You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Thirty-Three

To my dear cousin Christine Lam;

You have my deepest apologies for the stunt with the effigies. It was a foolish and rather insensitive maneuver, which I only realized was stupid after the fact. Once again, I was being an ass.

I don't suppose that you'll forgive me, but I always live in hope.

At any rate, if you are reading this, you have no doubt remembered the way to open sealed MOA packages, and have used a dab of your bodily fluids, preferably saliva, to dissolve the tape. That, or you have contacted me for help; either of these is a-okay by me.

"Oh my God," said Christine.

"What?" asked Jen. "Is it another secret? Are you the heiress to a multi-million dollar fortune? Is everyone trying to marry you now?"

"He used a-okay in a letter."

"What's wrong with using a-okay in a letter?"

Christine focused very hard on the piece of paper in her hands, wondering why Lawrence's handwriting was better than her own. And why was he using semicolons? Who used semicolons?

I have enclosed a set of standard amulets to ward you from physical attacks, warn you of harm, and deflect curses. Each of them can be sparked with the standard mental trigger — if you do not know what that is, then I suggest using a lighter. I have also enclosed a brush, inkstone, solid ink, and a thousand sheets of spell-paper, for you to copy my exemplars. I do not suggest burning the exemplars before you have a satisfactory copy. If the brush proves too unwieldy, use a marker.

I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I have. There's real history behind it, and whether you like it or not, the magic's in our blood.

Love,

Lawrence

P.S. They might well also save your life.

Christine folded the letter and tossed it on the table, making a face. There were brown fingerprints on it from the cuts.

"Ewwww," she said. "What type of cousin ends a letter with 'love'?"

"A sweet one," said Jen, sticking a Band-Aid on Christine's cheek. "I wish I had a Grand Mage cousin to send me amulets."

"You can have him," said Christine, sticking out her tongue. "Right, guess I have no choice. Onto it."

Her cheek still hurt, but it wasn't enough to really keep her from doing what she had to. Inside the box were two clear plastic cases, the ones you got from bookstores in back-to-school sales. One had three clear binders in it, the type kids kept cards in; the other was filled with pointy packaged stuff that she could only assume were the calligraphy supplies.

All in all, it looked more like a stationery haul than a collection of magical artifacts.

"I feel like I'm about to start the new semester or something," she muttered. "Where's the... oh. That's a lot of paper."

It really was a lot of paper. The thin yellow sheets were stuck together like long rectangular Post-It pads. The pads were wrapped with the same glossy plastic that they used to pack vermicelli. On each pack, in bright red letters, was:

KIN LEONG AMULET PAPER

Est. 1962

"What's so special about this stuff, anyway?" asked Jen. "Can't you write amulets on anything?"

Christine hefted the first pack out, spun it in her hands, and then put it on the table. She could still smell the copper on her fingers, but she'd rather touch the plastic than anything else.