Love, Dora

If they hadn't come to Magnus's party to discuss Clary's mind block, Magnus's wouldn't have met and flirted with Alec

If Simon hadn't come with Clary in the institute, he and Izzy wouldn't have met

If Jace had never met Clary, he would still be a broken person who thought that to love was to destroy

Just think, none of these people wouldn't have met eachother if it wasn't for Clary. We wouldn't have Malec, Sizzy, and Clace

So why do people hate on Clary when she's done so much good in her life?

She might come across as annoying, but that's only because she will never stop until she gets whatever it takes to save and help the people she loves

James: she ran away to Paris with my parabatai and doesn’t believe I love her even though I’ve been dragging her gloves with me all across Europe for days and we have super steamy makeouts every few chapters.

Cordelia: he’s under a spell that makes him think he’s in love with someone else and he makes us sleep in separate beds even though we’re married.

Thomas: he bullied all my friends in school and they all despise him, and he likes to follow me around in the middle of the night without me knowing.

Alastair: his friends are obnoxious and he’s too stubborn for his own good.

Anna: she broke my heart when we were fifteen and now I can’t back together with her, lest I ruin my reputation as a heartbreaker.

Ariadne: she probably prefers her stuffed snake to my company but keeps asking me to come over anyways.

Christopher: why is Grace a ten? Grace is a person.

Grace: …he can be kind of oblivious I guess

Matthew: he drools on me sometimes… he’s a dog.

Lucie: he’s a ghost.

Janus,

You ask if I saw them. Yes, I saw them. 

I was in the throne room, among the lesser court, in disguise. I saw you as well, in your falcon mask; I did not realize you had been hunting for the Queen. I see she was afraid they know I am here, among the Seelie, and that they sought me; it was clear to me they know nothing. Certainly they do not know what is to come.

You ask why I went: I was curious, and recalled them from Thule. And I wondered if she would be with them, but she was not. It was a peculiar magic drew her to me, and I wonder at it still, but you need not worry there is sentiment attached to my musings; the Nephilim interest me, perhaps all the more so because they do not understand that they are doomed. That is all.

Dear Jem,

As promised, the newest updates on the House That Wouldn’t Stop Being Cursed. Spoiler alert: I think we’re going to need your help again. (Ask Kit if you don’t know what a “spoiler” is.)

So here’s where we are: we’ve assembled all of the items—we think—that are tied to the curse. We placed them all in the dining room together and lit some candles, but nothing happened. Julian said it was like we were trying to get the objects to have a romantic evening together. I guess it was optimistic to think things would be that simple!

During the past few weeks we’ve collected a number of books on curse-breaking. And looked up some stuff about it on the Internet, though I have to say you never know with “online” whether you’re accessing a real magic spell or something tied to some kind of game. Julian, of course, had already read the books, and noted the similarities between most of the curse-breaking spells. They all require cursed objects to be brought together, and for candles made of pure tallow to be lit. Fortunately we were able to grab tallow candles at the Shadow Market, and we arranged them in a circle around the objects. When we lit them, it did look very mysterious and magicy.

We combined several of the Latin spells in the books to try to get something workable. A sort of We call out for the curse laid upon these objects to be broken, in the name of the Angel Raziel. We tried to make ourselves sound very important, like we knew Raziel well and would be having a pint down at the pub with him once the curse breaking was over.

Now, I’m sure you’re staring in horror that we decided to do this ourselves, and you’re right, we shouldn’t have, but we were just so excited to have all the objects that we thought it was worth at least a try. After all, how wrong could it go?

Answer: very wrong! A chill, clammy wind immediately rose up inside the dining room and swirled in circles, blowing out most of the candles. I started shivering, not because it was cold (although it was suddenly very cold) but because my skin was crawling. I had a terrible sense of encroaching darkness, like my vision was beginning to fade at the edges. Julian started paging through the books fast, looking for some kind of cancellation spell.

And then, of course, the music box on the sideboard began playing by itself. And not the tune it usually plays, which is a Strauss waltz. This was some other tune, something dissonant and harsh (as harsh as the tinkly sounds of a music box can be, I suppose). And it was loud, much louder than any music box could be, like the sound was being picked up and whirled around the room.

“Nooo.” It was a harshly breathed word, and I felt a presence sweep into the room. Rupert, half-transparent and looking furious. He swept a glowing hand through the candles, snuffing out the flames. Thank the Angel, the wind died down and the chill went out of the air. And I felt like I could breathe again. Julian and I stared at each other.

“Nephilim,” Rupert breathed. It was probably the most we’ve ever heard him say, in terms of real distinct words and phrases. I don’t know if it was because he was angry, or because the curse-breaking spell had had a tiny effect. “Nephilim — do not play with magic. Tatiana played with magic. She was . . . destroyed.” He was so upset that the features of his face seemed to be rearranging themselves, his eyes widening to be huge like an anime drawing. His mouth turned down at the sides. “Not worth destroying yourselves,” he whispered. “Find another way. Or leave me prisoned.”

And with that, he disappeared — kind of flew apart in white-silver pieces, like papers blowing on the wind.

A shudder went up my spine. Rupert. I think I liked him better when he could only move things around in the dust.

Anyway, we could use your help. Maybe it’s that we need a warlock to do the right magic, but the more we look at the items we’ve collected the more we wonder if one of them is wrong. We’ve followed some sketchy clues to find them, after all. And we’ve bothered Hypatia, Magnus, and Ragnor so much that I don’t think we could bear to have one of them come and then tell us it’s the objects that are the problem.

So…would you and Tessa be willing to come visit and check out the situation? Maybe you’ll be able to tell something about the objects since you recognized some of them. And between an ex-Silent Brother and a warlock I’m sure you’d bring enough magical wisdom to work out what we should be doing. We’d love to see all four of you, in fact, if you’d like to make it a family outing. We can watch Mina for you! There will be scones! And now that the faeries have gotten rid of all the hogweed choking the gardens, they’re looking very nice. Lovely for walks, or if Kit is in a teenage brooding mood, they’re great for brooding. Did I mention the scones?

Love,

PRIVATE COMMUNIQUE: DO NOT SHARE ON PAIN OF DEATH

From: Julian Blackthorn of Blackthorn Hall

To: Kieran, King of Unseelie

Well, we’re back from the Seelie Court. Good news: we got the fish slice. Bad news: we didn’t learn very much and we raised a lot of suspicion. But I’m happy to share with you how things went in the hope that you will find it informative. I hope also that you will consider it sufficient exchange for the favor you now owe a phouka. (I am pretty sure that favor will involve asking you to buy a hat.)

We were pretty nervous about going, even with Adaon’s invite—the last time we were in Faerie, things were not great. It was all gray smoke and snow and moths and blasted areas of dead land. All of that seems to be over and done with; Faerie looks healthy again. It was autumn there, and the ground was covered in fallen leaves, all red and gold.

Anyway, we followed Adaon’s instructions and entered Faerie through an old barrow at Primrose Hill. We ended up in a forest clearing with two big wooden doors rising up out of the ground. And Adaon was there to meet us, which was nice of him.

