Ninth Grade Slays

by Heather Brewer

  “Henry? He’s back in Bathory.” Vlad strained but couldn’t recall having brought up Henry at all the night before. “Why?”

  “Reach him with your mind.” Vikas’s voice was calm again, but it felt to Vlad as if Vikas was trying hard to keep it so.

  “That’s halfway around the world. I don’t think I can—”

  “Try. The chamber removes the difficulties you encounter in your normal routine. In here, you may reach people you had little or no success at reaching outside.”

  Vlad sighed and relaxed his muscles. He focused on Henry and pushed.

  Henry looked over at Joss. He had no idea what his cousin was doing, but it certainly wasn’t winning. He pushed the turbo button, slashed Joss’s android to pieces, and raised his arms triumphantly above his head. There was no doubt about it, Joss was even worse at video games than Vlad.

  But at least Vlad was a challenge at times.

  Vlad pulled out of Henry’s mind with a smirk and made a mental note to play against Joss more. If nothing else, it might be good for his self-esteem.

  “Excellent. You are indeed skilled, Mahlyenki Dyavol.” Vikas took a deep breath. “Now we move on to mind control. I want you to push into Otis’s mind again. But this time, I want you to insert an action into his thought process. Take over control gently, so that he is completely unaware, and make him scratch his forehead.”

  Vlad shifted his feet but he didn’t push into Otis’s mind. It felt weird, the idea of controlling Otis. Henry was one thing, but this was his uncle.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just . . .” Vlad cleared his throat and tried impossibly to look at Vikas in the darkness. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather focus on—”

  “Vladimir, this is an important part of your lessons. You must learn to control the minds of others. Your drudge will be much easier to control. After that, those whom you care little or nothing for. The most difficult to control are those closest to you, whom you feel great affection for. This is a mental block that most vampires cannot break. But you have the potential to become as great a vampire as I have ever seen. More powerful than your father. Indeed, perhaps even more powerful than myself. But you must—”

  “None of that matters to me.” Vlad’s voice shook slightly. He really didn’t want to disappoint Vikas, but this was something he wasn’t willing to budge on. If controlling Henry made him feel even slightly guilty, controlling his uncle would make him feel entirely sick.

  Vikas lowered his voice so that Vlad had to strain in order to hear him. “But it should. So few vampires have your potential. I had thought your mother’s blood would dilute your abilities, but I was wrong. You could be a great vampire, Vladimir. But you must trust me.”

  Vlad closed his eyes and opened them again. He’d adjusted to the darkness but had grown tired of seeing it. “I’m sorry, Vikas. I just . . . can’t do what you want me to.”

  “Enough. If I must be stern with you, I will. See Otis in your mind. He’s sitting at the table alone, his forehead resting in his left hand.”

  “Stop it. I won’t.”

  “Just a nudge. Just a small movement. A scratch.”

  “NO!” Vlad pushed hard into Vikas’s mind.

  Vikas stumbled back, knocking his stool to the floor. The boy was strong, of that there was no doubt . . . but he was tired, far from home, and clearly didn’t want to learn how to control the actions of others, least of all his uncle. It was time to break for the day.

  Vlad pulled out of Vikas’s thoughts.

  “It is time to break for the day, Vladimir.”

  Vlad hadn’t wanted to control him, but he’d had little choice.

  Vikas opened the door, and the light poured in, welcoming them outside. They’d just moved down the steps when Vikas paused. “That was uncalled for, Mahlyenki Dyavol. There was no need to control my mind.”

  Vlad shook his head. He should have felt guilty but didn’t. “But you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  After a moment, Vikas smiled warmly. “Ah, so perhaps now you see why this is such a necessary skill to develop.”

  Vlad chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. Vikas had a point.

  The door to the largest cabin opened, and Otis stepped outside. There was an eager glint in his eye. “How’d it go?”

  Vikas kept his voice low, but his excitement leaked through. “You were right about him, Otis. Your nephew is enormously talented. He even managed to end his lessons early with mind control.”

