Tenth Grade Bleeds (2 page)

Vlad sighed. “Great. I can't do the simplest thing without screwing it up with my weirdness.”

“It's not a curse, Vladimir. It's a blessing.” But in Otis's softly spoken words lurked a lie.

Vlad's jaw tensed, but he kept his tone light. “ Then you be the Pravus. I'm too tired to reign over vampirekind, let alone enslave the human race.”

Otis smiled, but it was forced. Behind his casual pose Vlad sensed fear. “Is that what you want, to do as prophecy deems you will—if, in fact, you are the so-called Pravus?”

“I don't know. Being godlike might have its perks.” The corner of Vlad's mouth rose in a smirk, but then he shrugged with one shoulder and dropped his gaze to the ground between his feet. “But even if I am—and . . . well, I think we both know that's a very real possibility.”

Otis shifted his feet, and Vlad braced himself. Vlad wasn't stupid. He hadn't failed to notice Otis's changed behavior—the discomfort and awkward, nervous glances ever since Joss had put him in the hospital with a stake through the heart. Only the Pravus could have survived something like that. Worse than the idea that he could be a danger to humans everywhere, and a tyrant to his fellow creatures of the night, was that his uncle, his last living relative, was living in fear of him . . . or rather, of what he might be, and probably was.

“Even if I am the Pravus, it's like you told me, Otis. A man is the choices that he makes. And I fully intend to make good choices, to be a good man. Like my dad was.” He met Otis's eyes then and smiled, hoping his words would be enough to calm Otis's fears, if only for the evening.

But Otis still looked troubled.

Vlad looked up into the night sky. “It sucks that summer is almost over. No more late nights outside with you, learning new skills. Not that there could possibly be much more to learn.”

“Oh, there's one or two that I haven't taught you yet.” Otis winked. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” Vlad's fangs slipped down from his gums in acknowledgment. He ran his tongue across their tips and met Otis's eyes. “By the way, I wanted to thank you. You know, for not feeding on humans while you're here. I know it hasn't been easy, living on bagged blood when you're used to feeding straight from the source. But I really appreciate the effort . . . even though you'll probably gorge on whole families after you've left Bathory.”

Otis chuckled but, Vlad noticed, he didn't negate Vlad's jibe. “And I want to thank
you,
” he said.

“For what?”

Otis turned and led the way up the steps of the porch. He opened the front door, holding it for Vlad, then followed his nephew inside. “Many things. For putting up with an old fool's superstitions. For outshining our brethren in wisdom and skill. For allowing me to share your home. And mostly, for helping me to see your father, Tomas, again, through you.”

Vlad felt his cheeks flush a little. “It's not like I even had a say about you staying here—there was no way Nelly would let you stay anywhere else. And neither would I. You belong here with us, Otis.”

Otis grew quiet for a moment, and then nodded, as if making a momentous decision. “Come, Vladimir. I want to show you something.”

Otis led him into the kitchen, where he rummaged through several drawers before finally withdrawing a paring knife. “There is power in blood. I'm certain you know this. But something I have not yet taught you is how that power may be utilized for your protection, and the protection of those you care for. And with me leaving . . . well, I'd feel better if you knew more about how to protect yourself.”

Otis placed the knife on the counter between them and kept his voice low, as if afraid that they would wake Nelly, or maybe, Vlad thought, afraid that Nelly would overhear. “Reach back, Vlad. Do you recall me carving my name in Elysian code into that small box in your dresser two years ago?”

Vlad nodded. How could he forget it? He'd thought Otis was some psychotic vampire, marking him for death. It was funny how wrong he'd turned out to be.

Otis pushed up his left sleeve, revealing the thick black tattooed symbol on his wrist. When he placed it near Vlad's own tattooed wrist, both symbols glowed brightly. “I was marking you, vowing with my life to protect you by inscribing my vampire name into one of your possessions. It was a warning to any vampire who wanted to cause you grief that they would have me to deal with. You remember my explanation of that?”

Vlad smiled at their tattoos and offered a nod. “Of course I do. But what's with the knife?”

