The Alchemist's Stone

By Kevin Wohler

After years of keeping to himself, alchemist Malcolm Ward has left his hermit ways behind. He spends his days at his shop, The Village Alchemist, doing business with the metaphysical community and mentoring his talented apprentice, Danny. Most of his nights are for Marci, a second chance at love Malcolm never expected but will do anything to protect. The rest of his time he researches in his lab, hoping to finally complete the Great Work of every successful alchemist – the Alchemist’s Stone.

But life in Salt City rarely remains quiet. A powerful entity that calls itself the Bone Man has appeared in town, bent on using the magical gifts of the city’s children to get to Malcolm. When Danny disappears, Mal begins to wonder if Danny has been the target all along.

With both the Bone Man and the FBI on their trail, Malcolm will do whatever it takes to keep Danny safe. Completing the Alchemist’s Stone may be their best chance at defeating the malevolent creature. But will the stone be enough, or will Mal have to sacrifice everything he loves to succeed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Wohler
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005254797

Kevin Wohler

Kevin Wohler is the author of The Village Alchemist, an urban fantasy series from Bottle Cap Publishing. His first novel, The Alchemist’s Notebook was published in 2016.He and his wife Rachel currently reside in Lawrence, Kansas, but they plan to move to Florida so they can spend their days writing from Walt Disney World. In his spare time, he likes to read, watch movies, and indulge in “LEGO therapy.”In addition to writing novels, he also writes short stories. His work has appeared in two anthologies: A Method to the Madness: A Guide to the Super Evil and Dimensional Abscesses. His short story, “Paradise Out of Order,” inspired his Village Alchemist series.

Book preview

Chapter One

The night a neon dragon attacked The Village Alchemist, danger had been the last thing on my mind. I’d been doing inventory, cataloguing the stones, crystals, essential oils, and metaphysical books that attracted customers to my unassuming alchemy shop hidden in the heart of Salt City.

At first, the dragon had been more of a welcomed distraction than a perceived threat. The metaphysical wards and glyphs placed around The Village Alchemist guaranteed virtually nothing could break in, but the attempt provided a spectacular light show, as if someone were shooting off fireworks in the street. By the time I emerged from the storeroom to see the luminescent mythical creature at my front door, I was more curious than concerned.

I watched in fascination as the yellow, red, and green dragon spiraled from one side of the street to the other, glowing like a Chinese restaurant sign brought to life. Its long, fluid form moved hypnotically, repeatedly scraping the entrance of my shop. Each time it came too close, the warding stones released their metaphysical energy and pushed the dragon back, like an unyielding rocky shore pushing back the tide.

Returning to the storeroom, I donned my old Army jacket and grabbed a couple of defensive items, including my rainstick. After heading out the back door and into the alley, I walked around the building for a better view. I paused at the corner to take out my smartphone and record a couple of minutes of video. But what to do about it? The neon dragon swayed from side to side, falling and fluttering, like a kite in a storm. It looked to be more of a nuisance than a danger, but then it made a show of hitting the street lamps—erupting them in a shower of sparks.

Time for me to do something before the whole neighborhood blacked out.

I rolled a containment stone toward the dragon. The round, marble-like stone had been enchanted by one of my regular customers, a powerful crafter who liked carving runespells into stones. I had hoped to tether the dragon to the street corner until I could find a way to disrupt its power. But the quick, undulating movement of the dragon allowed it to skip right over the stone. The stone came to rest against a small sports car, where it erupted in a blue flash. The car wouldn’t be going anywhere for the next few hours. I felt a pang of guilt, mumbling an apology to the would-be driver.

The dragon finally noticed me. It let out a weird screech, like the feedback from a microphone too close to a speaker. It swirled in a tornado of frustration and lunged at me. I raised my rainstick, the clear white gem on its end glowing with protective energy drawn from the ley lines that crisscrossed the region. The dragon reared back like a dog pulling tight on its leash, then turned and raced down the street.

Relatively certain the shop was safe, I jumped into my truck and took off after the faux dragon. Soon I was speeding through the southern downtown district, not far from a number of bars and nightclubs that were busy even on a Sunday night. Praying to the gods of the crossroads, I willed the lights to stay green and for the pedestrian traffic to stay out of my way.

