by Kyle Shultz
“Wherever you are, Carilla,” I murmured into the dark, “I hope you’re having an even more miserable time than I am.”
Epilogues
One
An island somewhere in the Aeaean Sea
3226 B.E.
In a flash of white light, a screaming, garishly-dressed woman appeared in the middle of the forest.
“What…” Carilla staggered, tripping over a root and nearly falling. “What happened? What did that stupid rabbit-boy do?” She clenched her fists and snarled at the sky. “Wait until I get my hands on him! I’ll turn him into a pair of slippers!”
The spell she had prepared to transform Cordelia was still buzzing around her fingers. She had summoned far too much magic for it to simply disappear. She realized that it would have to be cast on someone, otherwise it would backfire and target her.
Carilla searched her woodland surroundings desperately for a victim. A mouse, a bird, anything… But although a breeze carrying the tang of saltwater rustled the trees, she could see no signs of life in her immediate vicinity.
“Excuse me,” said a male voice from behind her. The words were in a long-lost Arcadian dialect, virtually unknown to most people in the modern era. Carilla, thanks to her fascination with ancient history, knew it well.
“Ahh!” Carilla jumped in surprise, spun around, and fired her spell without even thinking. As she did, she saw a group of men, all dressed in very old-fashioned tunics. They looked a bit rough-hewn and bedraggled, but their smiles were friendly.
At least, until the magic hit them. Then they seemed somewhat perturbed.
The man at the front of the company gave a startled grunt as runes swarmed around him. “We were only asking for directions,” he protested. Then he grunted a few more times and turned into a pig. Most of his companions quickly followed suit. It occurred to Carilla that the power she’d channeled into her spell had been a little excessive for the purpose of transforming only one person.
A man at the edge of the group gaped at her in horror. “It’s you!” he cried. “Circe! We’ve landed on the isle of Circe!” He darted off into the woods, screaming “HELP!” at the top of his lungs. The magic had missed him, for the most part—though he did have a curly tail he didn’t seem to have noticed yet.
“HELP!” she heard him shouting, even after he’d vanished from sight. “Help, Odysseus, help!”
Odysseus. Carilla gazed at the herd of pigs in stunned silence as they began rooting in the grass. It was all beginning to make sense. Elsewhen, the rabbit-boy had said.
She’d gone back in time. And now, everyone thought she was Circe. She was trapped in ancient history, all because of Beaumont and Beasley’s meddling.
“Beaumont and Beasley,” she hissed aloud. “I swear, I’ll get back to my own time—even if I have to invent an immortality potion and go the long way ‘round. And once I do, I’m going to destroy…”
“Ahoy, foul witch!”
A man—and, Carilla had to admit, a rather good-looking one—bounded out of the trees, with the pig-tailed sailor following at a safe distance. The newcomer’s skin was bronze, and he had dark, curly hair and a short beard. He drew his sword in a sweeping, fluid motion, causing his cloak to billow majestically behind him.
“What have you done to my crew?” he demanded. Glistening sweat set off the toned muscles of his arms, and his strong chest heaved with the exertion of his sprint.
“Oh,” said Carilla, her eyes wide.
Well, she pondered, perhaps revenge can wait. Just for a while.
“Greetings,” she said, giving the sailor her most enchanting smile. “I am…Circe.”
Two
Duville Manor
Present Day
In the darkened library of Duville Manor, a gaunt, white-haired man pulled one book after another off the shelves and cast them to the floor. The setting sun gave poor illumination to the shadowy house, but the intruder had not turned on the lights.
“She must have brought it here,” he murmured to himself. “She’d never have cast a spell that complicated without an instruction manual nearby in case the whole thing went wrong. The grimoire’s got to be here!”
He flinched suddenly and jerked his head back with a loud grunt. The book he had been holding, a romance novel from the early nineteenth century, fell from his hands and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud. His lips moved, though he was no longer the one speaking. A different voice now came from his throat.
“Is this what you’ve been reduced to, Jekyll?” The voice was male, and sounded a little younger and deeper than the man’s original timbre. “Stealing spells from third-rate enchantresses? How the mighty have fallen.”
“SILENCE!” Jekyll screamed, the second he got control of his vocal chords again. But the other soul within his body quickly took charge once more, forcing a sardonic laugh from his chest.
“That’s one thing you won’t ever get from me,” said the second voice. “You’ve taken my body, my powers, my very essence...but unlike the rest of the poor souls you’ve absorbed, you can’t ever shut me up.”
“Don’t test me, Hyde!” Jekyll snarled. He patted his pockets frantically. “Where is it, where is it...?”
“You’re running out of the Janus Elixir,” Hyde made him say, as he continued to search desperately through his clothing. “You got too greedy, taking one soul after another. You only need a tiny fragment of that god’s brain for each new batch, but even so...there’s only a tiny amount left. And now you’re using extra Elixir just to keep me in check. What will you do once it’s all gone?”
