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Although I was quite dismayed at the state of the outside of Will's house, the interior was a vast improvement. Of course that left it somewhere shy of neglected, but at least it wasn't as bad as I had pictured. The floor was bare boards, grimy and clearly unswept for a while, but as we went deeper they were covered in threadbare carpets that at least hid the stains of neglect. Our host hobbled along ahead of us, directing our attention to various curios and keepsakes in boxes and cabinets on the walls. There were odd skulls and strange wooden fetishes, the likes of which I had not seen since my last trip into the darker parts of the African continent. The rumours of devilry and other dark practises that had clung to the Marcell family returned to me as I watched Will gesture with his inflamed paw at a wicked-faced spirit mask on the wall. I suppressed a shudder and walked on.

We were made comfortable in a large study, where logs crackled merrily in a cold, stone grate. The room was large and dim, and the fire merely added a sooty texture to the air as we dragged horsehair chairs closer. Will lowered himself into his own with the air of a gout-riddled elder, although he was not too far from us in age. In the firelight his blank, blind eye seemed to glisten moistly as he made pleasant conversation.

He seemed the genial host, and I felt a little ashamed at my reaction to his deformities. Del, too, had switched effortlessly into being the very picture of decorum, although she seldom looked directly at Will's face. I ended looking around the room from the musty confines of my chair as the conversation became more and more about the inane topics of fashion and society. My eyes kept on picking out faded gilt lettering on the age-cracked leather bindings of the books shoved higgeldy-piggeldy into the many shelves that surrounded us. These days if I saw so much as the glimmer of recognition in someone eyes if I mentioned them it would have immediately put me on guard. However, back then they meant nothing to me other than to confirm that the Marcell line's reputation for occultism was well-founded.

There was, I recall, such horrific works as the Latin translation of The Outer Dark, the shunned poetry of von Host and even a volume of the Anatomica Diabolique. A tattered scroll held in a dusty glass case I now know was one of the pages of the Rites of Affirmation. While I had no idea what it was at the time, and refused to look too closely at the illustration, the sheer grotesquery of the thing made me uneasy. I sipped the brackish and lukewarm tea that a surly butler had provided and tried to get back into the more mundane topics being discussed.

Will was just discussing the ball, informing us that it would be tomorrow evening. There was something covetous in his tone and expression as he gazed at my sister that put my teeth on edge. She had not noticed it as she was still trying not to look at Will's aberrant features. He had either forgotten I was there or assumed I was no longer paying attention, as he was quite obviously leering at her openly. I cleared my throat, and he glared daggers at me for a moment, before apparently remembering he was supposed to be playing the host.

"I recall the invitation said something about a hunt, Will. Will that be after the ball?" The question seemed to throw him for a moment.

"Actually we were thinking about having it in the afternoon," he replied. He broke down into a coughing fit for a few seconds, the violence of which made both Del and I look away, embarrassed. "We'll be tracking some of the game birds on the moors. Nothing too strenuous, you understand. We have to save all our energy for...the ball." He coughed again, although I felt that the noise was to cover up a syrupy chuckle of dark amusement.

When he had finished racking his chest, Will spat something glistening into a handkerchief that he tucked back into his pocket. Del looked most put out at this, and I was sure I did not look much better. "I think we'd best turn in for the night, old chap," I said, getting to my feet. I honestly didn't know what it was that made me want to get away from hoim the most; the possibility of catching whatever he had, if it were contagious, or watching him suffer through another coughing fit. "Long drive and all, you understand. Can you get your man to show us to our room?"

Del nodded eagerly. Will scowled at me again but rang a small hand bell to summon one of his thugs. We were guided to a small, dry room overlooking a weedy courtyard, where our bags had been emptied into various drawers and dressers. Both of us shared a moment of unease; it felt wrong, grimy somehow, for these men to have been through our possessions.

"Good lord, Del," I said, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Will looks like he's on his last legs." I looked around at the brown portraits of brown men on brown horses. "I suppose it must be true what they say about his lot having some sort of inherited disease. My god though...what could do that to a man?"

"I really don't want to think about it," Del said with a demure little shudder. "I'm sorry I ever took him up on his invitation. We need to relax, not spend time with...that!"

I waved a paw at our surroundings. "This is like something out of a bad novel. The creepy house with the sinister owner. All we need is for there to be a pair of eyes staring at us from a portrait and we'll be set." I glared at the nearest oil painting, which refused to bow to the cliche.

"At least it is only two days though. We'll stay for the party, then make our excuses and go home," Del nodded as she dug out her night dress. I lay back and stared at the patchy plaster ceiling. She flashed me a weak smile. "Come on, Em. We'll be fine."

