The Courtship of Julian St. Albans

by Crook, Amy

  Gerard pulled out a little set-spell that conjured a trio of mirrors for Alex, and Alex triggered the spell on the halo. The headdress rose up and then lit from base to tip, the ends letting off false sparks that were magic and illusion rather than any kind of heat, and the third eye sparkled even in the dim light of his flat.

  “It’s definitely magical,” said Sarah, sounding impressed despite herself.

  “It’s good,” said Jacques. “Now come on, Jones is waiting in the garage.”

  Alex gave another whistle and the headdress went out and flattened down, which left him looking sleek and strange and mysterious, since his hair was still sparkly and the long strands looked a bit like quills. “All right, let’s go,” he said, brandishing his cane. “You first.”

  Gerard turned off the mirror-spell and they gathered their things, and then everyone trooped out of the flat, Alex pausing to whistle at his wards and make sure no one had left anything behind, accidental or otherwise. But no, once he himself stepped outside everything that had come in with the designer had also left, and James locked up. “You take the elevator after us,” said Jacques, talking to Gerard. “It’ll be safer, and you can distract any paparazzi.”

  “Yes, I wish my design to have its proper premiere,” said Gerard with a nod.

  “Thank you,” said Alex, feeling he hadn’t been explicit enough in his appreciation. “It really is quite a creation, and it suits me, sort of.”

  Gerard chuckled. “It’s fancy dress, it’s only supposed to suit you sort of.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so the Guardians bundled Alex into the elevator, and then into the car, and soon enough they were on their way to the Masquerade.

  CHAPTER 27

  In Which We Peer Beneath Some Masks

  They joined a line of similar cars in front of the venue Julian had chosen for his Masquerade Ball, the Royal Hotel. It had played host to dozens of such events over the years, and was well equipped to stage the ball on short notice. They’d even rolled out a red carpet; it would be Alex’s turn to walk down it very soon, with a literal gauntlet of press on either side held back by flimsy barriers.

  “This part’s gonna suck,” said Alex, as the car in front of them disgorged its passengers, which seemed to be famous guests rather than any of the Suitors.

  “Yes,” said Jacques.

  “We’ll make it through,” said James.

  Jones moved forward, a man in livery came to open the door, and Alex took a deep breath.

  James got out first, followed by Jacques, and they flanked the door at perfect parade rest, their Guardian medallions shining in the light of hundreds of cameras. Alex ducked out, activating the spell on his headdress as he straightened up, so the magic tendrils flowered up and started to spark before he stepped out onto the carpet. His Guardians fell into step behind him but, since the Suitors were expected to at least pretend to anonymity, he didn’t have to stop and talk to anyone. All he had to do was walk.

  He used his cane as little as possible, acutely aware of the stiffness in his leg, though it was far better than it had been. He let himself smile a wry little smirk, shaking his head once to make the tendrils wave and spark as he walked, chin up, trying to be proud. Behind him, the footman was extracting his gift from the car and following, as of course the gift, too, was part of the presentation. Alex hummed under his breath to make the boxes shine just a little under their lids, as though yet more magic waited inside.

  He was told, later, that the combined effect was very impressive indeed, even though his Guardians had guaranteed he’d be identified right off the bat, and online videos of his arrival had already gone viral.

  They were almost to the door when Alex felt rather than heard the sickeningly familiar sound of one of the homicidal constructs. The songs skipped and caught, as though it had been assembled badly and in a rush, but Alex didn’t want to see if that meant it was any less effective. “Look out,” said Alex, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

  “Duck!” said James, and Alex dropped down into a crouch, even disabling the ridiculous headpiece to make himself as small as possible. Twin swords swished through the space where he’d been, slicing through what appeared to be some sort of large flying beetle.

  At least it was, before it was pieces on the ground all around them, twitching as the magic died out.

  “Well,” said Alex, standing up. “That was exciting.”

  “Inside, now,” said Jacques, and Alex spotted several Agents in the crowd including, he thought, Smedley, all moving forward to quarantine the bug parts and clear up the scene. The poor footman practically ran inside after them, panting as they made it into the relative safety of the foyer.

