Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle)

by Anton Strout

  “But he is an outsider,” Marshall said. “A freelancer.”

  “It’s not a dirty word, you know,” Caleb shot back.

  “You do things for money,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Warren said. “And that’s his strong point. Everyone in our community has worked with Caleb, and for reasons I barely understand, they all like him.”

  I stared at the alchemist, who gave me a smug smile back. “How could they like you so much?” I asked.

  “Don’t be so shocked,” he said. “It’s easy. I don’t take sides. I keep the peace because, yes, not choosing sides has helped me make a fair share of bank working for these people. That, apparently, holds a great value with them.”

  “So you will head our Convocation?” Warren asked, nervously adjusting the rings on his fingers.

  Caleb nodded without hesitation. “There had better be some perks,” he said.

  “Unlimited power over every magical being in the city enough for you?” Warren asked.

  Caleb looked to Alexandra as if seeking her approval, but she would not meet his eye. He went to her. “Well?” he asked.

  “Take it,” she said. “It’s what you’ve always wanted from those you worked with—power and acceptance from your own kind.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with utter sincerity in his words, looking from her to me. “For everything I’ve done.” He turned back to Alexandra. “I promise to be a better ally than I was a boyfriend.”

  “Let’s hope so,” she said.

  “It would be a shame to have to start another gargoyle war if you do not,” I added.

  Caleb gave me a grim smile, then turned back to Warren and nodded.

  “It is so, then,” Warren said, and gestured him toward the other witches and warlocks waiting nearby.

  Caleb started off, then stopped. “One last thing,” Caleb said, and turned to Alexandra and me. He reached into the lining of his jacket. “You called me an opportunist earlier . . .”

  When neither of us tried to argue against him, Caleb laughed.

  “Fair enough,” he said, “it’s true. I’m fine with it. It’s who I am, at heart. But I’d like to think maybe I’ve learned a bit about opportunity from being around such kind hearts as yours, and I’d like to think I know when to give an opportunity, too.”

  Caleb’s hand came out of his coat, the long chain and stone of the Cagliostro Medallion clasped in his fist. He walked up to me and held it out in front of him.

  “Take it,” he said, looking me straight in the eye.

  I looked to Alexandra at his side, but it was clear that this was between Caleb and myself. I met his eyes as I grabbed the stone at the end of the chain and held it in my hand.

  “You would wish me to have this?” I asked. “Why?”

  Caleb did not look away as he spoke. “I know you and I have not been the best of friends,” he said, “but there is a bond we share.”

  “Alexandra,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Last year, when you and I were on Kejetan’s floating barge kingdom, I told you that it would be best if she were with me. “

  “You told me I had little to offer her,” I reminded him, bitter at the memory of that night. “That she should be with someone who could be there for her, to be with her night and day.”

  “I said she should be with someone human,” he corrected. Caleb looked down at the medallion hanging from his hand to mine. “I was wrong. I was being selfish. I’ve tried to make things work with her—mandatory date nights, even—but no matter what, there’s always one thing in the way that I can’t control. And that’s you, Stanis. I promised Lexi I’d give it and I truly want you to have this. Wear it with my blessing.”

  Caleb released the chain and the medallion slid into my clawed hand. All I could do for several seconds was stare at it. Finally, I looked up at him. “I do not know what to say,” I said.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’ve more than earned it.” He turned to Alexandra. “And you deserve it.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, and after a moment of reluctance he hugged her back.

  “Thank you,” she said when she released him from the embrace. “For doing the right thing.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “We may make an altruist out of you yet,” Alexandra said

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Caleb said as he walked off with Warren toward the other witches and warlocks. “The blow is softened a bit by being given the reins of the whole Convocation.”

  As he walked away, I handed the medallion to Alexandra. She stood on the tips of her toes to fasten the medallion around my neck, the metallic scrape of it sounding out against the stone of my skin as she clasped it shut.

  “Ready?”

  “I believe so,” I said, wondering just how I was supposed to make this thing work. “What do I—”

  I did not have a chance to finish my question. Apparently the very thought of the transition willed it into action. I doubled forward, falling to my knees and cracking the rooftop below me.

  “Stanis!” Alexandra called out, kneeling down in front of me, reaching out to grab my shoulders, but the second her hands touched me, she pulled away.

  My body was on fire. Not with a visible flame, but every last part of me screamed out with the act of transformation. My head arched to the heavens as I let out a silent scream, my wings stretched as wide as they went.

  To my shock and surprise, they were shrinking from my sight. My weight shifted as the wings disappeared against my back, my clawed hands and feet becoming less pointed and more soft and rounded . . . more human.

  The usual dark gray of my skin changed, fading to a pale white in the moonlight. I tried to stand, but my center of balance was off and I stumbled forward. While normally a fall forward would have crushed anything or anyone in my way, Alexandra’s hands slid under my shoulders and her arms wrapped around me.

  “You . . . caught me,” I said.

  Alexandra laughed. “I know, right? You don’t weigh several tons now.”

  With her help, I stood and steadied myself, but it would be some time no doubt before I would get used to the change in my center of balance. I turned to the reflective surface of the large glass ball, catching sight of myself.

  A young man—the shoulder-length blond hair and face from a distant memory—stared back at me with a wide-eyed, foolish look and wild-faced grin. The clothes—the ones Alexander Belarus had long ago carved for me—barely covered my body, the torn outfit blowing in the wind.

  “I had forgotten that person,” I said, watching his mouth move in time with mine. “For so long in all my recollections of my past, I have pictured my grotesque.”

  I turned back to Alexandra, seeing her for what felt like the first time with these human eyes of mine.

  “We’re going to have to get you something more modern to wear,” she said with a smile.

  I lifted my hand and pressed it to the side of her face, her hair brushing against the softness of my now-human skin. “You mean nineteenth-century European is not all the rage these days?”

  “Not quite,” she said, her hand rising to touch my face back. “Ready for your first sunrise this millennium?”

  “More than ready,” I said, pulling her close to me. “Care to rule by my side?”

  Her eyes widened but her face was uncertain. “Are you sure?”

  “More than I have ever been about anything,” I said, feeling the weight of the medallion around my neck. “I have known you all your life, Alexandra Belarus. With you at my side, all things are possible. I see that now.”

  Alexandra nodded and pulled herself even closer to me.

  Time would tell what path our rule would take or how our lives would entw
ine themselves together, but I had never been afraid of time, and there was also this newfound sensation in me—hope.

  The future was full of hope, even if always uncertain, but I gave myself over to the moment, loving the sensation of Alexandra’s skin touching mine, of our lips finally meeting, an impossibility of my most secret desire made real.

  And in that moment, the world around us fell away.

  About the Author

  ANTON STROUT was born in the Berkshire Hills mere miles from writing heavyweights Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville. He currently lives outside New York City in the haunted corn maze that is New Jersey (where nothing paranormal ever really happens, he assures you).

  His writing has appeared in several DAW anthologies—some of which feature Simon Canderous tie-in stories—including: The Dimension Next Door, Spells of the City, and Zombie Raccoons & Killer Bunnies.

  In his scant spare time, he is an always writer, sometimes actor, sometimes musician, occasional RPGer, and the world’s most casual and controller-smashing video gamer. He now works in the exciting world of publishing, and yes, it is as glamorous as it sounds.

  He is currently hard at work on his next book and can be found lurking the darkened hallways of antonstrout.com.