Twelfth Grade Kills

by Heather Brewer

  Vlad lowered his voice, and even though the words he chose were the right ones, he couldn’t help but feel terrible about uttering them. Terrible, because while they were true, they didn’t change the fact that he’d come too close to killing the one person on the planet he really counted as a friend on the same level as Henry. Even after what Joss had done. “Joss tried to stake me. I had to defend myself.”

  Otis’s eyes narrowed as if to say I told you so. At the same time, Nelly’s widened.

  The door to Joss’s room opened and his mother stepped outside, followed by his father. Vlad hadn’t even seen them go in. But then, he’d been a little distracted by that whole possible arrest thing. “Mrs. McMillan, are you okay? Is Joss?”

  Joss’s mom sniffled into a wrecked tissue and glared at Vlad. “Don’t talk to me. And stay away from my son.”

  Vlad searched his mind, but couldn’t think of anything that was appropriate to say. So instead, he did as instructed and closed his mouth.

  Joss’s dad looked at Otis, an almost apologetic gleam in his eye—one that Vlad couldn’t understand. Vlad couldn’t help but notice that Joss’s dad didn’t look at him even once. “He’ll be okay. It’s just that we’ve been dealing with Joss in and out of hospitals and in and out of fights for a few years now. It’s ... it’s a lot to take.”

  Nelly parted her lips to say something, but Otis shot her a look that begged her not to. Otis followed the McMillans into the family waiting room, where Matilda and Big Mike were now waiting with Henry. Vlad thought he should say something to them, but wasn’t sure what to say. He thought of pulling Henry to the side to explain what had happened between him and the cops, but that would mean walking by Joss’s parents again—something he was certain would be a really bad idea.

  After several minutes, Otis returned and said, “They’re taking Joss to a special medical facility to recover, but won’t say where. His parents, especially his mother, blame you, Vlad. Joss told them you got in a fight and he lost, but he didn’t mention what really happened, that you’re a vampire and he’s a Slayer. At least we can be thankful for that.”

  Vlad met his uncle’s eyes and spoke with his thoughts. “Otis. There’s something I forgot to tell you earlier. Dorian is dead.”

  Otis looked troubled, but strangely relieved, as if he were free now. “I know. I smelled his blood and hurried to investigate. I’ve hidden the body a bit better. Later, Vikas and I will dispose of it. What happened exactly?”

  “He saved me from Joss. He took the stake for me. And then he told me to... ” Vlad’s thoughts trailed off. He wasn’t sure exactly how much of what happened he should reveal to his uncle. For now, it was probably better not to mention that he’d also drank from Dorian, but rather to formulate a plan for what to do next. First thing first: he had to determine if Dorian’s blood had actually made him crazy, and that meant confronting the specter of his father before telling Otis about any of it. If he could find his dad, he wouldn’t have to tell Otis about drinking from Dorian.

  Because it’s not like he hadn’t known that Dorian’s blood had been tainted in some way. After all, Uncle Otis developed the bizarre ability to close doors with a single thought, just by drinking from Dorian’s son. And Dorian always seemed to know what was about to happen ... right up until the very end. Otis had seemed afraid of Dorian, which had made Vlad afraid of him. If Vlad admitted to Otis what he’d done, he was in for the lecture of his life. The last thing he needed was more supervision.

  Otis raised a sharp eyebrow. “To what?”

  Vlad shook his head, ignoring the fact that Nelly looked increasingly uncomfortable during their silent conversation. “Nothing. You took care of the body?”

  “I did for now. It’s fortunate the EMTs didn’t see it. But I imagine that was a bit of subconscious control on your part.” Otis held his gaze, raising an eyebrow “You’re sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

  Vlad furrowed his brow a bit at Otis’s casual mention of subconscious control—whatever that was—and made a mental note to ask his uncle about it later. Then he chewed his bottom lip for a moment, reconsidering his decision not to tell Otis about drinking Dorian’s blood. After all, keeping secrets from Otis had never helped him in the past. Still, this felt important. This, he needed to figure out on his own. “Not at the moment.”