But he did not look happy. He hurried over and explained that he had had to tell the Queen we were coming. “There isn’t much that occurs under her roof,” he said, “of which she is unaware. It is how she has maintained her power all this time, in part.”

He looked so miserable that Emma told him it was all fine and we weren’t doing anything that the Queen would disapprove of, or even care about. He just kind of shook his head. “One never knows just what her Majesty will care about. Or disapprove of. She has bid me take you both to the throne room upon your arrival, and so that is what I must do.”

Now I began to feel a bit more nervous. I reminded Adaon that he had guaranteed our safety. He said, “By the laws of hospitality, not to mention the Accords, she may not harm you or detain you, if your purpose be virtuous.” But he was shaking his head again.

“Let me guess,” I said. “The Queen has the exclusive power to decide if our purpose is virtuous or not.”

Adaon smiled thinly. “Quite.” But he brought us to the throne room.

The throne room was just as autumn-themed as the clearing. More so, really. But it wasn’t about the end of the growing season or being sad that summer was over. It was more like a harvest celebration. There were cornucopias, is what I’m saying, spilling over with gourds, apples, pears, corncobs. There were hay bales, which is kind of funny since nobody in that throne room has, I promise you, ever baled hay. There were pixies with fiery butterfly wings, circling the ceiling.

The Queen was, not surprisingly, on her throne. She wore a dress that I swear, was entirely made of glittering green scarab beetles sewed together. Her hair was like an explosion of red-gold flames around her face. She doesn’t look sickly or emaciated anymore, like she did when we last saw her, and she seemed to exude a power she’d been missing before. 

There were the usual groups of faeries scattered around the room—courtiers, I guess—gossiping, tittering, sometimes just sitting around being louche. So everything seemed normal there. They barely paid attention to us, just kind of craned their necks over, realized we weren’t interesting, and got back to lounging.

I expected the Queen to immediately start insulting us, but she was actually quite cordial. Not warm. But not unfriendly, either. Of course, she did want to be complimented on the décor first. She waved her hand around at the throne room and opened with, “You choose a fair season to visit us.”

“It’s cheerier than last time,” Emma said.

“And yet you have chosen to return,” the Queen said, as though she was pleased about it, “despite the…lack of cheer at our last meeting.”

“It has been a long time since we saw our friend Adaon,” I said. “We sought the pleasure of his company.”

“Sayest thou such?” said the Queen, which I suspect is Faerie-speak for So, that’s obviously bullshit.  “As you must know, it is not outside the realm of my knowledge that your brother is the consort of the Unseelie King.”

“Only one of his consorts,” Emma pointed out.

The Queen ignored her. “Surely you’ve anticipated that I would suspect you of espionage.”

“We are not here for the Unseelie King,” I said, “but rather regarding our interests in the Seelie Court. Indeed, our family is connected to the Seelie Court in several ways. As you know.”

The Queen ignored me as well. “Your best defense, it seems to me, is that you are such obvious choices for espionage, that surely Kieran Kingson [I think this was meant to be an insult to you, me or both of us] would be cleverer than to choose you as his spies.”

“That too,” Emma said.

“Well, then,” the Queen said. “Spin me a tale. What is your purpose here?”

I felt like we had nothing to lose with the truth—we really weren’t doing anything the Queen should care about. So I gave her the whole story: we inherited a house in London; the house is cursed; we want to undo the curse. I emphasized that neither the house nor the curse were fey-related at all. (I did not bring up Round Tom, as I thought it would be distracting to the main point.)

Breaking the curse requires that (among other things) we get our hands on this fish slice; we’ve learned the fish slice is or was in the possession of Socks MacPherson the phouka; we’ve come to bargain with him for it, and we arranged an invitation through Adaon because we had no way to contact MacPherson directly.

“All we need to do,” Emma said, “is barter with MacPherson for the fish slice. We can do it right here in the throne room, if he could be sent for.”

The Queen looked very interested all of a sudden. “You are willing to do the business here, and never enter the Court proper at all?”

I explained to the Queen that we strongly shared her desire for us not to have to enter the Court.

She seemed surprised, but she called over one of the courtiers and murmured to him. “The phouka will be sent for,” she said. “Prince Adaon, when the Nephilim have concluded their negotiation with him, you will escort them back outside and see them off.” Adaon bowed his assent. “And now,” she said, and her eyes flicked over to one side, “I must beg your pardon, as I see that I am needed.”

We stepped aside to let her descend the throne. I saw that a man had come in who I didn’t recognize—but he was clearly someone of importance given how differently he was dressed than anybody else there. Rather than garb appropriate to court, he was in a gray-green hooded cloak, and his face was obscured by a mask like a falcon head. His clothes were more appropriate to hunting in the woods than anything else, but they were perfectly clean. I didn’t know what to make of him—but I thought I had better pass along his description to you. You said to look for anything new or out of place, and I couldn’t help feeling like he was.

We waited around and chatted with Adaon for a couple of minutes and then Socks MacPherson showed up. We’ve met a couple phoukas before—one of them is the gatekeeper at the LA Shadow Market, as you might remember—and I had thought maybe MacPherson would turn out to be one of those, but no, totally different guy. He was wearing a huge round fur hat that his ears stuck through. It was a lot of hat.

 He seemed surprised that the Queen had left us alone, and said he was sorry if we had been harassed overmuch on his account. I said she had probably meant to loom over us but had been called away unexpectedly. MacPherson shrugged and said, “She thinks everything is a move in some game of five-dimensional chess she is playing. But sometimes, someone only wants to trade me something for a kitchen tool. Speaking of which, I have the fish slice.”

He took it out of a kind of carpet bag he had brought with him, and immediately the Ghost Sensor went off like crazy and he kind of jumped away and hid behind one of the groups of courtiers. Although we could still see his hat. (And his ears twitching above the hat.) So we had to go over and explain that it was just a device that detected the cursed objects we were looking for and that the noise was good because it confirmed that the fish slice was the one we wanted. The courtiers shooed us away; they had some important luxuriating to get to that we were delaying.

Socks grumbled that of course “that miserable Spoon” gave him a cursed fish slice. “I don’t know why I took the deal,” he said. “I don’t have any use for this thing. I’m a vegetarian.”

Finally he asked what we were offering, we told him a favor from you and explained how it was we were qualified to offer such a thing. He said the offer was acceptable and we took home the fish slice.

To sum up: Socks MacPherson is protected by the Seelie Court but didn’t blink at accepting a favor from the Unseelie Court. The Queen remains suspicious, both in the sense that she suspected us and in the sense that her behavior was itself weird. The Seelie Court is definitely hiding something, given how relieved the Queen was the minute she realized we weren’t going to actually leave the throne room and enter the court to look around. I have a feeling, based on nothing really — that it’s not a something but a someone that they’re concealing—if it was an object surely they could just hide it somewhere we wouldn’t see it? But, it’s just a feeling.

So that’s it. My deepest gratitude to you, as always, for all your help. I’m sure you were anticipating more information than the above, but hopefully it will be of some use to you.

Our love to Mark and Cristina, and to you of course. And above all, glory to Kraig.

