The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills

by Heather Brewer

  Vlad swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Not... not really. I wanted to stop him. And then the sword grew hot. It was like I willed it to happen, and then it happened.”

  Otis took a seat beside him, and sat quietly for a moment before he spoke, his voice soft and full of shock. “It was amazing. You forced him to drop the weapon without seriously injuring or killing him. But what stunned me most were your eyes. So bright purple, but that was almost drowned out by the shimmer overlaying it. An iridescent glow that reeked of power.”

  Tomas had been eyeing Otis the entire time that he was speaking. At last, he said, “My son is the Pravus, Otis. You cannot deny what you have seen.”

  Otis flung an arm up in aggravation. “Preposterous! There is no such thing. It’s drivel. All of it! There’s a sound explanation for his eyes changing and for what he did to Enrico. There has to be!”

  Vikas shook his head. “My friend, even I am at a loss to explain what I have seen this boy accomplish. Perhaps there is more to this so-called prophecy than we realize. Perhaps Vladimir is this Pravus of which the stories speak.”

  The color drained from Otis’s face. “It’s just a story. And if it were true, Vladimir would be evil incarnate. I refuse to believe such things about my own nephew. I cannot. I will not.”

  Tomas’s voice grew softer. “Nothing says the Pravus will be evil, Otis.”

  “It is said that the Pravus will come to rule over vampirekind and enslave the human race. How can that be interpreted as anything but evil?” Otis’s entire body seemed tense. Every muscle was tight, every nerve on alert. He was deep in denial and ready to defend his cause.

  “Dorian said that I will enslave the human race out of charity.” Everyone grew silent for a moment as Vlad spoke. He stood and moved in front of Otis, meeting his gaze and refusing to stand down. He kept his voice calm, subdued, but certain. “I am the Pravus, Otis. Even I can’t deny it anymore. You have to believe me, though, I’m not evil. But I am the Pravus.”

  Otis’s face went from white to bright red in a manner of seconds. He flicked his eyes from his nephew to his brother to his friend and back to Vlad again. As Otis opened the door, he paused, his face returning to that same ghostly pale. He shook his head and looked back at Vlad. “Good night, nephew.”

  Something about the tone in his voice created a knot in Vlad’s stomach. As did the fact that Vlad hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Otis about what he’d found in the closet.

  20

  LIFE’S LITTLE SURPRISES

  VLAD ROLLED OUT OF BED, scratching his head and yawning as he made his way downstairs. The sun was just barely peeking in through the windows, and the house was eerily quiet. As he hit the bottom step, the front door opened to reveal Otis. His shirt was covered in dried blood, his eyes wide and surprised to see Vlad. He seemed to gauge Vlad for a moment before speaking. “you’re up early. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

  Vlad shrugged. “Nightmares. Had a hard time sleeping. Were you out feeding all night?”

  “Feeding?” Otis raised an eyebrow, then a look of realization crossed his face. “Ah yes ... of course. I was ... famished. Stress does that to me.”

  Otis unbuttoned his blood-soaked shirt and tossed it in the bathroom hamper, then grabbed a black T-shirt from a nearby clothes basket and slipped it on. He didn’t speak.

  He was wearing a T-shirt, which Vlad had never seen him do before.

  Once Otis was dressed again, he moved to the kitchen and filled a coffee mug with blood. He moved as if his mind were completely somewhere else, focused on things that were more important than his day-to-day tasks. After he set the mug inside the microwave, Vlad said, “I thought you were out feeding all night.”

  Otis nodded. “I was.”

  Vlad looked from his uncle to the microwave with a perplexed glance. “Then what’s with the mug of blood?”

  Otis furrowed his brow and snapped, “Not everything I do must meet with your approval, Vladimir.”

  The room grew very quiet, only filling with sound as the microwave beeped. Otis collected it and sat at the table, sipping quietly and reading the morning paper. Vlad watched him for a moment, wondering exactly what Otis had been up to. His uncle had only snapped at him on rare occasions, but something about this time was different. Otis seemed distant, lost in thought.

  It bothered Vlad.

