Twelfth Grade Kills Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 - AN UNEXPECTED REUNION

  Chapter 2 - BITTER TASTES

  Chapter 3 - UNDER SUSPICION

  Chapter 4 - A TASTE OF INSANTIY

  Chapter 5 - THE LONG SEARCH

  Chapter 6 - UNEXPECTED COMPANY

  Chapter 7 - EVERYTHING

  Chapter 8 - A CELEBRATION INTERRUPTED

  Chapter 9 - BROTHERS IN ARMS

  Chapter 10 - A FRIEND IN NEED

  Chapter 11 - FAMILY

  Chapter 12 - UNEXPECTED WORDS

  Chapter 13 - SCHOOL SUCKS

  Chapter 14 - EATING WITH EDDIE —OR—VLAD’S WORST NIGHTMARE

  Chapter 15 - KRISTOFF’S REVENGE

  Chapter 16 - STRENGTH

  Chapter 17 - THE HUNGER

  Chapter 18 - ECHOES FROM THE PAST

  Chapter 19 - THE TRUTH HURTS

  Chapter 20 - LIFE’S LITTLE SURPRISES

  Chapter 21 - A SLAYER’S DETERMINATION

  Chapter 22 - BREAKING AND ENTERING

  Chapter 23 - HALLOWEEN

  Chapter 24 - SHUTTING UP

  Chapter 25 - THE END OF ALL SECRETS

  Chapter 26 - GOING HOME

  Chapter 27 - INVITATIONS

  Chapter 28 - THANKSGIVING

  Chapter 29 - A QUESTION OF HONESTY

  Chapter 30 - CONFRONTING OTIS

  Chapter 31 - TO TRUST OR NOT TO TRUST

  Chapter 32 - THE FOOD OF GENIUS

  Chapter 33 - UNHAPPY NEW YEAR

  Chapter 34 - THE BEGINING OF THE END

  Chapter 35 - THE CLEANSING

  Chapter 36 - COMING OUT OF THE COFFIN

  Chapter 37 - TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS

  Chapter 38 - FALLEN SNOW

  Chapter 39 - COME THE PRAVUS

  Chapter 40 - THE TRUTH

  Chapter 41 - HONOR THY FATHER

  Chapter 42 - SAYING GOODBYE

  Chapter 43 - FLOWERS FOR NELLY

  Chapter 44 - THE RETRIAL

  Chapter 45 - GRADUATION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DUTTON CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. ▼ Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) ▼ Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England ▼ Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2. Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) ▼ Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) ▼ Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India ▼ Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) ▼ Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa ▼ Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Heather Brewer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

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

  CIP Data is available.

  Published in the United States by Dutton Children’s Books.

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  345 Hudson Street, New York. New York 10014

  www.penguin.com/youngreaders

  eISBN : 978-1-101-44345-3

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my agent, Michael Bourret, for believing in Vlad—and me—from the very beginning, and for continuing to believe.

  And to the Minion Horde, for being the most fangtastic bunch of outcasts on the planet. Without you, Vlad would not be.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  An enormous amount of thanks should go to my incredible editors, Liz Waniewski and Maureen Sullivan, for their brilliance and immeasurable amount of patience. Big, well-deserved thanks to Team Vlad at Penguin Young Readers: Don Weisberg, Lauri Hornik, Felicia Frazier, Scottie Bow-ditch, Erin Dempsey, Jennifer Haller, Andrew Harwell, Shanta Newlin, Christian Fuenfhausen, Emily Romero, Courtney Wood, Allison Verost, Rosanne Lauer, Jason Henry, and many more I’m sure I’m forgetting to name here.

  Thanks to my sister, Dawn Vanniman, for keeping my sanity (relatively) intact and for being there whenever I need her. And a big shout-out to MTB, who truly get it.

  Paul, Jacob, and Alexandria, I could not have written and published an entire series without your unfailing support. Nor could I continue to write, and continue to feel happy, safe, and loved without the Brewer Clan behind me every step of the way. You’ve helped me reach “The End.” And this is only the beginning.

  PROLOGUE

  A BRIEF DETOUR

  D’ABLO’S FLESH had almost completely healed from his blistering battle with the sun a year and a half before, but his hand ... his hand was gone for good. He was eternally scarred and the honor of his name forever stained, all because of a teenage boy by the name of Vladimir Tod.

  Now D’Ablo dropped to his knees and shook his head, his wide eyes locked on the man before him, his voice trembling slightly. “But . . . why? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  The man standing before D’Ablo remained silent. His features were draped with shadows, as if even the lights cast by the office lamps were afraid to touch him.

  The air was thick, full of a warning that D’Ablo could not deny. And even though the office window was open and a slight breeze was ruffling the curtains, the air felt heavy, stale, stagnant, old. It was difficult to breathe in.

  “I’ve . . .” D’Ablo began his thought, but then closed his mouth again, fearing the repercussions his words might bring.

  He looked at the man—the familiar face, features he knew all too well—and held his hands up in a pleading gesture. Or more exactly, his only hand ... and the stump that had been left behind after Vlad had taken that hand with the Lucis.