Dear Mark,

Hey, how are things? I wanted to update you on the situation here at Blackthorn Hall and find out how everything is going at Polyamorous Cottage, as Emma calls it. We think you guys should lean into that, by the way, maybe give the house a deliberate name like Polyam House or, like, Maison de Beaucoup Amours.

Sorry, I’m just teasing. You know we love you guys and we love that you’re all together. We miss you and look forward to visiting you at Booty Palace as soon as it’s feasible.

Meanwhile I’ve got a story for you—a story in which a warlock was wrong. Very, very wrong.

So as you know, we only have one more object to find of the ones Tatiana used to power the curse on Blackthorn Hall. Ragnor Fell pointed out a couple of locations intersecting ley-lines in central London that he thought would be likely places to look. One of them led us (eventually) to the Lightwood candlesticks. The other pointed to a random townhouse in an alley in Soho which Ragnor identified as the location of the “Hell Ruelle.” He said when he knew it, it was a Downworlder club of some notoriety—a “salon” where Downworlders came to discuss art and politics, gamble, drink, and watch other Downworlders dance erotically: his words, not mine. He made it sound like it was quite scandalous in his day, known for a kind of bawdy excess but also for attracting all the most prominent and intellectual Downworlders of the city. Like, halfway between an academic symposium and a burlesque club, that’s open 24 hours and serves alcohol. We could tell from Ragnor’s tone that he disapproved, but since I’ve almost never known Ragnor to approve of anything, that wasn’t a big surprise.

He also said that they weren’t fond of Shadowhunters, so we put on the clothes we thought might be most appropriate to a Soho club — Emma put on a little flowered dress and I grabbed a couple of things out of the Groovy Sixties Wardrobe, figuring they had a hipster vibe at this point — and went when we thought it would be busy, around ten on a Friday night.

 Sooooooo it turns out that Ragnor’s information was somewhat out of date. The Hell Ruelle is still a club all right, and a Downworlder club, but now it’s the other kind of club. The one full of very old men in leather armchairs reading newspapers. Downworlder old men, at least. Some very white-haired werewolves, vampires dressed like it was 1840 (or they were on their way to a cosplay convention), some faeries that, speaking frankly, looked like gigantic  dried fruit that had learned to read newspapers. There are little nooks and crannies that I guess must have been used for assignations and rendezvous and so on but now were mostly occupied by irate prunes complaining to equally pruny waiters that their soup wasn’t hot enough.

There is still a bar, of course. And gambling, though it seems to mostly be bridge. Poker would be a little too high-energy for this crew, I think. Anyway I have no idea what they made of us; Emma and I thought they would complain about our outfits or our being Shadowhunters but nobody paid us any attention at all. We were even walking around with the Sensor out and pointing it at things but no reaction.

The Sensor went off a few times but nowhere near any objects, just at random spots around the house, which Emma suggested were probably other ghosts not relevant to us. It certainly felt like the kind of place that would have a bunch of resident ghosts.

Finally the Sensor went off near an actual object. Unfortunately, it was a cardboard box—a little smaller than a shoebox, stuffed above some old books on one of the bookshelves, all of which, box, books, shelves, were covered in a significant amount of dust. The box looked like it had been wrapped as a gift—it was wrapped in bright gold paper and there was some ribbon tied around it—but when we opened it up it was totally empty.

We didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe the box itself was the cursed object, but I knew that was ridiculous. It must have been the thing that had been in the box. Eventually we worked up the courage to ask the bartender if we could see someone in charge, and surprisingly he just went in the back to get the guy, no questions asked. I guess there isn’t a lot of excitement there and he was happy to have something to do.

Anyway, the Hell Ruelle is run these days by a warlock named Zebulon Spoon, and his thing is that he has a cat head. Like, instead of a human head, his head is shaped like a cat’s, with the giant eyes and the whiskers and fur. He had cat ears on the top of his head but they were folded over, kind of like a dog’s. He was also wearing a jaunty brown hat with holes cut out for the ears. (“Magnus got off easy with his warlock mark” was my main takeaway.)

Anyway, he didn’t meow or anything, just narrowed his eyes at us and asked our business. He started to go into the Ruelle’s licenses and how they were all supporters of the Accords and I think there must be some history where the club refused membership to some Shadowhunters. We reassured him that we weren’t here about that but were instead doing some family history research, that we’d been led to this box but we weren’t sure what had been in it or where that thing had gotten to.

Spoon harumphed at us—he did a lot of harumphing—and said, “I do happen to know that box. I thought it had been discarded long ago. It contained a fish slice.”

“Like a knife?” Emma said.

Spoon looked affronted. “Like a fish slice,” he said to us, in a tone that suggested he thought we might be idiots.

Luckily Emma had her phone with her, and this turned out to be a bit of a language barrier between American and British language. Here, a “fish slice” means…well, a spatula.

“Someone gave a spatula as a present?” I said. “Just a spatula?”

The warlock looked more and more affronted by every question. “This fish slice was sterling silver,” he said. “It was a wedding present, long ago, from some Shadowhunters to some other Shadowhunters. It must be a hundred years or more. Here, I think there are some names on the outside, if they’re still readable.”

He was right. There was ink on the side, and it was fairly smudged with time, but we were able to make it out: “Congratulations W&T, with love from Henry and Charlotte.”

“Who were Henry and Charlotte?” Emma asked.

“No idea,” said Spoon. “This is all decades before I was born. I’m only seventy years old, you know.”

“A veritable spring chicken,” I said, and he looked pleased. Anything to keep him talking, I suppose.

“As I say, I don’t know how it made its way here,” Spoon went on. “When I came in here I found it in the Dark Magic Room.”

Obviously, we asked him what the “Dark Magic Room” was.

“You know,” he said, puzzled. “The Dark Magic Room. A lot of odds and ends are left here, you see, and most of them are just exploding with dark magic. None of the staff want anything to do with dark magic, of course. So those things are kept in the Dark Magic Room, which used to be a larder, I suppose, but it’s long been strongly warded. Occasionally someone comes looking for something they’ve left, so we keep them…safe.”

The way he looked at me I suddenly understood. It was not just a Lost and Found. They kept the dark magical artifacts safe…from Shadowhunters finding out about them and investigating.

“How often does that happen anymore?” said Emma, saying what I was thinking. The crowd in the club didn’t seem like they would bring in that kind of excitement.

“Well, the Ruelle used to be a lot different than it is today,” Spoon allowed. “We’ve done a lot of work over the years to make it a more respectable place, where Downworlders can find a little peace and quiet. That’s a rarer and rarer commodity, I’ve found, peace and quiet. Intrigue and adventure they can get in all the rest of the city, these days.”

“You were telling us about the Dark Magic Room,” I politely said. “And the fish slice.”

“Quite,” Spoon said, blinking. “As I was saying, when I came on we set a new policy for the Dark Magic Room. Anything over a hundred years old was getting binned. Or at least it wasn’t staying here. Immortal we may be, but it’s my feeling that if a vampire or a warlock doesn’t need something for a hundred years, they probably aren’t going to need it later either.” We nodded. Spoon folded his arms. “So I traded the fish slice to a phouka for a hat.”

