I was going to try addressing this letter to Polyamorous Cottage In Faerieland, but I figured it might never be delivered. :) Ok, ok, Iām kidding. Iām sending it to the New York InstituteāClary says sheāll hold onto it for you. I know Jules and I have been popping around the globe like ping-pong balls, but weāve finally settled here in London for at least a couple of months, so you can ā and should ā write me back at the London Institute ā Iām not sure the place weāre staying even has an address.
(And sure, I could have just sent you a fire-message, but I have too much to tell you. Buckle up.)
So, a while ago Jules and I were in Manaus, in Brazil, studying Curupiras, when we got called into the Rio Institute. They had a message for Julian. His great-aunt ā yeah, the one he was visiting when you first came to L.A. ā had died. Really sad. And then, remember the beautiful house in Sussex where she lived? Well, she left that to some cousin nobodyās heard of, but she left Julian Blackthorn Hall. Which is a crumbling ruin in Chiswick (kind of a suburb of London). And then we had to come here, because of a codicil in the will (ahem, according to the dictionary, thatās āan addition or supplement that explains, modifies, or revokes a will or part of oneā). Either Julian has to fix the place up, get it livable again, in five years, or he has to donate it to the Clave.
Anyway, you know how Julian is. He makes up his mind fast. We Portaled to London the next day after he got the news.
I was all set to eat scones, drink tea, and go on the Eye (all the things I didnāt get to do last time we came to London, due to being pursued by unkillable Faerie warriors.) But that was before we took a black cab from the Institute out to Chiswick and really saw the place.
From the outside it looks like a museum or an old libraryāyou know, big marble columns, grand staircase, big metal dome on top that looks like it should have a telescope in it. (It doesnāt; I checked.) But inside itās more like a fairytale. Not, like, something from Faerie. Or something from a kidās movie. Itās like one of those fairytales where a crumbling palace sleeps for a thousand years. It was kind of romantic, for about five minutes. Then we spotted the first rat, nibbling on the tassel end of one of the drapes.
Itās a weird mix of interesting history, weird old art, and total ruin. There are cool portraits of old Blackthorn ancestors, mostly intact. Julian says he doesnāt recognize most of the faces. Some of them have names written on the back of the canvas or on the frame but other than āBlackthornā none of the names mean anything to any of us. There are wooden chests full of ancient books and papers, and beautiful overgrown grounds that Iām sure were once gardens and are now Englandās version of a jungle. Thereās an old greenhouse and a weird little brick structure we canāt figure out. (Storage shed? Very small weapons room?) The whole place is just a mess, and most of the house isnāt habitable at all anymore. Someone built an apartment with āupdatesā off in one wing, probably in the sixties. (The apartment, by the way, reminds me of that vintage shop in Topanga I dragged you to. Remember?) Whoever lived in it left a closet of all kinds of vintage clothes and thereās crazy flower-patterned wallpaper and modern art everywhere. At least the apartment has electricity, running water, and heat, because the rest of the house definitely doesnāt ā
Iām back now. Sorry, had to stop writing for a second. Julian was calling me. He was up in what was probably a ballroom? But anyway he took a wrong step and his foot went through the floor. (Not all the way through the floor, which is a relief. But it definitely made a hole.) The ballroom is big and dusty, but you can see how long ago it must have been beautiful, and very fancy. It has these huge French doors that open onto marble balconies, though most of the glass in the doors is gone now.
Once I freed Jules from the broken floor I figured it was my only chance to try to talk some sense into him, so I pointed out that this is a gigantic project for two people who have never fixed up a house before, and that we have a perfectly fine place to live already. And the weather is better there.
Jules, being Jules, took his time answering, really thinking about what Iād been saying. Then he said, āIf you donāt want to do this, we donāt have to do it. Youāre more important to me than a house. Any house.ā
āItās not that I donāt want to do it,ā I said. āI just donāt even know where to start.ā
Jules calmly explained that heād been in contact with some faerie builders of some kind, hobgoblins maybe? who would be here Monday to do āa walkthrough.ā Then he put his arms around me and said, āI know we can always live in the L.A. Institute. I love it there, too. But as much as any Blackthorn legacy exists, this is it. All these old papers, whatever secrets the house is hiding, theyāre our family history. I want to pass it on to Dru and Ty and Tavvy. I want to give them what I never had.ā
Well, what could I say to that? I get it. I have Jem as my living family history. Jules doesnāt have anything like that. And while Aline and Helen run the L.A. Institute now, they might not always, and besides, it belongs to the Clave. I get that he feels like he canāt give away a big chunk of his familyās history without giving them a choice in the matter.
I said, āAll right. Weāll see what we can do. If we ever decide itās too much, we can hold a big family meeting and everyone can vote. Keep the place or not.ā
He picked me up and swung me around. Then we started kissing. Iāll be merciful and not give you the details.
So Iāve decided to consider all this An Adventure. Itās like an archeological site, and we are intrepid historians. Later Iāll see if I can convince Jules to put on a tweed coat and a pith helmet while we sort through the debris. Because whoever lived here before had a lot of stuff. Itās a big house, and every room has furniture with drawers and cabinets, and inside every drawer and every cabinet is clutter. Rusty weapons, water-damaged books, little boxes with more clutter in them, costume jewelry, portraits of random people, broken teacupsā¦And remember, weāll be going through it without any light but witchlights.
Anyway. I wanted to let you know what I was up to, and where we were. Our travel year was basically over anyway, so this is a sort of way of extending it and spending more time together. Iām not sad about that part. I was actually doing pretty well psyching myself up for the excavation of Blackthorn History, until this morning.
I know I said the house seemed haunted, but I was joking. Mostly. Iām not Kit; I canāt see ghosts unless they want me to see them, and so far I havenāt come across any ectoplasmic spirits with messages from The Beyond. But the place does feel odd ā I keep finding myself turning around at the end of long, spiderwebby hallways, as if expecting to see something in the shadows. Or imagining I glimpse something over my shoulder in the mirror. I chalked it all up to nerves until this morning, when I came into the dining room and saw that the words āGO AWAYā were written in the dust on the floor.
I literally jumped. I was actually reaching for Cortana before I got a hold of myself. Donāt be ridiculous, I thought. That message could have been written any time. Long before we got to the house. It could have been sitting here in the dust for years, undisturbed.
I have a confession to make, though. I rubbed the GO AWAY message away with my foot. I didnāt want Julian to see it. He worries too much as it is. I didnāt want him to have that same bad moment of shock that I did, especially over something unimportant.
I feel better getting the story off my chest to you, though. Oh dear, Julian is calling for me again, I canāt wait to see what heās put his foot through this time. I will write again soon, and in the meantime pip pip cheerio from London!
Love to you and the boys,
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
areudirty
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
janainaart