  “I, I’ll just, g-gift table, there,” stammered the poor man, and he delivered Alex’s gift to the table and then vanished behind the scenes, presumably to collect himself.

  Alex had let the glowing illusion drop when he heard the beetle’s spell, but his clothing was pristine, so he re-activated the halo and made his dignified way into the ballroom and straight up to the bar. He wouldn’t actually have an alcoholic drink, but he wanted something to help get his heart rate back down after that excitement.

  “It won’t be the last attempt,” said James, sword sheathed and not a bead of sweat on his brow.

  “No, he’s really quite desperate,” agreed Alex, looking out over the crowd. “Can you tell which Suitors are already here?”

  Jacques pulled out his phone and brought up the gossip blog he’d cued up earlier, refreshing to see the list. “Hah, there’s already an account of some sort of fancy show we put on for the benefit of the cameras,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It looks like nearly everyone is here, that’s why they kept sending us through the roundabout, so you’d be one of the last to arrive. Chilcott’s arriving now, that’s him in the Green Man costume.”

  “So who’s left?” asked Alex.

  “Willoughby, which was expected, and apparently Duckworth hasn’t made his appearance yet,” said Jacques.

  “I suppose you could arrange to be late and try to look more important that way,” said Alex wryly. He only barely remembered Duckworth from school, and didn’t have much more of an impression from the first Courtship dinner.

  “Or maybe he’s having trouble with his costume,” said James.

  Alex sipped his fizzy water, enjoying the tang of lime and mint, and letting it remind him of that earlier event and everything he’d learned about these men. Jacques pointed everyone out to him in turn, costumes from a mundane comedy-mask on Entwistle to the fantastic illusion that made Winston-Smythe appear to be an elaborate soap bubble. Alex admired the way the designer had used a cluster of smaller bubbles to create an actual mask, but otherwise let the illusion do everything, so that each time the man reached out to touch something Alex wondered if he might pop and vanish into a little puddle of soap.

  “Those three are Standish Flynn, quite tastelessly dressed as a hunting hound, Henry Strathmore as an equally subtle falcon, and the sun there is Chudleigh,” said Jacques, consulting his phone and pointing.

  “Chudleigh’s costume is lovely,” said Alex, surprised. The glow on it was gentle, and his mask was a beautifully fashioned antique-style sun, with wavy golden rays. His suit started almost white at the bottom and darkened up to the pale, clear blue of a winter sky, with cloud-white shoes and shirt. Rather than a cravat, the bottom set of rays on the sun formed a pectoral collar, so his mouth was still free to sip the drink he was holding. “He’s either got hidden depths or a really great designer.”

  “They’re all pretty well-constructed,” said James, “just not all in the best of taste. At least your Julian won’t likely be a fox or game bird.”

  Alex chuckled. “No, he’ll be something no one expects of him, I’m sure. He’s got that way about him,” he said fondly.

  Jacques chuckled at that. “He does, all those little hints at depth under the pretty-boy surface.”

&
nbsp; “So, who’s the book?” asked Alex, gesturing to a man in a suit like aged paper, rustling and somehow fragile-looking, with a beautifully constructed mask of an actual book with words that seemed to flow across it.

  “Phineas O’Connor… Oh, and here’s Willoughby, too,” said Jacques.

  They turned to the door, and Alex’s eyes narrowed. Holmes Willoughby had chosen to be a moth, his suit a soft brown that looked like very fine velvet, his mask modelled off a traditional butterfly mask, but done all in shades of brown. There seemed to be two sets of wings as well, one that stayed covering his face and another, illusory set that fluttered and moved. “As an insect,” said Alex.

  “Hm,” said James, and Alex could feel their tension ratchet just a little higher. “Suspicious.”

  “Though butterflies are traditional,” said Alex. “And not very masculine. It’s not as if the falcon’s a very friendly image for the other suitors.”

  “True,” said Jacques. “Best not to dismiss anyone at this point.”

  “We’re all agreed it’s definitely a suitor now?” asked Alex, just to check in with them.

