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  Though she tried her best to convince them, her parents wouldn't believe her. It was all the fever's fault, they insisted. The fever was making her hear things. Everything was going to be just fine after she went to the doctor.

  After a while, she gave up trying to convince Mom and Dad. It became clear to Bonnie, as clear as the Voices had been at 1:35 a.m., that the salvation of her family was in her hands.

  She would have to fight the Voices herself, and she would have to do it soon.

  She would have to do it tomorrow night.

  *****

  The next night, like so many nights before, Bonnie shivered in her bed and waited for Them. Her eyes were sore, and she felt tired and a little dizzy, but the horrible mission that lay ahead kept her awake and alert.

  Instead of pajamas, she wore bluejeans and a T shirt; she even wore her windbreaker, as if the extra layer of clothing might provide some protection. Though she lay between the sheets on her bed, she wore sneakers, too.

  Around her neck, she wore a crucifix, hoping it might ward off the Devil. Her weapons rested beside her on the nightstand: a long, serrated knife she had taken from the kitchen, and a Bible.

  Breathing heavily, she watched the clock and tried to muster her courage. The minutes swept past like storm clouds, hastily clearing a path between her and the Voices.

  In what seemed to be no time at all, the clock read 1:30. Holding her breath, she listened for the evil murmuring to begin.

  But she heard only silence. For the first time since they had started haunting her, the Voices didn't begin punctually at 1:30.

  Puzzled, Bonnie kept listening and watching the clock.

  The Voices didn't start at 1:35, either, or 1:40. The glowing red numbers on the clock changed to 1:45, and still, there was no sound from Jenny's room.

  When 1:55 rolled around, and the silence still held, Bonnie started to feel hopeful. Maybe the Voices had gone away for good; maybe they had given up on Jenny, since Bonnie had found out about them. Maybe God had answered her prayers and driven away the Devil, or whatever had been lurking around Jenny. Maybe, just maybe, Bonnie would be spared the awful duty for which she had prepared herself.

  At 2:01, however, Bonnie's hopes were swept away.

  She heard the door to Jenny's room slowly creak open.

  She heard light footsteps padding over the hallway carpet.

  A stair groaned softly under something's weight.

  Bonnie almost stopped breathing as whatever had come out of Jenny’s room walked down the stairs and out of earshot somewhere down below.

  For a few minutes, she sat on her bed and shivered. Now that she had heard it, now that she knew it was out there, she lost all the resolve she had once built up. How could she go out there? What hope did she have of killing that evil thing? And what if...

  What if it was Jenny?

  What if those had been Jenny's footsteps? What if the Voices had completely taken her over, turned her into some kind of monster? How could Bonnie fight her own sister?

  More than anything, Bonnie wanted to wake her parents. She wanted Mom and Dad to take care of this; she couldn't face it alone any longer.

  But what if they still wouldn't believe her? What if they just sent her back to bed and went downstairs, thinking there wasn't anything to worry about?

  What if their own daughter, transformed and controlled by the Voices, killed them both?

  Bonnie realized she had to go downstairs. As scared as she was, she had to handle this on her own, without help.

  Shaking, she gathered up the Bible and the knife and got out of bed. She opened the door as quietly as she could.

  Seeing that there was nothing in the hall, she tiptoed out of her room. Since she didn't want to wake her parents, she didn't turn on the hall light, but she did turn on the light at the top of the stairs.

  Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she started down. She moved as carefully as she could and didn't make a sound on the steps.

  With the Bible clutched to her chest and the knife held tightly before her, she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  As she flicked a switch on the wall, turning on the living room lights, she said a prayer. “Please, God,” she whispered, “don't let it be Jenny. Don't let the Devil have gotten my sister. If he's already done something to her, please help me save her!”

  Walking into the living room, she looked all around but didn't see anyone. There was just furniture, and the TV set, and some of Jenny's toys. As her heart drummed wildly, she walked onward, staring into the darkness of the adjacent dining room.

  She flicked on the dining room lights...and then she froze.

  “Good girl,” she heard the Voices say. “Good girl!”

  They were in the kitchen.

  The Something was in the kitchen.

  A flash of total panic washed over her, and she nearly ran back upstairs...but somehow, she pushed herself into the dining room.

  “Good girl,” said the Voices. “You're all ready!”

  Trembling uncontrollably, Bonnie moved toward the kitchen door. Deciding she'd better have both hands on the knife, she leaned down and put the Bible on the floor.

  “Good girl. Good girl!”

  She reached for the doorknob, her heart crashing like thunder, and slowly turned it.

  And the Voices stopped.

  Bonnie hesitated for an instant, again thinking about running away. Then, she thought of her parents, and took a deep breath.

  Pouring all her courage into a single motion, she quickly flung the door open.

  Taking a step back, she looked into the kitchen and saw the refrigerator door standing wide open. By the refrigerator’s light, she saw food scattered everywhere--meat and milk and leftovers strewn crazily on the floor.

  Then, the dog thing was upon her, ripping with its gleaming white fangs at her throat.

  Bonnie tried to scream, but her voice was already gone. The knife chinked to the floor and was sprayed with an unholy rain of blood.

