Chapter 14 Occult Tomes
OCCULT TOMES
Magic brushed faintly against my nerve endings as the car wound up the mountain road four hours later. My wolf grew alert when she sensed the convergence of ley lines grow closer.
We were approaching the Holt mansion.
Since the appointment was after office hours, Didi and Gavin had bailed on us and promised to catch up the following morning.
Samuel turned into the private road that marked the edge of the property. A thick pine and oak forest rose around us, the soaring branches merging to form a canopy that swallowed the sky. Fading sunlight filtered through in golden shafts.
Sullen silence radiated from the back seat of the Bentley.
Bo had been sulking ever since he got into the car twenty minutes ago.
“You had five cookies at Barney’s,” I reminded him curtly. “Never mind the three muffins this morning.”
“They were small muffins,” the Husky said in a surly voice.
“I heard you ate half a cake when Abby met Ellie for coffee the other day,” Samuel pointed out.
“Ellie makes a mean cake,” Bo protested. “It’d be a crime not to eat it.”
“She does make a mean cake,” I murmured. “Still, you’ve had your body weight in bacon most mornings since we moved in with the Hawthornes.”
Bo stamped his paws indignantly. “But I have a fast metabolism.” He avoided my narrow-eyed stare and pressed his nose against the window. “You’ve seen me run,” he mumbled. “I’m basically an athlete.”
I sighed. “Running to your food bowl doesn’t count. And don’t repeat what you just said in front of Pearl. That cat will bust a gut laughing.”
Samuel’s lips twitched.
Bo huffed and flopped dramatically across the back seat.
“He’ll get over it,” Samuel reassured when he saw my expression.
The road narrowed and turned into a driveway as we climbed into the hills, the trees pressing close on either side.
The Holt mansion finally appeared against the orange-and-pink-tinged sky, its gray limestone walls punctuated by tall, narrow windows that reflected the dying light.
Gargoyles crouched along the roofline, their stone faces frozen in silent screams.
Bo’s ears flattened a little as he eyed them. “Those things are still creepy.”
The private drive curved through manicured grounds before ending in a circular courtyard. Samuel parked the Bentley and we climbed out into the cool evening air.
A massive iron fountain now stood at the center of the forecourt, water trickling from the mouths of carved serpents with a deceptively joyful sound.
We stared.
“Lauren did mention a new water feature,” I remarked.
Bo pressed against my leg. “My creepometer just maxed out.”
“No one is to mention the unfortunate incident at the ball,” Samuel warned in a low voice as we made for the front door.
Bo looked at him and wagged his tail hesitantly. “Which one? There were several.”
Samuel’s eyes shrank to slits. “You’re not to mention any of them.”
“Gotcha. My lips are zipped.”
My wolf’s hackles rose as we approached the mansion—not from any sense of impending danger, but from the sheer power humming beneath our feet. Even dormant, the ley lines made the ground feel alive.
Priscilla Holt answered the doorbell. She wore an elegant charcoal silk pant suit and the ever watchful expression I’d come to expect from a member of the Council of Elders.
Her gaze softened at the sight of us.
“Samuel. Abby.” She looked down at Bo. “And your rather vocal companion.”
“I prefer ‘distinguished canine detective,’” Bo huffed proudly, tail swinging.
Priscilla’s mouth curved fractionally. “It’s good to see you again. Do come in.”
The interior of the property matched the exterior for Gothic grandeur. Dark wood paneling and stylish furnishings decorated the cavernous entry hall we crossed, our footsteps echoing on the marble floors. I noted splashes of vivid color that hadn’t been there before.
“Beatrice is helping me redecorate,” Priscilla said when she caught me staring.
“Oh,” I said awkwardly. “How’s that going?”
“As well as it can be,” Priscilla replied diplomatically. Her mask slipped for a moment. “Change is not easy. I’m so used to running this family. Letting go of the reins is proving more difficult than I’d thought it would be.”
I made a sympathetic noise.
