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

ripple of his anti-magic stretched ahead, pulling him along behind. The place where his mouth normally was curved into a smile as the first fresh visions began to come to him; he had mastered the skill with a degree of success he had not anticipated.

“It is up to you where you wish to go,” Vincent boomed in his head. “Direct your energy and dive into the spirit line at any interval you please.”

He did so, though the exertion was titanic as he dragged himself along the gleaming spirit line of S. Epstein. It became easier, the more used to the sensation he got, but he could feel his energy straining to achieve his desires. In these visions, Alex felt different from the omnipresent figure he’d been in the surface memories. As he delved deeper into this young man’s past, he realized he was the person whose spirit he was piggybacking upon. The view was limited, his eyes seeing only what Epstein had seen. It was the same as he moved gradually backward, inhabiting the souls of Epstein’s parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, going as far back as he was able.

He saw days filled with laughter and days filled with tears, first kisses and last kisses, triumphs and failures, all in one sweeping observation of Epstein’s spirit. In one vision, seeing the black clothes and rainy skies of a funeral, he almost felt as if he were trespassing, stealing a precious moment from within the pulsing red soul of S. Epstein. He wasn’t sure how comfortable that made him feel, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from experiencing it through the stranger’s eyes, watching it and living it as if it were him. It was deeply sad and deeply moving, and he found he could not leave.

There was something oddly addictive about escaping into the body of another, seeing their life instead of his own, especially considering the pressures that awaited him in his own existence. Here, there was no Alypia, no portal, no stress, no time constraints, no imposing barrier magic overpowering his emotions. Here, there was only what he wanted to see, and he felt this was exactly what his mind needed.

Pulling away from the funeral, he stretched farther and farther back along the line. It was like flicking through the pages of a painstakingly made family tree, with some images less clear, getting fuzzier and fuzzier the farther back he went. Eventually, the visions became nothing but grainy tableaux; he could still hear things that were being said, but he could no longer see any of the actors playing out the scene.

“When you’re ready, return as carefully as you can, recoiling slowly,” instructed Vincent.

As Alex returned to the cell, which seemed so ordinary now, a ripple of concern flowed through him. He worried that performing such a feat might have used up some of his essence, as other powerful spells did, but he realized, as he clutched his chest, that the spirit line he was following had acted like a buffer, keeping his own essence safe. It was almost as if the spirit line was a power source all its own.

“Why are you really teaching me this?” Alex asked suddenly, gripping the bottle in his hand. He wasn’t sure if Vincent’s motives were as altruistic as he’d made out.

Vincent picked at a thread on his armchair. “I felt… compelled to instruct you in the ways of spirit lines. There was an inkling within me that it may be of some use to you—a compulsion… as I said,” he explained, a tightness in his usually crisp voice.

Alex frowned, eyeing the necromancer with curiosity. If there was more to the story, Vincent didn’t seem particularly forthcoming, his stern expression preventing Alex from inquiring further. Still, Alex couldn’t quite suppress the sense that there was more to it than met the eye.

As Alex placed the bottle back on the table, he realized how relaxed his mind still felt, how much joy the fleeting escapism had given him, within the lines and lives of others. Though, the attraction he felt to it also scared him slightly, making him think he might have to keep his spiritual endeavors to a minimum for fear of the dark places they might lead. After all, there was a reason necromancy was frowned upon, no matter how pleasant it might feel.

Deciding to take a brief pause, Vincent offered Alex something to eat and drink, to help replenish his energy. Alex took the food eagerly, quickly wolfing down a snack of soft white bread, tangy cheese, and sweet figs. He had to wonder where Vincent had gotten such things—perhaps he and Agatha had their own means of pilfering better items, seeing as they had free rein of the place. Alex just wished Lintz and Demeter would nick food from the same place, so they didn’t have to eat another bowlful of insipid gray gruel. The drink was a tall glass of something fizzy. As it touched his lips, he realized it was the same stuff Alypia had offered him, in her glass-roofed office. The taste brought bad memories with it, but he gulped it down nonetheless; his spiritual adventures had left him parched.

“How did I do?” Alex asked, swallowing the last of the cheese.

Vincent grinned. “Better than expected, for a beginner.”

The five-minute interval had given Alex a chance to think about the potential of these newfound skills, and how he might use them for his own means. It was encouraging, and Alex realized it was probably worth every moment of time he spent away from the task of breaking down the barrier magic. An idea had come to him while he was biting into a plump fig, though the thought of actually trying it out made him nervous. His own spirit beckoned, whispering to him the possible secrets of his hidden lineage.

“Do you think I could try my own spirit line?” he wondered aloud.

“Do you feel up to the challenge? You look a touch pale.” A strange expression