by Anton Strout
PRAISE FOR
Alchemystic
“Loved Alchemystic. Every girl needs her own Stanis!”
—Jeanne C. Stein, national bestselling author of Blood Bond
“Like being strapped to a wrecking ball of urban fantasy fun. Hang on and enjoy the mayhem.”
—Mario Acevedo, author of Werewolf Smackdown
“Just when I thought Mr. Strout couldn’t do any better than his Simon Canderous series, I was proven wrong! I couldn’t put Alchemystic down. It was nonstop action and tension, a bit of romance but not overdone, and all sorts of twists and turns . . . The magical elements will keep you riveted, and I guarantee you’ll be begging for more.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“This is a heartfelt look into the human nature that is intertwined with magical elements. Metaphysics, romance, humanity, compassion, action, and humor all meshed into a wonderful masterpiece of writing splendor.”
—Earth’s Book Nook
“The magic behind Alchemystic was incredibly intriguing . . . All in all, Alchemystic was a very solid start to a new series that will definitely be on my radar for future releases.”
—A Book Obsession
“Strout has come up with an even more fantastic story than before. Alchemystic is a fun and exciting start to a promising new urban fantasy series. With plenty of adventure, mystery, suspense, and magic—this was impossible to put down. Fast-paced, fresh, and surprising, there is never a dull moment. Urban fantasy fans will definitely want to check out this new series (as well as Strout’s previous Simon Canderous series).”
—SciFiChick.com
“Alchemystic has a unique story with delightful characters and plenty of mystery to keep you interested.”
—Rabid Reads
“Alchemystic is thrilling, funny, and eerie—all the elements that make Strout books such irreverent fun!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Excellent character development. The ending leaves this whole world open in a great way . . . My favorite part of this is the use of magic . . . It feels organic and interesting.”
—Nerdist
PRAISE FOR ANTON STROUT AND
HIS SIMON CANDEROUS NOVELS
Dead Matter
“Strout’s . . . great sense of humor, combined with vivid characters, a complex mystery, and plenty of danger, makes for a fantastic read. Urban fantasy fans should not miss this exciting series.”
—SciFiChick.com
“Strout’s good-hearted, bat-carrying hero is once again faced with extraordinary peril from both bureaucratic paperwork and things that go bump in the night. His skillful blending of the creepy and the wacky gives his series an original appeal. Don’t miss out!”
—RT Book Reviews (top pick)
Deader Still
“Such a fast-paced, engaging, entertaining book that the pages seemed to fly by far too quickly. Take the New York of Men in Black and Ghostbusters, inject the same pop-culture awareness and irreverence of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Middleman, toss in a little Thomas Crown Affair, shake and stir, and you’ve got something fairly close to this book.”
—The Green Man Review
“It has a Men in Black flavor mixed with NYPD Blue’s more gritty realism . . . if you think of the detectives as working the night shift in The Twilight Zone.”
—SFRevu
“A fun read . . . The pace moves right along, running poor Simon a little ragged in the process, but providing plenty of action. If you liked Dead to Me, it’s a safe bet you’ll like this one even more.”
—Jim C. Hines, author of Codex Born
“It has a little bit of everything for the paranormal junkie . . . Unique from a lot of the urban fantasy genre. This is a fantastic series.”
—Bitten by Books (5 tombstones)
Dead to Me
“Simon Canderous is a reformed thief and a psychometrist. By turns despondent over his luck with the ladies (not always living) and his struggle with the hierarchy of his mysterious department (not always truthful), Simon’s life veers from crisis to crisis. Following Simon’s adventures is like being the pinball in an especially antic game, but it’s well worth the wear and tear.”
—Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dead Ever After
“Part Ghostbusters, part Men in Black, Strout’s debut is both dark and funny, with quirky characters, an eminently likable protagonist, and the comfortable, familiar voice of a close friend. His mix of (mostly) secret bureaucratic bickering and offbeat action shows New York like we’ve never seen it before. Make room on the shelf, ’cause you’re going to want to keep this one!”
—Rachel Vincent, New York Times bestselling author of Oath Bound
“Urban fantasy with a wink and a nod. Anton Strout has written a good-hearted send-up of the urban fantasy genre. Dead to Me is a genuinely fun book with a fresh and firmly tongue-in-cheek take on the idea of paranormal police. The laughs are frequent as are the wry smiles. I’m looking forward to seeing what he does next.”
