Chapter 16 Emma
EMMA
Dear Jem,
I feel bad writing to you about this out of the blue, but you said it was okay to get in touch with you anytime for advice. And you always give good advice, but I can’t help feeling like, beyond that, you might have some familiarity here that could be helpful?
You already know Julian and I have taken on the gigantic task of renovating Blackthorn Hall. You probably are totally unsurprised we found a ghost. (I say this because everyone else who was alive back when this house was being taken care of are also not surprised there’s a ghost.)
Good news: ghost is not unfriendly (or at least not violent). He’s just looking for the “silver band” that binds him. Not unusual; lots of ghosts are bound to an earthly object.
Bad news: ghost can’t be identified as a specific person, so could be pretending to not be violent. Also, “silver band” could be any of a thousand things.
I suppose we can put aside anything we find that might be what he’s looking for, but that seems unlikely to work. After all, he hasn’t found the “silver band” in the house and he’s been haunting it for however long.
We did get one direct clue from the ghost. Now that we’ve made contact, he’s started writing things in the dust on the floor.
He’s given us one direct request: Look for the Devil Tavern.
Okay. A little research turns up that it’s a Downworlder speakeasy, heavily glamoured, that’s been around for hundreds of years in London’s Old City.
Supposedly it used to allow mundanes as well, and Samuel Johnson had a drinking club there.
Wild times, I gather. Jules looked it up and apparently, it’s still in operation.
It’s also not far from the Institute, though whether that’s a clue to the identity of the ghost or just a coincidence, we don’t know.
Anyway, Julian and I went to check out the place. From the outside you just see a bank and one of those blue plaques they put on historical sites. This one commemorates the year they stopped letting mundanes in.
In addition to the usual glamours, they make you you go through a whole rigamarole to get in.
You have to go into the mundane bank, which must believe it has the weirdest clientele of any bank branch in England.
You mention “the Devil” to the teller, who then gives you a key made of salt that opens a panel in the lift, revealing a button with little devil horns on it.
Pressing the button takes you down to the pub.
(The key disintegrates when you use it, obviously.) I have no idea what happens when a random mundane says, “What the devil happened to my money,” or something.
That all sounds very complicated but in practice it was easy enough; rather than trying something complicated, Julian just strolled up and casually said, “I’m here for the Devil,” and the teller handed him the key.
She barely even looked interested; she was doing a sudoku on her phone or something and didn’t even look away as she grabbed a key from a whole tray of them.
Maybe Londoners just don’t blink at bizarre very old London stuff.
We went in and looked around. After all the business with the code word and the key, it’s just a normal pub inside.
There was nothing to see, or if there was, we didn’t see it.
Nothing to do with a silver band, or Chiswick House, or the Blackthorns and Lightwoods who lived there.
Eventually the barman asked if we wanted anything, and we left.
They obviously recognized us as Shadowhunters and were not super pleased to have us there.
The place could be any ancient London pub: very old, dark wood, stained glass, and an overwhelming crowd of drunk Downworlders.
We had, it seems, interrupted a retirement party for one of their regulars, a kelpie.
I know what you’re going to ask, and yes, the kelpie was in a big tub of water.
His name was Pickles—I know!—and he kept yelling about how he was “starting a new life under the sea.” So of course they thought we were basically the cops come to bust up their party and didn’t want us there.
But I don’t know what we could have done even if we stayed.
We’d been hoping we’d see the place and it would spark some idea about why the ghost sent us there. But no dice.
So I thought, since you and Tessa were both around in the earlier better days of Blackthorn Hall, once Chiswick House—does the Devil Tavern ring any bells for you?
Can you think of any connection between this random Downworlder pub and the people who lived at Chiswick?
If not, we’ll find another lead, but I thought I would at least ask.
If you have any thoughts about the identity of our ghost, based on the Devil Tavern thing or anything else I’ve said, please get in touch and let us know.
Cleaning out the house definitely includes cleaning out the ghosts, but also, you know, it feels like the right thing to do to help him out if we can.
My love to Tessa and Kit and Mina, and love from us here!
Emma