Worried tears filled Tristian’s eyes. “All I could think was that something was wrong with the wine. So I put my finger down his throat to make him throw it up. He vomited and retched up every drop of bloodwine, so I gave him as much of my blood as I could and put him in bed.” Tristian took the cloth from Vikas’s head and dropped it into a bowl of water on the bedside table. “I tried to call Otis, but he told me not to.”
“Stubborn old man.” Vlad shook his head. Vikas opened his eyes and gave Vlad the best ‘I heard that’ look that he could muster. It was like Vikas to be the strong one, even when his life was on the line. Vlad squeezed Tristian’s shoulder and offered him a comforting smile. “You did everything right, Tristian. I can see why Vikas values you so much as his drudge. Could you please go get me the bottle so I can take a look at it?”
After Tristian left the room, Vikas clutched Vlad’s arm and pulled him closer, his voice raspy. “He poisoned me.”
Vlad’s eyes widened and his heart thumped hard inside his chest. “Who? Tristian?”
“No. The boy. The slayer.” Vikas fell back on the bed, barely able to open his eyes. He looked so weak, and in so much pain. He swallowed hard, as if it were a challenge to call a slayer by his given name.
“Joss.” Vlad almost hissed the word. He should have known. But why use poison? Why not a stake? It seemed like a cowardly way to take down one of the oldest vampires known. One would think that such a task would give the slayer who accomplished it bragging rights among his psycho slayer friends. “How do you know it was Joss?”
“Who else would wish the death of me in this town and take such a cowardly approach to achieving that end but a slayer? I should have smelled it, but I never thought the bloodwine could be tainted. It seemed like one of the neighbors was cooking something foul. One of the downfalls of living among humans, it seems.” Vikas coughed and then caught his breath. “I took a sip. Just one sip. Luckily, I vomited it all up, or you and I might not be having this conversation. Tristian ... he saved my life.”
As if on cue, Tristian returned to the room, bottle in hand. Vikas moaned at the sight of it, and Vlad nearly gagged at the scent. Garlic juice. Probably so little that Tristian couldn’t pick up on its faint scent with his human senses. But to Vlad and Vikas, the nauseating stench was overwhelming. As if realizing this, Tristian ran the bottle back downstairs. Vlad heard the back door open, so it was likely he was throwing it in the trash. Smart guy.
Turning back to Vikas, Vlad said, “If Joss did this ...”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence, and really, there was no “if” about it. Vikas could be right. Joss could’ve somehow slipped inside unnoticed and poisoned Vikas’s drink. The very idea both enraged and sickened him.
Vikas chuckled. It sounded strange coming from someone who looked to be lying on his deathbed. “If this is all the boy has, if this is his best weapon against us, then let him have his moment, Mahlyenki Dyavol. In three days, I will be well and on my way to living forever. In just eighty years, he will be dead. If someone doesn’t kill him first.”
Vlad couldn’t be sure if that last sentence was meant as a suggestion or not, especially with the way Vikas raised a single eyebrow at him. In an effort to squash the same old conversation before it started, Vlad smiled. “So no training session today huh?”
Though it seemed to pain him to do so, Vikas laughed heartily. “No. Not today my friend.”
There were hurried steps on the stairs and, just as Vlad had begun to doubt they belonged to Tristian, Otis burst into the room. “You are a damned fool, old man! You should have allowed Tristian to contact me. What if the garlic had gotten into your system before you could throw it up, or had entered a cut in your mouth? You could have died.”
Vikas made a sound that sounded like “bah” and waved Otis away, but Otis wasn’t going anywhere. He checked Vikas’s pulse and frowned when he placed his palm against Vikas’s glistening forehead. “You’ll live. This time. But you’re rather lucky I don’t kill you myself for being so stubborn.”
Otis smiled at Vlad. “Tristian is a good drudge. Much like your Henry. If he hadn’t been here ... well, needless to say, I’d be on the hunt right now for whoever did this. Any thoughts to who that might be?”
