Some of the boxes have ordinary stuff. There’s beautiful silverware and china that belonged to a Barbara Pangborn (must have married a Lightwoodor Blackthorn). Fancy linens and tablecloths with the Blackthorn symbol woven around the edges as a border. A big box of broken toys and china dolls marked “Grace Blackthorn.” There was a runed dagger shoved down among the broken doll heads, so my guess is she was a little girl starting training. Aw! Though the doll heads are creepy. Julian came in when I was partway through unpacking and decided to help by cleaning out the fireplace grate. He got completely covered in soot and was coughing, so I dragged him into the modern wing, pulled off his s hirt, and started mopping him off. And well, he was shirtless and dirty and looking at me with those gorgeous blue-green eyes, and what can I say? I jumped him.
We backed into the bedroom, kissing like crazy, and toppled onto the bed and got soot all over the sheets and it was worth it. (That’s all the detail you get, Bruce.)
I can’t believe I ever thought Jules and I were just friends. It’s almost like I loved him so much I couldn’t see all of it, how big it was. I was standing inside it, looking for that kind of love without realizing I was surrounded by it. Does that make sense, Bruce? I’m not a writer so I’m probably terrible at expressing this kind of thing. I often feel like I should tell Julian I love him more, but he never says anything about it, and so I try to tell him in ways other than words. The way I curl up against him when we sleep, the way I come up behind him and hug him when he’s concentrating on something (not when he’s painting,though, or there’d be splotches on all the canvases). The way—wait. Is someone knocking on the door?
***
Bruce! You’re not going to believe it, but Cristina is here! And Mark and Kieran are with her! I don’t even know how Kieran managed to get away from Faerieland— something about him making a vow to the land that he’d be here for less than three sunsets—but I’m so happy to see them! Cristina and I danced around like maniacs and hugged each other. Mark and Kieran managed to convince Julian we should go out tonight and see London, so we’re all going to wear clothes from the Super Groovy Sixties Closet and hit as many pubs as we can. I can’t wait. Jules and I need a break. London, here we come! Prepare yourself for Partying Shadowhunters!*
*And a faerie King.
KIERAN
General Winter,
Three sunsets. I told you, I have three sunsets. I will be back in just that amount of time. It is not a very long amount of time. And yet you have written to me, spent your valuable time and mine because you could not wait three sunsets to know whether I prefer velvet in midnight blue or in “more of an eggplant,” I believe was your phrase.
Forgive me my temper. I am not really angry with you. I am somewhat out of sorts this morning, after a night of merriment and whimsy on the streets of London-Town, along with my Nephilim friends. Now, obviously any faerie revel contains such dark delights as mortals can only dream, and so on. But after the previous night I must concede a grudging respect for the reveling capacities of an unexpected group: London businessmen of late middle-age. In our journeys we encountered what is known hereas a “Retirement Party,” a kind of movable feast in which these businessmen traverse the city in celebration of a chosen one. In this case I knew him only as “Kraig.”
We met his Party thrice last night! The first time, at the Tongue & Grapes, we shared only a reciprocal acknowledgement of fellow celebrants passing in the night. The second time, at the Inn of the Shaved Werewolf, there were mutual roars of recognition from both parties, and a ceremonial exchange of beverages, as is custom. And the third time, at the Pigeon & Spoon, we were welcomed and—a great honor—inducted as honorary members of the Party, whereupon we were bestowed with festive hats and jersey-cotton smocks proclaiming the majesty of the great Kraig.
So you will understand if I am shorter of patience than I would like this day, for I have a vile headache engendered by too much of what mortals call “shandy”, a repellent beverage with a kick like an angry kelpie. It quite left my darling Cristina asleep upon a sticky table at the Pigeon & Spoon; Mark and I had to carry her back to the Institute. She is awake now, and demanding coffee with rather more force than usual. Given that my time is short, I shall endeavor to answer your queries as well as I can.
I like the midnight blue for the throne room. I think it sets off the creeping vines well, and also I think you were hinting you prefer it as well. Next, I am in general agreement that the overall aesthetic of the throne roomsshould move in the direction of an opulent Gothic feel, rather than its previous occupant’s preferred theme of “blasted hellscape.” Let us remind our Court that we are the Moon, as the Seelie Court is the Sun; rather than that they are Beauty and we Tackiness.
However, I disagree about the skulls. I think they should remain. Skulls are perfectly appropriate in an opulent Gothic setting. In fact, I am hard-pressed to think of a style in which skulls would not be an improving presence. If such a style exists, it would definitely not be a good choice for the throne rooms of the Unseelie Lord, let us at least agree upon that.