“Marking someone is taken very seriously in the vampire world. But it is more of an oath, a vow, than an element of power. The real power of our Elysian names is when they are used in the creation of glyphs.” Otis plucked the knife from the counter and pressed the tip against the soft pad of his pointer finger. The shiny metal broke the skin, allowing a crimson bubble to form. Vlad's stomach rumbled. He and Otis exchanged somber looks—one hungry vampire to another. Otis nodded apologetically. “Normally I'd just bite my finger, but I fear the taste of blood—even my own—would be too much to bear at this point. And I made a promise to you that I intend to keep. No feeding from the source while I am here in Bathory.”

Otis placed his bloodied finger against the wood of the nearest cupboard door and, with his blood, drew his name in Elysian code, the tattooed symbol on his wrist. As he did so, the blood soaked into the wood. Seconds later, the wood began to burn where his blood had touched. Otis looked at Vlad. “Open it.”

Vlad furrowed his brow and reached for the knob, but it was stuck fast. “I can't.”

“I know. I empowered that as a locking glyph. As I drew my name, my mark, I fed my intent into the blood with my thoughts.” Otis smiled, but beneath his smile there was something else—concern, maybe. Or fear. Again, fear. “In blood, there is power. But your name is powerful as well. Combined, you can protect loved ones and precious objects, keep secrets, even harm unwanted trespassers. Glyphs are crucial to vampire society, to our way of life. But they are also dangerous, Vladimir, when used incorrectly or not respected. Use your glyphs wisely, and keep your distance from those that glow red.”

Vlad ran his finger along the glyph, wondering briefly what Nelly would say about the unusable cupboard and its damaged surface. “Why?”

But Otis either didn't hear his question or didn't acknowledge it, because he washed off the knife in the sink and turned back to Vlad, almost anxious. “Now, your turn. Nip the end of your finger just a bit. We don't want the blood to flow too well. It'll smear your glyph, and a flawed glyph won't work.”

As Vlad bit into his finger, Otis turned his head, shivering. Suddenly Vlad felt enormously bad for restricting his uncle's diet. As the blood blossomed out of the small cut, Vlad squeezed, encouraging the wound to remain open.

Otis closed his eyes. Vlad could feel his uncle inside his mind. His presence was comforting.
“Now visualize, for example, that none but you can open the knife drawer.”
A pause, then
“Excellent. And now you simply write your name on it, with your blood, in Elysian code.”

Vlad breathed deeply, dragging his bloody finger along the drawer, drawing the symbol that was his vampiric name, the image that was forever burned into his left wrist. When he'd finished, he met Otis's now open eyes. “How do we know it worked?”

Otis pulled the knob, but the drawer was locked tight. He smiled proudly. “It seems to have worked just fine.”

Vlad examined his handiwork, a smile finding its way onto his lips, but his smile faltered when he realized what an enormous mess would be awaiting Nelly in the morning. “How do you remove a glyph, anyway?”

“Only the glyph's master can remove it, and it must be washed away with spring water.” Otis moved to the refrigerator and rummaged around inside for something. Successful, he withdrew a small plastic bottle. He tossed it to Vlad, along with a rag. “Fortunately for you, it comes in bottles now. Your father and I used to walk for miles to locate a spring.”

Vlad poured some water on the cloth until it was soaked, then wiped at the marked drawer front. His glyph sizzled a bit and then evaporated completely, leaving the drawer just as it had been, with no sign of the apparent damage his blood had caused to its surface. He tossed the rag to Otis, who scrubbed the cupboard door clean. “Let me guess. Uphill? Both ways? Through four feet of snow?”

Otis chuckled. “At times, yes. We faced many obstacles seeking out springs in our younger days, when we were still learning how to use glyphs. I'll never forget the time we had to cross straight through a grouping of roughly a hundred members of the Slayer Society, who were all regaling one another with boastful tales about how many vampires each had killed. The only spring for miles was at the center of their encampment.”

Vlad's eyes grew wide. “They didn't see you?”

