Twelfth Grade Kills

by Heather Brewer

  Vlad chewed his bottom lip for a moment, mulling over Henry’s possible reaction to the news that Tomas Tod was alive and well. At least in Vlad’s fevered imagination, anyway. “If I told you, you’d think I was nuts.”

  “I already think that, so come on. Out with it, Vlad.” It was the same tone he’d used to get Vlad to do ... well, anything, ever since day one of their friendship. Vlad knew he couldn’t resist. He also knew he needed to confide in someone before he lost it completely.

  “A voice stopped me.”

  “Ominous, creepy, and weird rolled into one, dude.” Henry slowed his steps and stopped Vlad by grabbing his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. “Whose voice was it? The tooth fairy? Principal Snelgrove? Was it the voice of Glob? These details make a difference, man.”

  Vlad swallowed hard, and then forced the words from his lips, his eyes on Henry the entire time. “It was my dad, Henry. I saw him. He was standing right there in the clearing. And then he was gone. Just ... gone.”

  Henry’s eyes had gone wide, but he nodded. “Okay. So. You saw your dad.”

  Vlad shrugged and wished very much that he could sink into the ground and disappear.

  Henry gulped. “Alive?”

  Vlad readied a glare to show Henry exactly how stupid that question was, but he stopped himself. After all, it wasn’t stupid. But Vlad didn’t know how to answer exactly, because his dad may or may not be alive. He wasn’t sure.

  Henry was doing his best to be supportive, even if he was looking at Vlad as if he’d lost his mind completely. He slapped Vlad on the shoulder and said, “Run that whole story by me again, would ya? I just wanna make sure I’m hearing it right.”

  In the few minutes they had left before they reached Nelly’s house, Vlad went over every detail again, this time explaining more about why he drank from Dorian, and every bit of detail that he could remember about seeing his dad. By the time they stepped onto Nelly’s porch, Henry looked frazzled. “Whoa. That is messed up.”

  Vlad nodded as he opened the door. It was messed up. And the worst part was that Vlad had no idea if the person standing just inside the door was really there, or just a nightmare coaxed into his reality by Dorian’s tainted blood.

  “Vladimir Tod. It’s so good to see you again.” Em smiled and held up a cookie that she’d clearly helped herself to in the kitchen. “Would you like a cookie?”

  Vlad glanced at Henry and then looked back to Em, shaking his head in shock. She was early. Way early. Vlad wasn’t ready for his trial yet. Not by a long shot.

  Her presence filled him with disgust, but it was countered by his utter relief that Nelly was working double shifts at the hospital all week. She, fortunately, would miss out on the pleasure of Em’s company.

  Em was dressed in a black corset and black baggy Tripp pants, with purple stitching. On her feet were Converse, not unlike the ones Vlad was wearing. She smiled a superior smile and perched on the arm of the couch, breaking the cookie in half. She held out the other half to Vlad, who shook his head in refusal. Frowning, almost pouting, she forced the cookie into his hand.

  Vlad grimaced at her touch, but after a near-glare from Em, took a bite. The chocolate chips tasted bitter.

  Em finished her half of the cookie and licked her fingertips clean. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  Beside her stood Enrico, who looked ashamed to be her escort. Vlad nodded to him, ignoring Em for the moment. “Enrico, it’s good to see you again.”

  Enrico—the owner of V Bar and Dorian’s father—moved forward, shaking Vlad’s hand and smiling warmly, though something dark lurked in his eyes. “A pleasure, as always, Vladimir.”

  Vlad didn’t have the heart to inform Enrico of Dorian’s passing. Not yet, anyway.

  The steps creaked as Otis made his way downstairs. He was shirtless, his hair still dripping from a recent shower, a white, damp towel draped around his neck. “I thought I heard voices down here. Enrico? To what do I owe the honor of your company?”

  As Otis’s eyes found Em, his shoulders slumped some, his demeanor darkened.

  Vlad wondered if anyone was ever happy to see her.

  Enrico glanced at Em, who nodded. Then he looked back to Otis. “I’m afraid there’s been a tragedy. It seems a member of Elysia, an important vampire figure, has been assassinated.”

  No one spoke.

