Tenth Grade Bleeds Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 - ENTER IGATIUS

  Chapter 2 - AT SUMMER’S END

  Chapter 3 - RETURN tO BATHORY HIGH

  Chapter 4 - A LONG GOOD BYE

  Chapter 5 - AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  Chapter 6 - IN ANTICIPATION OF BLOOD

  Chapter 7 - HALLOWEEN

  Chapter 8 - STANDING UP

  Chapter 9 - THE PERFECT GIFT

  Chapter 10 - CLOSE ENOUGH TO TOUCH

  Chapter 11 - THE PRICE OF A STOLEN MOMENT

  Chapter 12 - A DRUDGE’S LOYALTY

  Chapter 13 - THE MANY FACES OF FRIENDSHIP

  Chapter 14 - UNFAMILIAR GROUND

  Chapter 15 - THE FEAST BEFORE THE KILL

  Chapter 16 - A RESTLESS NIGHT

  Chapter 17. - PROTOCOL

  Chapter 18 - THE CRYPT

  Chapter 19. - THE OTHER’S GOLD

  Chapter 20 - GROUNDED

  Chapter 21 - MAYBE FEDEX WASN’T SUCH MAYBE FEDEX WASN’T SUCN a BAD IDEA

  Chapter 22 - HIDDEN IN BLOOD

  Chapter 23 - THE RITUAL

  Chapter 24 - A DIFFICULT DECISION

  Chapter 25 - THE AFTERMATH

  Chapter 26 - SWEET RELEASE

  Chapter 27 - FREEDOM FEST

  Chapter 28 - AN OVERDUE APOLOGY

  ADDENDA

  DUTTON CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  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,

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  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 © 2009 by Heather Brewer

  eISBN : 978-1-101-02000-5

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To you,

  for being who you are

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It would be easier to thank all of the people who have contributed to my success by writing “thanks, everyone,” because there have been so many people that have blessed my life that I am positive I’ll leave out at least one or two. To those I do forget—my deepest apologies.

  I’d like to thank Maureen Sullivan, who is quite possibly the smartest woman on the planet, and whom I am blessed to be edited by. Also, Michael Bourret, who isn’t just brilliant, but funny and insightful too—qualities that make him the best literary agent that any author could ever have. To everyone at Dutton—you are amazing people and the magic that you perform stuns me every time I am witness to it.

  Jackie Kessler—you are the best friend a gal could have, and I’d happily face hellfire with you (besides . . . you have the map). Dawn Vanniman—I love you, sis! Kylie McAuliffe—a most loyal Minion and fangtastic contest winner. And, once again, thanks to Paul, Jacob, and Alexandria—you are my everything. I am absolutely amazed by your support, your dedication, and your unfailing belief in me. Without you, none of this would be possible.

  Most importantly, thanks must go to my Minion Horde, of which you have just become a part by picking up this book. Without you, my Minion, I am nothing, and Vlad is but a piece of fiction. In your hands, he becomes real. Thank you, from both of us.

  1

  ENTER IGATIUS

  IGNATIUS DREW THE CURVED BLADE along the whetstone slowly, the gritty sound filling his ears. It had to be sharp, sharp enough to slice into bone if necessary. He didn’t expect to kill the halfling boy, only to damage him, break him, before dragging his nearly lifeless body before the council, as he’d been hired to do. But if the boy gave him any trouble at all, Ignatius would take his bloody pleasures slowly, so that the boy felt every bruise, every cut.

  He almost hoped the boy would fight back, give him an excuse to torture him. After all, he had it coming. His very existence was an abomination.

  Small sparks flew from the blade, and at last, Ignatius pulled metal from stone. He ran his thumb along the steel, splitting his pale skin open. Blood—rich, red—dripped from the cut before it healed closed again.

  He was hungry. It was always better to hunt when he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten in months, in eager anticipation of that insatiable need pushing him through the capture and, perhaps, the kill.

  The council had been clear: “Bring us Vladimir Tod and your reward will be immeasurable.” They never mentioned in what condition to bring him, had only barely stressed that he should be living. Little did they know, Ignatius didn’t require payment. Causing the boy’s suffering—and perhaps even his death, he thought with a pleasant shiver—would be reward enough.

  The boy who would be the Pravus. The thought enraged Ignatius further, and he returned his blade to the whetstone, working it slowly, smoothing the edge into a razor.

  Soon. Once the final paperwork was signed, his hunt would begin.

  And Vladimir Tod would be made to suffer.

  2

  AT SUMMER’S END

  VLAD SQUEEZED HIS EYES TIGHT and listened to the thumping of his heartbeat and the whoosh of his blood as it pumped through his vampire veins. Well, half-vampire veins, anyway. His stomach had been rumbling loudly for the last half hour, and the hunger eased the task of locating his uncle with nothing more than his vampire intuition. Otis hadn’t thought that it would. Actually, he’d presumed quite the opposite—the same way Vikas had been surprised during their training sessions in Siberia last year when Vlad confessed he found it easier to push into people’s minds when he was hungry. It turned out Vlad was a freak in that regard as well. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, the hunger seemed to sharpen his vampire skills.

