“And so it is mine to take, Nelly.”
Nelly’s eyes were moist with anger and determination. “I won’t let you hurt him, Tomas! Mellina isn’t here to defend her son. She isn’t here because of you. I won’t lose Vlad the way I lost her. I won’t, Tomas! I won’t!”
She yanked herself away from Tomas’s grasp and reached for Vlad, who in turn reached for his aunt.
His eyes lit up with madness, Tomas shouted, “And I won’t let you manipulate my son! MY SON!”
Before Vlad’s and Nelly’s hands could make contact, Tomas gnashed his teeth into Nelly’s neck, draining her in seconds. Vlad froze in shock. Even his Pravus powers couldn’t shake him from his disbelieving daze.
Without another word, Tomas flew up the side of the building to the roof.
Nelly collapsed.
Vlad heard the sound of her heartbeat in his ears. It slowed, then stopped before she could take another breath.
Otis followed Tomas in a furious blur.
Vlad just stood there, staring at Nelly.
His caretaker. His second mother.
Dead.
41
HONOR THY FATHER
A
N INTENSE HEAT started at Vlad’s toes and worked its way up his body, until every inch of his skin felt like it was being engulfed by flames. Fury washed over him like a fire.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Mahlyenki Dyavol. You were created for a purpose. Serve that purpose well.” Vikas was standing in the alley, one eyebrow cocked. It was clear he was looking for a fight, or at the very least, to distract Vlad from chasing after Tomas.
Vlad tried to push into his mind, to control him, to make him just stop. Stop and go away.
But he couldn’t.
With a grin, Vikas held up his wrist, revealing a scar where his Mark had once been. “I burned it out of me. All of Elysia’s control, gone. Even the Pravus cannot control me now.”
Joss and Henry exchanged determined glances, and Henry nodded to Vlad. “We’ve got this guy. You go after Otis—he could probably use your help.”
Joss slipped his stake from its holster at his waist and slapped the beautifully carved, silver-tipped hunk of wood into Vlad’s hand. The same stake that had been buried in his chest just a few short years before. With a set jaw and a worried expression, Joss said, “Whatever you do, don’t miss.”
Vlad squinted up, blocking the glow of the streetlights with his hand. Otis was standing on the edge of the Stokerton council building, looking down at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes.
Vlad knew this moment. He’d dreamed it. Four years ago, he’d dreamed it. And now it was coming to pass.
Blood dripped from a cut on Otis’s forehead. He wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing it across his pale skin. “Vladimir, run! Run and don’t look back!”
But Vlad wasn’t about to turn his back on family. He focused hard on his body and willed it upward, shooting higher and faster than he ever had before. He stepped nimbly onto the building’s roof and pulled Otis back from the edge. Otis shook his head and pleaded through his tears. “Please go, Vlad. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Vlad looked across the rooftop to the shadowy figure standing there. Tomas. His father.
Behind him was the horrible table that D’Ablo had strapped him to a few years ago, and on top of that was a large syringe and Tomas’s journal.
Vlad squeezed Otis’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fight, Otis. It’s mine.”
But then Vlad was hit in the side and knocked to the ground. His knee smacked the tarred roof and cracked audibly. He winced and swore aloud.
Tomas was fast. Lightning fast. Almost as fast as Vlad.
Vlad glanced up at his uncle and saw Otis’s eyes grow wide. He looked back to his father, but his vision blurred. The scene above him turned red, like blood. And then Vlad was immersed in a memory. He was no longer on the roof, but standing in a library—a familiar vision, one he’d glimpsed as one of the memories Otis had shared with him. Tomas was poring over the pages of an old book. A wall of books surrounded him.
Otis entered the room, his steps slowing, a smile on his face. “Reading, again? What this time?”
Tomas looked up, his intense focus broken by a surprised smile. “Just some old stories. To pass the time, you know. What about you? I thought you were on a plane to Siberia”
Otis eyed the book Tomas was now covering with his forearm with some suspicion. “I cancelled at the last minute. I thought we could do some hunting together. What are you reading?”
“Poetry.” The lie left his lips easily, sickening Vlad.
