Giuliettinsss🍫

Many people have posted images of the bonus chapters from Sarah J. Maas's books, and I thank you for giving us access to content we would have missed out on otherwise. However, no one has posted all of them, so I figure that I can collate the links in one place.

There are minor spoilers below the cut in the chapter descriptions, so be wary of looking too far ahead, if you have not read all the books.

At this point, it's probably okay for me to talk about this publicly, and unfortunately the answer is that I'm not working on a sequel. Vespertine was originally conceived as a trilogy/duology (hence my conflicting earlier answers), but Covid hit right after I started writing it, and everything went off the rails-- in this case the publishing schedule and my mental health.

Things got really bad; sometimes I was so depressed that I couldn't hold my head up to see my laptop screen, so I wrote parts of the book wedged in a corner on the floor. I was still writing the ending while we were in copyedits. It only became clear to me after Vespertine was published and my brain started working again that I couldn't do a sequel for the sake of my mental health. By that point, the publishing world was already moving on anyway; ideally I should have been finished writing the sequel before Vespertine even came out, so that made the decision easier.

It's rough, I had been planning the series for a long time. Artemisia is my favorite, most personal heroine I've ever written and I had so much stuff outlined for the sequel(s) even before I began drafting Vespertine, including answers to questions I was setting up like the origin of the revenants. On the other hand, I'm relieved I had the foresight to give Vespertine a solid conclusion so it works as a standalone. Maybe one day if sales numbers permit, I'll visit the world again, but it's safe to call it a standalone and not a series.

Dear Bruce,

I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little thoughtful today. There’s nobody left here in Blackthorn Hall but me and Julian and there’s kind of a peaceful quiet over the place. Jules is upstairs in his studio and I’m just sitting in bed, writing and thinking about the past months.

Something is ending, Bruce. There’s so much still going on that’s unresolved, of course—the danger to Kit from Faerie, and whatever’s going on with the Cohort in Idris. Alec is in some kind of minimal contact with them, but who knows how that will develop. But among all of that, something is coming to an end for Julian and I, and I don’t know what comes next.

(Well, okay, dramatic much, Emma? I know a little bit. See below.)

Maybe it’s just that the builders are gone and I’ve gotten used to the sound of them bustling around at all hours. Round Tom gave us a lyrical farewell speech that (a) went on for five full minutes, which is a very long time for someone to take to say goodbye, and (b) was both very friendly and also included the line, “Excitement and adventure are your close companions, and I am only a modest maker of dwellings, and so I hope to never meet any of you again as long as I live.”

Julian was annoyed by that. I pointed out that faeries can’t lie, and he pointed out that Round Tom didn’t need to bring it up at all. Which, fair enough. Julian also pointed out that it’s not like Tom’s usual work for members of the Courts is exactly drama-free. Another good point from Jules. Faeries are the most overdramatic Downworlders. Like, more dramatic than vampires, and they spend all their time being like, “oh, I am undead, how I am cursed, let me apply more eyeliner.”

Oh, well, we weren’t looking to be close friends with Round Tom. He did good work, and he was very polite about how happy he was to get away from this house.

Once he and his crew were all gone, we walked through the gardens some, but Julian said he felt like he had every detail of the house and gardens carved into his brain, so we left the house alone for a little while and went down to the river.

There’s a little park on the far side of the Thames from Chiswick; it’s a nature reserve called the Leg O’ Mutton Reservoir and it has a lovely walking path around the reservoir itself. (Also, is that not just the most English thing you have ever heard? Why is so much of London so freaking charming?) It’s a little bit of a pain since we have to walk a solid mile to the Barnes Bridge just to get to the right side of the river, but it was a lovely warm evening and it was nice to walk, Julian and I strolling along together comfortably, one of my favorite ways to be.

Julian made some cold chicken sandwiches and we took them with us along with some lemonade (Bruce, I may have developed a dangerous addiction to British lemonade. I’m sure there’s some way to get ahold of it in Los Angeles, right? Right?!) and we sat on a little blanket alongside the reservoir and watched cormorants diving for fish.

I was feeling mellow and at peace, so of course it was the perfect time for me to ruin that by bringing up a difficult subject. I was too relaxed to remember to be stressed about it. I said something like, “It’s so beautiful here. But…” Julian looked over at me, not worried, just curious, so I said, “I’m not sure I want to live full-time in London. I know we’ve just spent all this time and effort and money on fixing up your family manor and all that.”

I thought Julian would be angry, or sad, so I was not really prepared for his actual reaction, which I would describe as “baffled.” “I never thought we’d be full-time here,” he said, as though the idea had never even occurred to him. “I assumed we’d split our time between LA and here. But only if that was what you wanted.”

