by Kyle Shultz
“No one’s dared to do that in approximately three thousand years.”
“Well, you deserved it! For scaring me half to death and letting me think you’d gotten absorbed!”
My fury cooled slightly. “I couldn’t tell you the plan before. He might have heard me.”
“I don’t care! I’m still angry!”
“How does that make sense?”
“Oi,” said James. “Sorry to interrupt, but what should we do about Dr. Crazy over here?”
“I will destroy you all!” Red light shone around Jekyll’s entire body as he doubled over and hugged his belly. “We will meet again, Malcolm Blackfire! I swear it!”
Then, in the blink of an eye, he suddenly vanished.
“What?” Melody looked around. “Where did he go?”
“Who knows?” I said. “At least he’s gone for now; that’s the important thing. And he might still die.”
“But if he doesn’t, he’s going to kill more people!” Melody argued.
“Right. So, actually, it’s a relief that he escaped instead of taking the time to kill us. Now we can get to work on tracking him down and destroying him for good.” I gave a regretful sigh. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t save Hyde. Even after everything he did, he didn’t deserve that.”
“You meant to kill him, though,” James reminded me.
“For him, I think that would have been preferable to the state he’s in now. If any part of his consciousness somehow survived, he must be living in a nightmare, trapped in that man’s head.”
“At least you didn’t join him,” said Melody.
“No,” I said gravely. “But if we don’t catch Jekyll, and he survives the poison...I wonder how many others will.”
Chapter 19
Questions
“So what did we actually accomplish?” asked Melody, as rain beat against the windows of my house. She and I were sitting in my parlor, enjoying a relaxing cup of tea after a uniquely harrowing day. A fire crackled in the hearth, dispelling the cold chill that threatened to creep in from outside.
“Scared poor James half to death, for one thing.” I took a long sip from my cup. “I hope this won’t put the lad off working with us again in future. I rather like him.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Melody leaned back in her chair. “Jekyll succeeded in convincing Hyde to drink the Elixir. Then he got away. Not only that, but he somehow magically spirited off the remaining elixir, and all the ingredients he had stocked up, when he vanished.”
“I know all that. What’s your point?”
“What was the point?” Melody exclaimed. “That’s my question. We didn’t save anyone; we didn’t stop anything. All we did was escape with our lives.”
“Quite an accomplishment, in my book,” I said.
“Well, in mine, it’s not nearly enough.” Melody set down her cup and saucer with a loud clink and went to look out the window. Rain streamed down the pane, rendering it almost impossible to make anything out through the glass.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I said, after a few moments of pregnant silence.
She nodded. “I know.”
“Why, Melody?” I put down my own cup and walked over to her. “Why on earth did you steal that key? If you’d only left it with me, then perhaps…”
“Don’t,” she warned. “I feel guilty enough without you reminding me this was all my fault.”
“I’m not saying that,” I protested. “I only want to know why you did it.”
She closed her eyes. “Because I wanted to spare you.”
“Spare me from what?”
“Killing Jekyll.”
“You…” The realization of what she meant began to dawn on me. “You were going to—”
“Yes. Once he changed back into Dr. Jekyll and wasn’t dangerous anymore—good grief, that’s hilarious in hindsight—I was going to kill him for you.”
“Melody!” I exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. You’re not a killer!”
“Somebody had to do it. I didn’t see why it had to be you. I’m not sure I would have been able to go through with it, but I thought it was worth trying.”
“It wasn’t your choice!”
“Probably not. But I did it anyway. And now I have to live with the consequences.”
She watched silently for a few seconds as the rain trickled down the glass before she spoke again. “Do you ever wonder why we bother?”
I frowned. “I don’t follow you. Bother with what, exactly?”
“Helping people. Trying to make a difference. Sooner or later, it always comes crashing down around our ears.”
“We’ve done a lot of good since we started working together,” I argued.
“But how does that matter, with someone like Jekyll running around? More people will get hurt or die. Whatever good we do, it gets canceled out by something else.” She hugged herself despite the warmth of the fire. “The world’s in a sorry state, Malcolm. And it’s only going to get worse.”
“Now, that’s a very pessimistic thing to say. You’re just tired. You’ve been through a lot.”
Melody turned on me. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m tired. That’s tantamount to saying I’m talking through my hat.”
“You never wear a hat.”
“And don’t pretend you’ve never heard that expression. You may not be human, but you’re not that out of touch.”
“All right, fine.” I took her hands. “I understand how you feel. I really do. I’ve lived much, much longer than you, and I’ve seen many bad people in that time—quite a few of them even worse than Dr. Jekyll.”
“So why do you go on?” asked Melody. “Why don’t you just let them all destroy each other, if that’s what they’re determined to do?”
“Because Jekyll was wrong,” I said. “There is more to all those foolish, self-destructive people than atoms and chemicals and elemental forces and whatnot. There’s something deeper. Something more valuable than any treasure I’ve amassed, and far more worthy of protection.”
“What is it?” asked Melody, as I drew closer to her.
I found myself running my fingers down her cheek. “It’s difficult to express with words.”
