Read Online Eighth Grade Bites by Heather Brewer - Free Book Online

would just vanish without a word to him. They’d been more than student and teacher—they were friends. He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall to the stairs near the front door. In the darkness, the coat tree looked a bit like a skeleton.
    Vlad froze.
    On one of the pegs hung a rumpled, purple silk top hat.
    Vlad slipped the hat off its peg and looked inside. Embroidered in shiny black thread were the initials O.O. —Otis Otis. His forehead creased in wonder and disbelief. Why had Mr. Otis lied about knowing Mr. Craig? Vlad looked around, suddenly wondering if he was alone in the house. He was almost positive the hat hadn’t been hanging there when he’d entered.
    With a glance at the stairs, Vlad quietly returned the hat to its peg. Was Mr. Otis in the house right now? Nelly was right, Vlad didn’t know the guy, but could he trust him? What business did he have running around Mr. Craig’s house in the middle of the night? Vlad looked at the stairs again. He should march right up and demand to know what Mr. Otis was doing here.
    Vlad took a step toward the stairs and paused. What if Mr. Otis had something to do with Mr. Craig’s disappearance? What if he was returning to the scene of the crime?
    The noble thing would be to leave the house and head straight for the police station to tell them everything he knew.
    But what did he know?
    Only that what looked suspiciously like Mr. Otis’s hat had been hanging on Mr. Craig’s hat tree when Vlad had gone into the house to look around. Vlad doubted very much it would be enough to convince that idiot Officer Thompson of anything. Plus, Vlad might get in serious trouble for breaking curfew . . . not to mention breaking and entering.
    He’d do better to spend a few more weeks watching his new teacher and seeing if the odd feeling in his stomach would go away.
    Vlad stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. His toe caught the edge of the welcome mat, sending him stumbling. With a grumble, he kicked the mat. But before it slid back into place, he spotted a strange symbol carved into the wood of the porch. With a gaping mouth, he pulled the mat back again.
    Three slanted lines slashed across the porch—all encased in what looked like parentheses.

7
    FEEDING TIME
    K ATE DONAHUE BRUSHED STRANDS of hair out of her eyes, sweeping them back from her sweaty face as her feet met the pavement in rhythmic, slapping steps. Glancing at her watch as she made her third round of the track that outlined Bathory Park, she grunted. Robert would be irate that she’d gone for a run after dark.
    She rounded a park bench and, brushing her hair out of her face once more, slowed her steps to cool down. She pressed her fingers to her neck and counted her pulse beats silently.
    One . . . two . . . three . . .
    Except for Kate, the park was empty. Large pools of light from the streetlamps spotted the lush grounds. Kate breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth; her breath was released into the air in the form of wispy clouds.
    Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . .
    She wiped the sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. When she pulled her hand away, she saw a man, dressed in black, standing by the nearest streetlight. Kate felt her heart jump and mentally slapped herself. Robert’s panicky concerns were making her edgy.
    Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . fifteen . . .
    She slowed her steps even more and then began to stretch her calves. Her muscles were on fire with a pleasant burn. She took a healthy swallow from her water bottle and glanced in the direction of the man, who hadn’t changed his posture or expression, but now seemed to be standing ten feet closer.
    Kate took another drink and slipped her bottle back into her duffel bag. She picked the bag up and, with another glance at the man in black, turned toward the parking lot. Maybe Robert was right. Maybe even a little slice of nowhere like Bathory wasn’t