eyes. He wasn't sure of anything, really, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to enslave the human race. After all, that would include Henry—and he had yet to beat him at
Race to Armageddon
, let alone its sequel. “Do you think I'm this human-enslaving, vampire-ruling monster?”

“Not a monster, a walking myth . . . and it is not important what I think.”

Vlad took that as a yes and sighed. “And Otis? What does he think, exactly?”

Vikas dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before meeting Vlad's eyes. “Perhaps that is a question best asked of your uncle.”

Vlad handed the handkerchief back and stood. He'd half-expected Vikas to flinch when their fingers touched. “Tell me what you believe.”

Vikas eyed him for a moment, and then said, “I believe that you are unique . . . and in the vampire world, that is a dangerous thing. But more than anything, I believe you are capable of more than your uncle credits you with. I would like to see you defend yourself against your enemies. That is, if you are able to.”

“I don't have any enemies. I mean, there are these kids at school, but I'm dealing with it.” Vlad thought about the slayer, Eddie, Bill, and Tom. He wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity lately, but he still wouldn't call them enemies. Well, except maybe Bill and Tom.

Vikas shook his head, his eyes once again grimly serious. “There are those who believe that the Pravus is a walking god among vampirekind—that the only way to prove his existence is to try to take his life and see if he survives unscathed. If he dies, they were wrong and perhaps the Pravus has not yet come—if indeed he ever will. But if he lives . . .”

This was the last thing he needed. “You mean some psycho may try to kill me just to see if I'm this Pravus thing some old prophecy talked about years ago?”

Vikas moved toward a separate door, clearly ready to retire for the evening. “Be careful, Vladimir. And listen to your uncle. He means well.”

The door closed behind Vikas, and Vlad returned to his chair and turned back to the fire.

The Pravus. So that's what the
Encyclopedia Vampyrica
had been hiding from him in those paragraphs he couldn't seem to translate. A story about a vampire who would be born and was destined to reign over all of vampirekind, whether they liked it or not. His stomach twisted and turned. What if someone really did try to kill him just to see if he'd die? It was bad enough knowing some psycho slayer was hunting him, and that Eddie Poe was determined to weasel his opinion into the light of day, but now this. Vlad took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting to remain calm.

After a short time, and many more calming breaths, his eyes fluttered closed.

Otis woke him with a gentle shake. Vlad rubbed his eyes, sure that he could sleep for several more hours.

Otis smiled. His skin looked pink and healthy. “Go to bed, Vlad. That chair can't be comfortable.”

Vlad nodded. He started to ask Otis if he thought Vlad was the vampire the prophecies spoke of but then closed his mouth again and shuffled off to his room.

If Otis did think he was the Pravus, Vlad didn't want to know.

14

TRAINING INTERRUPTED

FOCUS, MAHLYENKI DYAVOL.” Vikas's voice brimmed with excitement, echoing only slightly through the darkness of the training room. They had been inside for over an hour, and neither seemed anxious to leave after so much success.

Vlad breathed in deeply and pictured rivers of deliciously sweet blood pouring over a hard edge, splashing into a pool of crimson below. His stomach tensed, and suddenly he could feel the power within him—just as Vikas had instructed him all week. It was there at his center, a hot, tingly ball of electricity resonating from his core. Delicious. Vlad surrendered himself to it, felt it coursing through his veins. Then he focused on Henry and pushed.

Henry smiled. It wasn't every day he got to spend a day hanging out on the slopes with his cousin and a gaggle of pretty girls. Not to mention a set of flirtatious, doe-eyed twins. Henry kept his cool and threw Joss a glance, raising his voice so the twins would hear. “Let's hit that black diamond.”

As expected, Joss's jaw dropped. He had no idea how important it was to impress girls with your skills . . . even if you had only ever been on a black diamond trail twice in your life.

The twins grinned at Henry, and he turned with a casual step toward the slope, flashing his best smile briefly over his shoulder. If he played his cards right, there would be a fireplace and a set of matching snow bunnies in his near future. Smooth, Henry. Keep it smooth.

Vlad steadied his thoughts, smirked, and gently nudged.

Henry lost his footing and did a face plant in the snow.

Vlad would have remained in his mind to enjoy the laughter of Joss and the girls, but it was too hard to focus when he was laughing so hard himself. He pulled quickly out of Henry's mind, and Vikas's laughter joined his. “As I said, Vladimir, it is both productive and entertaining to read and control minds. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Vlad beamed into the darkness. “Absolutely. What's next?”

Vikas was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with hesitation. “Perhaps we could move on to something a bit more productive. Say . . . vengeance?”