Dance with the Devil

was one of the things that he had been trying to warn her about. Then she sighed in disgust at her even momentary consideration of the Romanian's superstitions, ashamed that she had let the gloomy, sullen mood of the chill night get to her so badly.
        The moan came again. It was definitely in the main corridor and not too very far away from her door.
        The sound was odd indeed, but within the realm of sensible explanation, she felt sure-not a vampire or a werewolf, not a banshee, not the beseeching call of a devil seeking souls-something altogether common and unharmful.
        She opened her door and listened until the sound came again, like the soft cry of someone in pain. She placed it very near at hand, though she could see nothing close by.
        Stepping into the hall, she silently closed the door. She let her eyes adjust to the deep darkness which was relieved only minimally by the very weak light that passed through the tiny casement window at the end of the hall on her right. In a few minutes, when she could see fairly well, it became obvious that no one else inhabited this half of the main corridor. The half of the hall beyond the stairwell was too far away and too dark for her to see clearly. But that didn't matter, for the noise was nearer at hand.
        The cry came again, much longer this time but still tantalizingly indefinable. It might be someone in pain -or it might be nothing more than the wind blowing through a nook in the roofing.
        Curiously, it sounded as if it were generated directly overhead, not more than a few feet away.
        She looked up.
        Nothing…
        There was a door across the corridor, and it seemed the best place to look first. She knew, from Yuri's comments as he had lead her to her room earlier in the evening, that no one slept in that room-at least, he had not mentioned it to her while pointing out the bedchambers of other members of the household. She crossed to the door, pulled it open and found a set of dusty stairs leading upwards into a Stygian pool of darkness.
        She had brought a flashlight with her, and now she was glad that she always thought of the little things when she packed. Returning to her room, moving silently so as not to wake anyone in the house if the strange noise had not already stirred them, she found the light and brought it back to the stairwell. She flicked it on, shone it on the worn, wooden risers which, judging from the patina of dust, had not been trod in several years.
        The cry sounded again.
        Standing in the open doorway, she could hear it far more clearly than ever, drifting down the steps from the unused third level.
        It occurred to Katherine as she stood there at the bottom of the stairs that this was none of her business, this odd cry, and that she would be far better off if she turned right around, went back to her warm bed and tried to get some sleep. That would, however, be something of a concession to the doubts which Yuri had placed in her mind, a concession she was loathe to make. Superstitions. No one in Owlsden had any reason to hurt her. On the contrary, they had every reason to treat her well. Besides, her curiosity had been so strongly aroused that she could not deny it and then hope to find any sleep.
        She started up the stairs.
        They were so well-made that none of them squeaked under her.
        At the top, she had still not encountered anyone or anything that could have been making the odd noise. She shone the flashlight behind her and looked at the scuff marks that her slippers had made in the virgin blanket of dust, then faced front again and examined the corridor in which she found herself. This one was much like the first and second floor halls, just as richly appointed, as high-ceilinged and as eccentrically inlaid with exotic woods. The carpet had been rolled up long ago and replaced by a carpet of brown dust. The furniture had been removed, she had the feeling that the rooms off the hall would be equally barren.
        The air was colder up here than in the lower regions of the great house. When she touched the radiator that walled the entire end of the corridor to waist height, she found that it had been turned off and was icy.
        The cry came again, directly ahead of her, across the hall. She went there, the light ahead of her like a sword, and opened the door of the room that lay directly over her own.
        The sound