Malden crept down a hallway that ran the length of the third floor, looking for the locked door that would lead to Hazoth’s sanctum. He could afford to be a little noisier now, since the hallway itself was far from silent.

Visitors to the house would never be allowed up here, he knew. Because this was where the villa got strange. The floating dining room table, the living books, the man of smoke he’d seen downstairs had all been miraculous, even wonderful. But up here was where Hazoth’s real magic was done.

The door to the laboratory was open, and Malden could hear foul ichors and mysterious fluids bubbling and oozing inside. A greenish light leaked out of that room, and the air before its door shimmered as if something inside were enormously hot—though when Malden passed it, he felt a chill and unwholesome breeze. The next room down the corridor concealed a kind of bestiary, judging from the mournful howling and frightened whimpering he heard. What manner of beasts were trapped within, whether ordinary animals to be experimented upon or exotic creatures kept as curiosities, he could not guess. He was not so foolish as to open the door just to find out.

A third door seemed to breathe in as he passed it, then exhale as he watched. As if the door itself was alive. He could see a dim, shimmering light coming from the crack between the bottom of the door and the floorboards. The light was the dark red of pitfire. Malden couldn’t help himself. He reached for the doorknob, thinking to throw open the door and see what lay beyond.

Just then, however, the door exhaled again—and filled the air before him with the stench of brimstone. He withdrew his hand quickly.

It couldn’t be, could it? This must be some kind of sorcerous joke. There was no way even a man like Hazoth would have a door in his house that led directly to the pit itself. What if someone opened that door by mistake?

But then—no one who was allowed up here would ever make that mistake. Not unless Hazoth wanted them to.

Malden kept moving. He passed another door and heard a very different kind of sound—no less plaintive—coming from within. Someone was weeping in there, though not someone human. The sounds were unnatural and unnerving, rising now and then to a crescendo of wailing that never came from any human throat. Lower, and harder to hear, was a rhythmic grunting that did sound human. It would seem Hazoth was . . . entertaining in there.