Otis frowned and snatched the book from Tomas’s hands.
“Theories of the Pravus Prophecy,
Tomas? Why? You don’t have any interest in joining the Alumno, do you?”
Tomas shook his head adamantly. “Of course not. I’m just curious.”
“About what?”
“About whether or not it’s possible.”
The world swirled again and Vlad found himself back in the present, engaging his father. They were facing one another, Vlad with a stake in hand, Tomas with a familiar black tube grasped firmly in his palm. The Lucis.
Vlad stared at it in disbelief.
“Recognize this? I retrieved it from the council building months ago.” Dark shadows crossed his eyes. “You can’t fight it. I’ll serve in your place, Vlad. Your memory will be raised up to a near god-like status amongst my followers. You don’t want this fight. Trust me. You’d rather do as you’re told.” n
Vlad growled, “Don’t tell me what I want. You’re nobody to me. Nothing. Just a stranger. Just a bad dream.”
“Your partner in everything or your worst nightmare. You decide.” Tomas whipped forward with lightning speed, hitting Vlad in the side and knocking him over.
Vlad hit the ground with such force that his vision wavered. Jumping to his feet, Vlad moved after his father, throwing punches and missing, the stake held firmly in his hand. Tomas gnashed his teeth forward, biting into Vlad’s shoulder. Vlad cried out and backed away as fast as he was able.
Then Tomas grinned, his teeth red with Vlad’s blood, and glanced down at Otis. “Otis has been clouding your mind. So let’s just clear things up for you, shall we?”
He moved forward, heading straight for Otis, a hungry, evil look in his eyes. He held up the Lucis, pointing it straight at Otis’s heart.
Henry flew through the air and connected with the side of the building with a meaty smack. He fell into a Dumpster. From within the garbage, his voice croaked, “Oh, please. I’ve had harder smacks from my grandma.”
Joss stared up at Vikas, a seemingly immortal, unbeatable foe.
Without Joss’s stake, they were dead.
But at least they would die knowing that they helped a friend when he most needed them.
Vikas moved forward, a bloody, awful, evil grin on his face.
And Joss prepared to say goodbye to the world.
Time slowed.
Tomas’s footsteps echoed on the blacktop. Otis’s heart was beating in time with every step.
Vlad looked at the two of them, at the man who had brought him into this world and the man who had kept him safe within it, and realized that he had never been without a father—not since the day Otis walked into his life. He had a dad. One who loved him for who he was, not what he could offer.
Otis was his dad, despite what a DNA test might say.
Tomas laughed bitterly. “Your father? You’d actually think that about your uncle?”
Vlad glared and clamped down on his thoughts once again.
“Otis hasn’t earned that title, my son. I’ve been there every day of your life! You might not have seen me, but I was there. Even that day at my funeral pyre. I was listening, Vlad. I was there. You couldn’t say goodbye to me then, just as you cannot resist me now.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Tomas!” Vlad shouted as he spun around, the stake held tightly in his fist. “Don’t touch him!”
Otis flung his arm forward, knocking the Lucis from Tomas’s grip. He shouted to Vlad, “Grab it!”
Time, still crawling, moved forward. Vlad stretched his arm in front of him, his fingers just brushing the end of the Lucis as it tumbled over the building’s edge. A brilliant white light shot from one end, turning over and over as it made its descent.
Light filled the street. Brilliant, white, hot light that illuminated Henry as he ran toward Vikas. It was beautiful, in its own way. And Joss couldn’t help but wonder if that was the light that people who’d lived through near-death experiences had claimed to see.
Joss was ready for the final blow. He released a deep breath and met Vikas’s eyes.
He would watch the vampire’s final attack. He would stand up and confront death with all that he had, all that he was.
But then the brilliant light tumbled to the ground, slashing through Vikas from the middle of his head all the way through his body.
Vikas fell to the ground in two distinct pieces.
Henry picked up the strange flashlight that the light had come from and turned it over in his hand. “No way! It’s that Lucis thing. The thing from Nelly’s attic!”
Joss had no idea what a Lucis was, but he was relieved that it had come to his rescue.
