Ninth Grade Slays (24 page)

“All this time you pretended to be my friend and you were one of them, Vlad?” Joss wrenched his shoulder away, suddenly free of whatever spell had held him still and silent. He pinched the zipper pull on his bag and tugged, exposing the case within. Carefully, almost lovingly, he withdrew the wooden box and unlocked it, flipping open the lid. “I don't want to do this. You have no idea how difficult your death will be to explain to Henry.”

Vlad watched Joss closely, hardly able to believe one of his closest friends was about to make an attempt on his life. He formed apology after apology in his mind, but none sounded anywhere near sensible. What was he apologizing for? Joss was the one in the wrong here. He almost said precisely that, but there was something else that kept his attention—the fact that Joss seemed completely oblivious to Jasik and D'Ablo now . . . almost like he was being made to focus only on Vlad and the task at hand.

Behind Joss, Jasik handed D'Ablo the Lucis. D'Ablo smiled and slipped it in an inside pocket of his jacket. Under his breath, D'Ablo said, “That's two of the three items we require. And the third we'll collect soon enough.”

Joss withdrew the wooden stake, and in the glint of silver at its tip, Vlad found his voice. “Henry knows.”

Joss's brow creased. “What? What do you mean? You told him I'm a slayer?”

Vlad shook his head slowly. He kept darting his eyes between the vampires behind Joss and the weapon in Joss's hand. “He knows I'm a vampire. He's known since we were eight. He keeps my secret for me—Nelly does, too. So you see, no one in Bathory was ever in danger from me. I drink donated blood, and never from the source. I know you think that vampires are evil monsters, but I'm not. I'm different.”

Joss cast Vlad a doubtful glance. “You're lying. Henry tells me everything.”

"Not this.” Behind Joss, D'Ablo whispered something to Jasik, who nodded. Vlad pushed with his mind until he had a headache, but couldn't read either of their thoughts. Pushing as hard as he could, he thought to Otis,
“Help me
,
Uncle Otis! D'Ablo is alive! Do you hear me? He's alive and trying to kill me!”

But there was no answer.

He took a very slow step back and wondered if he could outrun them all. "If you kill me, Henry will find out you're a slayer. Your whole family will find out.”

Joss stepped closer, matching Vlad's pace. The kindness had gone out of his eyes. "I can live with that.” He hefted the weight of the stake in his hand and raised an eyebrow at Vlad. "But you won't.”

Joss broke into a run. He thrust the stake forward, its tip gleaming in the moonlight. Vlad dodged it and sprinted across the clearing. He turned back to Joss and held his hands up. “You don't have to do this, Joss. Think about it. Who's the real monster here? It's D'Ablo that set this up. You and I are friends.”

Vlad locked eyes with Joss and pushed hard with his mind. With a dizzying rush of blood to the head, he slipped into Joss's thoughts with ease.

Joss gripped the stake in his hands. Friends or not, he had to do it, had to kill Vlad to save Cecile. She was dead, yes, but every time he took another vampire down, he could feel her soul growing just a little lighter. He was easing her pain now in a way he'd been unable to in her final moments.

But wait . . . Vlad was his friend. How could he take the life of a boy he'd reached out to, who understood what it was like to lose someone close to you? He couldn't . . . he couldn't.

Vlad pulled out of his thoughts and waited, hoping that this would all be over soon. Or at the very least, that he and Joss would be on the same side, facing D'Ablo and Jasik as a team.

Joss paused for a moment, clearly mulling over the thoughts Vlad had placed in his mind. Then, shaking his head, he retrieved a vial from the case with his free hand and opened the lid. His eyes were clear, cold. “You're a bloodsucker. And I can't let you live.”

Vlad watched the vial in horror. Garlic juice. Great.

He pushed again, once more invading Joss's thoughts, trying to gain control.

A searing pain shot through Joss's head, as if his brain was the subject of a tug-of-war. He focused on the task at hand, which flitted through his mind in one single, rambling direction.
KillVladKillVladKillVladKillVlad
...

He clutched the bottle in his hand and stood, his eyes on the beast, the monster that was so like the creature who'd taken his Cecile.
KillVladKillVladKillVladKillVlad
...

