XIV⎮Bad Blood

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In Emma's bedchamber, atop her dressing table, lay a small, rectangular parcel over which a letter had been placed. It bore her name in bold, black ink, the letters looping confidently across the paper. Emma glided her thumb under the wax seal of the epistle, breaking it swiftly the while her heart pounded its excitement.

She had bethought the longhand of that belonging to a man's, masculine as it was in style, but it soon became apparent that this was not a missive from Winterly, but from Anna.


"My dear Emma — When I left you this afternoon, it was under strained conditions for which I am, not only to blame but, sincerely sorry for. I must beg your pardon and endeavor some small explanation as to, what you will likely consider, my unreasonable and impolitic behavior earlier to-day. I had no right to ask of you what I did, however, my motive in cautioning you stems from my intimate knowledge of the Winterlys and those of their ilk."


"Those of their ilk?" Emma's brows knit in consternation, but she read on.


"There is bad blood subsisting between that family and my own; and this, you will like as not suppose, can have nothing to do with you, but I assure you that it does. I am no gossipmonger, and I do not talk merely of scandal; but of murder. You must understand that you are involving yourself with a very ancient and cunning evil. You are in danger, my dear friend.

"Their family legacy is filled with atrocities, executed throughout the centuries, and it is we, my family, that have recorded every morbid detail of their existential turpitude. It is we that are the eternal remembrancers and, as such, the indelible stain of death still lingers on our immortal pages. I cannot, in all conscience, allow you to leave for Castle Winterly without first relaying this warning:

"Your 'friends' are not who, or even what, you think they are.

"You need only look in the newspapers to know that something malevolent has insinuated itself in London. You will, I am certain, think these the ravings of a mad and superstitious woman, but I think you far more perceptive than most. You, I believe, have sensed a minatory presence in you midst. It is why you sought me out, however unconsciously it was done. I will write no more as I dare not; not till we meet again. I imagine I have alarmed you quite enough. It is my fervent wish that you not go to Whitby, but, nevertheless, I cannot help thinking that you will. At all events, I have said all I can, the rest is in your hands; and I do think them very capable, despite the affront I caused you to-day.

"The gift that I had delivered with this letter serves two purposes: to convey my sincerest apology, but, namely, for you to wear as a safeguard."


"As safeguard against what?!" Emma stood and paced her room distractedly, releasing the pins from her hair. After some moments contemplation, she took up the letter again.


"Wear it every day; especially come nightfall. And, above all, keep your eyes open, even in sleep, and do read the book I gave you earlier. It was penned by a very knowledgable doctor who, in the seventeenth century, had first hand experience on those matters which you and I now share a common interest. The occult.

"I know that you speak German, but if you stumble across anything that requires clarification, please waste no time in writing to me. In fact, write me as often as you can, if only to assure an anxious friend that you are well.

"At the time of your reading this letter, I will have already left England, but, however, I do plan on returning soon. You may direct any future correspondence to the address of the building whence we first met. Those letters will always find me.

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