The Secret of Spellshadow Manor by Bella Forrest (classic english novels txt) 📗

resplendent light out over the houses, which continued to grow stranger.

Alex saw a building shaped like a coiled snake, wrapping around and around until it reared up into a tall tower, with window eyes and a long, crimson flag for a tongue. Crows were clustered upon its roof, screeching into the twisted night. Another house was built like a tree, little colored lights winking out at him from between the branches and leaves.

Each home he passed, however, was more derelict than the last. They crumbled, consumed by ivy and moss, their walls collapsing inward like punctured balloons. Indeed, Alex saw no sign that anyone had lived in any of these fantastical houses for generations, or even longer. There was something in the stillness of this place that reminded him of a graveyard.

Up ahead, the lane had reached its end, and finally he seemed able to catch up. He ran the remainder of the path, stopping just short of the pair.

“Natalie!” he gasped, moving to grab her hand. “Natalie, WAIT!”

Once more she brushed him away with unnatural force, and he crashed heavily to the path. He raised his head, the breath knocked out of him, to see the man standing next to a pair of massive iron gates with Natalie at his side. The gates were wreathed in ashen, gray ivy that completely obscured whatever lay beyond.

The ragged man reached out and, with an almost delicate touch, pushed one gate open. There was a protesting scream of rusted hinges as it swung inward.

A sinking, queasy feeling came over Alex where he lay, panting. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but there was one certainty he couldn’t shake: She should not pass through these gates, should not go anywhere with this man.

Alex leapt to his feet just as Natalie slipped through, following the man as the gate began to close behind them.

Alex cursed. Rushing up to the closing gate, his heart was in his throat. He gazed at the strange, twisting patterns that were etched into the bars. For several seconds, he stood there, his hand closing over the cool metal. Barely twenty minutes ago, he’d been standing in the sun on a suburban road.

Either he had really and truly lost his mind, or he was venturing blindly into an utterly unheard of realm.

He looked up at the gray ivy that hung down in curtains before him. Whatever lay beyond, Natalie had gone ahead, and Alex couldn’t bring himself to turn away now. If nobody but him could see the gray man, there was no guarantee that anybody else would see what he saw now, here at the end of this impossible lane. He couldn’t rely on recruiting help.

Swallowing hard, Alex set his jaw and pushed.

The gate began to open.

Chapter 6

The first thing Alex noticed as he passed through the gates was the cold. It blossomed within him even though the wind blew warm against his skin, and he shivered as the gate swung shut behind him, the sheet of ivy swinging into place over it like a wall.

He found himself standing before what could only be described as a mansion. It towered above him, windows flickering with uncertain light, red bricks almost entirely hidden by great swaths of the same gray plant that hung over the gates. The stuff was everywhere, covering the high wall that ringed the perimeter of the house’s expansive gardens, and there was even a thin layer that crept over the ground. It seemed to drain the color from everything it touched. He shuddered and tried not to brush against it.

Gritting his teeth, Alex moved toward the manor. He didn’t see Natalie or the man in rags anywhere, but there was only one place they could have gone.

Gravel crunched loudly under his feet as he walked, though he tried his best to walk lightly. He had the feeling he did not want to be detected here.

He tried to focus his mind solely on what he was here to achieve: Go in, get Natalie, get out. Quick and simple.

As he drew nearer, the manor came into sharper detail. Burns and scars streaked the bricks of the silent structure. It looked deserted, like it had been abandoned decades before. Maybe the man in rags would be the only inhabitant.

He shuddered at the thought of facing him, but braced himself for the likelihood.

Before he knew it, Alex was standing before the doors. They were strange things, and looked more like trees than anything else. Gnarled branches stuck out of them at odd angles, and twists of age mottled their surface. From each hung a heavy golden ring, shaped like a snake twisting to bite its own tail.

Ouroboros, Alex thought. The infinite cycle of creation and destruction, each eternally leading to the other. Not necessarily a bad sign.

He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, slipping inside.

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t what greeted him. Bright light blasted his face, and he raised a hand, abruptly realizing how dark the night outside had been. Alex stared around in shock at the opulent entryway surrounding him; at the long hall, at least twenty feet across, that plunged deeper into the manor; at the high ceiling hung with a series of crystal chandeliers that shone with hundreds of candles. Dozens of paintings of dour-faced men in black robes lined the walls, and suits of ancient-looking armor stood sentry on either side.

“Two?”

Alex spun in alarm.

A prim woman of middle age sat before him behind a desk, adjusting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a rather incredible amount of blush and lipstick, and the impression it created was of a swollen red toad glowering at him from her seat. She held a pen poised over a large stack of papers.

“I haven’t even finished the intake forms for the last one,” she said, her voice sharp and exasperated. “He never brings two at a time.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Alex blurted.

“Yes, yes,” said the woman, “you’re very