Turning the corner at State Street doing forty miles an hour, my truck’s tires slid on the winter ice as I fought to maintain control. Traffic lights and shop signs exploded in showers of sparks at every intersection the dragon passed. Horns honked. People screamed. My pursuit of the dragon was becoming a danger to everyone in the city.

Off in the distance, I heard police sirens. I couldn’t tell if they were headed toward or away from the chase. Away, I hoped. The SCPD had enough to worry about without chasing neon dragons.

I fumbled in my pockets, looking for anything I might use to fight the dragon. In my jacket’s breast pocket, I found my alchemist’s eye—a circular stone with the middle worn through. Rare in nature, such stones could be used as an eye to mystical realms for those who had a psychic gift or alchemical training.

Raising the stone to my eye, I peered through it to see the dragon as it really was. To no one’s surprise, the dragon wasn’t real. Made of light and some energy I couldn’t recognize, the glowing caricature appeared as fireflies trapped inside a balloon. But the balloon had been over-inflated, stretched thin to make a gigantic matrix. And it looked ready to pop. Whoever had conjured the dragon had minutes left to reclaim the energy. If they failed, or the spell stretched too thin and broke, the energy would be lost, and the conjurer would be left powerless.

The creature put considerable distance between itself and my car. Even with four-wheel drive and super-duty tires, my truck couldn’t begin to match its speed on the icy streets. Not if I wanted to stay alive, anyhow. I needed to get ahead of the problem. By the time it turned westward again, I had a pretty good idea where it was going: the train yard.

Turning off the snowy side street, I pulled onto a more well-traveled thoroughfare and pushed my truck up to sixty. The salted street gave me the traction I needed to get in front of the dragon. I had to find a way to stop it from disappearing into the train yard.

Up ahead, the street dead-ended just past Manny Escalante’s used car dealership. Manny, the best used car salesman on the west side, sold me the truck a couple of years ago, after a van I had driven for more than a decade was destroyed in a supernatural hailstorm.

If I remembered the neighborhood correctly, the dragon would be coming down the next adjoining street. I sped ahead to cut off the dragon from the train yard. I had one hope of stopping it, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I parked my truck in the middle of the road, using it as a makeshift barricade. I cast two warding glyphs, one on my truck to protect it, and another on the road as bait to draw the dragon into a grounding spell. I used my rainstick to fortify the glyphs and to give my alchemy a little metaphysical oomph.

To my surprise, it half-worked. When the dragon tried to barrel through my truck, it bounced off. The truck barely wiggled. But the dragon didn’t hit the trap. Instead, it careened sideways into Manny’s car lot.

My heart sank as the creature passed through the cars like a ghost, causing each one in turn to spark and explode the way it had with the electric lights and signs on its rampage through the city. I crossed the street, moving toward the dragon with determination.

From my right pocket, I pulled out a few masking charms—better than simple invisibility charms because they masked more than just visible light. The cars the dragon hadn’t eaten—for lack of a better word—would be hidden. The charms would last a few minutes at best, but I figured it would give me the time necessary to stop the dragon.

Next, from my left pocket, I produced a sunstone. Normally, they were pretty useless at night, but I suspected a reverse-spell might affect the dragon. With an ancient Aztec incantation, I rubbed the sunstone and focused its energy on the dragon. When the stone grew too warm for me to hold, I tossed it directly at the illuminated beast.

The effect wasn’t immediate, but after a few moments, the dragon appeared to dim. As it lost its luminosity, it shrank in size—slowly at first—but soon it was no larger than a horse. And while that was still pretty big, it was something I could corral.

Easy fella, I said to the dragon as I walked toward it. The dragon stopped destroying cars and focused on me instead.

Lifting the alchemist’s eye to my own once more, I searched for the origin of the dragon’s energy. I could clearly see energy fueling the dragon, but not its source. No trail existed between the creature and whoever might be controlling it, like wireless charging instead of a power cord. The beast seemed completely autonomous. Whoever had conjured the dragon had serious mojo.

Time was not on my side. In a few moments, the dragon’s bond to the energy would disappear. If I wanted a clue about who had sent this dragon, I needed to hurry.

The mini-dragon sized me up as I approached, but it seemed unconcerned. It ghosted through a nearby minivan on the lot, overloading its system. The hood flew off, doors burst open, sparks erupted. All very dramatic. It even breathed neon fire in my direction, but just for show. Someone was sending a message, possibly trying to scare me off.

