The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills

by Heather Brewer

  Vlad’s shoulders sank in defeat. No matter what Vlad did, it seemed, he was going to have a terrible New Year’s Eve.

  Joss was leaving the decision up to him, and trusting he’d make the right choice. And there was no question what that choice was.

  Joss’s voice was a whisper. “Just so you know, I’m working on a plan. There has to be some way we can stop the Society from doing this without killing you.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  Joss swallowed hard, his eyes straight ahead.

  Vlad gauged him for several minutes before a horrified whisper escaped him. “You don’t have a plan. Do you, Joss?”

  Joss shifted uncomfortably. “No. But I’ll come up with something.”

  “We.” Vlad patted Joss on the back firmly holding his gaze. “We’ll come up with something.”

  They sat there, silent, for a long time as Vlad took the enormity of his situation in, wrapping his head around it. Live and everyone would die. Die and everyone would live.

  It seemed like such a simple choice.

  But nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

  13

  SCHOOL SUCKS

  VLAD YAWNED so hard that his jaw ached slightly once he was finished. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping great since ... well, ever. But staying up late with Dad and Otis had proven ill-advised when it came to the first day of Vlad’s senior year. Vlad hadn’t even set foot on the grounds of Bathory High yet, and already, he was suffering from an acute case of Senioritis. How was he supposed to care about what grade he’d get in World History when everyone in the world was out to kill him? He was mulling over the ethical obligation of not skipping his first day when a familiar car pulled up.

  Henry rolled down his window and grunted at Vlad to grab his backpack. Neither was looking forward to World History first thing in the morning, especially not after a summer of things that had kept them from hanging out very much. Vlad had been totally immersed in his search for his father, and then once he’d finally found him, he’d been all about making up for lost time. So, apart from teaching Tomas how to vanquish two-dimensional evil foes, time with Henry had fallen by the wayside. Movies went unseen, concerts went unattended, or at least these things weren’t done with his best friend. Vlad cast Henry a guilty glance. “So you never told me how Return of Psycho Slasher Chainsaw Guy from Hell was. Did you find someone to go with?”

  Return of Psycho Slasher Chainsaw Guy from Hell was probably the most anticipated sequel of all time, and rumor had it, there was a scene featuring death by toothpicks that was not to be missed. Henry, in his McMillan way, had called earlier in the summer with advanced screening tickets. But Vlad had declined. It was bad timing, but that didn’t mean that Vlad didn’t care.

  In fact, he absolutely cared. But he couldn’t leave his search for his dad. And once he’d found him, he couldn’t leave his side.

  It might be the only time they had left together.

  Henry scratched his head and yawned. To Vlad’s great disgust, his hair remained flawless. As he stretched, he said, “Yeah, October and I went together.”

  Vlad blinked. “October? My October?”

  Not that she was in any way, shape or form his October. Not like that. But still. She was more Vlad’s October than Henry’s. That much Vlad was willing to bet on.

  Henry shrugged. “I mentioned I had tickets and she jumped at the chance to see it. It was a great movie, dude. I’ve never seen so much blood and gore. And don’t get me started on the garden hose scene.”

  Vlad’s shoulders slumped a little. On some level, he was hoping the movie was mediocre at best.

  Still, he was glad Henry had a good time. Even if he went with October. Which was weird.

  Vlad started to wonder something about his two very different friends—something impossible and strange—then shook it from his thoughts. Nope. Never. October and Henry were about as different as night and day. It would never happen.

  They moved up the steps and through the door, and once they had their locker numbers and schedules in hand, Vlad and Henry parted ways. Henry’s locker was at the opposite end of the hall from Vlad’s, but they’d meet up again later in World History. Vlad had just reached his when the light from the windows caught his attention.

  It was the beginnings of a beautiful morning. The sun had already warmed the grass. The crystalline blue sky was only marred by puffy cotton clouds, adding to its beauty. The air smelled sweet, like roses, like lilacs. It was, in short, the perfect morning.

  Apart from the dark cloud which hung over Vlad’s every thought.