Monster? This was Vlad. One of his two only friends. He should at least talk to him, maybe help him fend off these other jerks before he did something stupid.

Vlad pulled out of Joss's mind again and looked at D'Ablo, certain he'd been controlling Joss's thoughts. He cleared his throat, unsure if his skill at mind control would be enough to deter the slayer, and returned his gaze to the small glass bottle. “You'd kill me just because some guy told you to? Some guy who is, by the way, a vampire.”

Joss pursed his lips and glared, tightening his grip on both the vial and the stake. “I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. I could give a damn what he is. This goes beyond a sense of duty, Vlad. Now it's personal.”

Vlad's jaw dropped. “You've lost it.”

Joss drew his arm back and whipped the vial through the air, spilling its contents in a shower of small droplets. Vlad ducked, but several drops fell on his exposed skin. He shook his arm wildly in the air, but then he wondered why it wasn't burning, or even making him slightly nauseated. Vlad sniffed his skin and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't garlic juice after all.

For a moment Joss's eyes were wide, horrified.

Vlad plucked the vial from the ground. The worn label read HOLY WATER. Vlad shook his head but couldn't manage so much as a chuckle. He tossed the vial back on the ground and faced Joss—his friend, his enemy. “Just so you know, the cross won't work either. They're myths—kinda like how all vampires are evil.”

Joss gripped the stake in his hand and held it up in Vlad's line of sight. “But this will.”

With his heart pounding out a quick beat, Vlad dared to step closer. “You think you know so much about me, about those like me. But you don't. You just think we're mindless, heartless monsters. But we aren't. We're people, Joss. With family, friends, ideas, lives! Just like humans, there are bad vampires.” He glanced at D'Ablo. “But we're not all like that. I'm not like that.”

“You think you're the only one betrayed here, Vlad? You're lying to everyone! No one in Bathory knows what a killer you are!” Joss lowered the stake, as if he were intent on ramming it up under Vlad's ribs.

Anger boiled up from within Vlad, and he snatched the stake from Joss's hand and threw it to the ground. The silver tip stuck in the soft soil. “How can you be my friend one minute and my enemy the next? That's not right! It's not fair! Vampire or not, I'm the same person I was yesterday, the same friend you asked to come with you tonight. I haven't changed, Joss. Why have you?” Tears threatened to roll from his eyes, but Vlad tried hard to keep them contained. “I'm not a killer.”

Joss's eyes were locked on Vlad's. His voice shook with a whisper. “I've never seen purple eyes before. Not even on a vampire. What kind of monster are you?”

Vlad paused for a moment, taken aback by Joss's tone. He sounded awed, but mostly, he sounded scared. Vlad blinked, knowing his eyes had changed to that strange iridescent purple once again.

He glanced at D'Ablo and Jasik, who had stepped back to watch the show. D'Ablo looked enormously pleased, for some reason.

The anger left Vlad in a rush, and he looked at his friend with a pleading gaze. “You don't have to do this. You wouldn't be killing a monster; you'd be murdering a friend. Please . . . don't.”

Joss dropped his gaze to the stake. A tear rolled down his cheek and dripped to the ground.

“I know it's been tough moving around, trying to make new friends. Well, you've made one in me, Joss. We're friends.” Vlad knew he could push into Joss's mind to see what he was thinking, but he didn't really want to know. Instead, he watched . . . and waited.

“Kill him.” D'Ablo's voice was stern and gruff.

Vlad backed up quickly, forgetting about Joss for a moment. Jasik appeared out of nowhere, grabbed him by the arms, and held him still. Vlad yanked his body forward, breaking free. He broke into a run toward the trees.

But he stopped dead in his tracks.

In his mind were images of D'Ablo and Jasik feeding on every drop of blood that Joss carried. But he hadn't put them there. The thoughts were coming from someone else. Vlad looked at D'Ablo, who nodded. If Vlad ran, they'd kill Joss, and then come after him. He couldn't let that happen. Joss was his friend—even if he did have some pretty messed-up ideas about vampires.

D'Ablo's voice was crisp. “It doesn't have to be that way, Vladimir. Your friend needn't suffer.”

Vlad ran his tongue over his protruding fangs. He had no idea they'd elongated. “Otis will avenge my death. You have no idea the hurt that's coming for you if I die.”