  “Oh, yes,” said James. “Though your mage might not be, you said there was a contributor besides that.”

  Alex sighed. “Yes, I think to allow the third party control.” He wished for a moment that he could rub his temples, but he set that aside in favour of identifying the last few costumes. “So the fountain is…”

  “Grover Barnes,” said Jacques. “A costume suited more for a consort than a Suitor, though.”

  Barnes was dressed in soft grey that was mottled with shifting patterns of light as though underwater, with a fantastic shimmering mask that let out streams of water that broke up into droplets that never reached the ground. There was something about the cut of his clothing and the feel of the outfit that lacked the same aggressive tone as some of the other men, and yet, it suited what Alex remembered of Barnes.

  “So that makes Archibald Cruther our hedgehog,” said Alex, unable to keep from smiling at the whimsical costume. The quills on his head and back were impressive, and the white suit was a soft velvet that set them off quite well. The mask itself was mobile and delightful, with an adorably upturned nose and big, silly ears. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “When will Julian appear?” asked Jacques, putting his phone away. Alex was amused to see some disapproving looks at the idea of a Guardian neglecting his charge so, as though it wasn’t valuable to identify their potential enemies.

  “Once all the Suitors are here,” said Alex. “And that must be our tardy Duckworth.” He nodded toward the door, where a man meandered in looking just a touch lost, fitting as he seemed to be half-hidden in a fog. He was wearing a suit in pearly grey with a matching satin half-mask, and the illusion wreathed him in shifting billows of white-grey mist.

  “Creepy,” said James.

  “Definitely,” said Alex, watching him move. The fog drifted to obscure his movements just enough that he seemed to not walk so much as appear a little closer with each blink. “And even less the costume of a Suitor than Barnes’ fountain.”

  “He definitely needs watching,” said Jacques. The two Guardians shifted subtly, and then everyone else did, too, though for different reasons, as most people’s attention went to the balcony above and the long stairs leading down, where Julian would descend on Emmeline’s arm to join the crowd below and start the dancing.

  Emmeline was in a beautiful blue-green gown and very traditional peacock mask, elegant but not too magical, nothing designed to outshine her brother. Julian, on the other hand, had gone away from tradition a different way. He was wearing a lovely suit and frock coat in a dark brown pinstripe, but the upturned collar of his jacket grew out into an amazing spread of branches that framed his face rather than hiding it. There were green leaves along the outside of the halo, and up high out of anyone’s reach there was a single red apple, ripe for the picking.

  The best part of Julian’s costume, however, was the familiar figure of Horace sitting near Julian’s face. “I think Horace looks quite smug, don’t you?” said Alex, trying not to grin too much.

  “Everyone is going to wonder why you look so pleased,” said James, but he sounded approving.

  “He does fit with the costume, I believe the apple is artificial as well,” said Jacques.

  Alex’s smile softened a little bit. “He looks wonderful, doesn’t he? All that brown suits him, and the green cravat sets off his eyes.”

  “You are so gone for him,” said Jacques under his breath, chuckling.

  “But you’re right, he does look like quite the prize,” added James, sounding no less amused.

  Alex couldn’t help but drift closer to the front of the crowd, his eyes on Julian and nothing else for the moment. The branches, though they seemed to grow quite naturally out of the coat, weren’t fabric at all. The pinstripes continued up them as decoration in lieu of realistic bark, however, and the leaves were folded green paper. James was right, the apple, too, was artificial, an intricate carnelian puzzle-carving with jade leaf and golden stem.

  Emmeline led Julian out to the middle of the dance floor; traditionally the relative “giving away” the consort would claim the first dance, and afterward Julian would give each Suitor a single dance, choosing by costume as though unaware of their identities. If the consort was willing, and the suitor was appropriately masked, the dance would end in a kiss.

  Alex licked his lips, rather glad he’d convinced Gerard to leave his mouth free.

  “So, odds that Julian’s also been online to see who’s who?” murmured Jacques, watching as Julian searched the crowd.

  At Julian’s delighted grin upon seeing Alex, James chuckled. “He knows who is who, whether from the internet or otherwise.”