  But his pleading would not be enough to stop what was coming.

  Suddenly, the Shadow Man leaped across the room, knocking D’Ablo onto the floor. With his fangs bared, the Shadow Man thrust his hand forward. The tips of his fingers pierced D’Ablo’s flesh. D’Ablo howled and thrashed in torment, gnashing his teeth, struggling to get free. The man pushed hard, forcing his hand deeper inside D’Ablo’s chest. With a bitter purse of his lips, he whispered into D’Ablo’s ear, “I have put this off for far too long. You have served your purpose.”

  He gripped D’Ablo’s still beating heart and pulled, freeing the organ from his chest. Standing, the man squeezed until what he had held was no more than a mushy pulp. The light left D’Ablo’s eyes.

  He was dead.

  The door opened and a second man entered. The man in shadows stood and shook D’Ablo’s blood from his hand. “Remove the head and burn the body. I want to make sure he stays dead.”

  1
/>   AN UNEXPECTED REUNION

  DAD?”

  The word trembled, perhaps even more than Vlad’s lips were trembling as he spoke it aloud. He searched the man’s eyes, scrutinized his laugh lines, dared to seek out some flaw that would show him that the man standing in front of him was anyone but his father.

  But there was no flaw to be found. It was Tomas. Or maybe his twin. Not that he had had a twin. Even if he did, the odds of him and his twin brother both becoming vampires were astronomical. And the man standing before him was definitely a vampire. Vlad could smell it on him.

  It smelled like blood. And wisdom. And youth. All rolled together.

  There was nothing else like it in the world.

  Vlad’s vision blurred with tears, his heart filling with impossible doubt. This couldn’t be his father. His father was dead. He knew. He’d seen the charred corpse, smelled death in the room. Tomas Tod was dead.

  And standing right in front of him.

  Doubtfully, almost angrily, he croaked, “Dad?”

  Tomas nodded, his mouth shrugging, sorrow and pain and loss lurking in his eyes. When he spoke, it removed only a portion of Vlad’s doubt. “Yes, son.”

  Vlad turned at the shuffling noise behind him. Joss, bleeding, broken, was scrambling for the stake, struggling to stand.

  For a moment, Vlad had all but forgotten him, had all but forgotten that he was about to kill Joss. His friend. His betrayer.

  Joss stumbled, collapsing on the ground. Vlad flicked his eyes between Joss and his father, but remained motionless, in complete, captured awe of the man before him.

  “Are you ...” Vlad gulped, the taste of Dorian’s blood still on his tongue, the memory of Dorian’s madness still racing through his thoughts. Dorian had been brilliant, but insane. Had Vlad inherited some of that insanity by drinking his blood? Had his worst fears been realized? He’d known that doing as Dorian had asked and drinking from him would be a terrible risk, but he’d done it anyway. Otis had drank from Dorian’s son, Adrian, and now had telekinetic powers, so it’s not like the warning of bizarre consequences hadn’t been there in front of him the entire time. And yet, he went through with it. Just before Dorian died, Vlad had drank his blood. And maybe now he was crazy. Maybe now there was no going back at all.

  He took a deep breath and forced the words from his lips, already knowing that the answer to his question was no. It had to be. Because he was like Dorian now. He was crazy. Completely, utterly insane. Not to mention hallucinating. “Are you real?”

  The vision of his father merely smiled. Tomas stood in silence—a memory, something looming over Vlad’s every thought, every nightmare, every action. His father. His dead father.

  Here. Now.

  Vlad closed his eyes briefly, haunted by the memory of the fire that took his parents, wondering if it was to be his punishment to see visions of his father now. Growing more and more certain that feeding from Dorian had poisoned his mind, Vlad sighed and opened his eyes again.

  The man that looked like his father, his crazy vision, whatever it was ... was gone.

  Only he and Joss and Dorian’s corpse remained in the clearing.

  Vlad spun around, searching the surrounding area, but saw no one. Not even so much as a broken twig, indicating movement. His heart sank. Crazy or not, it had been nice to see his father’s smiling face again.

  Then there was a noise. Vlad whipped around to see Henry racing into the clearing, his face ghostly pale. “Vlad! Are you okay? I had this horrible feeling. Like ... like you needed me.”

  And Vlad did need him. He’d just beaten Joss within an inch of his life, and had just witnessed the impossible. He may have just made the biggest mistake ever—drinking from a madman—and right now, the only person in the world he felt he could count on was his drudge. His best friend. “Henry ... everything is so messed up.”

  Henry’s eyes went wide as they dropped to Vlad’s mouth. “Dude, is that blood? Who have you been feeding on?”

  Vlad’s eyes moved to Dorian’s corpse. Henry’s followed. He shook his head. “You fed on the creepy vampire stalker guy? No offense, Vlad, but I imagine there are tastier options out there.”

  “I had to. He ... he told me I had to. And Joss ... oh man, Joss!” Vlad took a deep breath before rushing to where the Slayer lay, the memory of his father still burning on the edge of his thoughts. But he couldn’t tell Henry. Not yet. It was too fresh, like an exposed wound.

