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vietnameseshadowhunters · 1 year

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Emma to Bruce

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

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 1 year

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Tid gang: we have will!

Tmi gang: we have Magnus!

Tda gang: we have the unseelie king, bitches.

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Kawaii :3

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Emma to Bruce

Bruce,

I’m sure you’ve been worried about Mina, like all of us. Well, here’s the bad news: she isn’t back.

There isn’t any good news.

Let me start over. Everyone sprang into action once we found the creepy doll and the note, and we started searching the house and the grounds. Although of course nobody really thought she was still here. Maybe there’d be some sign of the faerie (or faeries) that grabbed her, we thought, but of course there was nothing that we Shadowhunters would recognize. Julian sent a fire-message to Ty to ask if the Sensor could be modified again to search for faeries instead of ghosts, and Ty had some ideas, but that just meant the Sensor started going off continuously. Which I guess makes sense given that this whole house is now jammed full of faerie craftwork. Since we don’t think the carved window lintels took Mina…not a help.

Tessa messaged the London Institute, who put the Enclave on high alert and sent a few Shadowhunters to the house to help, which largely has consisted of making tea and also Concerned British Noises (“oh dear, oh dear dear dear,” “I never,” and so on). Jem went to the Shadow Market to make inquiries (which I’m told are called enquiries here), but he came back a few hours later with nothing. He said it wasn’t even like the faeries there were refusing to talk—they seemed as honestly baffled as Round Tom or any of us. I guess most of the Shadow Market faeries stay as far as possible away from Court business, and everyone agreed that kidnapping a Shadowhunter must be a Court thing because random faeries wouldn’t be so stupid as to violate the Accords so brazenly.

Oh, that’s the other thing. Tessa contacting the London Enclave was an absolute last ditch move because now they know about this huge Accords violation and nobody wants war with Faerie. (Except maybe the kidnapper?) On the other hand I can’t imagine Alec Lightwood of all people is about to declare war before we learn more. But still, it ratchets up all the tensions, which isn’t great.

If I ever meet Raziel, I’m going to ask him—well, okay, I guess if I ever meet Raziel I assume I will be obliterated into atoms by heavenly fire, but if I can get a question out first, it’ll be why we can’t Track children. I understand that it’s because they don’t have runes yet, but aren’t they the ones we’re most likely to need to Track? It seems like a design flaw in the whole system. I should talk to Clary about this, maybe she can create some kind of Baby-Finding Rune in the future. Not that that helps us now.

The big question, aside from where Mina is and who took her, is why anybody would want to? It doesn’t make any sense. Julian wondered if someone might have a vendetta against Jem or Tessa, but they couldn’t think of anyone. Round Tom suggested someone might be trying to frame Faerie for the kidnapping, but again, why? Either way, we haven’t contacted Kieran or Adaon yet since we were warned against doing so.

Bruce, I just feel awful. Tessa and Jem only came in the first place to help us with the curse, and now this. It makes me feel sick—maybe there’s something more deeply wrong with Blackthorn Hall than even a broken curse can fix. Or maybe I’m just feeling morbid and worried. Probably that.

Julian calling, back in a sec.

Back, and with news. The kidnapper sent a note! I mean, another note. And identified herself!

Your child will be returned to you if, and only if, I am granted a private audience with the one you call Christopher Herondale.

First of all, “the one you call”—I mean, come on. What does she call Kit, The Amazing Whizzo? Second, it was signed “Mother Hawthorn,” which didn’t mean anything to me or Julian, but Jem and Tessa gave each other a Look, and Kit looked miserable. It turns out she was the nursemaid for the First Heir. I mean the First First Heir, long ago — she isn’t officially aligned with the Seelie or Unseelie Courts, as far as anyone knows, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to use all this as leverage with them.

So this is about Kit, and faerie politics, and it’s a mess, and I feel terrible for Kit, who is as pale and tense as I’ve ever seen him. (And I don’t need to remind you, Bruce, that I’ve seen Kit pretty darn pale and tense.)

