“Yeah, but I meant . . .” Meredith bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the door. Henry and the junior were still attached at the face. “Never mind.”
The sight of her turning away gave Vlad a shot of bravery that he desperately needed. “No, what is it?”
Meredith’s cheeks were blushing, but Vlad couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the intense cold. “Don’t you like me, Vlad? I mean, after Freedom Fest last year, you just sort of avoided me. And then you didn’t ask me to the Snow Ball. Did I do something wrong? I mean . . . besides asking Joss to the dance to make you jealous?” She shivered and looked at him with pleading eyes.
Vlad’s eyes widened a bit. She’d tried to make him jealous. So that’s why she’d asked Joss to the dance. Man, had it worked.
He took off his jacket and held it out for her. With a grateful nod, she slipped her arms into its sleeves. Vlad shivered against the cold but couldn’t help but smile. The sight of Meredith’s smooth skin sliding against the insides of his jacket was enough to keep him warm for at least the next few minutes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Meredith’s hair was swept up away from her face. Tiny curls stuck out here and there, pinned in place by miniature rhinestone snowflakes. Real snowflakes joined them on the background of Meredith’s lush chocolate hair. Vlad felt his heart squeeze its way up through his chest and settle in his throat. Meredith dropped her eyes to the ground between them. “So what is it?”
Vlad swallowed hard, but his heart refused to budge. “I don’t know.”
She met his eyes. Vlad swore he could see the threat of tears in hers. “Are you sure you don’t know? Or is it like Chelsea Whitaker says, that you don’t think I’m pretty enough to go out with? Because I like you, Vlad. I really like you.”
Vlad wrinkled his forehead in confusion. Why on earth would Chelsea Whitaker think she knew anything at all about Vlad when the expanse of their interaction had been Chelsea making snide comments about Vlad and pulling stupid pranks that always seemed to land Vlad in detention? That sealed it. There was no way Vlad was ever going to be able to comprehend the complexities of teenage girls.
Meredith must have taken his blank, astonished stare for something that it wasn’t, as she turned abruptly and rushed up the steps toward the double doors. Five more steps and she’d be through the door and on her way to Joss’s arms. Vlad blurted, “I like you, too.”
Meredith stopped and turned around.
“I don’t know, because this is still kinda new to me. You’re the first girl I’ve ever asked out. I guess I didn’t know the rules as well as I should have.” He swallowed hard and ran his tongue over his incisors. How could she like him? He was such a freak. Not to mention dangerous. Nelly had always said that women like a dangerous man. Was that it? On some level, could she detect the danger of him, and that’s what she found so appealing? Or maybe, Vlad thought, it was nothing at all. “Maybe it was smart, asking Joss to the dance instead of me. But one thing’s for sure . . . Chelsea’s wrong. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
After a pause, she gestured with a bent finger for Vlad to come closer. Vlad booked it up the stairs and nearly fell. Twice.
She laughed and brushed some snow from his blushing cheek.
Her fingers against his skin were all he needed to label this evening well spent, but then Meredith leaned closer and said, “You’re sweet, Vlad.”
He was going to say that she was sweet, too, and he meant it when he’d called her pretty, that he had wanted to be the one to take her to the Snow Ball, but he’d been too scared that she’d say no. But there was no time. Meredith pressed her lips to his.
A moment that probably only lasted a total of two seconds stretched on into eternity in Vlad’s mind. His heart had continued its journey north and slid out his ear—he was pretty sure it was now floating several feet above their heads. Just like that, the cold was gone. Meredith Brookstone had kissed him, and the world was right again.
She walked up the steps and pulled the door open. Vlad saw her smile in his direction before the doors squeaked closed. He reached up and brushed his lips with his finger-tips. His whispered words were a gray cloud in the cold air. “Thank you.”
After several minutes spent in front of the high school, staring at the doors in blissful contemplation, Vlad turned and started home. He was halfway there when he realized that Meredith hadn’t returned his jacket.
Shivering, Vlad quickened his pace and squinted into the blowing snow. By the time he reached his house, his fingers had numbed, and his arms felt frozen to his sides. But his lips were still warm from Meredith’s kiss.
