The Courtship of Julian St. Albans

by Crook, Amy

  Given the limited number of dances for the evening, it would be an honour for anyone to get a dance with the hostess, and a boost to their reputation.

  Julian stepped forward, choosing Cruther’s cheerful hedgehog for his next dance, which looked like something out of a child’s storybook. “A hedgehog dancing with an apple tree,” said a droll voice next to Alex. “What has the world come to?”

  Alex turned to find a small man in an intricately filigreed mask regarding him curiously. “I rather like it,” said Alex. “Later the tree can dance with the sun, too, that will be lovely.”

  “Several forest creatures will get their chance, I suppose,” said the man, though he didn’t sound like he approved of the falcon and hound any more than Alex did.

  “And some unrelated things,” said Alex. “There’s something a bit morbid about at tree dancing with a paper book, after all.”

  The man laughed in scandalised delight, and then a woman who seemed to be his wife came and told him to stop bothering the nice Suitor and shooed him away.

  “Harmless and entertaining,” said Jacques. “He may have been your best conversation partner of the evening.”

  Alex chuckled. “Excepting Julian, of course.”

  “Excepting Julian,” agreed James. The Guardians had gone back to flanking Alex, so he couldn’t see their faces without twisting around and risking poking the other one with his headpiece, but he had a feeling they were doing their best to look officially intimidating anyway.

  Alex made his way over to Chudleigh, who was looking a bit forlorn over by the bottom of the stairs. “Your costume is amazing,” said Alex with a smile. He was rather enjoying the surprised looks he got when giving out compliments this evening.

  “Oh! Thanks, yours is neat,” said Chudleigh, but his hail-fellow-well-met spirit was dimmed a bit tonight.

  “I was sorry to hear about Pembroke,” said Alex. “I know you two were friends.”

  Chudleigh shrugged. “We weren’t really that close, but he was nice to me in school.” His tone was neutral but he couldn’t quite hide the hangdog look in his eyes.

  “You must be enjoying all the magic tonight,” said Alex. “The bubble man reminds me of your story.”

  Chudleigh gave him a surprised, happy look. “Yeah, he does, a little. I hope he doesn’t pop, though.”

  “Me, too,” said Alex with a laugh. “I keep being afraid someone’s going to bump into him and…”

  “Pop!” said Chudleigh. He was grinning now, his mood brightened. “Then they’d have to get one of those ‘wet floor’ signs out.”

  “That would be a lot of soap,” agreed Alex.

  Chudleigh looked Alex over. “You’ve had your fair share of problems,” he said, glancing down at the cane. “Will you dance okay with that?”

  “I’ll be fine for a five-minute song,” said Alex, hoping it was true.

  Chudleigh nodded. “I know I’m not the favourite, really, but I like Julian and I’m glad he included me.”

  Alex was surprised, but he nodded anyway. “I never expected to be in the running, not really,” he said.

  “Front of the pack, now,” said Chudleigh. “Though I think Willoughby’s breathing down your neck.”

  Alex searched the crowd, taking a moment to find where Willoughby was talking to the foggy Duckworth. “It’s a wonder his family let him show up at all, though,” teased Alex. Chudleigh may have needed a bit of cheering, but Alex wasn’t sure enough of him to do more than idly gossip about their rivals.

  Chudleigh chuckled. “I think I’m gonna go get an up-close look at the bubble man,” he said. “Thanks for letting me see yours.”

  “If I see you later, I can show you how it turns on and off, it’s kind of cool,” said Alex. “The whole thing folds down all sleek.”

  “I’ve seen the video,” said Chudleigh, patting his pocket where presumably his phone resided. “Those Guardians of yours aren’t just for show, huh?”

  Alex sighed. “I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head. “That bit’s already up, too?”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re on the hot list,” said Chudleigh with a grin. He slapped Alex on the shoulder and wandered off, toward where Barnes and his sparkling fountain was deep in conversation with Chilcott’s green man and Winston-Smythe’s bubbles.

  “This party is surreal,” said Alex, shaking his head.

  Jacques chuckled. “You said it,” he agreed. No one but the Suitors had costumes half so elaborate, but there were some amusing combinations swirling on the dance floor, fox and quail, butterfly and cat, morning glory vines and a hummingbird. Alex rather wanted to see the bird with the cat, but he suspected it wasn’t going to happen.