D'Ablo tilted his head. The smile on his lips was almost endearing. “I'm willing to take that chance.”

The air left Vlad's lungs. His stomach cramped. From behind him, he thought he heard Joss whisper, “For you, Cecile.” But he couldn't be sure. It felt as though he'd been punched very hard in the back. Time slowed to a crawl.

Vlad turned his head as he dropped to his knees. Joss was standing behind him, troubled, but triumphant. Vlad took a deep breath, feeling hot liquid bubble inside his chest. He tried another breath, but the air wouldn't come.

D'Ablo was kneeling in front of him, watching Vlad's chest with enormous interest. Vlad looked down—it felt as if it took hours just to make the effort. A spike of silver gleamed at his center. Vlad reached up and touched it.

The stake. Joss had staked him.

Vlad blinked. His eyes were heavy, but he forced them open. His clothes were soaked with something that made his stomach rumble. It almost made him laugh, but then Vlad coughed, and a searing pain ripped through his chest. He looked back at Joss. Jasik was stepping closer to him.

Vlad coughed again, but despite his pain, he didn't cry. He parted his bloodstained lips and managed a whisper. “Joss. Behind . . .”

But the air was gone. Joss was gone. The clearing, the vampires, the trees, the sky—all disappeared in a swirl of black. In Vlad's last semiconscious thought, he wished that Joss would get away from Jasik and D'Ablo . . . and that Otis would avenge his death.

He tried once more to breathe, to no avail.

22

THE AFTERLIFE

VLAD TUMBLED FORWARD into the black oblivion of death. It felt strange to die. At first, it seemed like he was falling, but then he felt like he was being lifted up by many hands. There was a
GUSH
sensation in his chest, and suddenly, Vlad could breathe. In the darkness of his mind, he saw Otis's face—grim, determined, sorrowful. Vikas's voice invaded his thoughts. “Be Still, Mahlyenki Dyavol.”

And Vlad was still.

After minutes, hours, days—Vlad couldn't be sure which— lights pierced the darkness. Blue and red. They appeared in circles and brought with them the wailing of a banshee.
This is it
,
then
, Vlad thought.
I've died and this is what the afterlife
is like
. He thought there were supposed to be harps, pearly gates, and people flying around with big, feathery wings. But there was none of that. Only pain and darkness, with the occasional odd sound and weird, colored lights—what a gyp.

Vlad took a deep breath and ignored the weird slapping sound coming from his chest. Otis's face loomed once more above him. Vlad began to speak, to warn his uncle about D'Ablo and Joss, but a wave of blackness dragged him back under.

He floated there in a haze for a long time, just below the edge of consciousness. When he surfaced again, it was to Nelly's voice. Only he couldn't make out what she was saying through her sobbing. He tried to tell her he'd miss her but couldn't manage to open his mouth.

Time moved again, and Vlad returned to his haze. Voices kept him company, though he didn't recognize most of them. After what seemed like an eternity, Vlad forced his eyes open. His eyelids felt heavy with sleep, but he saw that he was lying on a crisp white bed. A tube stuck out of his hand. It led up a long silver pole to a clear bag, marked with colored stickers. One of the stickers read MORPHINE. Another tube stuck out of his other hand—this one led to a bag of blood.

No wonder he wasn't hungry.

And he was alive! His heart ached, but it was beating. His lungs burned, but they were breathing. His body hurt all over . . . but he lived. He'd survived, somehow.

He wanted to thank whoever had brought him here, to hug someone—anyone—and tell them he loved them, to see Nelly and Otis and Henry again. And if he ever managed to get out of the hospital, he was going to take Meredith Brookstone to the Freedom Fest dance again, and afterward, he was going to give her a kiss that she'd never forget.

He was alive. Impossibly, he was alive.

And he was in the hospital . . . where doctors and nurses would surely notice his hunger for blood and his sharp-as-razors fangs.

Vlad turned his head, feeling less heavy, and looked at the nurse, who was checking the graph that was being printed by machine next to his bed. His lips were dry when he parted them to speak. “Where am I?”

The nurse looked up at him with surprised eyes. “You're in Stokerton General Hospital. Are you in pain?”