24 hours following Dec 9 - Wisp and Bone, Haunt and Home
9pm, 10 December 2011
5E Hiraeth Gardens
Clapham, London

typed but deleted
dec 09 -Abbs, get ready for a tale
actually sent
dec 10 - you free?
Dec 10 - come on over! I'm at Hiraeth Gardens. You know it?
dec 10 - omw
Dec 10 - careful out there, moon is full <3
dec 10 - wouldn't want 2 break curfew

Nemo, in creatively shredded public radio shirt, red flannel, and her straw-blond hair piled high on her head, arrived at the posh apartments with a crack and made a hustle appropriate for the moon phase from the gate to the door. Once inside, she took the stairs at a more leisurely pace. Her little blue phone screen lit her her face as she walked, her thumbs quick on the nine-keys.

"Here," she sent Abby. "Not dead in the dark. <3"

The seventeen-year-old American musician had been out playing in Piccadilly Circus as long as there was daylight, but as soon as night fell hours ago she had been antsy unable to stop thinking about the insanity the night before. For some reason, she felt like she had to keep the saga a secret, but it wasn't clear why. Just this gut feeling that it had all happened just for them. But that hesitation made Nemo itch to tell someone all the more. Or at least, be around someone bright and shiny to distract her. Reassure her of what was real.

She hadn't thought of anyone but Abby for this. Maybe Nemo was too quick to latch onto an older girlfriend, but Abby was so openly sweet and apart from things in a familiar way - Nemo just ... knew she'd understand.

Knock-knock went her knuckles on the door. Bounce-bounce went her heels on the floor, eager to see Abby, keen for rapport.

Rat-a-tat-tat, came the knock on the door.

Yip yip yip yip yip! Came the crup’s happy barking from within.

“Nemo!” Abby flung open the door a few seconds later, sticking her foot out to keep her pet crup from jumping on the stranger in unbridled joy. The crup leapt over her foot and bounced into the hallway, then back into the foyer, then back into the hallway, and finally settled for bouncing on her hind legs while her front paws patted at Nemo’s pockets. She snuffled the edge of her coat, sneezed the cutest little dog sneeze, and wagged her forked tail.

“No, Roxy!” Abby scolded the pup, who was more than a few years old by now but who would always be a pup in her eyes. And likely in behavior.

“Not for you, you little monster!” She told Roxy affectionately, lifting the crup out of the way and then taking the brief opportunity to give Nemo a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“It’s so good to see you. Glad you made it out of the darkness,” she smiled, ushering her in and closing the door. She locked the multiple locks because she always did, and Raine was out for the night and would floo home later.

“So what is this about a curfew? Ignore the mess,” she gestured at the living room of the flat, which was cluttered with gift wrap, bows and ribbons, and quill and ink for holiday cards. A green, glittering garland hung across the mantel above the fireplace, and dozens of starry string lights adorned the large picture window overlooking the courtyard. In fuzzy bright socks and her cutest oh so cas sweatshirt and shorts, Abby weaved around shopping bags and boxes, far too many pet toys (the cat was hiding somewhere), and plenty of floor poufs and cushions on her way into the kitchen.

She hadn’t completely finished decorating, but Abby was going All. Out. This year. Keeping busy helped keep her mind off of all the revelations she'd dealt with since mid-November. Discovering the identity of her pentral. Discovering the details of her pentral’s life and death. Meeting the McBoids at the Ministry. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Lucky for Abby, Nemo was here to distract her with news. Abby found two clean bowls in the kitchen cabinet and set them on the counter for the wonderful ice cream Nemo had brought.

“Drink? I’m making cider.”

The smell of the cider permeated the flat with cinnamon spicy goodness.

If Abby was making any attempts to inspire decorum in the clever cruppy, Nemo was counterproductive. She set her bag down inside the door and cooed and let Roxy lick her fingers. She followed Abby inside and began shucking layers. Nemo's way was always to keep all her belongings together in a compact little pile. Shoes, bags, coats, scarves, flannels - everything stacked together by the door in a one-square-foot bundle. Down to a tank tank top and bare feet, it was plain that Nemo intended to stay.

At the mention of 'curfew' Nemo groaned. Oh, Abby would hear all about that. But first they were going to get comfortable. Roxy, having thoroughly sniffed up Nemo's kit, followed her trying to lick her feet.

"Yes, mama, yes," she said to cider. "Spice me! Drown me in cinnamon. Okay, though, it looks like Christmas literally exploded in here. Stars preserve us, Abbers! Do you even know this many people?"

Nemo nested herself in a chair and adjusted all that hair on her head, taking it down and tying it back up deftly.

