Free Eighth Grade Bites by Heather Brewer

hesitated, wondering if Mr. Otis had seen him in Mr. Craig’s house the other night. He hadn’t noticed anything particularly suspicious since then, but he’d been watching. Vlad dropped his bag on the floor, contemplating whether Bill and Tom would wait for him after school. They’d done it before and would again, he wagered, but there was no way he could rush off when his teacher had told him to stay. “Am I in trouble?”
    Mr. Otis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No, no. Nothing like that. I merely wished to speak with you about a personal matter.”
    â€œOh yeah?” Vlad had no clue what sort of personal matter his teacher might want to discuss with him.
    Then it hit him.
    Maybe Mr. Otis wanted to reveal that he had known Mr. Craig, that he knew something about Mr. Craig’s disappearance, or worse, that he’d been involved. Vlad’s imagination seized every resource in his brain and flashed chilling images of abduction and murder through his mind. Some of the scenes were quite grisly and made his stomach twist and turn. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, his imagination’s wanderings once more under control.
    Mr. Otis shifted in his seat, as if the subject of personal matters was making him uncomfortable. “I met your aunt yesterday at the market. She inquired about my perhaps joining you both for dinner some evening, but I told her I’d like to discuss it with you first. Does that make you uncomfortable at all?”
    Of course it made him uncomfortable. And a little nauseous, too, considering that his aunt had asked his teacher on what could be considered a date. But it would be the perfect opportunity to get Mr. Otis to spill his guts on just why his top hat was hanging in Mr. Craig’s house. Vlad picked up his bag again and swung it over his shoulder. “I don’t mind, but I should warn you . . . she’s a terrible cook.” Vlad smiled and so did Mr. Otis. “I better go, though. Henry’s waiting.” He turned and slipped out the door, hoping that Henry was indeed waiting for him or, at the very least, that Bill and Tom weren’t.

    Vlad rolled over and cursed at the alarm clock on his night-stand. It was almost two in the morning, and he still couldn’t sleep.
    He picked up the large book he’d found weeks ago in the attic and moved toward the door. The book was several inches thick; the leather of its cover felt old and warm in his hands. Two big buckles were strapped across the front. Vlad ran his fingers over the locks thoughtfully and wondered, not for the first time, what the pages contained. A rebel floorboard near the door betrayed him and squeaked loudly under his foot. He placed his ear against the door and listened. Nothing. The door creaked as he pulled it open and peered into the dark library. It was empty, but for the sleeping presence of Amenti.
    Amenti was curled up in the leather wingback chair in the corner. She raised her head, blinked, and meowed at Vlad, her tone that of a question. “It’s just me, Amenti.” He slid open the candle drawer as quietly as he could.
    â€œWhat are you doing up?”
    Nelly’s voice startled him and he fumbled, nearly dropping the mysterious tome on his foot. Steadying his hands, Vlad smiled sheepishly at her. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”
    She offered a chastising head shake, and then her smile bloomed. “Me neither. Want some tea?”
    By tea she meant, of course, microwaved blood in a teacup, but Nelly had such a sweet way of making him feel completely normal. Not that being a vampire was bizarre or anything, certainly not abnormal. But sometimes, when he was putting on his sunblock in the morning or when Henry would describe the incredible lasagna his mom made, he felt a small pang of jealousy for humans. They had it so easy. Try worrying about your fangs popping out at inopportune moments or having to avoid