From: Miss Peggy Douglas
To: Miss Joan MacTavish
November the twenty-second, 1924
Dear Joan.
Joan, you should see the state of my drapery…and my poor, poor books! It’s a crime. There is soot everywhere and one of my windows has been shattered. It’s not so very warm out these days, and it’s a very heavy burden to have a gapping whole in your living room.
Alright, let me organize my thoughts and try to explain what’s happened.
I got a bomb in the mail. Yes, a bomb! Who would send me a bomb? I know I’ve made a few enemies during my life. But there are enemies and then there are.... enemies. I can’t think of a soul alive that hates me so much they want me dead. And that scares me.
I came home from work and there was a small, beautifully wrapped parcel in my box. There was no return address and something about it didn't seem right. I had enough foresight to mumble a Safety Spell as I ripped the wrapping paper off. Old habits from University, I guess.
There was a thundering “BOOM!”
I was thrown flat on my back, the window behind me shattered, the package flew into the air in a fiery ball and a gush of wind whooshed through the whole apartment, stirring the ashes in my fireplace into a gray snow that flittered around my apartment.
It was all over in a flash, quite literally. The box, still on fire, rolled across the floor and lit my drapery on fire as a last act of sabotage, flickered twice and hissed out.
I yanked the drape down, and smothered the flame before it could spread, but there is a massive burn in my beautiful, red cloth. Not to mention the fact that the carpet has a singed path where the box rolled and the ceiling as a great black mark on it.
And my eyebrows are gone.
I was horribly shaken by all this. My thoughts were in a numbed state of shock. I covered the window as best I could with a blanket, curled up in the armchair by the fire and stared into the flames. I just sat and thought all night. The more I thought, the more raging mad I got.
Having my Powers suddenly change is one thing.
Getting thrown out of Uni. was one thing.
Getting a bomb in the mail…well that’s pretty huge all by itself.
But put all these things together and it’s just too peculiar to be simple bad luck!
I made up my mind and the next morning I headed out, making a quick stop at the Library to use the Directory, and set out for 2433 Adder Street.
I took a truly rickety lift up to the tenth floor of an office building and found the office I was looking for:
Sean Stevens—Private Investigator
I squared my shoulders and went in.
The room was literally blue with smoke. It was like stepping into a dense fog. All the shades were lowered and only one desk lamp gave off a pathetic bit of light.
Sean Stevens was sitting back in his chair, feet up on the desk, arms crossed behind his head, smoking contentedly. It was too dim to make out much more than that.
“Don’t bother knocking,” he muttered, “no one does.”
I peered at him through the murk and tried to stop my eyes from watering.
“Mr. Stevens?” I choked.
“Congratulations, you can read,” he said. “Or was that just a lucky guess?”
I glared at him. “I’d like to hire you,” I said.
“I figured.”
"Something is wrong with my life.’
He smiled at that and removed the cigarette from his lips. “Well, I’m flattered. Not many people have enough faith in me to think I can fix their lives.”
I coughed and fanned the air with my hand. “It’s a bit thick in here, don’t you think?”
“Nonsense. It’s fake. I don’t smoke,” he said and snapped his fingers. The room was suddenly bright and clean. I could finally see Mr. Steven’s clearly. He is a short fellow with an average build and a positively youthful face. And he has the most intense brown eyes I have ever seen.
I blinked. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?” I asked.
“It gives the room a better atmosphere, I find.” he said frankly. “People have expectations, you see.”
“Hmph,” I snorted. “You don’t really live up to them in this lighting,”. I was a bit jealous. You know how hard those sustained illusion spells are, Joan. That spell must have been first class for me to have believed it so completely.
“You know, you’d be quite pretty with eyebrows,” he said smoothly and gestured to the open seat. “Sit down and tell me what seems to be the trouble, Miss…?”
“Peggy Douglas,” I supplied, self-consciously brushing where my eyebrows should be . “As I said, I believe something is wrong with my life.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said. “Do continue.”
I explained everything that has happened from when my Powers shifted so suddenly, to being thrown out of Uni, to the bomb. The whole time I talked he watched me intently and nodded to himself every so often. I found it rather unnerving.
I got to the end and I shrugged. “That’s it.”
He scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’ll take the job, Miss Douglas. And might I suggest you take the precaution of examining your mail before opening it for the foreseeable future? And you might consider caring a gun—or your weapon of choice—with you all the time, Miss Douglas. Someone is obviously out to kill you. Oh, and I fear you are cursed.”
He wouldn’t say more than that, merely quoting me his fees and promising to begin his investigation right away.
I left feeling more bewildered than I arrived.
Cursed.
What do you think, Joan? Do you think I’m cursed? I hadn’t considered that option before. People just aren’t cursed anymore these days. The Government has been so strict about such things. Why would someone risk execution to curse me?
I don’t know if I should trust Sean Stevens. But I do…just a little.
I’m sorry to spring this letter on you so, my dear. I know that you’re going to worry now, but I promise I will be very careful.
I hope you’re all settled in nicely at the Palace. Mr. Stewart sounds rather overwhelming to me. But how cleaver to enchant the castle so you can’t get lost! Now, if only they’d extend that spell over the city. I could use the help.
Write me again, soon, my dear. I do love to hear from you. It makes me feel a little less lonely.
Your friend,
Peggy