  Thoughts of Joss. Thoughts of Em. Thoughts filled with pain and loss and death.

  His life was changing—had changed—forever. And it was going nowhere good, fast.

  Not to mention that his hunger was deepening, worsening. That word summed it up better than any other, he thought. Worsening.

  Lately, every person who crossed his path looked more and more like a cheeseburger. More and more like all they were lacking were a side of fries.

  It was troubling, to say the least.

  Grabbing the lock on his locker, he flipped the center circle around, trying to get the combination to work.

  And that’s when he sensed ... something.

  Someone.

  Someone familiar. Someone he would know anywhere, anytime. Someone he hadn’t seen or spoken to at all since the day he’d released her as his drudge.

  Straightening, he closed his eyes and inhaled, taking in the scent of roses and raspberries and all that was good about being alive. A smile threatened to touch his lips, but he fought it, knowing what it meant that she was here, knowing what he would have to do, and not knowing at all if he had the strength to do it, to push her away again.

  Opening his eyes, he sensed her behind him, her delectable blood calling out to him, beckoning him. With a sigh, and without turning to face her, he said, “Snow.”

  She waited, perhaps wondering how he knew it was her. Finally, unable to resist any longer, Vlad turned slowly.

  She was dressed in gothic finery: a long, black, flowing skirt, a black blouse, and a black pin-striped waist cincher. Her eyes were lined with thick black and her lips—her sad, pouting lips—were colored a rich burgundy, a color that instantly reminded him of blood.

  Vlad looked her over and fought the longing within him. The longing, he was surprised, wasn’t to feed on her—well, not just to feed on her, anyway. It was to reach out, to make physical contact, to hold her close. It made him ache to feel such things, to yearn for a girl he couldn’t have, wouldn’t have. She deserved better. She deserved much better than him.

  Her eyes darted to his wrist and then back to his face. She smiled, but it didn’t come through honestly enough. She was happy to see him, but miserable at the same time. “Hi.”

  Vlad swallowed hard. His mouth felt parched. So much so that he was amazed that dust didn’t puff out when he spoke. “Hi.”

  She drew a deep breath. A nervous one. “Listen, Vlad. Before I say anything else to you I have to tell you something. I ... I told Eddie Poe some things. I didn’t mean to. It just ... kind of happened. And I’m sorry. So sorry. He caught me at a really bad time, and ... I’m sorry.”

  A single curse word ripped through his thoughts, but he steadied himself. It wasn’t Snow’s fault. Eddie was a conniving little worm. And Snow had likely been in an emotionally vulnerable state.

  Maybe it was because of him. Because of how he’d left her. Bleeding and broken and confused and alone. In an alley. Near a Dumpster. Like she was trash that he’d just gotten rid of. He was a monster. And he deserved whatever happened to him.

  But her dad ... he was a monster too. Just a different kind of monster.

  Vlad dropped his eyes, but just for a moment. His voice quieted to a hush. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Snow. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

  At the moment, he didn’t care what Eddie Poe knew or how he knew it. He only cared that Snow
was here, here in Bathory and still talking to him after the way he’d treated her. He knew a miracle when he saw one. “What are you doing here, anyway? At Bathory High, I mean.”

  “I’m living with a foster family here in Bathory now. My dad. He ... well, it got pretty bad.” For the first time, Vlad noticed the bruises on her face and arms, covered with a thin layer of makeup. Makeup that could not hide her pain.

  He’d abandoned her to her father, that thing, that beast. He’d walked away and left her alone with someone who hurt her. Vlad’s heart raced in anger—anger at her father, anger at himself. “If he hurt you—”

  “It doesn’t matter. He took a swing and I got sick of his abuse, so I fought back. And I won. I just ... wanted to let you know I’m here now. In case ... in case you ever want to talk or something. I should have called before. I should have told you. I just ... couldn’t.” Sadness flitted across her face. Her eyes glistened and she turned away.