  Vlad turned without another word and headed for the living room, content to waste the morning away with a game of Race to Armageddon: The Final Ascent. His dad was lying on the couch, eyes closed, sleeping soundly.

  His hair was the same black as Vlad’s. His mouth was the same shape.

  Ten years flash through Vlad’s mind. Years with his parents, years with his dad.

  In his wildest dreams, he never imagined it was possible that his father was still alive. And even if he had, he never would have imagined their reunion to be filled with so much tension, so much uncertainty.

  Deciding that video games could wait, he moved back to the kitchen and took a seat opposite Otis at the long plank table. Maybe Otis didn’t want to talk, but Vlad did. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Having my dad back, I mean. Just when I think I’m used to it, I get weirded out again.”

  Otis’s hands on the paper tensed, his fingers curled. He picked up his mug and sipped, his eyes on the paper. Not reading, just pointedly not looking at Vlad. “Yes. It’s very strange.”

  “You seem to be getting along pretty okay now.”

  Otis grunted in response.

  Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment before speaking. “Do you believe his excuse for not being around? That he was trying to protect me?”

  “I told you years before and I reiterate, Vladimir. Trust no one.” A dark shadow crossed Otis’s eyes. His voice quieted until it was just above a whisper. “Not even me.”

  Vlad looked at him and said aloud what he’d been wondering since he saw Otis’s bloody shirt. Otis, who wasn’t a sloppy eater at all. Covered in blood. “Where exactly were you last night, Otis? What exactly were you doing?”

  Vlad’s questions hung in the air between them, and Vlad couldn’t recall a time before when he had ever felt such a distance between his uncle and himself. Otis felt far away, almost unreachable, and he wasn’t sure why.

  “I was taking care of some things.” Otis drained his mug and set it on the table, licking his lips absently. “By the way, I have news. News you should be told. Enrico is dead.”

  Vlad’s jaw dropped. His heart slammed against his chest once, then went still. “What?”

  The phone rang. Once. Twice. Vlad barely heard it.

  Dead? Enrico was dead? The vampire that had been a warm friend, and Dorian’s maker, Otis’s friend, owner of V Bar ... was dead? It wasn’t possible. He just saw Enrico last night.

  Three rings. Four.

  Otis’s voice was gravelly. “You’d better answer that. It’s your drudge.”

  Reluctantly, Vlad stood and picked up the receiver. “Hey, can I call you back? I’m—”

  “Real quick. The Mopey Teenage Bears are doing a surprise concert in Stokerton tonight. I’ve heard at one point they light the edge of the stage on fire, and the lead singer dives into the crowd. It’s gonna be epic, dude. And did I mention the backstage meet and greet? Greg hooked me up with two tickets. You in?” Henry’s voice was full of joy—in exact contrast to the vibe in Vlad’s kitchen at the moment.

  Vlad blinked, his world tipping. Dead. Enrico was dead. “What? I—no. I can’t. Something’s come up. I kinda need to talk to you about it. But later, okay?”

  Henry’s tone immediately shifted to one of loyal concern. “What happened, man? You okay?”

  Sighing, Vlad said, “Yeah. I guess. I’ll fill you in later. Have fun at the concert.”

  “You sure?”

  “Totally. But come over after and I’ll catch you up on the utter hell that is my life.”

  “Okay. Hey ... maybe I’ll ask October ...”

  Shaking his h
ead, Vlad hung the phone up as quickly as he could and turned back to his uncle. “What happened to Enrico?”

  But Otis was gone.

  21

  A SLAYER’S DETERMINATION

  PLEASE.”

  The word escaped Joss’s lips before he had time to think about how the Society would view it. “Please” wasn’t in their vocabulary. “Please” was an admission of weakness.

  But it was too late now. He’d said it, and they’d heard it.

  Softly, quietly, so that his parents wouldn’t overhear his telephone conversation from downstairs, Joss whispered, “No one has to die. The citizens of Bathory are innocent.”

  “Someone must die, Slayer.” He knew that voice. It was the voice of Bradford, the voice of the Slayer Society’s high council. It was a kind voice, but unrelenting and full of hidden meaning. Meaning that Joss fully intended to comprehend.