Kit of course immediately said yes, he’d meet with her, anything to get Mina back. Julian pointed out that it might be a trap, and Kit exploded. “Of course it’s a trap! But I can’t let Mina be hurt on my behalf.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that, Bruce. So angry or so determined. He’s growing up. Grown up, in a way, like Julian had to grow up so fast; it’s heartbreaking. Kit seems to know what he’s facing — not just now, but in general — and that he can’t shrink away from it. He has to staring it down.

Round Tom pointed out that Mother Hawthorn is unpredictable but even she would hesitate to break the Accords to the extent of harming Mina. Kit pointed out that she already broke the Accords by kidnapping her in the first place.

Jem, I think realizing that Kit was going to agree to the meeting no matter what anyone said, suggested that at the very least we should do it on our terms, in a location we pick, with plenty of precautions in place. Kit said, “Whatever you need. But I’m going to meet this Mother Hawthorn and get Mina back.” And I know they’re, like, sixth cousins or something, but he really sounded like Jace. I guess Herondale stubbornness is bred pretty deep.

Julian was weirdly quiet after Kit yelled at him, and I thought he was hurt, but then I realized he had that look on his face that meant he had an idea but he wasn’t ready to share it yet. Everyone was talking about anti-faerie charms and what runes to put on Kit and Julian just kind of sat in the back of it all, thinking — that way he thinks that isn’t like the way anyone else does it. Completely consumed by planning thinking.

I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. I could bug him about it, but I’ve learned it’s better to let him tell me when he’s ready. Seeing that look on his face, though, gave me more hope than anything else in the conversation.

Emma

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Kit to Jace

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.

Kit

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Emma To Bruce

Dear Bruce,

We did it! The curse is broken! Rupert is free! Long live Rupert!

In retrospect, it’s insane how much of this we tried to do by ourselves. We should have known that when we finally succeeded we would do it with a whole team present—in this case Jem, Tessa, Kit, and Magnus. (Mina assisted by raising morale and drawing all over everything with her toy stele.)

Everyone’s still here, too, and we can relax a little in a newly uncursed house. (It really is quite homey, now that it’s been cleaned up and, you know, had its demonic aura dispelled.) Everyone except Magnus, who left this afternoon in a great rush to get back to New York.

New paragraph to talk about this, actually, because I have a lot of questions that don’t have answers and I can only ask you, Bruce. So Magnus was in a hurry to get back because of a meeting Alec is holding with Luke and some other Downworlders about plans for negotiating with the Cohort. Okay, but I feel like the Cohort doesn’t have much leverage, right? The situation is way worse for them than for us. We should be able to wait them out—shouldn’t we?

I mean they have a symbolic advantage, I guess. We’re all Shadowhunters and we all miss Idris and Alicante and Lake Lyn and probably a lot of us left stuff there we can’t get back and oh right, also a lot of people lived there who have had to evacuate all over the world and want to get back. I get that. But, like…what are the Cohort even eating in there? Idris doesn’t really grow food. Are they all homesteading in there? Raising crops? Churning butter? It’s kind of hard to imagine Zara doing any of that. But you never know. I mean, there aren’t even any demons to fight in there. Which is a good reminder that Shadowhunters are definitely not meant to hole up in Idris where there’s no demons for them to fight. I feel like Raziel was pretty clear on that point.

They must be losing their minds in there. I hope they found some board games or something.

Maybe Zara has declared herself Queen for Life and she doesn’t have to farm because she just marches around threatening to kill anybody who doesn’t grow her a potato right this instant.

Or maybe we haven’t heard anything because they all ate each other in there. Or maybe they mutinied against Zara and someone else gets to threaten to kill people now.

