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, and Ars Notoria. Each novel was dedicated to a specific realm of the paranormal.
He sat down and began to read.
Chapter 18
Cosette awoke to the sun shining through the curtains. She blinked her eyes. It had to be late morning, although she could only remember a handful of times she had slept past eight. It was a rather cheerful way to start the morning when her dreams had been rather fretful. She looked across to where Quinn sat slumped down in a chair in the corner of the room, asleep. He seemed unharmed, so at least that was a good sign. It meant that the voice hadn’t returned to cause havoc.
She stood and walked down the hall to her chamber. She had become rather accustomed to staying in Davien’s room, even if he wasn’t there. As she got dressed, she tried not to think about why he hadn’t returned home yet. She could only hope that meant he’d come across a new lead—and he wasn’t enjoying the delights that the Order had to offer.
Cosette went downstairs and entered the dining room. A single tray was waiting for her, still steaming. She had to smile. It was ironic how the extraordinary things that happened at Shadowlawn were now rather commonplace and comfortingly . . . familiar. She sat down and began to consume the kippers and eggs in front of her.
She intended to spend the rest of the day in the library, hoping to be productive, and find something that Davien might have missed, a book that might spark some sort of idea on how to free them from their curses.
She had just lifted a bite to her lips when there was a knock at the front door.
With a frown, she slowly lowered her fork. Who on earth could be calling?
Expelling a sigh, she realized there was only one way to find out. She set down her napkin and slid her chair back. Standing, she walked to the door. She was in the foyer when another impatient knock sounded. “I’m coming!” she shouted.
She turned the key in the lock and pulled the door open to reveal Mrs. Woodard standing on the front steps. Her friend from the workhouse looked as weary and downtrodden as usual, her clothes threadbare and shabby, but her age-lined face instantly flooded with relief when she spied her. “Oh, thank God, Cosette! I was hoping to find you here. I wasn’t sure where else to turn.”
“Marianne?” Cosette breathed, shock temporarily keeping her immobile. It wasn’t until the widow embraced her in a hug did she react. “Please, come in! You must be freezing! Did you walk all the way here?”
“I did. But it wasn’t any worse than normal.” She glanced at Cosette’s attire. “You’ve done well for yourself, I see. I’m thankful for that, at least.”
Cosette didn’t respond to that. Instead, she asked, “Would you like something to eat?”
The widow hesitated. Even though she was reduced to bare circumstances, Cosette knew that she had her pride and seldom accepted charity. “I’ll take a cup of tea.”
Cosette led the way to the library. It already had a roaring fire going, and she knew it would be less intimidating in there, as opposed to the massive dining room or elegant front parlor. She wasn’t surprised to see a silver tea service already sitting and waiting. As they seated themselves, Cosette offered to pour the tea.
“Gor, I can almost see my reflection,” Mrs. Woodard remarked. “I daresay you have some rather efficient servants. You didn’t even have to ring for the tea.”
“I was just about to have a cup myself,” Cosette hedged. “I spend a lot of time in here.” At least that wasn’t a complete lie. “Cream or sugar?”
“Both please. I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth.” She took the cup from Cosette. “I’m relieved to see that you seem to be settling in well. I was rather concerned when you didn’t come back to the workhouse.”
Cosette felt a pang of guilt for not sending word back to her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Woodard. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
The widow took a sip from her cup, her blue-gray eyes filled with disquiet. “Is the duke good to you?”
“He is,” Cosette admitted honestly. “I’m very lucky to have such a protector.”
Cosette thought of the possibility of Davien’s desertion someday, but at the moment she was more concerned about her locket and the voice tied to it. But since she didn’t want to discuss either, she asked, “What brings you here, Marianne?”
The widow set aside her tea with a heavy sigh. “You should brace yourself, for I’m afraid I have some bad news to impart.”
Cosette felt her entire body tense, but she forced herself to say, “Go on.”
“It’s about Charlotte.” Mrs. Woodard sighed heavily. “I learned that she’s been taken by the Order of St. Francis.”
Cosette stilled. “Are you sure?” Not only was this terrible news, but she also had to wonder if Davien knew about it. If he had, and didn’t tell her . . .
“Quite,” the widow concluded. “I don’t know what we could possibly do to free her from the clutches of such a despicable organization. I fear she’s lost to us.”
Cosette lifted her cup of tea and took a bracing sip. “Don’t lose hope. I’ll think of something.”
The widow gasped. “Surely you’re not thinking of acting on your own? That Abbey is full of deviants. Why, if you cross that threshold you are as good as gone!”