I don’t know why he said that last part, because he surely could see that I was no longer looking worried but rather like I was about to kiss him. “You mean, half and half?” I said.

He shrugged easily. “Whatever we like. LA when it’s cold and rainy here, London when it’s hot and burny there.”

I did kiss him then, so I’m going to skip the next five minutes or so, which you, Bruce, are surely not interested in. There was a lot of lemonade-flavored kissing and eventually Jules kissed my ear (which makes hot sparky fizzles go up and down my spine every time) and said, “Wherever you are is where my home is, you know that, right?”

“Sure,” I said, because it was sweet and romantic thing for him to say. But he looked more intent.

“No, I mean—” He shook his head. “It’s not like we’ll split our time between my home here in London and your home there in LA. I have a home in Los Angeles too. And you have a home here. Blackthorn Hall  belongs to my family and you, Emma, are my family. And we —” he looked at me intently — “will always be together. Unless that’s not what you want. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved romantically, Emma. And I want to spend all the rest of my life with that being true.”

I didn’t have to pause to think about it. “So do I,” I said.

I’d thought before about what it would mean for us to get engaged, but it feels too soon for that. This kind of commitment, these promises, feel right and true.

He smiled at that and exhaled, as if he’d been a little nervous. Then he got to his feet and held out a hand to help me up and said, “Let’s get back to the house. I have something to show you.”

“I bet you do,” I said, and usually saying something like that, in the tone I said it, is good for another five minutes I won’t detail here. But you know, it’s Julian, he had a bee in his bonnet, and we walked home a little faster than we’d walked down there.

When we got inside he went straight upstairs to the ballroom. I knew what was up, of course—his secret project he’s been working on this whole time we’ve been here. I sort of lost track of it, what with the ghost and the curse and everything, and I hadn’t realized he’d kept working at it this whole time. Probably in the early mornings before anyone else (or the sun) was up.

He's put a big curtain up in front of it like the dweeb he is, and I was going to tease him about it but then he pulled it down and I saw the whole mural. It takes up the whole wall up there, and it’s just beautiful. The whole family there, all the Blackthorns. Each of them is—

No, that’s not right.

Because I’m in the mural too. I’m right there with the rest of the family, surrounded by them. And each of us is circled with flowers. White flowers for all of those who have passed on. Even Rupert was there, and Julian’s parents, surrounded by white petals. And Livvy, on top, wrapped in white wings.

And red flowers for those of us who are still here. Helen, and Aline, and Mark and Ty and Dru and Tavvy . . .

I started crying basically immediately, you know, the good kind of crying, the crying of love and awe and being overwhelmed by feeling. Julian asked, “Do you like it?”

I do like it. It’s so beautiful and perfect for this moment, when things are ending and new things are yet to begin. And it makes it feel like Blackthorn Hall, truly—the Blackthorns that I know, that I love, not the weird ones a hundred years ago that were responsible for what happened to it. It makes me feel like a big wheel has turned around, and we’re both at the beginning and ending of something new and exciting. For the first time since I got here, I went to sit in bed to write to you and I thought, “I’m in our bedroom in our house,” and it felt right.

Good night, Bruce. I’m going to put you on a bookshelf after this, the one on my side of our bed. Congratulations—now you’re part of Blackthorn Hall too.

Emma

Memo to Consul Alec Lightwood

Re: Wild Fae Relations

After several days of tension, we’re relieved to report that the threats to Christopher Herondale and Wilhelmina Carstairs appear to have been resolved. We have liaised with Gwyn ap Nudd, of the Hunt, and he assures us that the unsworn faerie known as Mother Hawthorn has been relocated to a remote location and her place there will be maintained by the Hunt going forward.

Unfortunately, the safety of Christopher Herondale is still in question in the long term. Please see attached pages of personal correspondence for more informal thoughts and questions at your leisure.

Undersigned,

James Carstairs

Tessa Herondale-Carstairs

Dear Alec,

I made Jem do the formal part of the report because it makes my eyes cross. I felt bad for asking him, but he waved me off—apparently none of us would believe how much paperwork the Silent Brothers file. I was surprised because “paperwork” and “City of Bones” don’t really go together in my mind, but hey.

Anyway, the report is accurate. Julian Blackthorn, clever boy that he is, reached out to Gwyn, who agreed to deal with Mother Hawthorn. (Julian also didn’t tell anyone he did this, of course, because he also loves a dramatic reveal, which I’m sure we all remember well.) After being so terrified, it was certainly wonderful when the whole Wild Hunt swept in and seized Mother Hawthorn and brought Mina back to us. 