Abby raised her eyebrows at Nemo's groan, making a mental note to pester her about it later. She glanced at Nemo's bare feet, then at the floor, and swiffered aside a few of the smaller, sharper cat toys with her fuzzy socks. When she had an audience, she liked to skid across the tiles and pretend she was sweeping, but Raine wasn't here to roll her eyes and Nemo had just asked for cider, so cider it was!

"Of course I do!" Abby stuck her tongue out at Nemo. "I know way too many people. Not all of them are getting presents, obviously. Just my favorites."

Abby winked at her and glanced into the living room. She thought she'd moved Nemo's gift idea to her bedroom, but she couldn't be sure.

"No peeking at the presents! Eyes on the cider."

She demonstrated by stirring the cider and syrup in the pot with dramatic double double toil and trouble motions, and then turned off the heat far less dramatically. It smelled delicious, with hints of orange peel and lemon and cloves. Abby carefully lifted the cheesecloth bundle of spices from the pot, setting it in the sink for now. Then she ladled the hot cider into two large mugs. For a finishing touch, she added a cinnamon stick to each.

Abby set the mugs of cider on the kitchen table, and took a bowl of icecream for herself, then sat across from Nemo, ignoring the crup pup's adoring gaze and her cold little nose nudging her knee.

Abby felt glad to be home, and gladder still that Nemo was visiting. After a day at work giggling at Charlie Harris' attempts to impress her, she'd gotten home a few hours ago, and had immediately changed into comfy clothes, taken off her makeup, and braided her red hair. She glanced at Nemo's floppy blond bun, and missed, for a moment, her own bright curls.

Nemo seemed alright, so questions could wait a bit. Abby draped her red braid over her shoulder and tilted her head, conscious of the overhead kitchen light illuminating her wan face.

Abby took a bite of ice cream, mmm! Ice cream and cider made everything better.

"How is it?" Abby nodded at the cider before tasting from her own cup.

Nemo accepted the warm mug with shrugged shoulders and closed eyes; she inhaled the steamy wet aroma and melted a little. It was cold out, and her current crash was cold too. There were cats, but you could only stack a certain number of cats on your feet. Nemo forwent the ice cream for now, preferring a solid warm-up before sugary, chunky, merriment.

She took a sip and looked at Abby with plaintive, grateful emotion. "It's perfect. Warms my cold dead heart," she said. Her smile faltered just a moment, wondering if the hyperbole was callous to a girl with a icy Pentral stuck inside her.

Nemo took another sip but cut it short. She snapped her fingers and waved a hand at Abby, remembering what this whole stupid mess was about! She snap-snap-snapped a few times before finding a word.

"That dick! Last night! Buckle up."

She rearranged her legs under her and set the cider down. Her mascara was sticking, so she ran a finger under her eyelid.

"So last night, I'm playing in Diagon and this douchebag from the Ministry gets in my shit he's like, 'feck off its curfew'," she said in an apt mimicry of Kurby Bagnold's slick half-Irish accent. "And I'm like, 'uh-huh sure bro' and like 'you're not a cop' and he's calling me a tourist and shit and I'm all, bro I been living here."

Nemo continued. "I shit thee not, Abigail, it was an out of body experience. It was like I was floating over myself observing. Like, for real?"

Abby smiled at the simple joy Nemo took from the cider, arching an eyebrow at her phrasing, but not thinking too much on it other than to privately rebut that her friend had a much bigger, warmer heart than she gave herself credit for.

She shrugged one shoulder and then the other, buckling up, so to speak, and taking her first sip of warm cider. Cinnamon and cloves, adventure and woe.

"Who?" Abby interrupted immediately, trying to place the accent with the appropriate Ministry douchebag.

"Who, who who?" She said more quietly, giggling at Nemo's impression, and waiting till she was done talking about out of body experiences. Ha! The pentral within was snickering at Nemo's nerve.

"Sounds like an arrogant prick!" She cheerfully and gleefully chimed in with a wave of her spoon. "Which again, begs the question, who? Is he from Level Two? They're stuck patrolling the cold streets tonight while I'm home, cozy in my fuzzy socks."

Abby did wonder and worry sometimes, where Nemo was actually living, if she had a place to stay in the winter, but they hadn't touched on that yet. She was here now, that was what mattered.

Nemo swam in the dopamine of her friend being hungry for her story and hearing her scandal reflected back at her. One of the best ways to cope with entitled dudes on the street was venting to girlfriends in the safety of wrapping paper and cider.

"You sound like an owl!" she giggled.

"He was some werewolf officer named Kurby Bagnold. I don't know if that's Level Two or what. He was cute but jumpy as shit. Said that werewolves were transforming before the moon was completely full, so I guess I can't blame him. I'm pretty sure he thought I was twelve. He asked me if I knew how to Apparate."

