The room beyond was one of opulent luxury. His feet sank into a carpet deeper than paddling pool that lapped against Corinthian columns of Italian marble. A barrel vaulted ceiling was decorated with scenes from the bible around the edge and a reproduction, or at least Harold assumed it was a reproduction, of Michelangelo's God Creating Adam.
Gold, in the form of glided marble and woodcarvings, gleamed in the muted lighting, the source of which Harold could only assume was recessed mood lighting. Not that he cared overmuch, but it would go well in the ballroom back at the manor. Statuary in both the Greek and Roman styles stood on plinths dotted about the cathedral-like space, though while Harold could understand the fascination for sixteenth-century Venetian art, he was at a loss why a first-century demon would want to emulate the oppressing force of his native country.
At the far end of the nave was a raised area with an altar. Harold could see his quarry standing to one side, though the stone slab itself was wreathed in shadows. He walked through the intervening space, admiring the workmanship and skill of the artisans who must have spent their lives building such a space. His footsteps echoed in the near perfect acoustics.
He paused twenty yards before the altar. From here Harold could make out the twisting shadows on the altar, the prone figure of Gillian held immobile by a handful of Legionairres.