The Last Days of Lady Cordelia: Beaumont and Beasley, #2.5

By Kyle Robert Shultz

Lady Cordelia Beaumont is dying.

That's what her mysterious nurse tells her, at least. Even worse, her magic powers have abandoned her, her friends are missing, and her whole world has completely changed. Everyone around her is insisting that magic and fairy tales aren't real. Even the name of her city is different. She's not in Talesend any more—she's in a place called London.

Cordelia is determined to return to her own reality, but dark forces are working against her. An old friend may be able to help—but he doesn't remember who she is.

Who are the Neverwolves? What is the secret of the Shadow Parallel? And how can Cordelia use magic to escape from a world where magic doesn't exist?

 

Note: This novelette is set between Books 2 and 3 of the Beaumont and Beasley series, but contains no spoilers for events beyond the end of Book 1: The Beast of Talesend. It's best enjoyed by people who have read Book 1.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Shultz
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386499022

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

"If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding but a dream..."

William Shakespeare,

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Lady Cordelia Beaumont had never died before. She certainly didn’t intend to start now.

So, when she awoke propped up on pillows in the fiercely white and sterile-smelling hospital room, and the odd little man in spectacles told her she only had a few days left to live, she paid him no attention.

Dying? Ridiculous. Not worth bothering about for a moment. There were far more pressing things to be concerned with.

For example...

How the devil did I get here? Cordelia brushed her tousled hair back from her face and cast a disapproving look at her hospital gown. I don’t remember arriving. In fact... She frowned and pondered for a moment. I don’t remember anything. Nothing recent, at least.

You’ve been here for months, my dear. The little man pulled off his spectacles and polished them. His eyes looked only a little less owl-like without them.

Cordelia gave an unladylike snort of derision. Forgivable, she reasoned, under the circumstances. Nonsense. She shot a fierce glare at the man. Who are you, and why did you bring me here? Consider your answer carefully, and please refrain from calling me ‘my dear.’

He seemed taken aback by her attitude. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, swallowed hard, polished his spectacles again, then finally spoke. I’m Dr. Petherbridge. He peered at her and added hopefully, You remember me, don’t you?

Cordelia shook her head. Of course not. And don’t insult me; your name’s not ‘Petherbridge.’ Nobody’s called ‘Petherbridge.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. Who are you, really? Some agent of the Council of Scions, no doubt? Here to interrogate me? I knew they’d catch me sooner or later. As the fog in her mind continued to clear, fear shot through her. Nick, she gasped. Crispin. Where are they?

The doctor cleared his throat. Lady Cordelia, you’re not—

Where are they? Cordelia leapt out of the bed and seized the doctor’s coat in both hands. If you’ve harmed them, I’ll—

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She felt weak—so weak she could barely stand. Her legs wobbled, then buckled completely. The doctor had to grab her arms to keep her from falling. She struggled, but was too exhausted to break free of him.

Oh, my, said a honeyed voice from the door. Not to worry, Dr. Petherbridge. I’ll handle this.

A tall, silver-haired woman in a crisp white nurse’s uniform eased Cordelia back into the bed. The bright electric lights overhead glinted off a dull-grey, spherical pendant around her neck.

There, poppet, she said. Everything’s all right. She pulled the covers back over Cordelia and reached out to smooth her hair.

Dr. Petherbridge breathed a sigh of relief and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Thank you, Nurse Golightly.

Cordelia caught the nurse’s wrist in midair and gripped it with her last reserves of strength. Tell me where I am. And I want to see my friends Nick and Crispin Beasley. Now.

The nurse’s broad smile never wavered. She gently pulled Cordelia’s fingers away and went on straightening the bed-covers. Are the Beasleys friends of yours, darling? she asked. You haven’t mentioned them before. Neither has your father.

I’ve never met you! Cordelia snapped, before the full import of the nurse’s words sank in. Wait...my father?

Yes, dear. Golightly smoothed a final wrinkle in the covers.

Cordelia blinked. But...but my father’s dead.

The nurse’s face crinkled in compassionate horror. Oh, no, no, darling, don’t say such things, she crooned. Your daddy’s not dead; he’s quite all right. I just spoke with him not an hour ago. He’s coming to see you any minute now.

No. Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut. No. Absolutely not.

Dear, you mustn’t upset yourself with these wild ideas, Nurse Golightly cautioned. You’re not at all well, you know.

That’s what I was trying to tell her, added Dr. Petherbridge. But she seems...delusional.

And why not? The poor thing’s probably scared out of her mind. She just needs patience and understanding.

I don’t need patience and understanding! Cordelia shouted. "I want my friends, I want my