The eccentricities of being undead

Hale pinched his nose and held his breath, resisting the instinct to gasp for air. The heavy feeling of breathlessness slowly receded, replaced by a familiar weightlessness which he let carry him across the barrier. It was a discomfort he couldn’t get used to, like parts of his existence were stripped away and the rest refitted.

The golden soul, like a little ball of fire, idly drew figure eights above its corporeal form slumped on a wooden chair. Once enough time passed, it floated into the solar plexus of the skinny boy. Like a machine that gained fuel after years of disuse, the body awkwardly restarted its breathing. Pallid fingers massaged his temples and he did some stretching hoping to quash the disorientation, then resumed the dull task of signing thank-you letters.

It had been 3 days since the banquet. After he fainted and had his Initiation—what his kind termed a first out-of-body experience—the family spiritualist held a séance to make sure that his soul was still nearby and to guide it back through a possession ritual. It was that unforgettable sensation of crossing from the etheric world to the physical body that Hale referenced. That feeling was hammered into his soul through practice before it could be forgotten.

Unfortunately, there were other items on the agenda.

"Dear Norte hel Mistralon…” The fountain pen halted and Hale turned to the woman with a pixie cut. “Can I have the list of his titles, Beth?”

The silent maidservant handed over a long scroll as wrinkle-free as her monochrome dress.

“Awesome. Officiate? Plenipotentia… Mmm… Thank you for attending the birthday celebration of little ol' me. I’m so honored by your majestic presence that I want to prostrate six feet under. I wish you envoys never stepped foot in the earldom, like really, this isn’t the place if you want to breathe some fresh country air. There’s nothing but dank cemeteries here, which I’m sure you discovered belatedly. Please do some research beforehand next time… no, there shall be no next… and never reply to invitations only a week before the event. Things are not always what they seem and R.S.V.P. doesn’t mean we actually want your reply… Ow! Beth! Yowch! Okayy, stop, I’ll be serious.”

The Earl’s secretary, who was best at imitating the inelegant handwriting of his charge’s second son, wrote letters to the invitees on Hale’s behalf because he fainted at the very start of the gift presentation and wasn’t able to greet them. Hale just had to sign the letters and plead his father to raise the man’s salary.

But the shock on Norte’s face before Hale blacked out stuck with him for some reason and he was sorry for traumatizing the poor child (though Hale was even more sorry for himself for becoming the laughingstock of the season) and wanted to write this letter himself.

“Forgive me for the gaffe I made. I hope the relationship between our realms was not damaged.” Or the emperor will wipe this manor off the map.

Finishing up the letter, which had none of the complaints Hale made—he wouldn’t joke around with his new family’s safety after all. Smart characters like Norte were the most dangerous sort and bottom feeders couldn’t afford to offend him. Not to mention that the fault lied with him. Hale held the paper scrap in front of Beth’s face and asked, “Is it too passive-aggressive? Does it sound too humble?”

The boy honestly admired the daemon. Which 17 year-old is as overachieving as Norte? Just writing a letter gave Hale the heebie jeebies, but Norte had to play word and power games with those old foxes. But it wasn’t so unbelievable if taken into account that he was a fictional character. Only the best for the female lead, right?

But admiring Norte didn’t mean that he wanted to be him. Hale was perfectly happy to stay the loafer second son. He exhausted two lives' worth of diligence in the previous life and intended to fully enjoy the wooden spoon he was born with in this.

“Alright, done!” Taking up some of Beth’s suggestions, Hale rewrote the draft in the fanciest paper the Earldom had, with gold leaf designs at the side, and sealed it in a winged envelope. The illiteracy rate plummeted after the Pact was signed. Most commoners had access to basic education, to say nothing of Beth’s clan, who had been with the Tenebrises for generations and were considered family. If it weren’t for their insistence on staying as servants, they would have long adopted them into the family line.

““BETHHHH, stop playing with him already!” Ernest Tenebris, the first son of the Earl and my sorry excuse of an older brother, rushed in like a cannonball and hugged Beth. The woman calmly led him to the washroom (because he refused to let go) and came back with a towel to wipe his face. His exercise clothes clung to toned body and Hale wondered why Beth didn’t just throw the smelly boy off.

“Excuse you? I was working. And Beth, don't pamper him!” If it had been 50 years back, this level of contact would be considered an outrage of modesty and Ernest would have to take responsibility for the lady.

Hale’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing. The Hale before had no concept of romance and didn’t see anything off but he had the life experience of an adult now and noticed that Ernest’s recent behavior was suspicious. Beth, on the other hand… only looked at Ernest with a warm, indulgent gaze. Hale didn’t know if Beth was more pitiful for being liked by a troublemaker or Ernest for being regarded as only a troublemaking younger sibling.