Eleventh Grade Burns

by Heather Brewer

  With a deep breath, Vlad stepped through the door with Dorian at his side. He was oddly comforted by Dorian’s presence.

  The room was surprisingly posh for such a small, hidden space beneath the streets of Greenwich Village. A long, mahogany table commanded the front of the room, home to nine vampires. Vikas sat to the far right, D’Ablo to the far left, and at the center sat a girl who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a band T-shirt, her hair cut in such a way that her burgundy-colored bangs curtained her left eye. Her Converse-clad feet were tapping the concrete floor beneath the table, as if she was having a difficult time holding still. Otis stood before the table and several vampires sat in chairs behind him, waiting for the proceedings to begin. Dorian led Vlad to an empty chair and then took one himself, only a few chairs away.

  Every vampire in the room had their eyes locked on Dorian, their expressions a mingling of disgust, fear, and immense respect. The vampires to either side of him stood and moved to the back of the room. The look in Dorian’s eyes said he was used to this response, used to being the most feared, loathed, and respected vampire in all of Elysia. Almost immediately, Vlad felt immensely sorry for him. Dorian might be used to getting what he wanted, but there was a reason his social skills were tacking—no one wanted to be social with him. Dorian glanced at Vlad, his eyes betraying a sadness. Without telepathy, it seemed Dorian knew that Vlad had witnessed his pain. He looked grateful.

  The girl at the center began. “Otis Otis, you face a variety of charges, and as this is your pretrial, not yet your trial, we shall approach this with a more casual effort and assume that you know of the charges of which I speak?”

  Otis’s voice was sure and strong, but hushed. “I do”

  “And do you have any evidence-supported reason that these matters should not go to trial?”

  Otis’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I do not have such evidence, but I do have suspicions of treachery.”

  “Treachery?” She rolled it over on her tongue, as if unfamiliar with the word. “How so?”

  “Em ... I ... I would rather we speak in private, as my theories involve a certain member of this council.” His eyes darted to D’Ablo, who merely scowled in return.

  “I see” She wet her lips, as if debating his request, then said, “Speak here. This council holds no secrets from one another.”

  A small bead of sweat ran down Otis’s forehead. “I believe that D’Ablo holds personal prejudice against me. Me ... and my nephew. I can better explain this in private. Please ...”

  The room grew very silent. Finally, Em stood. “If the council will pardon us ...”

  She left her place at the table and she and Otis moved outside, into the storage area, for several minutes. When they returned, she acted as if nothing had happened and took her place once more. “As there is no evidence to support not going to trial—”

  “Em, please.” Otis’s eyes were shimmering, pleading with her.

  “—your trial date has been set for May eleventh at nine P.M., at this location. This session is adjourned.”

  “Em.” A tear rolled down his cheek, his tone bordering on desperation. Apparently, he’d been counting on their private conversation clearing him of wrongdoing.

  She crossed her ankles and frowned, her voice firm. “This session is adjourned, Otis.”

  Her eyes locked pointedly on Vlad for a moment, but he couldn’t read her expression.

  Slowly, the vampires filed out, first the audience, and then the council, at last Dorian, until the only ones left in the room were Otis and Vlad. Vlad approached his uncle slowly and placed a caring palm on his shoulder. Otis reached up and cupped his hand. Neither spoke for a long time.

  Vlad tried to think of something comforting to say. He settled on, “She can’t be the last word in whether you live or die, Otis.”

  Otis took a shuddered breath and released another tear. “Em is the oldest vampire in existence, Vladimir. If I cannot convince her of DAblo’s treachery, then I have no hope.”

  He turned and walked out of the room, resolving himself to die at the word of a teenage vampire.

  26

  NOT-SO-HAPPY NEW YEAR

  NELLY SLIPPED A SILVER CUFF BRACELET onto her left wrist and checked her hair in the mirror for the five millionth time. She looked beautiful in her black satin cocktail dress with rhinestones dotting the bodice. She had on heels, something that Vlad couldn’t recall ever having seen her wear before. Plus, underneath the nervous exterior, she was positively glowing over her and Otis’s New Year plans ... which both thrilled Vlad to no end and grossed him out at the same time. Despite the “ew” factor of his aunt and uncle dating, Vlad was pretty happy for the two of them.