  Nelly patted Vlad’s arm. “I don’t mean to interrupt your telepathic conversation, but let’s get you home.”

  Vlad nodded slowly, very much wishing he could see Joss at least once before he left. He also wanted a peek inside Joss’s backpack, to grab the journal before it fell into the wrong—meaning Slayer Society—hands. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight Vlad had to let Joss’s parents fret over him, and trust that he and Joss were still friends, despite what Joss had tried to do to him. The way that he’d trusted him during their late-night mock-fights. The way he felt driven to trust Joss, even now, despite what he had done.

  Nelly hugged him tightly, her caring words a whisper in his ear. “You look shaken. Don’t worry Joss will live. I’d bet my nursing degree on it.”

  Vlad shook his head and whispered back. “Its not that.”

  That sweet, mothering concern entered her gaze. “What is it?”

  “I saw . . .” Vlad caught himself, shook his head. He couldn’t tell Nelly about his dad. She couldn’t know what he thought he saw until he’d confronted the crazy demons himself and proved to himself that his father wasn’t really alive, and that he really was just as nuts as Dorian had been. “Never mind. I must have imagined it. I could use some fresh air, actually. I’ll meet you guys outside when you’re ready to go.”

  As he passed by the door of the family waiting room, Vlad glanced inside. Grumpy cop took notice, nodding toward him and nudging Friendly cop. Apparently, he was still on their radar, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

  He stepped out a side door and into the night, to the alley where a coolness greeted him that promised that while summer was here officially, spring had not yet loosened its grip entirely. At the end of the alley were two cops, dressed in uniform, standing by a Toyota Prius. Vlad figured they were discussing giving the absent owner a ticket. That is, until one cop opened the door and dropped a pile of paperwork on the front seat.

  Weird. Very weird that two uniformed police officers would be driving a Prius and not an official police cruiser.

  Vlad slowed his steps to a quiet halt. He was considering going back inside, but couldn’t put his finger on exactly why the scene seemed so wrong to him. It was just an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach—probably brought on by the sight of more cops, when he’d just been questioned by two.

  Guilt. Plain and simple.

  One of the cops turned toward Vlad. He had a thin scar running from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth. When he saw Vlad, he nudged his friend and both turned toward him. “Excuse me, son, but are you Vladimir Tod? We have a few questions to ask you.”

  Vlad frowned and shrugged. “Talk to your friends inside. They already asked me questions.”

  The cops exchanged glances and moved down the alley toward Vlad.

  Vlad cursed himself for not keeping his mouth shut and waited.

  The scarred cop smiled as they approached. “You have a mouth on you, son. Better watch that. It’ll get you in trouble some day.”

  The other cop, the slightly bald one, grunted.

  Vlad sighed. “You have questions for me?”

  “Just one. I’m just curios.” Scar looked Vlad in the eye and held his gaze. “Why didn’t you finish him off? I mean, your buddies wouldn’t have stopped until they got the job done. So why did you let Joss live?”

  Vlad’s heart picked up its pace in confusion. He furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

  Baldy reached for his nightstick, and Vlad’s eyes shot to its tip as it left its holster.

&nb
sp; Its sharp, silver tip.

  It wasn’t a nightstick. It was a stake. The cops standing in front of him were Slayers.

  Vlad held up his hands and stepped back slowly. “Listen, guys, we don’t want to do this.”

  His back met with something fleshy behind him. Friendly cop—who wasn’t looking so friendly anymore. “We do. We really do.”

  Grumpy cop was standing beside Friendly, still looking peeved. Now Vlad knew exactly why.

  They were here to finish the job that Joss had started. That was why Vlad wasn’t going to jail. Because they’d been waiting until this moment to put him somewhere far worse.

  In his grave.

  Vlad watched Friendly from the corner of his eye, his heart racing when Friendly’s hand dropped to his night stake. With a deep breath and a set jaw, Vlad realized what he had to do. He had no way out of this situation but through it.