  Alex let himself be drawn around the floor by the motion of the crowd, making polite noises at anyone who tried to talk to him, though thanks to his Guardians he was left largely alone. At some point he surrendered his empty drink to a waiter, and then he found himself right next to Willoughby himself.

  “Your costume is quite clever, is that an illusion that makes the mask seem to move?” asked Alex.

  Willoughby turned, and Alex saw something in his eyes for a moment that gave him real pause, but then it was gone in the swish of wings, replaced by a bland amusement. “Of course, just as it’s illusion that makes you seem to give off sparks. Quite clever, was it your idea or your designer’s to come as magic itself?”

  “Oh, the designer’s,” said Alex. “He had his heart set on it, so I caved immediately when I realised it meant I could wear black.”

  Willoughby chuckled politely. “What do you think our young Julian will do, at the end of his Masquerade?” he asked, the question of the night that no one had yet voiced.

  “Oh, I think he’ll pick his seven, he just wanted a bit of fun first,” said Alex lightly. He honestly wasn’t sure what Julian intended, and had been trying very hard not to think about the possibility that he might end up engaged — or worse, watching Julian get engaged to someone else — in just a few hours.

  “He has been quite warm with me, and kind to put up with the vagaries of my relatives,” said Willoughby. It sounded a little bit like bragging, and a little bit like he was trying to buck himself up and Alex’s presence was incidental.

  “He’s a very warm young man,” said Alex. “Even if the face of each new loss.” Another of those strange looks passed over Willoughby’s face, but again a sweep of those moth wings reset him to blandness.

  Alex slipped his hand in his pocket and was just about to give Willoughby’s magic a good, long listen when the perfectly mundane music stopped. Alex’s heart contracted to watch as Julian, giggling, leaned in and managed an awkwardly sweet kiss for his hedgehog Suitor.

  He was at least comforted that Willoughby didn’t look any more pleased about it than Alex felt.

  They stepped away from one another and up to the front of the crowd again, the eleven remaining Suitors once again presenting themselves for Julian’s choices. Julian would get a break between every third dance, though his final set would be only two, one with the last Suitor and another with Emmeline. No one, however, was likely to leave, as Julian would then retire with his sister for a time, and then emerge to announce his intentions for the rest of his Courtship.

  Julian smiled as he turned, and Alex was too far to really see if it was reaching his eyes yet. Finally, he walked over to Grover Barnes and the crowd sighed as the two of them stepped out into the open space and, as the musicians struck up another song, began to dance.

  Alex considered moving back to talk to Willoughby again, but the man was moving away in the crowd while Phineas O’Connor was making his way toward Alex. As soon as their eyes met he smiled, and Alex sighed and resigned himself to letting Willoughby go, for now.

  He’d forgotten that O’Connor was actually an interesting conversation partner, and the two of them chatted all through the next song. Alex did spare a moment to check O’Connor’s magic, but his music, too, was nothing like the constructs. Sol
idly earthbound with just a hint of dreaminess, O’Connor’s personal magic made Alex think of practical work-songs by day and evenings spent reading fantastical literature. The book that made up Phineas’ mask tended to show facts related to the conversation at hand, and occasionally even word definitions, and Alex wondered where the spell was getting its information.

  Between the costume and the conversation, Alex was actually surprised when the dance came to an end and Barnes got his sweet, chaste kiss. O’Connor chuckled and moved away, and James muttered quietly, “Not our culprit, I take it?”

  Alex shook his head. “Definitely not.”

  “Stolid,” commented Jacques, not unreasonable given their conversation had once again been largely about practical things.

  Alex chuckled. “Not too bad, though, he makes it all seem so interesting just by how much he cares.”

  The Guardians chuckled, too, but Alex couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Julian, who had gone to the little table set up beside the musicians, where Emmeline was waiting with drinks and a little snack. Waiters circulated through the crowd as well, and Alex snagged a glass of water for himself, drinking it off and handing the empty to the next available waiter.

  “Why is it always so warm at these things?” asked Alex rhetorically.

  “That’s one advantage to my costume,” said Barnes, who had approached Alex while he was turned away talking to the waiter.

  Alex chuckled, glad his Guardians, at least, were paying more attention. “Are the fountains cooling?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, there’s a little breeze from the spell that cycles the water, you can feel it,” offered Barnes. Alex was once again struck with the man’s invitingly submissive qualities, and wondered how it was he came to be Courting rather than Courted.