Mina, by the way, is happy and healthy and not the least bit shaken, unlike her parents. She was nothing but delighted by the Wild Hunt and has been excitedly and repeatedly telling us that she met a lot of horses and the horses are her friends. Kit, of course, is at least as shaken as we are, possibly more. He’s barely Mina her out of his sight since she got back. He’s even been sleeping on the floor of her room. (We did move a daybed in there after the first couple of nights.) He has taken this quite hard. He hasn’t wished to talk about it much, but it’s obviously weighting heavily upon him, and there is a familiar troubled look behind his eyes that has remained since the incident. He  is, we fear, beginning to understand what his heritage might really mean, as hard as we have tried to insulate him from it.

Despite Gwyn’s helpfulness, neither we nor Julian really know what exactly has happened between the Hunt and Mother Hawthorn, and we’re disinclined to ask. We know Faerie can be brutal, and most brutal to its own, and it has its own sense of justice and discipline, which often seems very…inhuman. That said, we do trust Gwyn, not least because we trust Diana Wrayburn. If he says that Mother Hawthorn won’t be bothering Kit again, we believe him.

We still don’t quite know what it was Mother Hawthorn said to Kit in that time in which they were alone — when we could see them, and Mina, but not hear them. Kit says it was only what we would have expected, but when he came back to us, his eyes were haunted. I wish I could demand to know what it was she said, or threatened, or revealed, but I know I cannot. He will tell us when he is ready.

That said, we don’t know if Mother Hawthorn has allies who might also know Kit’s secret. However she might have tried to wheedle Kit, we know her aim is hostile; we met her in Buenos Aires, before we even knew of Kit’s existence, and she was very clear. The words have stuck in my head: There is still a First Heir in the world. When the First Heir rises, in all the awful glory bought by the blood of Seelie and Unseelie and Nephilim, I hope destruction comes to the Shadowhunters as well as Faerie. I hope the whole world is lost.

I cannot look at Kit — stretched out on the daybed in Mina’s room, his hand fastened around one of the slats of her crib, even while he’s sleeping — and think awful glory. He’s like any Shadowhunter boy, an unordinary sort of ordinary. He likes movies and spaghetti nights and he bites his nails. He’s just a person, not a destiny.

As for now — very few people know of Kit’s heritage. Emma and Julian, of course, and you and Magnus, Jace and Clary, . . . even Julian’s brothers and sisters don’t know, or know only a vague shadow of the truth. But who else might Mother Hawthorn have told? Not the Seelie Court, surely; we are both sure that the Queen would have already taken steps to get hold of Kit if she knew. Kieran knows, of course, but we have no idea who in his Court he might have told (Emma says Mark and Cristina know some, but not all, of the situation). Obviously Kieran is an ally, and his Court loyal to him. But it’s too easy to imagine an enterprising courtier—or some wild fey—might learn the story and seek to take advantage of that knowledge.

The reality, we have realized, is that secrets like Kit’s come out eventually, and cannot be indefinitely contained. Just among Shadowhunters, keeping it within a small circle of trusted friends still means easily a dozen people.

Which leads us to our first actual request: would Magnus be able to come to Cirenworth sometime soon, to shore up its wards against the incursions of those who might wish to harm Kit? We’re forced to recognize that they are only a temporary solution, but for now they’re the best we can do.

Meanwhile, we feel strongly (and we’re sure you’ll agree) that we need to try to stay ahead of this threat. We’ve asked Kieran to have his spies keep an ear out for any rumors circulating about the First Heir in Faerie. Would you be willing to do the same, through the Alliance? We know that the timing of this is terrible for you—we surely would have chosen less of a precarious political moment for the Clave to have this trouble, if we could have. Know that we support you and will always stand by you. We may have withdrawn from active Shadowhunter life, but we will always be there if you need us.

You’re so young to have taken all of this on your shoulders. Does it not always seem that responsibility comes to us Shadowhunters too early in the morning of our lives? I look at my dear Kit, and I know. We all know what’s coming, like knowing sunset is coming on a day you don’t want to end. The long sunny day of Kit’s childhood is nearly over. I shudder to think what he will have to face when night comes.

With all our love,

Jace—

I don’t know why I’m writing, I don’t know why I’m writing to you, I’m just sitting here trying to stay calm but all these thoughts are in my head repeating over and over and I need to put them down and send them somewhere. You said you would always be there if I needed to talk so hi, yes, hello, I need to talk. I can’t go to Jem and Tessa, they’re just as traumatized as I am, maybe more. And Emma and Julian were there and they were having such a good time, enjoying their house that was finally safe and pleasant and comfortable and then suddenly a baby is kidnapped right out of that safe and pleasant house without anybody noticing anything.

The truth is—I haven’t wanted to admit it, but the truth is Mina’s always been in danger. Because of me. Because I have some long-past faerie ancestors, so everyone close to me is in danger. Nothing I can do about it, nothing I did to deserve it. And it means Jem and Tessa, because they adopted me, because they love me, got their daughter kidnapped for their troubles.  

