The Secret of Spellshadow Manor 4 by Bella Forrest (life books to read TXT) 📕

those who have lived as long as we have lived—the ghosts grow louder as our years recede into the ether, and Agatha is particularly haunted.”

“I don’t understand.” Alex leaned back, shaking his head.

“Ah, I would not expect you to,” Vincent said, his face pulling into a taut, uncomfortable smile. “You are untouched by the hatred that once brewed between our two races.”

Alex wasn’t sure that was entirely true, having experienced a multitude of hateful tales, but he said nothing to the contrary, allowing Vincent to continue.

“In a war between races, nobody wins,” Vincent sighed, “and Agatha lost dearly. As we all did, on all sides. You were guilty only of bringing bad memories back to the forefront of her mind, after countless years of pushing them farther and farther back.”

“What happened to her?” Alex asked.

“A particularly grisly battle was fought, and Agatha lost everything. She was not unique in that respect, but her pain is particularly pronounced. As the dust settled, she picked her way through the battlefield, following the crows. Trailing those winged harbingers led her to the bodies of her entire family, the flames of their lives snuffed out by Spellbreakers,” he explained. “Agatha never quite recovered. I doubt any of us did—any of those unfortunate souls who lived through it.”

Alex watched Vincent cautiously, wondering if the strange man harbored any of the same feelings that Agatha had toward him and his long-dead kind. There was certainly a note of bitterness in the eerie man’s voice, but Alex could not be sure where such bitterness was directed.

As if sensing Alex’s concern, Vincent smiled reassuringly.

“Fear not, Spellbreaker. I sympathize with your plight. I always have, much like your friend Demeter. Genocide is the foulest plague known to the world, and I offer you my apologies, that you have found yourself alone among us. My words can never make up for the suffering of your people, but I hope they may ease a fraction of your own.”

Strangely, they did. Vincent was right—one apology could never make up for what had happened to his people, but it served to remind him that there had been losses and suffering on both sides, not just his own. True, his people had been wiped out in their entirety, save him, but there had been mages and Spellbreakers, no doubt, who had been caught up in a fray they wanted no part of. The peaceful had paid dearly for the arrogance and bigotry of the aggressive. Innocents had fallen on both sides, and, to Alex, there was nothing more tragic.

As his heartrate lowered, and he stopped fearing that Agatha was going to come running up the corridor after him, Alex found himself at something of a loss. Agatha had left his concentration in tatters.

Vincent smiled at him. “The mind needs rest in times of great stress, dear boy, and I feel you are suffering under the worst of it.”

“Something like that.” If the thought of a vengeful warrior princess forcibly finding a way to make him suffer wasn’t stressful, he didn’t know what was. He knew it stemmed from the feeling of being endlessly pursued, never being able to fully let his guard down and relax his mind; he wasn’t sure he could even remember what it felt like to be at ease.

“Perhaps your mind is in need of a welcome distraction?” Vincent suggested.

Alex nodded. “I’d give anything to divert it, even just for a few minutes. It would really help with… all this.”

“In such a case as this, with such a mind as yours teetering on the brink, I would be willing to breach a lifelong pledge never to impart my knowledge to another,” the necromancer said. “I will endeavor to distract your mind with a talent of great import, although the task will require a bottle of essence. Demeter has told me you have some in your possession?”

“Why do you need it?” Alex asked tersely, suddenly suspicious of the necromancer’s motivations.

“Nothing sinister, I promise—I merely require it as a teaching implement. Think of it as you would a ruler or a piece of chalk,” Vincent reassured. “Only if it can be spared, mind you. I’ll return it to you immediately after the lesson is over.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what?” Vincent raised a silvery gray eyebrow.

“Give it straight back?” Alex asked, seeking confirmation. It felt somehow wrong to trust a necromancer.

“I swear I’ll send you back with it, just as it was,” he replied with mock solemnity.

No matter how hard he tried, Alex couldn’t exactly picture the bottles of essence in the same way he did school chalk and stationery. He was undeniably intrigued by the strange man with the transparent skin, black eyes, and shock of gray hair, and the powers he possessed. Vincent may have been a necromancer who dabbled in a dark and dangerous art, but Demeter seemed to trust him in a way he didn’t trust the other imprisoned necromancers. Alex wondered if that meant Vincent was stronger or weaker than the others, or whether he was simply a different sort of individual altogether—a good necromancer, if such a thing existed?

For a moment, Alex’s mind dwelled upon the image of Demeter, rendering Agatha immobilized with just his palms. He could see that Demeter and Vincent were two fiercely strong mages whom he could certainly learn a lot from. He knew for sure he had underestimated Demeter, who was not only capable of endless Spellbreaker history lectures and the world’s worst dad jokes, but also of a magic far more useful than simple spells and shields. At last, Alex understood what Demeter had meant when he said he had a way of making Caius give them the essence—he could manipulate minds. It was a skill Alex knew could come in very handy when dealing with royals in the near future, including Caius, though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to convince Demeter to teach him how.

If only I could do mind control, Alex thought sardonically, I’d be able to make him teach