It's not like Black Tarn ever remembered to check her email.
Perhaps you're being uncharitable.
You never met Black Tarn in the days of her power, only as she declined into grief and madness. Even during Clay's heroic attack on the pipeline, shortly before your First Change, the old Fury had started to experience fugues and unusual dreams. But once, a rumor of Black Tarn's coming set both Wyrmspawn and conventionally vicious humans fleeing like a wave of rats. Her mystic theurgy was legendary, and her wrath terrible.
Or so the stories went.
You send her an email, then consider snail mail. That might work, too. And you're pretty sure Elton has stamps and fancy stationery. You head to his flat with an offering (a two-liter jar of protein powder you took from work). Over a meal of jerk chicken with dates and tea, Elton helps you draft several letters to likely addresses. He'll deliver them tomorrow morning.
"She might have gone back into the Umbra," Elton says as you labor over writing the return address in the corner of the envelope. "Some werewolves find the Umbra an irresistible temptation. They return again and again, until nothing remains of them except a dream."
"Is there any better way to contact her?" you ask.
"She's a Black Fury, right?" Elton asks.
"I have a few talens that might make it easier to stay in touch with her," Elton says.
"Talents?" you ask.
"Talens: single-use talismans," Elton says, rising and retrieving a small black box. "In a way, you'd be doing me a favor by using them up. I don't like chthonic things haunting the flat. But it's up to you."
"Let's do it," you say.
Elton glances at you for a moment, and you feel a flicker of doubt. What are you getting yourself into? But then he opens the black box to reveal a gummy, sweet-smelling material.
"Don't worry, we're not smoking opium," he says as he lights the wax pile. "This is sealing wax. I bought it from an antiquarian who recognized its nature and did not want it in their store."
Soon the black wax starts to run. The smell is like rabbit meat when you're in your lupus form, almost irresistible. Elton rolls up his sleeves, dons nitrile gloves, and picks up the seal.
"Don't look at the design until it cools," he says. He dribbles black wax onto the ordinary envelope you've used for your letter, then presses the seal onto it. After a minute he says, "Okay, it's fine."
Gorgon's leering face smiles back at you from the black wax.
"I'll drop this off and it'll speed its way to Black Tarn," he says. He hastily bundles up the kit and uses an ugly little key, no bigger than a pin, to lock the black box, then finally removes his nitrile gloves and tosses them in the kitchen trash can. He bags up the half-full trash and carries it out to the plastic bin outside, then returns a few minutes later.
"See?" he says. "Perfectly safe. And if we're lucky, we'll use up all that wax in the next few weeks and I won't have to think about it any more."
Elton and I return to Broad Brook.
Where can I find Nin?
Where can I find Podge? I text Elton so we can make plans.
I pay some money to keep the cops off my trail.
Elton promised to introduce me to the surviving members of the "Three Families." I text him about that.
I check my phone.
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