Twelfth Grade Kills

by Heather Brewer

  But he was incredibly grateful to see that she was okay, that she hadn’t been harmed by a flying stake or a biting fang.

  She had just used a pretty fierce roundhouse kick on a Slayer, disarming him like a pro. Vlad didn’t even know she could fight. But it was cool to watch.

  Despite what was going on all around them, Vlad found himself smiling at the sight of her. And when her eyes found his, she smiled too—in that same impossible way. Impossible because thre was no reason for them to smile now. But just seeing one another was proving reason enough.

  Suddenly, Snow’s eyes went wide, so wide that Vlad thought she might be in physical pain. She ran toward him, down the steps, and lurched forward. Vlad moved to catch her, but she knocked him to the side. Twisting his body around, he caught her as he fell and they tumbled down the steps in a heap.

  It was almost comical.

  That is ... until Vlad saw the blood.

  Snow’s blood. Flowing from her chest.

  A broad-shouldered Slayer with a long, thin scar drawing a line from his left eye to the corner of his mouth approached with a heavy step and ripped the stake from Snow’s chest. She cried out and Vlad covered the wound, his hands shaking in shock.

  He knew that Slayer. That was the Slayer from the alley, one of the four who’d been posing as policemen, from earlier in the year after he’d put Joss in the hospital.

  But more importantly ...

  Snow had been staked. Snow had been horribly injured. The Slayer must have mistaken her gothic beauty for the traits of a vampire.

  The Slayer eyed Vlad for a second, and then lifted his wooden weapon in the air.

  Inside Vlad’s veins, he felt a surge of immense power. He locked eyes with his would-be killer and uttered a single command, not knowing if it would work. “Drop it.”

  The stake hit the steps and clattered down several more steps until it was yards away. The Slayer’s lips shook in fear. “Your eyes . . .”

  Vlad gripped Snow—too pale now—to his chest and screamed at the Slayer with every bit of his anger and hatred and overwhelming frustration. “DIE!”

  The Slayer’s eyes bugged and his jaw went slack.

  Vlad’s heart beat twice before the man fell to the ground, dead.

  A deep, critical horror enveloped Vlad as he stared at the man’s corpse.

  He’d just killed the Slayer with a word.

  He took one breath, released it slowly. Then another.

  This power. It was too much to wield. Too much for anyone to even taste.

  Struggling with his emotions—which were filled with all kinds of self-loathing, even though he’d only said it because of what the man had done to Snow—he turned back to the matter at hand.

  Blood bloomed from Snow’s wound. Vlad had never seen so much red.

  He opened his mouth to scream, to shout for someone, anyone, to save her, help her.

  But no one could hear him over the sounds of war.

  Snow’s pulse grew weak. Her eyes began to flutter closed, but before they did, she parted bloodstained lips and whispered, “I saved you. I had ... a vision. You were killed ... in my dream. But then I saw the Slayer ... and I stopped him. I saved your.”

  His world swirled around him, but he forced the vision to remain at bay. He didn’t want to know what the future would bring. Not now. Not when he was on the verge of losing Snow.

  Tears poured from his eyes. He was losing her. He was losing the only girl who had ever really understood him, had ever really loved him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Vlad bent down and brushed his lips against Snow’s forehead. His tears dripped onto her cheeks, and he whispered repeatedly, “hat can I do, Snow? I’ll do anything. Anything. What can I do to save you?”

  39

  COME THE PRAVUS

  THERE’S ONLY ONE THING you can do, Vladimir.” Otis’s eyes were dark, dark and sad and troubled in the worst way, unlike Vlad had ever seen them. His shirt was marred with blood and dirt—the filth of battle. He must have been fighting somewhere nearby and saw what had happened to Snow Vlad hadn’t seen him approach, but he was glad his uncle was here now “You can let her die, or ... you can turn heir.”

  “turn her?” Vlad couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Otis couldn’t possibly be suggesting that he—

  “turn her into one of us, welcome her into Elysia, make her a vampire ... or say your goodbyes” Otis’s voice was soft, but stern. The choice, he’d made clear, was up to Vlad.

