'Witchery.' That almost overpowering voice cut into his head.
'Thanks.' Sam's reply was dry. He spoke as he walked around the huge mansion, searching for a door. 'Tell me: Are you here to help me, or just to bug me?'
'Bug?'
'Annoy; harass; needle.'
'Ah. I haven't as yet decided.'
'You will let me know?'
'Oh, you will know, young warrior. I promise you that.'
Sam stopped at a back door. 'I'm going through that door; so I'll be looking forward to hearing from you again. When you decide which side you're on.'
The chuckling, thundering. 'Oh, I know which side, young warrior. Of that you may be certain.'
'Riddles,' Sam muttered. 'Riddles. I don't know what I'm doing here; don't know what I'm supposed to do—not really; and don't know how I'm supposed to accomplish what it is I'm not sure I'm supposed to do. If that makes any damn sense.'
Thunder rolled.
'Yeah,' Sam said. 'Real cute.' He opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the house.
* * *
The speaker of mighty words and the producer of thunder appeared in the circle of stones behind the mansion and once more sat on a boulder. He folded his massive arms across his chest. The manlike traveler appeared to be waiting for someone.
It was not a long wait.
'Why didn't you tell the young man his young woman saw the face of the Hooved One?'
'I think he has to be tested further. But … perhaps I should have. Is that what you wish me to do?'
'A test? A painful, wicked one, Warrior. What I want you to do? I didn't want you here to begin with.'
'But I am here.'
'Obviously. And instead of listening to the pleas of mortals and attempting to keep shaky fingers off of buttons that would ruin the earth, I am with you wondering why my most powerful ally is sitting on a rock in a circle of stones, erected to worship Satan.'
'The Foul One does not know of my presence.'
'He suspects.'
'Am I supposed to tremble with fear at thai knowledge?'
The Heavens rumbled with laughter. 'Hardly. But at the risk of being redundant, this is not your place. I should order you away.'
'If you do, I shall obey.'
'Yes,' the most powerful voice in all the thousands of worlds seemed to sigh. 'But have I ever?'
'No.'
'And so I shall not this time.'
And with a rush of wind, the voice faded, leaving the mightiest of God's warriors sitting on the rock, thoughtfully stroking his beard.
Sam wandered through the huge mansion, making his way to his room, hoping he would find Nydia there. Their rooms were empty; the great house silent. As a grave. He shook that thought away.
He washed the cut on his head and applied some antiseptic to the small wound, then took several aspirin and changed clothes. He debated several moments over whether to take the .45 pistol, then shook his head and left the weapon where it was. He went in search of Nydia.
He stopped at every door, carefully looking in every room. He found no one in either the east or west wings of the mansion, on either floor. The dining area was deserted, as were the servants' quarters. That left only one place. Sam stood very still in the foyer, listening for the sound that had stopped him in his search. There it was again. Organ music.
He listened to the faint but unmistakable sounds of funeral music, somber and low, coming from up above him.
'Funeral music?' he said. 'Who died?' And then panic hit him hard. What was it the voice had said, speaking in riddles, repeating his father's words: I cannot guarantee she will not be hurt.
'Nydia!' Sam said, running toward the curving stairway, taking the steps two at a time, running for the third floor of the mansion, the music becoming louder with each step, heard over the hammering of Sam's heart and the blood rushing hotly through his veins. 'Nydia,' he whispered. 'Nydia!'
He flung open each door he came to, with each room yielding the same: nothing. He stopped in the center of the dimly lighted hall, staring at the open, yawning door at the end of the hall. Flickering candlelight danced deceptively from the room, and a heady, not unpleasant East Indian essence drifted from the gloom. The music became louder, but this time it was accompanied by the sounds of soft weeping, from a number of people.
Sam walked toward the open double doors, the scent of incense growing stronger with his faltering reluctant footsteps. He stopped just inside the door, just as the gloom and the music and the sweet odor of musk and jasmine enveloped him.
