Jubilee loomed in front of him, like an alien mother ship. Well, the house didn't look like a s.p.a.cecraft, really, but he had read stories of extraterrestrials who concealed their ships inside large homes. This mansion was s.p.a.cious enough to contain a starship. They could blow away the roof when it was time to launch. Of course, if it came to that, it would mean that they were fleeing the planet. Dudu planned to destroy them before they could make an escape.

He could already imagine the headline in his favorite tabloid: "Brave Mississippi Cop Prevents Alien Invasion!" Think of the fame and respect that he'd gain! Instead of working in this sleepy town, he'd earn an appointment to a top secret "X-Files agent" position in the FBI, probably out in Nevada. Books would be written about his exploits. TV shows would be produced. Fan Web sites would sprout like weeds.

He would become a legend: Ray Dudu, Earth's Defender.

His fingers tingled on the gun.

Under the tree boughs, he saw small brown mounds s.p.a.ced in random patterns. He put the edge of his boot in one of the deposits. It was soft and mushy. Like excrement.

The dogs had done this. Or rather, the aliens masquerading as dogs.

Gosh, it smelled like dog c.r.a.p, too. Curling his lips, he rubbed his sole against a clean spot in the gra.s.s.

He neared the mansion. He did not walk across the veranda and knock on the door-only an amateur would do that. He lurked to a window at the edge of the porch. He peeped through the gla.s.s, cupping his hands beside his eyes to reduce the sun's glare.

The window provided a view of the big living room. It had old pieces of furniture, a vast, crumbling fireplace, and half-melted white candles sitting on several surfaces.

The extraterrestrials evidently had a distaste for artificial light. But he did not see anything else of interest. He would continue to circle the property.

He moved slowly, alert for a trap that might snare his foot. At the corner of the house, he turned to slink along the side of the mansion.

Towering maple trees stood guard on this side. They cast cool shadows.

Ahead, there was another window. This one should give him a look at another room.

He peered inside.

A man stood there watching him.

Shouting in surprise, Dudu backed up and tore his Glock out of the holster. Hands shaking, he aimed the gun at the window.

But the man had vanished. Like a wisp of smoke.

Dudu clicked on his radio. He sucked a couple deep breaths, to steady his voice.

"This is Deputy Dudu. I spotted a suspect inside the house. He is tall, dark-skinned, dressed in black-"

A chorus of deep growls captured Dudu's attention. He turned.

Three large dogs stepped out of the shadows: a pit bull, a mixed breed collie, and a Doberman. Redness burned in their eyes, and saliva dripped from their jaws in heavy strands.

Aliens masquerading as murderous canines. Like Invasion of the Body s.n.a.t.c.hers.

A chill pressed against Dudu's spine, like another layer of clothing.

"Three canines are blocking my path to the front," Dudu said into the walkie-talkie. "I'll try to scare them away, but I need backup, and I need it now!"

No response from Jahlil. Had the kid wet his pants?

Dudu shoved the radio into the case on his hip. He trained the Glock on the hounds.

"Back off, mutts!" he said.

The dogs stared directly into his eyes, challenging him.

He swallowed.

They were far too intelligent and fearless to be ordinary animals.

Another rumbling growl on his right. Two more alien mutts.

Dudu raised the gun skyward, and fired. The bang echoed across the land.

A normal canine would have scrambled at the sound of gunfire. These hounds only grumbled, unfazed. They moved closer.

There were too many for him to take down with the Glock before one of them tackled him and ripped out his throat. It would be suicide.

He did the only thing he could think of: ran.

Jahlil was enjoying a song on the stereo when the walkietalkie crackled into life and the deputy's terrified voice came over the airwaves.

"This is Deputy Dudu. I spotted a suspect inside the house. He is tall, dark-skinned, dressed in black-"

An Arctic chill wrapped around Jahlil's body. Could it be a vampire, the one he had seen a few nights ago putting a body in a truck?

Dudu's voice crackled from the speaker again: "Three canines are blocking my path to the front. I'll try to scare them away, but I need backup, and I need it now!"

Those vicious vampire dogs. s.h.i.t.

The radio sputtered into silence, following soon after by an unmistakable sound: a boom of gunfire that came from somewhere near the house.

Jahlil gnawed his lip.

He could radio for Dad, but it would take several minutes for him to get there, if he came at all. His father was acting so strangely Jahlil was not sure what he would do. The deputy needed backup right now Jahlil opened the glove compartment. His sweaty hand closed over the gun.

He would notify Dad, quickly, then move out to help Dudu.

He switched on the police CB radio on the dashboard, plucked the handset off the hook.

"Dad, it's Jahlil. Are you there?"

His heart pounded a half dozen times before Dad answered. "What are you doing on the radio?"

"I'm at Jubilee with the deputy-"

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing up there?"

"Dad, there's no time for that! Some dogs are after Dudu and he needs help. We need you here now. I'm going out there to help him."

"Dammit, boy, you stay in that car, you hear me!"