  “But don’t I need her permission to turn her?”

  “I think we’re beyond following Elysia’s laws tonight, Vladimir.”

  Vlad looked down at Snow in his arms. Her eyes were closed and her skin was paler then he’d ever seen. Even her lips, painted a deep burgundy, paled to a lighter shade as blood poured from her wound. She’d lost consciousness, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he hoped that it lessened her pain some. A curse because it robbed him of the chance to ask her if she’d rather die than be like him.

  She would die. Or live out her life as a bloodthirsty creature of the night. It was up to him to choose her fate.

  Entirely up to him.

  “There’s something you should know before you decide” Otis dropped his eyes to Snow then for a moment, his voice hushing some, as if out of respect for the dead. “She may not survive the transformation. It’s possible that she will, but I have never heard of a released drudge turning successfully. Not once. Their blood rejects the transformation for some reason. You may lose her anyway, Vladimir.”

  Vlad ignored the blood that was soaking through his clothes. He ignored the sounds of war all around him. He ignored even his uncle’s caring presence and looked at Snow, really looked at her for the first time. Gently, he ran his thumb down her cheek. Bending down, he kissed her quiet lips, swallowing his tears. He had to be strong. For Snow. “I have to try, Otis.”

  Otis gauged his sincerity for a moment, then, as if satisfied by what he saw in Vlad’s eyes, he spoke. “Drain her, but not completely. You want her heartbeat as slow as possible, but still beating. It takes a great amount of control, but you’re capable”

  A flash of doubt crossed Otis’s eyes. Vlad tried to ignore it, but couldn’t.

  “Once she’s drained, you must move quickly. Bite your wrist, give her your blood. She’ll cough and choke and fight, but that’s a natural reaction. Be ready for it” Otis squeezed his shoulder and as he ran off to assist a young vampire fight off two Slayers, he shouted something else to Vlad, but Vlad couldn’t hear him over the noise of the crowd.

  Vlad lifted Snow, cradling her in his arms. He was going to save her, save her at any cost. It was the right thing to do ... wasn’t it?

  His fangs slipped from his gums and he bit down on her neck, her blood splashing against his tongue. Trying to block out the incredible taste of her blood, he swallowed and swallowed again, drinking far more from her than he ever had before. She lay helpless in his arms, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

  He loved Snow. And he wanted nothing more in this world than for her to survive, for them to be together, for everything to be all right.

  As Otis had said, her heartbeat slowed substantially. Vlad fought the monster within him and won, withdrawing his fangs from her porcelain neck. He bit into his right wrist and held it to her mouth, watching as his blood slipped from his wrist to her tongue, until his wound healed closed again. Then he waited, and watched.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then Snow lurched forward, coughing, her body wracked with violent spasms. The moment she’d shown any sign of life, Vlad’s Mark glowed brightly, brighter than ever before. Snow choked and sputtered and shook. After a long time-time that was drawn out by his utter terror of losing her—she went still.

  Too still.

  Snow’s eyes were opened, but there was no life in them.

  Vlad screamed, “NO!!! Snow! Not you! Not you!”

 
He pulled her close and sobbed into her soft black hair. Her body was limp. Her heart wasn’t beating. Everything about her that had made her Snow was gone.

  She was dead.

  Dead, before he could tell her that she was his perfect match in every way, that she was everything he ever wanted in a girl.

  Dead, before she could experience a life full of laughter and smiles instead of one overwhelmed by pain.

  Dead.

  Dead and gone.

  And she wasn’t ever coming back.

  Vlad wiped the tears from his cheeks and laid Snow’s body gently on the steps. Slowly, he stood, surveying the battleground all around him. He saw Slayers staking vampires, vampires biting Slayers and ripping them limb from limb. He saw terrified citizens running, trying to get away from horrors they couldn’t understand. He saw familiar faces scattered through the crowd—Joss. Meredith, October, Henry. And all he could think was that this wasn’t supposed to be happening. His family, his friends, they weren’t supposed to be suffering. Elysia wasn’t supposed to be exposed. The Slayer Society wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Inside of him, something bigger and brighter and more powerful than anything Vlad had ever experienced before welled up, burning. A fiery ball of power filled with hatred and disgust and want of peace. He turned and ran up the steps of Bathory High, and as he reached the top he recalled the vision he’d experienced when he’d first drank Dorian’s blood. He realized, with great relief, that he had been completely wrong about what he thought he saw in that vision. He was the Pravus—oh yes, there was no doubting that now—but he was the Pravus in a way that no one but Dorian saw.

