A Safe House dispatch. The rumors reached even me, and I am their subject. Corrections below. — H.
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Dear friends and Super readers,
Hugh here. Yes, that Hugh. Alive, well, and impeccably dressed, thank you for asking.
After so long a silence, I feel I must address the whispers directly: rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I understand the confusion. There was that whole funeral business in Playing with Fire, and I’m told the flowers were lovely. But as any self-respecting escape artist will tell you, darling: never trust a coffin with my name on it.
So where on Earth (or Ellandria) have we been?
The short version: our author continues to ping-pong across the United States, but we managed to nail her down long enough to get back to The White King. It is in the works as we speak. I shall not name a date. I have learned my lesson about naming dates, and Kat has threatened to handcuff me if I do it again (grin). But it is moving, and you, dear reader, shall be the first to know when it is ready.
In the meantime, we have been sprucing up the place, and I should be delighted to give you the tour:
The Safe House has a new wing. You’re standing in it — this very Substack: same supers, same secrets, delivered fresh. Do have a look around; the kettle is always on. (And if someone forwarded you this dispatch, subscribe below and claim your chair by the fire.)
The website has had a makeover. Freshly revamped at blackkatseries.com. Do inspect Bert’s handiwork (sadly, Jared is still in a coma and could not lend a hand.)
And the site now has a store. Books and goodies, with more to come: browse the shelves here. I take no responsibility for what Kat does to your credit card.
That’s the state of things, friends. It is terribly good to be back, and I promise not to make a stranger of myself again.
Yours magically,
Illusionist, Escape Artist, and Super Chap
P.S. Do leave a comment and tell me what you’ve been reading while we were away. I read every one, and I’ve a review column to fill.