Chapter 59 Emma
EMMA
Dear Bruce,
I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little thoughtful today. There’s nobody left here in Blackthorn Hall but me and Julian and there’s a peaceful quiet over the place. Jules is upstairs in his studio and I’m sitting in bed, writing and thinking about the past months.
Something is ending, Bruce. There’s so much still going on—the danger to Kit from Faerie, and whatever’s going on with the Cohort in Idris.
Alec is in some kind of minimal contact with them, but who knows how that will go.
And among it all, something is coming to an end for Julian and me, and I don’t know what comes next.
(Well, okay, dramatic much, Emma? I know a little bit. See below.)
Maybe it’s that the builders are gone and I’ve gotten used to the sound of them bustling around at all hours.
Round Tom gave us a lyrical farewell speech that (a) went on for five full minutes, which is a very long time to say goodbye; and (b) was both very friendly and also included the line, “Excitement and adventure are your close companions, and I am only a modest maker of dwellings, and so I hope to never meet any of you again as long as I live.”
Julian was annoyed by that. I reminded him faeries can’t lie, and he pointed out Round Tom didn’t need to bring it up at all.
Which, fair enough. Julian also pointed out it’s not like Tom’s usual work for members of the Courts is exactly drama-free.
Again, fair. Faeries are the most overdramatic Downworlders.
Like, more dramatic than vampires, and they spend all their time being like, “Oh, I am undead, how I am cursed, let me apply more eyeliner.”
Oh well, we weren’t looking to be close friends with Round Tom. He did good work, and he was very polite about how happy he was to get away from Chiswick.
Once he and his crew were all gone, we walked through the gardens, but Julian said he felt like he had every detail of the house and gardens carved into his brain, so we left the house alone for a little while and went down to the river.
There’s a little park on the far side of the Thames from Chiswick; it’s a nature reserve called the Leg o’ Mutton Reservoir and it has a lovely walking path around the reservoir itself.
(Also, is that not just the most English thing you have ever heard?
Why is so much of London so freaking charming?) It’s a little bit of a pain since we have to walk a solid mile to the Barnes Bridge to cross the river, but it was a lovely warm evening and it was nice to walk, Julian and I strolling along together comfortably, one of my favorite ways to be.
Julian made cold chicken sandwiches, and we took them with us along with some lemonade.
(Bruce, I may have developed a dangerous addiction to British lemonade.
I’m sure there’s a way to get ahold of it in Los Angeles, right?
Right?!) We sat on a little blanket alongside the reservoir and watched cormorants diving for fish.
I was feeling mellow and at peace, so of course it was the perfect time to ruin it by bringing up a difficult subject.
I was too relaxed to remember to be stressed about it.
I said something like, “It’s so beautiful here.
But…” Julian looked over at me, not worried, just curious, so I continued, “I’m not sure I want to live fulltime in London.
I know we’ve just spent all this time and effort and money on fixing up your family manor and all, but… .”
I thought Julian would be angry, or sad, so I was not prepared for his actual reaction, which I would describe as “ba?ed.” “I never thought we’d be full-time here,” he said, as though the idea had never even occurred to him.
“I assumed we’d split our time between L.A.
and here. But only if that was what you wanted. ”
I don’t know why he said the last part, because he surely could see I was no longer worried and was, instead, about to kiss him. “You mean, half and half?” I said.
He shrugged easily. “Whatever we like. L.A. when it’s cold and rainy here, London when it’s hot and burny there.”
I did kiss him then, so I’m going to skip the next five minutes or so, which you, Bruce, are surely not interested in.
There was a lot of lemonade-flavored kissing and eventually Jules kissed my ear (which makes hot sparky fizzles go up and down my spine every time) and said, “Wherever you are is where my home is, you know that, right?”
“Sure,” I said, because it was sweet and romantic thing for him to say. But he looked more intent.
“No, I mean…” He shook his head. “It’s not like we’ll split our time between my home here in London and your home there in L.A.
I have a home in Los Angeles too. And you have a home here.
Blackthorn Hall belongs to my family. And you, Emma, are my family.
And we”—he looked at me intently—“will always be together. Unless that’s not what you want.
You’re the only person I’ve ever loved romantically, Emma.
And I want to spend all the rest of my life with that being true. ”
I didn’t have to pause to think about it. “So do I.”
I’d thought before about what it would mean for us to get engaged, but it felt too soon for that. This kind of commitment, these promises, feel right and true.
He smiled and exhaled, as if he’d been a little nervous. Then he got to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. “Let’s get back to the house. I have something to show you.”
“I bet you do,” I said, and usually a reply like that, in the tone I said it, is good for another five minutes I won’t detail here. But it’s Julian; he had a bee in his bonnet, and we walked home a little faster than we’d walked down there.
When we got inside he went straight upstairs to the ballroom.
I knew what was up, of course—his secret project.
I sort of lost track of it, what with the ghost and the curse and everything, and I hadn’t realized he’d kept working at it the whole time.
Probably in the early mornings before anyone else (or the sun) was up.
He put a big curtain up in front of it like the dweeb he is, and I was going to tease him about it, but then he pulled it down and I saw the whole mural. It takes up the whole wall up there, and it’s beautiful. The whole family there, all the Blackthorns. Each of them is—
No, that’s not right.
Because I’m in the mural too. I’m right there with the rest of the family, surrounded by them.
And each of us is circled with flowers. White flowers for all of those who have passed on.
Even Rupert was there, and Julian’s parents, surrounded by white petals.
And Livvy, on top, wrapped in white wings.
And red flowers for those of us who are still here. Helen, and Aline, and Mark and Ty and Dru and Tavvy…
I started crying immediately, the good kind of crying, the crying of love and awe and being overwhelmed by feeling. Julian asked, “Do you like it?”
I do like it. It’s so beautiful and perfect for this moment, when things are ending and new things are yet to begin.
And it makes the house feel like Blackthorn Hall, truly—the Blackthorns I know and love, not the weird ones a hundred years ago who were responsible for what happened to it.
For the first time since I got here, I went to sit in bed to write to you and I thought, “I’m in our bedroom in our house,” and it felt right.
Good night, Bruce. I’m going to put you on a bookshelf after this, the one on my side of our bed. Congratulations— now you’re part of Blackthorn Hall too.
Emma