The last sentence was so abrupt that I just said, “Pardon?”

“I traded the fish slice,” said Spoon in a reasonable tone of voice, “to a phouka. For a hat. This hat, in fact. You see it has holes for my ears to stick through.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully in a way that suggested she had no idea what to say. “Couldn’t you just have cut ear holes in a regular hat?” I said.

Of course not, Spoon explained. “That would ruin the hat,” he said. “This one was made like this. Also, as I said, I was trying to get rid of the fish slice. Frankly, just having it around was upsetting the mermaids. They were very relieved to have it out of here. Fish slicing indeed.”

“But it doesn’t actually slice fish,” Emma said. “It’s just a spatula.”

“Fish slicing indeed,” Spoon said. “Upsets them. Cuts them to the bone, in fact!” And then we had to wait about a full minute while he laughed at his own joke.

And now we get to the heart of the letter: we’re trying to track down this phouka and hoping Kieran might have a thought. A phouka who…makes hats? Maybe he likes to wave a silver spatula around? It’s a long shot, but it’s all we’ve got to go on. We don’t want to spook him, so if you do find him, you can tell him we want to commission some hats. I mean, we don’t need holes for cat ears but he does sound like he knows his stuff, hat-wise.

My love to K and C. Hope to hear from you soon.

Hello Dru,

I’m back from London, and Julian and Emma told me to tell you “hello” and also “they send their love.” But that is not the important part of the letter, which is later. But you shouldn’t skip to that part, I will explain why soon.

Blackthorn Hall is actually pretty cool. It’s big and it’s old, and lots of parts don’t work properly yet, but Emma and Jules have done a lot to make it nice. There’s lots of bedrooms. I picked out one for me, which they called the “gray bedroom,” but honestly all the bedrooms are kind of gray. They said it’s so we can paint them if we want, they’ll be our rooms and we can decorate them how we like.

You’ll have to pick out the one you want when you visit, but I found one that I bet will be your favorite. It overlooks the gardens which I think will be the last thing to get fixed up, and so will continue to look creepy for a while. There are all these broken statues with plants grown over them, like they were trying to kill the statues. Like they succeeded in killing the statues. It looks like if you went walking down there the vines would wrap around you and pull you underground. You’ll love it. 

I didn’t sleep well before we traveled to London and now I think it was because I was worried. Anush says our bodies often tell us how we are feeling even when our minds aren’t conscious of it. Like feeling nauseated before an important test. You probably know what I mean.

But it was good. Especially to see Jules and Emma. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I saw them. I think I felt it like Anush says, like a weird pressure in my chest that went away when Jules hugged me. Maybe it’s the same for you. Or maybe you already know how much you miss them. Anyway I thought it was important to say I also miss you and it’ll be nice when we can all be in the same house together again. I think Irene will like it there too.

Ragnor’s map did actually help, so it was good he came. He found a couple of places in London to check for more of those cursed objects, so that’s one step closer to un-cursing the house. I know, it would be cool to live in a cursed house. But it wouldn’t be fair to Rupert the Ghost, since he’s trapped there because of the curse. And anyway there’s all this renovation work that the builders won’t do until the curse is lifted. And it would be good if the house’s roof didn’t leak. That might be a little too gloomy even for you.

Now we’ve talked about the bedrooms, the house, and Ragnor, so if anyone asks you can tell them those are the things we discussed. We are now at the part of the letter where I have to tell you important things but I wanted you to have information you could share in case someone asked you if you had heard from me. I mean, if someone important asks you. If someone we don’t know asks you, Anush says you can say “Make like a tree and leave,” which I don’t understand but he says will definitely work.

So, the important part. Rupert the Ghost. I wasn’t really thinking when I wrote up above that it will be nice for us to all be together. I mean, it will be, but it’s not quite that simple, at least for me. See…Rupert saw Livvy. She wasn’t hiding or anything, and she didn’t act surprised that he saw her. But I’ve spent so much time worried about other, you know, living people finding out about her. It hadn’t even occurred to me that of course there are ghosts everywhere, all over the world, and they’ll all know she’s there. The ghosts here at the Scholomance know about her, of course, but Edvard and Prudence keep to themselves and nobody really pays attention to either of them. Prudence is always in the library pretending to shelve books (or actually shelving ghost books, I can’t tell) and Edvard paces slowly through the halls and barely ever talks. Sometimes he moans, but that’s just him complaining.

Rupert and Livvy had a couple of conversations with just the two of them, I guess about ghost stuff. She says she made him promise that he wouldn’t say anything about seeing her, but ghosts can lie. So what if he says something to Emma or Julian? What if he can tell that something is weird with the way Livvy is a ghost and he mentions that?

The thing is, it’s not just Rupert. Even if he stays quiet, I already almost made Emma suspicious by talking to Livvy myself. I had to tell her I was talking to you on the phone. I know about Rupert and I know about Edvard and Prudence, but there could be ghosts anyplace I go, and if someone else is there and they start interacting with Livvy I’m going to have to explain. I got used to Edvard and Prudence ignoring her but Rupert drifted right into the bedroom and asked her who she was.

Livvy says I shouldn’t worry. She reminds me that any Shadowhunter can see ghosts who want to be seen, like Edvard and Prudence, but that it’s much harder to see a ghost who doesn’t want to be seen, and that’s most ghosts. She says Rupert wanted to be seen — first by Emma and Jules and then by Livvy and me, though only Livvy's seen him really clearly— but if he didn’t, I’d never have known he was there. She says she’s able to hide herself from almost all people (even Jace, and he has latent ghost-seeing powers), and even able to hide herself from a lot of ghosts. And that even if they do see her, they won’t necessarily know who she is, it’s not like ghosts can just identify each other. And she says if she has to, she’ll just lie to them.

She said a lot of reassuring things. But it still gave me a cold feeling, which I think is my body telling my brain that I’m afraid. If Julian and Emma found out about Livvy, they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d feel like they had to do something, like lay her to rest. People don’t think ghosts can be happy, but Livvy is happy. She helps me with work and she tells me advice for Anush (he has a crush on Rayan’s sister Nasha) and when we’re alone we play games or I read to her. She can’t do everything but why would being all the way dead be better? Everyone calls it “rest” but no one really knows, do they?

Maybe you have ideas. Tell me if you have ideas.

Love,

To: Julian Blackthorn of Blackthorn Hall

From: The Court of Unseelie

Dear Brother,

It always brings a smile to my face to receive correspondence from Blackthorn Hall, and this occasion is no exception. Mark has communicated to me your question, and I am pleased to answer it, although the answer may not, I am afraid, please you overmuch.

As you know, the borders of Faerie are hazy and irregular, and no man can know how vast its acres, for it flows on to the north, south, east, and west without end. And as you also know, such an expanse may contain within it unknown thousands of denizens, from the smallest sprite on its fairyfly mount, to the grandest ogre who ever ogred down ogre street MARK. STOP IT. Ahem.

My apologies. I stepped away from the composition of this epistle for only a moment and a certain fellow of both our acquaintance has made free with my pen.

