RAZORBILL
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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, Auckland 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
penguin.com
First published in the USA by Dutton Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2010
Published in Great Britain in Razorbill, an imprint of Penguin Books Ltd, 2011
Text copyright © Heather Brewer, 2010
Designed by Jason Henry
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and designer has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-141-96585-7
PROLOGUE: A BRIEF DETOUR
1 AN UNEXPECTED REUNION
2 BITTER TASTES
3 UNDER SUSPICION
4 A TASTE OF INSANITY
5 THE LONG SEARCH
6 UNEXPECTED COMPANY
7 EVERYTHING
8 A CELEBRATION INTERRUPTED
9 BROTHERS IN ARMS
10 A FRIEND IN NEED
11 FAMILY
12 UNEXPECTED WORDS
13 SCHOOL SUCKS
14 EATING WITH EDDIE–OR–VLAD’S WORST NIGHTMARE
15 KRISTOFF’S REVENGE
16 STRENGTH
17 THE HUNGER
18 ECHOES FROM THE PAST
19 THE TRUTH HURTS
20 LIFE’S LITTLE SURPRISES
21 A SLAYER’S DETERMINATION
22 BREAKING AND ENTERING
23 HALLOWEEN
24 SHUTTING UP
25 THE END OF ALL SECRETS
26 GOING HOME
27 INVITATIONS
28 THANKSGIVING
29 A QUESTION OF HONESTY
30 CONFRONTING OTIS
31 TO TRUST OR NOT TO TRUST
32 THE FOOD OF GENUIS
33 UNHAPPY NEW YEAR
34 THE BEGINNING OF THE END
35 THE CLEANSING
36 COMING OUT OF THE COFFIN
37 TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS
38 FALLEN SNOW
39 COME THE PRAVUS
40 THE TRUTH
41 HONOR THY FATHER
42 SAYING GOODBYE
43 FLOWERS FOR NELLY
44 THE RETRIAL
45 GRADUATION
Books by Heather Brewer
The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod series:
EIGHTH GRADE BITES
NINTH GRADE SLAYS
TENTH GRADE BLEEDS
ELEVENTH GRADE BURNS
TWELFTH GRADE KILLS
Heather Brewer was not your typical teen growing up, and she’s certainly not your typical adult now. She believes that teens are the answer to the world’s problems, that spiderwebs are things of beauty, and that every occasion calls for black nail polish. When she’s not dressing in black, she’s dressing in black … and counts herself lucky to be the supreme ruler of the Minion Horde. Heather doesn’t believe in happy endings … unless they involve blood. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two children. Visit Heather at www.heatherbrewer.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.
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.”
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 for 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.
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?”
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 Mc-Millan.
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 hot.”
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.
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?”
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. “It’s 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.”