Otis and Vikas exchanged looks that said they shared the opinion that it had been Joss. No reply to Otis’s question was required.
As much as the idea of Otis hunting Joss repulsed Vlad, he totally understood the urge at the moment. After all, Vikas was incredibly important to him. Not to mention how important he was to Otis and Tristian. Joss would have to be dealt with.
Vlad just wasn’t sure exactly how to deal with him.
Vikas looked at Vlad. “What is to be done about your friend, Vladimir? It’s only a matter of time before he turns his attention on you.”
“You’re worried about me? Vikas, he just tried to kill you.”
“Perhaps. But I think he was merely trying to distract us all. The question is ... from what?”
Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “What else is there that he could want here in Bathory? He just wants to get rid of the vampires.”
Otis watched them both for a moment before speaking. “If Joss were sent here to kill us, he wouldn’t be taking so long to try something. As I said before, I know reconnaissance when I see it. Joss is looking for something. Something that the slayers yearn for.”
Vlad furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”
In unison, Otis and Vikas replied. “Information.”
A spark lit in Vlad’s mind and his chest grew heavy. Picking up his backpack and throwing it over one shoulder, Vlad hurried out the door. Otis called after him, but Vlad didn’t answer. He had to hurry. He had to confirm that Joss hadn’t invaded the one place in town that nobody knew about but him.
As he rushed out the back door and around the house, Otis’s voice invaded his thoughts. “What’s your hurry, Vladimir? Is something wrong?”
“I just have to check something.” With that, he clamped down on his thoughts. Where he was going, he wanted to be completely alone.
It took him only minutes to cross town to the school and after a quick glance around, only seconds for him to float up to the ledge of the belfry and step inside. But then time slowed. Sound slowed as well, and what might have been his heart drumming in his ears in a panic sounded much more like the slow, steady beat of a bass drum. Heavy. Loud.
Someone had violated his sanctuary.
Someone had been here.
Someone knew about his secret place and had ransacked every inch of it.
Vlad would have bet that that somebody was either Eddie Poe or Joss McMillan. And his money was on Joss.
His father’s chair was sliced open, the off-white stuffing inside puffing out of the cut. Books were thrown from his book-cases, revealing bare shelves. Candleholders were tossed across the room. In the corner, something shimmered in the moonlight. Vlad didn’t have to move any closer to know that the picture of his father had been smashed.
He took it all in, trying to be angry but feeling more violated than anything. When he spoke, his whispered words were a gray, breathy puff in the chilly air. “What were you looking for, Joss?”
Only one thing in the room appeared untouched. Vlad carefully stepped over books and debris and opened the drawer of the small table that sat next to his dad’s chair.
It was empty.
Joss had stolen the most important thing to Vlad in the belfry. His father’s journal.
Slowly, Vlad slid the drawer shut. Then he picked up the table and threw it across the room with a scream. Furious, he stepped from the belfry and jumped to the nearest treetop, hopping between trees all the way home.
He slammed the front door closed behind him, and Nelly snapped her eyes to his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Nothing that kicking Joss’s butt couldn’t cure, that was.
The look in her eyes said she didn’t believe him in the
least, but she wasn’t about to push the issue.
Vlad sighed, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “I’m just glad we have a long weekend. I could use a break from school and all the drama.”
And Joss, but he wasn’t about to bring that up.
“Speaking of Thanksgiving weekend ...”
Vlad’s eyes went wide. He knew that tone. “Nelly, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Nothing, really.” But her eyes gave her away completely. Whatever it was, she knew Vlad wasn’t going to be happy about it. “Matilda and I were talking earlier, and she invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Actually, she insisted that we come.”
Vlad blinked. “We’re having dinner at Henry’s? That’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all” She gave him an awkward smile, “Basically.”
“Basically? What does that mea—oh no.” His eyes widened. Vlad moved to the closest chair and sat down, his head falling into his hands. When he spoke again the sound was muffled. “Please tell me Joss isn’t going to be there.”
He raised his head to look at her. “Please tell me you didn’t agree to have dinner with the only vampire slayer in town!”
