The Courtship of Julian St. Albans

by Crook, Amy

  “It’s a dead end,” said Alex dismissively. “A last desperate move when the long-term plans didn’t work out.”

  “What plans?” asked Bristol, in the same breath that Lapointe said, “Whose plans?”

  Alex grinned, smugly delighted to finally be on the hunt for something really interesting. “Those are both excellent questions,” he said, giving Lapointe’s arm a tug. “Come on, let’s get some proper coffee and leave these good men to their work.”

  Alex nearly laughed at the look of disappointment on MacLean’s face when Lapointe dumped out the last of her cup and gave it a halfhearted rinse. “You’re buying,” she said.

  “Technically the department’s buying, since I bill by the hour,” said Alex, unable to hold in his smugness at that. Since he’d spent the time while working on Murielle’s amulet pondering the case as well, he’d bill for that, and then in a way the department would pay for the amulet after all. Speaking of which, “Aren’t you going to wear it?” he asked, nodding to where she still had it loosely clutched in her left hand.

  “Yes, all right, I was just thinking of having one last one for the road,” she said wryly before slipping the soft silk ribbon over her head so the amulet rested in the valley between her breasts.

  MacLean swallowed as she tucked it away and said with false cheer, “Yours is a bit nicer than mine, I think. Better designed, I mean.”

  “Why, thank you,” said Alex. It made an excellent exit line so he turned and left, trusting Lapointe would follow.

  Curiosity and cops went together nearly as well as cops and coffee, after all.

  ~ ~ ~

  Alex wheedled a big corner booth for them from the waitress in their favourite cafe, and ordered their usual snacks and coffee without bothering to consult Lapointe.

  “You could ask,” she said, amused.

  Alex snorted. “It’s not as if you’re not utterly predictable,” he said, pulling the sheaf of scribbles out of his other pocket. He knew she couldn’t really understand them, since half of them were in magical notation and a quarter musical, but he wanted to refer to and rearrange them to see if any new patterns emerged. “I have something exciting, anyway.”

  “Why does that not fill me with warm and fuzzy feelings?” she said, looking down at the spiky handwriting going every which way on the loose pages. “Especially that,” she said, pointing to a rather nasty bit of sigil work he’d copied out of the book. He’d been careful not to copy it precisely, or imbue it with any power, but it was close enough to the original to feel off even to someone as magically null as Lapointe.

  “That’s a good place to start,” said Alex cheerfully. “It’s a spell of enslavement, meant to bind a person to your will. I want to look over all of Mandeville’s possessions and see if there’s anything like it hiding away amongst the bits and baubles. And young Julian’s as well, though I doubt they’ll let me.”

  “That butler was annoyed enough about letting you into the actual victim’s suite, I don’t think you’ve a chance in hell of getting into the young master’s private chambers,” she said wryly.

  Alex gave a mock pout. “Not even if I seduced my way in?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

  She laughed as she was meant to, and then they had to clear some space for the coffee and danishes for him, bagel and cream cheese for her. “I’ve no doubt you could manage to seduce your way wherever you wanted,” said the waitress, giving him a cheeky wink and the extra milk he hadn’t yet bothered to ask for.

  Lapointe only laughed harder, leaving Alex to fend for himself.

  “Some places are barred even from my charms,” he said with mock tragedy.

  “Silly places, then,” she said, and thankfully left before he had to come up with more or accidentally ended up with a date.

  Lapointe finally came up for air to say wryly, “She’s in for a disappointment, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, do shut up,” said Alex, pretending at wounded dignity.

  She threw a sugar packet at him.

  Alex laughed, then used it in his coffee while she got her bagel made up the way she liked it. He shuffled through the notes, careful to keep his pastry-sticky hand off the papers while he hunted for the other things he’d wanted to show her.

  “Here, look at this,” he said, turning it so she could read the scrawl. “There’s a type of spell that will bind someone’s will slowly, over time, sinking hooks into them that burrow deeper and deeper until they’re yours and they don’t even know it.”

