The Breaker (The Secret of Spellshadow Manor #2)(85)

“Don’t… magic…” he gasped, worried about the residual energy hurting her. Her face showed she understood, although her brow creased with concern.

All they could do was watch Alex as he writhed on the stone, battling with his anti-magic and the pain that had taken over his body. Eventually, the pain ebbed just enough for him to regain jurisdiction over his own senses. Feeding his anti-magic through his veins, he felt the savage sting cooling down with an icy relief, though a dull ache remained as he struggled to sit up. Shaking it off, he looked to the bookshelf. The red line had shattered, leaving the books ripe for picking. Alex tried to read some of the titles, but many were in Latin or other ancient languages that he didn’t recognize.

“Natalie!” he called, his throat still constricted and thick with discomfort.

Natalie hurried over. “You broke it?” she asked with a hint of excitement.

Alex nodded, feeling the pulse of pain throbbing behind his eyeballs. “Just about,” he replied with a grimace. “See if you can figure any of these out,” he added, gesturing to the ancient, rare tomes.

Natalie ran her fingers along the dusty spines with a gentle caress, her lips moving as she silently mouthed the names. As she went along, she picked out a few she thought looked interesting, explaining what they were as she laid them out on the top of the desk. The Rare Spells of Clarita von Bismarck. The Dark Times. Spells from the Otherworld. All of them curiously named and meaning very little to anyone but Natalie, whose eyes glowed with that same worrying glee. Alex supposed it couldn’t do any harm now. They might as well use the power they had if it meant they might survive.

He watched as Natalie took the books over to the corner of the room and sat with them open in front of her, flicking rapidly through the pages, trying to take in as much information as she could, while she could.

“Anything useful?” asked Alex.

Natalie shook her head. “I am still looking,” she sighed bleakly.

Through the thick door and down the hall, Alex could hear the fight raging on, knowing it meant they still had time. He picked up a few books with English names and placed them on the desk to read. Jari took up a few too and went to sit beside Natalie on the floor, turning to her now and again to ask what something meant as they studied side by side.

“Aren’t you going to read?” Alex asked Ellabell, who was sitting on the desk, focusing her shielding magic at the door, to strengthen the barrier. He had never known her to give up the opportunity to read.

She shook her head, her brown curls bouncing. “My powers are better used here,” she said simply, never taking her blue eyes off the door.

Nodding, Alex turned to where he had left his short stack of tomes. He picked the top one up and flicked it open to the first page, but his eye was caught by the great window that stood before him. The stretching expanse of emerald field leading up to the midnight-blue lake that glittered beyond, on the horizon—the very same lake that held the bodies of thousands of his brethren. He could not tear his eyes away from it, nor could he understand why it was always there. It was the only view of foreign scenery that never seemed to change. Giving up on the book, he walked toward the window and its abhorrent image, pressing his palms against the glass as he neared.

Suddenly, the sound of fighting ceased. There was only the sound of footsteps echoing on the flagstones, growing closer. Dread surged acidly up Alex’s throat. Natalie and Jari jumped to their feet, panic flashing across their faces as Ellabell poured more magic from her palms toward the shield rippling across the doorway. Her slender hands were shaking with fear, but she did not let up; her focus was steady.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered with terror as she did her best to bolster the shield.

“We wait. It might not be the Head,” Alex lied. It had to be him. He knew it wasn’t Elias walking up to the door. It could only be him.

They had run out of time.

Alex ran an anxious hand through his hair. They were looking at him with such hope, and he wasn’t about to let them down, but he wasn’t sure what he could do. The books hadn’t proved all that useful, and there weren’t any weapons hanging helpfully from the walls.

The lake caught his eye again. Moving to touch the glass, he wondered grimly if he was about to join his fellow Spellbreakers beneath the glittering surface, buried in a watery grave. There would be no last after him.

Uncertainly, he searched within himself for the semi-familiar glow of his essence, coiled up within him. He knew what he had to do, if it came to it. If it would save his friends, he knew he’d risk a piece of his soul.

As he turned to join the other three, something drew him back. Beneath his hand, he felt a peculiar sensation prickling at the skin—the same cold numbness he felt from anything magical.

His head snapped back as he saw, for the first time, the tiny shimmer of a delicately thin red line, barely wider than a strand of hair, lining the outside of one of the window panels. Then the memory of the book on magical travel came flooding back to him once more. Glorious disbelief coursed through Alex’s body.

“Come here!” he hissed to the others. “Bring Aamir.”

The window was a portal. A still, unmoving passageway that seemed strange, just like the book said. Of course, Alex thought, his mind racing, the view from every other window in the manor changed, except this one. This was the only window that didn’t go zipping off to Southeast Asia or the Amazon Rainforest each day—like in the hallways—or have an ever shifting landscape in the distance, as was the case in the library. It was forever looking out on the cemetery of his ancestors, always gazing upon the glittering lake.