Vlad had stood up from the chair, and his voice had risen to a shout. He knew, but didn’t care. “I can’t believe you!”
He all but flew up to his room and barely had time to register that Nelly was saying that she’d had no idea until she’d already agreed and that it wouldn’t be all that bad before he slammed his door shut so hard that he splintered the wood.
So much for the slayer’s search for information. Joss had his father’s journal.
And somehow, Vlad had to get it back.
19
A WAKING NIGHTMARE
VLAD WOKE FROM A SOUND SLEEP, but he didn’t open his eyes right away. He wasn’t exactly sure what had woken him, and he didn’t exactly feel like getting out of bed at oh-my-glob-o’clock, so he laid there in the darkness, somewhere between awake and asleep, and tried to stop thinking about whatever it was that had shaken him from his dreams.
As if coaxing him further from sleep, Vlad’s throat went dry, urging him to slip from his comfy bed into the bathroom for a sip of water. Reluctantly, Vlad opened his eyes.
Above him, seemingly suspended in midair, was a dagger. A familiar dagger, one that Vlad instantly recognized from the dark, bloody room that invaded his dreams every night, one filled with memories of a terrible ritual. Its blade gleamed some in the moonlight as it came down hard, aiming for Vlad’s chest. He dove out of bed, hitting the floor hard. As he did, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see his ever-present nightmare standing beside his disheveled bed.
Vlad gasped, “D’Ablo.”
D’Ablo, holding the ritual dagger tightly in his good hand, merely smiled. “The time has come, Master Pravus. Or should I say your time has come.”
He swung forward with the dagger again, and this time the blade caught Vlad’s sleeve before he could move. Once Vlad was across the room, he spoke quickly. “I let you live!”
D’Ablo wasn’t coming after him again—not yet—so Vlad seized the opportunity to explain. “Last year in Stokerton. I had the Lucis in my hand. I could’ve killed you. Otis urged me to kill you, but I didn’t. And then, when we were outside in the sunlight, you were on fire. I warned you that you were dying so you’d hurry into the shadows. I could’ve blown you away or let you burn, but I didn’t. Have you ever asked yourself why?”
For a moment, D’Ablo lowered the blade. But he did not speak.
Vlad’s heart rate settled some, but just barely. “You knew my dad. You were close to him, you said it yourself. In a twisted kind of way, we have something in common. Wouldn’t you say?”
A low chuckle, full of superiority. “Master Pravus, you presume too much.”
“About what? About you?”
D’Ablo sighed impatiently “Yes, about me. About your father, our relationship, your role in this world. It is your presumption that makes you weak. I despise weakness.”
Vlad wasn’t about to bring up the fact that D’Ablo had been weakened by the lack of a hand. He knew he could run out the door and speed his way to the safety of Otis and Vikas, but this wasn’t something they’d understand. Whatever it was between him and D’Ablo was between him and D’Ablo. They had to settle this on their own. Like men. Like vampires. “So set me straight. What am I presuming?”
D’Ablo sighed again. His tone was that of a weary adult explaining something to a young child. “The pieces are in place, Master Pravus, but this game is far from finished.”
Vlad shook his head. “You sound like Dorian. He never makes much sense either.”
D’Ablo shot Vlad a look that said that he very much disliked Dorian. With a raised eyebrow, he frowned. “Perhaps you’re not the only one guilty of making presumptions.”
Vlad kept a keen eye on the dagger, but lightened his tone. He had no doubts that at any second, D’Ablo would attempt to finish his ritual. “Why do you want to be the Pravus, anyway? Believe me, it won’t exactly solve all your problems.”
“To be the Pravus is to be godlike. It is a gift unlike any other. Many have searched for a way to claim that status. All have failed. But for me.” He looked at Vlad then, his expression softening some. “Surely you’ve studied the elements of the prophecy well enough by now to understand that a time will come, Master Pravus, when you will be forced to rule over the very humans you love. This is not something you wish to do. After all, you are just a boy. But I ... I would take great pleasure in this act. Step aside. Allow me to rule.”
