The Keep (The Secret of Spellshadow Manor #4)(26)

“There’s been a lot to think about, that’s all.” Alex sighed, trying to push all thoughts of Natalie aside—for the time being, at least. “I’m ready to get on with this.”

“Come, sit,” Vincent said, gesturing toward the chair opposite. A small fire burned in the grate between the two seats, making Alex anxious. Vincent smiled, gazing down into the warming blaze. “If you begin to feel faint, I shall extinguish its flames. We don’t want a repeat of what happened earlier…”

“Thanks,” Alex said, taking the offered seat. It seemed as if the necromancer was settling down for a long discussion, and the idea made Alex instantly antsy. He didn’t know how Vincent could be so calm when they still had so much to do.

“I feel it’s important we get to know one another a fraction better, before I begin to teach you about a side of necromancy I feel comfortable with—spirit lines and how to walk along them.”

“You said it’s a talent of…great import, right?” Alex asked, the formal phrasing feeling strange coming from his own mouth.

“Most certainly. Spirit lines can reveal deep-seated fears and secrets. If you know a person’s past, you know their vulnerabilities. Such a skill may be of use in your fight against the royals,” Vincent said with a wave of his long fingers. “Now, trust is the key to success, and if you do not trust, doors will not open. I hope you feel able to trust me, by the end of this session. I realize you must have your concerns; I wouldn’t think you sound of mind if you didn’t.”

“I’m still not sure what to make of you,” Alex replied bluntly.

“Good, we are off to an excellent start. Honesty from the outset—wonderful.” Vincent clasped his hands together in apparent delight. “Now, allow me to paint you a picture. As I mentioned before, I am a sympathizer with your kind. I have always been so. You see, I was there on the last day of the Spellbreakers, when the earth was drenched in a ravenous silver that turned many mages into dust… I saw and I understood the painful price, and Leander Wyvern’s revenge. There are many within these walls who were there, though they do not all share my sentiments. I sought equality where they sought bloodshed. I do not think either side won.”

Alex wasn’t sure Vincent looked old enough to have been alive in 1908, but that was the mystery of the necromancer—he could have told Alex he was any age, and Alex would have believed it. The man’s eerie skin and blacker-than-black eyes made him seem infinite, as if he might go on forever, never changing. Alex wondered if it was a trait of necromancers, to look this way, prompting him to wonder why the veins beneath Vincent’s translucent flesh were the same color as the veins beneath his own flesh, only clearer—whereas the man behind the grate, the one Natalie had been speaking with, had been covered in tangled webs of deep, poisonous black.

“Does necromancy turn your blood black?” he asked, intrigued.

Vincent tilted his head, gazing curiously at Alex. “What makes you ask such a question?”

“I think I saw another necromancer, in one of the cells, but the veins beneath his skin were dark, not at all like yours,” he replied, hoping it wasn’t a rude question. How was he to know whether or not it was polite to ask a necromancer about his strange appearance?

Vincent nodded. “While I am indeed a necromancer, I do not share in the wicked delights others find in it. I do not perform the ungodly—I seek only to help, following the light, trying not to stray too far into the darkness. It is the darkness that blackens the blood,” he explained. “My joy is in tracing spirit lines and focusing upon them, utilizing but not seeking to control the phantoms within. Keeping to the light, I do not poison my body with dark magic, though I have had to compromise on the eyes.” He smiled wryly, gesturing languidly in the direction of the onyx pools that stared, unblinking, in Alex’s direction.

It intrigued Alex, as he listened to the explanation, wondering what Vincent was going to teach him and how on earth he was going to invert such powerful magic. Natalie’s voice played on a loop in his head, taunting him, reminding him not to fear power, but to embrace it. It was easier said than done.

“Did you bring the bottle I requested?” Vincent asked.

Alex nodded, retrieving the two bottles from his pockets and placing them on the small, square table that sat between them, the surface devoid of anything homey—no trinkets, no saucers, not even a book or two.

“Very good,” said Vincent. “I thought it best we had these for you to practice on. I would not like to let you loose on some poor soul, not having tried it out first. I know my magic doesn’t work as your magic does, but I’m sure we’ll find a solution—you seem a bright sort.”

Alex felt calmer, knowing the bottles were only to practice on, though he hoped he wouldn’t make a mess of it and accidentally destroy something. Especially with the barrier’s influence, he wasn’t sure how his anti-magic might play out under new pressures.

“Do you think I’ll be able to do it?” he asked.

Vincent shrugged, the bones of his shoulders poking through his shirt at sharp angles. “I am ever the optimist. Now, pick up one of the bottles,” he instructed.

Alex did as he was told, the solemn face of a young man rushing into his mind as his fingers closed around a bottle marked “S. Epstein.” Slowly, he forced his mind away from the image, returning to the room, focusing as hard as he could on Vincent.