  Vlad’s heart thumped twice, hard, then returned to its quiet race. Dorian. They knew about Dorian after all.

  The air thickened. But still, no one spoke.

  Finally, as if unable to handle the silence, it was Henry who broke it. “Some of us don’t have telepathy, y’know. Who died?”

  Em glared at him, as if seeing him for the first time and hating him on sight. Vlad winced. Henry didn’t even blink. Vlad was beginning to think that nothing could scare a McMillan.

  Through clenched teeth, Em spoke, but not to Henry. She would only speak to the vampires in the room. “It would seem that D’Ablo has been murdered.”

  Vlad whipped his eyes back to Em in shock. D’Ablo? Dead? The vampire who had been a thorn in Vlad’s side for four years, the vampire who Vlad was certain would never cease trying to kill him, the vampire who Vlad counted on to be the big bad evil in his life ... was dead? By someone else’s hand? It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t have happened. There was no way D’Ablo could be dead. The guy had survived having a giant hole shot through him with the Lucis, for crying out loud.

  Vlad looked at Enrico. “You’re ... sure?”

  Enrico nodded. “Two piles of ash were found. When we tested them for DNA, both matched D’Ablo, which meant that his head had likely been removed before burning.”

  “It could be a trick.” Henry’s voice sounded so foreign in a room filled with vampires. But he was right.

  “It’s no trick, human.” Em’s tone was biting. Which was probably what she was about to do to Henry if he didn’t shut up. “We’re well versed in how many ounces of ashes a burned vampire leaves behind. D’Ablo is dead. Do not doubt that for a second.”

  Vlad felt oddly hollow. It was almost as if a friend had been stolen from him before he’d had the chance to say goodbye.

  A horrible, evil, maniacal friend who wanted nothing more than to see Vlad suffer.

  Otis stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression blank.

  Em stood and Vlad had to fight the immediate urge to step back. Folding her arms in front of her, she said, “Needless to say, your trial’s been compromised, as a portion of the charges against you have been dropped due to D’Ablo’s convenient passing.”

  “Convenient?” Henry snorted, drawing Em’s hate-filled eyes. “What are you saying? That Vlad killed D’Ablo? Fat chance. He hasn’t been very successful at that in the past.”

  Vlad was about to warn Henry that if he valued his life at all, he’d zip his lips. But it was too late. Em shot across the room until she was almost nose to nose with Vlad’s drudge. She scraped a long, purple fingernail down his cheek, drawing blood, but Henry didn’t wince. Vlad thought he might have gone into shock. Either that, or despite everything Vlad had told his best friend about Em, Henry hadn’t quite put two and two together, that the ancient, evil being known as Em was also the cute girl standing in front of him, her eyes like daggers. Poor Henry. Poor stupid, stupid Henry.

  Her voice was almost a purr. “Human, you have no idea the pain that I can bring you. I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself, lest I give in to the overwhelming urge to skin you alive.”

  Vlad glanced at his uncle, who was watching the scene with some interest, but still not speaking. Then he turned back to Em. “So what are you implying, exactly? That I killed D’Ablo? Or that I had someone kill him?”

  Otis spoke, his voice quiet, somber. “Neither is true.”

  Em stepped back and turned on her heel to face Otis. After silently gauging him for a moment, she flicked her eyes back to Vlad. Before she could speak, Henry whispered, “Dude, the evil chick is kinda h
ot.”

  Vlad rolled his eyes, but stopped once Em had returned her attention to him. She didn’t even glance at Henry again. “One charge still remains against you, little one. The charge that your father entered into a romantic relationship with a human.”

  Henry shot Vlad a telling glance, but Vlad was already on the case. “I’m only standing trial for that because my dad is dead, right?”

  She nodded once, suspicion and doubt lurking in her eyes.

  Vlad took a deep breath. “What would you say if I told you that I saw my dad tonight, alive and well?”

  Otis spoke, but inside Vlad’s head, away from the prying ears of the company they kept. “This is not a game, Vladimir. You cannot fool Em in order to gain more time.”

  “I know. I’m not trying to fool anyone, Otis. I really saw him.”