  “Did anyone ever not know?” Alex wondered. After three dates apiece, Alex would think a consort would know his Suitors well enough not to be fooled by a mask.

  “Of course not,” said a new voice, and Alex found himself in conversation with Whitby Chilcott. The green man costume was a masterpiece of subtle design; his green suit held a very subtle leaf pattern in the weave, his cravat had been pinned in leaflike folds, and his mask was as gorgeously carved as any frieze. His hair had been darkened with just a tiny bit of green and given a slight leaf-like wave, so the effect from a distance was mundane but up close it was quite beautiful.

  “Your costume is magnificent,” said Alex, impressed. “Is there any magic, or is it all art?”

  Chilcott looked surprised at the compliment. “There’s a tiny bit of illusion involved that adds a bit of leafy rustle and the slightest scent of green growing things,” he said, “but mostly it’s real.”

  “It’s wonderfully made,” said Alex. “I think Julian will like it.”

  Chilcott smiled. “I hope so, though I suspect he’ll like yours, too. It’s very you, flashy yet somehow understated.”

  Alex laughed. “Thanks, I think,” he said. The music started up, and people flowed out of the way, the dance floor clearing in a smooth wave as Julian and Emmeline began to dance, the delicate peacock sheltered beneath the branches of the proud young tree.

  “How have your dates gone with Julian?” asked Alex. Gossip had him looking quite cosy indeed on his last date, but you couldn’t always tell how much of that was real and how much was made up to add tension.

  Chilcott smiled, and it was quite fond. “Well, I think. He’s a complex young man, more than he lets on.”

  Alex smiled right back. “It’s good you appreciate that,” he said. “If I was going to lose him to anyone here, I would sulk the least if it was you. You wanted him for himself from the start.”

  Chilcott chuckled. “I had admired Julian before he was with Mandeville, and always cursed my ill luck at missing my chance.”

  “I’d still sulk,” said Alex, but his voice was warm. He’d always felt Chilcott sincerely wanted a chance at Julian rather than the St. Albans fortune, and more importa
ntly when Alex slipped his fingers into his pocket to touch his watch fob, the man’s personal magic was nothing at all like any of the things from the murder investigation. Chilcott was a rather romantic symphony to Alex’s magical ear, a layered song full of hope and longing with an underlying determination.

  Chilcott chuckled. “I will consider it a sign if I lose him to a second man,” he said, “but I’ll curse the fates least if it’s you.”

  Alex chuckled with him, and felt that they’d come to an understanding. “Tell me,” he said, eyes on the crowd now though his attention kept being drawn back to Julian, “what do you think of Willoughby?”

  Chilcott tensed, but didn’t walk off. “That man is a viper hiding among grass snakes,” he said, quiet enough Alex had to strain to hear.

  An interesting metaphor. “Or a wasp among honeybees,” said Alex just as quietly.

  “Perhaps more fitting, given his costume,” said Chilcott in a more normal tone. “The moth’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

  “It is, and the colouring rather washes him out,” said Alex, keeping to light banter, aware that they were likely being listened to. “Dull and unflattering.”

  Chilcott chuckled, then moved off to find another conversation partner, though Alex had a feeling they’d come to some sort of gentleman’s accord.

  “Moths are excellent at hiding in plain sight,” said James thoughtfully.

  “Assuming I survive this ball, we should get Julian to give us all the dates that Willoughby had to move around or cancel and at what notice,” said Alex. The first one had coincided with the artificer’s murder, perhaps the rest would have equally suspicious coincidences. The relatives could be a smokescreen, real but not the true reason for his absences.

  The crowd was flowing around them, rearranging conversation groups in little eddies as the dance came to an end. The now-twelve Suitors found themselves at the front of the group in a ragged circle, poised for Julian to make his choice. Emmeline would dance mostly with the other guests, courtiers and celebrities of high enough standing to get an invite and be seen at such a prestigious event. Alex was fairly sure he’d seen at least one movie star lurking around the edges, and he wondered who would be happier if they got to share a dance, Emmeline or the movie star.