The Keep (The Secret of Spellshadow Manor #4)(27)

“Very good—promising control,” said Vincent with a smile, though Alex wasn’t aware he was doing anything profound. “Now, necromancy can also be performed on yourself, but we are beginning with somebody else, in case things go awry.”

Alex nodded, eager to begin. The memories of S. Epstein were growing more insistent, banging on the barrier he had put up in his mind to keep them out.

“First, you must focus on the path of someone’s spirit line. Then, you can follow it back as far as you are able. Though, I should warn you, it gets harder the farther back you go. The spiritual memory is filtered through generation after generation, growing weaker with each stage, if you will, like taping too many times over a cassette,” he explained.

Alex looked at him blankly.

“A cassette?” Still nothing. Vincent shook his head in mock despair.

“Never mind—you understand my meaning?”

“I think so,” he replied.

“Superb. So, a spirit line is precisely as described: it is the line of somebody’s spirit.” He grinned, long teeth pushing against the thin flesh of his lips.

Alex frowned. “How do I find it?”

“I will instruct you as best I can, though your instincts may have to do some of the work, tailoring it to your particular style of magic,” Vincent began, smiling as reassuringly as his strange face permitted. “And, please, don’t worry if you don’t succeed on your first attempt. Necromancy takes practice, but is invaluable once mastered. First, close your eyes and focus on the image in your mind, surging forth from the vial in your hand.”

Alex obeyed, allowing S. Epstein back into his mind. He found himself floating above a familiar piazza, the sun baking the sandstone as the heady scent of roses filled the air. Against the far wall, the stern-faced young man stood beside a young woman, talking secretively beneath the tensed bow of a cupid-like cherub carved into the stone above their heads. It was easy to get lost in these visions, and Alex felt lighter in the false world of another’s former life, his troubles fading away as he soared above the square, observing the couple, unseen. It was only the sound of Vincent’s voice, piercing the scene, that brought his focus back to where it ought to be.

“You must seek out a pulse within the vision. Delve deeper into the essence, transcending the layers, and you should find it within,” he instructed.

It sounded like a vague sort of command, but Alex found it far easier to follow than expected, once his mind had made sense of it. It was like staring into a moving stream to try to see the shapes of fish and pebbles beneath. Focusing beyond the bright lights and vivid colors of Stillwater House, he moved through the layers of S. Epstein’s surface memories, reaching deeper and deeper toward something else, pulsing acutely in the center of it all. A glowing heart of silvery white light. This had to be it, Alex thought, as he awaited further instruction from the godlike voice of Vincent, bellowing to him from all around.

“Now, follow the light as if it is a pathway, going back as far as you wish to go. It should stretch out ahead of you once you focus your mind upon it,” he explained, moments later.

Alex concentrated on the glowing light, realizing he no longer possessed a body as he glanced down with invisible eyes. He could see and he could hear, but he was not an entity as such, merely a concealed observer in the life of another. It did not perturb him as much as he thought it might have, and he diverted his attention back to the task at hand. No sooner had he poured all of his attention toward it than the light began to spill out, running in a shimmering line into the darkness of a distant gray horizon.

Following Epstein’s spirit was a slightly harder skill to master, however, and Alex struggled to walk the silvery line. It was not a case of simply putting one foot in front of the other, as he had no feet to move. Reaching within himself, he drew upon the strength of his anti-magic, gathering it into one core point of focus and sending it out toward the silvery line of Epstein’s spirit. As if magnetized, the ripple of his anti-magic stretched ahead, pulling him along behind. The place where his mouth normally was curved into a smile as the first fresh visions began to come to him; he had mastered the skill with a degree of success he had not anticipated.

“It is up to you where you wish to go,” Vincent boomed in his head. “Direct your energy and dive into the spirit line at any interval you please.”

He did so, though the exertion was titanic as he dragged himself along the gleaming spirit line of S. Epstein. It became easier, the more used to the sensation he got, but he could feel his energy straining to achieve his desires. In these visions, Alex felt different from the omnipresent figure he’d been in the surface memories. As he delved deeper into this young man’s past, he realized he was the person whose spirit he was piggybacking upon. The view was limited, his eyes seeing only what Epstein had seen. It was the same as he moved gradually backward, inhabiting the souls of Epstein’s parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, going as far back as he was able.

He saw days filled with laughter and days filled with tears, first kisses and last kisses, triumphs and failures, all in one sweeping observation of Epstein’s spirit. In one vision, seeing the black clothes and rainy skies of a funeral, he almost felt as if he were trespassing, stealing a precious moment from within the pulsing red soul of S. Epstein. He wasn’t sure how comfortable that made him feel, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from experiencing it through the stranger’s eyes, watching it and living it as if it were him. It was deeply sad and deeply moving, and he found he could not leave.