“Of course they did. But for all of their apparent skills, not one attacked. We were approached by a small group, stakes at the ready. They asked to see our Society Coin. All slayers carry a coin as proof of their membership in the Slayer Society. Tomas withdrew just such a coin from his pocket and told them of the three vampires that we had just slain, not a mile from their encampment. ‘Three at once,' he bragged. When in all actuality it had been three Slayers that he and I had just feasted on, which is how he'd come by the coin. And they believed his ridiculous tale.” Otis grinned at Vlad's disbelieving stare. “Have I mentioned that your father was a master of mind control?”

V
LAD ZIPPED UP HIS BACKPACK and glanced at the clock. He was running late for his first day as a sophomore at Bathory High, and was exhausted from his late-night rendezvous with Otis. He stretched his thin arms over his head and yawned, his fangs pressing easily through his gums as a reminder that he'd yet to consume his morning meal. A second later, his stomach growled, as if agreeing that it was time to eat. Vlad pulled three blood bags from the freezer, stacked them in a pile, and bit into the plastic, breaking through the layers until cool, sweet, delicious blood seeped into his awaiting mouth. He sucked quickly and drained the bags. It wasn't enough to satiate his gnawing hunger. Lately it seemed like nothing was.

“A word, Vladimir.” Otis placed his old leather doctor bag on the table beside Vlad's backpack and yawned. It was funny how easily a vampire could get used to sleeping during the day and roaming around at night. Switching back was another story.

Vlad tossed the bags in the biohazard container beneath the sink and ignored his rumbling stomach. His fangs had already shrunk back, but slowly, as if forewarning him that his hunger couldn't be ignored for long. He turned to Otis, half knowing what was coming and unwilling to hear it.

Otis paused, pressed his lips together, as if taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Then he took a deep breath and began his now familiar lecture. “Your hunger . . .”

Vlad couldn't help but snap, “What about it?”

“It's been growing considerably over the summer, don't you think?”

Vlad shrugged and dropped his gaze to the plank floor. He'd been hoping nobody would notice. But Henry had remarked on it several times, Nelly complained about it constantly, and Otis kept flashing him these overly concerned glances. It seemed a guy just couldn't keep a secret in this town.

Well, apart from that whole being a vampire thing.

“I assure you, it has. I've seen it, and you've struggled with it, Vlad.” Otis paused again, this time leaning closer, his eyes very serious, his tone no-nonsense. It wasn't like Otis to get all parental. “It's time we seriously discuss a change in your diet. Before you lose control of your appetite and harm someone close to you.”

Vlad's jaw tightened, and he shook his head adamantly. “No way. I'm not killing anyone just because I need a snack.”

Otis's tone remained insistent, but gently so. “It is not necessary to kill. And there are alternatives to taking blood against a human's will. Donors, for instance.”

Vlad mulled this over for several moments, wondering exactly why Otis hadn't brought up using a donor before—not that he was interested in feeding from a human, of course. He certainly didn't lie awake thinking about it late at night, daydreaming about the taste of it. No way. No sir. He was completely in control of his enormous thirst. “What do you mean, donors?” he asked.

“There is a group of humans—drudges, actually—who donate their services in order to help a small, unusual sect of vampires—those against the idea of killing humans or forcing them to act as sustenance. The humans donate of their own free will, with no direction from their masters. So you see, you
can
feed on humans, Vladimir, without taking their lives.”

Vlad's stomach rumbled its eagerness. He made sure to take a breath before saying, “I guess that would be okay.”

Relief flooded Otis's eyes. “Good. Thank you for keeping an open mind. However, there is a minor problem with this option. This sect . . . it's located in Paris. So you would have to attend school there in order to partake every day, the way that your body seems to require.”

“Paris?” Vlad shook his head once again. Clearly, his uncle had lost his mind. “I can't move to Paris, Otis.”

“It would be different if you were a monthly feeder, Vladimir. But as your appetite seems more demanding, we have to make adjustments. I have good friends there who will care for you, watch out for you.”

Vlad picked up his backpack, which was heavy with school supplies, and swung it over his shoulder. “What about Nelly? She won't be safe without me here.”