  “My earrings!” Nelly gasped, disappearing upstairs for a moment. When she came back down, black and silver teardrops hung from her ears.

  When the doorbell rang, Vlad first watched Nelly turn back to the mirror, her fingers trembling, and then went to open the door. He had no idea why Otis still knocked or rang the bell. It wasn’t like he didn’t practically live there or anything. But Nelly was nervous and Otis probably was too, being that this was the first date they’d gone on where both referred to the event as a date, so Vlad wasn’t about to make waves. He opened the door and smiled at Otis, who was looking dapper in a three-piece charcoal gray suit. Vlad kept his voice low. “She’s in the living room, checking for gray hairs.”

  Otis chuckled and when Nelly stepped out to see him, their eyes twinkled. An electricity filled the air between them, one that made Vlad enormously uncomfortable. A brief flash of something—the fear of losing her, maybe—crossed Otis’s eyes. Then Otis stepped closer to Nelly without a word and kissed her full on the mouth. Vlad coughed into his fist, trying not to make a retching sound, and the lovers parted, cheeks flushed. Otis said, “I’m so blessed to have such beauty in my life, Nelly.”

  If she hadn’t been wearing an expensive dress, Vlad was pretty sure Nelly would have melted into a pile of goo right there. “So,” he said, in an effort to remind them that they weren’t alone just yet, “where is this shindig, anyway?”

  “It’s in the ballroom at the Karloff Hotel in Stokerton, and I’ll have her home by three A.M.”

  “Three? I dunno ...” Vlad smirked, taking on a parental tone. “Promise to behave yourselves?”

  Otis grinned. “Not at all.”

  Nelly blinked as if remembering that she had a ward and he’d probably require something like sustenance and company eventually “What time will Henry be here? The pizza’s getting cold.”

  Glancing at the clock, Vlad said, “About a half hour from now. I’m going to warm up some blood after he gets here.”

  Then, Otis’s face suddenly dropped and all traces of joy were erased in an instant. Before Vlad could ask what was wrong, he heard Vikas’s voice in his thoughts. “Come, Mahlyenki Dyavol, something terrible has happened. I need you and your uncle both. Get here as soon as you are able. It’s urgent.”

  His voice sounded shaken and gruff in Vlad’s mind, as if his thoughts had been full of sorrow. Vlad looked at Otis, who was placing a trembling kiss on Nelly’s hand. “We have to go. Vikas needs us. And I’m afraid I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

  Nelly looked heartbroken, but understanding. She nodded.

  Otis led Vlad to the door, looking more troubled with every step he took. “Nelly...” he said as he opened the door, turning back to her with an anxious step.

  She looked up, blinking disappointed tears away, but didn’t speak.

  “I love you.” Otis’s tone was brimming with meaning.

  Vlad paused midstep and looked over at his aunt. A small smile found her lips. “I love you too, Otis.”

  Vlad was pretty sure that was the first time that either of them had admitted it. It was sweet and wonderful, and Vlad could barely contain his hopes that this would mean they really would be a family one day... if they were
n’t already.

  They exchanged quiet smiles for a long time, until Vlad tugged Otis’s sleeve, reminding him of Vikas’s silent call. Once he and Otis were in the car, Vlad turned to his uncle. “Vikas sounded scared.”

  “More than that, he sounded as if he were in anguish. Buckle up. I’m going to drive fast.”

  Otis backed out of the driveway faster than he ever had and before Vlad knew it, they were speeding through Bathory, barely stopping at stop signs. Not for the first time, Vlad wished they could use their vampire speed out in the open. Finally, Otis parked at the curb and they exited the car. Vlad followed his uncle’s lead around the house to the backyard, where they found Vikas digging near the rosebushes.

  He was standing at the bottom of a very deep, very wide hole, slamming a shovel into the frozen earth with a chink and tossing piles of dirt next to the hole. Occasionally, a brown, roseless thorn would catch his skin and tear it open, but his wounds healed immediately and he didn’t seem to notice the thorns at all. Nor did he seem to notice Vlad or Otis, who were standing by the hole, looking very confused. Otis crouched down and placed a caring hand on Vikas’s shoulder. Vikas threw it off and muttered, “Help me.”