By the way, since you are someone I care about, you’re a member of the group of people I’ve put in danger. Sorry about that. But you’re Jace Herondale! You eat danger for breakfast. You eat danger flakes topped with perilberries. You’ll be fine. But Mina…she’s so little. And she’s never been away from her family before.

I keep telling myself they won’t hurt her. It’s not her they want. It’s something else.

Every indication is that she was grabbed by faeries. Most of Round Tom’s workers have left and we don’t know if one of them maybe did it, or helped whoever did it. Round Tom himself says he doesn’t know anything and is as confused as everyone else—never concerns himself with politics. Everyone is suspicious of him anyway, but, well, he can’t lie, and the sentence, “I had no knowledge of anything to do with your daughter’s kidnapping,” is hard to interpret any other way.

But it may not matter. If Mina was kidnapped by faeries…especially faeries under direct orders by one of the Courts…that’s a violation of the Accords. And that means war with Faerie. Another war with Faerie.

How do you live like this, man? How do you get through the day knowing that you endanger everyone, just by existing?

I guess I can answer that myself. You are who you are because of everything you’ve been through. You handle stuff because you’ve had to handle stuff. Jem and Tessa adopted me thinking they could keep me safe, but maybe nothing can keep me safe. I’ve been drifting along, playing happy families, but the truth is I have to change. Be harder. Stronger. More powerful. Be someone the bad guys should be afraid of. Not a kid who has to be protected. That has to end.

I’m not a kid anymore.

Anyway. I just realized that you know the whole situation already, because I’m sure Alec has filled you in. But it helps to write it down myself, like I said. I don’t think there’s anything you can do, and I’m not asking for help. I just thought of all people, you’d get it. That you could be someone for me to talk to about this. Hope it’s okay for you to be that for me.

Dear delectable muffin of love,

I hope this perfumed letter finds you well, and that you and R and M are having an excellent time in your exotic journey to…well, I believe the term you used was “upstate.” I have heard legends of this Upstate[JL1] , but never did I know that my family would see for themselves its mountains, its twee farm markets, its River of the Son of Hud.

More to the point, I hope the kids are enjoying their visit with Grandma, and I hope you are referring to Maryse as “Grandma” as often as possible because I enjoy the face she makes when we do. On a less pleasant but more urgent note, I hope you’ve had a chance to talk with Luke about the Cohort/Idris stuff.

But do not tire your beautiful hands with a written reply. I will be heading to this “Upstate” myself to join you later this afternoon, as I am relieved to report that the business with the Blackthorn kids’ cursed house is more or less resolved. Although it was touch and go, let me tell you.

I don’t think I even showed you the note Jem sent, which said, “Emma and Julian are trying not to bother you about their house, and that is very nice of them, but unlike them, I feel absolutely no compunction about bothering you, and so this is me, now, in this note, bothering you. We are in need of a warlock and you are the best one I know for this. We would all really appreciate your help.”

As is often the case, I was both mildly annoyed and mildly impressed with Jem, who managed to be both very kind and also to remind me that I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa and will rush to their aid when I can. Because I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa, I wrote back quickly saying I would come.

I know what you’re thinking: “How could Tessa need a warlock when she is a warlock?” But different warlocks have different expertises, as you know, and while Jem was flattering me that I was the best choice, the reality is that I have dealt with a lot more curses than Tessa. That’s what comes of spending the past decades hiring your services out to any miscreants who come by, instead of more intelligently living a calm life as a magic researcher in the Spiral Labyrinth. Tessa always was the smartest of us.

Anyway, I must give Emma and Julian credit. I expected to arrive and find them banging the cursed objects against one another or something, but they had set up a decent enough protective circle and even found a spell. It was an old, kind of generic spell that I have found to rarely be of much use with actual curses in the modern day, but still.

Rather stupidly I set up a basic workaday curse-breaking circle of my own, and gave it a try. “Stupidly” because I had forgotten who did the curse in the first place. Your worst ancestor, Benedict Lightwood, all-around demon enthusiast and dilettante necromancer. How in bed with demons was Benedict? He literally died of demon pox — which if you do not know, because you are beautifully pure, my Alec — is a sexually transmitted demon disease.

But I forgot that in the moment, so I was surprised when the curse put up an impressive resistance. It writhed and thrashed and struck out, like Max being lowered into a bath. The cursed objects were all glowing, kind of neon green, where they were tied to the magic, and eventually I realized I was going to have to carefully unknot each object from the curse, one at a time.

I managed the flask, the dagger, and one of the candlesticks (don’t ask me to explain how THAT happens), but after that I was stuck.