Lastly, I am disturbed to hear the Seelie Court continues to rebuff my requests for a summit of peace. You were right when you noted your suspicions earlier; they have become more secretive in this past year, even for them. We will see if our scouts manage to learn anything, although, in my experience, our scouts mostly seem to fall into forbidden romances with Seelie scouts and then they run off together; we lose something like four out of five that way. I suppose what I am saying is I am not exactly holding my breath. (A charming human expression, is it not?)
You do not need to suggest to me that I contact Adaon; he is my own brother and I speak with him often. Whenever I bring up the possibility of a united court, or a meeting between myself and the Seelie Queen, he says the same thing: Now is not the time for a summit that might lead to discord, now is the time to preserve the fragile peacebetween the two courts by leaving well enough alone. He has the Queen’s ear, so I must trust he knows what I do not. Still, you know it is not in my nature to do nothing and call it progress.
Speaking of that fragile peace, I must inquire—have your redcaps learned any more about the strange presence noted in Faerie, and whether it is beneficial or antagonistic to our interests? I feel it through my connection to the Land—I am woken sometimes, feeling a presence I cannot define, knowing it is both of Faerie and not of it, and that the Land itself is afraid.
Enough of that. I trust you can manage to keep the Court in working order for the thirty-six remaining hours I will be gone. If more color selection is necessary before my return, I trust you to go with your instincts, which have always served you well.
Until then I have the honor to remain Your Eternal Sovereign, Master of the Hob and the Domovoi, Breaker of the Broken Lands, Crown Under the Hill, Dark Star of the Evening, Friend of Kraig, and King of the Unseelie Court—
Kieran
MARK
Greetings and Salutations, Tiberius.
I hope this missive finds you well at the Scholomance. For my own part, I am rather hungover. We took to the clubs of London and ended up swept away in the festivities of Kraig’s retirement party. “Who is Kraig?” you may ask. That is a very good question, Tiberius. As of this morning, I have no idea.
You will be relieved to know none of this is why I’m writing to you. It’s rather about what happened afterwards.
As you know, Julian and Emma are staying at Blackthorn Hall, attempting to get it fixed up. Emma has been going through stacks of old papers and ephemera, and Julian has been dealing with the particulars of the repairs. Julian also mentioned he’s been working on a mural, though he keeps it covered with a cloth so I don’t know what it depicts. Whatever the subject matter, I am glad he is finding time to paint.
This is my first visit to Blackthorn Hall since I was a child, and I must say Julian and Emma have their work cut out for them. Especially because it seems to be haunted.
Yes, haunted. I woke early this morning to the sound of an exclamation. Having passed out upon the stairs for some reason, I was directly across the hall from the ballroom, where I found Julian in the throes of dismay. There was paint spilled all over the ballroom floor. Julian had been working on the mural up there and was quite upset by the mess. I wondered whether wild animals could have been responsible—the place certainly looks like it could be harboring numerous bands of cunning raccoons*, but then I saw footsteps in the paint. They looked to be old-fashioned shoes, not like any soles I’d seen before. Since the house itself contains many garments of earlier eras, we looked for matches but found none.
There was a sort of chill in the ballroom that reminded me of my time with the Hunt. A hint of the cold of the grave. I suppose that is why I am inclined to agree with Emma and Julian that this mess is the work of a mischievous ghost and not a strangely-dressed housebreaking vagrant. (Emma mentioned the term “cosplay” but I do not know what that means.)
Julian, being who he is, blames himself. He keeps muttering about how he shouldn’t have gone out, how it’shis responsibility to take care of the place, and so on. You know how hard he can be on himself. I hate to hear it. I’d like to get to the bottom of this—for Julian’s sake; for the restoration of the house; and for the sake of all of us. Mopping up so much paint was not enjoyable, especially with a clanging headache—and that is why I am appealing to you, Ty, for aid. You’re at the Scholomance, and as a student you have at your fingertips a vast quantity of books, family trees, and historical records. Could you look and see if there are any references to Blackthorn Hall being haunted? If we know who the ghost is, it will be much easier to dispel them—lay them to rest, I should say. I cannot imagine it is enjoyable to be a ghost.
Please reply to Julian with any information, for unfortunately Kieran, Cristina, and I must depart the day after tomorrow; Kieran cannot be away from the Land too long, and Cristina and I have obligations in New York.