  She was leaving. She was walking away without another word, and Vlad couldn’t help but think that she’d been dealing with all of this on her own, that he hadn’t been strong enough, man enough to just pick up the phone and call her, to see how she was doing. Sudden worry that she’d never speak to him again filled his heart with dread—terror that this was, somehow, the last moment he’d ever have this chance. His heart raced with panic at the very thought.

  She’d taken no more than two steps before Vlad moved forward, catching her gently by the arm, and whispering in her ear. “Do you still feel it, Snow? That connection? Even though you’re not my drudge anymore?”

  Snow kept her eyes away from his, but Vlad knew she was very aware of his presence, just as he was of hers. A crackle of electricity ran between his fingers and her arm. It was subtle, gentle, but sweet. Finally, she cleared her throat and whispered. “I know I feel something. And I know that nothing you could ever do to me could make me stop feeling it. Not even releasing me as your drudge.”

  Vlad let go of her arm and ran a hand through his hair, sweeping his thick black bangs from his eyes. “I can’t change what happened. Not even if I wanted to. Once a vampire releases a drudge, that’s it. It’s over.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Besides, it’s not over, Vlad. I can feel it in my blood. I could sense that you were near. We’re not even connected anymore and we’re . . . connected. You can feel it too. Your eyes give you away.

  Her eyes were on him, peering into his with a yearning, a yearning that both enticed and frightened Vlad. He couldn’t be with Snow. He was dangerous. He’d hurt her. He knew that much. And maybe, just maybe, he’d hurt her worse than her father ever did.

  After a long silence, she moved down the hall. Over her shoulder, she said, “See you around, Vlad.”

  Your eyes give you away. The words echoed in his mind, bringing him back to Dorian, back to what Dorian had said about the four who were chosen to keep the prophecy. Their eyes all flashed, for some reason. They all flashed odd colors at moments of extreme power. But why?

  Great. Just what he needed. As if being completely, totally baffled about his feelings for his former drudge wasn’t enough. Let’s throw a batch of confusion into the mix.

  His locker opened at last. Taped securely to the inside of the door was a digital voice recorder, and a note which read, “Play me.”

  It was an ominous thing that made Vlad’s blood run cold. His stomach flip-flopped for several seconds before he pulled the recorder from the door. After a moment of hesitation, he plugged his earbuds into it and hit play.

  At first, he heard static. Then Eddie’s voice, eager and falsely kind. “It’s okay. Just tell me again what you told me before. For the record.”

  Then Snow’s voice, muffled, cracking, like she’d been crying a lot. “Vladimir Tod. He’s a vampire. He feeds on me. I mean, he used to.”

  The recording stopped and a new one began. This time it was just Eddie’s voice, and he was speaking directly to Vlad. “Like what you hear, Vlad? Yeah, I bet not. There’s more. So much more. Meet me tonight at EAT. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late. We have to talk. And come alone.”

  The recording ended and Vlad slipped the buds from his ears with trembling fingers.

  Eddie was becoming a problem that needed rectifying once and for all.

  14

  EATING WITH EDDIE —OR—VLAD’S WORST NIGHTMARE

  VLAD PASSED THE DOOR OF EAT for the seventh time, muttering his immense displeasure under his breath in a string of obscenities. He had to go in, had no choice but to walk through that door and join Eddie for a late dinner, but he didn’t have to like it.

  For a brief moment, Vlad wished that someone, some vampire other than himself, some person without a conscience and good morals—someone like D’Ablo, for example—would come along and drain Eddie dry. But deep down, he knew that killing Eddie wouldn’t solve his problem. There would always be someone wanting something from him. There would always be an Eddie Poe in his life, in some manner.

  After one more pass, Vlad reached for the door handle and pulled, the smells of delicious human food mixed with the scent of delectable human blood wafting out the door, overwhelming his senses.

  It was crazy how hungry he was. Suddenly, he missed Snow—the closeness, the feeding, the kisses—but he pushed it back down, away from his immediate attention. Later, when he was away from Eddie, away from the troubles of his day, he could think about Snow and determine exactly what to do with these feelings he had for her. But for now, he had to focus on Eddie Poe, the boy who could very easily ruin his entire life.

