Eleventh Grade Burns by Heather Brewer

around and approached the desks. After a glance at their rather scary-looking company, he begrudgingly took the seat next to Vlad.
    Vlad chewed the inside of his cheek absently. He very much wanted to say something to Joss, something that would break the tension, but nothing came to mind.
    The ugly door opened and Mr. Hunjo wedged his immense shoulders inside. He went straight to the small desk at the front of the room and barked, “What are you staring at? Get to work!”
    Vlad finished up his schoolwork relatively quickly, and af terward, sat quietly, waiting for the day to come to an end. The room’s silence was only broken by the soft snoring of Mr. Hunjo, who’d succumbed to boredom and had decided that his best defense was a good nap. Vlad looked over at Joss and dared to whisper, “Why are you in Otis’s class? What do you want?”
    Joss shrugged halfheartedly. “What else, but to learn mythology? You know ... unicorns, trolls ... vampires.”
    He met Vlad’s eyes then, and Vlad resisted the urge to read his thoughts. He didn’t really want to understand how a slayer thinks, what a slayer feels. He just wanted to be left alone.
    Remembering they weren’t the only ones in the room, Vlad said, “So you have an interest in the make-believe, eh?”
    Joss leaned closer and, after they both jumped at a particularly loud snort from the sleeping gym teacher, he responded, “I believe in truth and justice and the good of mankind. No matter how much bloodshed it takes to protect those things.”
    Joss’s eyes were full of an eagerness that sent a terrified chill through Vlad. He shook his head in shock. “You’re a monster.”
    Joss was quiet for a while. Then he sat back and returned to his schoolwork, but not before uttering, “It takes one to know one, Vlad.”

11
    A SNAP
    S PRAT BOUNDED FROM THE CAR to the door of The Crypt, dragging October along behind him. Kristoff was already inside and Andrew was following at a leisurely pace. Vlad was bent over, tying his shoe near the car.
    He was relieved to be back at The Crypt for a night, as the past month of classes with Joss were already seriously stressing him out and he needed to blow off some steam. Plus, it had become a regular thing to do with his goth friends.
    Friends. Vlad had friends. He shook his head, smiling.
    As the door to the club closed behind Andrew, Vlad stood and moved toward it, ready to feel the thumping of bass in his chest and smell the adrenaline in the dancers’ veins.
    “It does smell delicious, doesn’t it?”
    Vlad clamped down on his thoughts and turned. He knew that voice. His eyes scanned the shadows until he noticed something dark moving within them. His chest tightened—partly from fear, partly from surprise. “What do you want?”
    D’Ablo stepped into the street-lamp light. He was dressed in black from head to toe, complete with black leather gloves. Gloves. Plural. Which meant that D’Ablo had somehow sprouted a new hand. Vlad slanted his eyes, examining the hand. The fingers didn’t move. The muscles didn’t flex. When realization hit him, he said, “You’re wearing a false hand. How does the council feel about that? After all, vampires aren’t big fans of weaknesses and scars, are they, D’Ablo? It’s a wonder they haven’t removed you from office.”
    D’Ablo pursed his lips. “They’re happy enough in their ignorance.”
    Vlad tilted his head in disbelief, thinking about the gathered group of angry vampires at his old house just five weeks ago. “I know several people who aren’t so happy that a disfigured vampire is still president.”
    The corner of D’Ablo’s mouth rose slightly in a small smile. “I assure you that none of those people matter.”
    Vlad’s eyes traced D’Ablo’s face for any sign of scars. When he saw him last, flames had all but melted his face away, but now the skin was smooth, flawless, as if that maniacal moment in the sun had never occurred. “The sunlight ... it didn’t