He hadn't gone back. He hadn't gone back. Nemo didn't know how she felt about it. On one hand good; they were being lured, she knew it. On the other, if he had? She knew she'd be some kind of monstrously jealous. He might not be spooked, and he might not have gone back, but he wasn't letting it lie. Nemo had been trying to put it in the past, make it just another story about strange and fantastical magical London. But Kurby, he was digging.

Nemo picked at the muffin, eating it in little pieces.

"Hmm," she said, remembering the name. Briggs. Right there at the end alongside Lorelei Hunt.  He called him an ass and Nemo absently clocked that Kurby must know him. She furrowed her brow at the claim it was never open for anyone else. Kurby had said that when they were there, that he'd never seen it open.

"It lit up just for us," she said looking at her pastry with a frown. She lifted her eyes.

"I bet if we went back it'd be open again," she said seriously. "Maybe there'd be new names in the book. Maybe ... what if our names are in it now."

Kurby opened his mouth and then shut it.  Would their names be in the book if they’d only visited?  They hadn’t gone there to complete a transaction...although, the thought struck him guiltily, he hadn’t entirely left empty-hand.  It was a tempting thought: to go back and see if the ledger was still there, if there was anything else that he might find.  If there was anything else that it might want to show him, if he just took a few moments to look.

Except no.  No matter how much it might decide to siren-call him, he was not walking back into that place until he knew more about what he was up against.  Even werewolves and giant Scottish terrorist wizards were relatively straightforward.  He had no bleeding clue what to expect from a giant underground cellar filled with bones except something bad.

”No,” he said firmly, shaking his head.  “No bleedin’ way.  I’ve made my share of goddamned idiotic decisions this week, but there’s no way in hell that I’m walkin’ back into that place until I know more about what it’s after.”

The look on Nemo’s face was giving him a bad feeling.  The kid was even less his problem than the other teens who had been giving him headaches lately, but he’d gotten dragged into this mess with her, and she apparently wasn’t willing to look out for her own best interests.

“And neither should you,” he added, giving her a sharp look.  “This isn’t runnin’ away to London or temptin’ fate by playing on the street during a full moon.  That place is tryin’ to get its hooks in you, and it sure as hell isn’t after your best interests.”

There he was, the Kurby who Nemo had first met. She rolled her eyes and sat back not keen to endure another lecture from a guy who couldn't help but find a way to push her buttons at every chance. Unprovoked, she'd like to note for the record. She'd been nothing but nice. Probably ought to release herself from any obligation of making him comfortable.

"I wasn't going to," she said in a little huff.

"I'm not bleedin' stupid. I was thinking out loud."

She bit her tongue against a comeback of few about which of the two of them was having trouble reconciling life choices. As usual, she was pressed to be the adult in this discussion. Which she was plenty capable of. Nemo had a drink of her coffee and leaned forward on her elbows.

"So. What do we do now? You get any leads from that guy Briggs? Someone else we can talk to. Does the government have records or files or anything? Like, I dunno, blue prints or titles or something. You work at the Ministry."

Nemo lifted her eyebrows. Was he going to be grown up about this, or mention the full moon again or snip at her about tourism again or try to give her orders again, as if he had any authority up in here.

Nemo gave a little huff, and he could practically imagine a hair toss identical to the ones that Blake had given in the old days.  But he didn't believe her denial.  Thinking out loud was dangerously close to considering something as an option, and he wasn't willing to take that step, not when he didn't know how the magic from the tailor shop might be influencing either of them.

"Don't think about it, then," he retorted, giving the kid a cautioning look.

He considered her next set of questions, running a hand tiredly over his face.  Now that the phone had gone a few minutes without buzzing unexpectedly, he risked resting his elbow back on the table again.

"Nothin' else useful from Briggs," he said, giving a quick shake of his head.  "Except for the fact that there's others in Knockturn who use it, but I reckon I could spend weeks rattlin' cages and still not hit on anyone who knows more about it."

He paused, pressing his tongue against his teeth for a moment as he decided how much he wanted to say.  The particular identity of this informant wasn't really relevant to the greater point.

"I've also got a friend who works in another shop in Knockturn," he said after a beat.  "Up until a couple of years ago, I guess someone was usin' Grimshaw's name to place orders for stuff.  Lots of odds and ends, different things.  The deliveries were always to different locations, and they only met the witch supposedly placin' the orders once.  Said she looked like an old sorceress, ready to crumble to dust."