He was crossing the street when he noticed a man standing on the corner, watching the house.
Vlad’s heart shot back into his body and grabbed onto his ribs for support.
The slayer.
Vlad bolted across the street, toward the house. In a blink, he had the Lucis out of his jeans pocket and his thumb poised over the end—he wasn’t sure what good it would do him against a human, but it was all he had. He hurried to get inside, both to protect Nelly from a madman and to get warm before he could formulate a plan. Maybe they could hide out in Stokerton for a while. Or, considering how unpopular Vlad probably was with Elysia for blowing a hole through their president last year, maybe not. He opened the gate and rushed toward the house but was stopped by a dark figure that entered his path. Vlad swore under his breath and pointed the Lucis at the slayer, but a strong hand gripped his wrist and pointed it into the distance. He looked up at the slayer’s face, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“I’m glad to see you taking precautions, Vladimir. It’s good to see you again.” Otis’s entire face smiled. His eyes, lips, cheeks, even his chin seemed to have a pleasant glow. He stepped forward and grabbed a stunned Vlad into a tight hug. When they pulled apart, Vlad thought he caught a glimmer of relief in his uncle’s eyes . . . until Otis smirked with bemusement at Vlad’s lips.
Vlad rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. If Meredith had left glittered lip gloss on him, it was better that Otis saw it than Nelly. The last thing he needed was to be grounded for making out with a girl (not that he and Meredith were making out, but try explaining that to Nelly), when he was supposed to be sucking down sodas at Eat, Bathory’s one and only diner. Sure, the name of the restaurant was Aunt Polly’s Dining Emporium, but nowhere on the front of the building was that listed. All it said, in big red and blue neon, was EAT.
Vlad breathed a sigh of relief. No slayer. Not yet, anyway. "Uncle Otis. You could’ve dropped me a note or called or something. I didn’t think you were coming.”
Otis raised a perplexed eyebrow. "Didn’t you get my letter, inviting you to Siberia with me?”
Vlad shrugged. "Well, yeah. But that was a month ago. Where’d you go after that? I’ve got some questions I want to ask you about my abilities.”
“Haven’t you been reading the book on vampire history your father left behind?”
"Of course. But, Otis”—Vlad shook his head—"no book has all the answers. Besides, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”
The smile returned to Otis’s face. He placed a hand on Vlad’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve missed you as well. As for where I’ve been . . . well, we’ll discuss that inside.”
As they turned toward the house, Vlad felt a strange nudge in his mind. He glanced at Otis and clamped down on his thoughts. His uncle wrinkled his brow before following Vlad up the steps. Vlad was about to ask why Otis had been attempting to examine his thoughts, when the door opened and a flushed Nelly welcomed them with a surprised smile and a plate of steaming cookies. “Otis?”
Vlad glanced at his uncle, whose eyes sparkled at Nelly. “How are you, Nelly? You look—”
“Cold? Because I’m cold.” Vlad nudged passed his aunt and sat on the stairs, where he removed his shoes and waited for the hushed whispers to end.
Nelly glanced at Vlad. “Where’s your jacket?�
��
Before Vlad could answer, Otis stepped inside and took the plate from Nelly. “Chocolate chip. My favorite. I wouldn’t suppose you could spare a little something to warm me up before I indulge.”
Minutes later, Otis, Nelly, and Vlad were sitting around the dining room table, sipping from china teacups. Vlad’s cup matched Otis’s in that each was filled with microwaved blood, but Otis had barely touched his, focusing more, in a way that sent Vlad’s gag reflex crazy, on Nelly. As Nelly cleared the table, Vlad turned to Otis. “So, what have you been up to, traveling all over the world?”
The happy glimmer in Otis’s eye faded, and it was clear his thoughts were in an unpleasant place. “I’ve been running, Vladimir. Running and trying to learn some things.”
Vlad swallowed a lump of guilt. “Who have you been running from? Elysia? Is it because of helping me last year?”