  Otis furrowed his brow. “Vikas, what’s happened?”

  “Help me!” As he yelled, he threw an extra shovel to Otis, who caught it just before it would have hit him. Without another word, Otis removed his jacket, handed it to Vlad, and dropped into the hole, then began digging.

  Vlad watched them dig for an hour, all the while wondering what they were digging for. Then the realization hit him and he spoke, his words quiet in the too-quiet night. “It’s a grave.”

  Otis shot Vlad a look, then seemed to realize he was right. They both looked at Vikas, who’d finished digging at last and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. His haunted eyes moved to a lump in the shadows near the house. The lump was hastily wrapped in heavy canvas, but Vlad spied a lock of hair sticking out at one end. With a gasp, his hand found his mouth. He would’ve recognized that hair anywhere. “Oh my god ... Tristian.”

  When Vlad flicked his gaze back to Vikas, he saw Vikas’s shoulders slump and his moist eyes drop to the hole he and Otis were standing in. “He left several hours ago to retrieve household supplies from the store. When he didn’t come back right away, I contacted him telepathically. His response was weak, muffled, his thoughts clouded. Then everything went black, and the pain ... the pain...”

  Vlad furrowed his brow. He knew that pain. He’d been in Jasik’s mind when his life had ended. The experience had scarred him. And Jasik was virtually a stranger to him; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have been inside his drudge’s mind, Henry’s mind, when he died. Losing a drudge was bad enough, but witnessing it helplessly from inside his skull ... what an unimaginable nightmare.

  Otis climbed from Tristian’s grave and reached his hand down to help Vikas out as well. It was only then that Vlad realized there was anything odd about this scene at all. He frowned. “Why a grave, Vikas? Why not a pyre?”

  Vikas spoke through tears. “Tristian was a good drudge, Mahlyenki Dyavol, but he was human. We cannot honor him the way that we honor vampirekind.”

  Together, the three of them laid Tristian to rest in the earth. Vlad thought about asking if they should call the police, but he was pretty sure that would bring about an amount of trouble that they just didn’t need right now. Besides, they already knew who did it, even though they couldn’t really prove it. The Slayer Society. Maybe one slayer in particular.

  Actually, there was no “maybe about it. Joss had murdered Tristian. That much was clear by the open wound on Tristian’s chest. But what Vlad wanted to know was why?

  Once the earth was restored, Vikas said, “We should act immediately.”

  Otis’s tone was clipped, angry. Rightfully so. “He’s out walking alone. There’s no time like the present.”

  Vlad shook his head, trying to maintain reason. He’d already seen one dead boy tonight. He didn’t want to see two. Besides, even though he hated Joss for taking Tristian’s life, he also understood Joss’s anger toward vampirekind. Vampires hadn’t exactly been nurturing toward Vlad—he could only imagine how they treated slayers. So there was a reason that Joss did the awful things that he did. Unforgivable, yes, but not completely without reason. “Wait. You don’t know for sure that Joss did this. What if it was someone else? I mean, it could’ve been some psycho.”

  But even Vlad didn’t believe the words that were rolling off his tongue.

  They both looked at him, incredulous, and then Vikas spoke, his voice grave, bitter. “I found Tristian with a stake buried in his chest. And I know of no other slayer in Bathory tonight.”

  Vlad shot his uncle a look. “You can’t go after him, Otis. You can’t kill Joss.”

  Vikas exploded. “I can and I will! He murdered my Tristian. He stole my drudge away from me. Innocent, sweet Tristian. And you would have me sit idly by while he toast to his kill? This is madness!”

  Otis released a tense breath. “Calm, Vikas. I’m sure my nephew has his reasons. What would you have us do, Vladimir?”

  “Let me handle it.”

  Vikas said something else loudly in Russian. Vlad didn’t know the language, but he knew when someone was swearing at him.

  Otis, who spoke Russian fluently, held up a hand to calm Vikas’s ranting. “What do you mean, handle it? This isn’t a situation that calls for a light touch, Vladimir. It calls for blood.”