Hm! Nemo frowned approvingly. Boyo had been doing his homework while she'd been trying to get on with life. Shaking down hustlers and getting inside information from black market traders. Nemo felt slightly amateur. Here she thought Kurby'd been dicking around, but nah. He had information.

When everyone else only seemed to know the shop as an abandoned squat for shady deals, Kurby'd found someone with something different to tell. On the one hand it seemed obvious to Nemo that whoever was ordering on behalf of Grimshaw was lying to stay anonymous, but on the other a sorceress destroyed and recreated to an ashen husk sounded rather on brand for the mysterious shop.

"Holy shit...," she muttered, thinking. It was good information but it wasn't enough for Kurby to want to get anywhere close again. And you don't want to go back either, shit-fer-brains, she firmly reminded herself.

She did note that he'd breezed by her suggestions about digging up government files. Not cool.

"If you won't want to look into the Ministry angle, that's fine. I'll do it. I know someone. And I can always just use your name, right?"

Nemo hid behind a drink of coffee as she watched him.

I know someone.  Sure she did.  Kurby flashed the kid a wolfish grin.  This little street musician, living seemingly all alone in London and getting lured by brilliant lights into strange dark places, didn't seem the sort to have powerful connections at the Ministry.

"Sure, if you want to end up in a holdin' cell," he retorted.

Thinking about this as a problem to investigate made the whole thing feel less overwhelming.  He'd had plenty of practice at ferreting out the answers to seemingly inscrutable mysteries, even if he were normally after more mundane things like the identity of a rampaging werewolf, not the explanation behind an eerie Knockturn shop.  But the same sort of strategies still applied: run down leads and tenaciously dig into the details like a terrier after a hidden treat, refusing to relent until he had enough pieces to make sense of the whole picture.

He leaned back in his chair, his posture much more relaxed than it had been a few moments before, snapping his fingers absently as he thought.

"I still want to get my hands on the casefile for that girl who was found dead in Grimshaw's a couple of years ago, but I've been callin' in too many favors with the Aurors recently," he said matter-of-factly, arching an eyebrow at Nemo.  "I need to give it a couple of weeks before I ask 'em for anything else."

His cousin Nate had given him information on Nathan Briggs, he'd passed on Figaro's Runespoor tip to Trevelyan, and who knew what else he might need related to Tawse.  Asking for too much too quickly would attract attention.  But if Nemo 'knew someone,' then let the kid focus her energy on that.  The worst that happened was that she dropped his name to someone she shouldn't and he had to deny knowing her.

"As far as records go, the Ministry's got some, but we might be able to find copies somewhere else."  He half-smirked as he considered, staring distantly across the Muggle coffee shop.  "Or maybe somethin' like a history of Knockturn, old advertisements in the Prophet, that sort of thing.  Might even be able to place when it was last active based on the style of the clothing in that front room."

He paused, glancing across the table at Nemo again.  There were a couple of other obvious lines of inquiry that could be followed up on.  The first of them was one that he didn't feel ready to think about yet.  But the other might give the American kid something to do besides thinking wistfully about returning to the tailor shop and bothering her 'someone' at the Ministry. 

"Then there's that flute."  Kurby raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.  "How'd you end up with it, again?"

A holding cell, huh? Kurby and his authority. Nemo returned the smirk. She could handle cops. Well, she could if she could quiet the 'I Dare You' quills that sometimes barbed when someone tried to tell her no. But Abby, sweet Abby, she was as smooth as an ermine.

Kurby clicked along a plan, easy with detail and picking up steam. Nemo had noted his lift in demeanor, but the phrase 'girl found dead' stopped her ears. Kurby moved past it towards the Daily Prophet, historical documents, and the bone flute.

Her eyes glazed over, the image of a girl her age with a long brown braid standing stock still in the ossuary where she'd left the flute. The flute. The flute?

"Huh?" Dead air signaled a question she didn't answer.

"I bought it," she answered flatly. "At Pandora's Attic."

Nemo got lost in thought again, her blue-eyed gaze getting lost in the deep woodgrain of the table. Hadn't she? She'd intended to. Buy it. Now she couldn't remember if she'd paid.