“Let’s not bother with them, then,” she whispered, raising her lips to mine.
As we kissed, lightning flashed and thunder roared outside, but neither of us paid any heed to it.
“You should stay here tonight,” I murmured, my face still close to hers.
“No. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t want you going out and getting soaked through.”
“Really? Is that all?”
I declined to answer the question. “You can take one of the guest bedrooms. It’ll be completely proper and above-board.”
To my surprise, I saw that Melody was blinking back tears. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. It…it wasn’t meant to be like this.” She tore herself away from my touch. “I have to go.”
“What, in this storm?” I hurried after her as she went to the door. “You can’t go out in this weather!”
“It’s all right. My hotel’s not far; you know that.”
“Yes, but still—”
“Goodbye, Malcolm.” As she opened the door, she turned to look at me one last time. “I’m sorry.”
She was gone before I could make any more protests. I shook my head, desperately trying to understand what was going on with her. Something about this business of her attempting to kill Hyde for me didn’t add up. And besides that, there was the other matter...but it was so bizarre that I hadn’t even bothered to think about it in the rush of today’s events. I didn’t want to think about what it could mean. But as I wandered back to the parlor, my eyes fell on the wall calendar, open to March of 1816.
Inevitably, this brought back the memory of the entry I’d seen for Melody in the Book of the Dead.
MELODY NIGHTINGALE
BORN 1790
> DIED 1814
Epilogue
And so, The Adventure of the Janus Elixir came to a close.
But that was not the end for me and Melody…
…or, sadly, for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Part II
The Hound of Duville
To my good friend, Nate Philbrick. Thank you for everything you do to encourage indie authors, and for blessing the world with your amazing stories.
Prologue
Let’s review the story so far, shall we?
A long time ago, a prince was turned into a beast. You’ve most likely heard about that.
More recently, a detective was turned into a beast. That’s me, Nick Beasley. You should have heard about that as well, but if you haven’t, you should probably go back and read the story. Otherwise, this story isn’t going to make much sense. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
All caught up? Lovely. Then you know that quite a few things happened after the getting-turned-into-a-monster incident. Seaside shenanigans. Time-bending travails. Very exciting, of course, and I’m sure it’s fun to read about, though it wasn’t always much fun living through it.
So here we are. About a year passed between the end of our adventure in the Palace of Basile and the story you’re about to read. We didn’t exactly achieve happily-ever-after status in the meantime—I’m still a beast, and the shadow of our alternate-reality misadventure still hangs over us. But at least the Beaumont and Beasley detective agency has settled into a routine, and is doing fairly good business. Things aren’t perfect, but they’re stable, more or less.
I fooled myself into thinking we wouldn’t have to deal with any consequences from the dark future we’d seen.
Naturally, I was wrong.
Chapter 1
Don’t Pant in Public
The United Kingdom of Camelot
The City of Talesend
1923 E.A.
“I’m sorry, Miss Blenkinsop, but I’m afraid this dog is your fiancé.”
Famed socialite Rilla Blenkinsop burst into tears, causing her liberally-applied mascara to run in unflattering streaks. She pressed her face into her mink coat and sobbed loudly. Gregory Duville, former wealthy-young-man-about-town and current Fionnish wolfhound, let out a plaintive howl. He slumped on the floor next to her chair and rested his chin on his front paws.
I gestured to Crispin, my secretary. “A clean handkerchief for Miss Blenkinsop and a dog biscuit for Mr. Duville. You know where we keep them.”
“Sure.” Crispin gave me a casual salute with two fingers and hurried off on his errand.
Rather informal for a secretary, but then again, he’s my little brother. People occasionally mistake him for my father if the light’s not very good, since his hair is pure-white, but he’s actually in his early twenties. Also, he’s got magical powers that can create portals and manipulate the flow of time. But whenever he uses them, he changes into a kind of humanoid rabbit-creature.
As a matter of fact, a white-haired, time-and-space-warping, rabbit-shapeshifting little-brother isn’t even the strangest thing about my office. It’s hard to say what is the strangest thing—the fact that most of my colleagues aren’t human, the fact that the building is moderately sentient and can move walls and rooms about at will…or the fact that I’m a Beast.
Capital-B. As in “Beauty and the.” Sort of a hairy gargoyle in general body shape. I don’t have time right now to go into all the details of how I got this way. Look me up.
“Can you…er…un-dog-ify him?” Rilla pleaded, dabbing at her eyes and sniffling. Gregory whimpered in assent.
I leaned back in my chair and curled my tail around one of the legs of my desk. “We’ll certainly try.” I picked up a pen—a very large one, specifically designed so I could use it with my big, paw-like hands—and a pad of paper, and began to jot down notes. I paused for a moment to come up with a good name for the case—I like to do that. I settled on “The Hound of Duville” and scribbled it at the top of the page. My curse has done nothing to improve my handwriting, but at least I can read it myself.
“It would help if you could give me a few more details about precisely how this happened.” I tapped the pen against the notebook. “Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how inconsequential it might seem.”