As I was saying, Faerie is exceedingly expansive and its inhabitants without number, and so it is very unlikely that I would have knowledge of a stray member of the Folk. I say this not to scold you, but only to lower your expectations, as your question is a bit like my asking you if you knew someone whose only commonality with you is that they also have lived in Los Angeles.

But as it happens, I have lowered your expectations only to make their fulfillment the more gratifying, for I do, in fact, know the phouka of which you speak!

Or rather, I know of him. His name is Socks MacPherson (though very clearly that is not his True Name, for no loving mother of any faerie sort would name a child Socks) and he has some renown in the courts as a milliner. He specializes in hats devised for those whose features may cause difficulty with a normal fit (e.g., horns, cat ears, bat ears, fox ears, hair made of snakes).

Alas, he is allegiant to the Seelie Court, as he holds a royal warrant to produce his wares for the Queen. Because of this, it would be impossible for me to seek out MacPherson for any business beyond the commissioning of a hat, and I do not need a hat, as they do not fit well over crowns.

That said, I believe I can still help you. I will send word to my brother Adaon, and ask him to invite you to the Seelie Court for a friendly meeting. There you will be able to meet with MacPherson himself. I authorize you to offer him a gift which he doubtless accept in exchange for his assistance: one favor from the Unseelie King. (Me.)

I provide this assistance from the bottom of my heart, brother Julian. But I would ask you for a small courtesy in return: that you tell me about your time in the Seelie Court, with all the detail that you think relevant or interesting. I told Mark I would be asking you this, and he became cross with me and suggested I was asking you to act as my spy. Let me be clear that I am in no way asking you to act on behalf of the Unseelie Court or to violate any confidences from your visit that you wish to keep. I would, however, ask you to pay close attention to everything you see and hear, and provide an account to me, especially anything that the Court would prefer to hide.

As always, I remain your obedient servant. Glory to Kraig.

Dear Cristina!

Sorry to startle you, I just wrote “Dear Cristina” with the comma first and it seemed a little down. Thought I would try to spice it up a little. And I want to hear from you because I miss you and it’s highly annoying that you couldn’t be in New York. 

Why did Nene have to pick this exact time to visit you guys? Is it because she has faerie intuition and carefully decided to keep us apart? I mean, no, probably not, she seems like a pretty good person. But still! Show up a week later, Nene! Also disappointed to hear that she didn’t spill anything about what the heck is up in the Seelie Court. I guess if she had given up the court’s secrets to Kieran — who is, technically, the King of the Unseelie Court — the Seelie Queen would consider that “bad” and Nene to be a “traitor,” but that’s nothing compared to how much we want to know what’s up.

Anyway. We’re back from New York, where the weather was much worse than in London, but whatever. We’d sent that picture of the candlesticks from the church to Alec, and he showed them to his mom, who recognized them. She said Robert had brought them along with a bunch of other inherited Lightwood stuff when they left Idris for NYC, and she had no idea what had happened to them since, but they were probably in the NY Institute somewhere. Well, we’ve got the Ghost Sensor, so we said goodbye to Rupert and headed over. (Julian wondered whether Rupert misses us when we’re gone, but it’s hard to tell if ghosts can tell the passage of time. In any case we didn’t find sad faces drawn in the dust when we came back, or anything like that.)

So we saw Jace and Clary, of course, and Alec came to help. I think he was really curious since it’s his family’s stuff. (We were hoping to see Simon and Isabelle but they were off recruiting for Shadowhunter Academy. And Magnus stayed home with the kids. He texted us a video from their apartment where he asked Max and Rafe, “Are we going to help our friends?” and they both shouted, “No!” It was cute. I mean, Max and Rafe were cute. Magnus was maybe milking it a little.)

Finding the candlesticks was…pretty easy, actually, kind of anticlimactic. They were hiding in plain sight in the church’s nave among all the other candlesticks and candelabras and other candle-related things. And the Sensor led us right to them. So maybe they weren’t removed in the Blitz but instead the Lightwoods took them back? Or maybe they were removed and then brought back and sometime after that Robert’s parents took them out of the church? We’ll probably never know, but it also probably doesn’t matter since, whatever, we have them, mystery solved.

In celebration we ordered a pizza and ate it by the light of the candlesticks. New York pizza! It is the best. It hurts to say that a little, as an LA girl, but the truth is the truth. I’d missed it so. Pizza in London is…well, best not to speak of it.

So while we were eating Jace asked Alec if there was any news from Idris, and Julian and I kind of looked at each other because there’s never news from Idris, the Cohort have all shut themselves in there and refuse to come out or let anyone in, you know the deal.

Alec revealed that they had been working on some new variation on fire-messages that would be able to get through the wards around Idris. Mostly using Clary’s power to invent new runes. They’ve been sending them for a while, trying different things, but hadn’t gotten any responses until very recently when they heard from one of my least favorite people, Manuel.

So Alec and Manuel have apparently been sending messages back and forth. Zara refuses to respond and Manuel implied that she didn’t like that he and Alec were talking. Alec thinks he might be lying and Zara might not even know. But Alec also thinks Manuel is tired of being stuck there and might be their way in, since (as we all know) Manuel cares about Manuel above everything else, certainly way more than he cares about the Cohort’s supposed mission. Like Jace said, Zara is a true believer, but Manuel is just an opportunist.

This was all super-interesting, of course, but Julian and I started to feel bad remembering that Alec is, you know, the Consul. Julian said he knew Alec had important Consul stuff to do and it was great that he had come to help find the candlesticks anyway. And then Alec said a really nice thing! He said that their New York crew had always had to work in secret, that they’d always thought of the Clave as the enemy. Well, maybe not the enemy, but not their ally. The Clave they grew up with, you know, locked Jace in the Silent City and refused to believe that Valentine was returning. They would never have thought of going to them for help. So Alec said it was really important to him as Consul to actually be there for the Shadowhunters, to be someone they could know and talk to and bring problems to, rather than hiding. And I guess we did know Alec personally before, and they are his family’s candlesticks, but still, it was nice that he thought of it as part of his Consul duties to help us out, rather than thinking of it as something taking time away from his Real Work. He said this was his Real Work, and we’d better not stop coming to him and Magnus for help.

So then after a while Clary announced that she and I needed to have some girl talk and whisked me off to Taki’s for coffee. Julian she left with Jace and Alec. When last I saw him Jace was guiding him towards the weapons room to take a look at the collection of 17th-century Spanish military swords he’d recently found in one of the church weapons caches somewhere in New York. Julian watched me leave like a puppy being taken to the vet for shots, but I think he had a good time. So he says, anyway.

Clary and I settled into a booth at Taki’s. She wanted to ask me how I was doing, and I started telling her, but she seemed distracted, and I realized that maybe she needed to talk to me about how she was doing. Which turned out to be true. She’s worried because Alec likes to believe the best of people, and he’s really optimistic about the progress they’ve made getting in touch with Manuel, but Clary thinks Zara is a manipulative psycho. On which topic we agree.

“You think it’s a trick?” I said. “Or a trap?”