  Before the Slayers could act, Vlad jammed his elbow back into Friendly’s ribs. Friendly bent forward, making an oof sound, but Vlad didn’t hesitate. He spun around with vampiric speed, whipping quickly around Friendly. He was thankful—thankful that he’d worked so hard with Vikas to train himself in how to move, how to defend himself if necessary. All of those hours in the old barn had been worth it. He knew what he was doing, despite his utter surprise that he knew what he was doing.

  As he moved, he snatched the stake from Friendly’s hand. He stopped behind the Slayer and shot his arm forward, the Slayer’s back cracking audibly as bones snapped, and Vlad sent him flying. Moments later, Friendly hit the pavement behind Scar and Baldy, moaning, but unmoving.

  Grumpy growled and swung his stake at Vlad, but Vlad ducked back, then grabbed him by the arm and whipped him to the side, where Grumpy bounced off the wall of the adjacent building and landed in an unconscious heap. As he turned back to the remaining Slayers, Vlad swore he heard one comment on his eyes, which meant they’d probably turned iridescent purple again.

  He wasn’t exactly surprised.

  Vlad raised a sharp eyebrow at Scar, and quipped, “Still sure you wanna do this?”

  By the look in his eye, Vlad was certain that not only did Scar want to engage him, he wanted to kill him. Vlad shook his head, sighing. “All right then, cupcake. You better bring it.”

  Insult crossed Scar’s eyes and he stepped forward. As he did so, Vlad jumped up, planting his foot on the Slayer’s thigh. He flipped his body backward, and as he turned completely over in the air, he brought his foot up hard, kicking Scar in the jaw. The crack of breaking bone silenced all noises around them. Vlad flipped over, then focused on his body, willing it upward, until he came to land on the side of the building—feet flat against the wall, body parallel to the ground—perfectly perched on the bricks there, held in place by his newfound mastery of his hovering abilities.

  It. Was. COOL.

  Even Vlad didn’t really believe he was capable of all of these moves, even if Vikas had worked with him all during his junior year to get him used to the powers he now possessed.

  He only wished Henry had been there to see all the Slayer butt he was kicking.

  Then Vlad saw something that stole the smile from his face.

  Baldy had withdrawn his stake from its holster. He whipped it up at Vlad and Vlad bent back, but almost too late. The silver tip tore through the fabric of his shirt—right over his heart. His skin was scratched and stung like crazy, but Vlad couldn’t focus on that. He was too angry, too furious that these Slayers didn’t know when to quit.

  Just like Joss.

  Maybe all Slayers were alike.

  He jumped from the building’s side and came down hard, pulling Scar’s and Baldy’s heads down with him, cracking them against the pavement. In one fell swoop, he’d knocked them unconscious and walked away, as if nothing had happened.

  Three steps out of the alley, Vlad stopped and looked back at the wounded Slayers.

  What was he becoming? What on earth was he becoming?

  4

  A TASTE OF INSANTIY

  VLAD SANK DOWN IN THE BACKSEAT of Otis’s car. His thoughts were clouded with the knowledge that he’d just kept two secrets from his uncle in a single day. He hadn’t mentioned the Slayers, he hadn’t told him about drinking from Dorian, and he wasn’t exactly certain why he’d kept those details from Otis.

  Otis pulled into Nelly’s driveway and had just barely come to a stop before Vlad was out the door and inside the house, up the stairs, and pacing back and forth across his bedroom. Vlad was stressed, but more than that he was afraid. Afraid of what he was becoming, afraid of the immense powers that he now possessed.

  On one hand, he didn’t want these powers, didn’t want anything at all to do with freaky Pravus powers. But on the other ... it was really cool knowing that he was capable of almost superhero moves. Still, it scared him to think that he might lose himself in the moment, that he was truly capable of causing someone real harm. It was enough to make his head spin.

  Enough to make him crazy.

  He waited for a good hour, pacing back and forth as quietly as he was able, until the house had gone quiet and Vlad was certain that Nelly was in bed and sleeping. Then he put his plan into action.

  He was going back to the clearing to find his dad.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, not really, but it was all that Vlad had, so he went with it. He cracked open his bedroom door, his ears perked for any sound, any sign that his guardian would catch him sneaking out, but the only noise he heard was Amenti mewing softly downstairs—probably at a mouse, or, more likely, out of boredom. He crept out of his bedroom and cringed the moment the floor of the library squeaked beneath his feet.