  He could kill them all. With but a single thought, he could command them all to do his bidding and die.

  But...

  As much as Vlad was vampire, he was also human. Incredible strength, amazing speed, mind control—these things were all gifts from his vampiric side. But his ability to know right from wrong ... that was all human, and despite everything that had happened—to him, to the citizens of Bathory, to his beloved Snow—he knew what he had to do.

  He was the only vampire ever born. But he had a human mother, a mother who loved him and cherished him and had given him his sense of caution, his view that deep down, people were truly good. He had spent so many years focusing on his vampire side that he’d neglected to see the many human traits he possessed. He was like Mellina in as many ways as he was like Tomas. He was a human. And a vampire.

  And the Pravus.

  He knew the prophecy now, knew every word of it as it raced through his veins. And his destiny was crystal clear.

  Vlad faced the town of Bathory, taking in the blood and terror and fear. He lifted his arms high and with all of his being, with every bit of every part of his soul, he screamed out, “STOP!”

  His eyes burned, and he knew that they were flashing brighter than ever before, just as they had in his vision. All at once, every single living being in the vicinity froze. No one moved. No one spoke.

  Vlad—the Pravus—was in complete control of them all.

  Every vampire, he reigned over. Every human, he had the power to protect, enslaving them with but a thought, for their own good. The prophecy was right. It was the interpretation that had been wrong. A label doesn’t make something so. A label is just a word. It’s what a person does that makes them who they are.

  He thought of Snow, thought of her cold, pale body lying at the bottom of the steps, thought of how he’d never get a chance to tell her how he really felt. Then he whispered, “Look at me.”

  Every living being in Bathory complied, but still Vlad repeated his order in a tearful shout, “Look at me!!”

  He pointed to Snow and said, “You’ve all done this. Vampires, Slayers, humans. This is all your doing. People are dying because you can’t let go of your hatred for even a second. People are dying because of you . . .”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “. . . because of me”

  Vlad ran a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs from his eyes. He took a moment to think, to form the words in his mind before he spoke them aloud. “Vampires, all vampires, except for my family and close friends, go back to your councils. Remember what happened here, but don’t plan any kind of retaliation. Let it go. Go on with your lives”

  Instantly, the vampires stopped what they were doing and walked away.

  Vlad continued. “Slayers, except for Joss, go home. Forget you ever saw even one vampire in Bathory. And humans . . .”

  A sigh escaped him, one filled with relief that everyone within earshot was forced to obey. “Tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. When the sun rises tomorrow, you’ll only remember that an earthquake happened here, and that people died because of it. Forget the vampires. Forget the Slayers. It’s over.”

  He’d make Henry remember, oh yes. And October and the other goths too.

  He still wasn’t sure about Meredith. But then ... maybe it would make Joss’s life easier to have her remember as well. After all, it couldn’t have been easy lying to her the entire time about who he was, what he was.

  Vlad knew from experience.

  The humans shifted around, tending to the injured and clearing away the dead. A quiet peace settled all around him, but Vlad felt no relief. He still had lost Snow. He still had lost Eddie to Em’s will. He still had lost Meredith to Joss. And he still had no idea what had happened to his mother that fateful day.

  Looking over the crowd, he realized that his father was missing from the picture. Moving down the steps, lifting Snow’s body and cradling her in his arms, he hurried with vampiric speed across town, knowing that he would find Tomas in their house, in their home.

  Once there, he placed Snow on the couch and covered her beautiful face with his mom’s favorite afghan, which was now free of that smoky smell, thanks to Nelly’s determination. He kissed the cloth that covered her lips and brushed away fresh tears, knowing that he would never love anyone again the way that he loved Snow.