“Partly, yes. D’Ablo had many followers, and I broke many laws by helping you. The punishment, should they catch me, would be a most painful death. But there are other things. Darker things that I will not speak of. Suffice it to say we should enjoy our time together, Vladimir. Good things only rarely last.” Otis glanced over his shoulder at the window, as if suddenly fearful they weren’t alone. Instinctively, Vlad looked, too, but he saw nothing. He guessed that Otis was watching for whatever ghosts were haunting his thoughts.
Vlad leaned in and whispered, “Otis, I need to know more about the slayer.”
But Otis’s eyes were fixed on the window. He stood with purpose and crossed the room quickly. After a careful survey of the scene outside the window, he sighed wearily and rested his forehead against the glass. “Snow. Just snow.”
Vlad approached with careful steps and placed a hand on Otis’s shoulder. “Maybe you should get some rest.”
Without looking at him, Otis reluctantly shook his head. “No. You rest. You’ll need it tomorrow. We leave at four in the morning.”
Vlad opened his mouth to protest—after all, his uncle looked exhausted—but something in Otis’s eyes when he glanced back at Vlad told him to keep his opinions to himself. He offered a nod and made his way slowly up the stairs. This wasn’t exactly the reunion he’d hoped for.
Vlad lay on his bed and dozed in and out of sleep until a soft ball of fluff stepped on his forehead. With a grunt, he nudged Amenti off his face and sat up. The alarm clock glowed a cool blue 1:31. Vlad sat up and rubbed his eyes. His stomach rumbled its late-night demands, so he slipped out the door and downstairs for a snack.
The light in the living room was on. He peered around the corner, hoping to find Otis either snoring away on the couch or wide awake and ready to answer Vlad’s questions about the slayer. What he found gave him pause.
Otis was sitting in the wingback chair, looking exhausted and sad. Nelly stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Otis covered her hand with his and squeezed. Each of them smiled wearily into the other’s eyes, and as Vlad looked on, he couldn’t help but smile, too. He’d never seen two people so immediately, unabashedly attracted to each other. Not since ...
Vlad’s smile slipped.
His eyes brimmed with tears.
Not since his parents.
The scene in front of him changed. Vlad was ten and up hours past his bedtime. He’d snuck down the hall to his father’s study, where he’d spied his parents exchanging loving glances and holding hands. His mother had been standing behind his father in his favorite chair.
It was the last time he saw his parents alive.
The next morning, he’d risen early, turned off their alarms so they could sleep in, and gotten himself off to school. That afternoon he’d found them dead.
Vlad blinked away more tears. Nelly had draped a blanket over Otis, who, despite his will, was beginning to doze off.
Suddenly, Vlad didn’t feel hungry anymore.
He went back upstairs and looked at the framed photo of his parents on the dresser before crawling under the covers. His mom and dad were smiling at him, but tonight their smiles seemed forced—almost as if they were trying to hide the pain of missing him. He tried to block out the memory of finding their charred remains, but the nightmarish experience rushed through the forefront of his mind with a whiff of ash and smoke.
Vlad hugged his pillow and stared at the photo of his parents and cried until sleep took him over at last.
10
SIBERIA
AFTER TWENTY-SIX HOURS on various planes that took Vlad from Stokerton to New York, then Paris and after that, Moscow, Vlad was about as exhausted as a person could get. Everyone in the world seemed to be traveling with him and Otis, as each airport had been exceedingly, obnoxiously busy. On each plane Vlad had tried to nap, but apparently, flight attendants are part bloodhound and can sniff a sleeping person from a mile away. By their third flight, he’d become convinced that it was written in their flight attendant bylaws that if anyone within their reach on an airplane begins to feel remotely drowsy, they should offer them a drink . . . or some pretzels . . . or one of those stupid little pillows that were barely big enough to cover Vlad’s ear, let alone cushion his head against the window.
Otis had apparently no trouble snoozing his way from Moscow to Novosibirsk, Russia, as he’d snored quietly into Vlad’s ear for roughly an hour before Vlad nudged him. Otis snorted and turned his head the other way, content to snore in the direction of the angry-looking woman across the aisle. Vlad watched out the window but couldn’t see anything but clouds. His entire body felt alive with energy— soon he’d be getting instruction on telepathy from, what Otis had said, one of the oldest, most talented vampires around. The anticipation was making it increasingly difficult to keep still. He sighed and nudged Otis once more.