I smiled back, but did not share her confidence.

The night was filled with more then the normal country sounds, which kept both of us up. We heard people moving around the halls of the mansion, shuffling and tapping on the walls. At one point I am sure I woke in the dead of night to hear atonal singing from outside. Del later told me she heard the tread of something heavy and abnormally soft in the corridor outside, and that the door-handle rattled ominously before hushed voices guided the mysterious visitor away.

All in all we were rather grumpy and a little washed out by the time we took a tasteless and greasy breakfast in the main hall. We were joined by more of the guests for the party, which apparently included the mayor and chief constable from the village, as well as some giggling bright young things from London. There was also a stick-thin pastor and a man (or woman) wrapped so tightly in stained gauze and bandages that I could not even determine what they were. All of them greeted my sister with abundant enthusiasm, aside from the mummified enigma. It was actually a little unseemly, the way they pawwed and hugged at her, and Delilah was quite perturbed. Not as much as I was to see how obviously my presence was a cause of immediate distaste from the group.

I found myself pushed the the edge of the crowd, which suited me fine. These people struck me as being somehow strung out and in Will's thrall. They spoke glowingly of him and his 'power' and 'abilities', and asked Del endless questions about how she knew him and if she was honoured to be there. It all combined with the long night and the disgusting food to make me quite queasy.

Around noon Will joined us, dressed for a hunt. He had traded in his cane for a shotgun, and I found myself staring at the gibbet-like callipers he had attached to his right leg. The bulges between the tight leather and metal supports spoke of a limb bloated beyond usability, and explained why he normally walked with a stick. Del decided to come with us to watch, despite Will trying to persuade her otherwise. The day was bleak and rainy, and it was definitely not good weather for it. We, Will, and several of his flunkies ended up spread across a number of little trenches cut into the peaty soil while his servants went out as beaters. I brought down a couple of tattered birds that went up, but it was looking quite disappointing.

I put down the old gun I had been lent for the hunt and sighed. The day was cool enough that my breath misted the air. "Can you run back to the others and grab me some more shells, Del?" I asked. She nodded and padded away through the murky drizzle. I looked around and saw our host speaking with a gangling youth who had reeked of hashish and incense when I shook his limp paw at breakfast. They were nodding and gesturing, and casting surreptitious glances my way. I looked back over the moors, although the view did not improve things at all.

The beaters seemed to be heading out again and I raised my gun in anticipation. At that moment I heard Del yell out my name, so I turned to look. The wall of the muddy trench blew out near my head. Had I been facing forward it would certainly have taken a chunk of my head off. As it was, that motion simply caused the spread of shot to pepper my arm and shoulder. Cursing like a sailor I went down, swatting at my injured arm and trying to figure out what happened. Moments later Del was at my side, trying to get me to lie down, calm down, and stop shouting. I pushed her aside and saw the junkie stood with his gun smoking, looking in my direction.

"You utter arse!" I screamed at him. I went to storm the distance between us so I could give him a good smack, but Del grabbed me. "What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?"

"I'm...sorry!" he quavered back. Will's deformed face looked like thunder, although I was struck that it was me he was looking at with anger, not the bloody fool that nearly took my head off. "It was a misfire...a misfire!"

Del's insistence, and the ebbing of my shock and adrenaline made me back off. My heavy jacket had taken the edge off the blast, along with the distance. I could feel blood running down my sleeve though, and it hurt like a bastard. But I didn't think it was anything too serious. Shooting the bastard a glance that promised we would speak about this later, I went back to the house to get cleaned up.

Will came to apologise, but insisted that the village doctor would be unavailable. As such it was down to Del to pull about seven bits of buckshot out of my arm with tweezers. She bandaged me up and gave me a hug, which I returned with a wince.

"It was just an accident," she insisted. "Hunting accidents happen all the time. I'm just glad it wasn't any worse."

"That idiot wouldn't know one end of a gun from the other if you clubbed him with it," I replied, desperate for a cigarette to calm my nerves. I had a good mind to go and educate him in that manner, but Del's presence calmed me a bit.

The rest of the afternoon was, for me, a dismal haze of aching pain and resentment. I took food in our room, and Del joined me after a decent time mingling with the other guests. I could tell that they had said or done something to perturb her, but she would not be drawn on it. "Let's just get tonight over with," she insisted. "Then we can go home."

She helped me dress for the ball, reproachfully commenting on my language whenever moving my arm made me wince and swear. I helped her tie her dress at the back as best as I could. Soon we were both ready. Adjusting our masks for comfort, we headed down to the ball...and unimaginable horror.