“Charlotte is my friend,” Cosette returned firmly. “I will not allow the men of the Order to condemn her to a life of hell on earth. I will see that she is released.” Cosette took a deep breath and vowed. “Even if I have to step up and take her place.”
~ ~ ~
Davien didn’t return to Shadowlawn until nearly dinnertime. He’d been up all night and day reading tome after tome of the Lemegeton, the books of Solomon. He felt as if he was close to . . . something, but it was always just out of his grasp, teasing, taunting. Thankfully, Dashwood had approved his request for one more visit to the archives, which he planned to do at the earliest convenience. For now, he wanted to check in on Cosette. The truth was, he’d missed her, and he wanted to find out if she’d had any other issues regarding the voice. He also had further instructions for Quinn.
However, the moment he walked in the front door he was greeted by a chill in the air. It was almost . . . unholy. Instantly, he was on guard as the beast inside let out a warning growl and began to prowl around for the threat. Shadows followed in his wake, as he grew closer to the library. Whatever was in there was filled with rage.
&nbs
p; He walked over the threshold—and stopped. He hardly dared to believe that what he was witnessing was real, only that there wasn’t any another explanation for what was right before his very eyes.
Cosette was there, standing before the mantel, but only in human form. Her dark hair was blowing around her shoulders by some unseen breeze as she murmured some sort of incantation. But it was the fire shooting out of her fingertips a steady stream of flame filling the grate that caught his gaze, because it wasn’t the normal glow caused by a wood burning flame. It was completely white.
“Cosette. Awaken.”
She instantly whipped her head around to him and he felt his stomach sink to see that her eyes were once again filled with that terrifying red haze. “Nice of you to join us, Your Grace.” It wasn’t Cosette who spoke, but the voice. “She is not very pleased with you for hiding Charlotte’s whereabouts.”
Davien clenched his jaw. That would explain the rage he’d felt. Cosette felt betrayed, disheartened, so it had been easy for the locket to assume control. “How did she find out?”
“That is not your concern.” The sound of the voice slithered through the air like an invisible snake, gliding on the wind.
He ignored the entity. “Cosette, I know you’re still in there. Listen to me! You have to fight. I didn’t mean to lie to you I was only trying to protect you from the truth. You have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to free Charlotte. But you have to fight now!”
“I grow weary of your pleas, human. I’m tired of waiting. She is coming with me now.”
“Over my dead body,” Davien snarled.
He felt a sly pleasure steal into his bones. “As you command, Your Grace.”
Davien felt the presence behind him a moment before he turned, causing the knife that Quinn held to slice open his upper arm, rather than plunge into the middle of his back. Davien felt his fangs lengthen and grow as he faced off against his coachman. They scuffled for the weapon only a moment before he eyed the jugular at the man’s throat. With a howl, he sank his teeth into the flesh.
~ ~ ~
Blackburn has used you ill.
How long will you heed my warning before you dispense of him?
You are not meant to be with him.
You are mine.
Cosette shook her head, fighting against the demons inside of her head. “Davien,” she whispered, and then stronger, more confident, “Davien.” She kept repeating it over and over until it was a shout breaking free. “His name is DAVIEN!”
After that, all was still. The voice was gone, the haze diminished, the flames shooting from her fingertips evaporating into smoke.
It took her a moment to finally come to terms with her surroundings, but once she did, she gasped at the sight that greeted her. Davien had Quinn bent over his arm, his fangs puncturing the side of his throat until the coachman’s eyes were starting to roll back in his head. “Davien! STOP!”
Instantly, he raised his head, but those weren’t his dark eyes staring back at her, but the glowing, yellow ones that belonged to the beast. “Release him. Please.”
For a moment, those eyes narrowed. She had a moment of fear that he might let Quinn go only to lunge for her, but instead, the fangs slowly retracted, as Davien’s eyes returned to normal. Blood still dripped from his mouth and covered the front of his shirt, but he allowed Quinn to slide to the floor in a lifeless heap. “Cosette?”
He started forward.
She did too.
They met halfway, clutching each other as if afraid to let go, both of them scared that another horrifying experience like that would be the last one to finally rip them apart.
Davien’s hand trembled as he held the back of her head, his hand thrust in her hair. His other grasped her waist in an iron grip. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Charlotte. It was selfish of me to ease your worry.”
She shook her head, her face buried in the curve of his neck, her arms wrapped around his midsection. “I forgive you,” she sobbed, the tears flowing freely. “I did the moment I saw Quinn behind you, bringing that knife down . . .”