  Otis’s jaw dropped.

  Vlad was about to apologize when his uncle and Vikas burst into laughter. Vikas patted him on the shoulder. “Come. We’ll warm ourselves by the hearth until the feast begins.”

  Vikas climbed the steps to the cabin and touched the glyph, opening the door. Vlad started to follow, but Otis stopped him with a gentle hand to the chest. Otis leaned closer and whispered into Vlad’s ear, “If I ever find you lurking about in my thoughts again, Vlad, I will be most displeased. You stay out of my mind, and I’ll stay out of yours. Agreed?”

  Vlad flushed at all the things he’d rather his uncle didn’t know about him, like his late-night trips to the belfry, and nodded. “Agreed.”

  They made their way inside, and Vlad spent the better part of the day sitting in front of the hearth in a big, cushy chair, listening as Otis and Vikas recounted tales of their adventures. They spoke often of Tomas, and occasionally, one of the other vampires would join them to exchange a tale of Tomas’s heroics or something humorous that had once happened to them while in Tomas’s presence. At the end of yet another tale, Otis chuckled. “I told Tomas not to frighten Vikas like that, but in the end I was rather hoping he would.”

  Vikas laughed loudly. “You were terrible guests that summer, and lucky that I hold no grudges.”

  At one point, Vlad noticed that it seemed all of the vampires of Siberia were awake and moving about. He was about to whisper to Otis to ask why they stayed awake during this day when he realized that the answer was obvious: it was their day to honor Tomas, and as Tomas no longer slept, so they would remain awake until the feast had ended.

  By the time the sun disappeared below the horizon. Vlad had almost forgotten his immense and demanding hunger.

  Almost.

  The door opened, and every person in the room, but for Otis, Vikas, Tristian, and Vlad, filed outside in a rush. At Vlad’s raised eyebrow, Vikas smiled. “So the feast begins.”

  Vlad furrowed his brow in confusion. “But there’s plenty of bloodwine here. Where are they going?”

  Otis and Vikas exchanged glances before Otis regarded Vlad with a somber gaze. He spoke in a gentle tone. “They go to feast from the source, Vladimir. Vikas and I will feast here with you as a courtesy.”

  Vlad’s stomach twisted. People. They were going to feed on people. The idea shouldn’t have nauseated him, but it did. He threw a glance across the room at Tristian, who was gathering goblets and a pitcher of bloodwine. “What about Tristian? Will he feed on people tonight, too?”

  Vikas sat back in his seat, surprised. “My apologies for not explaining earlier, Mahlyenki Dyavol, but Tristian is no vampire.”

  Vlad sat forward slowly, confused.

  “He is my faithful drudge and has been so for ten years now, since he was just your age.”

  Vlad watched Tristian carry the beginnings of their feast toward them and shook his head slowly. He’d had no idea this man was anything but a vampire—even his mannerisms seemed similar to theirs. “How long will he be your drudge?”

  Vikas smiled warmly at Vlad, but, Vlad noticed, he barely cast a glance at Tristian. “All his mortal life.”

  Vlad took a mouthful of bloodwine, rolling the mixture over his tongue and relishing its tangy taste and silken texture. He glanced from Tristian back to Vikas. “Henry’s a good drudge. I just wish he had my back a little more. He’s pretty absent when it comes to these jerks at school knocking me around.”

  Vikas smiled. “It is not a dru
dge’s place to protect a vampire, Vladimir. Quite the opposite, actually. It is theirs only to watch over you as you sleep, if you slept during the day, and to recommend possible food sources, as well as run errands for you. No more. We vampires must defend ourselves.”

  Vlad sighed. Great. Now not only was he less protected than he thought he was but he was also on his own when it came to bullies. He tried to picture himself and Henry existing in the same way as Vikas and Tristian, and couldn’t. But one thing rang clear for him. If there ever came a time when Henry didn’t want to be his drudge, Vlad would give him his freedom that moment and without question . . . if he could.

  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 han
d, 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.”