Tea with Mrs. Altair

A Deal is Struck

You start to rise from your chair, beginning to refuse. But your throat won't open to let you speak. You can barely breathe, and as you gasp for air, you feel your legs buckle under your own weight.

As you fall to the ground, Mrs. Altair rushes to your side and cradles your head in her lap. She calls for help, and as you hear the maid dashing down the hall, she leans in and in a soft, deadly whisper, she says, "I do apologize for this, but unfortunately we at the Sanguis Frigidi must mind the business that pays us. And the client that hired us to end your life paid quite well. Now...." She pauses, pulling a small vial filled with thin clear liquid from her pocket, and shakes it over your face. "If you would like to make a counter offer, I can provide you with the antidote and have that client dead by morning. All I need you to do in return is to deliver. That. Letter."

As you reach feebly for the vial, she pulls it just out of reach. "Ah-ah! I need a confirmation first. Just a nod will do. You have about one minute before you're paralyzed fully, by the way."

You nod, pathetically grasping at the thin air between you and that vial glittering in the midday light.

The same placid smile and soft, warm eyes return. The gems in her hairpins glitter like a broken halo around her head. "Wonderful." She uncorks the vial and pours the liquid into your barely opened mouth. Cold and flavorless on your tongue, it burns your throat like strong liquor. But as it flows down, the burning sensation finally loosens your throat.

A deep breath in, held for a count of four. A slow, haggard exhalation. She watches expectantly, maintaining that now-chillingly gentle smile. You ask in a ragged voice, "What do you really want me to do?" And at that, her smile grows.