  Vikas growled behind him. “Much blood!”

  “You’ll have blood, Otis, but let me handle it.” His eyes moved to Tristian’s grave and back to Otis. “Please.”

  Otis didn’t speak. Or rather, he didn’t speak out loud. It became very obvious that he and Vikas were discussing something telepathically After a long while, Vikas swore again in Russian and made his way into the house. Otis offered Vlad a single nod and then followed Vikas inside.

  Vlad left immediately. He searched the town, every street, every inch, until finally, at 2 A.M., only the cemetery remained. He crossed under the archway that marked the entrance and moved between the stones, and there, standing near Vlad’s parents’ tombstone, stood Joss. The look on his face was one of respect. He was gazing at the stone, looking unaware of Vlad’s presence, but something about the feeling in the air told Vlad that Joss was very much aware that he was near. Vlad approached him cautiously and stood beside him, looking down at the stone.

  Joss spoke calmly, as if they were continuing a conversation they’d begun earlier that day. “Your parents, did they know?”

  Vlad swept his eyes over his mother’s name. His heart skipped a beat. “About me being a vampire? Well ... yeah. My dad was a vampire.”

  “You mean your creator.”

  “No. I mean my dad. He and my mom made me the same way your parents made you.”

  “Gross.”

  “Yeah.” He was hoping that Joss was referring to the fact that parents doing anything at all required to make babies was gross, and not the fact that his dad was doing just that with a human, but he suspected it was the latter. They stood there silent for a long time, until Vlad finally said, “What are you doing at my parents’ grave?”

  Joss’s voice was calm. Too calm. For some reason, it reminded Vlad of Dorian. “I was apologizing to your mother ... before I kill you.”

  Vlad barely had time to notice Joss flip open his jacket and withdraw his wooden stake from a leather holster on his belt. But once the stake was in Joss’s hand, Vlad noticed—oh man, did he notice—and moved across the cemetery with vampire speed. Joss blinked, and then realized that Vlad was standing ten headstones away. A smirk touched his lips. He looked both challenged and irritated. “You’ve learned a new trick.”

  Vlad brushed his hair from his eyes. “That’s just a taste. I’m not the same vampire I was when you backstabbed me freshman year.”

  The corner of Joss’s mouth twitched subtly. “Good. Because I’m no
t the same slayer I was. This time, you won’t get back up.”

  Joss flew at Vlad faster than he ever had before, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Vlad moved with vampiric speed, barely breaking a sweat, dodging Joss’s attack. He played keep-away for a while, darting back and forth across the graveyard, until an image solidified in his mind, one he couldn’t shake: the image of Tristian, lying dead.

  Joss had killed Tristian. Without reason. Without sense. All because he though Tristian might be a vampire, like Vlad. He’d killed him, and now was hoping that Vlad’s death would soon follow.

  Enraged, Vlad grabbed Joss by the shirt. Joss swung forward, catching the corner of Vlad’s mouth with his fist. Vlad threw him across the cemetery. Joss hit a large tombstone and crumpled to the ground. Blood seeped from his mouth, and his arm was bending at a weird angle.

  As Vlad bent over Joss and retrieved the cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, he whispered, “I know how you think of yourself as an extinguisher of evil and all, but just so you know, Tristian was human. So that makes you a murderer.”

  He dialed 911 and when the operator answered Vlad wiped the blood from his lip and said, “My friend’s been beaten up pretty badly. He needs an ambulance. We’re at Long Road Cemetery in Bathory.”

  Joss rolled onto his back with a moan. Vlad knelt down, the phone still to his ear, and said, “It’s okay, Joss. Help is on the way.”

  Joss was lying in the hospital bed, his left arm hooked up to an IV, his right arm in a cast. Other than the broken arm and some bruised ribs, he was fine, but the staff insisted on keeping him overnight for observation. Vlad sat in a chair beside the bed, waiting for Joss to say something, to say anything, really. Joss hadn’t spoken to him since they left the cemetery.

  Finally, breaking the silence, Joss croaked, “I didn’t kill Tristian, Vlad. I mean, he looked just like a vampire, and I probably would have eventually—but only for good reasons, only to help people. But I didn’t. I swear.”