Eleventh Grade Burns(45)

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.