The Secret of Spellshadow Manor by Bella Forrest (best way to read ebooks TXT) 📕

a moment, rubbing his arms up and down. The cold wasn’t getting worse, but he could feel it in his bones, could see his fingertips paling, then darkening with frostbite. Natalie clearly saw it as well; she reached out, and warmth poured from her hands as little bubbles of fire gathered in her palms, warming Alex’s skin.

“Honestly, I thought it would be something worse.” She poked at the broken line with her toe. “You are feeling better?”

“I need a minute,” he grated out.

Natalie bit her lip anxiously. “I think we should keep moving,” she said. “We should not stay here long.”

It took a few minutes before Alex was ready. Natalie insisted on draping his arm over her shoulder like a wounded soldier as they limped down the stairs into the dark.

There was no light save for Natalie’s little flame. The air around them grew moist with the smells of dirt and decay, and as Alex watched, the walls changed from the manor’s coarse bricks to a smooth, black marble.

He knew what the place was before they saw the first tomb. It lurched out of the dark, a great statue of a man in a crisp suit, one hand outstretched and covered in delicate veins of ice, carved to look like lightning. They stared at him, and the plaque beneath him.

Gifford White, the Stormcaller. Lord of Spellshadow Manor.

Set in front of him, on a little white sheet, was a skull. Natalie gasped at the sight, covering her mouth with her hand.

They kept moving. There were other figures, other names. Women with rubies for eyes, and men with ever-flowing fountains of water pouring from their hands. Beneath each, a skull lay upon the white sheet.

The hall of dead lords and ladies was long, and it took some time before they reached its end. With each step, Alex grew more concerned that Finder would be there to step from the shadows, pale hands reaching out and condemnation on his lips, but there was no sound or movement as they approached the final statue.

“Is he here?” Natalie asked warily. “Finder?”

Alex turned to the final statue, and hesitated.

The man the last statue depicted was tall, his shoulders broad and muscular, his cloak a crisp cut. His eyes had been wrought from gold and steel, irises gleaming from beneath a low-hanging hood.

Malachi Grey, the plaque beneath him proclaimed. The Finder. Lord of Spellshadow Manor.

Beneath the statue was a skull. It frothed with a cold so intense that Alex could feel it against his skin. Between the two gaping eye holes, a third hole had been carved into the bone. It seemed to stare at Alex as he looked, his mouth dry, his hands clenched.

Finder was dead. How was that possible?

“Time to go,” Alex stammered.

Without waiting for Natalie’s response, he grabbed her by the wrist and hurried from the little crypt. As he went, he thought he could still feel the skull’s regard, the three empty sockets watching them go.

Chapter 20

“Necromancy?” Professor Lintz said, his heavy brows lifting. “My boy, that was outlawed a long time ago.”

Alex was seated in the professor’s office in the student wing. It was a lavish room, adorned with several gold-framed portraits, which appeared to depict Lintz himself, and a display case containing a rather impressive collection of scepters.

“No, no, no,” Lintz continued. “It’s a forbidden magic. Anima’s nasty cousin, you know?”

“How’s that, sir?” Alex asked interestedly.

“It deals in magic that shouldn’t be touched,” Lintz said, his eyes darting toward the closed door and then back to Alex.

The man was nervous about something. Ever since Alex had come in, Lintz had been on edge, scanning the room as if he suspected something was lurking there. For a moment, Alex wondered whether Finder was invisible to the instructors as well. He knew he would be jumpy if Finder made a habit of popping up out of nowhere.

“Look,” said Lintz, leaning back in his chair and rummaging under his desk to bring out a green bottle of murky liquid. “There are two kinds of magic, okay?”

Alex watched as Lintz poured himself a generous glass of the contents of the bottle, then immediately downed half of it. A thick, tangy scent filled the room, mingling with the smells of leather and cologne.

“I’m not sure I do, sir.”

Lintz finished his glass and poured another, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“Magic is always gold, right?” he said. “When you summon it in your aura?”

Alex nodded slowly. When he thought of magic, he pictured a gold light.

“Incorrect,” Lintz said, smirking as he tapped one heavy finger on the tabletop. “Normal magic uses your vim, boy. Your fighting spirit! It’s a healthy, natural art. But there is another force: life magic.” His hands folded together on the table in front of him.

“Sir?”

“There are two wells of power in a person,” Lintz said. “One comes from your essence, and we call this magic. Life magic, on the other hand, comes from your soul itself. To tap into it, even once, can cause irreparable damage to a person’s very existence—but it will give a wielder unimaginable power.”

Alex paused as he took in the information. “What does this have to do with necromancy, sir?”

Professor Lintz’s cheeks grew pinker still, his eyes darting away as he took another sip from his glass. “I shouldn’t say,” he muttered.

“Very well, sir. I’m sure I can find it out for myself,” Alex countered.

Lintz waved his hands, his eyes widening. “No, no, there’s no need for that. I’ll explain, just…promise me that you’ll leave this dangerous business behind you once I have?”

Alex nodded emphatically.

“I am only curious, sir.”

“Necromancy is wrong on two levels,” Lintz said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first is that it taps into a school of magic which is devoted to ripping the magical essence out of another person. The second is that it involves the removal of a person’s life magic.” He shook his head. “The outside world, it has these notions that necromancy is something you