  Joss was lying on his back, his forehead smooth, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, pained breaths. Breaths that rapidly slowed until it seemed there were no breaths at all. Vlad knelt beside him, trepidation taking hold of every cell in his body. “Joss?”

  But Joss couldn’t answer. He was unconscious. Or worse. Had Vlad killed him? It was possible. Hell, with Vlad’s vampire strength, not to mention his unleashed fury, it was likely.

  Henry swore under his breath and knelt beside his cousin, his heartbeat racing. Vlad listened to the steady thumps pounding in his ears, drowning out any sign that Joss was still alive. “What happened, Vlad? What happened between you two? What did you do?”

  Vlad put two shaking, terrified fingers to Joss’s neck and sighed in relief at the steady beating of a pulse.

  He hadn’t killed Joss. And felt strangely both relieved and disappointed by that fact.

  Henry went into action. Without meeting Vlad’s eyes, he pulled Joss’s cell phone from his pocket and said, “We have to get him to the hospital. I’m calling an ambulance. You head back to Nelly’s. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No, Henry.” Vlad shook his head slowly. “I’m staying here with him until the ambulance comes. It’s the least I can do.”

  Henry set his jaw. “The least you can do is get out of here so we don’t have too many questions from the cops. I got this, Vlad. Let me handle it.”

  “No.” Vlad’s tone became darker and gravelly, full of determination. He couldn’t leave Joss. Not now. Not after almost killing him. “I need to stay.”

  Henry sighed heavily. “Fine. But once the ambulance takes him away, you’re going to tell me everything that happened here tonight.”

  Time flew in a series of moments and emotions, but Vlad didn’t feel present in it. He was there, but not really there at all. He was the cause of this. Just as Joss had been the cause of Vlad’s near death just a few short years before.

  He waited by Joss’s side, whispering apologies. Apologies that he wouldn’t have meant only moments ago. Apologies that he never would have dreamed he would utter to the boy who had betrayed him in so many ways.

  He was sorry. Even if Joss had deserved every blow. He was sorry.

  Henry was at his side, quiet and aloof.

  Then, before the cops came, Vlad and Henry retreated into the woods, hiding, so that no one could see them. It seemed like only moments—mere breaths—before they saw the lights flashing as the ambulance approached. Lights so similar to those that he’d seen in his feverish memories after Joss had stabbed that damn stake of his through Vlad’s back, through his heart. Lights that had convinced him he was dying. He wondered if Joss was convinced of that now, or if the pain had dragged him under already.

  Vlad’s eyes locked on Dorian’s corpse. The EMTs approached Joss, and Vlad knew they’d see Dorian. He knew there would be questions. Then, as if Dorian wasn’t even there, the two men stepped over his corpse and headed straight for Joss.

  Once the lights from the ambulance had faded into the distance, Vlad turned away, leaving the scene of his crime behind. Leaving the man who looked like his father behind. Leaving his anger toward Joss behind. Leaving everything, perhaps even a bit of himself, behind for good. Nothing mattered now. Only his friend, the boy he put into the hands of doctors and nurses. Only Joss mattered.

  Because Joss was his friend. Because after everything they’d been through, he knew that fact more than anything. If Joss had mistakenly killed Dorian when trying to kill him, there had to be a reason f
or it.

  Because they were friends.

  And all that mattered right now was making sure Joss was okay. Nothing else. Not even Vlad’s dad. If it was his dad. It might have been a ghost, or something weird cooked up by Vlad’s imagination. It was something, for sure.

  Something. Something not real.

  Something Dorian’s blood had put inside his brain.

  2

  BITTER TASTES

  A WARM SUMMER BREEZE brushed Vlad’s black bangs from his eyes as he and Henry made their way back to Nelly’s house. As soon as the ambulance had pulled away, Henry had demanded answers from Vlad, and, after covering Dorian’s body with some fallen, leaf-covered branches, Vlad had given them.

  Even though they were hard to say. Even though the truth of it all wasn’t very pretty.

  Vlad had been walking away, away from everything. He was going to clean out his parents’ room and then leave Bathory behind forever. He was going to run from Elysia’s brand of justice like a coward. But something had stopped him, and that something was Joss. Or, more accurately, Joss’s stake.

  He had no idea what had made Joss attack him. In fact, he’d thought they’d come to a sort of understanding in their unusual friendship. But Joss had attacked, and if it hadn’t been for Dorian stepping in the way, Joss would have killed Vlad.

  Then Dorian had told Vlad to do the impossible: drink from him. He’d said it was the only way for Vlad to know the prophecy of the Pravus. So, moments before Dorian’s death, he drank. And then he’d turned his fury on Joss, but was stopped.

  And now ... now everything was messed up and nothing would ever be the same again.

  “What made you stop?”

  Vlad blinked, slowing his steps some. “What do you mean?”

  Henry was still right beside him, keeping his pace, his eyes occasionally finding Vlad in the darkness. “What made you stop beating Joss? What made you not kill him?”