We’re trying to allow Kit freedom wherever we can. He’s enrolled at the small school in the village. A few of his friends know about the Shadow World and others don’t. There’s a local pack of werewolves who we’ve become friendly with, and some of their children go to school with him. I’ve begun to suspect that Kit has a girlfriend, but he’s secretive about it. I guess that’s another thing that never changes about children—how private they are. I do hope he knows he can tell us anything, especially related to demons, or in Kit’s case, the fae. A hundred and ten years later and I’m still edgy.
He’s a puzzle, our Christopher Jonathan Herondale. About some things he’s opened up and willing to talk to Jem and me freely—what it was like growing up being able to see all sorts of peculiar things but not really understanding why. About being taught to fear Shadowhunters. About his father, and his concerns about his heritage—what it means, what kind of power he might have. I think it frustrates him, not knowing.
Other things he won’t talk about. We have asked him about Ty, as you and I discussed, but he’s like a brick wall about their friendship. Whatever happened, he won’t speak of it. I think Livvy’s death hit him harder than we guessed, too. I’ve heard him call out her name in his sleep, always in this very despairing way. Sometimes he’ll say “Not if you do this. Not if you do this, Ty.” Whatever they fought about, it must have been awful. But people can be terrible when they’re grieving; we both know that.
You can probably tell from everything I’ve said how much I—how much we—love Kit. I just love him, Magnus, like he was my own. He is my own. I’d kill anyone who wanted to hurt him, just as I would protect Mina or Jem with my life. I never thought I’d have this again, this perfect family I love so much it hurts. Strange after so many years to be so surprised by one’s own feelings, but I imagine it’s much the same for you, isn’t it? Speaking of which, I hope you and Alec and the kids are well. Please let Max know we found his superhero cape. It was inside the piano.
I enclose a picture from your last visit here. How adorable they all are!
Love,
Tessa
JULIAN
Mark Blackthorn
c/o Helen Blackthorn
Los Angeles Institute
Malibu, CA
Dear Mark,
Don’t worry about the parchment scroll yet, I’ll get to it at the end of the letter.
Hello from Chiswick! It’s pronounced like “chizzick,” it’s just outside central London, and it is a collapsing ruin. The house, I mean, not the neighborhood, which is cozy, a little suburban, lots of green space, quiet. You’d like it.
I should have been in touch before. I know, and I’m sorry. We had to move fast to save this place and I knew a fire-message wouldn’t reach you. Blackthorn Hall may be a ruin, but it’s our family’s legacy, one of the very fewthings we’ve inherited from Blackthorns past. I feel this sense of responsibility, a need to preserve the place for Tavvy and Dru, for Ty and Liv—well. You know.
It was us or the Clave, and they would have knocked it down and put something else in its place. It’s easily in bad enough shape that knocking it down would be the practical move. But it’s ours, and I kind of love it. I mean, if we don’t love it, who will? I believe it can be truly beautiful again. You should visit when you get a chance—all of you there are invited, of course—but be warned, if you come in the next couple of months, you will be put to work. And you should come! All of you are invited!
This brings me to the parchment, which is the estimate and contract from the faerie builders for the renovation work on the house. I was hoping you and Kieran could look it over for faerie trickery, both in terms of whether their rates seem reasonable, and also to make sure they don’t get Tavvy if we’re late with payment, that kind of thing. They came highly recommended—they’re brownies? I think? They look like big garden gnomes. I mean, it’s probably the pointy hats. They could take them off, of course, but I guess they like them. They must know they look like garden gnomes. Anyway, they seem trustworthy and industrious and all that. But faeries do love tricking humans. Let me know what you think.
Oh, I should explain there is one part of the house that is in all right shape and has all the “mod cons,” as they say here. It was redone in the sixties and, well…it is groovy.The cons are Mod as well as mod. I am not sure you will get that joke, but don’t worry about it, it was pretty stupid. The thing is, I’d never thought about it, but this must have been fixed up by our grandparents. The timing works out. So this must be where Dad grew up. And Uncle Arthur. And I realized: they, too, must have been groovy.
Arthur. Must have. At one point. Been really groovy.
I just want you to sit with that for a moment the way I did. It creates a feeling I believe to have never been felt before by any human being in the world.
You should see the clothes. I mean, really. You should be sure to look through them when you visit. There’s a consignment shop’s worth of vintage stuff here and none of it suits me at all. You’re welcome to it, but it’s almost all synthetic fabrics and would not go over in Faerie itself.
Aaand I know I’m rambling. I was trying to avoid saying this, but there’s something about this house. It reminds me of some of the nights you and I used to wander around the Institute back home. Which I know is weird; London couldn’t be more different than the Santa Monica Mountains—I miss the wildfire tang in the air, the smell of the chaparral and sage, the coarse dirt under our feet. (Do you miss it too? I feel like it must be very different where you are in Faerie.) But there were plenty of times, especially when we were younger, when we’d tell ghost stories out there and scare ourselves that something was watching us. Maybe something was, though I’m inclined to think now that it was something friendly. Here in thishouse I get the same watched feeling, like there are eyes on me, shadows I see out of the corners of my own eyes that disappear when I turn around.
I wish you were here. I’d bring it up with Emma, but I don’t want to freak her out. She’s started the massive job of sorting through decades of papers and journals that used to belong to the people who lived here, and I’ve started painting the ballroom. I know Emma has been in touch with Cristina; please send my love to her and to K as well!
Your loving bro,
Julian
PS: I realize now I don’t know where this letter will find you, so let me clarify that “all of you are invited” from the L.A. Institute, not “all of you are invited” from the Unseelie Court.
EMMA
Dear Dru,
Hey, baby bat! So how’s Shadowhunter Academy? Still having a good time? How’s the roommate—Thais, isn’t that her name? How’s having a roommate? I always kinda wished I’d gotten to go to SA, although obviously the weather was better in California. But you like things dark and gloomy! Just, you know, try to get some sun, okay? While I know you love your ghostly pallor, vitamin D is a real thing.
