Third Strike Read online

  To Gwen Kelley, who’s taught me to be strong and who’s shown me that good things come to those who keep moving forward

  DIAL BOOKS

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  Copyright © 2014 by Heather Brewer

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brewer, Heather. • Third strike/Heather Brewer. • pages cm.—(The Slayer chronicles; 3)

  Summary: Joss is given a mission to eradicate vampires in his home town of Santa Carla, where he will need to protect his family, including cousin Henry, who still carries a grudge. • ISBN 978-1-101-59338-7 • [1. Vampires—Fiction. 2. Family life—California—Fiction. 3. California—Fiction. 4. Horror stories.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B75695Thi 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013014215

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  1 THE RETURN OF THE INVISIBLE BOY

  2 THE SUDDEN ONSET OF BEING AMISH

  3 VISITING PATY

  4 SUPERMAN

  5 A BLAST FROM THE PAST

  6 THE FRAGILE LIAR

  7 CECILE’S EYES

  8 AT LONG LAST

  9 THERE ARE WORSE THINGS

  10 CAUGHT IN THE ACT

  11 CURIOSITY AND THE CAT

  12 WORKING IT OUT

  13 A CONVERSATION WITH SIRUS

  14 THE ONSET OF UNDERSTANDING

  15 DREAM TIME

  16 REASONING WITH CECILE

  17 AN UNEXPECTED RELATIONSHIP

  18 VISITING HOURS

  19 A LONG KISS GOOD-BYE

  20 BREAKING THE SEAL

  21 BACK TO NORMAL

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  Writing a book isn’t easy. Writing a series is even less easy. And writing two series that coincide, like The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod and The Slayer Chronicles, is next to impossible. It’s an effort that’s required an incredible team of incredible people, and now that these stories are coming to a close, I want to send my heartfelt thanks to all of you for helping me move from the eighth grade, all the way to London and beyond, from the discovery of Elysia, to the oppressive shadows of the Slayer Society. Without you, this world might not have existed anywhere outside of my imagination. So thank you.

  Michael Bourret—You are the best agent on the planet, and I am deeply indebted to you for all of the wonderful advice, guidance, and support that you’ve given me. You’re a good friend, a great partner, and I wouldn’t have come this far without you and all that you do. Here’s to the future—may it be dark, stormy, and spooky, but only in all of the right ways.

  Maureen Sullivan and Liz Waniewski—You were both such amazing editors. So patient, so brilliant. Thank you for helping me share Vlad and Joss with my Minions in the way that they deserved. I’ve learned so much from both of you, and send you nothing but love and gratitude.

  All of the school and library, marketing and publicity folks at Penguin Young Readers—You got my books into the hands of my Minions. Without your thoughtful outreach and hard work, so many of the Minion Horde wouldn’t have found themselves in Vlad or Joss. I appreciate all that you’ve done, and send you chocolate chip cookies . . . and maybe a steaming mug or two of AB negative.

  The amazing art team at PYR and the incomparable Christian Fuenfhausen—You gifted me with the coolest covers and most FANGtastic mascot on the planet. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you big-time.

  Paul, Jacob, and Alexandria Brewer—Life is a lot like a book series. Some lives are like two book series that coincide. There are a ton of twists and turns, and sometimes it feels like the plot points will never come together just right. But if you stay true to those core characters, if you believe in the central story, you’ll find your way through. The three of you—the four of us—always help me find my way through anything that I face. I have existed in the darkness and in the light, but no matter where I have been or how I have felt at the time, you’ve always been there for me. You are all that matters in my world. And I am blessed to have you. Thank you for being my everything, and for helping me to move forward with my dreams.

  Last, but never least, my Minion Horde—We’ve come a long way, Minions. You’ve trusted me and followed me to Elysia and back, and for that, I am immeasurably grateful. But I’m afraid I must ask you to follow me further, into unexplored territory now. And trust me once again.

  You see, when I began writing The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod, I set out to reach a goal. I wanted to feel better about having been bullied in school, about feeling like such a freak in a world of so-called “normal” people. It seemed like an impossible thing to do, but I accomplished that goal. I wrote great books about a twisted vampire world—books that led me to another world, a world of Slayers and stakes and secrets. I discovered new things about myself, and I hope that you did as well. Because once those stories were printed on pages and glued into a cover, they became your stories. It became your world to explore and enjoy. Since that time, so many of you have created amazing fanfic tales about the characters that I created. And I love that. Please keep going. Because through you, Vlad and Joss live on into eternity. Through you, Henry keeps crackin’ jokes at inappropriate times and Snow keeps being strong. Through you, Eddie Poe keeps being hungry for power, and Cecile keeps Joss’s nights interesting. These books, this world, will never cease to exist. Because of you, Minions. Because of you.

  But these are not the only stories I have to share with you. So take my hand, Minions. Go on, crowd in and squeeze my hand as hard as you need to. Because we’re moving into a place where we haven’t been before, a world beyond Vladimir Tod and Joss McMillan. But I’m here for you and always will be. Let’s move forward together.

