Eighth Grade Bites (17 page)

D'Ablo cleared his throat. “Vladimir Tod . . . I've been looking for you for a long time. You're not an easy person to find. But I imagine you're well aware of that.”

Vlad's chest shook with every beat of his heart. He stared at the door, willing Otis to return and make things right again. But the doorknob stayed horrifically still.

“Especially when you're being helped. Now . . . who has been assisting you in hiding from Elysia, young one?”

Vlad dried his tears on his sleeve. He needed time—time to figure out what he was going to do. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “No one. And I wasn't hiding. I didn't even know you guys existed until recently.”

D'Ablo shook his head slowly in disbelief, a smirk on his lips. “Surely you knew there were other vampires.”

Vlad counted the vampires. There were thirteen, including the guards. He might be able to wriggle away from the two that were holding him and outrun the rest. But what then? The most his flitting mind could think of involved scenarios not so unlike the
Scooby-Doo
mysteries. “No, I didn't. Up until a few weeks ago, I thought I was the only one left.”

D'Ablo rounded the table. He clutched Vlad's jaw with his gloved hand, examining his face intently. “You look as I expect your father looked when he was a boy. Same eyes . . . hair . . . yes. I suspect you'd age to look strikingly similar to Tomas.”

D'Ablo turned back to the table, his voice deep and clear. “If left unpunished, you would surely follow in your father's crime-shadowed footsteps.”

Vlad shook his head. “Punished? But I haven't done anything.”

D'Ablo's eyes flashed in irritation. “Your father is an ingenious man, young Vladimir, having successfully remained hidden from this council for some fourteen years. Give us his location and you may live. Where is Tomas Tod?”

Vlad pressed his lips together, refusing to meet his questioner's gaze. Inside his head he felt a gentle nudge and relaxed his mouth.

The vampire asked again, his voice smooth and coaxing. “Where is Tomas Tod?”

Vlad could hear another sound in the room. It resembled his voice so closely, but he couldn't recall having parted his lips to speak. Still, the voice said, “He's dead.”

The vampire nodded before conferring quietly with his peers. Coming to some sort of conclusion marked by nods and mumbles, the council collectively waved Vlad away. The guards squeezed his arms tightly and pulled him toward another set of double doors. Vlad felt the temporary calm that had washed over him rinse away and struggled against the guards' strong grip. “Where are you taking me?”

The double doors opened to reveal Otis. His collar was torn, and his tongue darted out to lap at the blood on his lip. Vlad recoiled in horror. “You killed her. You monster—you killed Nelly.”

Vlad kicked forward, throwing the guards off balance. In an instant, he was free and running at Otis with his fist raised.

Otis closed his hand quickly over Vlad's wrist and spun him around, stopping the attack. He held Vlad still and spoke in a chilling tone, his lips only inches from Vlad's ear. “Now, Vladimir. You wouldn't hurt your uncle, would you?”

D'Ablo smiled and made a note on one of the papers on the table. “Take young Vladimir to the stockade. Deal with him as we discussed earlier, Otis.”

Otis grabbed Vlad by the collar, but Vlad didn't fight him. He was too tired, too sad, and too overwhelmed by the events of the day to fight. All he wanted was to be back at home, munching on some of Nelly's chocolate-chip cookies and playing video games with Henry.

Henry. What would become of him now? He imagined Otis would kill him. The spray he'd handed Henry wasn't garlic at all. It was likely just water, and poor Henry had been duped as well. Because of Vlad, those closest to him would be made to suffer.

Otis led him down a long, dark hallway. Near the end were three cells with bars like those Vlad had seen on the cop shows Nelly watched on Thursday nights. But there would be no more cop shows for Nelly, no more late-night talks, no more snack packs or tea. There would be no more hugs that he pretended to loathe, no conversations he faked being bored with.

No more Nelly.

Otis slid open the door to the cell and nudged Vlad inside.

The floor of the cell was covered in yellow hay, as if the area were intended for livestock. Vlad shivered, picturing Nelly in the small space.

Otis slid the door closed, locking them in the cell together. He circled the room, surveying the floor and the walls. He turned to Vlad, a look of hunger on his face. His voice was no more than a rough whisper. “You have no idea what's going on here, Vladimir.”

