by James Hunter
BIBLIOMANCER
Book One of WOLFMAN WARLOCK
A Completionist Chronicles Series
Written by James Hunter and Dakota Krout
© 2019 Mountaindale Press. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by US copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Newsletter
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Afterword
About James Hunter
About Dakota Krout
About Mountaindale Press
Mountaindale Press Titles
GameLit and LitRPG
Acknowledgments
James
I’d like to thank all of the readers and fans who have supported me, year after year, book after book because without you folks none of this would be possible. Huge thanks to my wife and business partner, Jeanette, who has believed in me from the get go, and to our two wonderful kids, Lucy and Sam, who push me every day to be a better person. Thank you to all the beta readers, editors, and proofreaders who made this book possible—they slogged through the rough, ugly, messy first drafts so that no one else ever had to. And, of course, a huge thanks to Dakota, Danielle, and all the people at Mountaindale for the phenomenal work they put into this book. In particular, I’d like to say thank you to Dakota for letting me play around in his sandbox; co-authoring this book was an absolute blast and I can only say that all of the bad parts are my fault and all of the awesome stuff is Dakota bringing both the thunder and the puns.
Dakota
It was an amazing opportunity to work on this project with James Hunter. Not only do I feel that I as an author have grown from this experience, I truly believe that we made an awesome book together. Thank you to everyone who made this happen, from our wives—who are incredibly supportive—to our fans who are reading and reviewing this. A special thank you to those that support us outside of our books, especially my patrons: Justin Williams, Samuel Landrie, William Merrick, Brayden Wallach, John Grover, Dominic Q Roddan, Keifer Gibbs, and Ethan.
Newsletter
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Chapter One
There was something waiting for him behind this door. He knew it, and he knew that he had to enter. Still, Sam King lingered on the steps.
His hands were sweaty; the suitcase was oddly heavy as he stared at the double doors of dark wood and frosted glass. Behind him, an engine purred, and tires crunched as his Uber driver pulled away, stranding him there with no other options. No escape. He licked his lips and glanced up—anything to put off the inevitable for just a second longer. The house was a massive thing—three stories of gray brick, peaked gables, and gleaming, oversized windows all trimmed in white marble. He hadn’t seen the estate in more than a year, and after spending so much time locked away in his tiny dorm room, everything about this place felt… excessive.
He took a deep breath, holding it as he steeled himself for the pain and awkwardness certain to come. Finally—when he felt like his lungs would explode—he exhaled, turned the ornate silver knob, and pushed his way into the foyer that was bigger than his entire dorm room had been.
“Surprise!” came a chorus of voices, ringing off the vaulted ceilings.
It was even worse than expected! He hated surprise parties, but thankfully, he wasn’t ‘surprised’ this time around. Sam’s dad, in his infinite kindness, had ‘accidentally’ tipped him off the week before, so he wasn’t walking into this thing blind. The entry room was packed with bodies, all of them wearing sports coats, tennis sweaters, or luxurious summer dresses.
A sea of teeth shined out at him from artificially tanned faces, which looked far too smooth and wrinkle-free to ever be natural. A horde of silver and gold balloons dotted the ceiling, crowding around the crystal chandelier while a multitude of ribbons hung limply from the ceiling. A brightly lettered banner was strung across the far wall: Congratulations! You Did It!
There was a polite cheer, followed by raised champagne glasses and a short toast in his honor—which, frankly, he barely listened to. When the half-heard platitudes and well-wishes finally came to an end, Sam plastered a very large, very fake smile in place. His cheeks dimpled while he swept his gaze across the crowd of assembled home invaders. Some of those faces were welcome.
His mother with her kind eyes and blonde hair, streaked with gray. His dad, solidly built, shoulders broad, decked out in blue jeans and a black polo. His little sister, Jenna—only sixteen and a major pain in the neck—was going through a goth phase, evident by the all black attire and white makeup. A couple of his dad’s coworkers—site foremen and architects mostly—who were more like uncles to Sam than his actual uncle.
Most of the faces, however, weren’t nearly so welcome. Sam spotted several of the ‘neighbors’, all dressed in clothes that could pay rent for a month in most cities, as well as a handful of his old ‘friends’, though he used the term in the loosest possible sense. He’d grown up with these kids, sure. In fact, Jack and Becky had been drifting in and out of his life since elementary school.
But in all reality, he had about as much in common with most of them as the Trekkie community had with the Star Wars fandom. He pushed away his worry and crippling anxiety. His parents were sweet, and they’d meant the best for him, so he could grin and bear the awkwardness. This was his day, he reminded himself. Though he didn’t much care for parties, he had worked hard and deserved to celebrate!