  “That,” she said between bites, “is really creepy. How do you even know this?”

  Alex chuckled humourlessly. “I’m a mage that consults on murder cases,” he said, “It’s my job to know this.”

  She nodded in acknowledgement of his point, mouth full of bagel.

  He snorted in amusement and then turned the page sideways, to another scribble of words, this time with more symbols above. “These, too, we should look for on an object or group of things that he used a lot — try that stuff from Mandeville’s bathroom.” He took a triumphant bite of his own treat, enjoying the rush of sugar and the sharp bite of raspberry jam.

  She shook her head, taking a sip of coffee before answering. “Nope, those were simple enhancement spells, you know, for thick hair and good colour and smooth skin and the like.”

  “Oh,” said Alex, disappointed. “Well, that’s boring.”

  She laughed, and he fished out another page, and the afternoon went on like that, him pointing out possibilities and what to look for.

  But at the end, it was that second spell that lingered in his mind, and the insidious way it would creep into someone’s mind and heart and steal away their life just as surely as murder.

  CHAPTER 3

  In Which Our Hero is Led Astray Only to Find the Path

  “There’s absolutely nothing in Mandeville’s entire suite that’s suspicious. Even the spells on those daggers are pretty much harmless, since they were made for a duel six hundred years ago and haven’t been used since,” said Lapointe, frustrated.

  Alex was pacing her office, annoyed. “And the amulet was a dead end, just as I predicted?”

  She laughed but it held none of her usual ready humour. “Oh, yes, a total blind alley. Smedley’s furious.”

  “Does this mean I can have it for a while?” asked Alex carefully. “And the other one, the good one he wore all the time?”

  She shook her head. “No way. You can visit them in Armistead’s tender care, but they’re determined to make the lead pan out somehow.”

  “Idiots!” said Alex. “What’s the point of hiring a consultant if you never consult him?” Alex flopped on the uncomfortable leather couch that ran along one wall of her office. The whole office was drably unsettling, in the way only institutional decorating could be. “Ugh, you should question prisoners on this couch, it’s terrible!”

  “If you don’t like it, you can always go home to your posh flat,” she retorted.

  Alex harrumphed but stayed where he was, wallowing in their utter lack of progress. “If only we could get into Julian’s rooms, I’m sure it’s him that’s under the spell. He was the one who initiated contact.”

  “But why push him into Mandeville’s arms only to kill the man off?” asked Lapointe. He hated it when she was reasonable.

  Alex got up and started pacing again, pulling his own little charm out of his pocket, a worry stone that he’d infused with a spell to help sharpen his thoughts and memories. He tipped it over the backs of his fingers in a practiced gesture, feeling the spell take a firmer hold now that he was handling it as it was meant to be, rather than hiding it in his pocket.

  “Maybe Mandeville was a pawn all along,” he mused, considering. “A patsy, meant to force young Julian into a position where he’d have to accept suitors and go through a formal Courtship.”

  “I do wonder why a St. Albans would want to be consort to someone like Mandeville, whose own family’s fortunes were in ruins due to
mismanagement,” said Lapointe thoughtfully.

  Alex stopped pacing and grinned. “That’s what we have to find out.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “I’m afraid Master St. Albans is not receiving visitors at this time,” said the butler, looking very smug indeed.

  Alex made a frustrated sound. “I know the service for Mandeville is tomorrow, Mr. Godfrey, but-”

  “It’s just Godfrey,” said the man, his tone one of reprimanding a young man who’d been caught doing something he knew perfectly well he wasn’t supposed to. “You may be with the Department, but I know that you are well aware of my station and the proper form of address from your youth.”

  Alex looked amused. “You’ve been checking up on me,” he said, with the exact same tone.

  “Your current mundane employment is no excuse for bad manners,” said Godfrey with a sniff.

  Alex laughed. “It has been up until now,” he said, then sighed. “Right, so St. Albans is in mourning and won’t see me, Mandeville’s rooms have been thoroughly violated by the crime scene techs and won’t be of any use to me, and you’re treating me like a young master who’s been snitching sweets before supper. Why did I come here again?”