It’s not a great look for a warlock to strike a big magic pose and then nothing happens. I am sure I looked ridiculous, like a mundane magician who couldn’t understand why the rabbit wasn’t coming out of the hat. Julian and Emma are very polite and only waited patiently but I felt quite silly.

And then I lost all my focus temporarily because the door opened and Kit walked in. He sort of looked around at the scene and finally said, “Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, I see.”

“Purple is always an appropriate color for a warlock,” I said. “It is the decorative color of magic.”

Emma, of course, said, “Your magic is blue,” because she is an inveterate smartass.

“Maybe he meant me,” said Julian. “I’m wearing a purple hoodie. Also because it is the decorative color of magic,” he added with a nod in my direction, which I appreciated.

“Maybe you could put the objects on a purple tablecloth instead of a white one,” Kit said, and while he was talking he walked out to get a closer look.

And when he got close to the circle, Alec, I felt the strangest sensation. A feeling of…power, I suppose, kind of humming in Kit. You know the way your body kind of vibrates when there’s a really really low sound? That rumbling feeling? It was like that, but silent. I’ve never had that experience any of the times I’ve seen Kit before. I could also tell that Kit didn’t feel anything unusual. Or if he did, he was surprisingly casual about it.

So I suggested he come join us around the circle and add his focus to the magic. “Especially since Jem and Tessa have snuck off somewhere rather than helping out with this round.”

“They’re out in the garden with Mina,” Kit said, a little defensively.

I redirected everyone’s attention to the objects and established a somewhat souped-up version of my go-to curse breaker. I went for the other candlestick and BANG. No resistance anymore! There was a big burst of blue and all the knots of magic tying the objects to the curse broke into pieces.

Everyone blinked a bunch. Eventually I said something like, “Well, that was more what I was hoping for. I guess four people made the difference.”

I checked. The curse seemed…gone. I was actually a little shaken. I haven’t mentioned it to Tessa and Jem, because I don’t want to make a big deal of it, but I think it worked because of Kit. Not because we needed a fourth person. Something is going on with him, some magic that is totally outside his awareness. I assume it has something to do with being a descendant of the First Heir, but I’ve never been an expert on that kind of faerie enchantment. (And do burn this letter, after you get it — very few of us know about Kit being the First Heir, and it’s best if we keep it that way.)

It makes me sad to think of it. Kit is a good kid who deserves a good, ordinary life. I know that’s what Jem and Tessa want for him, more than anything, after the chaos that was his growing up. But I am not sure he will have a choice in the matter. Fae may not let him choose.

Julian reached out and took hold of the flask. He held it for a moment, frowning.

“What?” said Emma.

“Nothing,” Julian said. He looked up at me. “Is that it? No more curse?”

“No more curse,” I said. “I hope.”

And then down from the ceiling drifted Rupert the Ghost. I never met Rupert Blackthorn when he was alive. I don’t know what to think of him. On the one hand, he seems to have been an innocent who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, a spirit trapped in a house he never lived in because of evil he never knew about while he lived. On the other hand, he met Tatiana Lightwood and thought that lady seems like marriage material, so there must have been something weird going on with him.

Rupert had been hovering and he descended until he was right above the table. He was staring at something on it.

“What is it, Rupert?” said Emma. “What are you looking at?”

Kit followed his gaze and started pushing the objects out of the way. “It’s the ring,” he said.

Emma said, “What ring?”

Indeed, what ring? There wasn’t a ring among the cursed objects. But there was a ring on the table now. Kit picked it up. It was a gold ring, etched with a design of thorns and set with a black stone.

“Blackthorn family ring?” Kit said.

“It’s not how family rings usually look,” Emma said.

“Wedding band?” said Kit.

“Shadowhunters don’t use wedding rings,” said Emma, but Julian had that thoughtful look he gets.

“I am bound here by a silver band,” he said softly.

“Shadowhunters can exchange wedding rings,” I said. “They just aren’t expected to. But they can if they want.”

Whatever it was, it was Rupert’s. He had followed Kit’s hand as it picked up the ring, and now he was reaching out for it with a thin ghostly hand. He wrapped it around the ring, which did absolutely nothing since he’s a ghost – Kit just kind of held it there for him. Then his eyes closed (Rupert’s, I mean) and he got this expression on his face of relief and gratitude and peace, and he just…faded out, right there. Just slowly vanished and was gone. No more Rupert. On to hopefully not being reunited with his wife, since she was also his jailer for over a hundred years.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Emma said quietly.

“That’s for the best,” I said. “He was never supposed to be here at all.”

“Well, Rupert, if you can hear me,” said Emma, “it was nice being haunted by you.”

“Five stars,” said Kit solemnly, putting the ring back on the table. “Would be haunted again.”