She said she didn’t know. But then she kind of argued with herself and said she understood how important it was to open up Idris, that she knew the Clave couldn’t survive forever split in two like this.

I said it seemed like it was really weighing heavily on them, and she kind of sighed and gave me the big news, or rather the lack of big news, which is that she and Jace have decided they don’t want to get married until the Clave is reunited. And Simon and Isabelle feel the same way.

“It’s not like there’s any reason to rush,” she said. She was looking out the window as she said it, though, and she sounded kind of sad. “But we don’t want a wedding where all anyone is thinking about is how Idris is off-limits and the Clave is broken.”

She kept looking out the window, so I asked if she saw someone out there, and she kind of looked guilty and turned back to me. “Oh, no, I thought I saw Jace for a minute, but it wasn’t him.”

Finally we got around to how I’m doing and I got to tell her the thing I’m worried about, which you and I have talked about a little. Which is that Julian and I are fixing up this house and I guess…we’re going to move here? Like, move to London. And out of Los Angeles for good. And I haven’t really gotten to think about what that would be like. I was thinking of it as a kind of temporary thing where we would fix up the house and then go home. And it’s easy to feel that way because of all the stuff going on with the Clave.

But for Julian, this will be our new home. And I can’t blame him for wanting that. I mean, for one thing, he’s a Blackthorn and it’s Blackthorn Hall. But we grew up in Los Angeles. I’m an LA girl, all my memories of my parents are of them in Los Angeles. But then we both do have many hard memories from the LA Institute, and it would be nice to put them behind us and get a fresh start. I don’t know. Do you ever find it strange, that you live in New York now? And Faerie? Do you miss the D.F.?

Maybe it’s Idris being out of reach that makes it feel so strange. I grew up always knowing that however spread out the Shadowhunters might be we all had a home together in Idris. It held the Clave together all over the world. But what if Idris is really gone for us, Cristina?

What if it’s gone forever?

Xoxox

Emma

Dear Bruce,

Sorry I haven’t written in you much lately. It’s been busy times around here.

Tuesday Julian and I were having breakfast — it’s been nice and sunny this last week, and the kitchen was pretty cheerful. I’ve become besotted with crumpets, and Julian is excellent at toasting them over the stove. We were having them with honey and butter when we heard a knock on the front door.

Julian jumped up. Now, about a day ago we got a message from Ty saying he was coming with Ragnor to Blackthorn Hall. He seemed really worried that Julian would be mad, but Julian wasn’t at all mad. He was nervous. He went around all day looking distracted and bumping into things, so when we went to bed at night I took his hand and wrote on his palm, the way we always used to do, tracing each letter. W-H-A-T A-R-E Y-O-U W-O-R-R-I-E-D A-B-O-U-T-? 

We curled up together under the covers. He told me that he was worried because he used to be the person who took care of Ty, and now it had been more than a year and Ty had been taking care of himself. He said he used to know everything about Ty, when he got up and when he went to sleep, and what he liked to eat and do, and now he feels like he’s lost track of him somehow, like maybe it will feel like they’re strangers. 

I told him he would never lose track of Ty and their relationship would always be special, it was just going to be different than it had been because Jules no longer has to take care of everyone and pretend he isn’t doing it. He doesn’t have to carry this big secret weight around, and responsibility is always a weight no matter how much you love the people you’re responsible for. 

After that, he kissed me, and the rest, Bruce, is none of your business. Goodness, you like to pry.

Anyway, back to breakfast and the knock on the door. It was Ragnor, looking a sprightly shade of green, like an English meadow. He sailed right past Julian and began inspecting the drapes. Well, he was probably inspecting something magical, like the curse, but to me it looked like he was examining the curtains and the wallpaper. Maybe he’s thinking of decorating his own place. Or maybe he was just giving Julian some time alone with Ty, because Ty was still standing on the stairs, with a duffel bag over his arm, looking adorably awkward.

I wanted to run down and hug him but I hung back because I could feel in my bones that this was Ty and Jules’ moment. Jules was just standing in the doorway looking at Ty with his face all tight and then he said, “Come here,” in a rough sort of voice and Ty dropped his duffel bag and ran up the stairs and Julian hugged him so tightly I thought for sure he’d protest. But he didn’t. He just leaned into the hug. Jules rubbed his back and said, “Ty-Ty,” and I missed what happened next because I was keeping my eyes very wide open and trying not to blink. It’s the best way I know how to keep from crying.

Eventually they let go of each other, and we showed Ty and Ragnor around the first floor, which did feel a little weird, knowing that Ty had already been here two years ago with Livvy. I think we could all feel it, the sorrowful elephant in the room. Julian kept casting anxious glances at Ty, but Ty didn’t look sad, actually — more thoughtful. Eventually Julian told him he should go upstairs and pick out a bedroom. “Any room! There are lots to choose from. Whichever you want, you can decide how you want to decorate it. Anything you want to do.”

“And where will I be sleeping?” Ragnor said grumpily. “Stuffed up the chimney?”

Ty was already headed upstairs with Julian. I told Ragnor he could sleep wherever he wanted though I recommended the couch downstairs if he wanted to be Close to the Ghost. Rupert still tends to turn up most often in the dining room. Ragnor didn’t commit to this, but only wandered into the kitchen instead and started making tea. I offered him a crumpet to be hospitable and when Julian came back downstairs Ragnor was dripping honey on the counter. 

“Can I see the ley-line map?” Jules asked. “Or are you too busy attracting ants?”

“No ants,” said Ragnor, around his crumpet. “Not the season.” He licked his fingers, stuck his hand into his jacket, and pulled out a huge rolled-up parchment which, first of all, he did not fit in the jacket without doing some magic, so let it never be said that Ragnor doesn’t like a dramatic gesture, even if he claims to be above that kind of thing. He unfurled it on the long dining table and weighted it down with a candlestick and some books along the edges.

It was a map of central London—it’s hard to miss the distinctive shape of the Thames snaking through the middle—but absolutely covered in lines in several different inks—red, blue, green, gold. And along the lines were astrological symbols and arrows and numbers and the occasional bit of Greek. You could barely read the street names.

“Your map of London is in Greek?” Julian said. “Also, aren’t you going to get honey on it.”

“Honey is good for parchment,” Ragnor said. “It’s a preservative. And it’s Coptic.”

“Your map of London is in Coptic?” I said.

Ragnor regarded it fondly. “It is. Believe it or not, it’s one of the most readable ley-line maps of the city I’ve found. Some of them are just impossible. This one is from the 1700s, they just wrote in Coptic to be difficult. Warlocks are like that.”

I know, I wanted to say, but I didn’t, because Ragnor was doing us a favor.

“Is your ghost afoot?” Ragnor said. He had withdrawn a large magnifying crystal and was peering through it at bits of the map.

“Not sure,” I said. “Rupert? We have a visitor who wants to meet you.”

Nothing happened.

“So he comes and goes,” Ragnor muttered, as though to himself. “Interesting.” He took a small leather notebook from his pocket and paged through it.

“Is it interesting?” Julian said. “Maybe he’s just shy around new people. Before we showed up he was alone here for fifty years or so.”

