“Remember the existence of probabilities, that’s all,” Cyprus said. “I wanted you to have a good look at your personality’s life and work before you’re introduced into his environment.”

“And the Christ character,” Seven said. “People who think they’re Christ worry me too. You never really know what they’re up to. I still don’t see why George was so upset when he felt better.”

“You will,” Cyprus replied. “Worry about that later if you must. Right now I want you to have a look at George’s establishment. George is spending the afternoon and early evening at the cottage, with his wife.” And as soon as Cyprus spoke, she and Seven were in George’s downstairs offices, several blocks away. “Pay particular attention to the layout of the house,” Cyprus said. “The family rooms are upstairs, for example. You’re supposed to meet George for the first time for dinner at eight.”

“Why should I pay particular attention to all that?” Seven asked. “I sense some implications … or complications….” But Cyprus was gone.

Uneasily, Oversoul Seven looked around. Though everything looked normal, the rooms had an unsettled quality—a shifting or impermanent feel—as if they had only just taken their present form the moment before he arrived. Seven sighed. Despite his odd premonitions about the house, his first duty was to look it over, and then to meet Cyprus so they could settle the question of what kind of body he should take.

Seven whiled away the time by trying on various images for size, though he didn’t thicken them into bodies—mostly because he didn’t know how.

The time passed so quickly that it was evening before Seven realized it; and George, he thought, should be home at any time. He decided he’d better look the house over as Cyprus suggested. He went into the next room; just as he did, he took the immaterial form of a young man in his late twenties—the approximate age he’d appear in his physical body—when he got one. It was then he realized that something wasn’t right: Everything was blurring, as if either time or space were being squeezed out of shape.

Chapter Two

The Right Place but the Wrong Time — The Right Name but the Wrong Man

Invisibly Seven swirled around, trying to get a fix on the proper time and space and to acquaint himself with the territory, so to speak. He knew that he had the space right, for looking out of one of the windows through the lace curtains, he saw the river a block away, the arching bridge, and the opposite shore. The house lights were off … lights? Oversoul Seven gulped and looked out the window again—those were gaslights in the street instead of electrical ones. He was in the wrong time. In his preoccupation with his images, he’d let his hold on time slip.