The Lucis was gone. With a furious howl, Tomas grabbed Otis by the throat.
He was going to kill him, kill Vlad’s uncle, steal from Vlad one of the very few people in this world who had ever loved him, who had ever cared about Vlad in any way.
Unless Vlad stopped him.
Vlad whipped his arm forward and buried the stake deep in Tomas’s chest before pulling it back again, leaving behind a large, bloody hole.
Time stopped.
Vlad’s heartbeat stopped.
Then time started again. But slowly. Oh, so slowly.
The stake left Vlad’s hand, parting from his fingertips and tumbling for what felt like an eternity through the air, before clattering on the floor below. The sound it made when it hit reverberated through the air, thundering in Vlad’s ears.
Just as slowly as the stake had fallen, so did Vlad, dropping through the thick air to his knees. It wasn’t until he made contact with the ground that he released the breath he’d been holding in-locked tight, safe, within his lungs, as if it might be his last. It came out sounding like a gasp.
A pool of crimson bloomed out from beneath his dad’s body. Several small trails of blood were drawing their way outward in a spiderweb. One of the webs drew closer to Vlad but stopped before it touched him.
Vlad forced his body to draw another breath. Slow. Even. The next one came easier, but shuddered.
He’d killed his dad.
His father, creator, the man who gave him life, taught him how to ride a bike, nursed his bumps and bruises, showed him what it was to be a man, to be a vampire, made Vlad want to be just like him.
Vlad killed him. And now nothing would be all right ever again.
Tomas was on his back, one arm stretching out toward where Vlad knelt, his face turned toward his son, eyes open. But there was no life in those eyes, just as there had been no love in them moments before.
He was dead. Nelly was dead too.
He’d lost his dad all over again. His mom too. It was Vlad’s worst nightmare, replayed all over again.
Tears welled in Vlad’s eyes and poured out onto his cheeks, just as slowly as everything else seemed to be moving.
Alone. Vlad was alone.
And he’d never get them back. Not ever.
Warm hands closed over Vlad’s shoulders. He didn’t need to look up to know that they belonged to Otis. His uncle didn’t speak—even without the use of telepathy, Otis seemed to understand that for some moments, there are no words.
Otis squeezed and the tears fell freely from Vlad’s eyes.
It was over. Both Nelly and his mom had been avenged, and Otis had been saved. Vlad had done it all with one fell swoop.
All it had cost him was everything.
42
SAYING GOODBYE
T
HE FLAMES LICKED UPWARD, TOWARD THE SKY, from Tomas’s pyre. The small crowd, all vampires, had been gathered in stoic silence for some time. Otis had told Vlad that it was tradition that he say something, but Vlad had no words left to speak. So Otis, ever the understanding mentor, had taken the reins and said some wonderful things about Tomas, Vlad’s father, Otis’s brother.
None of them, Vlad thought, had been lies. But Otis did leave out certain details. Details that were still burning like fire through Vlad’s insides. He felt guilty for thinking such things, for feeling so angry and betrayed, but mostly he felt guilty for feeling guilty. He was right to end Tomas’s life. He’d saved Otis—maybe even all of humankind—and avenged his mom and Nelly. He should’ve been relieved. He should’ve been even a bit proud, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He just felt ... empty.
Vampires lined up at the pyre, saying their goodbyes. It was only after the crowd had filed out, that Otis broke the silence.
“You don’t have to speak, Vladimir. If you’ve nothing to say, you can leave him with your silence. It’s okay.” He gave Vlad’s shoulder a caring squeeze before stepping up to the pyre himself. He was up there for a long time, and when he stepped away, Vlad noticed with great surprise the tears streaking down his cheeks.
Despite everything, Otis still mourned the loss of his friend.
Vlad couldn’t help but think that Otis was a far better person than he.
Vlad watched the pyre for several minutes before approaching. The heat from the flames warmed Vlad’s face and, if Vlad had any tears moistening his cheeks, they would have dried immediately as he approached.
But there were none.
Vlad’s pain, at least for now, was trapped on the inside as he tried to rationalize just what had happened.
He tried to understand his father’s point of view. But couldn’t.