Ragnor looked up at Julian. “My boy, there are telephone calls I haven’t gotten around to returning that are that old.”

“Well, you should be a better correspondent,” Julian said, folding his arms. “Do you see anything on the map?”

Ragnor kind of hmphed and returned to the map. After a while he straightened up and said, “All right. Do you want to hear all the nitty-gritty details, or should I skip directly to conclusion?”

“Conclusion, please,” I said.

“I thought so,” Ragnor said. He sounded grumpy, for no reason I could imagine. That’s our Ragnor!

“Taking into account the different types of ley-lines and the various intersections, knots, and traces,” he said, “and assuming that the other objects are likely in central London, since all the others have been, and assuming that the objects are likely to be in locations relevant to the Shadow World…” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at us.

“With you so far,” Julian said.

“I see here and here as the most likely next search locations.” He had produced a pencil from somewhere, and he circled two spots on the map. “Here is the church of St. Mary Abchurch. And here…” He trailed off.

Julian leaned over the map where Ragnor was pointing. “Yes? It looks like just a street of townhouses in Soho.”

“Well,” said Ragnor, “once upon a time, for many years, there was an infamous Downworlder salon in one of these townhouses. The Hell Ruelle, it was called. It was a very clever name, you see, because a ruelle is a name for a kind of reception French aristocratic ladies used to hold in their bedrooms, a little like a salon, and also a ruelle is a narrow alley, such as the one this house is on.”

“Also,” I said seriously, “it rhymes.”

“Quite,” said Ragnor. “I’ve no idea what happened to it. Salons have been long out of fashion, but Downworlders do like their old-fashioned things. I’d wager it’s still a club of some kind, probably as scandalous as it was back in the day. Scandal never goes out of fashion, I’ve noticed.”

“We saw a playbill from there,” Julian told him. “It was displayed at the Herondale house on Curzon Street.”

Ragnor’s eyebrows went up. “You went to the Curzon Street house? What’s it like now?”

So Julian started telling Ragnor all about our visit there, which was fine because I wanted to go check on Ty. I had thought he might come downstairs to assist or at least observe Ragnor, but he’d apparently find someplace he liked and had remained there. Or some terrible dark magic had befallen him. But probably the first.

He was easy to find, at least—there are a lot of bedrooms but not that many, and besides, these old walls don’t do anything to block sound, and I could hear his voice in one of them. The “gray bedroom,” as Julian and I call it. It has a nice view of the duck pond.

I guess he was talking on the phone to someone; I could hear the pauses where he was listening to the other person. I thought I heard him say, “Well, I have no idea why, but it hasn’t been that long,” in reference to something, and then the door opened and he came out of the room. He immediately started at the sight of me standing in the hall. “Emma?”

“I just came up to see how you’re doing,” I said. “I think we’re going to get some takeaway in a bit. Is that the bedroom you like?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the high windows. “It’s a good room, I think.”

“Were you talking to your sister?” I said.

He didn’t say anything — he sort of went red, then white. I wondered if he’d said something I wasn’t supposed to overhear, but I couldn’t imagine what. “I wasn’t listening,” I clarified. “I just assumed it was Dru.”

“Oh!” he said. “Yes. Yes, I was talking to Dru. She . . .”

“Probably wants to know what the bedrooms are like,” I said, trying to put him at ease. “Dru would definitely want the gothiest one.”

“Sure.” Ty and I started downstairs.  “I’m not a good judge of what’s gothy, though.”

“I think the idea is ‘as creepy as possible,’” I said, and we reached the kitchen, where Jules and Ragnor were waiting. Ty relaxed pretty quickly; it turned out all he needed was (a) some tea and (b) to talk with Ragnor about the details of the ley-line map endlessly until food arrived and finally stopped them. Bruce, I swear at one point Ragnor told a joke in Coptic and Ty laughed. They’re hardcore over there at the Scholomance. Maybe too hardcore for me. But don’t get me wrong—it was very nice to have them here. It reminded me that when this project is complete and all the Blackthorns are here and can make it their own, this house could feel warm and friendly again. It didn’t even feel that cursed as we lay in front of the fireplace playing Clue (they call it Cluedo here) until Ty was falling asleep.

Update: Sunday night. Ragnor and Ty left this afternoon. It was really great to have them here, it was good for Julian and I to have other people here in the house to talk to other than the builders. Ty and Julian spent a bunch of time roaming around the gardens, deciding which old statues are ruined in a decorative, attractive manner, and which are just ruined. We’re going to have to get some new statues when we redo the garden, which Ty was very excited about; he thinks we should have one of Holmes holding a magnifying glass, and one of Watson.

The only weird thing is that Ghost!Rupert was missing for the whole visit, and then reappeared an hour after they left. We showed him the map and what Ragnor told us, and he just said he’s sure Ragnor is right. And it turns out he did talk to Ty at some point. He said Ty is “kind to ghosts.” Maybe Ty made him a ghost sandwich or read him a ghost bedtime story or something. Ty certainly didn’t say anything about it.

So, that’s all for now! I guess we’re going to head to St Mary Abchurch tomorrow afternoon, and then depending how that goes we’ll check out this townhouse and see if there’s still a scandalous Soho club there. Though what Ragnor would consider scandalous might not be that scandalous to us. I guess we’ll find out! For all we know it’s just some guy’s house and he’ll be very confused to see us!

Good night, Bruce. It’s nice to think of what it will be like when all the Blackthorns are here and the place is full of noise and activity. It’s the first time since we started I’ve really been able to envision it, even through the curse. Meanwhile, I’m going to tuck a Polaroid of us playing Cluedo here between these pages in case you want something to look at later.

— Emma

Dear Alec,

Hello from Chiswick! I’m sure Magnus has been keeping you up-to-date on the adventures we’ve been having here at Blackthorn Hall. We’ve been making progress, slow as it is, but the place still feels very far from being a house I or my family would want to live in. Except Dru, who claims she’d rather keep it cursed for the ambience (not that she’s been here yet.)

All of that is to say I suggest you thank the Angel every day that Tatiana Lightwood married a Blackthorn and this house is our problem and not yours. Anyway, you get the update this time instead of M.; you’ll see why soon.

Our search for the objects that hold the Curse of Tatiana continue! We’ve run out of objects that Rupert has any inkling about, which means we have gotten into the ley-line maps. I can hear Magnus groaning from here as you read this to him. Yes, Eighteenth-century ley-line maps, second only to ancient Babylonian star charts for their ease of reading and understanding. You can tell Magnus he can stop putting his coat on, though, because we got in touch with Ragnor Fell asked him to come from the Scholomance to help us. I suspect Ty harassed him until he agreed (though I have no proof) but he was polite enough about it. Polite for Ragnor, I mean.

The ley-lines suggested two possible locations where something important might be kept—a Downworlder gentleman’s club and a church, both in central London. We decided to start with the church, which is named St. Mary Abchurch. (Am I wrong or are British names weirdly silly sometimes? Emma immediately started calling it “St. Church von Church,” and now that’s the only way I can think of it.)

