“Not that sort of gratification,” Davien purred. “Although I have offered her the opportunity to further expand her personal enjoyment. We were considering something a bit more . . . provocative.”
Again, those brows were raised. “What could be more amusing than our group orgies? I find them to be very pleasing.”
Davien leaned closer, as if imparting a dark secret. “We are wanting to invoke the spirits.”
“How very Machiavellian of you,” Dashwood murmured, although he seemed intrigued. “If I allow the use of our knowledge, perhaps you might share your findings with the rest of the Order, so that we might enjoy similar . . . pursuits in the future.”
Davien kept his outward composure, but inside, the beast was moving, heavy with anticipation. “Of course.”
“Then come with me.”
Davien followed Dashwood past several closed oak doors, where most of the lecherous acts of the Order took place. They continued down a set of narrow stone steps, which Davien knew lead into the bowels of hell. A labyrinth of tunnels connected at the base, where the true immoral acts took place. He’d been here many times.
Dashwood took the path to the left. After a series of twists and turns, he finally paused before a set of doors at the end of the hall. He reached into his pocket and produced two iron keys. “The darkness and the light. You will need both—one to enter and one to leave. Do not dishonor the privilege you have been given in accessing the archives.” He handed them to Davien. “I hope your search proves fruitful.”
Davien bowed lightly, as if in reverence, as Dashwood took his leave.
Davien put the first key in the lock and heard the mechanism inside click before he pushed the door open. There was a slight creak of the hinges before a sizeable room was revealed.
The first thing he noticed was the musty scent of old parchment and leather. He shut the door behind him and pulled on the ring. It held tight. He was locked in, which meant no one else could interrupt him.
He pocketed the keys until he needed them again, and began to peruse the titles on the shelves. Some of them, like Calmet’s book and Dante Alighieri’sDivine Comedywere already in his personal collection. He moved down the line and scanned works dedicated to science, philosophy, alchemy, astrology, religion, and any other subject devoted to the study of the occult. There was a title involving Mephistopheles, and the legend of Faust who supposedly sold his soul to the devil himself. He skimmed over Nostradamus’ book ‘Les Propheties,’ and the works of Johannes Trithemius and his three-volume novel about magic, ‘Steganographia.’ Beside it was another set by one of Trithemius’ students, Heinrich Agrippa, his book entitled, ‘De occulta philosophia libri tres.’
After nearly thirty minutes, Davien had reviewed all of the titles available, but none of them were what he was looking for. He’d heard of all of these tomes before, had even read most of them.
He’d reached another dead end.
He blew out a breath and walked to the second door, intent on leaving. But suddenly, a force like none other hit him in the gut, and sent him backward against the wall, striking his head on the stones.
He shook his head as black spots danced before his vision. Obviously something was attempting to give him a firm warning to not return. Interesting. Davien closed his eyes, using the beast to hone in on the sinister source. It drew him to a corner of the room that he thought he’d already investigated. A dusty covering was lying on top of a pile of books, ensuring that they were nearly concealed from view. As he reached for it, he drew his hand back, feeling as if he had been burned.
It was a similar sensation to the tingling he’d felt near Cosette’s locket.
He clenched his jaw and fought the pain to snatch the covering away. For a moment, all he could do was stare. He’d heard of the existence of ‘Clavicula Salomonis Regis,’ the Lesser Key of Solomon, but he had never thought the set of five novels actually existed. They were believed to be a collection of spell books on the subject of demonology. He picked the volumes up and set them on a nearby table.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured. They were all there—Ars Goetia, Ars Theurgia Goetia, Ars Paulina, Ars Almadel, andArs Notoria. Each novel was dedicated to a specific realm of the paranormal.
He sat down and began to read.