Okay, end of pondering the Cohort. I’m in a good mood, or was before I started this entry, anyway. We’ve been hanging out with Jem and Tessa and Kit and it’s really great. We ordered in Chinese (delivery couriers are always a bit terrified to come up the driveway, but we tip them like crazy so they’ve started to know us while we’ve been here). We lit candles—for ambience instead of for dark magic, what an idea!—and ate dumplings until we were too full to move, a thing I haven’t done since Magnus and Alec’s wedding. Apparently if I am offered dumplings, I will eat them until I become a dumpling myself. To that I say: I would never reject becoming that which I love most.

Anyway. Even Kit was less broody than usual tonight! He was hanging out with Round Tom and they seemed to be getting on okay. Oh, and I almost forgot! How could I forget! The workers found a coffin buried in the garden. But there was not a horrifying dead body inside, but rather a bunch of old stuff! Using a coffin as a time capsule seemed like a weird choice to me, but Tessa and Jem made some faces and some noises that suggested there was a long-ish story there we’ll have to ask about later.

Anyway, in the coffin was A SCABBARD FOR CORTANA. I mean, right? Can you believe it? Tessa said it used to belong to Cordelia Carstairs, who was Cortana’s wielder generations ago. The scabbard needs a lot of cleaning (a lot of cleaning) but then it can be reunited with Cortana. (After all, I think it’s probably more Cortana’s possession than anyone else’s; perhaps they’ll be happy to be reunited.)

There was also a sword for Julian—what used to be a Blackthorn family sword, but this one is only a hilt, its blade is totally missing, I have no idea why. He’s talking about getting it reforged. Big shock, Round Tom knows a guy. Triangular Jerry. No, I’m kidding on the name, but Round Tom actually does know a blacksmith and he and Julian have started talking about getting that done. (Actually, what Round Tom wants to do is have a forge installed at Chiswick, which is a cool idea, but do we want another building project on top of all the others? I mean, maybe, having a forge here at the house would be pretty cool.)

Oh, you might be wondering about Rupert’s ring, since it’s not like he could take it with him, and he hasn’t come back for it in a ghost way. Magnus checked it out and said no magic any more, just an ordinary ring Tatiana must have enchanted to bind Rupert. But none of us is going to wear it, of course. So we put it on the mantelpiece in the drawing room. Where it will remain.

The Gray-Carstairs-Herondaleses are heading back to Cirenworth tomorrow. It’s been really great having them here, but you know, it will be nice to have them go and have it be just Julian and I here in the house, not feeling creepy all the time. That seems like good times for us.

Bruce, good times are canceled. Everything’s gone wrong. I guess I was a little too smug about how everything was going; the universe had to come and screw it up for me.

Mina is gone.

And by gone I mean kidnapped.

And by kidnapped I mean, the kidnapper left a creepy old-timey porcelain doll (with wide, dead eyes, ugh) in her place, and a note.

I had just finished writing the above stuff when I heard a horrible scream from upstairs and loud footsteps, and came out to find everyone gathered in Mina’s room staring in horror.

I immediately thought oh no, another curse, or the same curse, the curse isn’t over, and maybe you did too, but that’s not what this is. This is something else entirely. Something involving faeries. Something involving Faerie.

Tessa picked up the note, read it, and handed it to Jem with a bad look on her face. Julian was already opening the window to see if anyone could be spotted outside, and I read over Jem’s shoulder:

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Livvy to Julian

Dear Julian,

You can see ghosts but you cannot see me. Not when I come to sit by you while you sleep. Not when I am in the movements of the shadows across the lawn, or the twitch of a curtain. You cannot hear me, even though I am speaking to you because I have things I need to tell you.

I want to tell you about Ty.

He was there. We were there.

You don’t know we were there.

Kit knows.

Let me start over.

You like surprises, Ty says. Ty doesn’t like surprises, but you do.

He is learning Portals, how to open them, how to close them. You need a warlock. But Ty is learning and he is getting better. He wanted to come to see you and Ragnor said he would help.

We wanted to come to see you.

Ty warned Emma, but he told her not to tell you, so it would be a surprise.

So we came through together.

A ghost travels through a Portal just like a Shadowhunter. I didn’t know that. Isn’t that funny?

