| BOOK THE FIRST | ||
| Chapter | Page | |
| I. | The Fires of St. John | [3] |
| II. | The Weaving of the Spell | [13] |
| III. | The Dream Lady of Avalon | [20] |
| IV. | The Way of the Cross | [30] |
| V. | On the Aventine | [38] |
| VI. | The Coup | [46] |
| VII. | Masks and Mummers | [60] |
| VIII. | The Shrine of Hekaté | [67] |
| IX. | The Game of Love | [79] |
| X. | A Spirit Pageant | [90] |
| XI. | The Denunciation | [97] |
| XII. | The Confession | [102] |
| BOOK THE SECOND | ||
| I. | The Grand Chamberlain | [115] |
| II. | The Call of Eblis | [128] |
| III. | The Crystal Sphere | [134] |
| IV. | Persephoné | [146] |
| V. | Magic Glooms | [152] |
| VI. | The Lure of the Abyss | [160] |
| VII. | The Face in the Panel | [167] |
| VIII. | The Shadow of Asrael | [173] |
| IX. | The Feast of Theodora | [187] |
| X. | The Chalice of Oblivion | [204] |
| BOOK THE THIRD | ||
| I. | Wolfsbane | [221] |
| II. | Under the Saffron Scarf | [230] |
| III. | Dark Plottings | [240] |
| IV. | Face to Face | [250] |
| V. | The Cressets of Doom | [259] |
| VI. | A Meeting of Ghosts | [269] |
| VII. | A Bower of Eden | [279] |
| VIII. | An Italian Night | [289] |
| IX. | The Net of the Fowler | [299] |
| X. | Devil Worship | [307] |
| XI. | By Lethe's Shores | [314] |
| XII. | The Death Watch | [323] |
| XIII. | The Convent in Trastevere | [335] |
| XIV. | The Phantom of the Lateran | [341] |
| BOOK THE FOURTH | ||
| I. | The Return of the Moor | [351] |
| II. | The Escape from San Angelo | [356] |
| III. | The Lure | [367] |
| IV. | A Lying Oracle | [377] |
| V. | Bitter Waters | [384] |
| VI. | From Dream to Dream | [389] |
| VII. | A Roman Medea | [402] |
| VIII. | In Tenebris | [413] |
| IX. | The Conspiracy | [419] |
| X. | The Broken Spell | [427] |
| XI. | The Black Mass | [440] |
| XII. | Sunrise | [453] |
BOOK THE FIRST
UNDER THE WITCHES' MOON
[CHAPTER I]
THE FIRES OF ST. JOHN
It was the eve of St. John in the year of our Lord Nine Hundred Thirty-Five.
High on the cypress-clad hills of the Eternal City the evening sun had flamed valediction, and the last lights of the dying day were fading away on the waves of the Tiber whose changeless tide has rolled down through centuries of victory and defeat, of pride and shame, of glory and disgrace.
The purple dusk began to weave its phantom veil over the ancient capital of the Cæsars and a round blood-red moon was climbing slowly above the misty crests of the Alban Hills, draining the sky of its crimson sunset hues.
The silvery chimes of the Angelus, pealing from churches and convents, from Santa Maria in Trastevere to Santa Maria of the Aventine, began to sing their message of peace into the heart of nature and of man.