The Secret of Spellshadow Manor (Spellshadow Manor #1)

Elias pulled himself languorously into his next shadow, pausing as Alex, the young Spellbreaker, strode past him. Now there was an anomaly. By all accounts, the boy shouldn’t have been here. His presence was bizarre. But like a desperate man handed a sword in his moment of need, Elias was not one to complain. The boy was an incredible weapon. Effective almost to a fault. The only problem with him was his morality. That might get in the way before long, Elias knew. If the boy knew the whole truth, it was impossible to say what he might do.

Beside him was the girl. Natalie, Elias thought she was called, but he didn’t put much stock by her. She was ordinary. Talented, yes, but he had seen talent before. Had it not been for her association with the Breaker, Elias wouldn’t have even bothered to take notice of her. She was a pawn.

Elias slipped through a lock, crossing through the mechanics’ lab. Students sat, bent over their tables with loupes in hand, staring down at minuscule magic machinations that clicked and whirred under their carefully applied picks. A quick trip through the vents and Elias was in the alchemy lab, multicolored smoke clouding against the ceiling, strange smells and sounds rippling off the walls as students in long coats added to their mixtures with trepidation on their faces.

The small blond boy was here. Elias thought he was Greek, but he didn’t have a name for him. He was the new professor’s friend. He was stirring a violently green mixture with an absent expression on his face, a half-smile quirking his lips. Another pawn.

Elias considered the new professor as he slid back out into the hallway, darting between the quick little shadows of raindrops. The boy, Nagi, seemed smart and resistant, but he had a love for tradition that worried Elias. He might become a friend or an enemy. Either way, he was no pawn. He would be valuable in the conflict to come.

As Elias drew nearer the Head’s wing, the shadows grew heavier, and he let himself slide off the wall, congealing into the familiar form of a young man with a shock of black hair. He ran his fingers through it in a gesture that was more unconscious than useful. He had a lot of habits like that. Small, forgotten ticks of a person who used to be.

He turned his head to look at things, even though his eyes had nothing to do with the location of his head. He moved his hands to bring about his magic, even though he himself was the magic. Some part of him, some deep, central part, remembered. It remembered skin. It remembered blood. It remembered life.

But it was only a memory.

Elias nearly hissed as he came around a corner and found himself blocked by a small avalanche of gray ivy. The stuff was poison to his existence. Touching it would create pain such as he had rarely known, an unbinding of his essence. He slid away from it and found another path.

He strode down the hallway, his feet slipping into the shadows beneath them and making no noise at all. He was darkness. He was shadow. He was…

Who was he?

His mind, broken apart and pieced back together time and time again, strained. He thought he could recall something. Something distant, something burned into the very depth of his essence.

He remembered skin. He remembered the cold bite of manacles on his wrists as he struggled uselessly. He remembered the damp, dewy touch of the ivy as it hung heavy on his shoulders.

He recalled the scene. There had been three people. The Head had been there, along with a young man Elias knew to be himself, and another boy in shining glasses. That spectacled boy had…hurt Elias. He had chosen him, and seen him cast down. Had there been a fight? Elias didn’t remember.

In the hallway, Elias lost his form, collapsing as a shadow to the ground, curling into a corner and waiting to regroup as he shuddered with thoughts. Why had they been there? What had happened to his skin?

He dove deeper into the memory. The Head was doing something, writing a note down on the table. The young man he knew to be himself—what was his name?—was watching the Head with sad, determined eyes. The spectacled boy said something. Something useless. Something unimportant.

The Head turned, gently lifting the handle of a knife. It was a familiar and terrible object. A silver blade formed upon the empty hilt, spilling out like mercury upon a tabletop. The young man’s mouth went dry, his lips opening to unleash so many pleading cries and whimpers. He looked away. The stupid young man. He had ruined everything for himself. He had been so close.

Anger filled him, and he thrashed in his bonds, mouth open, spit dripping from his lips. The Head walked closer, the knife in one hand, and reached out.

It was like someone had pushed a wedge into the young man’s heart. The air went out of him. The very core of his being fluttered, wavered, evaporated. The young man watched in horror as the Head pulled a strand of red magic out of him, wrapping it around one finger over and over again. The Head was so gentle. So precise and gentle and cruel.

The young man strained, his head lolling, seeing the spectacled boy not looking, and now Elias recalled the boy’s name. Avery Derhin. The one who had become a teacher, had challenged him. Known he was an easy target. Cast him down as Elias had done to his master, once.

And how it hurt. The ache of his essence peeling from his very being was an exultation of pain. It made him giddy, made him laugh, feeling the lightness of his body, the fire in his breast, the hurt, the hurt, the overwhelming hurt.

His hands were moving. Forming signs he had told his students never to use, focusing his energy into all the right shapes. His arms were bound above his head, and his motions were far from perfect, but his mind was an anvil against which he tempered his will, and the spell took form. Derhin’s eyes widened. He said something. The Head gave Elias a sharp look with his piercing eyes.

And then, Elias was a shadow.

In the hallway, Elias tried to pant, but he had no lungs. He tried to stand, but he had no legs. He was magic, and he was lifeless. He was formless. He was nothing, and yet he was Elias. The memory he had been hiding within slowly melted, crumbling down around him like ice before a flame. He kept moving.