Anyway, St. Church the Churchiest is a not-huge red brick church on Abchurch Lane (funny how that works out). We took the train and then the Tube to get there, which may have been the most complex part of the day, just figuring out how to navigate the whole weird mundane system. The church was pretty quiet and empty—it was the middle of the afternoon and there were a handful of tourists, but I don’t think it’s well-known so we didn’t have to worry. We weren’t glamoured, but nobody paid any attention to us anyway. Tattoos are pretty common in London.

We walked the whole church, pretending to gaze thoughtfully at the memorials and the paintings on the inside of the dome and so on while waving the Sensor around as much as we could and waiting for it to respond. 

And it was not responding. Covering the whole church didn’t take all that long; like I said, it’s not huge.

Emma pointed out that just because the church was on a ley-line in London didn’t mean Tatiana had necessarily left anything there, since there are way more ley-lines than objects we’re looking for. And she’s right—we’re assuming Tatiana didn’t break into some mundane’s house on the same ley-line and leave anything there, but I guess she might have. It would have been a very strange thing to do, but whatever else we’ve learned about Tatiana we do feel pretty confident she was a strange one.

We did get a break, though—just before we were about to leave Emma went to look at a display for visitors on the wall about the history of the church. There was a whole bit about how in the Second World War the dome of Abchurch St. Abchurch was hit by a bomb during the Blitz of London (Tessa was an nurse during the Blitz — did you know that?). Most of it was just about the dome and how it was broken and how long it took to fix and who fixed what, but at the end there was a bit about how for safekeeping a number of the church’s more valuable possessions were removed. There was an artist’s rendering of those possessions—I guess most of them didn’t end up coming back to the church—and now at last you get to find out why I’m writing to you and not Magnus!

Right at one end of the illustration was a pair of candlesticks and on the candlesticks, a very familiar symbol indeed. Flames—and not just flames, but the same flames you’ll find on that family ring of yours. And also a big script “L.”

So, any chance you or Isabelle recognize these? Did they get taken out of the church by a Lightwood, or returned to one? I know it’s a long shot but it seems like it would be too big a coincidence for a pair of Shadowhunter candlesticks to randomly be in St. Mary Abchurch. Let me know if the candlesticks ring any bells for you or Izzy and give our love to the kiddies!

Dear Bruce,

Oh, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. You don’t even know (because you are a diary and you never leave the house). I have spent the day among the mundanes. Not just mundanes. Tourists. All things considered, I’ll take the haunted cursed mansion, thanks.

When last I wrote we found out Ghost!Rupert thinks there’s a cursed object in this Herondale house on Curzon Street here in London. After that we have no idea, which is going to be a big problem because ley lines are, you know, lines, so objects could be anywhere along them. But one thing at a time.

It turns out the National Trust operates tours of the Curzon Street house—and I assume some Herondale in the past was smart enough to get rid of, or at least glamour the heck out of, anything too Shadowhuntery there. It’s advertised as being a recreation of a “typical Edwardian home,” which is close enough to the right time period for our purposes. So we got dressed up in mundane costumes—Jules found an excellent vintage Sex Pistols t-shirt in Arthur and Andrew Blackthorn’s Groovy Chambers of Love —and bought tickets for the 2:00 tour the next day.

What we learned from the house tour is that Edwardian décor mostly would look pretty okay in a modern house! It’s light and airy, lots of soft colors, cool patterned fabric, and so on. Oh, and we also learned the Edwardian movement missed Tatiana Blackthorn entirely, since everything about Blackthorn Hall is the very opposite of light and airy. Julian pointed out that she probably left it the way it was when her father died. Whereas I liked the feel of Curzon Street a lot, it was homey. I actually took a photo of some wallpaper and want to ask Tessa if she remembers who made it and, uh, whether they’re still in business I guess. What’s happened to us? We’re renovating a house. I feel so old.

The tour was fine, I guess, lots of detail about eras and maker’s marks and furniture. People asked ridiculous questions—one of the American couples demanded to know where the piano was and when the guide said sorry, no piano, they got angry and told her that all Edwardian homes had a piano so there must be one, and she had to kind of apologize and move on. It was awkward and I did not feel great about the people of my land.

But mostly I was tuned out of all that. The house was interesting enough. Persian carpets everywhere! An ivory chess set! A pewter-clad bathtub! Oh, there was a framed playbill from the time period that was obviously from some Downworlder nightclub, that was kind of cool. But most importantly, none of these were things enchanted by Tatiana.

I spent most of the time looking for anything that made it clear Shadowhunters lived here. The only thing I really saw was that there were a bunch of weapons used for decoration, which the tour guide noted was not appropriate to the period. Of course you and I know, Bruce, that weapons are always appropriate décor. But it’s like Julian always says, sometimes you don’t even need glamours, because mundanes don’t see what they don’t want to see. Like, the tour guide went on and on about a beautiful jadeite sculpture atop one of the mantels and said nobody knew what the shape was meant to represent. And it was obviously meant to be displaying a sword that is long gone.

Anyway we

Oh, wait.

It’s not long gone. I know where it went. It’s on the dressing table on the other side of the room. I can see it from where I’m writing this.

A real chill just went up my spine, thinking of that. At the house today I was thinking about the people who lived there, James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs, but to be honest I didn’t really feel an emotional connection to them while I was there. Maybe it’s just that all the really personal stuff would have been taken out of the house before it became a museum. But also, just…I didn’t know them. Tessa and Jem did, of course, and Magnus, and heck, maybe some of the other warlocks, I don’t know. But I didn’t, and I never will.

But you know who else knew them? Cortana knew them. I wish I’d brought it with me to the house today. (But nooooo, Julian said only weapons that could be completely concealed. And what if the tour guide had turned out to be an Eidolon demon lying in wait for us? I would have faced it with a bootknife smaller than I’d use to peel an apple with. Though it would have been an Eidolon demon that knew a lot about turn of the century furniture. ANYWAY, we were there to find an object, so let me finish that story.)

We were in one of the spare bedrooms, looking at the scrollwork on the bed or whatever. The tour guide was showing off some of the objects on the bedside tables, and the Sensor went off like crazy.

The tour guide gave us an evil look. “Turn off that phone,” she said to me, and the whole tour group flounced off to another room while I pretended to be trying to find my phone in my extremely ugly waist pack. Jules grabbed the Sensor, and it led us to —  a music-box on the windowsill. A very ugly music box. Well, maybe not ugly. Very overdecorated, just covered in bits and bobs and, like, way too much for a music box. There was a monkey figurine involved. It was a lot. Anyway, it was an excellent example of the mid-Victorian etc etc but also it was an object Tatiana cursed and, I guess, someone liked it enough to find it and bring it back here???

After that it was just a matter of waiting till the tour moved on, glamouring up, grabbing the music box, sneaking back out of there, and hoping nobody who worked there had the Sight. Which they didn’t. So now we have a music box to show Rupert in the morning and ask Tessa about. I hope it wasn’t hers or anything like that. I think of her as having better taste.

Okay, that’s it for now, Bruce. I’m going to go get Cortana so I can reach out and touch it from the bed. Julian always teases me when I do that but tonight it feels right. Catch you later.

Emma