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

It intrigued Alex, as he listened to the explanation, wondering what Vincent was going to teach him and how on earth he was going to invert such powerful magic. Natalie’s voice played on a loop in his head, taunting him, reminding him not to fear power, but to embrace it. It was easier said than done.

“Did you bring the bottle I requested?” Vincent asked.

Alex nodded, retrieving the two bottles from his pockets and placing them on the small, square table that sat between them, the surface devoid of anything homey—no trinkets, no saucers, not even a book or two.

“Very good,” said Vincent. “I thought it best we had these for you to practice on. I would not like to let you loose on some poor soul, not having tried it out first. I know my magic doesn’t work as your magic does, but I’m sure we’ll find a solution—you seem a bright sort.”

Alex felt calmer, knowing the bottles were only to practice on, though he hoped he wouldn’t make a mess of it and accidentally destroy something. Especially with the barrier’s influence, he wasn’t sure how his anti-magic might play out under new pressures.

“Do you think I’ll be able to do it?” he asked.

Vincent shrugged, the bones of his shoulders poking through his shirt at sharp angles. “I am ever the optimist. Now, pick up one of the bottles,” he instructed.

Alex did as he was told, the solemn face of a young man rushing into his mind as his fingers closed around a bottle marked “S. Epstein.” Slowly, he forced his mind away from the image, returning to the room, focusing as hard as he could on Vincent.

“Very good—promising control,” said Vincent with a smile, though Alex wasn’t aware he was doing anything profound. “Now, necromancy can also be performed on yourself, but we are beginning with somebody else, in case things go awry.”

Alex nodded, eager to begin. The memories of S. Epstein were growing more insistent, banging on the barrier he had put up in his mind to keep them out.

“First, you must focus on the path of someone’s spirit line. Then, you can follow it back as far as you are able. Though, I should warn you, it gets harder the farther back you go. The spiritual memory is filtered through generation after generation, growing weaker with each stage, if you will, like taping too many times over a cassette,” he explained.

Alex looked at him blankly.

“A cassette?” Still nothing. Vincent shook his head in mock despair.

“Never mind—you understand my meaning?”

“I think so,” he replied.

“Superb. So, a spirit line is precisely as described: it is the line of somebody’s spirit.” He grinned, long teeth pushing against the thin flesh of his lips.

Alex frowned. “How do I find it?”

“I will instruct you as best I can, though your instincts may have to do some of the work, tailoring it to your particular style of magic,” Vincent began, smiling as reassuringly as his strange face permitted. “And, please, don’t worry if you don’t succeed on your first attempt. Necromancy takes practice, but is invaluable once mastered. First, close your eyes and focus on the image in your mind, surging forth from the vial in your hand.”

Alex obeyed, allowing S. Epstein back into his mind. He found himself floating above a familiar piazza, the sun baking the sandstone as the heady scent of roses filled the air. Against the far wall, the stern-faced young man stood beside a young woman, talking secretively beneath the tensed bow of a cupid-like cherub carved into the stone above their heads. It was easy to get lost in these visions, and Alex felt lighter in the false world of another’s former life, his troubles fading away as he soared above the square, observing the couple, unseen. It was only the sound of Vincent’s voice, piercing the scene, that brought his focus back to where it ought to be.

“You must seek out a pulse within the vision. Delve deeper into the essence, transcending the layers, and you should find it within,” he instructed.

It sounded like a vague sort of command, but Alex found it far easier to follow than expected, once his mind had made sense of it. It was like staring into a moving stream to try to see the shapes of fish and pebbles beneath. Focusing beyond the bright lights and vivid colors of Stillwater House, he moved through the layers of S. Epstein’s surface memories, reaching deeper and deeper toward something else, pulsing acutely in the center of it all. A glowing heart of silvery white light. This had to be it, Alex thought, as he awaited further instruction from the godlike voice of Vincent, bellowing to him from all around.

“Now, follow the light as if it is a pathway, going back as far as you wish to go. It should stretch out ahead of you once you focus your mind upon it,” he explained, moments later.

Alex concentrated on the glowing light, realizing he no longer possessed a body as he glanced down with invisible eyes. He could see and he could hear, but he was not an entity as such, merely a concealed observer in the life of another. It did not perturb him as much as he thought it might have, and he diverted his attention back to the task at hand. No sooner had he poured all of his attention toward it than the light began to spill out, running in a shimmering line into the darkness of a distant gray horizon.

Following Epstein’s spirit was a slightly harder skill to master, however, and Alex struggled to walk the silvery line. It was not a case of simply putting one foot in front of the other, as he had no feet to move. Reaching within himself, he drew upon the strength of his anti-magic, gathering it into one core point of focus and sending it out toward the silvery line of Epstein’s spirit. As if magnetized, the