  Otis fell silent for a moment, then nodded to his nephew and stepped back, looking deeply disturbed. “We will discuss this at length once Em is gone, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  Em seemed to mull this over for a moment before replying. “Are you willing to testify to that fact, little one?”

  Vlad set his jaw and nodded once.

  “Then it seems a trial is coming, after all. A trial for Tomas, if you can produce him by the final day of December. We’ll hold it right here in the quaint little town of Bathory. However, if you cannot produce your father, alive and well, then you will stand trial for his crimes. And you will die for them. Slowly. And as painfully as possible. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that his romance with a human falls on your head if he has perished.” She met Vlad’s gaze, and though her voice sounded kind, there was no kindness to be found in the depths of her eyes. “It is only because of my fondness for Tomas, and our history, that I am giving you or your father any time at all to say goodbye to the world. Consider it a kindness, and respect my decision by not running. If you run, if you attempt to hide, I will make it much worse for you ... and for your father, if he really is alive.”

  Otis’s voice was low and wondering. “And what of D’Ablo’s murder? Have you any leads?”

  She turned to face him, and something unspoken passed between them. Vlad didn’t know what it was, but it was unsettling, to say the least.

  Vlad said, “What history? How did you and my dad know one another?”

  Em clucked her tongue. “Tomas and I were well acquainted. You see, I am his grandmother. Mother to Ignatius.”

  She paused a moment, waiting for her words to sink in. When they didn’t, she said, “I’m your great-grandmother, Vladimir.”

  Vlad’s chest felt oddly hollow. Like someone had dug an enormous hole through his rib cage without him being aware.

  Great-grandmother. The girlish monster whose eyes reflected a hunger to witness his demise was his great-grandmother?

  No.

  She couldn’t be.

  He shook his head, refusing to believe Em, and trailed his eyes from her to his uncle, who looked both nauseated and disturbed. “My great-grandmother?”

  After a moment of silence, perhaps to gather his words carefully, Otis said, “It’s true. Em is my grandmother, your father’s grandmother, and Ignatius’s mother.”

  Then Otis stepped closer. “And it’s absolutely no reflection on you, Vladimir. We can’t choose our parentage. Or our grandparentage.”

  Em smiled, but it never quite reached her eyes. She stood, brushing the cookie crumbs from her clothes. “We can, however, choose our children. Though sometimes we choose poorly.”

  Her eyes fell on Vlad then, burning with hatred that she couldn’t hide. “Our great-grandchildren, on the other hand ... well ... I suppose sometimes our children and their children choose poorly as well.”

  An awkward silence fell over the not-so-happy family then. No one spoke or moved until Em turned toward the door. As she stepped outside, she said, “You have until December thirty-first to collect your father and deliver him to the Council of Elders. And so help me if you are lying about his still living, which I suspect you are. But know that you’ve only prolonged your life by a few short months, as death is the only punishment for the charges that remain against you.”

  Vlad released the breath his lungs had been clinging to for what seemed like an eternity.

  He’d just saved his own life. At least for a little while.

  The problem was that now he had to do the impossible.

  He had to find his father.

  3

  UNDER SUSPICION

  THE EMERGENCY ROOM WAS CROWDED and loud and, though he waited for what seemed like forever, no one stopped moving to give him some answers, to tell Vlad whether his friend was going to live or die.

  Henry had driven them as fast as he could once Em had left Nelly’s house, but only after they’d stopped back at the clearing, to look for Joss’s backpack—or more importantly, Vlad’s father’s journal. The book meant something to Vlad, and now with the possible miraculous return of his father to life, he wondered if the journal would offer him answers that he hadn’t seen in its pages before, or if the journal might lead him to his dad. But all they found was a patch of grass, stained with Dorian’s blood, nothing more. Confusion enveloped Vlad—where was Dorian? But as hope that Dorian had somehow survived began to fill him, Vlad recalled Dorian’s last moments and knew that he was dead. Where his body went was another question. Vlad tried not to look at the spot where Dorian had perished, tried hard not to think about his final moments. Then he cursed himself for not thinking to grab the journal earlier. But it would be at the hospital, with Joss. It had to be.

  Otis had insisted that he had some important business to take care of first, but that he’d grab Nelly and meet them in the emergency room.