Jekyll clenched his jaws together, trying to force Hyde to stop speaking, but he knew the other man was only silent now because he wanted to be. Finally, he discovered the little bottle in one of the inner pockets of his patched, torn jacket. He wrenched off the stopper and downed the bottle’s contents in one gulp. Then he closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh of relief.
“I’m still here.” This time, Hyde’s voice spoke only within his mind. “You can’t ever silence me completely.”
“And you can’t ever escape your fate.” Jekyll continued pawing through the books.
“I know that,” said Hyde. “I’m not trying to escape. I just want to make you suffer for what you’ve done to me. For as long as you live, you’ll have to put up with me whispering into your ear. You’ll go even madder than you are already.”
Jekyll laughed. “So you think. But once my plan is complete, you’ll be gone for good.”
“Your plan won’t get very far if you don’t find that stupid book,” said Hyde. “And you’ll ruin your eyes looking in the dark.”
“No lights,” Jekyll muttered. “Can’t let anyone know I’m here. Especially not Blackfire. He’s already cleaned out Miss Blenkinsop’s house—taken all her belongings back to the Warrengate vaults. I’ve got to find the spell-book before he shows up here.”
“You’re quite terrified of that dragon, aren’t you?” Hyde chuckled. “He’ll capture you again, you know. He’ll lock you up good and proper this time. No more escaping.”
Jekyll shuddered. He was just about to shout at Hyde again when his eyes fell upon a battered leather-bound notebook. He snatched it up hungrily and began to page through it.
“What’s happening?” said Hyde. “You’ve gone quiet. Did you find it?”
Jekyll grinned. The Elixir was working, stopping Hyde from being able to see through his eyes. The other man was now essentially blind, able to converse with Jekyll but not to do anything else.
“Yes,” said Jekyll. He traced his finger down the scribbled lines of runes.
“So what’s your big plan, then?” asked Hyde. “You want to turn all your enemies into dogs, or something?”
“No,” Jekyll scoffed. “My designs are far grander than Miss Blenkinsop’s ridiculous little temper tantrum.” He stopped on a page and tore it out, along with the two that came after it. “Here we go. The delivery mechanism. That’s all I need. Clever, usi
ng water to spread the enchantment.”
“What sort of enchantment will you be spreading?” Hyde’s voice was much fainter now.
“You can’t read my thoughts,” said Jekyll, “and the Elixir is making you go quiet as well.”
“For now.” Hyde’s voice barely registered in Jekyll’s mind. “It won’t last. It never does.”
“Everything is falling into place,” said Jekyll. “First, I’ll take all his beloved friends away from him; every last one. Then, once he’s got nothing left...I’ll spring the trap.” Jekyll’s laughter echoed through the still library.
“Spring the trap on who? Malcolm?”
Jekyll had to fight to keep from trembling at the name. “No,” he snapped. “The dragon’s day will come, but I have a different target in mind. Malcolm’s attack is why you’re able to torment me, yes...but there is another who has stolen even more from me.”
“What’s happened to you? Ever since that day when Beaumont and Beasley stormed Warrengate, you’ve been...different. Something changed that day. It made you suddenly powerful enough to escape your cell, but it also made you...stranger. Which is saying a lot, for you. So who are you…?”
At last, the voice faded away to silence. Jekyll smiled. “You won’t find out until it’s far too late, old friend,” he said, his words dripping with hate. “And then, at last...I will destroy Crispin Beasley.”
To Be Continued
Book 5: The Strange Cases of Beaumont and Beasley
Unlock the mysteries of Pinocchio and Wonderland.
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks, as always, to my amazing editor Deborah O’Carroll for her hard work on my manuscripts.
Thanks to the talented Malinda Kathleen Reese, whose hilarious Translator Fails YouTube channel helps me to unwind after a long day of writing. The lines of gibberish that came out of the translation shell in Chapter One of The Hound of Duville were respectfully borrowed from her music videos.
And thank you, my readers, for patiently awaiting the return of Beaumont and Beasley. I hope you will join me for further adventures very soon.
Kyle Robert Shultz
About the Author
Kyle Robert Shultz developed the power of creating zany, fantastical worlds in his early teens, when he was bitten by a radioactive book. He is the author of multiple series set in the Afterverse, a parallel universe where myths, fairy tales, and classic stories are real events and part of history. He lives in self-imposed exile in the southern Idaho desert, far enough away from humanity to protect innocent lives should he lose control of his awesome fictional powers and rip a hole in the space-time continuum or something.
Kyle is a Christian who believes in writing high-quality stories free from agendas, politics, and objectionable content. His stories are clean, but not remotely safe. In reading them, you assume all risks—Kyle cannot be held responsible for any damage wrought upon your emotional well-being or cardiovascular health by unforeseen plot twists. When he’s not dreaming up new ways to torture his characters and readers, Kyle enjoys singing, hiking, horseback riding, and caring for a motley collection of animals.
www.kylerobertshultz.com
