The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills by Heather Brewer Read Free Book Online Page A

something in Elysian code that had to be a curse word. Henry winced at the sound of it, even though he—like Vlad—had no idea what Otis was saying. When Otis turned to Vlad, Otis began pacing back and forth across the room. “Who told you that? Who told you those words? Who told you that there was such a thing as a Keeper and a Subject?”
    Vlad wet his lips and tried hard to keep his voice calm, even though it sure felt like Otis was trying to fight with him. “Dorian did.”
    “And you believed him.”
    It wasn’t a question, but Vlad offered a single nod in response.
    Otis stopped pacing and shook his head slowly, sadly—as if he’d failed at saving his nephew from something truly frightening. He placed his palms on the table, closed his eyes, and simply breathed deeply for several minutes before speaking again.
    The silence was deafening, and droned on for what seemed like an eternity.
    “Have you experienced any ... strange effects ... since feeding from him?”
    “Only if you count seeing my dead father.” Vlad sighed, his eyes flicking to Henry and back to his uncle. “Dorian said I could know the prophecy if I drank from him. That’s why I did it, Otis. Because he said that it was his job as the Keeper of the Prophecy to deliver the prophecy to me, and that the only way to do it was for me to feed from him. The prophecy ... it’s in his blood. Or was. Now it’s in mine.”
    Otis released a sharp, disbelieving breath—one that immediately filled Vlad with shame. “And have you complete knowledge of this so-called prophecy now, Vladimir?”
    Vlad’s heart slid up into his throat.
    Otis didn’t believe him.
    He swallowed hard and met his uncle’s gaze, certainty and confidence filling him to the brim. “Otis, I’ve seen the prophecy, and whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s real. As real as the blood in my veins.”
    Henry had finally finished his sandwich and joined the conversation with something Vlad had expected to come from Otis’s mouth. “What if Dorian was lying?”
    “He was not lying.” Vikas’s voice rumbled into the room as he entered. “Dorian was mad, this is true, but he was an honest man. An honest madman. And I happen to know for a fact that he did indeed carry the prophecy in his veins.”
    Vlad really looked at Vikas for the first time since he’d drank from Dorian. His voice was quiet, and tinged with a strange sense of disbelief. “You were there that night. You killed those men—the Foreteller and Transcriber—once Dorian knew the prophecy.”
    Vikas offered a single nod. “That I did, Mahlyenki Dyavol, as it was to be Dorian’s task, but the boy was too weak, and far too gentle to commit such an act. As twisted as his mind was, it was only out of reaction to all that he had been faced with. I rather liked Dorian and was sad to hear of his passing. Apart from his madness, he was a kindly vampire.”
    Vlad nodded in agreement, relieved to learn that he wasn’t the only one who’d come to understand Dorian, to like him. Otis was staring at them both as if they’d lost their minds, but he didn’t speak.
    Vikas stepped closer, his smile warm. “Have you had any visions, Mahlyenki Dyavol?”
    Vlad sighed. In fact, he had. Right after drinking Dorian’s blood, he’d had a vision of himself ruling over vampirekind and enslaving the human race. But admitting that was admitting that he would one day soon be the evil thing the prophecy had foretold. So he lied. “No. Nothing yet.”
    Vikas sighed and patted Vlad on the shoulder. His eyes sparkled with encouragement and support—nothing like what Otis had been offering. “Perhaps with time.”
    Changing the subject to a more comfortable one, Otis said, “Any luck with your search for Tomas, Vikas? We haven’t had much luck here in town at all.”
    Vikas shook his head and took a seat at the long plank table, eyeing a bottle of bloodwine. “No luck as of yet, my old friend. Dyavol is nowhere