Julian jumped up like he’d been stung. (I told you he was nervous!) 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 only giving Julian time alone with Ty, because Ty was still standing on the stairs, a duffel bag over his arm, looking adorably awkward.
I wanted to run down and hug him but I hung backbecause I could feel in my bones that this was Ty and Jules’ moment. Jules just stood 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 leaned into the hug. Jules rubbed his back and said, “Ty-Ty,” and I missed what happened next because I was keeping my eyes open very wide and trying not to blink. It’s the best way I know 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 heartbroken 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 with his usual sunny disposition. “Stuffed up the chimney?” (That was a joke, Bruce, the sunny disposition thing. In case it wasn’t clear.)
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, since Rupert still tends to turn up mostoften in the dining room. Ragnor didn’t commit to this, but instead wandered into the kitchen and started making tea. I offered him a crumpet to be hospitable, and by the time 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 he definitely did not fit in the jacket without doing some magic, so never let it be said 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 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 colored inks—red, blue, green, gold. 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, you’re getting 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’sone 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 only 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 that old I haven’t gotten around to returning.”
“Well, you should be a better correspondent,” Julian said, folding his arms. “Do you see anything on the map?”
Ragnor hmphed and returned to the parchment. 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 the 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 the two remaining objects are likely in central London, since all the others have been, and assuming 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 search locations.” He had produced a pencil from somewhere and 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 a back alley in Soho.”
“Well,” said Ragnor, “there is a row of townhouses in that alley, and once upon a time, for many years, there was an infamous Downworlder salon in one of those 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 a ruelle is also a narrow alley, such as the one this house is on.”
“And,” I said seriously, “it rhymes.”
“Quite,” said Ragnor. “I’ve no idea what happened to it. Salons have been long out of fashion, but Downworldersdo like our 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.”
