She went down the passage, and came to the head of the stair. For a moment she was daunted, the entire area of the hall was in blackness. Then she made out a faint soft nothing-light from the drawing room—a lamp or candles there, alight.

She began to descend the stairs carefully, letting her light fall on the treads. How red the carpet looked under the pool of the lamp.

The nymph sprang out, holding up her empty lantern.

As Rachaela reached the level floor of the lobby, the light in the adjacent room went out suddenly, A last candle left burning, now guttered. No one there, for she heard no shuffling or clicking step, no rustle of a dress or scrape of a sleeve.

In the black the hall about her seemed enormous, pouring away from her light to infinity.

But any watchers, crouching unseen in the shadows, could see Rachaela clearly in her spotlight.

It was not unlikely there were watchers.

Rachaela’s imagination tried to vault the bounds of her mind. The hall was peopled by things, formless yet sentient, the spirits of the house, hungry as the Scarabae.

And then something came from the corridor and out into the blackness of the hall. It came unseen and noiseless, yet she felt it there. The little hairs of her body lifted erect. This was not imagination.

. Rachaela raised her lamp and a wing of the hall appeared, tilted. Two flat green eyes gleamed on nothingness.

A cat. Too high up to be a cat’s eyes.

Rachaela heard a soft and slipping step, like a feather brushing the floor.

She went cold and thrust the lamp the length of her arm.

A creature stood with her in the hall. It had the form of a cat, but it was the height of a labrador. Its hair was long, bushy and black, glittering at the light on darkness. Its great cat-shaped head was turned to her, and the eyes shone topaz now, thoughtless and intent and terrible.

Rachaela did not move. She did not dare. Such a thing was not possible, but there it stood, seeing her, so still that its springing would be too swift for her brain to take in. She would merely find herself beneath it, the wide paws planted on her, talons tearing, its teeth at her throat.

‘Don’t be afraid of him, he won’t hurt you.’

The madness of the voice came disembodied, from nowhere.

She did not dare to speak or move.

‘He knows you,’ said the voice. And then a man walked from the black, bringing blackness with him. He placed his pale hand on the head of the enormous cat, scratching it gently between the ears. The cat made no sound but its eyes half closed. It suffered the attention.