“You might say that. And all I really want is something to remember him by. To remember him as I knew him.” By the end of his sentence, D’Ablo’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

With a shuddered, uncertain breath, Vlad gripped the journal tightly, then loosened his hold and held it out to D’Ablo. Maybe he was making a grave mistake, but he didn’t think he was.

D’Ablo met his eyes and bowed his head slowly as his hand closed over the journal.

Vlad had to fight the urge to rip it away from his grasp at the last second. But he managed to resist. He cleared his throat. “Now that I’ve given you the journal… will the nightmares stop?”

“Nightmares?” D’Ablo raised a questioning brow as he flipped through the journal’s pages. Then he smiled. “Ah, so it worked. How delightful to know.”

Vlad blinked, confused. “What worked? I thought you sent the nightmares as a way of convincing me to hand the journal over.”

“In a manner of speaking, it was your uncle who sent those horrific images to haunt your dreams.”

Vlad swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Otis?”

D’Ablo offered a nod as he flipped through the pages of the journal. Finally he seemed to find what he was looking for and stopped on a page dated September 21. With a distracted voice, he quipped, “Every single bloody thing you saw was by his doing.”

Vlad shook his head. He didn’t believe a word. “Otis wouldn’t.”

D’Ablo met his eyes. “Wouldn’t he? After all, he takes his leave of you repeatedly, doesn’t he? And hasn’t it been difficult to reach him with your mind? Haven’t you even once questioned why Otis has kept his distance all these months?”

Against his will, a sliver of doubt jabbed its way into Vlad’s mind. His bottom lip shook at the possibility of such treachery. Was Otis capable of such a horrible thing? He hoped not, but then, how well did he really know his uncle? “He said he had to stop you from finding some ritual.”

D’Ablo laughed heartily. “He’s been working with me this entire time, so to speak.”

Then in Vlad’s mind an image appeared. It jumped forward, like a grainy reel-to-reel film image-it had to be a memory, like Otis had shared with him last year. The image was a mirror of his nightmare. Vlad was strapped to a table, half naked and bleeding. D’Ablo leaned over him with a blade, cutting. But then… Vlad noticed the mark on the inside of his left wrist. Clear as day in Elysian code, Vlad read the name: Otis Otis.

Oh no.

The film stopped, and Vlad glanced about the room. In the corner behind him was the table with leather straps from his nightmares. The floor beneath it was stained with blood. It smelled too familiar. And Otis… Otis had been the one being tortured. Actually, physically, painfully tortured. It hadn’t been Vlad’s bad dreams at all, but Otis’s reality, reflected in Vlad’s subconscious. Otis had been sending him memories all year, begging for help through nightmarish images. What’s more, he was here, somewhere in the building, punching through D’Ablo’s hold over his telepathy long enough to warn Vlad that D’Ablo hadn’t changed.

Relief and horror swirled through Vlad’s veins together in a gale-force torrent. After a brief pause, Vlad regained his composure and said, “Where is he?”

D’Ablo set the journal on the table to his left and turned back to Vlad. “He’s here, actually. Would you like to see him?”

At a loss for words, Vlad managed a nod.

D’Ablo seemed to search Vlad’s expression for a moment before nodding in grave satisfaction. Perhaps he thought Vlad would finish his own uncle off, saving him from breaking the highest law. Whatever he thought, Vlad didn’t care. He just needed to see Otis again. And, somehow, figure out a way to get free.

D’Ablo nodded again and said, “Wait here.”

Once D’Ablo stepped through the large metal door, Vlad grabbed the journal and stuffed it into his waistband, then helped Henry to his feet and headed for the second door on the opposite end of the small room. “Come on, Henry. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Henry muttered, “It’s about time you had that idea.”

But when Vlad opened the door, he found Ignatius standing there, snarling. As quickly as he could move with Henry leaning hard against him, Vlad shuffled back to the metal door, which opened to reveal D’Ablo, whose lips were curled in a cruel smile. D’Ablo stepped inside and lifted Vlad’s shirt, snatching the journal back. “Now, now, Vladimir. You can’t leave without first saying hello to your darling uncle.”

Behind D’Ablo was a face that Vlad recognized with a glance-Jasik, the vampire who’d bitten him last year and brought a vial of his blood back to D’Ablo, healing him. But what stopped Vlad dead in his tracks, what almost made him drop Henry, what nearly made him lose it completely, was the sight of the man that Jasik all but carried into the room.

Otis’s left eye was swollen, his body broken and bleeding in several places-wounds that could only still be there, unhealed, if the torture had been continuous. Vlad gasped in horror. “Otis?”

Otis struggled to lift his head, but when he did, he met Vlad’s eyes and managed a strange, impossible, relieved smile. Vlad wondered if he was thinking that Vlad could save him, save them all.

Or maybe, Vlad thought with a shudder, Otis just wanted to see his nephew one last time before he died.

OTIS PARTED HIS CRACKED LIPS and, through bloodied teeth, whispered, “Don’t… listen… to him, Vladimir.”

As the last word escaped his mouth, Jasik threw him to the floor. To Vlad’s astonishment and his uncle’s credit, Otis didn’t cry out.

Vlad released Henry, who limped back over to the chair he’d been sitting in, and knelt before his uncle. Otis met his eyes, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Otis hadn’t meant to be out of touch for so long. It was D’Ablo and his cronies who’d kept him away. And Vlad hadn’t caught on to the nightmare clues, Otis’s cries for help-the only bits of communication that D’Ablo had allowed through. “I’m sorry, Otis. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I hadn’t realized…”

A chilling laugh echoed from D’Ablo. “Ah, what a touching family reunion.”

Despite the warning in Otis’s eyes, Vlad stood up straight and tall, turning to D’Ablo. “You monster! There was no reason for this. You were just getting your sick kicks torturing him like you did.”

The fury within Vlad’s chest continued to build. “You knew where I was this whole time. You even stopped by my room. Why not take the journal by force? Or send one of your lackeys to do it? That seems to be more your style.”

“I would have, but I confess that after our previous encounters, I’m-pardon the phrase-once bitten, twice shy when it comes to direct confrontation with the Pravus. And that much is true, young Vladimir, you are the Pravus. And there are at least a thousand other vampires who share that belief with me. We have been waiting your coming for a millennium.”

Otis managed a wheezing laugh. “You’re a fool who believes in fairy tales, D’Ablo.”

“Your uncle is among the majority of misguided vampires, those who believe the prophecy to be false, a mere children’s story. Despite the fact that you have been born-a miracle in and of itself. You see, before the law was passed, vampires and humans were allowed to intermarry for several hundred years. In all that time not one child was ever born. Not to mention that you have survived a stake through the heart.” D’Ablo straightened with pride, clearly pleased with his manipulation of Joss last year. “But it doesn’t matter what Otis believes or doesn’t believe. You are the Pravus, Vladimir Tod. Even you cannot deny it anymore, after all that you have seen, all that you have experienced. Think of it-it would make no sense for the prophecy to be no more than a bedtime story for children. In all of vampire history, there has only ever been one child.”