“No. I think I do.” The tears threatened to return, but Vlad cursed them and tried hard to steady his shaking hands.

Otis had begun pacing back and forth, like an animal ready to attack. “I know what it must look like, but things had to go this way. I had no choice.”

“You have a choice now. Don't kill me, Otis.” Vlad met Otis's eyes. “Please.”

Otis grabbed Vlad by the shoulder and shook him once, hard. “Don't you understand? If the council wants you dead, they won't stop until they know that you are. There is only one way for either of us to get out of here alive.”

Vlad shuddered, realizing that his words were in vain. There was no way to talk his uncle out of doing what he had planned to do from the beginning. He dropped his eyes to the ground. He wasn't about to let Otis see him cry again.

In the corner of the cell was a square metal plate set into the floor. Caught on its edge was a single scrap of fabric. The pattern matched the shirt Nelly had been wearing when Vlad had last seen her. Despite his bitter anger toward Otis, Vlad pointed to the plate. “What's that?”

“It's a disposal chute. After prisoners are . . . dealt with, their bodies are deposited in there. It leads to the incinerator.” A look of shame washed over him.

Vlad straightened his shoulders. The floor at his feet was dotted with fresh blood—Nelly's blood. The thought of it made him retch. “How could you, Otis? How could you do that to Nelly? How can you do it to me?”

The color bled from Otis's face. He lifted Vlad's backpack and unzipped it, revealing the bags of blood inside. Three of the bags were empty. Otis's face was blank as he pointed to the floor. “That isn't Nelly's blood. Vladimir, I'm on your side.”

Vlad blinked. “I'm getting really tired of these guessing games, Otis. What exactly is going on here?”

Otis lowered his voice and stepped closer. Vlad tried not to budge, but he took a step back in spite of his intentions. Otis frowned. “Nelly is outside in the car. I came back for you. The blood was just to convince the rest of Elysia I'd killed her.”

Vlad looked at the empty blood bags and then over his shoulder. “What about handing me over to those thugs? And saying those . . . those horrible things?”

Otis slipped two of the bags from Vlad's backpack and bit them open. He handed the backpack to Vlad and began squirting more blood onto the floor. “I apologize for that. It was merely a ruse to buy me enough time to save your aunt . . . and you.”

“A ruse? They could have killed me!” Vlad slipped on the slick floor, but caught his balance before he fell. “What about Henry?”

Otis gave the bags a final squeeze before tossing them back into the backpack and zipping it closed. “He's fine. But we'd better hurry. D'Ablo doesn't trust me fully. That's why he came to Bathory to gather you himself.” He crossed the room and lifted the big metal plate, casting Vlad an expectant glance. “Get in.”

Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I don't think so. It seems D'Ablo and I have something in common. I don't trust you, either.” He shrugged and slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Call me cynical.”

“We don't really have time to discuss this right now.” Otis climbed into the hole and slid down the chute.

Vlad didn't spend much time weighing his options. If he stayed, the vampires of Elysia would most certainly kill him. Jumping into an incinerator after the madman who might have just killed his aunt wasn't much of a chance . . . but it was all Vlad had. He got on his knees and slid in feet first to follow his uncle. He wedged his sneakers against the side of the metal shaft and eased his way down, stopping himself before he ran into Otis, who was wedged several feet below him.

“Glad you could make it.” Otis's voice, though hushed, echoed up to Vlad. “This way.”

Otis lifted a small screen door and slipped inside. Vlad crawled through it after his uncle. They were in a ventilation shaft, and moving slowly, as Otis was barely able to squeeze through the opening. After several yards, the tunnel widened and the metal stopped, leaving Vlad crawling over dirt and rock.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever—at least that's what it felt like to Vlad, who was scooting along on his belly in the dark on a rough, rocky surface to who knows where. Otis was ahead of him by several feet. Neither spoke until Otis opened a round hatch at the end and moonlight poured into the small passage. “Tomas and I dug this tunnel before he left Elysia, back when he was vice president of the council.”

Vlad slid out behind Otis, his feet once again on firm pavement. Otis was looking around for the car. “He was a good man, your father.”