—Kelly McCullough, author of Blade Reforged
“Writ[ing] with equal parts humor and horror, Strout creates an engaging character . . . clever, fast-paced, and a refreshing change in the genre of urban fantasy.”
—SFRevu
Ace Books by Anton Strout
The Simon Canderous Novels
DEAD TO ME
DEADER STILL
DEAD MATTER
DEAD WATERS
The Spellmason Chronicles
ALCHEMYSTIC
STONECAST
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.
STONECAST
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2013 by Anton Strout.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62570-5
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / October 2013
Cover illustration by Blake Morrow; texture © Allgusak/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Contents
Praise for Anton Strout Books
Also by Anton Strout
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
/> Acknowledgments
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
About the Author
To Benjamin and Julia, my future adventures— you were always on my mind during the writing of this particular adventure
Acknowledgments
Welcome, my dear book nerds, to the second book of The Spellmason Chronicles. Much like Alexandra Belarus uncovering the arcane secrets of the Spellmasons, a book also needs others to make it happen.
Stonecast would not exist without the help of some pretty amazing people:
Each and every Penguin we keep in the penguin house at Penguin Group, especially my friends (and coworkers) in the paperback sales department; my editorial wizard, Jessica Wade (she may indeed be an actual wizard to make my words look good); production editor Michelle Kasper, assistant production editor Jamie Snider, and copy editors Sara and Bob Schwager; Judith Murello, Diana Kolsky, and Blake Morrow for a gorgeously creepy cover; Erica Martirano and her marketing and promo team; my publicity superstars, Rosanne Romanello, Jodi Rosoff, and Brad Brownson; my agent, Kristine Dahl, and Laura Neely at ICM; the League of Reluctant Adults for continued support and stocking of the bar; my family; and the still-elusive Orlycorn for her infinite patience with me when I disappear down the writing hole. And as always, dear reader, to you and your twisted little mind for venturing forth with me.
So without further ado, shall we?
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
—MACBETH (IV, I, 18–19), SECOND WITCH
One
Alexandra
“For the record, I hate running,” Marshall Blackmoore huffed, his shaggy brown mop of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, covering part of his eyes. “Especially after creepy monsters.”
Despite his tall, skinny Ichabod physique, my friend wheezed away like he was a three-hundred-pound fat-camp escapee chasing down an ice-cream truck. “There’s a reason I opened a game store, you know. Lots . . . more . . . sitting.”
I didn’t have the energy to think about whatever my dear, nerdy friend was saying about Roll for Initiative. For me, running actually helped me concentrate, and in my newfound arcane life, focus was indeed a handy skill to have. Like now.
“I actually enjoy this,” I said. “The running part.”
“How do you feel about the chasing-a-rampaging-golem part of it?” my other friend Aurora Torres called over her shoulder as she ran by. Her short blue hair and black horn-rimmed glasses flew past me, her dancer’s legs pumping hard as she easily pulled much farther ahead of Marshall and me. As she took the lead, her lean frame disappeared into the distance, the bounce of an artist’s tube strapped across her back almost comical.
“Not so crazy about the rampaging,” I said. “Especially given that it’s my fault.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too bad,” she called back. “Occupational hazard of being the one and only existing Spellmason.”
Up ahead in the distance, the lumbering but still-speedy creature I had empowered continued on through the night, thankfully charging down one of the quieter side avenues near Manhattan’s South Street Seaport.
The oversized human shape—comprised entirely of animated red bricks—moved gracelessly, crunching into anything and everything in its path: parked cars, tree trunks, low-hanging branches, hydrants—all of them coming away worse from their encounter.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Marshall repeated, pointing at it. “You’ve got that thing to beat you up.”
“Just be glad I chose to run these experiments late at night,” I said. “We only have to deal with property damage and not, you know . . .”
“People damage . . . ?” Rory finished.
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Rory turned back forward, pointing to a dark area up ahead that lay between two streetlamps. “It’s heading for that alley!” she called out.
Not wanting to lose sight of it, I pushed myself harder, both physically and mentally. I pressed the power of my will out to it, fighting to regain the control I had lost over its form. I pulled at its spirit, but there was a resistance in the animated creature.
“No luck,” I said, and the connection snapped shut as the brick monster vanished down the alley.