Well, I thought it was funny.

The Portal opened in the kitchen.

The kitchen looks nice. I am only a spirit caught between the world and the void but I think you chose an excellent shade for the walls. You have always been so good with color.

Other than the color, which was a surprise but not a bad one, there was another surprise in the kitchen. Kit.

Kit was in the kitchen. Wearing that jacket he likes, with the fuzzy collar. The sun came through the window and lit him up.

Everything in Ty froze. Even I almost froze. I’ve seen Kit, of course. I visit him sometimes. Still because I wasn’t expecting him, it hit me how different he looks from the way he did when he lived at the Institute with us. He looks older, and taller. More muscular. He moves like a Shadowhunter now. Graceful.

He’s beautiful.

I heard Ty take a breath like he never has before. Like he was gasping for air, like he’d been sucker-punched and he was trying to breathe and trying to breathe and he couldn’t.

He whispered, “That’s not how you clean a gun.”

Sorry, I should have said before. Kit was cleaning a gun. Why would there be a gun at your house? Blackthorn Hall is like a rock. You turn it over and so many things are underneath. This time a gun was underneath.

Kit went whiter than any ghost I’ve ever seen. He dropped the gun onto the counter. And he didn’t speak. I wonder if he was wondering what I was wondering. I was wondering how Ty knew how to clean a gun. Enough to tell someone they were doing it wrong.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to say, so he said that.

After that they looked at each other.

Time is not fast or slow where I am. And yet it was long enough for me to feel like the whole world was disappearing, like there was nothing else in it except Kit and Ty looking at each other.

Kit said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

He has never spoken to me like that. With such a cold voice. He had put his hands in his pockets and his shoulders were thrust forward, like he was being aggressive, but I could see his hands in his pockets, all knotted up. I wonder if Ty saw it too. Kit’s fingers, digging and digging into themselves.

But Ty wasn’t looking at Kit. He was looking past him at the window. I could hear birds, and quiet English sounds, and Ty breathing. He said, “How long do you think it will take you to forgive me?”

Kit looked at me. He looked a little betrayed, as if somehow I had known he would be here, had planned this. But I didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said.

“But not now,” Ty said in the smallest voice.

“No,” Kit said. “Not now.”

There was no more reason to stay then.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe it was Kit’s hands crushing in on themselves, till I thought the bones would break like hearts.

But Ty couldn’t see that. Ty was in pain. I put myself next to him, wrapped myself around him, held him while we went back through the Portal. I was sad. I wanted to see you very much, Jules. But Ty needed me to be there with him.

If you dream this, maybe you will know we were there in your house. I am sorry we didn’t stay.

Julian, I don’t know what to do. Ty misses Kit more than he thought he could miss someone. He misses him as much now as he did the day he left. He loves him the same. I think he always will and it scares me.

Kit is used to not needing people, but Ty needs people. He is afraid to need people but that is only because he needs them so much. He is not going to stop needing Kit. I don’t know if Kit will always need Ty. But Ty will always need him.

Irene says hello. I am teaching her to play dead.

I love you.

Livvy

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Cassie tried her best to release CoT for us and after CoT is released next year, she will take a year break 😭😭😭

I wish her much health ❤️❤️❤️

#secrets of blackthorn hall #sobh #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #cassandra clare #cassie #shadowhunters #the last hours #cot #chain of thorns

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Rosie grows up fast

#cassandra clare #cassie #shadowhunters #rosie #sister of reginal

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Customized tda boxed set by myself

#cassandra clare #vietnamese shadowhunters #cassie #shadowhunters #the last hours #chain of iron #tlh #chain of gold #tsc #the infernal devices #julian blackthorn #cordelia carstairs #the dark artifices #tda #the shadowhunter chronicles #emma carstairs #tda boxed set #box set

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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This means Ty will see Kit

Ty to Emma

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

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Julian To Kieran

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.

Julian

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vietnameseshadowhunters · 2 years

Text

Julian to Mark

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.

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