“Thank you all so much,” he forced the words out, fighting desperately to sound genuine. “It’s so good to see everyone again, and I’m just so overwhelmed that you all took the time to be here. I really can’t say thank you enough.”
Another polite round of applause followed, the kind of golf claps you might hear on the putting green. His dad’s voice cut through the crowd like a shark carving through white-capped waves, “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s get this party started!”
“It’s good to see you, kid.” He slung a broad arm around Sam’s shoulder
s, pulling him into a lopsided hug. He said the words softly; they were meant for Sam’s ears alone. The rest of the crowd was dispersing from the foyer, ushered deeper into the house by his mother to where there would be a veritable feast set and ready to eat.
“Sorry about all this,” his dad whispered conspiratorially as they watched the crowd shuffle away. “I tried to talk your mom out of it, but you know how she is. Gets an idea stuck in her head, and not even an act of God can change her mind.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand. I don’t mind. Really. This was nice of you guys. I’m just glad to be home. More importantly, I’m so~o~o glad to be done with school.”
The last four years had been a blur of classes, late nights, term papers, gallons of coffee, and endless tests. But not anymore. Adult life would have its own challenges, he knew, but at least they would be different challenges. He was sick to death of being in limbo, stranded in that twilight space where he wasn’t quite an adult but he wasn’t quite a child either.
“At least for now.” His father offered him an evil grin. “A little birdie might’ve told me you’re thinking about law school. Never thought we’d have a lawyer in the family, but that’ll give me a good excuse to get in some trouble.”
Sam felt like cringing, but he suppressed the urge, not wanting to ruin the good mood. “I don’t even want to think about post-grad stuff. Not for a good, long while.”
Never was a much more accurate statement, though Sam kept that piece of info firmly to himself. He’d spent four years slogging through a degree he didn’t like—Business Management with a minor in Economics—there was no chance that law school was in his future, no matter how practical that might be. He’d sat through a handful of pre-law classes, and he’d hated every single minute of them. Boring, tedious, and unfulfilling. He would step in and help run the family business, but it wouldn’t be as a lawyer.
“Well, that’s fair enough.” His dad dropped the subject and his arm at the same time. “You take as much time off as you want. You’ve earned it. In case I don’t say it enough, I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.”
“Anyway.” His Dad faltered for a moment before clearing his throat and glancing away. He continued after a moment, “Why don’t you go drop your stuff off in your room, then come and get a bite to eat. Your mom booked Fat Dave’s for the catering. We’ve got enough barbeque, smoked ribs, and pulled pork in there to feed an army of hungry college kids.”
“Will do,” Sam replied, finally excited for something in the party. His dad patted him on the shoulder then sauntered off, bare feet slapping on the expensive marble floors. His dad hated shoes almost as much as he loved a good pair of sweatpants. Those were his true roots showing through like the glimmer of gold in a predawn morning. Though his parents had money, a lot of it, little things like that were constant reminders that they hadn’t started off that way.
The patriarch disappeared around the corner, swallowed by the murmur of voices drifting over from the dining room. Sam left his suitcase right where it was, and instead of beelining for his room, he decided to take a detour out into the backyard. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt. Plus, he could reorganize his thoughts before dealing with the random assortment of people invading his home like a horde of barbeque-eating, tennis-sweater-wearing, Beverly Hills Mongols. Sam somehow managed to sneak his way past the crowds, taking the well-familiar back hallways.
Unfortunately, when he slipped out through the garage, he found the backyard occupied as well—and this was the group he’d been hoping to avoid the most—his ‘friends’. Jack and Becky had migrated out here and were congregating on the lounge chairs lining the tile-edged pool. They weren’t alone. There was black-haired Olivia Rutherford, the daughter of Big Jim, who owned twenty or more car dealerships in Orange County, Carter Hawthorne, the son of an oil magnate, and Isabella Paige, the daughter of a real-estate mogul. The worst was Barron Calloway, star quarterback and son of a US Senator. He was in the pool, shirt off, arms draped on the concrete with red-headed Isabella curled up next to him.
“Well, look at what we have here.” Barron instantly had a broad smile splitting his face, though it never quite reached his eyes. “It’s Sammy! Back from the Peace Corps or wherever it was you went.”
“It was college,” Olivia explained unnecessarily, ashing a cigarette dangling between two long-nailed fingers. “Didn’t you bothering to read the invitation?”
She turned her smoky gaze on Sam. “What was it, Berkley?”