"Gotta go" Trembling, Jahlil replaced the handset.

"Stay away from that house, boy!" Dad shouted.

"Sorry, Dad, but someone has to help," Jahlil said under his breath.

While his dad commanded him to sit tight, Jahlil climbed out of the patrol car.

He had not heard another gunshot, and he could not see what was happening around the mansion. The trees blocked his view.

Gripping the gun, he crossed the road and approached the gate.

As if they had materialized from the ether, three dogs raced out of the shadows, barking.

He drew back.

Snapping, the dogs ran up the fence. They were big animals, and their eyes were like burning coals. Saliva foamed from their mouths. Their teeth appeared to be sharp enough to snap through iron.

They were just like the dogs that had attacked T-Bone last night. Vampiric mutts.

He was grateful that the fence was at least six feet high. But he would have to find another way onto the property.

As he backed away and looked down the deserted road that twisted in front of Jubilee, he heard a clinking noise.

One of the dogs, a German shepherd mix, stood on its hind legs. With its forepaws, it tapped the lever to open the gate.

Unbelievable.

The gate eeked open.

Jahlil spun and ran.

The hounds chased after him.

After he heard his son's frantic call, Van Jackson did not know how long he stared at the radio. Time had slowed; it crept forward with the sluggishness of syrup on a winter morning, and his thoughts were amplified in that segment of distorted time, looping endlessly through his mind.

He gnawed his fingernail with the feverishness of a trapped racc.o.o.n chewing on a snagged paw.

Gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ... gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ... gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ... gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared...

Ink-black eyes floated into his mind's eye. Eyes as deep as wells. And words, too, delivered with the coolness of a seasoned killer.

When you leave this place, you will not remember seeing me or the dogs. When you leave this place, the idea of ever visiting this residence again will fill you with paralyzing fear. You will not remember me issuing these commands to you. You will act upon them as though they spring from your own consciousness ...

A revelation broke through Jackson's thoughts, like a cracking rifle shot.

That man at the Mason place has been controlling my mind.

"s.h.i.t!" he said.

He looked at his finger. He had bitten past the nail and punctured the skin. Bright blood oozed from the wound, and it throbbed with dull pain.

But he had gotten his mind back.

At last, he remembered visiting Jubilee and speaking to the tall man draped in heavy black clothes. He had been there to question him about the disappearance of a young lady. The man had boldly admitted his guilt-then somehow erased the incident out of Jackson's mind as though his brain were merely a blackboard. He'd injected Jackson with a liberal dose of crippling fear, too. Nothing else explained the irrational dread that had dogged him lately. He had been brainwashed.

But Jackson remembered everything now. The anxiety that coiled around his gut this time was not irrational, but very sensible. They were dealing with something supernatural. Perhaps a vampire, as Hunter and James claimed, or perhaps something else. Whatever it was, he had never dealt with it before.

Now he had to face it. His son and his deputy were up at that G.o.dforsaken house. They'd probably gone there because he'd been acting like too much of a coward to fulfill his duty.

He would never forgive himself for this.

He ran out of the station and to his patrol car.

He roared down the street, sirens blaring.

Surrounded on two sides by vicious dogs, Deputy Dudu's only alternative was to run toward the back of the Mason house.

He had never been a fast runner. Although he had long legs, he lacked coordination, always had. His clumsiness made him the b.u.t.t of jokes in school. Nicknames such as "The Stickman" and "Dudu the Dodo Bird" had followed him all the way through to high school graduation.

He heard the taunts in his thoughts as he sprinted along the side of the house. His hat spun off his head. The alien dogs were on his b.u.t.t. They were too close for him to dare looking behind him.

He rounded the rear corner. A set of storm doors were ahead. They yawned open, like jaws.

He ran toward the doorway. It was the only place to escape.

A short flight of crumbling stone steps led into a dark chamber. He leapt across the stairs and landed on the concrete below. Pain jolted through his knees. He stumbled, grimacing.

Above him, the doors closed with a boom. Darkness filled the stairwell and the room beyond.

A lock snicked into place.

Had someone been hidden outside, waiting for him to plunge into the cellar so they could trap him?

The dogs had fallen silent. They did not scratch against the door, either.

It was as if the hounds had purposefully driven him to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Their work complete, they were leaving him in the hands of whatever unearthly evil awaited him inside.

Cut it out, he thought. You don't know that.

Nevertheless, fear tightened his throat.

He thought of using his radio to call for help again, but he was afraid to make any noise. The kid had already heard him the first time, anyway. It was up to the boy to do the right thing and get him some a.s.sistance. Quickly The sound of his breathing was loud down there, as if he were shut inside a coffin.

He gripped the Glock in one hand. With his other hand, he unclipped his small flashlight from his belt, clicked it on.

He panned the light around. No windows at all. Gray brick walls, ranked with melted candles. An entertainment center that housed a television and other electronics was positioned in front of a large, hospital-style bed. The white sheets covered a large, humanoid shape.