Vlad set his jaw. “As tempting as your offer is to give up and die, to let you enslave my family and friends and do who knows what to Elysia ... I’m afraid my answer is no.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then D’Ablo sighed. “Very well then.”
For a while, neither of them moved. Then, just as Vlad was beginning to wonder what D’Ablo was thinking, D’Ablo lunged at him with the dagger raised high, a terrible growl emitting from his throat. Instinctively Vlad ducked to the side, barely escaping the blade. When he looked back at D’Ablo, he couldn’t resist quipping, “It’s nice to know you’re no longer getting your cronies to do your dirty work for you.”
D’Ablo whipped around faster than Vlad anticipated. The blade sunk into Vlad’s shoulder, buried deep into his flesh. He screamed and fell to the floor, Nelly’s presence in the house an afterthought.
D’Ablo pulled the weapon out, sending a spurt of Vlad’s blood to the floor. With a smug smile, he slowly wiped the bloodied blade on his pant leg. “I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure of killing you, boy.”
Vlad cupped his wounded shoulder with his palm. Strangely the burning, the stinging, the pain of it disappeared. Normally it would’ve taken three days for a cut like that to go away, but this time ... it had taken only moments.
He flicked his eyes to D’Ablo, who didn’t seem to have any clue at all that Vlad wasn’t wounded anymore. D’Ablo shook his head and crouched in front of him. “What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost, Master Pravus? What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost to a better vampire?”
Vlad took a deep breath and slanted his eyes. “You tell me.”
Before D’Ablo realized what was happening, Vlad kicked the dagger from his hand, sending it flying to the other side of his bedroom. It clattered against the wall and fell with a thump near the secret door to the attic.
Infuriated, D’Ablo howled and reached for Vlad, but Vlad dove over him, past him, reaching for the dagger. Once he had it, he stood and gripped it tightly in his trembling hand.
D’Ablo stood as well, that air of smug superiority never leaving him. He approached Vlad slowly, but confidently, and chuckled. “What good will it do you? It’s not a stake. My life is intact. Wound me? Yes. But I will always return to claim what is rightfully mine.”
D’Ablo spun around with vampire speed, but it was just what Vlad had been hoping f
or. He spun too and plunged the dagger deep into D’Ablo’s shoulder. Through muscle, tendon, bone. The point of the blade stuck out of D’Ablo’s back. D’Ablo hissed, but didn’t scream.
Vlad gripped the hilt tightly and growled, then pulled the dagger upward in one clean jerk. His hand was covered in D’Ablo’s blood and still gripping the handle ... but the blade had broken off and was buried in D’Ablo’s flesh and bone.
D’Ablo cried out and fell to his knees. When he looked up at Vlad’s hand and realized that his ritual dagger—the one thing that might steal Vlad’s status as the Pravus for him—had been destroyed, his eyes filled with a venomous evil that Vlad had never witnessed before. Slowly, he stood again, and, digging into his wound before it could begin the healing process, he gripped the blade with his fingers and ripped it from the sinewy tissues of his shoulder.
The sound it made sent a shiver up Vlad’s spine. But Vlad managed to keep his voice both even and strong. “Get out. Now.”
To his utter shock, D’Ablo left without another word.
It took Vlad an hour to clean up all the blood. And Nelly didn’t make as much as a peep the entire time.
20
GIVING THANKS
THE CAR WAS COMPLETELY SILENT on the drive over to Henry’s house. The only one who seemed remotely relaxed was Nelly, but even she wasn’t talking. Maybe she knew if she did, Otis and Vlad would snap at her for agreeing to drag her vampire boyfriend and half-vampire ward to a Thanksgiving feast with the one person in town who they knew wanted blood more than they did. Otis was usually incredibly giving when it came to Nelly, but even he looked irritated beyond belief. Vlad folded his arms in front of him, slumping as far down in the backseat as he could. He had no idea what Nelly had been thinking when she told Henry’s mom, Matilda, that they’d love to come. Granted, this was all Matilda’s idea. But still.