  In the final instant before she died, Bonnie gaped at the face of her killer.

  It wasn't Jenny.

  It was Pepper, warped and twisted almost beyond recognition into a demonic creature. The family pet was now a flurry of white fur and fangs and claws, stained by its mistress's blood.

  As she died, Bonnie knew that the rest of her family was also doomed. She had failed to protect them, had failed even to protect herself.

  Bonnie had forgotten one thing, one crucial fact that was now given new meaning:

  Pepper was a bitch.

  About the Author

  Robert Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. His young adult fantasy novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, won the Forward National Literature Award and was named one of Booklist’s Top Ten First Novels for Youth. His cross-genre science fiction thriller, Day 9, is an International Book Award winner. He also won the Scribe Award for Best Original Novel from the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers for his alternate history, Tannhäuser: Rising Sun, Falling Shadows. Simon & Schuster, DAW/Penguin Books, and DC Comics have published his work. He won the grand prize in Pocket Books' nationwide Strange New Worlds contest and was nominated for the British Fantasy Award. Visit him online at www.thefictioneer.com. You can also find him on Facebook and follow him as @TheFictioneer on Twitter.

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  Special Preview: BLOODLINER

  You’ve never seen vampires like this before!

  Chapter 1

  Jonah was drunk, pissed at the world, fresh from his mom and dad's viewing at the funeral home...and he was playing what might have been his best gig ever.

  He had always been good, but he was great that n
ight. He ripped through every song with unusual precision and ferocity. Instead of note-perfect renditions, he brought each solo alive with newfound fire and surprise. He pushed the whole band to a new level, and he could tell they loved it.

  As they drove through one Jethro Tull classic after another, from "Locomotive Breath" to "Thick as a Brick," all four musicians grinned with rare and predatory intensity. It wasn't just a run-of-the-mill gig.

  Too bad hardly anyone was there to see it.

  The bar, a downtown Tucson dive joint called Halcyon, was tiny...and nowhere near full. Not counting the bartender, Jonah didn't see more than ten people in the room at the same time that night.

  But he played for those ten people like he was playing for a full house. Like he was playing with something to prove.

  Something to forget.

  The audience, small as it was, definitely caught the vibe and egged on the band. It was the kind of give-and-take that Jonah thrived on, with band and audience equally focused and serious and unified.

  And some were more focused than others. One, in particular, was focused hard on Jonah.

  She looked twenty-something, with shoulder-length blonde hair and impossibly bright blue eyes. A tight-fitting white tank top and black leather skirt hugged the curves of her perfectly sloped and rounded body.

  If she ever took her eyes off Jonah, he didn't see it happen. She watched every move he made and locked eyes with him every time he looked out at her.

  She didn't seem to be with anyone. She just stood with a bottle of beer in her hand, six feet away from Jonah, dancing to every single song with supple, undulating movements.

  Which, naturally, made him play with even more fire. He had a pretty good idea what might be coming next.

  Sure enough, at the end of the first set, the girl made a beeline for him. With a silent, knowing smile, she wrapped his hand in her own and led him out the back door into the alley outside.

  Then, she closed the door behind them and pinned him against the wall.

  Jonah's heart pounded as she flexed her body against his. Her hands, where they locked his wrists to the wall, were cold, but her gaze was filled with heat.

  "You were amazing in there." Her throaty voice was a purr. "I am so turned on right now."

  "I know the feeling." Jonah grinned. Playing with the band had taken his mind off his troubles a little. Maybe the blonde would take his mind the rest of the way off, if only for a while.

  Without another word, the girl moved in for a kiss. Jonah's heart beat even faster as he finally made the contact he'd been anticipating for so long.

  But the kiss was not quite what he'd expected.

  The girl's lips were freezing cold, as if she'd just eaten ice cream or gone swimming. There wasn't the slightest trace of warmth anywhere in her kiss.

  Jonah pulled back. "Are you chilly?" Even as he asked the question, he couldn't imagine that she could possibly feel cold in that alley. It was a hot desert night in Tucson, probably in the nineties...plus which, heat was rolling off an air conditioning unit in the window a few yards away.

  "Low blood pressure. But we can fix that." The girl moved in for another kiss. Her fingers latched onto his belt buckle.

  "We need you," said the girl.

  We? That was when Jonah realized something wasn't right.

  He suddenly felt much hotter than he thought he should. His lower body, in fact, was quickly becoming uncomfortable, as if he were standing too close to a hot stove.

  Jonah looked down...and immediately wished he hadn't.

  He'd never seen anything like it. Thin streams of blood projected from the tops of his legs--a dozen streams per leg punching right through his clothing. They met in a glistening red veil that hung suspended in midair, rippling mere inches from the girl's face. As Jonah watched, new streams burst from his legs and added their crimson liquid to the veil.

  "What the hell?" said Jonah. "What are you doing?"

  But the girl did not answer.

  Get out of here. Now.

  Jonah was in for another shock when he tried to escape: his hands were stuck to the wall, and his feet were locked to the floor of the alley.

  He couldn't move.

  What's going on here?

  Then, it got worse.

