The Secret of Spellshadow Manor (Spellshadow Manor #1)

A silence hung over the two men. The Head watched Malachi in anticipation, his stance never wavering.

Malachi, on the other hand, was shifting from foot to foot, his breathing uneven, his hands shaking.

“I’m sure you know of my talent,” he said eventually.

The Head nodded. “They call you ‘Finder.’ They say you can locate any with magical talent, no matter how they try to hide.”

Malachi nodded, licking his lips.

“I believe I can, my lord.”

“And you would do that for me? Even knowing what would happen to them?”

Malachi had grown pale, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.

“I would,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

The Head nodded, and held out a hand, palm up. Malachi, however, did not take it. He looked at it with a detached, somber air, bringing up a hand to run through his dark curls.

“This is the only way to stop it, isn’t it?” he said.

The Head nodded.

Malachi shuffled from foot to foot, staring around at the high walls of Spellshadow Manor, at the elegant statues and beautiful gardens. He drew in a shaking breath.

“If I hadn’t invited you here,” he said, “you would have come anyway.”

There was certainty in his voice. Dread mixed with respect that hung on the air, sure as a promise. The Head did not move, simply continued to hold out his hand.

“You came for all of them,” Malachi said.

Finally, at long last, the Head spoke again.

“What I offer is not a choice,” he said, his voice coming out as a growl. “It is an inevitability. It is the fate that will one day come for all who bear magic in their veins.”

Malachi Grey, Finder of Spellshadow Manor, nodded. He reached out, his hand hovering over the Head’s.

“How did it come to this?” he asked.

The Head considered the question. A wind whipped at his cloak, sending it spinning back from his black trousers, his eyes gleaming under the hood.

“We walk in dreams, friend,” he said eventually. “It was only a matter of time before a nightmare followed us back.”

With a sharp motion, he brought his hand up against Finder’s. Their palms met, and it was as though a bomb detonated from the spot. The shockwave tore across the grounds, throwing trees to the dirt, sending sprays of gray erupting into the air. Statues sundered in place, chunks of stone crashing down to the ground, and at the center of it all stood the two men.

Alex flinched away from the explosion, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew now that he was in a memory, in the past, but fear struck through him all the same.

Malachi’s eyes were wet with tears, but he did not run. He stood, resolute, as wisps of magic ran up and down his body, then whirled into his skin, his eyes, his mouth. His head tipped back, and silver light poured from him as he let out a silent howl.

Alex watched in a mix or horror and awe as what made up the man slowly frayed away, the flesh and clothes disintegrating into ash, leaving nothing but a silvery, indistinct form that stood before the Head.

Bonds of red lightning crackled around the outline as bones began to fall from the whirling ash and clatter to the gravel. The Head stared into the vortex of power, then extended his other hand, his fingers pushing their way through the dust and debris. His hood flew back, revealing a young man with white hair and eyes the color of a sea at storm. His teeth were bared, his fingers moving in gestures so infinitely complex that Alex couldn’t even begin to guess at their meaning.

With a noise like a massive blanket falling over the earth, the storm halted. Dust, trees, and pieces of statues fell to the ground, and the Head was left standing in a desolate field. In his hand was a skull, his thumb pushed through a hole just between the eyes.



The world came back to Alex in a whirl of light and shadows, and he staggered, gasping as he tried to regain his bearings. In one frost-wreathed hand he held a skull with three holes where the eyes should have been, and in front of him stood a man.

Finder drew back his hood to reveal a gaunt mask of what had been. His black curls fell in lank waves over hollow cheeks, his handsomely square jaw now knobby and worn. He stood there, staring at his own skull in Alex’s hand.

“I am Malachi Grey of Spellshadow Manor,” he said, and his voice was the rasp of shovels turning grave dirt. “I exist to serve the Head of Spellshadow. I find those with magic, and I bring them to this place.”

Alex was shivering. Behind the figure, he saw Natalie regaining her feet, her hands beginning to weave a delicate, silver web of magic onto the ground around her.

“Why?” Alex asked. “Why do you bring them here?”

Finder rocked from foot to foot, his face sad, his expression lost.

“I am Malachi Grey of Spellshadow Manor,” he said, ghostly magic flooding the air around him. The gray ivy shuddered, lifting off the surrounding statues to dance in the air. “I exist to serve the Head of Spellshadow. I find those with magic, and I bring them to this place.”

Finder reached out, ghostly light pouring from his hands to wash over Alex in waves. Alex gritted his teeth, raising one hand against the magic, and prepared himself to fight.





Chapter 38





While Finder couldn’t see Alex, he had no difficulty seeing the skull frozen to Alex’s left hand. Clearly using the yellowing bone as a reference, the ghost swept forward, his hands slashing and whirling in the air. Alex tried to keep up, but the master wizard’s motions were too quick, his magic too powerful, and the young man felt the air burst from his lungs as he was smashed against the back wall. Loops of ivy draped over him and immediately began coiling about him, attempting to hold him in place. He thrashed frantically, trying to break away, his eyes on the ghost of Malachi Grey.