“I’ll try to head it off,” Rory called back, and sprinted farther off down the block, one hand already unscrewing the top of the art tube strapped across her back. By the time she had gone half the block, Rory had pulled two wooden shaft pieces free from it, coupling them together before affixing a third, longer, bladed piece to it.
“Not the most subtle weapon to cart around the city,” I called back to Marshall, who I was steadily outpacing now.
“Says the woman who had a magical gargoyle as her weapon of choice,” he said. “At least Rory can break her glaive guisarme down. Besides, there’s no talking Ms. Torres out of something once she gets it in her head. She loves that thing.”
“She does make it dance,” I admitted.
“Surprising for a dancer!” Marshall added with a wheeze.
I didn’t respond. The sheer act of talking winded me, so I shut my mouth as I headed into the alleyway after the creature. The darkness was worse here, and given the overturned cans and dented Dumpsters along the way, I slowed as I negotiated a path through it all.
Rory came into the alley farther up ahead of me from the side somewhere and, true to her calling in life, danced her way deftly after the creature, leaving me to feel all the more clumsy an oaf for slamming into everything as I went.
Cans rolled, and empty delivery pallets flew back and forth in the wake of the lumbering creature as it made its destructive way, but Rory managed to dodge them all with her natural grace and speed. Not wanting to leave my best friend since childhood to face the golem all alone, I secretly wished I had half her agility. When wishing didn’t make me any more graceful—evidenced by the sudden sound of tearing fabric from my jeans as a stray pallet nail caught on them—I instead opted for focusing more on my immediate environment. I needed to pay attention. I wasn’t going to be any use if I bled out right here.
Being more cautious slowed me, but it was a small comfort that I was still farther ahead than Marshall, whose every bump and crash behind me fell farther and farther away as I pushed myself harder down the alley.
“You doing okay back there, Marsh?” I asked, keeping my eyes glued to my path.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Again, my bad for living the gamer’s life. Just keep on them!”
I chanced a glance up. The alley turned left farther ahead, and Rory and the creature were no longer in sight. I pushed on, rounding the corner in time to catch the two of them roughly thirty feet straight ahead, where the alley dead-ended.
Trapped, the creature reached out to the brick wall in front of it, as if sensing that the wall was comprised of the same material it was made from. When it found no means of escape, though, it spun, its tall figure menacing Rory as I arrived by her side.
Despite the clear danger and its towering size, Rory didn’t back down from it, extending her pole arm in front of her.
“Can you control it?” she asked. “You know, like you
did for about, oh, twenty seconds back in Gramercy?”
“Shut it,” I spat out. “You know that Hendrix didn’t learn guitar in a day.”
“True,” Rory said, “but then again, a guitar doesn’t threaten to kill you or crush you in quite the same way an animated pile of bricks does.”
“Trying to concentrate here,” I said, pressing my mind against the resistance of the creature once more. I latched onto it, but whatever was in there wasn’t giving up control in any hurry.
Marshall arrived beside us, the sounds coming from him making me wonder if he was having an asthma attack. Between that thought and Rory’s previous comments, my concentration was lost, and I snapped. “Yes, but at least Hendrix could go into a guitar shop and take lessons. He could go to guitar school. Hogwarts doesn’t exist.”
“Hey,” she said, raking her blade in sparks against the brick golem. “We used to wish there to be magic in the world, and we got it.”
“I’m not asking for much,” I said. “Just some real instruction. A Dumbledore, a Snape . . . Hell, I’d even take a Trelawney right about now.”
The creature knocked Rory’s blade away, swinging its rough, thick hands.
“Don’t say that,” Rory said, backing up a little, scrunching up her face. “Don’t ever say that. Trelawney, really?”
I shrugged. “In a pinch, sure. Not ideal, but—”
The air of the alley erupted into a flurry of tiny, leathery wings like those of a bat, but unlike a bat, these things had arms and legs to go with their sharp, tiny teeth.
“Stone biters,” Marshall shouted.
“Not these guys again,” Rory said, taking her pole arm and waving it about us in an attempt to drive the tiny creatures off.
Marshall, who smartly stood well out of harm’s way from the golem, flipped open his blank book to a page where the winged creatures were already sketched out. “Your great-great-grandfather had them listed, and this appearance confirms it—they’re drawn to magic in stone, not just stone itself.” He made a quick note in his book.