  PROLOGUE

  Em carefully lifted the teapot from its place on the doily and poured the steaming blood into two ornate china cups. The color of the burgundy blood against the white of the china was bold and interesting, Em noted. Not like the color of blood soaked into a rug or spattered against the curtains. Perhaps it was the purity of both things, blood and china, she thought, that appealed to her in such a comforting way.

  One cup had been placed in front of Em, and the other in front of her guest, who sat in the shadowed quiet of Em’s parlor. Em offered her guest some sugar, but she politely declined. Em plopped three cubes into her cup, marveling at the crystallized sugar cubes as they melted away into the blood, and sat back with a sigh, content to blow the steam from her cup of AB negative—something an old friend had once described to her as the champagne of blood types.

  “How exactly will you arrange for him to be alone?” The girl’s words were softly spoken, and Em couldn’t help but wonder whether or not she was up to the task. After all, it wasn’t as if this boy, this Slayer called Joss McMillan, were someone easily disregarded. He was skilled. A d
angerous quality for any human with a blood thirst for vampires. He had to be dealt with, and quickly. Em just hoped that she wasn’t choosing poorly by sending this girl to do him in. Though her advantage was obvious, she was still young.

  Very young, in comparison to her youthful-looking host.

  Em sipped from her cup, and as she returned it to its saucer on the table, she dabbed at her lips with a napkin before placing the napkin in her lap. Not many were subjected to this old-world side of Em—the ladylike grace and appreciation of finer things. Not many often saw beyond her youthful appearance of wild colored hair and gothic-style clothing. Few had ever been invited into her parlor, but here she was, with this girl, debating whether or not the girl had what it takes to face an enemy of skill. She was very new to vampire life, as it were. Young, naive, and certainly not well trained. Em wondered if she should have just killed Joss herself, but the thought passed quickly through her mind before it disappeared once again. No. This was the right killer for Joss—the girl had a reluctant hunger inside of her to take the boy’s life. And the boy clearly had a reluctance in him to face her. Hunting him down herself was a recipe for disaster, in Em’s eyes. Em didn’t hunt down the majority of those who have wronged her. She had people for that. People like this promising new protégée. “Everything’s been arranged. Have you been in recent contact with your drudge?”

  The girl picked up her cup at last and took a healthy drink, wincing as she burned her tongue. She nodded as she bit into a thin wafer cookie in an effort to soothe her mouth. Through a mouthful of cookie, she said, “I have. My drudge stands at the ready to assist me.”

  Em wrinkled her nose at the girl’s lack of manners. Truth be told, she’d killed kings and queens for less. But she liked this girl, this newborn vampire, for reasons that she could not yet identify. And so she let the girl live. For now, anyway. “I trust you know what will happen to you both if you fail to take the young Slayer’s life?”

  Her hands strangely steady, her voice oddly confident, the girl looked at Em and said with a tone that conveyed that she was well aware of what was at stake here, “If I don’t kill Joss, you’ll kill us both.”

  “Wrong.” Em’s lips curled into a cruel, sadistic smile. “If you fail in your task, I won’t just kill you both. I’ll obliterate your remains and lick your blood from my walls.”

  There was a pause—a distinct one—before the girl responded. But when she did, her voice sounded just as confident, just as driven as Em had been hoping it would. She returned her cup to its saucer and reached for another cookie. As the sweet treat reached her lips, she smiled in a way that mirrored Em. “Don’t worry. I’m looking forward to taking Joss’s life away. He deserves it for what he did to me.”

  Em released a breath in a soft sigh, settling back in her chair, satisfied. Her eyes moved casually over the walls of her suite. “That’s good to hear, young one. Because I rather do like this wallpaper. It would be a shame to have to replace it.”

  1

  THE RETURN OF THE INVISIBLE BOY

  Joss took a deep breath and reached for his bedroom doorknob once again. He couldn’t hide upstairs all day, and if his dad found out that he was standing in his room when there was entertaining to do, he’d ground Joss on the spot. But Joss had needed just a few minutes to escape the noise and the laughter and the warm bodies that hosting a family reunion at their home had created. He’d needed just a moment to himself, without questions about his school and friends he didn’t have, and the occasional sympathetic gleam in someone’s eyes whenever anyone brought up the word “sister” or the name “Cecile.” What Joss really needed was some time to put on his happy face, his normal teenager mask, when he was anything but. And it’s not like he was the only one in his immediate family who was pretending.

  “Joss! Get your butt outside. Now!” His dad was calling from outside, but he might as well have been standing right next to Joss, his voice was so loud, so full of a tension that had grown by leaps and bounds in the past few years. What would Joss give to ease that tension?

  Just about anything.

  Ever since relatives had begun pouring into their home this morning, his dad had been wearing a plastic smile and referring to Joss as “son”—always with a hearty slap on the back, like they were buddies or something. But his plastic smile, his plastic, cheery voice had slipped just then, and Joss wondered if anyone else had noticed.

