The Secret of Spellshadow Manor (Spellshadow Manor #1)

“I keep asking him to spruce the place up,” Siren Mave explained as she kicked a line of ivy from her path. “But the master is old-fashioned and stubborn. He’ll never adapt to modern times, I fear.”


Alex wouldn’t have called his surroundings “old-fashioned,” exactly. Old-fashioned was a blue Mustang blaring the Beetles, not an eerie, chilly, haunted tomb of a place.

Siren Mave grabbed Alex by the hand, pulling him up short as he made to move past a large pair of double doors, and letting out a little cough. She spun him around, looking him up and down once more, just as she had when he’d first entered the building.

“All right,” she said, beaming at him. “Now, just remember: manners!”

“Manners,” he repeated coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing toward the door. He was out of patience for the stupid woman, who pushed him around and spoke to him like he was a child.

“Young man.” Siren Mave’s voice changed suddenly. It cut through him like a cleaver, nearly making him flinch. The jaunty, cheerful nature had vanished clean out of it. “Do be careful,” she said. “The Head has his rules. It won’t do to break them.”

Then she reached out and rapped twice upon the door. It groaned and creaked open.

“In you go,” Siren Mave said, and shoved him inside.

Barely breathing, Alex blinked as the light shifted once again. The room was twilit, and smelled strongly of old books and freshly turned dirt. He examined his surroundings for a few seconds, trying to gather his bearings. Bookshelves lined one wall, windows the other. He stood upon a carpet of what looked like gray grass and by the far wall a great…tree grew, from the shattered remains of a fireplace and chimney. Its branches and roots coiled out from the masonry, adorned with gray leaves. If there was a ceiling, it was high up, hidden in the dusk that seemed to gather itself above the tops of the bookshelves. All across the room, fireflies flickered in and out of life.

It was, or should have been, impossible.

It took Alex a moment to spot the desk that sat against the far wall. It was made of stone, piled with books and pieces of paper, inkwells lying willy-nilly, some with their contents spilling out to drip from the edge of the desk.

And behind it there was a chair, occupied by the strangest man Alex had ever seen.

He seemed to melt into his surroundings, the ashen ivy wrapping around his wrists and legs until it was impossible to tell where man ended and manor began. His face was hidden in the shadows of an ancient hooded robe, fingers protruding from his sleeves like the tips of roots, searching for something to pierce and consume.

As he spoke, his voice was like the rasp of a clock’s gears sliding into midnight:

“Welcome,” he said, “to Spellshadow Manor.”





Chapter 7





“Thank you,” Alex managed after a span of silence, staring numbly.

He worked to reorganize his thoughts. He had not been sure what to expect from this man, but he had at least assumed he would be dealing with a human. Now he was not so certain. It was more important now than ever to proceed with caution.

The man leaned forward, and, from under his hood, a pair of eyes glimmered.

“Do you know why you are here?” he asked.

“I, uh, I’m afraid I have no idea,” Alex replied. Should he ask about Natalie? Would they be kept apart if it seemed like he cared about her? With no clue what the man wanted from him, he was unsure. “But hey, did a girl come through here not too long ago?” he asked, attempting to sound casual.

A glimmer of teeth bloomed in the darkness. It was disconcerting—Alex could see no lips or chin, only a neat slash of white.

“She’s gone on ahead,” said the Head. “I am told she was not amenable to being brought to the institute, and had to be persuaded. The process is exhausting. She will be resting in the girls’ dormitory.”

Not amenable.

In the girls’ dormitory.

Alex swallowed, praying that Natalie was all right. She had certainly seemed amenable enough to him, far too amenable, and he wondered what could have happened during her own orientation. At least he had a vague idea where she was now.

“Oh, I see. Yes.”

“You do not,” replied the Head. “But no matter.”

He spread his arms, and the gesture seemed to take in more than the room around them. For an insane moment, Alex thought he could see visions of the whole world—the plains of distant Africa, the crashing waves of a great ocean, the snow-gripped peaks of the Himalayas—all encompassed within this old man’s hands.

His heart beat harder.

“You have been selected,” the man said. “Chosen by our Finder to study magic. You have no doubt noticed oddities in your day-to-day life. Things that weren’t quite right. Manifestations, as we call them. They are latent signs of your magical prowess, and we intend to hone that gift here.”

Alex thought quickly. Finder—that might be the gray man in rags. That was a manifestation, and certainly “not quite right”. But it was the only hint of anything magical about him, and he had not exactly been “chosen”. No, he had snuck in.

And now he had to attempt to blend in, penetrate farther, to wherever Natalie was being held.

“Ah, yes,” Alex replied. “That makes perfect sense.”

The Head seemed momentarily perplexed, as though he had expected Alex to be more uncertain. His hands settled onto his desk. “Yes. Quite.”

“But what would happen if I declined your offer?” Alex dared to ask. “If I chose to return to my home?”

Almost before the words left Alex’s mouth, he knew he had made a mistake.

A coolness settled over the figure opposite him, and the man’s mood seemed to manifest itself on the air. A page on the desk crawled with sudden blooms of frost, the icy tendrils spreading until the paper cracked and fell in two pieces.

“You do not leave this place,” replied the man. “That is our first, and most important, rule.”