Reconnecting 6

The letter was a surprise by several metrics.

The first – and most glaring – was that it appeared on its own behind several of the densest warding arrays and security measures north of California, directly upon Beatrice Belmont’s desk.

None of the practitioners trusted enough to enter the vaults where said desk resided had placed it there, nor had they found any evidence of it being done. It was as if the envelope had just spontaneously appeared, unbeknownst to any of the bound spirits providing security this far into their home.

The second surprising feature was its material. It wasn’t paper, parchment, papyrus, or any other mundane writing material. No, from the envelope to the message within, it was made from what seemed to be still living flesh. The parcel bled when it was opened. There had been an actual eye on the flap, at some point, but it had been blinded. A familiar – and unwelcome – symbol, for this family in particular.

The third was the marked origin of it, from the halls of Haven’s eccentric lord. It was not addressed from the being that had barred their entire House from entering or doing business within the largest immaterial city currently enmeshed within the Roads, but merely from the compound in which it ruled. That, paired with the material, was enough of a hint for the intended recipient to know who had sent it before she even read the first line, tattooed in flowing lines of nearly liquid red text on the sheet of smooth, pulsing skin.

She couldn’t really say her errant child’s letter was a surprise, even with how it arrived.

Dearest Mother,

I write to inform you that I will be returning home come midsummer. The news of my esteemed mentor’s death has reached Haven, yet my current contract does not allow sufficient time to make the journey to pay my respects. It will not be renewed.

If you and your esteemed House desire my services, the bidding will begin shortly after my arrival.

My itinerary at this moment does not include any interaction with the wider family. I will be rendezvousing with my youngest sister before arrival, as part of the escort required by the Keepers of the Ivory Grave for my visits to the area. Neither of us plan to call on the Belmont estate, so there is no need to make any of the extensive preparations I am sure you would plan for such a reunion. I will call briefly on the Council, if time permits, and my visit will conclude once I have spoken to the girls. There are things best said in person concerning their mother and myself that I believe should not remain buried. Secrets left to fester bring nothing but harm, I have found.

Of course, I do not believe I have any need to educate you on the subject, Honored Head of House.

While I would prefer to end this letter here, decorum requires that I address your previous missives: they have been received. Their contents are now and shall remain unknown, as a particularly ravenous sprite has been attracted to my current domicile. I am led to believe that this particular variety feeds on desperation, but surely these are just vile rumors spread by our family’s villainous adversaries.

As I have reiterated before, I do not wish to burden the family’s coffers or your own hands with the strain of writing such communiques. While doubtless you and the rest of the House’s elders know best, I will once again ask that you cease to do so. I believe this is the twenty-seventh time I have made this preference known.

I would not dare to cast aspersions or believe myself possessed of a greater education than yourself, exalted mother, but that means my request has been made thrice by thrice and thrice again. The significance of such shall come across unsaid, I am sure, but by my compact with the various orders of Witch Hunters requires me to inform you that continuing to ignore such a clearly reinforced and reasonable request will result in a minor sympathetic curse unless you argue successfully of a pressing need in front of the local powers regulating the layers beneath mortal notice.”

The letter, as if it sensed when she read that far, split open below the signature line and began to read it aloud with a toothless mouth.

Your Proud Son,

Geoffrey Raife Belmont

The aging enchanter fed the page into the candle in front of her with a scowl. She ignored the scream it made as the elemental ensconced within devoured it, then waved away the cloud of acrid smoke. The envelope went in next. As if the sender had expected that, the non-sentient elemental flickered out and died as the second piece of skin burned into a foul-smelling blue gas that soaked into everything in the room in a way that ate at the enchantments it touched.

She was already expecting the other elders bringing up old complaints about how she had handled that whole situation again. So, ignoring the warning, she started another letter and ignored the tightening in her joints as the curse took hold. She would talk sense into her deluded daughter, regardless of how stubborn and entrenched the girl was in her rebellion.

Family was everything. No amount of outside support or magical mutilation would cut those ties.