Eleventh Grade Burns(58)

Vlad mulled the possibilities over for just a second. “A vampire bar? Really?”

Otis nodded. “The owner is a good friend of mine. Though not, as it were, a good friend of your father’s.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never been clear on that. But trust me. You didn’t want to be in the same room with Tomas and Enrico.” Otis stepped forward, leading the way inside the bar.

The moment Vlad stepped over the threshold, he felt at home. V Bar was small, but cozy, with worn wood and small tables. A long bar lined the right side of the room, and a large chalkboard hung over the bar proclaiming the menu to thirsty visitors. To his left was a compilation of interesting artifacts—a statue of an armless woman, an old Ouija board. On the bar sat a picture of Count Chocula. In the corner, a piece of wooden trim was painted to look subtly like blood-tipped fangs.

It was probably the coolest place Vlad had ever been in.

Otis stepped up to the bar and took a seat. After admiring the room a bit more, Vlad sat beside him. A man behind the bar with curly light brown hair and a lean, muscular form smiled at them and gave them a nod, as if to say he’d be with them in a moment. There was quite a selection on the menu, everything from tea to wine, but nothing, Vlad noted, that would satisfy a vampire’s palate. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps the V in V Bar simply referred to who owned the establishment, not the patrons. He frowned, somewhat disappointed. After such a long trip, he could really use a drink.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” The bartender had warm eyes and a kind smile. The blue of his T-shirt matched the shade of his eyes perfectly. Vlad bet that he was a really nice guy.

Otis smiled back. “The house red, please. For both of us.”

The bartender beamed, offering Vlad a sly wink before turning back to Otis. “I thought your guest was part of the club but had to ask to be certain. Are you here on business or pleasure, Mr. Otis?”

“Business, unfortunately.”

The bartender nodded, his smile fading some. “I’ll make it a double then.”

“Would you please let Enrico know that I’m here, and I’ve brought a guest?”

“Of course.” He turned and picked up the phone, speaking quietly into it. Once he hung up, he filled two wineglasses with what looked like red wine and sat them on the bar. With a glance at Vlad, he poured one glass into a plastic cup with a lid and straw. As he slid the cup forward, he said, “For appearances. We wouldn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, would we?”

Vlad chuckled and shook his head. The cup was completely see-through, but whatever. He’d just claim it was cranberry juice if anyone asked. He sipped from the straw and recognized the spice immediately. Bloodwine.

Vlad spoke to Otis with his thoughts. “Is the bartender ... like us?”

Otis chuckled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Taking another sip, Vlad looked around to be certain no one would hear. Then he met the eyes of the bartender, who seemed to be awaiting his words. “Excuse me, but are you a vampire too?”

He furrowed his brow, looking quite confused and said, “A vampire? Are you putting me on? They don’t exist.”

Vlad blinked, lost. He’d been almost certain that the bartender had known exactly what Otis was, what Vlad was. He started to mumble an apology, when Otis and the bartender broke into laughter. The bartender shook his head, his eyes sparkling. “No, little one, I am not. I’m blessed to be one of Enrico’s drudges, but I am not a vampire—though I certainly wish to be.”

Vlad couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Like Tristian, this man looked like a vampire, carried himself like a vampire. Maybe drudges took on those traits after so many years in Elysia. He couldn’t ever imagine Henry doing so, but then, he wasn’t sure he moved the way they did, either. “Has Enrico changed many of his drudges?”

“Only one. But there is always hope.” He winked again and then stole away down the length of the bar to help another customer.

“Otis Otis.” A man’s voice behind them, warm and inviting.

Before even turning around, Otis smiled broadly. “Enrico Ciotti.”

An Italian man with dark features embraced Otis tightly. “It has been too long, my friend.”

“You say that every time I see you, Enrico.”

Enrico laughed and released him. “Well then, maybe you should come by more often.” He smiled at Vlad and thrust out his hand. “This must be your nephew. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Vladimir. Your uncle sings your praises constantly.”