“Shh.” He stroked her hair. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”
Cosette closed her eyes against the sight of the coachman’s still body on the floor. “Is he—?”
He shook his head. “He’s alive, but only just. If you hadn’t stopped me . . .”
“It’s not his fault,” she whispered. “The voice was controlling him.”
“I thought that might be the case. But once the beast senses danger, it becomes hard to stop his animalistic urge to defend itself.”
“Can he . . . heal himself like you can?”
Davien reluctantly pulled away from Cosette. “No.”
They glanced at the pool of blood coating the marble floor. Cosette was sure that no matter how long she lived the sight would stay with her for years to come. “Should we send for a physician?”
“It’s too risky. I’ll take care of it.” He walked over and lifted the coachman into his arms, and then turned back to Cosette. “I’ll be back soon.”
With that, he carted Quinn out of the room.
~ ~ ~
Once they were gone, Cosette stumbled out of the library and went to the only place that she felt relatively safe—Davien’s bedchamber, their bedchamber. She sat on the bed, pulled her legs up in front of her and hugged her bent knees. It was a pose she’d sat in many times when she lived at the orphanage. Rather ironic that after seven years she should revert to such an insecure, childhood habit of self-preservation.
She laid her head on her arms, and thought of those dark days, when Arien had been alive. Even at five years old, she had been wise beyond her age. How she wished for her counsel and friendship now. Or even Charlotte’s. She longed to be able to confide her troubles to a female companion, someone who was neutral when it came to the turbulent emotions that Davien evoked. As much as she appreciated Mrs. Woodard, she had only been an acquaintance, not someone she could share her innermost thoughts with.
But even if Arien or Charlotte were around, Cosette knew that she couldn’t very well talk about what had happened here today.
She could hardly admit the horror to herself.
She had finally been able to break free from the trance that had taken hold, but what about next time? Davien was right. The power behind the locket was growing stronger. Today she had felt the weight of the magic in the chain around her neck like a stone. Not only that, but the force behind the necklace had nearly killed Davien—and Quinn.
Could she live with her guilt if it eventually succeeded?
The answer, most assuredly, was no.
But what could she do? Maybe she should just leave, go away until she could be ensured that she would never hurt anyone again. Either that, or see if Shadowlawn had a dungeon—
She sat straight up in bed.
The solution was clear. Davien wouldn’t like it. In truth, he’d be furious. But in the end he would have to realize that this was the wisest course.
She scrambled off the bed. There wasn’t much time if she didn’t want to worry about Davien returning and forbidding her to go. Or else talk herself out of it.
Chapter 19
Dusk had fallen by the time Cosette stood at the entrance to Medmenham Abbey. She wasn’t sure if there was a certain rule to follow when it came to gaining an audience with a member of the Order, but she was rather confident that she would be allowed entry when she told whomever was in charge that the Duke of Blackburn was her protector.
‘Fais ce que tu voudras.’
She read the inscription on the stained glass above the door, moments before it was opened. A man wearing a white robe stood there. A hood covered most of his face. For a moment, Cosette’s courage faltered, but whenever she thought of Da
vien and the reasons she was here, it was recovered. “I’m here to speak to the Abbot.”
She thought she could sense the man’s surprise, but he didn’t speak as he stood aside and waved an arm for her to precede him. Cosette found herself in a cavernous room. “Wait here.”
His deep voice echoed through the hall, causing a shiver to run up Cosette’s arms. She stood and looked out the window at the Thames beyond. As night began to fall, the river looked like a twisting serpent, slithering through the fields toward the city. It might have been a rather morbid comparison, but considering what she was about to do, it rather suited her mood.
“You’re either courageous or very foolish for braving the den of the lion,” came a smooth voice from behind her.
She turned to find a man cloaked in red. He also wore a hood, but he removed it to show off a head full of dark hair lined with bits of silver. “For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure, as to restriction, are most suitable.”
Cosette was surprised when the man smiled. “A lady who quotes Hippocrates. Very intriguing.” He waved a hand toward a wooden table. “Would you care for a drink?”
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I’m here on business, not a social call.” A sudden, ear-piercing, female moan split the air, along with a guttural male cry. And then a second. Her cheeks instantly warmed, knowing what was transpiring beyond the closed door on the opposite side of the room, but she added, “Or what you consider social behavior.”
The man opposite her chuckled richly. “Then you won’t mind if I imbibe.” He poured himself a drink and sat down. She remained standing. “You have spirit. Tell me, what is your name?”
This was the moment of truth. “It’s Cosette du Bouir. I am the mistress of the Duke of Blackburn.”
The Secrets of Shadows Page 15