I reached into one of the wrecked cars and broke loose a rearview mirror. On the surface of the mirror, I inscribed an alchemical formula and imbued it with enough energy from my rainstick to give the dragon a little show of my own.

Touching the dragon with the mirror would be a challenge. Throw it too hard, and it might break. Throw it too softly, and it might not reach its destination. I had only one opportunity, so I ran at the dragon in a full-on sprint, holding the mirror in front of me like a tiny shield.

As I made contact with the dragon, it popped in a spectacular burst of light, littering the ground with sparks like those from a Roman candle. A blue line blossomed where the creature had stood, growing outward across the landscape. The trail glowed and hummed in the darkness, leading me toward the one who had conjured the neon dragon.

In the distance, I heard someone curse in surprise.

I followed the blue light as it zigzagged across the street and over the railroad tracks. It moved erratically, as if the person on the other end were trying to outrun it. By the time I reached the train yard, I spotted a young woman scrambling over and under anything in her path. She tried desperately to outrace the blue line that followed wherever she went. She appeared young and thin, but she moved quickly.

You can’t escape. I lied. In truth, any halfway decent mage, mystic, or alchemist could figure out a way to counter a tracking spell. The fact that she had panicked and tried to run told me she was either (a) new to her abilities, or (b) not nearly as clever as she thought.

I cut her off as she attempted to climb between two abandoned boxcars. She yelped in surprise as I tossed her to the ground. The hood of her jacket cast a deep shadow on her face.

Why did you send that dragon to my shop? I stood over her, allowing my boots to shuffle through the gravel just enough to sound menacing.

You don’t scare me. Her voice came from within the darkness of her hoodie. Alchemist.

You know who I am? It’s nice to have fans.

"I know of you. In certain circles, you’re discussed with much interest. Personally, I don’t see it."

I pushed closer and pressed my boot onto her arm, pinning her to the ground. I don’t make much of a first impression. You might warm up to me if you give it time.

I followed a trace of power to your shop. I must say, I’m a bit disappointed. I thought it would be more promising. Instead I found…you. She let her words trail off, as if she were already tiring of the conversation.

The blue light began to fade. Another minute or two and I’d lose any ability to track her. I had to make sure she didn’t get away. I reached down and grabbed her wrist. My fingers wrapped completely around her bony arm.

You’re coming with me. You have a lot of explaining to do, and I’m sure the police will be interested to hear what you have to say. At the very least, Manny’s going to press charges. Your dragon took out half his winter inventory. I pulled her to her feet, and wondered for a moment what I might use to restrain her until the cops arrived.

I won’t be explaining anything, Alchemist. You can’t hold onto someone who’s not even here.

With that, she pulled back the hood of her jacket to show me her face. Her eyes were black, soulless, and completely void. I freaked out a little, and in doing so I let go of her arm and stumbled back. The young girl—she couldn’t have been more than fifteen—stared at me with her empty eyes.

Suddenly her voice changed, becoming deeper and tinged with a French accent. "Au revoir, Alchemist. Time for us to say good night. I have no doubt you and I will meet again soon."

She held up her hand and I saw stars, like a hundred old camera flashbulbs popping off in the span of two seconds. By the time I had recovered any semblance of night vision, she had jumped onto the tracks and broken into a run. I stood transfixed, unable to move. Part of me wanted to run after her, but my mind was frantically trying to recall some alchemical formulae that might pull her toward me or lift her from the ground. Ultimately, I could only watch in horror as her scream mixed with the whistle of the oncoming train. The two sounds melded together in obscene harmony as the engine hit her body and threw it a dozen yards in the other direction.

The police arrived at the train yard before railroad security even knew what happened. I spent an hour retelling my story to the cops before Detective Neavitt arrived.

You’re that guy that helped out the mayor a time back, aren’t you? You’re an…apothecary.

Alchemist, I corrected him. Malcolm Ward. I run The Village Alchemist.

Right. Right. That’s the one. He turned to the two uniformed officers who had been on the verge of placing me in handcuffs and waved them aside. This is the guy who helped track down Tommy DeLuce’s killer a couple years back.

While that was technically true, it was far from that simple. Tommy, the mayor’s son, had supposedly died when his nightclub went up in flames. Everyone assumed it had been caused by a fire elemental that sprang up at the same time. As Salt City’s only alchemist, I had been asked to offer my expertise to the investigation. In the end, the truth about Tommy’s death was known only to a few people, including me and the mayor.