It was a good thing Priscilla had chosen to get decorating advice from the younger Lupton sister. If Lauren had it her way, the Holt mansion would be an ode to goth rock by now.
“Victoria wants to let go of the reins too,” Bo confided cheerfully. “But Abby is too busy humping Sam—”
I hastily muzzled my dog with a hand. My alpha swallowed a sigh.
Priscilla’s expression glazed over a little.
“Arthur is looking forward to speaking with you,” the Holt matriarch said as she led us toward a corridor on the right. “He doesn’t get many visitors who appreciate his particular interests.”
“You mean, the freaky occult stuff?” Bo said, though it came out garbled.
“Yes.” Priscilla’s diplomatic tone suggested she had mixed feelings about her husband’s hobby. “I’ve arranged tea in the library. I thought you might prefer some privacy.”
Samuel inclined his head. “We appreciate that.”
We came to a set of ornate double doors. Priscilla paused outside them.
“I do apologize,” she murmured. “I thought Lauren and Marcus would be back by now. They’ve been at some sort of exhibition in town.”
I kept my expression neutral.
Lauren had been booking a motel room when I’d messaged her that afternoon. About the only exhibition she and Marcus were attending involved being naked and loud.
“I’ll have the tea sent in,” Priscilla said. She retreated down the corridor, her heels clicking a measured rhythm against the marble.
Samuel knocked on the door.
A friendly voice issued from within. “Come in.”
We headed inside. I stopped and stared.
The Holts’ library looked like it belonged in a museum.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every wall, their surfaces crammed with leather-bound volumes, scrolls, and texts that looked more ancient than the mansion itself.
Brass ladders on rolling tracks provided access to the upper reaches and strategically placed reading lamps cast pools of warm light across oriental rugs.
The room smelled of old paper, leather, and something faintly herbal that made my nose itch.
Arthur Holt rose from a wingback chair near a massive stone fireplace.
He’d cleaned up considerably since I’d last seen him.
His hair and beard were trimmed and he wore a comfortable cardigan over a button-down shirt.
His eyes though, remained unchanged. They held that same intense curiosity I remembered from the night he’d emerged from the ley lines, naked and bewildered.
“Abby, Samuel.” Arthur’s face broke into a warm smile. “It’s good to see you. Please, come in.” He crossed the room to shake our hands, his grip surprisingly firm for a man who’d spent a decade in magical limbo.
“Mr. Holt,” I said. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Arthur, please. After what you did at the ball, we’re well past formalities.” He noticed Bo sniffing a lower shelf. “Your dog looks well.”
The Husky’s ears drooped.
“I won’t be for much longer,” he announced glumly. “Abby put me on a diet. The next time you see me, I’ll look like a wraith.”
Samuel’s shoulders trembled. I narrowed my eyes at my dog.
“Oh dear,” Arthur murmured, bemused. He gestured toward a cluster of armchairs arranged near the fire. “Sit, please. Lauren mentioned you wanted to ask me some questions.”
We settled into the seats while Arthur reclaimed his chair. A maid who smelled like a fae appeared with a tea service. I waited until she’d served us and left before speaking.
“Barney recommended we talk to you.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Barney?”
“Yes.” Samuel’s expression grew guarded. “Before we continue, the matter we’re about to discuss is strictly confidential.”
Surprise danced across Arthur’s face. He recovered his composure.
“Of course,” he said with a firm nod. “You can count on me to keep a secret.”
Samuel and I exchanged a glance.
“Are you familiar with the Thornwicks?” I asked.
Arthur stilled. His expression sharpened with interest. “I am. What is this about?”
Samuel gave him a brief account of our investigation into the Lincoln sisters’ mysterious disappearance.
“Ancient magic?” Arthur repeated.
I nodded. “Barney told us the book the Thornwicks used all those years ago could show someone how to merge witch magic with vampire powers to create something more potent. Something that would have allowed them to overthrow the Lincolns and rule over the Amberford covens.”
“Dark Confluences,” Arthur muttered absentmindedly.
