Harper rapped at the carved double doors. The sound wasn't much, but it carried through the stillness. A moment later a slot in one of the doors opened and a young man, dressed in the estate colors of blue and white, grinned out at Harper.

His name was Giles and he was the eldest son of Mrs. Kately, the housekeeper. Harper's annual visits always afforded him a glimpse of the progress of Giles' maturity. This year Giles sported a wispy brown mustache that looked like something he might have bought in a costume shop rather than grown. The way he stroked his chin told Harper that he was rather proud of the thing. Giles pulled aside the heavy bolt and heaved at the door.

"Good morning, Master William. It's a pleasure to see you back at the estate, sir." Giles inclined his head and then noticed Belimai.

In the bright morning sun, it was obvious that Belimai's clothes were mismatched and the wrong sizes. His skin looked waxy and his hair was a wild, black mass. He clenched his eyes closed against the light.

Giles stared at him.

"Good morning to you also, sir," Giles said after a moment.

Belimai groaned slightly in response.

"Giles." Harper called the young man's attention away from Belimai. "Will you inform Mrs. Kately that I have a guest with me and that he is ill? We'll be taking meals upstairs."

"Yes, sir." Giles bowed and then quietly left the entry hall.

"Are you all right?" Harper asked once they were alone.

Belimai slowly cracked his eyes open wide enough to study his surroundings.

"Too damn bright," Belimai said quietly.

The marble floor gleamed, reflecting the shafts of sunlight that poured in through the windows. Though tapestries of martyred saints no longer hung from the walls, the estate house still held remnants of its early history. Gilded crosses were etched into the face of each door and over every archway. Narrow, stained glass windows infused the morning light with vivid colors. Tiny, luminous visions of angels in battle and sinners in torment shone from high up in the walls.

Harper followed Belimai's gaze up to a furious, red-eyed angel of vengeance. The image was one of a hundred that Harper had seen day-in and out during his youth and then again during his studies at St. Bennet's. Like the images of the cross, angels had become so familiar to Harper that he hardly noticed them at all anymore.

Belimai's pupils dilated and contracted. His lips moved fractionally, but no sound came out. Harper wondered if he was hallucinating.

"Belimai," Harper said. "It's just a stained glass window."

"She looks like your sister," Belimai said at last.

Harper looked back up at the window. Belimai was right. It did look like Joan. Not the sweet, brown-eyed girl of his memories, but the furious woman she had become after Peter Roffcale's murder. The angel hung over him like an accusation.

"Harper," Belimai whispered.

"What?" Harper glanced back to Belimai.

His face had gone a bloodless white. He swayed, and Harper placed an arm on his shoulder to steady him.

"It's all right," Belimai whispered. "I'm just..." Belimai crumpled. Harper caught him and lifted him up into his arms.

The closest bedroom was the nursery. Harper doubted that Belimai would appreciate the decor, but at the moment he wasn't likely to notice it. The walls were painted in bright childish colors and Harper's name was embroidered across the trim of the coverlet on the bed.

As Harper lay Belimai down on the bed, he realized that Belimai had regained consciousness. He stared at the far wall.

"My God," Belimai muttered, "are there clouds all over the walls?"

"Yes. You should get out of these clothes." When Harper reached for Belimai's coat, Belimai flinched back from him. Then he suddenly cupped his hands over his face.

"Are you going to be sick?" Harper felt a slight burst of panic as he glanced around for a basin of some kind.

"No." Belimai slowly lowered his arms. "For a moment I thought I was in the Inquisition House again." Belimai scowled at the far wall, with its scattering of fluffy white clouds.

"Where the hell am I?" Belimai demanded.

"We're in the nursery. And you need to get undressed and lay down." Harper gently tugged off Belimai's shoes and then took his coat. "These are the only rooms that have been improved much in the last hundred years. Hopefully the pumped water and heating will make up for the blue sky and little clouds painted all over the walls and ceiling."

"Maggots," Belimai mumbled.

"Maggots?" Harper asked.

"There are sticky piles of maggots eating through the walls."

"They're not real," Harper said.

"I know." Belimai continued staring. "It's quite a convincing hallucination though."

Belimai seemed oddly calm. Harper wondered if it was because he was too tired to react or if Belimai was already deeply familiar with hallucinations. Harper watched him for a moment. Belimai continued to glare at the wall as if it were to blame for what he saw.

"You know what the worst thing about them is?" Belimai didn't look at Harper when he spoke.

"What?"

"The fact that they're coming from my own mind." Belimai forced an unnaturally bright smile. "All those ugly little bodies are worming out of ugly little me." He continued staring forward at the wall. Harper began to worry.

"I never realized I was so familiar with maggots," Belimai continued. "So white and pulpy. Their wet little mouths never stop chewing. They glisten."

"Try not to think about them. You're going to have to try to sleep." Harper gently took hold of Belimai's arm and worked his shirt off him. It was damp with sweat. Harper tossed it aside. The skin of Belimai's chest was deathly pale, and the scars left by the prayer engines looked alarmingly red.

"I don't want to close my eyes," Belimai said. "I don't want to keep seeing them inside my head."

"They'll go away, I promise." Harper stripped off the rest of Belimai's clothes. Belimai took a short, sharp breath each time Harper's hands contacted his skin. His yellow eyes searched the far wall. Harper pushed him back down into the blankets.

"You have to sleep, Belimai," he said.

"No. I don't," Belimai whispered, but he wasn't even looking at Harper. His eyes were wide and focused on the empty space to Harper's left.

Belimai's eyes had been open so long that tears welled up and dribbled down the sides of his face.

"Belimai," Harper said softly. "Close your eyes."

"Close yours," Belimai hissed.

"Why?" Harper asked.

"I don't want you to see me like this." Belimai pulled his gaze away from the ceiling and stared hard at Harper. "Close your eyes."

Harper closed his eyes.

He heard Belimai shifting through the blankets.

Harper cracked his eyes just enough to take in a shadowed impression of Belimai's motions. Belimai crouched on the far side of the bed. He was still for a moment, then he hunched over and vomited into a bedside washbasin. Harper closed his eyes again and gave Belimai his privacy. After a few minutes, the room seemed too quiet. Harper opened his eyes. Belimai knelt on the floor. Harper watched Belimai cram himself under the small bed and collapse.

As Harper lifted Belimai back up onto the bed, he noticed with alarm that blots of blood colored Belimai's chest. The holy words scarring Belimai's body were bleeding. As Harper watched, a delicate line on Belimai's shoulder split and bright red beads of blood welled up. Letter after letter opened, as if a phantom blade were re-tracing each of the ophorium-packed scars that the prayer engines had laid down.