  He tightened his stomach muscles and refrained from pushing into Otis’s mind. As his uncle had said, sensing a vampire’s location wasn’t about tapping into his thoughts. It was about reaching out with your blood, your very vampire cells, and feeling the presence of one of your kind, gauging the distance they stood from you.

  With a deep breath, Vlad reached out and sensed his uncle’s presence northwest of where he stood on the front porch of his Aunt Nelly’s house, the house he’d called home for five years. The corners of his lips rose in a half smile as he spoke to Otis with his thoughts. “Oh come on! That’s too easy. Go farther away! You’re only a half mile out. Even Henry could detect you at this distance.”

  “Your drudge couldn’t detect the Stop & Shop with the aid of a GPS.”

  Vlad laughed aloud, brushing his black hair out of his eyes and dropping his gaze to his shoes, the smile still firmly fixed to his lips. “How am I doing, anyway?”

  “Exc
eptionally well, Vladimir, but I’d wager you don’t need me to tell you that. In fact, better than any vampire I’ve ever encountered. Most can detect our kind up to roughly six hundred yards. But you . . . you’re clearly gifted in this regard—your father would be proud. Now, clear your mind and try again in five minutes.”

  He sat on the steps and stared up at the star-speckled sky. A cool breeze brushed his cheek. As of tomorrow, summer would be at its end, and Nelly would no longer have an open mind about his late-night activities—even those with Otis. He had hoped this evening could last forever, but the first day of school was looming, and with it, something disturbing that he’d been pushing out of his mind all summer.

  There was no stopping it. Not anymore, anyway. He’d whined, pleaded with, and appealed to his uncle until he was blue in the face. But there would be no further delay. It was inevitable. It was time.

  Uncle Otis was leaving.

  Worse yet, there was absolutely nothing that Vlad could possibly do to prevent it.

  It wasn’t just that Otis was going away again that jangled Vlad’s nerves; it was the fact that he’d gotten used to Otis’s comforting protection in the past few months. What was Vlad supposed to do if his former friend Joss decided to return to Bathory and unleash his Slayer skills all over again? He didn’t think it was mathematically possible to survive another stake through the heart. Surviving it once was bad enough. And it had raised the possibility that he just might possibly be, maybe actually really be, the Pravus. The half-vampire, half-human, ruling-over-vampirekind, enslaving-the-human-race subject of prophecy that Elysia had been watching out for for centuries. Just thinking about it gave Vlad the chills.

  And even if he really were the Pravus, he seriously doubted that D’Ablo would back off for another entire year, especially since the last time Vlad saw the fanged jerk he had all but mimicked Arnold Schwarzenegger’s catch-phrase of “I’ll be back.”

  Man, sometimes it really sucked being a vampire.

  Especially a teen vampire.

  Whose vampire uncle was about to pull outta town and leave him to his own defenses.

  Vlad stood back up and listened to his heartbeat: slow, strong, amazingly healthy after his encounter with Joss last year. After a moment, he reached out to Otis and felt his presence. Only this time he didn’t just feel him standing three blocks away; he could almost see him there, leaning casually with his back against the streetlight across from Mr. Craig’s old house. It was as if he were watching the scene through the lens of a large, omniscient camera.

  He furrowed his brow. “Otis, are you standing across from Mr. Craig’s house, leaning against a pole?”

  Otis’s voice, hesitant in Vlad’s mind. “Vladimir, you’re supposed to be judging my distance from you. Are you tapping into my thoughts? I can’t feel you in there.”

  “No. I’m watching you. At least, I think I am. From the outside.”

  Otis grew very quiet and walked quickly out of view from the camera in Vlad’s mind. Then the camera clicked off, and Vlad chewed his bottom lip in contemplation. In moments, thanks to his vampire speed, Otis was making his way up the street to where Vlad stood. His face seemed paler than usual, his eyes large and wide, almost suspicious. When he opened the gate, he frowned, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were distressed. “How did you see me, Vladimir? Exactly what were you doing?”

  Vlad shrugged, his nerves fraying some—he’d seen that look in Otis’s eyes several times over the summer, and each time had ended up reminding him what a freak he was, even in the vampire world. “I didn’t do anything different, just reached out with my blood, the way you taught me. Why?”

  Otis shook his head. “Vampires can’t tell who it is we sense or precisely where they are, only how far away from us they’re located and how many there are.”

  Vlad sighed. “Great. I can’t do the simplest thing without screwing it up with my weirdness.”

  “It’s not a curse, Vladimir. It’s a blessing.” But in Otis’s softly spoken words lurked a lie.

  Vlad’s jaw tensed, but he kept his tone light. “ Then you be the Pravus. I’m too tired to reign over vampirekind, let alone enslave the human race.”

  Otis smiled, but it was forced. Behind his casual pose Vlad sensed fear. “Is that what you want, to do as prophecy deems you will—if, in fact, you are the so-called Pravus?”