And all the candles went out in the room at once. Which, if it was Rupert, was a nice touch. Though it may have just been a draft.

We all filed out of the room quietly. “It’s different,” Julian said. He was looking around at the hallway. “I can feel it already.”

I could feel it as well. There was a lightness that had not been there. A kind of pleasant hominess that a good house conveys and that had always been absent from Blackthorn Hall in the time I’ve known it. It’s hard to describe, but all at once it felt like Julian and Emma’s home, in a way it hadn’t before. I’ve always known it as a forbidding place, and then as a hideous ruin, but for the first time I thought, this was a place the Blackthorns could fill with joy.

And I’m certain they will.

See you very soon, my love. I shall kiss you until a toddler forces us apart to pay attention to him. So plan for a kiss of about 30-60 seconds, based on previous experience. But I wish, as always, that it could be endless.

Love,

Ty,

I need someone to talk to and I don’t want it to be Julian or Emma. Or Jem or Tessa. So it’ll have to be you. Which means I can’t ever send this and you can’t ever read it. I’ll burn it in the garden when I’m done writing it so I’m not tempted to send it.

The gardens here are really excellent, by the way. I guess you know that since you’ve been here. There’s an old Georgian greenhouse, and a little pond with lilies and frogs and benches to watch them, and a walled garden, and it’s just very nice to walk around here with Mina. I never had a sister or brother before, you know that, but being with Mina makes me realize more about how you felt about Livvy. Still feel about Livvy I guess. I’m not saying I forgive you. Just maybe I understand more.

Blackthorn Hall is still being restored, of course, and there are faeries everywhere doing the restorations. They’re brownies, apparently, and even though they aren’t doing anything that interesting—weeding and carrying wheelbarrows of dirt and whatever—I can’t stop watching them. I have hardly seen any faeries at all since—well, since we were in that battle with them. I guess I didn’t realize how strictly I was being kept apart from them. Until now.

I should really stay away from them, because every time I get close enough for them to talk to me, they do something to freak me out. The head builder, this guy Round Tom— he’s not even that round, honestly — anyway the first time Round Tom saw me he did a little thing where he jumped in a circle and made some odd gestures in the air, and then bowed in my direction. I just turned around on my heel and walked off in the other direction like I had just remembered I forgot something.

And then General Winter, like Kieran’s General Winter, was there helping out—Julian says he’s there to keep all the workers in line since they are scared of General Winter but not Round Tom—and he knew I was the First Heir. Like the Riders did.

The Riders whose horses I made disappear. Or something. I don’t know if they ever came back. No one seems to know.

I tried to pretend I didn’t hear General Winter either but we were just out in the open and it would have been way too obvious. So when he addressed me as First Heir all I could think of to say was, “That’s me. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“If you’ve been told,” he said, “then it is true, since we do not lie.”

I wanted to say buddy, I worked at the Los Angeles Shadow Market for years. Faeries do all kinds of sketchy stuff. Instead I just said, “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

 General Winter watched me with this thoughtful look on his face, and said, “You need do nothing about it, yet. Indeed, at this moment that might be the wisest course of action. For things are strange in Faerie.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“There are disturbances,” he said slowly. “Rumors swirl about the Seelie Court. And Mother Hawthorn walks again.”

BEfore I could ask him what any of that meant, Round Tom came rushing over. “Cousins.” (I had forgotten faeries sometimes addressed each other like that, and it gave me a little shiver, like he was saying, you are one of us.) “I have found something. Please come with me.”

He led us around to one of the big plane trees. A little ways away from the trunk was a huge hole, and then on the other side of the tree were two sawhorses across which balanced a coffin.

At least I think it was a coffin. It was really busted up, half-rotted, cracked everywhere, caked in dirt. It was obviously the thing that had come out of the hole.

“A tomb?” said General Winter as we got closer, but Round Tom was shaking his head.

“We would not have disturbed a tomb,” said Round Tom. “But none lie buried here. Only magic, of a dark and powerful kind.” He stepped back. “Look inside.”

I came closer. There was indeed a bunch of random stuff inside the coffin. It looked like—well, you know how old Egyptian pharaohs were buried with all their belongings? It was like that, I assume for a Shadowhunter, except the belongings were a weird assortment. It was dirty and falling apart and mostly just junk—papers and little jars and bits of fabric and the hilt of a sword with no blade, that kind of thing.

“How old is it?” I said, and Round Tom reached it and fished out a liquor bottle. The label was pretty faded and ripped but it was a printed label, in a Victorian style. I wondered if Jem or Tessa would have any guess whose stuff it could be.

“You said there was magic here?” I said.

“Dark magic,” Round Tom said gravely. “Wild magic.”

“The curse?” said General Winter.

