The Secret of Spellshadow Manor 5 by Bella Forrest (book series for 10 year olds .TXT) 📕

sudden doubt hit him as to where he was going to land Storm, especially if he was going to have to smuggle Ellabell inside. She couldn’t simply travel up to the keep, as he could, considering the barrier that smothered the place. The Thunderbird, however, had no such fears, her course never wavering as she swept up onto the turret where Alex had performed his first successful attempt at magical travel. The rusty-colored fog that surrounded the keep didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest, her feathered body soaring through it with ease before her sturdy feet touched down on the stone surface of the turret. Alex braced for the release of red fog, but it didn’t come. Whatever magical energy Storm possessed, it didn’t appear to alert the barrier at all, and had kept Ellabell’s from detection too.

“You are quite the creature, aren’t you?” he murmured, patting the side of the Thunderbird’s silky neck.

As soon as Alex dismounted and neared the edge of the battlement, he could feel that the magical barrier was even stronger now. It pulsed, almost tangibly, through the air. Glancing down, he saw that it had set the hairs on his forearm on edge.

He knew he was going to have to tread carefully, and he shouldered the drawstring bag of essence. They walked cautiously down the turret stairs, Alex peering out at the bottom to ensure the coast was clear before they pressed on toward Vincent’s cell. He figured the necromancer would be their best bet, if he was still alive.

A tense optimism filled his mind as they followed the semi-familiar hallways. So far, nobody had jumped out to surprise them, and the dark glitter of eyes still shone from behind the barred panels in the center of the prison doors.

Somebody is taking care of this place, he mused, but who? Caius or Vincent?

Reaching the corridor that held the cells of Agatha and Vincent, and the guard room that had been repurposed for holding Alypia, Alex paused. He knocked, awaiting a response.

“Who goes there?” an anxious voice called.

“Vincent? It’s Alex and Ellabell—we come bearing news,” Alex replied.

There was a scuffling sound, as if somebody were running inside, before the necromancer finally made his appearance at the door, pulling it open with an over-enthusiastic flourish. To Alex’s relief, he saw that there were no specters to be seen, and Vincent seemed to be his usual self, though his eyes were perhaps blacker, and the veins beneath his translucent skin had darkened to a deep, ugly black. His appearance was now closer to that of the other necromancers who lived within the prison walls. Alex felt a pang of guilt, knowing that it was because of him that Vincent had sunk to the darkest realms of necromancy. It was as if the act of summoning the specters, and the attack he had made on Caius, had somehow poisoned Vincent’s blood.

His demeanor, however, didn’t seem too much changed.

He hurried toward them. “Can it really be you? I must say, it is rather splendid to see both your faces—I feared I might never see them again, after your sharp exit. At least you heeded my warning,” he remarked, relief washing over his face.

“We can’t stay long,” said Alex, feeling the weight of the beetle beacon in his pocket. “We just wanted to check in, and deliver something to the others. It’d be good if we could catch up with them, too, see where they are on their side of the planning table,” he added. “Have you heard from them?”

“There will be time enough for shop-talk, but for now you must both sit,” Vincent insisted. “I have refreshments, if you would indulge me in partaking?”

Alex frowned. “We really don’t have a lot of time, Vincent.”

“Surely you can spare a moment, after everything we have been through?” Vincent replied. Alex shared a look with Ellabell. The necromancer had done a lot for them; it was literally all over his face, and yet the thought of pausing too long here made Alex feel antsy.

“Of course, Vincent, we can sit with you a short while,” Ellabell cut in, answering the offer before Alex had the chance to refuse it.

“Excellent! You can tell me all your news, and I would be more than happy to play messenger,” Vincent promised, but there was a tightness in the necromancer’s voice that made Alex nervous.

It’s all in your head, he told himself. It’s just this place, playing tricks with you.

“How is Caius?” Alex asked, sitting opposite the necromancer.

A grim look passed over Vincent’s face, his shoulders sagging. “I could not bring him back from the brink of true existence,” he said miserably. “I’m afraid Caius is trapped in the otherworld—his body still breathes, the blood still rushes in his veins, as if he is merely asleep, but it is a lights-on, no-one-home kind of affair. In necromancy, we call it the ‘Waking Death.’ For all intents and purposes, you are alive, but there is no substance to the life you continue to live. You cannot speak, think, move… You become a breathing husk.”

It was a darkly poetic end to the life Caius had lived, and Alex tried his best not to feel responsible. Vincent had done what he had to do, to keep Alex safe, and to give him the time he needed to escape. It was just hard to focus on that fact with the image of a half-dead husk repeating in his mind, haunted by the wide, dead eyes of the specters.

“You got rid of the specters though?” Alex said, glancing around, as if they were about to pop out at any moment.

Vincent inclined his head in an elegant nod. “It took some time, longer than I care to admit, but I succeeded in banishing them back to the underworld. As you see, the exertion of returning them hasn’t exactly enhanced my beauty.” He smiled tightly, then gave a short, sharp laugh.

“And Alypia?” Ellabell asked.

“She is quite safe—as you may have observed, this place