A vision, she thought. Its only a vision. There are no earthquakes here.

Nevertheless, she stepped backward.

About ten feet in front of her, a chasm exploded open. Bits of dirt and rocks flew out of the gash, as if a subterranean creature were down there, spitting out debris. Then, it fell silent.

Although dread clutched her heart, she did not run. Running would not solve anything. The haunting images would only follow her. This vision was intended to teach her something. But what?

Slowly, she walked forward.

It was a pit, drawn in an almost perfect circle, perhaps five feet in diameter. Perfect darkness yawned in the hole, and waves of chilly air rolled out of its depths.

Strange, she thought, hugging herself against the coldness. What did this mean?

She heard movement below. Something dark and enormous surged to the surface, with a rumbling sound that steadily grew louder.

Involuntarily, she backpedaled.

A geyser of blood erupted out of the pit. Blood sprayed into the air, like lava from a monstrous volcano.

She screamed. She dashed back toward her house.

As she ran, blood rained to the earth, coating her skin and drenching the meadow in crimson.

She slammed into the house. She grabbed a towel off the kitchen counter and frantically scrubbed her skin.

But her skin was dry. There was not a drop of blood on her.

"Dear G.o.d," she whispered. She exhaled deeply.

Warily, she pulled away the curtain above the window and looked outside.

The field was quiet, and green. No geyser of gore.

Still shaking, she shooed one of the cats off the counter and set about brewing a pot of tea, to soothe her tangled nerves.

While water heated in the teakettle, she slumped at the small dinette table. She cradled her head in her hands.

It was the most lucid and disturbing vision she'd ever received. It left little need for interpretation.

Violence and bloodshed were imminent.

Could anyone stop it? Visions such as this were warnings, and she never received warnings without eventually discovering a way to prevent harmful incidents from occurring.

She had to learn how the evil could be stopped. She could not stop it herself; she was only a guide. She needed to find the special persons who could combat this evil, and offer them direction.

She prayed that she'd find them before it was too late.

Early in the evening, David left Nia's house. But he did not go home. He drove to Jubilee.

He went to the Mason residence in the hope that he would find some evidence about what had really happened to his dad. His father had taken a photograph at the house, and that could be a clue. Or it could be coincidence. Nevertheless, if there was a connection between his dad and Jubilee-he could not imagine what it might be David had to find out.

The Pathfinder labored up the steep, b.u.mpy road that climbed toward the estate. Trees crowded the way, casting ink-black shadows.

Cold sweat coated David's palms. Jubilee had given him a chill from the moment he'd seen it, and the stories he'd heard only added to the mansion's fearsome aura. He could hardly believe that he was visiting this place. He was either dedicated to finding the truth-or a little crazy.

He wished that he'd brought King with him. But it was too late to go back home to get his dog.

At the crest of the hill, the lane curved to the left. The gate to the property was around the bend, on the right.

He did not park in front of the gate. He parked along the dusty shoulder of the road, under the boughs of an elm tree.

He sat there for a minute or two, drawing breaths to compose himself.

"Okay, man," he mumbled to himself. "You're here. Now get out and do it."

Climbing out of the truck was like moving through cold water.

Viewed at close range, the estate was more forbidding than ever. Tall, gnarled trees populated the immense yard, dense shadows gathered beneath their branches. A lonely dirt path led to the house. Tentacles of kudzu coiled around the mansion's thick columns. The front windows, reflecting the orange-crimson rays of the setting sun, were arranged in such a way as to resemble a face.

A silver Lexus SUV was parked beside the house.

Who in their right mind would live in this place? David thought.

He approached the gate. He wished he had brought with him the photograph of his father, but he thought he could pick the spot on the veranda where his father had posed for the picture.

Nia's tale about her terrifying childhood adventure replayed through his mind. Had his father seen ghosts, too?

He touched the gate. The iron bars were cold.

"May I help you?"

David spun at the sound of the voice behind him.

A tall, slender black man, clad in black clothes, wearing aviator shades and a black hat, stood on the side of the road. He c.o.c.ked his head questioningly, long arms clasped behind his back.

David had not heard him approach. He had been so absorbed in the house that he had temporarily forgotten the outside world.

But where had the guy come from? Had the man been taking a walk? That had to be the answer.

David cleared his throat. "Do you live here?"

"I believe that I put forward the first question," the man said casually. David caught an unplaceable accent. "Do you have business at this residence?"

"I was only looking around," David said. "Is this your place?"

"You are persistent" The man smiled briefly. David got a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. "It is my home, for the time. Are you from the town?"

"I moved here a few days ago"

"I see, and doubtless, you've heard stories of haunted Jubilee. Decided that you would muster your nerve and lay your eyes upon the house? Determine whether you sensed any negative vibrations?"

"Something like that, I guess" David edged away from the fence. There was something unusual about this guy, but he could not determine exactly what it was.

The man whisked past David and pushed open the gate. David noticed that he wore black leather gloves, too.

Weird. It was much too warm outdoors to wear gloves.

The man turned. "You impress me as an intelligent, rational young man. I'd advise you to pay no mind to superst.i.tions and tall tales. The truth is never so ... entertaining." His lips curved in a smile, then he whirled around and strode across the path.

In seconds, the man had vanished inside the mansion. He moved with fluid, sinuous speed, like a snake.

Now what was that all about? David thought.

