JULIAN
Hi, Magnus, it’s Julian Blackthorn. (I know, you told me just “Julian” is fine, but habits are hard to break.) You had said you wanted updates on what was happening with Blackthorn Hall, so here are some of those. More than you probably expected.
First off, Hypatia Vex says hello. So that probably tells you from the start how things are going. She also says you should contact her regarding some money you owe her, but I told her I didn’t want to be in the middle of any of that and only said I would mention it So there, I have mentioned it.
We saw Hypatia because we went to the London Shadow Market, and we went to the Shadow Market because, in addition to all the other mysterious business at the house—a ghost, a curse, a lot of bad vibes overall—we also now have an enchanted diary. It belonged to a Tatiana Blackthorn, née Lightwood, back in the 1870s. Emma has been reading it since we got here, but it has someenchantment on it that prevented her from telling anyone about it. (Is that enchantment connected to the curse? Who knows?) Even before we got to the Shadow Market, Emma and I both forgot about the diary a couple times each. Luckily the other one still remembered. Eventually I wrote “REMEMBER THE DIARY” in huge colorful letters on some posterboard and hung it up so we see it when we first wake up.
But that’s not a long-term solution, so we took it to the Shadow Market to find someone to disenchant the thing. Hypatia has an outpost of her magic shop she sets up in the Market, and we were relieved to find someone we knew. I wasn’t eager to hand over an ensorcelled Shadowhunter item to just anyone. As you’d probably guess, she was not happy to see us, but that’s kind of Hypatia’s thing. And no one is ever happy to see Shadowhunters at a Shadow Market, of course. We tried to look as casual as possible but it’s not like we can tell everyone, “Don’t worry! We’re not here to raid the place!” We did see a few stands suddenly close for the day as we approached, including one selling a potion guaranteed to “put werewolf hair on your chest.” I had to wonder, is that actual werewolf hair shaved off an actual werewolf, or is it supposed to just make you look hairy like a werewolf? I couldn’t ask because the stall was closed. You know how it is.
Anyway, for all her grousing about Shadowhunters only turning up when they needed something and so on, Hypatia was helpful enough once we explained what wasgoing on. I think she couldn’t resist the puzzle of it. She took the diary in the back and, I guess, did some disenchanting. When she returned, she had good news and bad news. Good news: The diary was no longer enchanted. Bad news: Being disenchanted triggered a failsafe spell that caused all the text to degenerate into Purgatic script. Someone really didn’t want that diary read.
Hypatia agreed to translate the diary, albeit for a significant fee, though it is a drop in the bucket compared to all the other costs of fixing the house. She said it would be “slow work.” Apparently the act of translating from demon scripts saps the translator’s energy and they can only do so much before they have to rest. I did not know that! (And if it turns out it’s not true, and Hypatia is only messing with us, please let me know.)
So, provided Hypatia keeps her end of the deal, we should know more about the diary soon. It feels like we have all these puzzle pieces but no idea how to fit them together, or if we’re missing pieces, or if they’re even from the same puzzle. Is Tatiana’s diary related to the ghost? Are either of them related to the curse? Or is this house just bursting at its seams with bad magic?
Then on our way out of the Shadow Market there was another surprise: the Ghost Sensor started going crazy. We thought it must be something in the Market and went back in, but no, the signal stopped. We followed it out and it took us to Southwark Cathedral, which is just down the road from the Market. It still had a whole bunch oftourists visiting, so we got to do the classic Shadowhunter thing: glamour up and sneak in. The Sensor took us to the Nephilim weapons cache (in a niche under an alabaster statue of somebody or other) where we found…a weapon. I know, amazing, right? A weapon in the weapons cache. But this was obviously not a generic weapon like the others; it was beautiful and elaborate and looked like it could be worn ceremonially. It’s a curved dagger, Middle Eastern in origin (I am no expert on weapons from the region, unfortunately, and will have to check some references to find the specific name for it), and there’s beautiful calligraphy all along the blade in Arabic script. Of course, there are many common languages using Arabic script. No idea which one this is.
I took some photos and am going to write to Ty to see what he can find out about the dagger. It doesn’t seem like it goes with the flask at all, and I have no idea why it would have been left in the cathedral. The mysteries continue. This house is, uh, more of a fixer-upper than we originally thought.
Emma sends her love, and please give our love to Alec and the kiddos. Let me know if you have any thoughts. I hope you’re finally getting a chance to relax a bit.
Julian
EMMA
Hey, Bruce. Kind of a bizarre night. Sorry if I seem a little shaken up.
So we found—or I guess Ty’s Sensor found—this dagger in the weapons cache at Southwark Cathedral. Pretty random, since we were only in the area because of the Shadow Market. (Come to think of it, whoever put the dagger there was probably also in the area for the Shadow Market.)
I write to you tonight by witchlight, from the hallway outside our bedroom. Which is very creepy, but basically everywhere in this house is creepy except our bedroom at this point. (Well, some of it is not creepy because it looks like a construction site and is swarming with garden gnomes, but whatever.) I couldn’t sleep at all, and I didn’t want to keep Julian up.
First the good news: Ty was awake, and we weren’t even home (to be fair, it takes a solid hour to go between Chiswick and Southwark) before he had texted Julian atranslation of the text on the dagger. Turns out it’s Farsi. Julian read it out loud:
I wanted so much to have a gleaming dagger, that each of my ribs became a dagger.
He grinned at me. “Hot,” he said. “Reminds me of you.”
“You mean when I was exclusively driven by thoughts of revenge?” I said.
He looked hurt. “No,” he said. “You just like a good dagger.”
“Not sure I would turn all my ribs into daggers, though,” I said. “Ribs seem important to keep inside your body.”
“One rib?” suggested Julian.
Well, maybe one rib.
We didn’t get home until after midnight, but there was no way we were going to bed without showing the dagger to the ghost. We didn’t even have to discuss it; we just immediately went to the dining room.
We’ve been wrestling with how to address our ghost. He’s often quite moody so it’s hard to know what name he prefers. Julian’s been going with “Spirit,” like Ebenezer Scrooge. You know, “Spirit, show me no more!”
Anyway, Julian said something like, “Spirit, we wish your attention. We have something to show you.” The candles all flared up in response, which was a neat trick, though it did not make things less creepy.
We put the dagger on the table and asked the ghost ifit was the owner of the dagger, or at least recognized it. Which was a long shot, given that it responded so negatively to the flask. But it seemed like the place to start.
Suddenly the wind picked up and all the candle flames went sideways. Which was a surprise, because this is one of the few rooms in the house with intact windows, and it wasn’t windy outside. And the wind didn’t just gust, it continued, getting louder and softer, higher and lower in pitch. Julian and I just looked at each other. We had no idea what was happening.
After maybe a minute, the wind began to break into little bursts, and then—