  But Nelly didn’t respond.

  Vlad breathed a very soft sigh of relief and moved forward, promising himself that he’d be more careful. To his disbelieving horror, his toe caught the corner of the rug and Vlad flew forward, crashing into the small Tiffany lamp on the table, sending it flying. In slow motion, the lamp toppled forward. Vlad stretched out his arm to catch it, but he was still falling. It became a race to what would hit the ground first—him or the lamp.

  Time picked up its pace just as each of them were mere inches from the floor. The lamp shattered and Vlad landed with a string of curse words. Pieces of colorful glass flew everywhere, and Vlad scrambled to his feet, hastily snatching up the base of the lamp. He set it clumsily back onto the table, cursing and grumbling.

  Now he’d never be able to sneak out and see if the image of Tomas he saw was flesh and blood. Because even a deaf person in a coma would have heard the commotion he just caused.

  He looked at Nelly’s door and readied himself for her questions as to what on earth he was doing up so late smashing her favorite lamp.

  But to his shock and wonder, Nelly didn’t make a sound. Not so much as a peep.

  Vlad raised worried eyebrows and headed to Nelly’s bedroom door, his feet crunching on bits of broken lamp. Knocking lightly, Vlad listened for any sign of Nelly moving within. “Nelly? You okay?”

  When there was no answer, Vlad opened the door a crack to check on his aunt. She was lying in bed, covers bunched all around her, sleeping peacefully, as if the sound of breaking glass and clumsy thumping hadn’t just happened right outside her door.

  Vlad furrowed his brow. He knew she was a heavy sleeper, but this was ridiculous.

  “She’ll be furious that you broke that lamp, Vladimir.” Otis was behind him in the library, a small plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in hand.

  He held it out to his nephew, but Vlad shook his head and turned his eyes back to his snoozing aunt. “Why doesn’t Nelly ever hear me sneaking out? I mean, I’m pretty loud. But she never catches me.”

  Otis bit into a cookie and licked away the warm, gooey chocolate from his bottom lip. “It’s a subconscious order, otherwise known as subconscious control.”

  Vlad stared at him, then blinked. One day, Otis was going to realize that Vlad still wasn’t a hundred percent educated on al
l things vampire. Until then, he was going to have to deal with a lot of questioning glances from his nephew.

  Otis popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth and chewed before he answered. “A subconscious order is control over a human that you don’t even have to think about in order to execute. For instance, you’ve never wanted Nelly to wake up and find you sneaking out, so you told her sleeping mind to keep sleeping.”

  Vlad gawked at him. If Otis had made mention of that trick years ago, Vlad wouldn’t have thought twice about sneaking out, wouldn’t ever have hesitated. “Can all vampires do that?”

  Otis shrugged. “Not all, but some.”

  “Why isn’t it in the Compendium?”

  “No book has all the answers, Vladimir. Not even a book as comprehensive as the Compendium.”

  Vlad sighed. If only the Compendium did have all the answers ... and if only Vlad had any idea at all where it now was. It had disappeared from his possession at the end of his junior year and, despite his search efforts, it didn’t seem to be resurfacing any time soon. Which sucked, because the Compendium knew more about Elysia than Vlad dared to dream. “That sucks.”

  Otis shrugged again and picked up another cookie.

  After stealing one more protective glance at his sleeping aunt, Vlad closed Nelly’s door and looked hopefully at his uncle. “Are you going to tell her I was sneaking out?”

  Otis gauged him for a moment before speaking. “No. I assume you have your reasons.”

  “Thanks, Otis.” Vlad turned, ready to head down the stairs, but Otis stopped him with a word.

  “Vladimir.”

  When Vlad looked back at his uncle, he didn’t need Otis to tell him why he’d called him back. Otis was waiting for an explanation. Otis wanted to know about the return of Vlad’s father.

  Vlad sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I saw him, Otis. I saw my dad. One minute Dorian was saving my life, and the next I was beating Joss to a pulp, ready to kill him, and then ... then my dad told me to stop.”