  “I don’t know. Being godlike might have its perks.” The corner of Vlad’s mouth rose in a smirk, but then he shrugged with one shoulder and dropped his gaze to the ground between his feet. “But even if I am—and . . . well, I think we both know that’s a very real possibility.”

  Otis shifted his feet, and Vlad braced himself. Vlad wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t failed to notice Otis’s changed behavior—the discomfort and awkward, nervous glances ever since Joss had put him in the hospital with a stake through the heart. Only the Pravus could have survived something like that. Worse than the idea that he could be a danger to humans everywhere, and a tyrant to his fellow creatures of the night, was that his uncle, his last living relative, was living in fear of him . . . or rather, of what he might be, and probably was.

  “Even if I am the Pravus, it’s like you told me, Otis. A man is the choices that he makes. And I fully intend to make good choices, to be a good man. Like my dad was.” He met Otis’s eyes then and smiled, hoping his words would be enough to calm Otis’s fears, if only for the evening.

  But Otis still looked troubled.

  Vlad looked up into the night sky. “It sucks that summer is almost over. No more late nights outside with you, learning new skills. Not that there could possibly be much more to learn.”

  “Oh, there’s one or two that I haven’t taught you yet.” Otis winked. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.” Vlad’s fangs slipped down from his gums in acknowledgment. He ran his tongue across their tips and met Otis’s eyes. “By the way, I wanted to thank you. You know, for not feeding on humans while you’re here. I know it hasn’t been easy, living on bagged blood when you’re used to feeding straight from the source. But I really appreciate the effort . . . even though you’ll probably gorge on whole families after you’ve left Bathory.”

  Otis chuckled but, Vlad noticed, he didn’t negate Vlad’s jibe. “And I want to thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  Otis turned and led the way up the steps of the porch. He opened the front door, holding it for Vlad, then followed his nephew inside. “Many things. For putting up with an old fool’s superstitions. For outshining our brethren in wisdom and skill. For allowing me to share your home. And mostly, for helping me to see your father, Tomas, again, through you.”

  Vlad felt his cheeks flush a little. “It’s not like I even had a say about you staying here—there was no way Nelly would let you stay anywhere else. And neither would I. You belong here with us, Otis.”

  Otis grew quiet for a moment, and then nodded, as if making a momentous decision. “Come, Vladimir. I want to show you something.”

  Otis led him into the kitchen, where he rummaged through several drawers before finally withdrawing a paring knife. “There is power in blood. I’m certain you know this. But something I have not yet taught you is how that power may be utilized for your protection, and the protection of those you care for. And with me leaving . . . well, I’d feel better if you knew more about how to protect yourself.”

  Otis placed the knife on the counter between them and kept his voice low, as if afraid that they would wake Nelly, or maybe, Vlad thought, afraid that Nelly would overhear. “Reach back, Vlad. Do you recall me carving my name in Elysian code into that small box in your dresser two years ago?”

  Vlad nodded. How could he forget it? He’d thought Otis was some psychotic vampire, marking him for death. It was funny how wrong he’d turned out to be.

  Otis pushed up his left sleeve, revealing the thick black tattooed symbol on his wrist. When he placed it near Vlad’s own tattooed wrist, both symbols glowed br
ightly. “I was marking you, vowing with my life to protect you by inscribing my vampire name into one of your possessions. It was a warning to any vampire who wanted to cause you grief that they would have me to deal with. You remember my explanation of that?”

  Vlad smiled at their tattoos and offered a nod. “Of course I do. But what’s with the knife?”

  “Marking someone is taken very seriously in the vampire world. But it is more of an oath, a vow, than an element of power. The real power of our Elysian names is when they are used in the creation of glyphs.” Otis plucked the knife from the counter and pressed the tip against the soft pad of his pointer finger. The shiny metal broke the skin, allowing a crimson bubble to form. Vlad’s stomach rumbled. He and Otis exchanged somber looks—one hungry vampire to another. Otis nodded apologetically. “Normally I’d just bite my finger, but I fear the taste of blood—even my own—would be too much to bear at this point. And I made a promise to you that I intend to keep. No feeding from the source while I am here in Bathory.”

  Otis placed his bloodied finger against the wood of the nearest cupboard door and, with his blood, drew his name in Elysian code, the tattooed symbol on his wrist. As he did so, the blood soaked into the wood. Seconds later, the wood began to burn where his blood had touched. Otis looked at Vlad. “Open it.”

  Vlad furrowed his brow and reached for the knob, but it was stuck fast. “I can’t.”

  “I know. I empowered that as a locking glyph. As I drew my name, my mark, I fed my intent into the blood with my thoughts.” Otis smiled, but beneath his smile there was something else—concern, maybe. Or fear. Again, fear. “In blood, there is power. But your name is powerful as well. Combined, you can protect loved ones and precious objects, keep secrets, even harm unwanted trespassers. Glyphs are crucial to vampire society, to our way of life. But they are also dangerous, Vladimir, when used incorrectly or not respected. Use your glyphs wisely, and keep your distance from those that glow red.”