She shrugged incredulously. Then suddenly Nemo re-animated then jumped up from the chair. "Hold on. This story cannot be told without ambiance. Where are your candles? I'm not kidding - most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me and I've been to a homecoming coronation."

Abby leaned back in her chair and dropped her jaw in mock outrage.

"Oh I'm sorry, tinsel town isn't enough for you?" Abby hopped to her feet, gesturing with little flourishes at the string lights, the glitter, the candy bowls, the jingle bells on the door.

She shot her a grin as she looked around the mess she'd made in the living room.

"You're going to have to help me look. Check the drawers in the kitchen, I'll be right back."

Abby disappeared into her bedroom, and was back in a minute with three candles, all smelling sugary sweet. Nemo was going to regret this.

"Ok," Abby turned off the too-bright kitchen light and plopped back in her chair once the candles were lit. She'd put a candle on the kitchen table, one on a side table, and the other on the fireplace mantle, and had given Nemo free reign with whatever candles she had found.

"No excuses, no dawdling. You've got lights, camera," she mimed taking a picture. "Now action. So, Kurby Bagnold."

Laughter bubbled up, making her hand shake and almost slosh her cider. She'd heard a lot about him and the Witch Weekly editor lately, and she'd heard enough about the direwolves to know he'd been telling Nemo the truth.

"He's Level Four, by the way. He's like the grouchiest Bagnold ever. I used to see him at family functions."

Her older sister had once been married to a Whitman, after all. Abby didn't actually remember Aileen's marriage to Oz, or those family parties, since she'd been so young then. She vaguely recalled peering over the dessert table and waving a sugar quill like a wand.

Abby waved a hand at Nemo. "That is a story for another time! No distractions! Continue with your tale."

"This town is too small!" Nemo shouted from the kitchen. How did everyone here know everyone else? Well, it figured! Nemo returned with a few plain white pillar candles from an upper cabinet. On her way back in to the living room she was shutting off any remaining fairy lights and threw open the curtains to let the moonlight pour in. She lumped her candles together on the hearth and lit them. Instead of returning to her chair, she sat cross-legged on the floor with a blanket for a hood.

She giggled and then forced a straight face and held her palms open on her knees.

"So as uncle Bagnold is kindly directing me to go to my room, there! A heart-rending scream from the very mouth of Knockturn Alley. It cuts through us like a ghost. It's just us on the street. Whoever, or whatever, is wailing wails for us. There's no one else. So I, Nemo, without hestiation, speed with all haste towards the cries.

"Bagnold, attempting to be responsible (if I'm being charitable), wants me to rejoin my tour group and let him handle it because he is a big strong man with a man brain and a twelve inch ... wand."

Nemo shook her head slowly. "Not... likely..." She paused quick to reach for her cider before it got cold.

"In retrospect, I probably should have listened to him more. But he was being an asshole. Anyway, the cries keep coming but they're dissipating like smoke. And then, like a beacon in the dark gutter of Knockturn Ally, is ... Grimshaw's Tailoring and Alterations. Glowing. Warm. Welcoming... And we? Moths."

Abby quickly finished her ice cream, and took her mug of cider and joined Nemo on the floor, choosing the poufiest pouf to sit on while her friend spooky-spooked with her ghost story.

"You hear a scream, and you-" Abby cut herself off, eyes dancing. Nemo, brave Nemo! Of course she ran towards the scream and into Knockturn Alley! She pictured Bagnold, clanking in silver and chasing after her with his grouchy face.

Abby laughed silently, clapping a hand over her mouth. Oh my godric, wand jokes never got old.

"So the screams just petered out? There was no source?" Abby tilted her head, confused. "Or was the ghost inside! Was it a ghost? Ok, continue! You and Baggynold foolishly skipped towards the light..."

The light inside of Grimshaw's. Why did that name sound familiar? She'd heard about that place before, from somewhere, from someone, and with the moon at her back and the candles casting shadow and light on their young faces, the memory felt just out of reach, a flickering, dancing flame.

Nemo, fueled by Abby's encouraging reaction, straighted her back more and tilted her head down to intensify the shadow cutting across her face. Only her crooked mouth was showing. She flicked her fingers dramatically.

"The voice choked itself silent! The shop called to us! The Bagnold he followed the girl inside! The two happily brave fools!"

Nemo shrugged, breaking character. "Who knows, someone could've needed help." She sipped her cider. It was the perfect temperature and she wasn't going to miss it.

"And no, sweet Abby, twasn't any ghost! Twas but none." Nemo giggled.

"Okay this is too slow." She scooted forward to sit closer to Abby and continued in a near whisper. It felt like it should be a secret, a special gift they'd been given, even considering how it had all ended up.