Nemo, who had been goading him a moment ago with threats to drop his name at the Ministry, was suddenly distracted again, lost in examining the table.  Kurby regarded her silently, his brows knitting together. 

Whatever was sentient in that shop had obviously intentionally goaded him, drawn him in with the ledger and teased him with the key.  But Nemo had been the one who had already been connected to it through her shining flute, who seemed to be of the same age and general demographic as the girl who'd been found dead there two years ago.  As far as he knew, she was all on her own here in London. 

All of those skulls down in the ossuary under Grimshaw Tailoring must have belonged to living people: Muggles or witches and wizards.  It was impossible not to wonder how many of them might have been like Nemo, with no one to miss them after they disappeared.

He paused, pressing his mouth shut as he considered.  Maybe he would have been better pressed to try and scare the girl away, rather than include her as he thought through how to investigate the shop.  But Nemo didn't seem the type to let herself be run off.  Even if he tried to force her out of this, she'd surely find a way back in again, except then he'd never know it.

"That's the shop in Diagon Alley, aye?" he asked after a beat, his brows furrowing.  "I don't think I've ever been there.  What's it like inside?"

Nemo looked up and put a smile on her face. Kurby was watching her closely; she could feel him scrutinizing her. He was better when he was talking because at least then he was readable. Otherwise, Nemo couldn't be sure if he was stewing on trying to send her to bed.

He tucked back into the muffin and had more of her coffee.

"Aye. Just a junk shop," she said. "Really cluttered, shelves and drawers of unfindable things. There's no real system to it. A lot of it doesn't have a price tag, you just make an offer. Get some mis-matched pint glasses, a clockwork lunar calendar, goblin erotica..."

Nemo winked.

Then she continued, with a little shrug and tucked some hair behind her ear. "And cute little hand-carved ivory flutes. It was that same day. I went over after lunch rush. It was there in a box. The fingerholes were just right."

She winced trying to remember, then shook her head frustrated. "Dude, I can't remember buying it. I just - I remember remembering but now it's not there. Maybe I shouldn't have left it down there. Now I can't get it back."

Nemo shook her head again. No.

"What was it about a girl who died? I feel like you kind of just rolled through that real casual a little bit." She walked her fingers across the air between them.

The werewolf hunter blinked, frowning back at her -- although the expression was much more deliberative than annoyed.

"It was a couple of years back," he said after a beat.  "I don't remember all of the details.  One or another of the Aurors was lookin' into something that involved Grimshaw's, and while they were there, they found a dead girl in one of the back rooms."

Trevelyan had been asking around about it for a bit afterwards, and word had gotten around, but Kurby hadn't paid any attention to it.  There was always some strange mess or another associated with Level Two, and as long as they didn't involve furry folks or chew toys, he didn't really consider the mysteries to be any of his business. 

"I just remember hearin' that she was pretty young.  Somethin' like a runaway."  He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, still keeping a careful eye on Nemo as he raised his coffee to take a sip.  "That's why I wanted to try and see the Aurors' case file, to see if any of this might be connected."

Nemo stared back at Kurby as he explained, and by the end of it she was sunk down in her chair arms crossed.

"Dude."

She seemed rattled, but a slight curl of her crooked lip indicated layers of annoyance were in play. She might have snipped at him that this would have been something to bring up as she was careening viscera-first into a building that apparently eats the youths, but it would probably be unproductive. They'd both popped some stupid pills that night.

After a moment, she pulled out her phone again and flipped it open. There were a few of Abby's texts waiting.

Good ol Baggynold! :pouting_cat:
where are you?? A cafe?

Nemo tapped a few texts back, fully aware it probably irritated Kurby.

yah charlottes.
you free later? i need a favor.

"I'll get the file," she said firmly as she typed.

Kurby regarded the kid a bit skeptically as she pulled out her phone and began typing away again, but he mentally shrugged and let it go.  At the very least, sending Nemo after the case file would give the kid something to do and take one potential task off his list.  If she actually managed to get her hands on it, he'd either be impressed at her connections or finding a way to warn Pratt that he had a leak on Level Two.

"Alright," he agreed simply.  "I'll see what I can find on the records front." 