Henry was standing at the opening to an alley, waving his arms. Vlad ran toward him, and Henry looked over his shoulder at the nearby car. Nelly was leaning against it, looking scared and shaken, but alive. Vlad slowed as he passed Henry, who gave his arm a light punch, and approached Nelly with a relieved sigh. He couldn't bear losing Nelly—not after losing his parents. She was more than his guardian. She was his friend, his family. Nelly made everything all right, and if she were gone, nothing would ever be all right again. She managed a smile before he wrapped his arms around her. Vlad's chest grew heavy. His eyes welled with tears. He'd almost lost her. He'd almost been orphaned . . . again. Nelly kissed his brow repeatedly, and Vlad welcomed it. Silently he vowed that he would protect her from harm for as long as blood coursed through his veins.

Cold, quiet laughter filled the alley. “Well now, isn't this sweet?”

Vlad turned to see D'Ablo, who was backed by four large bodyguards. D'Ablo sneered. “Did you think it would be so easy to escape your father's past, boy? Did you think I was blind to Otis's feeble attempts to keep me from you?” He tossed off his black overcoat, and it fell to the pavement.

Otis glanced at Nelly, who ushered Henry into the car. She reached for Vlad's shoulder, but Vlad shook her off.

D'Ablo took a single step forward, his eyes locked with Vlad's.

Otis stepped between them. “We cannot hold the boy accountable for his father's crimes.”

“It is I who lead this council, Otis. Therefore, I will decide his fate.” D'Ablo nodded to one of his guards, and the man swaggered over and grabbed Otis by the arm.

Otis wriggled uselessly. His face reddened in anger. “I won't let you harm him!” Miraculously, Otis shoved the brute aside and broke into a run toward D'Ablo. Time slowed to a crawl as his feet slapped the pavement.

D'Ablo watched his approach with an amused glint in his eye. When Otis was merely feet from him, D'Ablo swung his arm and slapped Otis in the face with such force that Vlad thought he could hear the bones crack. Otis tumbled into the arms of the waiting bodyguards. They dropped him to the ground and pinned him.

Vlad was left to face D'Ablo alone.

Vlad looked from his wounded uncle to D'Ablo. His heart began a strong, steady pounding. D'Ablo's stern jaw relaxed some as he turned to face Vlad, and the corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. Vlad wondered if D'Ablo had been smirking when he'd killed his parents.

Vlad's mouth tightened. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes, but the sight of D'Ablo's clenching fists kept them at bay. Not only was Vlad facing his parents' killer—he was likely facing his own.

Vlad swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders, trying to look intimidating. His lower lip trembled slightly, betraying his fear. He swore and met D'Ablo's cold eyes.

D'Ablo smoothed his shiny black leather gloves onto his hands and smiled triumphantly. “Now, Vladimir, do you have any final words before I carry out your sentence?”

Vlad didn't move. He could barely breathe. But he'd spent most of his eighth-grade year running from bullies. He was tired of it. “My father wrote about Elysia. He said it was a place of brotherhood and camaraderie.” Vlad slanted his eyes. “He never mentioned it was full of egotistical jerks in bad suits.”

D'Ablo paused. His posture hadn't changed at all, but he was no longer smiling. His fangs gleamed in the moonlight. “Being raised away from Elysia has robbed you of an important lesson in respect and in fear, young Vladimir.” He stepped closer.

D'Ablo couldn't have been more wrong—Vlad
was
afraid. With every step D'Ablo took, Vlad felt his heartbeat quicken. His pulse raced along with his thoughts. But he wasn't about to show D'Ablo his fear. If his dealings with Bill and Tom had taught him anything, it was this: never let them see you sweat. Vlad resisted the urge to flee and said, “Oh, give it up! Could you be more of a stereotype? You come out to a dark alley, dressed in black, surrounded by guys the size of Dumpsters—what are you going to do next, tell me that you
want to suck my blood?
I only wish I'd brought my crucifix with me—we could end this whole thing right now.” Vlad glanced around the alley. He needed a weapon, something to defend himself with long enough to get Otis, Nelly, and Henry and run.