"It felt like we'd stepped through time. Everything was old but looked brand new and it was warm and smelled so comforting. I half expected at any moment for a bell to ring and a plump man in a mustache to come fit Kurby for a suit. But it was totally deserted. Kurby said he'd never known it to be open before but there it was, waiting for us."

As she continued something about her previous good cheer started to wane a little, her smile a little less easy, the tale less and less a joke.

"It felt like a trap but I didn't want to leave. Then we found this book. You know, a big one? Like a ledger. It was dusty like it had been pulled from a tomb. It was full of names and prices and dates and this little symbol."

Nemo suddenly looked around, turning on the floor. Her brow was furrowed.

"Where is it? I just had it?" She got up and went to her neat little stack and began digging around. "Do you see where it went? I had a flute. A white flute." Her voice was growing a little frantic.

Abby smiled softly at the girl's theatrics, a little shiver running through her at the mention of ghosts. Nobody there. Just a bright light in the darkness. She'd dreamed once, of a bright house with a blue door and a large front window and lights burning softly inside. A narrow house, kept bright throughout the night to guide her home.

She leaned in, cradling her mug of cider, and listened to Nemo whisper. Deserted. Everything old but brand new and smelling fresh. A shop, a dress shop? How did Abby know of this shop?

Then Nemo talked of a trap, a ledger, a mysterious symbol. Abby didn't know these things, they felt unfamiliar. They sat uncomfortably in her head. Her smile tugged down, considering the strangeness of the tale.

She started as her friend left their little pillow communion.

"What?" Abby rose and followed her to the pile of belongings she'd left by the door. She glanced around the darkened flat, surprised that she hadn't noticed her bring in a white flute.

"I didn't see you bring in a flute."

She reached down to help her look through her things. Abby glanced at Nemo, worrying at her frantic pace.

"Is it new? Something you found in the dress shop?"

Nemo found nothing and settled.

"I don't ..." she mumbled, then laughed out a little sigh. "That's so trippy. For a minute I was sure I had it, but I left it there."

She shook herself off, like a dog with the shivvers, trying to shuck off the feeling of being watched.

"A few days ago, I found this little carved white flute. You know Pandora's Attic in Diagon? It was this really simple, smooth ivory flute. Hand-mad and had this little symbol on it. For how small it was, the sounds was awesome. I was playing the flute when Kurby interrupted me."

As she talked about the flute, Nemo seemed to zone out again for a second, but then a wide smile grew on her face and she giggled again.

"Honestly, I'm still processing. Like, what the hell, Abby! A magical flute lured me and some random dude to a haunted boutique! What is that!?"

She picked the blanket up off the floor and wrapped it up high around her head and shoulders. She re-iterated her awe through a tiny hole. Her voice was muffled. "What even is that!"

Abby looked at her, concerned for a moment as Nemo zoned out. She knew what it felt like to remember something so vividly that she could almost reach out and touch it. She knew what it felt like to stumble as her feet caught up with the compulsion in her mind. Nemo had tagged along with her just last month, had pulled her out of possession. Now the tables were turned, the story rang true.

"So the flute's at fault!" She butt in, half teasingly, mostly seriously.

Abby joined her again on the floor, sitting on the pouf and finding her mug of cider.

"Nemo, I practically live at Pandora's Attic. Such a cute, spooky little place! If anyone would sell an enchanted flute, Pandora's would."

They could ask the owner about it sometime (if Nemo had bought it legitimately). She might know something about the flute's origins or about the person who had given it to her, though Abby doubted she would know about its enchantment. To buy at Pandora's was to accept a certain amount of risk.

Abby sat up straighter.

"What did the symbol look like? Do you know? My sister's good with runes," she giggled. Understatement. She had a pad of paper around here somewhere, and a glitter pen.

"Oh, it was like..." She hopped up to grab a sparkly green pen and notebook she saw by the door. She drew it deftly, large, right in the middle of the pad. It didn't look like anything she'd learned about in school or seen online. She passed it over.

"I thought it looked kind of cool. At first I figured it was a logo for the flute maker or something, but yeah, that thing was definitely cursed and I had my mouth all over it. and bluh now I have to get tested. Abby, pro tip: don't put your mouth on strange flutes."

She snuggled back into her blanket and continued the story, wondering if she should actually get a reading or something.

"That book though, with all the names, Kurby was stuck on it. He saw some names in it he recognized. His dad, I guess. Nothing added up, though, Abby. Kurby said he'd never seen the shop open, but who was keeping the ledger? It had dates all the way up to now and going back to the sixteen hundreds. And what were the names for?"

Nemo shivvered and smiled crookedly. "Imagine your name just showing up in some ghost book. Written in ink make from the powdered bodies of the mummified."