The Secret of Spellshadow Manor (Spellshadow Manor #1)

He tried to ignore them, hurrying down the hallways and toward the garden. Fresh air. He just needed some fresh air.

The sky beyond the windows today seemed bent on expressing Alex’s mood, with curls of lightning rolling through black clouds that hung low over jagged peaks coated with ice and frost. Sleet clattered against the windows, the noise loud enough to block out the sound of Alex’s footsteps as he walked. When he eventually reached the door that led out to the front lawn, he opened it into a flood of icy pellets.

Alex almost laughed. After all his training, the natural cold seemed to roll right off him. Compared to the icy waves of breaking magic, the sleet was nothing. He stepped out into it, his jacket flaring behind him.

In the end, it had been Aamir who had been training him. Alex had been so focused on improving himself and beating the other boy that he hadn’t even registered how little Aamir had probably benefited from their mock duels. The only time Aamir had seemed even remotely pressed had been their last encounter, and that had ended in abject disaster. Jari’s face when he had learned of the duel, that twist of surprise and scorn, lingered in Alex’s mind as he walked through the storm, his hair filling with little white shards of ice.

What had he thought he could teach Aamir, anyway? How to fight a Spellbreaker? Alex laughed aloud at the thought. He was part of a dead line; as far as he knew, he was the only Spellbreaker to have emerged in decades, maybe even centuries. He was no help.

Quickening his pace, Alex found himself at the front gates of the manor, staring up at the great iron bars. With his increased training, he could now feel the throb of the magic that locked the great portal; it stifled the air, its presence cold against his skin.

Alex swept out his hand, willing his energy to flow with all his might, and the hazy outline of a blade appeared at his fingertips. With a curse, he swiped it at the gate.

His attack caught on the ivy coating the metal and simply exploded. Ripples of magic burst out, howling through the air past him, leaving icy white slashes across his face. He growled, reforming the blade and taking another swing, then another. Each time, the weapon broke harmlessly.

He should have done more, done better. He should have had this anti-magic figured out by now. He should have had a grip on what was going on in this prison of a school. If he had tried harder, he could have even saved Natalie before she’d reached the end of Spellshadow Lane, could have prevented all this mess. If he had been smarter, quicker…

Alex smashed yet another sword against the ivy, and watched as the blade tore asunder, shards of ice spearing into the snow all around his feet. He swore again.

Natalie had been so vibrant before coming here, so alive, so exuberant. And now? Now she was hopeless, dejected, all but friendless, and cursed—always feeling ill, always coughing and trembling. And here he was, the only one with the power to break that curse, but he wasn’t even capable of that.

He let out a long, steaming breath through his teeth as he strained to draw another blade, smacking it weakly against the gate. It collapsed into chilled flecks in his hands. The hail had slowed, growing fatter and softer until it became snow, drifting down to land softly on his hands and legs.

What did he think he was going to accomplish out here? Was letting Natalie lead the fight against Finder the best way forward? Of course not. He needed to head back. He should be the one battling these impossible forces, battling Finder, escaping the Head…

He had briefly searched for the Head in the records of the Historica Magica, but it had not surprised him that, even in the meticulously detailed annals of the old book, the man had not appeared. He was like a wraith, the patron deity of the school. Alex supposed he could be any number of the several wizards who had lacked a date of death, but narrowing it down was impossible. Also, those men had all lived hundreds of years ago. If the Head was truly one of them, then the man was not only powerful, but ancient. Alex wondered what hope they had of defeating such a man. They could wound him, of course. They could take his resources and harass him, but Alex found it hard to believe they had enough time. In five days, Aamir would likely be killed by Derhin…

Lost in dismal thoughts, Alex barely noticed when someone crept up behind him and touched his arm lightly. He spun, wide-eyed, and saw Natalie.

“I needed some fresh air too,” she said quietly, sniffing and lowering her eyes to the ground.

Although Alex had initially wanted to be alone, he felt glad for her company now. Her arrival helped draw him back to the present, which, however stressful, was better than being lost in his head, blaming himself for things he couldn’t change.

She drew closer for a hug, and they both stood still beneath the snow, their gazes drifting to the ivy-ridden gates. It was hard to fathom that just a few feet away lay escape, freedom—something Alex had taken for granted his whole life and now, something he would risk losing his life to obtain.

Feeling the press of time acutely, Alex cleared his throat. “We should go,” he said hoarsely, detaching himself from her and turning back toward the manor.

But Natalie remained where she was, her eyes lingering on the gates. “We will see the other side of them again.” She whispered so softly, she spoke more to herself than Alex. Her gaze hardened, anger sparking. “They cannot keep what is not theirs.”

A few more seconds passed, and then she stepped away, letting out a breath—her eyes still not meeting Alex’s as they trudged back.