Family ties

Yolie:
Inside the book there are also a couple of letters written in the handwriting of another of my ancestors. My great-grandfather, to be exact. Everything seems to indicate that, much to his regret, Arcange Edouard Glapion kept at least one of our noble family’s traditions and after arriving in Havana he changed his name. Going by his mother’s oldest surname.

**Havana 1853
Dear Katerine:
I know you don't understand my decision to leave home, but the situation was untenable. Since the death of Papa our mother has not been the same and you know it. She cries at the slightest provocations. Sunflowers cause her such a melancholy state that she stops eating for weeks.
I am determined to follow my own path, to carve out a new life and future for myself and my children away from the influences of our mother and sorry, my sister, away from your influence as well.
I trust that by growing up without the constant shadow of the supernatural, my descendants will lose, over time, that dark part of their souls that would make them sensitive to the snares of evil and depravity.
Don't hate me, dear sister. I respect you, and your decision to continue with the task our mother has neglected, but do not ask me to offer my future descendants in sacrifice.
You have my address and my new name. I hope to hear from you.
Yours always.
Eduard Bruxain.**

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**Havana December 1888
Dearest Katerine:
After receiving your letter a month ago, I made some inquiries and your fears are fully founded.
Someone has been murdering the descendants of our brothers and sisters in England. You said that in your dream you saw a white chapel, bathed in our mother's blood and I fear that your dream is not just a bad omen. I don't think it's a mere coincidence, sister. You know more than I do of the extent of your powers.
In the Whitechapel area in the city of London, several women have been murdered, and the perpetrator's modus operandi consists of cutting the throat, mutilations in the genital and abdominal areas, organ removal and disfigurement of the face of women who were dedicated to prostitution.This seems meticulously planned and the murders have been carried out with a level of viciousness and malice that is unprecedented.You know as well as I do, that the energies that govern the domain of natural forces, the origin of your abilities and those of maman unleash in your sex a strange need and attraction for the most impure carnal pleasures.
You run a brothel yourself, a place where you shelter other practitioners of "the arts."
The prostitutes murdered so far are distant relatives of ours, third and even fourth generation nieces. The names in our family tree, of which you sent me a copy, prove it. This matter has me severely concerned. That branch of our family did not master their powers, they may all have possessed a specific and special gift but because they were raised without the guidance of an experienced witch they did not fully master the arts and that made them easy prey.
How is the infamous murderer related to our family? Will his thirst for slaughter cease once the Southworth clan is extinct, or does he intends to exterminate all of our mother's children? Will he come after the Laveau? Is he aware of the existence of the Bruxain?
I've taken action by moving to a different neighborhood and changing our last name to Bruzain, as a precaution.
Be aware my sister, lest the murderer comes after you later, as you conserve and openly practice mother's arts and have surrounded yourself with other women with susceptibility for the supernatural.
I am already old and in years, my children and grandchildren have flourished and I do not see in them signs of attraction for the occult.
This time I beg you to watch the future, I know your vision is restricted but all safeguards are little against this new and brutal enemy.
The only thing that consoles me is knowing that Mamán did not live long enough to suffer this new blow. She stayed away from her Southworth descendants to protect them and now this misfortune has befallen them.
With great fear in my heart I say goodbye to you.
Your brother.
Eduardo Bruzain**

Hmmm...my curiosity is pricked.
I do a google search. Whitechapel, murders 1888, mutilations.
The seeker does its job and I drop the phone with a cry of horror.
My family has been hunted for over a century by Jack the Ripper!

Alex:

I heard her scream and ran to her side, finding her sitting on the floor, her pretty face wrapped in tears. Her little eyes closed. Her body convulsing erratically from her unchecked sobs.
I squat down beside her, stroking her hair. She opens her eyes slowly, seeing me and throwing herself into my arms, she’s fallen prey to the terrible anguish.
— Alex. Where did you get the Grimoire and the necklace from? - asks in a barely audible whisper.
— From the grave of Marie Laveau II in the Saint Louis cemetery in New Orleans.She asked to be buried with them.
— How did Yoleandra's daughters die? The ones who lived in New Orleans?
— Under suspicious circumstances. The oldest was found drowned on the banks of a river after a storm and the youngest was killed, assaulted by thieves.
She is pale and her skin feels cold and clammy to my touch.
— Alex. My grandmother and I aren’t the only ones she tried to hurt. - She wipes her face with the back of her hand and looks at me angrily. - Tell me, who the fuck is Jeanne?!

0000

She fell asleep crying in my arms. She has been restless all night, constantly moving, tossing and turning in her sleep. She cried in her dreams, calling her Aya. I stayed by her side until the sun came up only leaving her room and going down to the kitchen to get her fresh water.
— Little witch, wake up. - I whisper in her ear, shaking her shoulders.
She grunts and slaps my hand away.
— C’mon precious. Open your eyes and drink some water.
She wakes up slowly. Her eyes are swollen and red. Her face is distorted and swollen. Something flutters inside me. I’d never seen her so pale and haggard and yet I find her so immensely... cute.
She tucks her fingers through her hair and strokes her scalp rhythmically while exhaling a moan.
— My head hurts, Alex. Will there be any medication for that around here?
She's become half hoarse from crying so much.
Within seconds I find the first aid kit in the bathroom and rummage inside until I find a Tylenol. I materialize beside her on the bed and offer it to her along with the glass of water. She takes the pill and drinks a sip of water,leaning back against the pillows and closing her eyes with a sigh.
I look at her compassionately, swallowing hard.
She opens her little brown eyes, focusing her gaze on me. Any expression of admiration or desire has disappeared from her face, for days. She doesn't even give me those killer glances from the beginning. Emptiness, it’s the only thing I find in her expression when I'm around and I know it is all my fault.
I take her hand, caressing her knuckles. I no longer feel that invisible electric current that seemed to attract us, and apparently neither does she. Her lower lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears again.
— Who is Jeanne, Alex? Why has she dedicated her existence to exterminating my family? - She asks in a whisper.