The Secret of Spellshadow Manor (Spellshadow Manor #1)

Aamir slammed his hand into the dirt at his side, and the stone at Derhin’s feet exploded. The man leapt aside, his body unnaturally light, landing atop the remains of a nearby statue. He looked down at Aamir, then made a sharp gesture that Alex wasn’t familiar with. He rasped angrily, and then Aamir gasped as the air was ripped from his lungs. He struggled, one hand clutching at his throat, the other limp at his side.

Had Natalie not been injured, Alex would have been unable to keep both his friends from the battlefield. As it was, he managed to get a hand on Jari’s wrist just before the boy launched himself into the fray. His eyes burned cold, bloody murder, his skin clammy to the touch. At Alex’s grasp, he turned an angry glare on his friend.

“Don’t stop me,” he hissed. “I am not watching while that monster kills my friend!”

“And I’m not watching while he kills you,” Alex said. He could barely choke the words out of his mouth.

Jari’s eyes were wet with tears as he looked back. Derhin drifted lazily down from his stand, landing in front of Aamir, who continued to struggle in the grass.

“Poor fool,” said Derhin. “Poor, sad, weak—”

He cut off. Aamir had spun, and, with what seemed to be the last of his energy, grabbed a nearby strand of the graying ivy and whipped it at the professor. Derhin’s cloak rustled as he made a gesture, but his magic burst around the hurled vine. As though it were hungry for magic, the end of the creeper spun around his ankle and held fast.

Aamir sucked in a breath and pulled. Derhin let out a cry of anger as he toppled to the ground, his hat flying off. He reached to the bottles at his chest, pulling one free as Aamir staggered to his feet, ripping out the cork and downing the contents.

The ivy grasping his side glowed, as if with inner fire, then burst. Sprays of plant matter flew through the air as the professor’s hands came up, magic forming upon them.

But Aamir could see them now. Flat on his back, the man was forced to bring his hands up out of his cloak’s protective embrace to cast his magic, and Aamir reached forward, his hands like claws, and grabbed the professor’s magic before throwing it aside. Aamir raised a hand, and Derhin’s eyes snapped to the young student’s fingers, looking for the telltale sign that would reveal the magic and allow him to overcome it.

What hit him, however, was a fist.

Derhin cried out as Aamir’s hand sank into his face, smacking the man’s head back against the grass. He raised a hand, but Aamir slapped it aside, pinning it with his boot to ensure that it couldn’t form any more signs, then delivered a second blow to the professor’s face, aiming for the older man’s eyes. Derhin let out a shriek, kicking, but for all the professor’s magic, Aamir was physically stronger. Derhin let out a grunt as another blow pitched his jaw sideways to the grass, and Aamir’s hand rose again.

“That will be quite enough.”

Every head turned as the dry voice split the air, and a hush fell over the crowd as it parted for a lean figure who made his slow way over the lawn. The Head seemed larger than he had when Alex had seen him in the Manor’s memories. He stood taller, his frame still willow-thin, his delicate fingers seeming to stroke the air like they were dipping into water. But his heavy boots no longer fit well, and he walked with a limp. Thin white hair spilled from under his hood, drifting back from his form like mist at his passing.

Aamir did not rise from his position atop Derhin as the master of the school approached, but he did lower his fist, his head dipping in deference. The Head nodded in return, his gaze sweeping to Derhin.

“Avery,” he said, his voice low with disappointment.

Derhin began to struggle, and Aamir stepped away to allow the man to rise to his knees, his head bowing toward the Head.

“Sir,” he said, his voice nasal as one hand strayed to his bloodied nose. “The boy cheated. He used crass, physical blows to win, and also abused the natural and overpowering magic that you have placed into the manor itself. Surely you can see that I am the superior teacher, far better qualified to—”

The Head held up a hand, and the stammering professor grew quiet, his eyes gazing up at the old man. Alex’s eyes flicked uncertainly between them.

“You lost,” said the Head slowly. “You know better than most that what I require of my professors is not sheer magical prowess, but guile. The ability to overcome. The strength to do what is necessary.”

Derhin was shaking now, his hands balling into fists at his sides, his skin pale.

“Sir, I have demonstrated those qualities,” he said. “More than anyone, I have demonstrated them. Allow me to duel one of the other professors, if you truly wish to accept the boy as a teacher.”

“Avery,” the Head said again with a sad shake of his head. “I remember when you first came here. So bright. So clever. You had half your class under your thumb in a month. You had half the staff under it by the next. You even secured your friend a position within the faculty.”

Derhin nodded eagerly. “Alexander Lintz,” he said. “I helped him through his trials.”

So that was their connection, the reason Lintz seemed to feel indebted to Derhin. Alex’s eyes widened in understanding.

“And yet, here you kneel,” the Head went on. “And now even you must receive this final lesson: all things end, child.”

Professor Derhin, dressed in his wizard’s robes, really did look like nothing more than a child. A student who had been caught breaking the rules, and now bent his knees and his head in fear of the cane. Alex felt what was almost a flutter of sympathy for the man.

However, as he heard the Head’s words, Derhin stiffened, his eyes flashing. Blood dripped off his nose to patter upon the grass.

“All things, sir?” he said, his voice sharp with derision.

The Head said nothing. The wind stirred his thin white hair, pulling it gently back, his hands motionless at his sides.