  The girl opened her mouth wide, and red filaments reached toward her from the veil. The sinuous filaments twisted and writhed as they flowed between her scarlet lips and over her jet black tongue.

  Black tongue? Black tongue?!? Why didn't I notice that before?

  The girl spoke without closing her mouth. The red filaments splashed against the tip of her tongue when it moved. "How delicious," she said. "I love you."

  She's a vampire! Vampires are real!

  "I'll blow you a kiss," she said, and then she puckered her lips and squirted a flume of blood toward Jonah's face.

  The blood stopped in front of his nose and hung in midair. It curled and contorted and rotated, forming into a gleaming red shape.

  A throbbing cartoon heart the size of a quarter.

  Since when can vampires do this kind of crazy stuff?

  The girl giggled. "Happy birthday, baby," she said. "Wait'll you see what comes next."

  Jonah couldn't take his eyes off the floating cartoon heart. It changed as he watched, twisting and kneading itself into a new shape.

  A skull and crossbones.

  That was when Jonah finally tried to scream. He tried with all his strength to scream as loud as he could.

  And when no sound emerged from his throat, he tried to scream even louder.

  *****

  It was as if someone had heard Jonah's silent cry. Seconds after he tried in vain to scream his head off, the sound of gunfire crackled in the alley.

  Multiple impacts shook the blood-drinking girl and pitched her from her knees to the dusty floor of the alley. As she dropped, so did the veil and filaments of blood. So did the floating skull and crossbones. All of it lost shape immediately and plunged down in one big splatter on the pavement.

  In the same instant, Jonah regained some of the movement in his extremities. His arms and legs still felt heavy and stiff, but at least he could finally change position.

  Now, if he could just avoid getting shot.

  As Jonah stepped away from the wall, a figure moved out of the shadows. The first thing Jonah saw coming toward him was the smoking barrel of a gun.

  A machine gun. Pointed right at him.

  Then, he heard a familiar voice. "This is what it's all about." A female voice. "Protection."

  Jonah was kind of shell-shocked, but he realized who was doing the talking just before she stepped fully into view.

  "Stanza." Jonah didn't rush to her side right away. For one thing, he hardly knew her. For another, as relieved as he was to see a fellow non-vampire...

  How do I know she isn't a vampire, too?

  "What's going on here?" said Jonah as he buckled his belt.

  "Did you know I get a bonus every time I save your life?" Stanza grabbed him by the arm and yanked him around to stand behind her. "And if you die, I get nothing."

  "Nothing?" said Jonah.

  "Not one red cent. So stay here." With that, Stanza moved forward, keeping the machine gun pointed at the blood-spattered blonde on the alley pavement.

  The blonde lifted her head and glared. "Bitch." She hissed the word through clenched teeth. "You just became my main course."

  Stanza fired more rounds into the vampire's chest, flinging her back and bouncing her off the pavement. "I've got three words for you," she said, waving the machine gun. "Black ironwood points."

  The vampire howled in pain and clutched at the seeping red blossom over her heart. She suddenly lunged forward, clawing with one taloned hand at Stanza...but another burst from the machine gun threw her back again.

  Stanza looked at Jonah and brushed a lock of black hair behind her ear. "Ammo tipped with hardwood," she said. "Very effective. It's like stabbing them in the heart wit
h dozens of little stakes moving thousands of feet per second."

  Jonah gaped at the writhing, bloody blonde on the alley floor. "That'd kill anybody."

  "But not everything that kills anybody is enough to kill someone like her." Stanza turned and fired more rounds.

  The blonde lay still for a moment, then began to jerk and twitch spontaneously. Stanza placed a hand on Jonah's chest and eased him back a step.

  "Don't get too close," she said. "Here's where it gets ugly."

  You mean it hasn't already?

  As Jonah watched, the blonde spasmed repeatedly, then stopped. For a long moment, nothing moved or made a sound in the alley except the air conditioning unit in the back window of Halcyon.

  Then, suddenly, the hacked-up flesh of the vampire's chest began to squirm. Shreds of skin and bone flexed up from the place where her heart should have been. Something was pushing its way through from underneath.

  At first, as the thing emerged, Jonah thought it looked like a baby's head, bloody and covered with dark, downy hair.

  Then, it unfurled.

  The gruesome mass bloomed like a flower, poking through the chest wound and popping open. Its true form lay revealed, pulsing and glistening on the blonde's upper body.

  Twelve tentacles swayed and twined around a central bulb the size of a fist. The bulb's slimy pink flesh rippled with eyes and jagged-toothed mouths that snapped and gnashed and oozed.

  The tentacles were lined with suckers and fluttering cilia strung with slime. Oily black fur streaked the outer skin, barely concealing clusters of blisters and running sores.

  "They say you never forget your first look at a feratu," said Stanza.

  Jonah was transfixed. The creature Stanza had called a feratu was like something out of a horror movie.

  "Now you know." Stanza replaced the ammo clip in her machine gun. "That's why it takes a stake through the heart to kill a vampire. Because that's where the feratu sits."

  As Jonah watched, the feratu flipped itself over and crawled across the blonde on its hairy tentacles. It left a trail of bloody slime in its wake.