More than anything else, Sam wished he’d gone to his room, but he couldn’t just turn around now and disappear back through the garage. He had too much pride for that. Though he didn’t like these people, some part of him also wanted to impress them. They’d spent the past four years leeching off family trust funds, scions of the generational wealthy who would never need to work a day if they didn’t want. But not Sam. He’d worked his entire life to be different, to earn his grades, to put in the effort, to make his own way just like his parents had before him. He’d always been an outsider, and his time away at school had only widened that gap.
Sam wanted to show them that their opinions didn’t matter anymore. So, he held his ground. “Yep, Berkley. Finally finished up my degree.”
Barron rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Peace Corps, college, whatever. Both are equally worthless. I mean, not to take anything away from you, but what’s the point of going to college? You’re just going to work in your dad’s business, and it’s not like he isn’t going to give you a job. What’s the point of having rich parents if you don’t embrace nepotism like the rest of us?”
“Oh, stop it, Barron.” Isabella slapped him lightly on the bare shoulder, a cross between irritation and flirtation. “You know Sam’s not like the rest of us, and that’s better than okay.”
“Besides,” Becky interjected, eyeing Sam from beneath the brim of a wide Prada sun hat with a pink bow wrapped around the front, “college looks like it did him some good. Had quite the growth spurt, didn’t you?”
“Eh. I bet I could still give him an atomic wedgie without breaking a sweat.” Barron nonchalantly sized Sam up, earning a round of jeering cackles.
Sam felt a flush creep into his cheeks, equal parts shame and embarrassment. He wanted to shoot back some quippy reply—I’d just like to see you try, dude—but his mind froze, and his mouth refused to obey him. He’d envisioned this moment more than a few times in his head, daydreaming about how he’d come back home and confront these people who’d made his life so miserable, but this wasn’t going at all how he’d expected. He’d been gone for four years! He shouldn’t have cared what these people thought of him… but he did.
He cared a lot more than he wanted to admit, and that was the worst part of all. Sam cleared his throat, his face burning like a bonfire.
“It’s so great to see you guys,” he mumbled half-heartedly before turning away, any measure of pride he had shriveling inside his chest like a dead flower. Shoving his way back through the garage door, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back. Forgot to ask my dad about something. Thanks for coming.”
He heard the soft whisper of laughter behind him. Mortified, he slunk away, refusing to look back again. Sam retrieved his suitcase from the entry hall, bypassing the rest of the partygoers, and made it to his room without further incident, a miracle of miracles. Safe in his sanctuary, he quietly shut the door behind him and took a few deep breaths. He let the shame and guilt fade, the knots in his shoulders melting away in the process.
Sam didn’t want to be rude, but maybe he’d just batten down the hatches and weather out the rest of the party here in his room. He dropped his bag and promptly flopped down on the mattress before easing himself up on his elbows. His bed was a king-sized monstrosity on a heavy, oak frame that seemed like it belonged in the room of someone thirty years his senior, but it was his mattress. Somehow being in his own bed banished thoughts of his frenemies, the surprise par
ty, and everything else.
He let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he felt like he was home. His bedroom was more or less in the same shape as he’d left it; though it looked like the maid had probably been through a time or two since everything was neat and tidy, the floor meticulously vacuumed, not a spot of dust to be seen on a ledge or shelf.
The room was significantly larger than the one he’d had on campus. Expensive, dark wood bookcases lined one wall, the shelves filled to the brim with books—mostly fantasy, though there was a spattering of classic sci-fi novels like Ender’s Game and Dune—and a treasure trove of D&D manuals and campaign books. Most of those, sadly, were unused. Sure, he’d flipped through the pages more times than he could count, reading over the various classes and eating through the game mechanics, but he’d never had the friends to play them. One of the greatest ironies of D&D was that, for a nerdy game, it required so many other people.
He also had a fair number of MMO game manuals, plus some of the high-gloss concept art books that companies like Imagine Quest, Frontflip, or StormShard Studios regularly published.
Sam had more of those pictures plastered across his bedroom walls—posters from some of his all-time favorite MMOs: Masterwind Chronicles, World of Alphastorm, Celestial Conquest Online. He felt a twinge of guilt as his gaze slid over the posters; it had been too long since he’d logged any hours online. He’d been a gamer most of his young adult life, but these last few years of college had left an abysmal amount of time for anything that wasn’t studying, studying, or more studying. His thoughts flashed to Rachel ‘DizzySparrow’ Poulson, Caleb ‘StormMachine’ Tucker, Sean ‘Potatoad’ Bowman, and Jacob ‘MajesticRhino’ Watson. His old crew.
Idly, he wondered how they were, if they were still gaming together. Once he got back from his trip and settled into something resembling a normal routine, he’d have to dive back in for a while—maybe see if he could track some of those guys down. Speaking of his trip…