  “I do not know, sir,” said Godfrey, voice utterly dry. “Perhaps you missed me?”

  Alex laughed. “All right, that was worth the trip. Do give young Master St. Albans my regards and sympathies,” he said. He pulled out an object he’d had to hunt through his entire flat to find, pleased he’d bothered to keep a few, and handed it to Godfrey.

  One eyebrow went up as Godfrey accepted the formal calling card. “You do have manners after all,” he said, carefully placing it on the silver salver just inside the door with dozens of similar cards.

  “Only for you,” said Alex flirtatiously. He figured he wasn’t going to get a better exit line, so he spun on his heel and left, whistling a tune designed deliberately to annoy, much like Godfrey’s entire manner.

  For once, it was proving more convenient to be a Benedict than otherwise. Victor would likely be appalled.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I hear you called on Julian St. Albans during his mourning,” said Henry, strolling into Alex’s flat the next morning. “Got another cup?”

  Alex yawned and pointed at the cupboard, figuring Henry could fend for himself as punishment for showing up at such an early hour. He’d never slept that much, himself, but mornings were a quiet, foggy time until he’d had at least a cup of tea and bite of breakfast.

  “You’re still using that dreadful blend,” said Henry. His voice was disappointed, but it didn’t stop him from pouring himself a cup. “So, thinking of taking up the family honour after all?”

  “Why, were you going to Court St. Albans yourself?” he asked, hopeful. Henry might act the playboy sometimes, but there was a keen mind behind his irresponsible façade that Alex could put to use.

  “Nonsense, I want my future spouse to have tits,” said Henry with a chuckle.

  Alex sighed. “I thought you were on the continent,” he said dully, hoping to get Henry on one of his rants so at least he could eat while his brother talked.

  “This was too good to miss,” said Henry. “Victor told me St. Albans had his eye on you, and now you’re almost acting as though you care he exists.”

  Alex rolled his eyes and yawned again pointedly, then took a nice, long drink of tea. “I am acting as though I wish to solve the mystery of his lover’s murder, not set myself up in the place of a dead man,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while wearing a bathrobe. He defiantly took a bite of eggs, silently refusing to speak any more on the subject.

  “You might be happier if you had a consort, you know, it’s all well and good to leave us but you were raised for something more than a grotty little flat and solving murders for hire,” said Henry, pretending to flick a crumb off the table. Or possibly actually flicking one, as Alex was none too neat between visits from the maids.

  That was why he had maids.

  “I have everything I need here,” said Alex, nibbling on a piece of nice crispy bacon. He might have to cook breakfast for himself, but at least that way he always got his food just the way he enjoyed it. Rather like his current sex life.

  He shut down that train of thought before it could show on his face.

  Henry continued on as though Alex hadn’t spoken. “You’ve always had the temperament for a consort, you rebelled against anyone who didn’t like to do things your way. I’ve heard the young master St. Albans is quite the nubile thing.” Henry paused, giving Alex a speculative look. “Perhaps I should take up the Benedict mantle and give it a shot after all.”

  Alex swallowed, then shrugged. “It’d help me to have a man on the inside,” he said, mind already ranging ahead to the myriad of insights he would want to wrest from Henry.

  Henry laughed. “I should know better than try to make you jealous,” he said, draining his tea in one long swallow. “Well, regardless, if you do decide to take up the invitation, the family’s behind you. Victor’s already agreed to fund it, and the twins have offered to take you to get some decent clothing.”

  Alex snorted. “I do fine on my own,” he said. Though it was true that he couldn’t pull off a proper consort Courtship without dipping into the family coffers, he had no intention of doing the former and so he wouldn’t have to worry about the latter, either. “I require neither your money nor your approval.”

  “You never did want us to like you,” said Henry.