  “Someone.” Joss scratched his forehead, mulling over the word. “Why not kill me instead? I’ll make it easy, I’ll come to London. You can dispatch me as you please. Leave the innocent bystanders out of it.”

  “We want Tod dead. Consider it a kindness that we’re giving you until the end of the year.”

  Joss’s hand was shaking on the receiver. “Why so long? Why be so patient? You never have in the past. Unless I was doing recon.”

  But he knew why they were giving him so much time. Because it took time to contact the members of the Society. They were scattered all over the globe—some of them in places that were unreachable by telephone or without Internet. They were giving him time not out of kindness, but because they had it to give. Even now, they were gathering up the Slayers from around the world for the cleansing.

  Because it took more than a few Slayers to pull it off. It would take all of them.

  And all of them could cleanse a town full of vampires. They’d done it before. Together, they were far more powerful than they ever were apart. There’d be no stopping them.

  A hard lump formed in Joss’s throat as any glimmer of hope faded away into the night. One last time, he uttered, “Please.”

  “You have our answer, Slayer.”

  The line went dead then, and Joss was left with an emptiness that he had never known before.

  22

  BREAKING AND ENTERING

  JOSS SAT BACK ON THE SWING on Nelly’s porch, his eyes wide. “Whoa.���

  Vlad shot him a look. “What’s wrong?”

  Joss shook his head. He still looked kinda shocked. They’d been talking for a few hours now, about anything but the possibility that Joss was going to have to stake him. Finally, Vlad couldn’t take it anymore and had told Joss what his dad had said about the journal, in hopes that if Joss had it, he’d hand it over. “I just had no idea that vampires had access to rituals that powerful. How did your dad get it? I mean, it’s in his journal—wherever it is, right?”

  “I don’t know, but if we find that journal, all of our problems are solved.” Vlad watched him, trying to gauge whether or not Joss was hiding something. Say the journal, for instance. But his expression didn’t give any hint of deception.

  “I don’t trust it.” Joss shook his head again, this time sitting up straight, looking more confident. “It can’t be that easy, Vlad. Nothing ever is.”

  Vlad’s jaw dropped. “Easy? We have no idea even where to look!”

  “Okay, so easy was the wrong word, but—”

  “Joss. It’s our only option short of you staking me. Are you going to help me look for it or not?” He set his jaw stubbornly. They were in this together. He needed Joss. Needed his help.

  Joss sighed heavily. He looked out at the night, watched a car pass slowly by, glanced at the shadow of a cat in the bushes, and then sighed again. “Where should we start?”

  Ten minutes later, they were across town, hiding in the shadows, away from prying eyes.

  “Wait!” Joss called to Vlad in a whisper, but it was too late—he’d already slid through the window of Eddie’s dumpy little house, right into what looked like his parent’s bedroom.

  Vlad peeked his head back out the window and shook his head in a question.

  Joss sighed, and still whispering, but this time, more frantically, said, “I think somebody’s home.”

  Vlad glanced to his left. A blue light was flickering in the window next to the room he was in. The living room, he was guessing, and someone was watching television. Vlad thought, but only for a moment. Then he whispered to Joss, “Wait right here. We’ve come this far, and I’m not leaving that little weasel’s room unsearched.”

  Despite Joss’s quiet protests, Vlad moved silently through the messy room to the door. Creaking it open slightly, he listened, but all he could hear was the Price Is Right blaring in the room next to him. With a deep breath for bravery, Vlad opened the door and slipped into the hall. After an easy decision of which way to go—toward the television noise or away from it, Vlad moved down the hall. The next door was the bathroom, but the door after that ... that was all Eddie’s.

  Pasted, pinned, stapled, and taped to the wall were tons of tabloid headlines about this monster or that—mostly vampires. On the far wall was a desk piled with papers.

  It took Vlad a good ten minutes to search for his dad’s journal, to no avail.

  He tried to open the window in Eddie’s room, but it was nailed shut. Probably panicky little Eddie’s idea on how to keep a vampire at bay.

  He moved back to the master bedroom and looked out of the open window to a nervous-looking Joss. “So?”