  Rushing upstairs, he stopped at the silhouette standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. Tomas’s shoulders were sunk, as if he were feeling defeated. Vlad reached out, touching his left shoulder with an inquisitiveness that even he couldn’t explain. “Dad?”

  “Come inside, Vlad. Come inside and learn the truth” Without so much as a glance back at his son, Tomas moved into the bedroom, his eyes on the bed. The left side, Vlad noted, where his mother used to sleep.

  Vlad glanced out the bedroom window as he entered the room, and said, “I stopped it—the fighting—I stopped it all with barely a thought. It’s over. But ... I can’t help but wonder ... where were you when the Slayers were attacking? I didn’t see you anywhere.”

  “I am so disappointed in you, son.”

  Vlad’s jaw hit the floor. “What are you talking about? Slayers were attacking Bathory!”

  Tomas closed his eyes, as if exhausted from dealing with a young child’s whims. “I have been infinitely patient. How else can I bring you to this truth?”

  Vlad blinked, confused. He had no idea what his dad was talking about. Something inside his chest grew heavy with fear.

  Tomas clasped his hands behind him and began pacing slightly. “I have lied to you, my son, but only to protect you, only to open your eyes to the truth after years of lies told to you by Otis”

  Something inside Vlad’s chest squeezed his heart until he thought it might burst. “What did he, and you, lie about exactly?”

  “There is a group who supports the coming of the Pravus. It is called the Alumno and was created to do all that they could in support of bringing about the Pravus, to lay their every resource and even their lives down for the cause. But I’m not being hunted by them. In fact, I am the group’s founding member.” Vlad’s eyes widened, and Tomas held up his hands and hurried to explain. “You believed Otis, son, you believed every lie he spewed about our group, about how evil we are, about how the Pravus was a myth. But I assure you, this is not the case. W
e have an honorable cause, and you are a gift to all of Elysia.”

  Vlad shook his head. “I don’t ... understand. Why? And Otis—why would he think that your group is evil?”

  “Jealousy perhaps. Otis always was the jealous type.”

  That didn’t sound anything at all like the Otis he knew, but Vlad kept that thought to himself.

  “You had an unbreakable trust for the man. That is, until I planted evidence to shake that trust. Otis’s hat will never be the same, I’m afraid. But it was important to instill doubt in your heart. Doubt that your perfect uncle was ever so perfect.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a brief smile. “despite what you may believe, it is the Pravus’s place to right the wrongs of Elysia, my son, and to put humans in their proper place”

  “But I’m human. Partly, anyway. And Mom . . .” His heart ached. “mom . . .”

  “I loved your mother. As much as a vampire can love a human. She knew her place, served her purpose. She was a good drudge. But she was also lacking in loyalty toward the end” The corner of Tomas’s mouth twitched in irritation. “I was going to let her live. But then I learned that she’d been making secret plans to steal away with you in the night, and worse, to turn me in to Elysia for my crimes. Somehow, she’d contacted Dorian—the one vampire I could not possibly control or dupe. He sent his son, Adrian, here, to meet with her in secret, to investigate her claims, little good it did his.”

  “But Adrian . . .” Vlad rolled the name over on his tongue. Dorian’s son. And Vlad had once seen his name written on a piece of paper ... in Tomas’s handwriting. “I thought Otis killed him. Otis thought that too”

  “Otis was too drunk on blood that night to know what was happening. I sent Adrian a note from your mother, to meet her that night, a full day before Dorian’s instruction for him to come. Adrian stole away to do so, and I used my mind control powers to help Otis to falsely recall draining him dry. After all, I couldn’t have anyone suspecting that those were the charred remains of Adrian and not me.” Tomas shook his head. It was sickening and frightening and horrible how easy it seemed to be for him to discuss such awful things with such a casual tone. “I had no choice, Vladimir. I bound your mother and Adrian to the bed. And once the drapes were drawn, the sun did the rest. Adrian was about as sensitive to the sun as a vampire can get.”