Chapter 6 Emma
EMMA
Dear Diary—that’s how you’re supposed to start off, right?
I feel kind of silly writing this, since I never thought I’d keep a diary, but what can I say.
I guess Tatiana Lightwood inspired me. I feel like I should give the diary a name though, something friendly, so I can write “Dear Clara” or “Dear Bruce” instead of “Dear Diary”. Bruce is growing on me, actually.
So I thought I could use this to organize my thoughts.
I’ve been jotting things down in little notebooks the whole time Jules and I have been traveling.
(Did you know there are a lot of fae creatures who have been incorrectly classified as demonic by the Clave?
Like Curupiras? Most of the old bestiaries direly need correcting.)
It’s quite odd to be standing still after rushing around the globe for nearly a year.
Julian has really thrown himself into this whole restoration project.
I think it appeals to his sense of care and deliberation.
He loves working with his hands (and I like watching him work with his hands) and doing little projects.
In addition to everything else, he’s painting a mural in the ballroom.
He won’t let me in to see it. He says it’s a surprise, so I live in suspense, I guess!
I hope all the projects and the all the renovating will de-creepify the place.
I joked about it to Dru when I wrote to her, but I still get the sense that things are lurking in every shadow.
Even when I turn my witchlight up to its brightest, it only highlights the weird cracks in the walls and the strange stains on the plaster.
I can’t explain it, but I feel like, a long time ago, something awful happened here.
I mean—I know some bad stuff happened here, back in the nineteenth century.
But I bet I’ve been lots of places where bad stuff happened in the nineteenth century.
Like, almost everywhere I’ve ever been, probably.
But I’ve never felt it like I do here. It’s the chills up and down my spine, and the strange way the glass in the windows fogs up for no reason, and the odd cold spot halfway up the stairs.
I keep wanting to reach for Cortana, but this isn’t a thing you can fight. It’s just a feeling.
And sometimes it isn’t there—I spent a perfectly normal afternoon today digging through boxes in what used to be the kitchen. We pulled a lot of them up from the cellar (which is so spidery I will plan to refer to it from now on as Spidertown. I haven’t seen this many spiders since Thule.
Some of the boxes have ordinary stuff. There’s beautiful silverware and china that belonged to a Barbara Pangborn (must have married a Lightwood or 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.