This time, Otis rubbed his eyes and sat up. “I must have dozed off. Did you get much sleep?”
Like a dog to a whistle, a thin flight attendant with brown hair tapped Otis on the shoulder. Vlad rolled his eyes before she could say, “Anything to drink, sir?”
He politely waved her away and turned back to Vlad, who shook his head. “Why are we going to Siberia? Isn’t it cold there?”
“This time of year, yes, quite. But in the summer it’s actually a rather warm and beautiful place.” Otis smiled. His eyes twinkled, and for a moment, Vlad longed for a time when they could be together for good. Like a real family—he, Nelly, and Otis. He wondered if that time would ever come or if the vampires of Elysia had made some solemn vow that they would do everything in their power to make sure that Vlad’s life would never be happy or even remotely normal.
As if he were reading Vlad’s thoughts—which, Vlad reminded himself, might actually have been the case—Otis’s voice broke through. “I’m sorry I’ve not seen you in so long, Vlad. Unfortunately, I have reasons for having kept my distance.”
Vlad shrugged. “It’s okay. I know you have stuff going on. And the letters have helped.”
Otis looked hopeful. “Have they?”
Vlad nodded. “I mean, it would be better if I could use my telepathy to get a B in English, but . . .”
Otis chuckled. “Oh, the stories I could tell you about your father and the trouble we got into reading minds.”
“So? Tell me.”
To Vlad’s surprise, Otis’s cheeks blushed pink. “When you’re older. Much older. Let’s just say we got slapped a lot.”
Vlad shook his head in bemusement. “What’s Vikas like, anyway?”
“He’s kind, warm, friendly, but stubborn.” Otis smiled and shook his head. “Incredibly stubborn. And very talented— the finest teacher I’ve ever known.”
Vlad nibbled on his bottom lip for a second. “Do you think he’ll like me?”
Otis met his gaze with smiling eyes. “Vladimir, I do believe it would be impossible for Vikas not to like you. He adored Tomas, and you’re very much like your father.”
Vlad sighed happily and settled back in his seat. He wanted to ask his uncle about what it was like to live among other vampir
es, and other things—like why he couldn’t read the Pravus passages in the Encyclopedia Vampyrica, and why Otis hadn’t mentioned the reality of vampire slayers before—but the proximity of the other passengers made him a little uncomfortable when it came to talking openly about who and what he was.
He lay back and watched the gray clouds rush by beneath them. To his surprise, Otis shook him from unexpected sleep. They exited the plane and, after a long wait in the customs line, they wandered through the crowd to the brisk outdoors, where a taxi was waiting. Otis spoke something in Russian and handed the driver a colorful slip of paper with the number 500 on it. The driver held the paper out to him and uttered something that sounded like surprise, but Otis waved him away and placed their bags in the trunk.
It didn’t take long before the cab came to a stop in front of a small building just outside Novosibirsk. Otis handed the driver another 500-ruble note, and the driver uttered something that must have meant “thank you” in Russian.
They stepped out of the cab, and Vlad pulled the collar of his new winter coat up around his neck and drew his hat down around his ears. He knew Siberia was supposed to be cold, but negative temperatures looked a whole lot warmer on a computer screen.
The door of the building opened and a man stepped out, dressed in layers of wool. A large hood covered his head, and though he wore a scarf over the lower half of his face, Vlad could tell he wasn’t smiling. The man grumbled at Otis in Russian. Otis spoke with a friendly tone that turned slightly threatening. The man paused and glanced at Vlad. He nodded and led them around back, where a sled was waiting. Hitched to the front was a team of nine dogs. Vlad listened to Otis and the man debate something for a few minutes before approaching the largest dog in the front and holding out his gloved hand. The dog’s ice blue eyes twinkled, and he nuzzled Vlad’s hand.
Otis moved closer and scratched the dog behind the ear. “Beautiful animals, aren’t they? Dmitri’s family has been breeding huskies for years.”
Vlad looked back at the man, who was watching them with squinted eyes and stuffing colorful slips of paper into his coat pocket. “Did you give him money?”
Ninth Grade Slays Page 8
