Seven listened to Will with a feeling of dismay, but something else kept bothering him, and he couldn’t properly identify what it was—a fact that annoyed him even more. Mary started to weep again; Will had the grace to be quiet for a moment, and Seven mentally explored the many-leveled nature of this interview with the Virgin. Mary was acting; that idea came to him. Christ and Zeus were acting; but no, that wasn’t exactly right, either. There was a drama though, in which psychological props were being used, Seven thought, and he had to know what part he was playing, along with Lydia and Will before … what? Before the pilgrimage to the gods turned into something else entirely. Or had it already? As soon as Seven thought of Lydia, Mary’s cottage vanished, or at least he and Will found themselves outside once more, walking down the street.

“Seven! Seven!”

Hearing his name called, Oversoul Seven stopped with surprise. Who could be looking for him here? He eyed the street. No one looked familiar. The street hawkers were putting away their wares for the afternoon. Donkeys were reladen with supplies. Dogs and children skittered here and there. Horses slopped water. Men and women in various everyday garbs suddenly began to hurry away—perhaps to simple suppers. Then amid the confusion Seven noticed one figure, also dressed as a pilgrim, running toward him. It was Lydia.

The moment Seven recognized her, he heard another voice, Cyprus’, mentally say, “You forgot someone, didn’t you?” Seven started to answer, but by then Lydia was saying breathlessly, “Cyprus sent me here. I had a dreadful experience. I’m not sure what it really was, but there were insane gods and God knows what! I came to on a hillside. But who is this?”

Will was really beginning to enjoy himself, and Oversoul Seven’s obvious discomfiture. “Who are you?” he asked, bowing with mock deference. “The Virgin Mary’s sister, I suppose?”

Lydia started to respond rather tartly, when Will immediately went on, “Or Buddha’s daughter? Or perhaps Buddha in a woman’s guise? Or—”

“Stop that,” Seven cried. “Not another word.”

But Will was tasting a sense of power. He made a mental note to find out exactly what pills he’d popped because he’d never had such a brilliant, heady, conscious trip before. “That’s it,” he shouted, snapping his fingers. “You must be Buddha.”