  He stepped inside, his heart heavy.

  Eddie was sitting in a booth by the window, mulling over a plastic-coated menu, as if this were any other night, as if he weren’t a vile, evil little weasel, as if he weren’t completely selfish and utterly drunk with power, power which he held over Vlad’s every choice. He was dressed in a blue-and-white-striped polo and jeans, his wire-framed glasses slightly crooked, a dimple in one cheek. Vlad had never noticed the dimple before. Nor had he noticed that Eddie was both cruel and calculating, not back in kindergarten, not when they’d started middle school together, not ever ... at least, not until today. Sure, Eddie had become a bit obsessed with exposing Vlad in recent years, but Vlad never really, not deep down anyway, thought that Eddie was really, truly capable of ruining his life.

  Okay, maybe he had, but something about Eddie including Snow in his sordid plan had seriously upset Vlad. He had no business including her, he had no right to use her pain—pain that Vlad feared he had partly caused—in his twisted plans to hurt Vlad and lift himself into fame’s arms.

  Vlad approached slowly, deliberately so as not to startle Eddie. He wanted the little weasel to be calm, to feel like he was in complete control. Midstep Vlad came up with a plan. It was so simple, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. After dinner, he’d follow Eddie home and bite him, making Eddie his drudge. Then he’d order Eddie to stop all of this nonsense. It was brilliant in its simplicity. It couldn’t fail.

  Feeling a bit more confident about their encounter, Vlad slid into the booth, opposite his nemesis.

  Eddie didn’t even take his eyes off the menu, a smirk touching his lips. “I think I’ll have the meat loaf. What about you?”

  Vlad’s jaw tensed. It was all he could do not to bite Eddie here and now, and be done with this nightmare. “I’m not hungry.”

  It was a lie. And the look Eddie flashed him not only said that it was a lie, it also said that Eddie knew he wasn’t hungry for anything but blood.

  The waitress came by and Eddie ordered the meat loaf with a side of French fries, then took the liberty of ordering Vlad a burger—extra rare—with fries, and two sodas. The two sat quietly waiting for their food. When it arrived after several tense, silent minutes, Vlad pushed the plate away and eyed his stalker down. “Let’s get this over with, Eddie. What exactly do you want from me?”

  Eddie squirted some ketchup on his
fries and popped a really gooey one into his mouth. As he chewed, he smiled and spoke matter-of-factly. “We’ll get to that. But we’ll start with what I initially wanted, which is, of course, fame. I want to be a somebody Vlad. And you’re my road to being somebody. I can expose you, y’know I have enough evidence to expose you right and proper.”

  From the leather satchel on the seat beside him, Eddie withdrew a thick manila envelope. He spilled the contents on the table: photographs of Vlad in various vampire poses, small Ziplocs with things like hair and fingernail clippings, Vlad’s birth record, and on and on and on. The photographs were the most damning evidence, as were the physical samples—Vlad was pretty certain his DNA wouldn’t show up as entirely human. It was troubling to look at. But Eddie was forgetting one important thing. “No one is going to believe you, Eddie. Except maybe one of those rag magazines that people buy at the grocery store just to laugh at.”

  But Eddie wasn’t fazed.

  That strange smile remained on his lips.

  “You don’t listen very well, Vlad. That’s what I wanted. Past tense. My demands have changed. I want more now. And you’re going to give it to me, or else I’ll expose you to the world.” He reached back into his satchel and pulled out a stack of letters—some from well-respected television producers, some from important, notable university professors—all of which stated that they were very, very interested in seeing any evidence that Eddie might have that another species of mammal exists on earth, one that could lay to rest the story behind the “vampire myth.” It was different than his usual threat. This time Eddie had what amounted to evidence, and important people lined up ready to believe him.

  He was good. Too good.

  Vlad inhaled sharply. Eddie’s blood was AB negative. The temptation to forego the whole drudge plan and drain Eddie dry was immediate and intense. But Vlad took a deep breath, released it, and focused on his plan of action. “So what do you want now?”