There was a part of him that almost wanted to agree: that wanted to say to hell with it all, throw caution aside, and head immediately back to Grimshaw's to see what they could find there.  He had no way of even knowing if that night had been something unique, if he'd never see the shop lit up like that again, if he'd missed his chance to venture deeper into the ossuary and find out what the hell it had wanted from them.

But that wasn't what he needed to be saying to Nemo, not when the kid had clearly already been entertaining the idea.  And, Kurby thought at himself forcefully, no matter how tempting it might be to risk venturing back again, the smart thing to do was to find out as much as he could about the tailor shop and what kind of hold it might have on them both, and then make a reasoned decision about what to do next.  If they were both obviously yearning to go back, that was probably a sign that they shouldn't.

At least Nemo had apparently decided to make time in her busy social calendar to meet up with him on Friday. Seven at the Leaky Cauldron would work, as long as he could find a place to sit where he could keep his back to the wall. 

"Sounds grand," he agreed, inclining his head to her.  "And how do I get ahold of you if I need to, Nemo-who-isn't-on-holiday?"  He nodded to her Muggle phone.  "That thing has numbers, doesn't it?"

Oh my god. He'd half-looked like he would just meet her at the cursed old shop; but if he wasn't going to be the adult in the room, then who would? Before she could let herself entertain that brashness again, Kurby surprised her.

Nemo set back on her heels and marveled at him. She furrowed her eyebrows, oh the dear man was trying, she shouldn't laugh. It was hard because he was such a grouch, a grouch who by his job description faced down poor cursed beasts and couldn't manage a clicky pen. But he'd saved her life and bought her a muffin and looked huggable.  So she didn't laugh.

"Yeah, dude, it has numbers," she said with a little smile.  Nemo got her notebook and pen out again and wrote down her number for Kurby. She folded it up real tiny like they used to do in school, and presented it.

"Congratulations. I don't answer my phone so, like, call twice in a row and I'll know its you."

She looked at him and wondered how he planned to find a phone to use, if he'd dare using a public one.

"Alright, I'm gonna go. Friday. Leaky."

"Seven," the werewolf hunter concurred, giving her a brisk nod.

He took the tiny piece of folded paper, regarding it with a slightly bewildered look for a moment, and then slipped it into his pocket.  Most of what the kid said seemed like Muggle gibberish, but he assumed that if he needed to get ahold of her, he could relay it to Rosheen or someone like Blake, and his more Muggle-friendly associates would be able to help him decipher it.  As it was, at least he had a theoretical way to get in touch with her.

Up until now, his inquiries about Grimshaw's over the past week had felt more like dabbling: something he'd been doing on the side in his free time, mostly to satisfy his own curiosity and without a solid end in mind.  But having a set date to meet again and a committed collaborator made the whole thing feel a bit too uncomfortably real. 

Sighing, Kurby eyed the remnants of his coffee, and then stood up to go.  At least it would hopefully be a relatively uneventful week at work after the unending pressure of the prior week.  He could start to pull together a semblance of a plan for January's full moon, see what he could round up on the Grimshaw's front during his spare time one evening, and then compare notes with Nemo before rolling into the holiday this weekend, with at least a few things off his plate.

Hypothetically, it sounded like a good plan.  He dumped the empty plate and mugs into the tray where the Muggles seemed to stack their dishes, and then headed back onto the streets of Camden.