Eleventh Grade Burns(64)

“Otis?” Vlad’s voice shook slightly. “I’m scared.”

A section of wall opened to the right. Otis met Vlad’s eyes and sighed. “Me too, Vlad. Me too.”

After Otis entered the room, a familiar person stepped from the shadows. Dorian whispered, “It is important that you don’t speak at this hearing, Vlad, unless you are called on. Also, telepathy is not allowed. Do you understand?”

Vlad nodded and Dorian placed a hand on Vlad’s elbow to guide him inside. Beside the door was a second glyph. Ignoring all the fear that Dorian had inflicted on him, Vlad tapped Dorian’s hand and nodded to the marking. “What’s that?”

“That’s insurance that my influence cannot enter this room. It’s a new addition to pretrials. Apparently my gifts at bringing about true justice are not appreciated. As Em, the president of this council, despises me ...”

Vlad’s entire body went cold. “All it takes is a glyph to stop you?”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth rose in a smirk. He whispered, “No, but I like to let Em think it will. Besides ... Em is probably the only vampire in this world capable of killing me. I had hoped that she would be absent, as she normally is for such proceedings, and I would be able to influence the others, but alas ...” He sighed and Vlad could see that he was troubled. “Suffice it to say that Otis is on his own, my young friend. His future lies in Em’s hands.”

With a deep breath, Vlad stepped through the door with Dorian at his side. He was oddly comforted by Dorian’s presence.

The room was surprisingly posh for such a small, hidden space beneath the streets of Greenwich Village. A long, mahogany table commanded the front of the room, home to nine vampires. Vikas sat to the far right, D’Ablo to the far left, and at the center sat a girl who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a band T-shirt, her hair cut in such a way that her burgundy-colored bangs curtained her left eye. Her Converse-clad feet were tapping the concrete floor beneath the table, as if she was having a difficult time holding still. Otis stood before the table and several vampires sat in chairs behind him, waiting for the proceedings to begin. Dorian led Vlad to an empty chair and then took one himself, only a few chairs away.

Every vampire in the room had their eyes locked on Dorian, their expressions a mingling of disgust, fear, and immense respect. The vampires to either side of him stood and moved to the back of the room. The look in Dorian’s eyes said he was used to this response, used to being the most feared, loathed, and respected vampire in all of Elysia. Almost immediately, Vlad felt immensely sorry for him. Dorian might be used to getting what he wanted, but there was a reason his social skills were tacking—no one wanted to be social with him. Dorian glanced at Vlad, his eyes betraying a sadness. Without telepathy, it seemed Dorian knew that Vlad had witnessed his pain. He looked grateful.

The girl at the center began. “Otis Otis, you face a variety of charges, and as this is your pretrial, not yet your trial, we shall approach this with a more casual effort and assume that you know of the charges of which I speak?”

Otis’s voice was sure and strong, but hushed. “I do”

“And do you have any evidence-supported reason that these matters should not go to trial?”

Otis’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I do not have such evidence, but I do have suspicions of treachery.”

“Treachery?” She rolled it over on her tongue, as if unfamiliar with the word. “How so?”

“Em ... I ... I would rather we speak in private, as my theories involve a certain member of this council.” His eyes darted to D’Ablo, who merely scowled in return.

“I see” She wet her lips, as if debating his request, then said, “Speak here. This council holds no secrets from one another.”

A small bead of sweat ran down Otis’s forehead. “I believe that D’Ablo holds personal prejudice against me. Me ... and my nephew. I can better explain this in private. Please ...”

The room grew very silent. Finally, Em stood. “If the council will pardon us ...”

She left her place at the table and she and Otis moved outside, into the storage area, for several minutes. When they returned, she acted as if nothing had happened and took her place once more. “As there is no evidence to support not going to trial—”

“Em, please.” Otis’s eyes were shimmering, pleading with her.