  Alex felt something sharp and sudden in his chest, the old pain coming back to haunt him. “You never liked me to begin with, so I decided it didn’t matter,” he corrected bitterly.

  “That’s not how I remember it,” Henry protested, but it didn’t have the force of something he truly believed.

  “You were the youngest,” said Alex dully. “I’d given up on the lot of you before I really gave you a chance, I suppose, but can you honestly say you’d have wanted to play magical chess or study ancient spells with me?”

  Henry’s expression was a wry, wistful little smile. “I suppose not,” he said. “Still, if you weren’t so determined to be the odd one out…”

  “Trust me, Henry,” said Alex, “I would have always been the odd one out, even if I’d tried to hide it.” Even when Alex had still been trying to fit in with his parents, siblings and peers, he’d been terrible at it. He could decipher the precise meaning of a half-erased rune and identify the exact type of ashes that had been used to draw it, but the maze of double and triple meanings wrapped in nonsensical social niceties had always been a mystery to him.

  No, he was better off by himself, doing what he did best among people who were used to him and his abrupt ways. Even Alex would pity a man trying to play consort to his mercurial moods.

  Henry didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he took his leave, not even bothering with the usual dull social rituals.

  Alex found it surprisingly comforting that his brother seemed to have actually listened to him, and understood.

  ~ ~ ~

  The other shoe dropped when Alex received a letter from Julian St. Albans. It was as eerie as it was unexpected, because the text was nearly identical to the letter that Mandeville had so treasured.

  “If the goal was for the murderer to step in and get Julian and the St. Albans fortune in one go, why the letter?” asked Alex, after having taken both the original and his own letter back to Lapointe.

  “And if that isn’t the goal, then why the nearly identical wording?” said Lapointe, staring at the two bits of parchment, one new, one worn.

  “Unless young St. Albans got the wording from somewhere else,” said Alex. As a boy, Alex had often copied letters from old books, changing the details but keeping the structure intact as a way of protecting himself against unintended gaffes. It always worked with his older relatives, who found his archaic formality quaintly refreshing, but it had set him even further apart among the younger set.

  He f
ound it oddly charming, to think of the lovely Julian needing such a crutch, which meant he was probably wrong.

  Lapointe looked amused. “Copied love letters? Maybe, I can do some searches to see if the text is from something famous.”

  “Or even a modern romance novel,” said Alex, surprised that she took the theory even that seriously. “Those are numerous and obscure enough that a man wouldn’t be likely to recognise it, though I do wonder…”

  “What?” asked Lapointe, when Alex trailed off.

  “Hm? Oh, I was wondering if he knew we had Mandeville’s note in evidence. It could even be a message of some sort, an exercising of what limited personal will he’s got left.” Alex let his thoughts fracture and drift again, considering each shining possibility and comparing it to the information they already had to see what made patterns and what didn’t, and where the new theories contradicted the old ones.

  When he blinked himself back from his inner world to Lapointe’s office, it was to find she’d already left and taken the evidence bags with her.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I thought our coffee was beneath your refined palate?” said Smedley sarcastically, poking his head in the kitchen.

  Alex shrugged. “Caffeine is never beneath me,” he said, though he’d had to cut the bitter stuff with about half milk and pour in the sugar to make it drinkable.

  Smedley eased into the little kitchen, careful in the way of a large, dangerous man trying not to break things. Alex wondered if he was one of those things, and if Lapointe would miss him.

  “That’s a strange face,” said Smedley, and Alex blinked himself back from the morbid train of thought.

  He shrugged, not sure how to relate to the man now that he was neither blustering nor attempting to demand favours he hadn’t earned. “I am a strange man,” said Alex, with as much dignity as he could manage, saluting Smedley with his cup before draining another big gulp of the lukewarm stuff.

  Smedley chuckled. “You were right, you know,” he said, pouring himself some coffee in a generic department mug. Some people had their own, like Lapointe’s ‘I like coffee better than I like you’ mug, and some didn’t. Usually it was the new ones, or those uncertain of their place in the department, that used the generic mugs.