Once the detective had vouched for me, the officers were less inclined to think I had been responsible for throwing the kid in front of a train. I told Neavitt everything I could about the night’s events, and he promised to pass the information along to Samantha Decker, the head of the Special Crimes Unit.

After an hour or two in the cold, I wanted nothing more than to go somewhere warm. I climbed back into my truck. Instead of heading to my empty apartment, I went to the one place where I could shake off the ugly side of the metaphysical world and just be myself. I drove downtown, to where Marci lived. The streets were silent the whole way.

At Marci’s condo, the sidewalks still needed to be shoveled from the latest snowfall. I’d be sure to mention it to her. She was the building’s owner, and she would make sure they were clear before noon. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. As I unlocked the door, I wondered idly if I’d find her awake and binge-watching old movies or if she’d be asleep. She didn’t sleep well most nights and was often more comfortable sitting up on the sofa rather than in bed. The lights in the living room were off, however. The only light visible was the blue canary nightlight in the bathroom. I hung up my coat, kicked off my shoes, and crept down the hall as quietly as possible.

After stripping off my belt and emptying my pockets, I slipped into bed with my clothes still on. Marci lay facing away from me. I settled beside her, curling my arm around her waist and hugging her tight.

You’re late. The quiet whisper of her voice told me she was half asleep.

Rough night, I grumbled, kissing the nape of her neck. Her hair, dyed a deep red this week, brushed my cheek. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Did you meditate? she mumbled, and it sounded like marmalade.

I’ll do it tomorrow…today…later. For now, I just want to sleep.

Chapter Two

M ornin’, handsome! Marci—her ever-perky self, even in the early morning—pushed her wheelchair into the kitchen. Most people found my sullen mood off-putting and would give me a wide berth before my first cup of coffee. In the time we had been together, Marci took it as a challenge.

I turned from the interminably slow coffee pot. Good morning. How are you feeling?

Better than some days. Worse than others. Marci woke me up every morning at five, her preferred time to get started on her routine. With her physical disability, she took longer than most people to get moving in the morning. Every part of her process was an exercise in willpower, as she moved from the bed to her wheelchair to the shower. Her body couldn’t operate on autopilot. The mere act of moving to and from her wheelchair required complete concentration and presence of mind.

You got in late. She grabbed her travel mug greedily as soon as I topped it off. She took a long, slow sip. Late night training with Danny?

Danny Peterson had become my alchemy apprentice after being dropped on my doorstep a couple years ago. After graduating high school, Danny started classes at the university and worked part-time in my shop. When he bothered to show up at all. His schedule, as of late, was filled with more excuses than hours worked. His training as my apprentice had likewise suffered.

No, he didn’t show. I stayed and worked on inventory, but a dragon attacked my shop.

Marci gave me a skeptical look over the rim of her travel mug. Excuse me? Did you say dragon?

Not a real dragon. A glowing projection designed to look like a dragon. The shop is fine, but things went…wrong.

Details, she demanded, like a tough reporter who smelled a lead story.

I gave her an abridged version of the chase through the city and the brief battle at the car lot. I focused on the girl and the train, the part of the encounter that had upset me and had kept me out so late.

You think someone was controlling her?

I’d bet money on it. The way she screamed at the end, as if realizing too late that she was back in her body—or in control of it.

Marci ran her hand up and down her arm, as if trying to warm herself. That’s creepy as shit.

I met her eyes and fought down the memory. I’ve been in war. I’ve seen people do bad things. Horrible things. But I’ve never met someone who would use a child like that.

Marci hesitated, as if weighing her words. "This…person. Did you get any sense of who it might be? What it might be?"

I shook my head. He…it spoke in a man’s voice at the end. It seemed to recognize me. Whoever it was, it had complete control over her. That takes serious magic, maybe some kind of blood ritual.

Great. We have a metaphysical hit man in Salt City who uses other people as tools.

No, not tools. More like weapons.

I walked Marci outside to her car, helping her to get through the unshoveled snow on the sidewalk. Marci transferred into her car, folded her wheelchair, and lifted it into the back. When she purchased her Saturn Coupe several years ago, the car shop had removed the back seat and laid down a mat to protect the interior from rain and snow. The wheelchair slid inside with minimal effort. She reached back, grabbed the shortened rear access door, and slammed it shut.

Marci