Digging through old files was hardly his favorite part of an investigation -- that was Auror territory, as far as he was concerned -- nor was it something that he really had time for with January's full moon inching closer, but he figured that he had a better chance of navigating things than Nemo probably did.  At least the upcoming week at work was likely to be less stressful than the previous one.  He could afford to take a night off to see what he could turn up.

"There's the question of that shop, too," he pointed out, taking a moment to check his pockets.  No quill, and he'd probably look like an idiot for pulling one out in the middle of a Muggle cafe, anyhow.  "I'd be curious to know if anyone remembers the flute bein' brought in or if they have anything else that might be from Grimshaw's.  Don't have a, uh, pen on you, do you?"

Nemo had grown accustomed at the lack of any positive or friendly emotive feedback from Kurby Bagnold. Most of the time he looked at her aghast or like she was about to do something mad. Not the worst reaction she could get from someone like him, and it was starting to become endearing. He was absolutely a bamf Ministry field agent, but also, uh, slightly useless. She wanted to pinch his scruffy cheek.

The pull to go back to Pandora's Attic tugged at her, a bizarre expectation that maybe the flute would be back there. But also that roll of her stomach that she didn't really remember anymore what had happened there. Nemo sighed the feeling away, steady for now that her path was taking her to the Ministry with Abby. She'd never been - avoiding the place in the last year as her status in this country was not exactly well-documented.

Kurby asked for her pen. Nemo looked at him like her teachers always had when she didn't have her book, but yeah, she did. She put her phone away again and dug in her bag and pulled out a handful of brightly colored clicky-pens and laid them by the potted plant with a clatter. She paused a moment then pulled out a notebook as well. A little one with a gold Gustav Klimt cover. She slid it over.

"So how am I supposed to find you?" she asked. Once they parted ways.

Apparently his young conspirator carried an entire complement of Muggle pens.  Kurby regarded them dubiously, studying the broad selection of colors as if they were going to bite him. 

Carefully, he chose the one that seemed the closest to a normal black ink. Picking it up with his left hand, he pulled the notebook towards him and flipped it open to a blank page.  But when he attempted to write with the Muggle pen, nothing showed up on the page.   Kurby eyed the tip of it suspiciously for a moment, until Nemo reached over and clicked a button on the back end of the pen with a sigh, causing a silver nub to spring out at the other end.

How the hell did anyone ever understand Muggle technology?  Kurby shot the kid a look, and then sourly began to scribble something in her notebook.

"That's my address," he said at last, pushing the notebook back over to her.  He inspected the pen for a moment, and then tossed it down on the table, deciding he didn't want to deal with the strange system of clicking again.  "I've got a flat in Diagon Alley.  You need to get ahold of me, writin' me there's probably the best way to do it."

That was a risk, giving someone he didn't really know his address like that, but it wasn't as if she or anyone else couldn't figure it out if they really tried.  Besides, something felt wrong about leaving Nemo without a way to ask for help if she needed it.  He still didn't know what the hell was going on with the Grimshaw tailoring shop, but he felt far less confident about her chances to navigate it independently than he did his own.

"Might be good to set up a time to check in, though," he remarked, arching an eyebrow at her.  The holidays were fast approaching, but he didn't necessarily want to rely on this kid finding him or him having to hunt her down randomly on the streets of London again.  "Reckon you want to try to chat again on Friday after work?  We can see what we can both find by then."

Nemo had not expected to get the guy's home address. She'd figured on something to do with his office at the Ministry or wherever werewolf hunters did their paperwork; a home address, really? Then she realized - Kurby didn't want work knowing about this. She breathed out a single, "huh!" and then stowed her pens and notebooks away. Nemo would decide later if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

Friday after work, he probably meant after six, which was, you know, sort of when she would be wanting to get started. People out to dinner, doing shopping, making merry and all that. She wouldn't have cared much if she knew things were going to die down after the holidays.

"Uh, like, what time? Friday nights are kind of busy for me." She interrupted herself with a click of her tongue and a shake of her head. "Actually whenever's fine. But I'm not going to your house."

She stood and hoisted her case onto her back. Taking one last bite of muffin. "Like seven? I'll just meet you down at Grimshaw's." She dead-panned it for a good two seconds, then leaned forward to cuff him on the shoulder.

"Joking. Leaky Cauldron? Seven? Friday?"