Round Tom’s expression cleared and he shrugged. “Perhaps not. It’s actually much less demonic in nature than the curse on the house. But emanating from the foot of an unremarkable tree it bore exploration. There are two items that might be of further interest.”

He cleared away some of the mess and revealed a scabbard. It was a very nice scabbard. Sorry, that doesn’t really capture it. A very very nice scabbard. It needed some cleaning up, but it was obviously beautiful and, I’m sure, valuable. It was steel but covered in gold inlay all over in the shape of leaves and birds. There were some runes on it, too, so it was definitely a Shadowhunter’s at some point.

“Nice,” I said.

“It is more than ‘nice,’” General Winter said. “It is clearly the work of Lady Melusine herself. See how it has not deteriorated at all?”

Round Tom looked important. “And yet it is the less interesting of the two pieces,” he said. With a great dramatic gesture that he had clearly practiced ahead of time, he pushed all of the junk to one side in the coffin, leaving—

“Is that…a gun?” I said.

“One of those mundane weapons, yes,” said Round Tom. He picked it up as though it might go off, though it was rusty and covered in dirt. It was a revolver. It didn’t look any different than revolvers from a million gangster movies, or Westerns—I guess if I were really sending this to Ty I would have to explain what a Western was.

Anyway the big difference was this gun was covered in etchings and runes and words and was obviously magic af. (Which means . . . oh, never mind what it means.)

“But Shadowhunters don’t use guns,” I said.

“They never have,” General Winter agreed. He picked up the gun with a surprising amount of familiarity, and sighted along it in the direction of a nearby tree. He tried to fire and it just clicked — the cylinder didn’t even turn.

“Rusted shut, probably,” said Tom. General Winter handed it to me to look at. I’m not good enough with runes to know any of the ones that were on it. I pointed it at the same tree, kind of as a joke, kind of just to feel how heavy it was, and pulled the trigger, and there was a huge BANG and a bunch of wood splinters exploded from the tree.

My arm kicked back from the force of the shot. And we all stared. My ears were buzzing, but I thought I heard Round Tom say something to General Winter. I’m pretty sure the words First Heir were in there.

Certainly when I looked at them again, at Round Tom and General Winter, their expressions were guarded. Closed.

“Perhaps we should take this item inside and see if the other Nephilim recognize anything about it,” General Winter said flatly.

 “I’m sure it just only works for Shadowhunters,” I told General Winter, but he just gave me kind of a troubled look and said nothing. “Anyway. I’ll bring it in.”

I could feel General Winter and Round Tom watching me as I ran across the lawn and into the house. Jem and Tessa were sitting on a couch in the drawing-room, watching Mina coloring with crayons on some butcher paper.

The moment I came in holding the gun both of them looked utterly shocked. Tessa got to her feet and moved between me and Mina. I told myself she was standing between the gun and Mina, but it still felt rotten.

“What—” said Jem, standing up, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He just stared at me, and the gun.

“Round Tom found it in the garden,” I said. “Is this a gun for Shadowhunters?” I could feel my voice getting tighter. “Shadowhunters don’t use guns.”

“Long ago, Christopher Lightwood tried to create a gun that Shadowhunters could fire,” said Tessa. She was still staring at the gun.

 “It was in a coffin,” I said. “With a bunch of other stuff. A broken sword, and a fancy scabbard.”

“I wondered what he did with it,” said Jem. He? Who was he?

Jem and Tessa exchanged a look.  “The gun belonged to my son James,” she said. I felt kind of sick. Tessa hardly ever talked about her children with Will. “He was the only one who could use it. It would not fire in anyone’s hands but his.”

“I fired it,” I said.

They both looked stunned, and not in a good way. 

“You are very special, Kit,” Jem said. “You are the First Heir. We don’t yet know the extent of how that power works in you.”

“Or perhaps it is just that he has faerie blood,” said Tessa.

I could have said that it definitely wasn’t just faerie blood because General Winter couldn’t use the gun and he doesn’t only have faerie blood, he has a full faerie body with faerie organs and everything. But I didn’t say anything. I just felt a weird feeling in my stomach. I said I would put the gun away and not use it, and Jem and Tessa seemed to feel that was the best thing I could do, and Mina piped up and said “Gun!” and then I felt like the worst person on earth.

So now it’s late and I’m up writing this letter to you that I am going to burn when I’m done, because I can’t sleep. Because I don’t want to be the only person in the world who can fire a magic gun. I don’t want General Winter to straighten up when I’m nearby like I outrank him. I don’t want any of this. I had five minutes where I got to think, oh neat, I found this cool-looking gun and I bet there’s a story behind it, I wonder if they’ll let me keep it or if it needs to go to a museum or something. And then I fired it and instantly—just another thing that’s weird about me.