The hairs lifted on my nape. Bo slinked quietly behind my chair.
“Is that the name of the book the Thornwicks used?” Samuel asked stiffly.
Arthur dipped his chin, his expression turning grave.
“Yes. Even though the covens tried to erase all information pertaining to that incident, those in the occult world knew enough to connect the dots. Several occultists even wrote up their own version of events.” Lines wrinkled his brow.
“Most of those documents were tracked and confiscated by the covens, but by then, the story had become the stuff of legends.”
My pulse quickened. “Can you tell us more about what was in that book?”
“Dark Confluences: Merging Witch and Vampire Magic was written by a seventeenth-century witch named Isolda Walden.” Arthur frowned. “She was, how shall I put it, rather… unconventional in her approach.”
“Unconventional how?” I asked warily.
“She believed that the boundaries between supernatural species were artificial constructs.” Arthur put his cup down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands laced. “Her work explored methods for combining supernatural abilities across those boundaries.”
My stomach tightened. “That sounds pretty unnatural.”
Arthur shrugged. “Many things about the supernatural world are.” His face clouded over. “There were several magical systems described in Dark Confluences. The one that stood out the most to me was the Black Chalice Rite.”
Goosebumps broke out across my skin. My wolf let out a low growl inside my head.
“What’s the Black Chalice Rite?” Samuel asked quietly.
Arthur faltered.
“It’s a ritual Isolda developed that involved mixing the blood of a pureblood vampire with the magic of a powerful witch to create a potion that would grant the user immeasurable abilities,” he explained in a strained voice.
Bo whined softly. Goosebumps broke out across my skin.
I saw my growing unease reflected in Samuel’s darkening eyes.
“What kind of abilities are we talking about?” I asked stiffly.
“Mind control. Supernatural strength. Subjugation. Assuming the form of another supernatural species or animal.” Arthur paused, apprehension etching deep lines in his face. “And the ability to consume the power of another and make it their own.”
My belly churned as I absorbed this alarming information.
Samuel’s consternation danced through the mate bond. He recovered his composure. “Barney says the book was destroyed by the covens. Could another copy exist?”
Arthur opened his mouth and closed it.
My wolf pricked her ears at what we sensed from him.
Disquiet laced with doubt.
“The covens witnessed a burning,” he said quietly.
I exchanged a startled glance with Samuel.
“You mean, the book that was burned was not Dark Confluences?” Samuel said sharply.
Arthur met our gazes steadily. “Let’s just say that kind of knowledge has a way of surviving.”
My mouth went dry. “So, somebody made a copy.”
Arthur’s mouth twisted. “I always suspected some portion of Isolda’s work either escaped the flames or was transcribed before the covens got their hands on the book.”
My wolf growled low in my chest. A fraught silence settled over the library.
Frustration underscored Samuel’s voice when he spoke. “We still don’t know how any of this is connected to the Lincoln sisters’ disappearance.”
I drummed my fingers on my knees, my mind racing.
“Is there any way to track this kind of magic?” I asked Arthur. “Some residue or signature we could follow?”
Arthur considered this for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Possibly. As with many powerful rituals, the Black Chalice Rite likely requires access to a convergence point, like the one beneath this mansion.”
I stared. “You mean, a place where ley lines intersect?”
Arthur bobbed his head. “Yes. And the ritual will probably leave a trace in the magical current.” He paused. “I could draw you a map. Of the ley lines, I mean. I spent ten years inside them after all.”
I blinked, surprised by the offer. “That would really help.”
A rueful smile curved Arthur’s mouth. “I’m more than happy to assist my savior.”
Bo peeked his head out from behind my chair.
“Just so you know,” he began confiding to Arthur in an innocent voice, “it took Abby a good few days to recover from the shock of seeing you butt na—”
“Thank you, Arthur,” Samuel interrupted hastily. He rose and offered Arthur his hand.
Arthur shook it firmly. “I’ll be in touch when I have the map ready.”