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.
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?”
3 RETURN TO BATHORY HIGH
VLAD 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
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