Good night, Ty. I’ll never send this, and you’ll never read it.

Dear Bruce,

Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. Will I keep writing to you when all these renovations are done? When things have returned to some form of normalcy? Or is normalcy over—is the crack in the Nephilim world one that can’t be healed but will only widen over time, with more and more changes, until finally there is too much change to bear? In which case I guess I will keep writing to you, Bruce, as a kind of silent witness to the strangeness of these times.

Sorry, sorry. I am feeling a little poetic tonight because Jem and Tessa and Kit and Mina arrived today and…well, that’s just kind of how Jem and Tessa talk. Being, you know. Way old. And because it feels like all this business with the cursed house is in its final chapters and I don’t have any idea how things are going to be after that.

In any event we didn’t do anything about the curse today, we just ended up visiting with the Carstairs-Herondales, who should definitely pick a shorter name we can use for them. Team Victorian Era? Team Time When Everything Was Very Romantic But It Took Forever To Get Anywhere? Hm. I guess I’ll ask them for ideas, since mine are, uh, bad.

There was some complication right when they arrived. We had picked out a couple of bedrooms for them to use and asked the brownies to make them up with sheets and towels and all that. And then we checked them before the guests arrived and I’m glad we did because the faeries had made up all the rooms for…birds? Like, for huge, person-sized birds. Big nests of sticks, six feet across, and branches to perch on. And big balls of birdseed hanging from the ceiling.  So we had to ask them to redo the rooms and the brownies looked so disappointed. (But we didn’t say the guests were birds! I have no idea why they thought that!) The worst part is they did a really nice job, like, if we were being visited by giant birds they would have been very comfortable. They still seemed puzzled when everyone did show up that Mina wasn’t a big egg. Faeries, man.

Speaking of Mina, who is not a big egg but rather a small toddler, she is extremely cute. She is walking now, or toddling, I guess, and she says “mama” and “dada” and also “kish” which apparently is what she calls Kit. And she has a little wooden toy stele that she is constantly trying to scribble on everyone with. Apparently Kit has been learning runes and Mina wants to learn them too.

We should have just gone straight into curse-breaking but to be honest we were just having a very nice time hanging out. Tessa and Jem are very easy to spend time with, which is nice given how high-strung most of our other friends are. I suppose once you’ve gone through all the stuff that has happened to them, it takes a lot to upset you. Just the way Jem talks about the curse makes me feel more reassured that we’ll be able to fix it, even though we don’t really know what we’re doing or what’s gone wrong so far.

They seem really impressed by the house, also, which makes Julian look all proud of himself in a highly adorable way. Tessa said the last time either of them were here was after Tatiana was arrested and sent to be an Iron Sister, and they were searching it for demon stuff. (Most of which, she admitted, they clearly didn’t find. It seems obvious from the way she talks that they didn’t understand how dangerous Tatiana really was until it was too late—I really want to ask her about that but it seemed a dark topic while we were all having a good time.) Jem said by that time it was already in pretty bad shape, but Tessa said she saw the house once “in its prime” at a ball, and then she blushed a little. Whatever happened during that ball must have been pretty impressive if she’s blushing about it 130 years later!

Of course there’s still that overall shroud of heavy memory that kind of hangs over the place, and no amount of new paint and replaced windows can help that. That’d be the curse, of course. Still, it felt cheerier this evening than it ever has before. For the first time I felt a little like it was our house and friends had come to visit and it was surprisingly nice and ordinary. As long as I don’t think about what’s going on with the Clave.

Also a concern: Kit. He was hanging out with us most of the day, but he was really quiet, for him, and a couple of times he excused himself to go take a walk in the garden. Julian said he thinks Kit broke up with his girlfriend and maybe he’s sad about that, but I don’t know. He was really jumpy whenever any of the builders were around, and kept a close eye on them anytime they were nearby. Round Tom introduced himself and Kit nodded, but he didn’t say his name or much of anything else. I mean, you can hardly blame him. His relationship to faeries, and Faerie itself, is complicated. According to Tessa, Cirenworth is very tightly warded against faerie incursions, and even the town and the roads nearby are protected. Magnus and Catarina made sure of it. So this would be one of the first times he’s been around faeries since the big battle outside Alicante; even though these faeries are safe, it must be weird for him.

But you know Kit. He has this aura about him like he doesn’t want to answer any questions about how he’s doing. Today he’s been out front, watching the faeries in the garden — it could be he’s worried about them, or maybe he wants to join them? I don’t know. Maybe Julian or I can get him to open up a little while he’s here. Or maybe I’ll get a moment to ask Jem or Tessa if they know what’s up.

Anyway, that’s all from me for now, Bruce. Tomorrow we break a curse! I hope!

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,

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,

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 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