After the strange occurrences following Randall's performance, Hershel found the best course of action to be returning to his modest London flat for the evening.

A stack of letters waited for him on the stoop, eagerly awaiting their opening. Hershel was a fervent believer in the fine yet mostly forgotten art of the handwritten letter. Most of them were merely fan mail from his few remaining dedicated and devoted fans, but others came from other talented performers and magicians he had met throughout his days. Though his own career was short lived, he had managed to meet several people through his travels across Europe.

There was the young man he'd met doing magic tricks on the London streets with his two signature female and male doves named Spring and Cogg a trip to one of his favorite stages, he'd met the beautiful granddaughter of Anton Herzen himself, who had not only inherited his charm and wit but his love for grand and spectacular illusions. There were many people like those that he'd met on his journeys, all with their own recognizable gifts and personalities that he could never forget no matter how hard he tried.

The lights were dimmed inside, already making the former illusionist feel drowsy. As he lay down on his couch, thoughts raced through his mind once more. Why did Randall react so oddly to the package being delivered? Did it have to do something with the figure who had occupied the seat next to him or was it unrelated?

Whatever it was, Hershel decided it could wait until the morning as sleep soon claimed him as its own.

It wasn't until the theatre was about to close for the night that Randall had finally worked up the courage to open the case given to him. His assistants, Henry and Angela, had already left for the hotel they were residing at, leaving him to his thoughts and the mysterious package.

The dim lights made it difficult for him to notice the symbols on the case but it was there nonetheless. They seemed to be initials but they were almost ineligible, yet he recognized the penmanship from something he'd received earlier in the week.

A week prior, a note written on a tarot card was found taped to his trunk full of his possessions. It was clearly addressed to him and was very blunt about it's purpose. It simply read:

Dear Mr. Ascot,

You are part of an elite few selected for my special purposes. If you wish to know more about this project, further instructions and a full invitation will be sent upon your response.

Yours truly,

JDDS

Sure enough, the initials were an exact match of the original note. Randall, being curious as he was, had responded to it. The case must have been the correspondence he was waiting for.

He opened it with caution, only to find a single white mask in it, found with yet another tarot card. Randall picked up the card and examined it carefully. Scrawled out in messy handwriting on the back was another note.

To the Fool,

We will be awaiting your arrival at the Valor House. Wear the mask I sent and do not give your name to anyone you may meet.

Signed,

JDDS

How peculiar. Randall had no idea where the Valor House was, not to mention how suspicious the whole affair was.

Yet how could he resist a good puzzle?