  Finally, after way too long, a man in a white lab coat approached, his muscles tense, his mouth pursed. He knew. Somehow he knew that Vlad was responsible. “You came to see the boy who was beaten?”

  Vlad nodded, swallowing his guilt like a bitter pill. “Joss McMillan.”

  The man in the white coat—Vlad couldn’t get a good look at the name on his badge—flipped through some papers on the chart he was holding and made a note in handwriting that reminded Vlad of Otis’s chicken scratchings. Then he met Vlad’s gaze, his eyes hooded, his expression guarded. “He’s awake now, but just barely. The pain medication we administered is keeping him fairly groggy. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I ...” Immense and immediate guilt seeped into Vlad’s muscles, into his bones, into every organ—mostly his heart. Following it was the realization that revealing anything to anyone at this point would likely land him in a lot of trouble, maybe even jail. It was this thought that had just entered his mind when he laid eyes on two uniformed police officers who were crossing the room, their eyes fixed on him. Vlad’s next words came out muttered, distant, lost. “No. I can’t.”

  Henry stepped forward. “Look, Joss is my cousin and Vlad’s friend. We just want to know if he’s okay.”

  The taller cop, the grumpy-looking one, said, “Vladimir Tod?”

  Vlad looked from one cop to the other as if he didn’t know that they were here to arrest him for putting Joss in the hospital. Vlad would’ve bet his life on that.

  His life. That thing that Joss had tried to take twice now.

  But no one would focus on that. Mostly because Vlad couldn’t tell them without revealing the fact that he was a vampire.

  Well, half vampire, if they wanted to get technical.

  The shorter cop, the one with a friendly smile, said, “We’d like to have a word with you, please.”

  Vlad gulped, the lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit, and managed a nod. They coaxed him away from Henry, who was looking more than a little tense.

  The friendly cop didn’t miss a beat. “How well do you know Joss McMillan?”

  “Pretty well. We’re friends.” Vlad shrugged, his heart breaking over what he’d done to Joss. For the life of him, he’d never seen it coming. Not
after they’d patched things up, not after their long, nightly sessions where they’d mock-fight. Tonight it had been self-defense. But admittedly, it was also a bit of vengeance on Vlad’s part—something that now sat in the pit of his stomach, fermenting. “Or, were, I guess.”

  Friendly cop smiled warmly. Vlad was glad he was the one doing the talking. Grumpy cop just looked ... well ... grumpy. “Not so friendly anymore, eh?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “About a girl?”

  “No. Just ... I’m not sure what it was about. Joss has been acting really different lately.” Vlad’s thoughts whirled inside his brain like a tornado. Why would they think a girl was involved? Did they know about Meredith? Is that why they thought Vlad beat Joss so badly? He raked his bangs back from his eyes with a trembling hand. “Look, am I in trouble?”

  Friendly cop leaned in closer, lowering his voice as though they shared a deep, dark secret. “Has Joss ever mentioned his uncle to you? Abraham McMillan? Said anything at all about him?”

  Vlad blinked. What did this have to do with him putting Joss in the hospital? “No. Not that I can remember. Why?”

  The two officers exchanged looks and Friendly gave Vlad’s shoulder a light squeeze. “That’s all we needed to know, Vlad. Thanks for your cooperation. We hope your friend recovers quickly. An accident, was it, that put him here?”

  Vlad looked him dead in the eye, and before he could stop himself, complete honesty spilled out over his tongue. “No, sir.”

  Friendly paused then, his eyebrows furrowing, understanding lighting up his eyes.

  This was it. This was the part where the cop slapped cuffs on him and dragged him off to prison. Vlad knew it. He could feel it. The cop understood he was admitting to committing a violent crime and was seconds away from reaching for his handcuffs.

  Friendly frowned, then gave Vlad’s shoulder another squeeze. “Even so.”

  As the officers walked away, Vlad stared after them, stunned and not at all certain why he hadn’t been arrested.

  Vlad saw Nelly rushing down the corridor, looking both frightened and concerned. Otis was at her side. Nelly said, “Are you okay? What happened between you boys? Is Joss okay?”