Free Ninth Grade Slays by Heather Brewer Page B

slipping his hands into his trench coat’s pockets. “Save your stupid pranks for Sprat. Not me.”
    Vlad chuckled and moved back inside. Kristoff, huh? That’s funny. When Vlad and Kristoff were in the seventh grade, his name had been David and his hair had been blond.
    Vlad squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, suppressing a yawn, and then flipped open the book again and continued where he’d left off.
    All of Elysia is bound to the same laws. Crimes are reported to the nearest council, and prisoners are held until their trial, where evidence will be examined and they will be given the opportunity to defend themselves. If a member is found guilty of breaking a law, they shall be subject to whatever punishment their ruling council deems fitting.
    Common forms of punishment are lashes by a leather whip, banishment, and community service. Death sentences are far more brutal—examples of this are dismemberment, excessive exposure to sunlight, being drained of all blood by another vampire, and being drawn and quartered by four stallions of the council’s choosing.
    After the trial, a blood party follows, where the prisoner’s punishment is carried out and the participating council and witnesses celebrate the glory of Elysia by consuming mass quantities of the best human blood available, followed by slices of sponge cake. This tradition goes back to the invention of sponge cake, which had been a favorite of then council president, Peter Plogojowitz.
    Bored with his studies, Vlad withdrew Otis’s letter from his pocket and read it over again, as well as the enclosed list, which had a smaller, hastily scribbled note on the bottom.
    Please be careful , Vladimir. My associates inform me that a vampire slayer may be headed for Bathory. Lay low. Don’t tell Nelly , I’d hate to alarm her (and sharing further information with her about the ways of Elysia would be criminal) , and don’t go anywhere alone—bring your drudge with you at all times.
    â€”O
    Vlad read over the note several times. On his third pass, the weight of his uncle’s words slammed against his chest, stealing his breath.
    He was being hunted.
    He read the note one more time and glanced nervously around the belfry, then blew out the candle and sat in the dark until his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the moon.
    The fact the vampire slayers actually existed might have been something Otis could have mentioned as a nasty possibility before he drove off at the beginning of the summer. Or even at the beginning of his letter. Something about a stake-carrying jerk with a hatred of vampires didn’t strike Vlad as a P.S. kind of thing. It was pretty crucial information, considering Vlad was Bathory’s only resident blood drinker.
    Until Otis’s warning, Vlad had confined his belief in vampire slayers to movies and television. After all, who would believe in a guy who stalks the night with a crucifix and a wooden stake? Might as well believe in werewolves or the boogeyman. The idea that a person might exist who hunted and killed vampires, for whatever reason, sent his stomach flip-flopping. The best thing he could do was to keep to himself and familiar faces. If a slayer was headed for Bathory, he might not even notice Vlad. If he did . . .
    Vlad shivered.
    He folded the letter, slid it back into the envelope, and hoped that Otis would return to Bathory before the slayer could become an issue.
    He kissed the tips of his fingers and touched his hand to the picture of his dad. He looked around the dark room once before stepping out onto the ledge and floating down to the ground. He was tempted to take to the treetops in order to avoid bumping into anyone who might be looking to impale him with a wooden stake, but he felt kind of tired. The last thing Vlad needed was to fall from a tree. While Vlad healed at an abnormally fast rate, it still hurt whenever he got scrapes and bruises. The rib D’Ablo had