  Vlad shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Joss asked, “Where’s the last place you saw this thing anyway, Vlad?”

  Vlad thought for just a moment before answering. “In your backpack on the night you staked Dorian.”

  It was Joss’s turn to stop talking. Shaking his head, his features paling, he said, “I didn’t take it, Vlad. I swear. Someone must’ve put it there. And then that someone must’ve taken it out again. Because I don’t have it.”

  Vlad gauged his honesty level for a moment.

  He believed Joss. Even though everyone on the planet would tell him not to.

  “I don’t suppose you know where the Compendium is either, huh?”

  “The what?”

  Vlad sighed. “Nothing. Just a book I lost.”

  From behind him, Vlad heard someone moving down the hallway. “All right, ma! Let me put my backpack away! Geesh ...”

  Joss mouthed, “Eddie?”

  Vlad nodded. He was sorely tempted to dive from the window, but instead he waited for Eddie to go to the main area of the house. Then he slunked back down the hall to Eddie’s room. Eddie’s backpack was on the bed in a heap. Vlad closed his eyes as he reached for it, praying to anyone and anything at all that his dad’s journal would be inside.

  It wasn’t.

  Vlad’s heart sank, and hopelessness enveloped him.

  23

  HALLOWEEN

  IT SUCKED WHEN Halloween night fell on a school night, but it sucked even worse when it fell on a school night in the middle of the week.

  That being said, Vlad wasn’t about to let it ruin his fun. After all, it was going to be his last Halloween ever. Nobody was going to ruin it for him. Nobody.

  He and Henry had had a good, long laugh about the costumes they were going to wear this year, and not even Principal Snelgrove was going to rob them of their good time. Henry was dressed in a cheesy black nylon cape—one he’d borrowed from Vlad—and had his hair slicked back and spray painted black, complete with a widow’s peak. He was every bit a stereotypical old-school Hollywood vampire, and Vlad was his companion, his slave, his drudge. But in the worst way possible. Vlad was dressed in a filthy suit, complete with fake bugs attached. He was Renfield to Henry’s Dracula. And the very idea of switching places for the evening had sent them into hysterical fits.

  Of course, it wasn’t evening. Not yet. It was just after lunch period. But fortunately, Principal Snelgrove was fee
ling giving this year and had allowed the students of Bathory High to dress in costume for the day.

  But no parties. And no posters or banners with the word Halloween. And no costume parades. And no jack-o’-lanterns.

  We wouldn’t want anyone to have any fun, now would we? After all, fun like that could lead to kids liking school. And that, Vlad thought as he smirked, just wouldn’t be right, now would it, Snelgrove?

  Vlad closed his locker door and as he did, the smile slipped from his face. Joss was standing there, not in costume at all, his eyes red and lined with purple bruises that indicated he hadn’t been sleeping well, a somber expression on his face. He eyed Vlad for a moment before nodding. “Let me guess ... Renfield?”

  Vlad nodded back, ever aware of the slight bulge under Joss’s shirt. His stake. “Henry and I thought it would be funny.”

  Only it didn’t feel funny right now. Nothing did.

  Joss sighed, leaning against the lockers. He looked like he could fall asleep standing up. Poor guy. “Have you thought any more about our ... our situation? I mean, if we can’t find the journal, what are we going to do?”

  Vlad bit his lip and nodded. It was hard not to think about. Die so everyone you love can live, or live and everyone you love will die. It was a no-brainer, really. “I have thought about it.”

  “And?”

  “And I think you’re right. If we don’t find the journal, I’ll have to die, Joss. I can’t be selfish like that.” Vlad met his gaze, meaning every word he’d spoken. “And no one can know but us.”

  Joss nodded, a sad, dark light in his eyes. “Of course. No one but us. And I’ll ... I’ll do what I can to make it quick, okay?”

  “I appreciate that.” It settled the sick feeling in Vlad’s stomach some to know that Joss was dreading this almost as much as he was. Running a hand through his hair, he lowered his voice and said, “But it’s not even a factor. Because we’re going to find that journal, and everything’s going to be all right.”