Eighth Grade Bites

Table of Contents

 

 

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, Canada M4P 2Y3 (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 0745, Auckland, 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 © 2007 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.

 

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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 : 978-1-101-04275-5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, I'd like to thank my wonderful editor, Maureen Sullivan, and everyone else at Dutton, as well as my fabulous agent, Michael Bourret, for their direction, wisdom, assistance, and guidance. Collectively, you've changed my life in ways you may never know.

Many thanks to Jackie Kessler and Dawn Vanniman for being faithful readers, wonderful friends, and much-needed critics. Special thanks should be given to Jacob Elwart and Katelyn Vanniman for loving this book from the start. Many thanks to all of my minions—you know who you are. Thanks should also be expressed to the Pepsi-Cola Company for supplying me with enough caffeine to finish the book; to Ardyn—who really started this whole mess in the first place; and to Jacob and Alexandria—thanks for not popping my bubble
too
often.

Most important, thanks to the person holding this book right now. You have no idea how much you mean to me (or Vlad).

Finally, words alone cannot express the thanks I owe to Paul Brewer, my husband, for his encouragement and assistance. You knew I could do it before I had any clue. Thank you.

A
TREE BRANCH SLAPPED JOHN CRAIG across the face, scraping his skin, but he kept on running and ignored the stabbing of pine needles on his bare feet. He could hear the man's footsteps behind him, echoing his own.

The man was getting closer.

A fallen branch grabbed John's ankle and he fell forward. Time slowed to a crawl as his face neared the leaf-covered ground. Cold air whipped across his skin. His heart drummed in his ears. The man's pace quickened, and just as John's cheek smacked against the earth, the stranger grabbed a fistful of John's hair and pulled his head back. John screeched, “What do you want from me?” but his attacker didn't answer.

John swung his arms behind him to knock the man down, but his hands were caught effortlessly in the air and bound behind him. A hand, gloved in shiny black leather, entered his field of vision, clutching a torn page from the
Bathory Gazette
. John's head jerked back as the man gave his hair a violent tug and growled, “Where is he?”

At the center of the paper was the grainy image of a thirteen-year-old boy John knew well. The boy was surrounded by several of his peers and a teacher, but looked nervous, awkward. At the bottom of the photo, a caption read:
Left to right: Kelly Anbrock, Carrie Anderson, Henry McMillan, teacher John Craig, Vladimir Tod, Edgar Poe, Mike Brennan.
At the top was a bold title: Debate Team Sure to Win at Regionals!

Tears coated John's cheeks and he shook his head, refusing to answer.

Something warm and slick ran down John's forehead. Through red-tinted glass, he looked at the forest around them. He screamed for help until his lungs burned, but help wouldn't come.

“Where's the boy? Where's Vlad?”

John wriggled. The man's face was near his. Cold breath beat down on the back of his neck, and something sharp grazed against his skin.

“Tell me or die.”

John opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late for lies. The man bit down. Fangs popped through John's skin, cutting deep into his neck.

V
LAD TURNED TO THE SIDE, admiring his image in the mirror with a smirk. Henry was going to lose it when he saw Vlad's costume. They hadn't discussed what they were dressing up as, but the pathetic black nylon cape and plastic fangs that Vlad had picked up at the Stop & Shop last weekend were sure to be the running gag of the evening between them. He brushed his black hair from his eyes and slipped the plastic teeth into his mouth. They fit perfectly over his own fangs, which were protruding slightly, despite his large dinner.

Not an hour before, Aunt Nelly had warmed two sizable steaks until the blood dripped from the raw meat. He'd restrained himself from picking up the steaks with his bare hands and ripping into them, but only because Aunt Nelly insisted on manners. So even though it agonized him to do so, he took his time, cutting the steaks into medium-size bites and sucking the juices into his hungry mouth before dropping the dry, tasteless meat onto his plate.

He pulled the fake teeth out of his mouth and examined the sharp points of his fangs. “Aunt Nelly, you'd better get a snack pack ready.”

“But you just ate,” came a lilting voice from the bottom of the stairs. “Oh well, better safe than sorry, I suppose. What time will Henry be here?”

“Any minute.” Satisfied with his costume, Vlad turned from the mirror. The old floorboards creaked beneath his sneakers. He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the frame on his dresser. In the photo, his mother was poised on the edge of an old Victorian chaise, with his father standing behind her, his pale hands on her shoulders. They were smiling at the camera, and Vlad found himself smiling back at them. He opened the top drawer and stuffed ten dollars from his secret box into his pocket. Partying with Henry had taught him one thing above all else: be prepared.

Vlad left his bedroom and made his way down the stairs. Aunt Nelly stood at the bottom, holding up a plastic container covered with Saran Wrap. He could see the deep red, slushy contents through the wrap and licked his lips. “Did you microwave it? It's better warm.”

“It's warm enough.” She handed it to him and widened her eyes in disgust as he bit through the Saran Wrap and slurped. “Use a spoon! You'll get it all over the rug and I just had it cleaned. Between that rug and your T-shirts, the dry cleaner thinks we're either accident-prone or ax murderers. And take it easy on the snack packs tonight, Mr. Midnight Feeder. There are only two left. I'd better bring some more blood bags from the hospital tonight and fix up enough for the rest of the week.”

“Could you get O positive this time? That's my favorite.” She nodded and he smiled, brushing past her to the kitchen. He was spooning a big, sweet glob of half-frozen blood into his mouth when the doorbell rang. With a hurried swallow, he dropped the empty container into the biohazard box beneath the sink and popped the plastic fangs over his shrinking canines. With careful steps, he snuck over to the wall just to the right of the archway and peeked over at the front door, where his aunt was greeting Henry with a hug.

Vlad jumped out from behind the separating wall and held his cheap cape out with both arms. “I want to suck your blood!”

Henry doubled over, roaring with laughter. When he straightened, he slapped Vlad on the shoulder. “That's a sweet costume. Check me out. You'll just die.” Henry placed his fists on his hips in a pseudo-Superman pose, and when he turned his head, Vlad's jaw dropped at the sight of two small holes on Henry's neck.

“No way.” He stepped closer to inspect Henry's bite marks. They were flawless. Vlad had only seen one actual vampire bite on a human before, and Henry's handiwork was very close to the real thing. “What did you use?”

“Silly Putty and raspberry jam.”

“Seedless?”

“Well, duh. Can't have seeds in my wound. Might get infected.”

Aunt Nelly regarded Vlad with a concerned glance over the top of her glasses. “Did you get enough to eat?”

Vlad nodded, stuffed a tube of his sunscreen into his pocket, and opened the door. “Party's over at midnight.”

Nelly held out her hand. “You won't need that. I want you home by eleven.”

“Eleven?” At times, Nelly could be ridiculously overprotective. Vlad rolled his eyes and dug the tube back out, slapping it into Nelly's hand. “But no one else will be leaving early, and besides, at midnight there's supposed to be some big surprise.”

Nelly looked at Henry for confirmation. He nodded enthusiastically. “We can't miss it.”

“Well . . .” She bit her lip in contemplation, and after what seemed like an eternity, she sighed. “All right, but stick together, and if you get hungry, give me a call on my cell. I'll be at Deb's until late.”

Henry nudged Vlad with his elbow. “Matthew called me earlier, said Meredith will be there.”

Vlad shot him a look that screamed “shut up,” and they bounded out the door, vampire and victim. Nelly called after them, “Be careful, boys.”

Other than the fake wound, Henry was dressed as he normally was, with a pair of ratty-looking sneakers on his feet. He gave Vlad a sly glance. “Big thing at midnight, huh?”