The broom closet door suddenly burst open, and Crispin staggered in carrying the dog biscuit and the handkerchief. “Sorry,” he panted. “The Office took me on a shortcut, or something.” He gave the handkerchief to Rilla, and held out the biscuit for Gregory. The man-turned-dog looked insulted at first, but his nose twitched with interest. In the end, hunger won out. He took the treat and hopped onto a chair beside Rilla to begin devouring it.
“One thing before we begin, Miss Blenkinsop.” I turned to the dog. “Mr. Duville, I really must insist that you not sit on the furniture. I’m sorry; but it’s an office policy that I can’t break. It’s hard enough to keep this place clean as it is.” I cast a rueful glance down at my own fur, which had been shedding recently.
The wolfhound growled at me. I growled back. Disgruntled but submissive, he hopped down from the chair.
I motioned to Rilla. “Please continue.”
Rilla’s dark hair was completely disarranged, and her eyes were red and puffy. She blew her nose into the handkerchief Crispin had provided and struggled to gain control of herself. “Well…Gregory and I were having breakfast.”
“Where?” I began scribbling.
“That little tea shop on Beanstalk Avenue. You know the place—everyone’s going there.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I prefer coffee, myself. Does the shop have a name?”
“The Cat in Boots.”
“Aha!” said Crispin.
Miss Blenkinsop, Mr. Duville, and I all looked at him in confusion.
“A place with ‘cat’ in the name?” said Crispin, warming to his theme. He seated himself on top of my desk and threw one leg over the other. “And Mr. Duville’s been changed into a dog? And cats hate dogs, and vice versa? Coincidence?” He raised his index finger dramatically. “I think not!”
I clapped a hand over my face. “Crispin, please be quiet. You’re making even less sense than usual. Also, I’ve told you before that I don’t want your feet on my desk, and I have similar views about all other parts of your body.” I jabbed him in the backside with my pen. “Off.”
“Blimey.” Crispin abruptly dismounted from the desk. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the rafters this morning.”
(I sleep hanging from the ceiling by my feet. It’s a Beast thing.)
“Look,” I said, “make yourself useful and go find Cordelia. Once I gather all the information on Mr. Duville’s condition, we’ll need her to see about reversing it.”
He saluted. “Aye aye, cap’n.” He went back into the broom closet and shut the door behind him.
I flashed an ingratiating smile at Miss Blenkinsop. “You’ll have to excuse him; he’s been through a lot lately.”
Gregory gave a sardonic-sounding bark that probably translated to some unkind comment. I chose to ignore it. “Go on with your story,” I told his girlfriend.
“We had just finished our tea, and were discussing some details of the wedding.”
“Aha.” I jotted this down.
“I think we were in the middle of debating what the silver pattern should be. Or rather, I was debating, and Gregory was saying that he didn’t care, and I was explaining that of course he should care because we were only going to get married once, I mean hopefully, and everything ought to be perfect, and—”
“Right,” I said, holding up my pen after filling an entire page with feverish shorthand of Rilla’s ramblings. “I’ll stop you there. I know I said everything, even the inconsequential stuff, but all the same, perhaps we could get on with it?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” She fidgeted with her purse as she launched into the more harrowing portion of her story. “All of a sudden, Gregory star
ted to pant. With his tongue hanging out and everything. Most unseemly, and I told him so, because after all, lots of our friends go to the Cat in Boots, and they were all staring, and anyway panting like that can’t possibly be healthy, unless it’s one of those odd exercises they recommend for tightening up the face, and naturally, I do appreciate Gregory caring about his appearance, but all the same, one shouldn’t do silly things in public, and—”
“Yes, yes, yes.” I ripped off another page and cast it aside. “Lovely. Very germane. Moving swiftly on, what happened next?”
“Gregory got a wild look in his eyes, and then he bent his face down to the plate and started gobbling the piece of cake he’d ordered, without using his hands or utensils or anything, and that definitely can’t have been healthy, bad for the digestion, don’t you know—”
“And?” I spoke through clenched fangs. My mane was starting to stand up on end. I was determined to get to the conclusion of this story one way or another.
“And then he looked up at me with cake all over his mouth and said, ‘Coo, I feel odd,’ and then he said ‘Woof,’ and then his ears turned floppy and his nose became all black and shiny, and before I knew where I was, there was a Fionnish wolfhound sitting there in Gregory’s clothes, looking a bit confused. I recognized the breed because my uncle owns hunting dogs, though I don’t know why Gregory turned into one because he’s not Fionnish, not really, but now that I think of it, he might have an aunt on his mother’s side—”
“Okay then.” I slammed the notepad down on the desk to interrupt her and dropped the pen with a relieved sigh. “I think that’s everything I need.”
“Are you certain this is him?” she said pleadingly. “Because at first I thought somebody might be playing a very clever practical joke.”
I pressed my fingertips together. “Miss Blenkinsop, take it from someone who tried very hard to convince himself that he hadn’t woken up with horns and a tail and an unremovable fur coat. As some philosopher or other once put it, the shortest distance between two points is to give up and accept that you’re engaged to a dog.”