It hit him what seemed so unusual about the guy. Although, from what little David had seen of his face, the guy appeared to be young, perhaps in his thirties, he had the manner of an old, wise man.

Strange. But it figured. It would take an unusual person to call this dreadful house a home.

Still, superficial explanations didn't satisfy David. Why had the man, who was clearly a foreigner, moved into the Mason place? Did it have anything to do with his dad?

David looked at the house. Jubilee seemed like a huge ancient tomb, full of secrets. Something mysterious was going on in there. David felt it just like he felt the cool breeze on his face.

He was grasping at straws, but until he learned otherwise, he would a.s.sume that everything was connected, somehow. A puzzle had been presented to him, pieces scattered randomly. He would not rest until he had put it together.

Deep in thought, he got in his truck.

Standing near the window, Kyle watched the inquisitive young man depart.

Ordinarily, Kyle would have dispatched Mamu to handle visitors. Since last night, however, Kyle had been restlessand he was feeling protective, as well. He did not dare to allow anyone to disrupt what he had begun.

He had used his ability to travel with extreme speed to appear behind the man. The man, if he had glimpsed Kyle coming across the yard at all, would have seen only a flicker of a shadow. Kyle had leapt over the fence as though it were no taller than a footstool.

Although the human claimed to be innocently looking around, Kyle detected a definite purpose to his visit. The man had almost certainly lied to him.

He wondered if the two laborers who had worked for him yesterday had begun telling others what they had seen. If so, that would be an unpleasant development. He did not relish the prospect of nosy townsfolk poking around the property, seeking a ma.s.s grave or some such thing.

Upon arriving in Mason's Corner, Kyle had a.s.sumed that he would have several weeks to locate his father, awaken him, and aid his adjustment to contemporary life. He had been mistaken: the people in town would begin to meddle. The visit by the young man was only the beginning. Mother had trained him how to identify patterns in human behavior.

He did not have much time remaining to work in relative peace. Perhaps a week. Certainly not much longer.

He walked to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

White candles were arranged around the perimeter of the chamber. They cast warm, golden light.

Kyle approached the bed.

His father continued to sleep, silently. The undulation of his chest was barely perceptible.

Since they had recovered him, he had not awakened once.

Kyle and Mamu had stripped the ragged clothes off his father's body, bathed him with soft sponges, and dressed him in bedclothes of fine silk. He was like a wooden dummy in their hands, heavy and limp. His muscles appeared to have atrophied, and his ebony skin had an unhealthy, washed-out look.

Mamu had inserted an IV in a vein on the back of Diallo's hand. The IV pumped a special mixture of blood and nutrients into his bloodstream. The fluid would help to rebuild his muscles, revitalize his skin, and strengthen his heart.

Kyle lay his hand against Diallo's broad forehead. His skin was warm, an encouraging sign. When they discovered him, his flesh had been cool.

Gazing upon his father was like looking into a pool of still water. They were so obviously father and son. He slid his fingers along the firm jawbone, across the proud chin, full lips, and strong brow. It was the countenance of a warrior.

Kyle touched his own face. He traced his features, marveling at the similarities between his face and his father's.

To be able to savor this connection with his father was well worth one hundred sixty-eight years of waiting and whatever he faced hereafter.

He put his hand in his father's, squeezed slightly.

He hungered to see his father open his eyes. But there was no known method of awakening a vampire who had succ.u.mbed to the depths of a Deep Sleep. Mother claimed that she did not know how it could be done, either. The vampire alone would have to choose to Awaken.

The longest recorded Deep Sleep in history was one hundred eleven years, achieved by a vampire in Brazil. If Diallo awakened, he would have surpa.s.sed the record by almost sixty years.

It was believed that a Sleeping vampire maintained a low degree of sensory awareness, no matter how profound the slumber. Kyle was counting on the truth of the belief. He had been visiting his father each hour and speaking to him in a whisper.

Holding his father's hand, he leaned closer.

"Please hear me, my father," Kyle said. "I am your son. You are safe. Awaken. Open your eyes and look upon me ""

Kyle repeated the words again and again, in a soft, fervent chant.

He suddenly noticed a change: his father's eyes, rotating back and forth underneath his leathery eyelids.

Diallo was dreaming.

Diallo dreamed of a world drenched in blood.

The sun was a blood blister. The sky was a raw membrane. The mountains on the horizon were giant hunks of bleeding flesh, the trees had been dipped in gore, and the gra.s.s did not crunch underfoot; it oozed, as though he tread across a vast carpet woven from threads of dripping skin.

He had created this place. He was at peace, at long last. All of the men who had once overrun the land had perished at his hands, and he had fashioned this world from their steaming corpses.

He walked through a gleaming red meadow, the sun warm on his dark skin. Ahead, there was a huge lake of bright, cool blood. It lapped at the sandy red banks.

He strolled to the sh.o.r.e, bent, and cupped blood in his large hands. He drank, deeply.

It was so sweet, so invigorating.

He was about to turn, to pluck a juicy, blood-filled fruit from a nearby tree, when he saw something shimmering on the lake's surface.

They were visions of his prior life, before he had conquered the world. The images had a clarity reminiscent of how his face had once looked when regarded in a pool of silver water.

He watched the memories, as a spectator views a sport ...

He was a young man, the village prince, highly esteemed by his peers and family. Always, he had been bigger, taller, and stronger than others. And more cunning, too. For his natural gifts, he had been richly rewarded.