Eleventh Grade Burns(7)

Otis paused on the top step and peered over his shoulder at his nephew. The look in his eyes said he’d picked up on Vlad’s tension, but he couldn’t identify the source, wouldn’t without reading Vlad’s thoughts—something Otis had promised he would only do if Vlad granted him permission. He wet his lips as if to speak, to offer some sort of comfort, but turned his head at the last moment and continued his trek up the stairs and down the hall to the door of Tomas’s office.

Vlad halted on the stairs, wishing for a moment that Otis would read his mind so he wouldn’t have to say the things he was thinking out loud. After exchanging troubled glances with Otis, he followed, hesitant to see what now lay behind the door to his dad’s sanctuary.

“This room was the most difficult to renovate.” Otis waited, gesturing with his eyes to the doorknob.

With a deep, hesitant, hurting breath, Vlad reached out and turned the knob, opening the door.

Inside, the walls were exactly the same as they had been, down to the scrape where Tomas’s chair had rubbed the paint away. His dad’s desk remained, though the chair was new. Everything looked exactly the same as it had been before the fire. Only cleaner.

He turned to Otis with a questioning look.

Otis smiled, his eyes shining. “It was so difficult, in fact, that I left it as it was. Gave it a good scrubbing, of course.”

Vlad ran the tips of his fingers across his dad’s desk, looking around, taking it all in. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you, Otis. This means a lot to me.”

“There’s one more room that I left untouched.” Otis’s eyes moved to the hallway, to the door of Tomas and Mellina’s bedroom. From his pocket he pulled a silver key and placed it in Vlad’s palm. “The room is exactly as it was that day. I merely had workers seal it off to prevent the scent of smoke from pervading the rest of the house.”

Vlad turned the key over in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, his chest full of gratitude. “Why?”

Otis’s voice was kind and warm. “Because it’s not up to me to decide when it’s time to leave that moment behind, Vladimir.”

Vlad couldn’t help but notice that Otis had used the word when, not if. When it was time. As if there was no question that that time would come.

And he was right. Sooner or later, Vlad was going to have to let go of his guilt and say goodbye to the haunting memories of that day.

But not today.

Vlad nodded and slipped the key into his front pocket. “The house looks amazing, Otis. You’ve done a great job.”

Otis was looking at him, a troubled expression on his face. “You ooze sorrow, Vladimir. What I would do to ease your every pain ...”

Vlad tried to ignore his uncle’s words, but couldn’t. “I really like the floors. Dad always loved mahogany.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s troubling you so deeply. Is it Joss? Is it Meredith? You’ve been so distant since I moved to Bathory. Is it me?”

Vlad swallowed hard. “It’s ... nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly, anyway. The fact of the matter was that it was a combination of all of those things, and more. So much more than he could ever tell Otis.

Images of Snow flitted through his mind, of their monthly sessions in the alley behind The Crypt. Vlad had kept those moments secret, so secret that Henry was convinced that Vlad had a crush on Snow, and that was why he needed to frequent the goth club. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The Crypt was an absolute blast to hang out at, and the only feelings Vlad had for Snow were reminiscent of how a human might feel about a Big Mac.

A really sweet, amazingly understanding, pretty Big Mac. A Big Mac that got what he was saying before he even said it. A Big Mac that listened in ways that Meredith never would have been capable of.

Otis furrowed his brow. “I will not lay a hand on the slayer unless he presents a threat. While I don’t understand your feelings, I will respect them, Vladimir. If that is what it takes to heal whatever is broken between us, then so be it.”

Vlad shook his head. “Thank you for that. But it’s not you, Otis. I’m just dealing with a lot of unexpected stress.”

“I’m not surprised. You haven’t been eating right.” Otis’s voice softened, as did the expression in his eyes. “Nelly says you only manage four or five blood bags a day anymore—significantly less than you were eating.”

Vlad’s entire body tensed. “Yeah, well ... I haven’t been hungry lately.”