  Joss’s mom wore a smile as well, but only when someone else—someone who hadn’t been subjected to the downfall of their immediate family—was looking. But Joss could still see the shadows lurking in her eyes. He could feel the pain wafting off of her in a way that all of their extended family couldn’t—or wouldn’t—in the spirit of keeping this gathering relatively pleasant. It was as if the three of them were merely players putting on an act for the rest of the world to see. A strange play called Normal Family, and Joss had the starring role.

  It was false, this image, but for whatever reason they all felt the need to take part in it, to fool the world, even though Joss was relatively certain that they weren’t fooling anyone. But everyone pretended—even their audience. It was like clapping after the failed performance of a sad troupe of clowns. People felt bad for them. People pitied them. But no one truly believed them.

  Readying himself, Joss donned his fake, polite smile and opened the door to the hall, leaving backstage behind. It was time for Act Two.

  The moment the door was opened, the sounds of family and joyous laughter filled his ears. Joss moved along the short hallway and down the narrow stairs into the kitchen, where he exchanged smiles with Aunt Matilda before she whisked a big bowl of some kind of creamy dip off the counter and into the living room. Joss’s mom followed her with an armload of bags of chips, but as she did, she called over her shoulder, “Joss, please help Henry with those vegetables.”

  Sitting at the counter on a bar stool, his shoulders hunched, looking miserable and angry and on the verge of an explosive outburst, was Henry. A voice from their shared past whispered through Joss’s memory when he saw his cousin. “We’ll always be brothers.”

  Even though there were only a few feet of space between the two cousins, it might as well have been a mile-wide chasm. And Joss wasn’t certain that the chasm could ever be healed. It was a wound in their shared world. One he’d caused. One that Henry was keeping open. Maybe things would never get back to what they had been before the incident with Vlad. With the stake. With the Society.

  On the counter in front of Henry sat a cutting board, a paring knife, a tray half full of sliced vegetables, and a bowl of whole carrots, celery, broccoli, and cauliflower. Joss approached slowly, the way one might approach an animal in the woods. “Need some help?”

  Without warning, Henry stabbed the tip of the knife into the cutting board, so that the knife stood on end. It wavered a tiny bit before stopping, its blade catching the light in a way that made it shine. He met Joss’s eyes, his jaw tight, his every muscle looking wound up like a spring that was about to break. “Why don’t you do it? You’re the one who’s so good at stabbing things. Y’know . . . like people.”

  At first, Joss didn’t know what to say or do. He hadn’t seen Henry since he’d staked the vampire Vladimir Tod in Bathory, and Henry clearly hadn’t forgiven him for having done so, or come to understand Joss’s reasons. Vlad had been Joss’s friend—or so Joss had thought. But Vlad was also a vampire. And killing vampires was Joss’s job. But more than that, it was his mission in life to defend mankind . . . of which his cousin Henry was a part. But Henry refused to understand that. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

  Henry stood and moved past him, knocking his shoulder into Joss’s. As he did, he said, “No. So that should be the last time you bother to ask.”

  Joss didn’t respond or even look after Henry as he left the room. He merely stood there, stunned at how much his life had changed in just a few short year
s, and not knowing whether it would ever again resemble anything at all what it used to be, or if the fiction that it had become would go on forever.

  After a few quiet minutes finishing the vegetable tray, Joss cleaned up and carried the tray into the living room, where the majority of his relatives were gathered. Some of the men were outside, emptying brown bottles with enthusiastic grins and commenting on the meat as Joss’s dad flipped it over on the grill. But one man in particular was still indoors, and it made Joss’s smile switch from false to genuine the moment he saw him. Uncle Mike—or Big Mike, as everyone called him—looped his arm around Joss’s head, tugging him closer, almost knocking the tray from his hand. Then he rubbed his knuckles into Joss’s hair before letting him go. “Hey, Jossie Boy, what are you up to?”

  Joss couldn’t help but grin. His uncle Mike just had a welcoming, happy air about him, like a lighthouse to a lost crew. After setting the tray on the coffee table next to the dip, Joss turned back to his uncle and beamed. “Not much. I saw Henry in the kitchen. He seemed . . . upset.”

  He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it up exactly. There was nothing that anyone, not even Big Mike, could do to mend what was broken between Joss and his cousin. Because the truth was that Joss had staked Vlad, intending to kill him, and Henry would never forgive him for that. But what Henry didn’t know was that a small whisper of doubt had entered Joss’s mind just before the stake had made contact with Vlad’s skin, and Joss had moved the weapon slightly to the left on purpose, knowing that Vlad would likely survive.

  Because Joss wasn’t sure how he felt about Vlad, exactly. How he felt about Dorian. How he felt about vampires in general. He was confused. But Henry wouldn’t understand that either.

  Big Mike ruffled Joss’s hair with his enormous hand. “Don’t you let Henry’s foul mood get you down, Jossie Boy. That boy’s been moody for months now. I think it’s girl troubles, myself, but your Aunt Matilda thinks he and his buddy Vlad—you remember Vlad—are having issues. He’ll get through it. Just don’t you mind him until he does.”