  Alex raised a hand near one of the streams, and sure enough, there was a slight cool breeze and, when he took a breath, the faint smell of ozone and water. “Very refreshing,” he said. “I’m sure Julian appreciated it.”

  Barnes chuckled. “He said he would have waited on me until later if he’d known how delightfully cooling my costume would be.”

  Alex listened for a moment to Barnes’ magic, finding it soft and shy with little tinkling hints of magic.

  Barnes gave him an amused look. “Are you wondering why I’m here?” he asked.

  Alex flushed, not realising he was being so unsubtle with his silence. “Honestly, yes,” he said.

  “My household can’t really afford a Courtship, not like Julian’s, and now I have met a dozen eligible bachelors interested in having a consort.” A shadow passed over Barnes’ face. “Eleven now, I suppose.”

  “Oh!” said Alex with a laugh. “That’s actually quite clever, weighing the lesser expense of Courting against the greater one of holding a full Courtship.”

  Barnes leaned in and said slyly, “I’m quite taken with Mr. Chilcott, but I’m afraid he’s only got eyes for Julian.”

  “I’ll have to find some gauche way to mention it to Whitby,” said Alex with a wink.

  Barnes giggled, and for the first time he looked relaxed and in his element, flirting instead of Courting. “You’re quite the dark horse yourself, Mr. Benedict.”

  “You may call me Alex, but I’m afraid I don’t come with the sort of fortune most of them do. I live in a flat in the city and support myself as a mage,” replied Alex, his voice gentle despite the blunt words.

  Barnes’ chuckle was more wry this time. “My mother might object, but a happy life with a handsome master is worth more than money and land,” he said, stepping just a little closer.

  Alex actually blushed.

  He was saved from responding to Barnes’ flirtation when Julian stood up, and everyone’s attention turned to the dance floor again. Barnes faded politely back into the crowd, and Alex stepped forward again, flanked by his Guardians. Julian was more certain this time, spine straight and head up as he went straight for Flynn’s hunting hound.

  Alex took the opportunity to circulate in the crowd a little himself, chasing threads of magic rather than conversation, trusting in his Guardians to poke him if he needed to respond to someone. That dissonant melody he associated with the evil mage was here, somewhere, as was the secondary song of the person who had donated ingredients to create the insect constructs. Alex kept getting snatches of it, but nothing conclusive, so he took a different tack and intruded himself on Leslie Winston-Smythe’s conversation with George Entwistle.

  Up close, it was clear that Entwistle’s mask was a rental rather than a designer’s creation, though the suit itself was bespoke. It was a standard half-mask of the sort worn in traditional comedy performances, with a long nose and cheerful expression with just a touch of wickedness that didn’t suit Entwistle at all. “…not so foolish as to think I’ll still be in the running after this,” Entwistle was saying defensively.

  “Still, it won’t do your reputation any good,” said Winston-Smythe.

  “I suppose it depends on whose repute he’s looking for,” said Alex wryly. “After all, realism and practicality are quite valuable, to some.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and tried not to look too much like he wasn’t paying any attention to their words.

  Entwistle looked pleased at that. “If I’m not going to win Mr. St. Albans, then I wish to be known as frugal and not,” he paused to sniff at Winston-Smythe’s bubble-illusion, “extravagant.” Entwistle stalked off, but not before Alex caught a snatch of his song, a martial sort of air with very little embellishment.

  “You’re trying to figure out my costume,” said Winston-Smythe, amused.

  Alex chuckled. “I’m not used to hiding my expressions when I’m listening to spells,” he allowed, which Winston-Smythe took for admitting guilt.

  “My designer says it’s a simple modified illusion charm, he expects it to be all the rage for holiday fancy dress parties once someone else figures it out, so go ahead.” Winston-Smythe looked indulgent and just a bit condescending, but Alex wasn’t going to balk at permission to listen to both him and his fascinating costume.

  Alex gave a soft little hum and let his senses flip around, examining the spell which was, as he said, a familiar illusion given an anchor in reality that allowed it to reflect his contours realistically while still giving the appearance of transparency. Deeper beneath that, Winston-Smythe had a surprisingly whimsical feel to him, though that note of superiority was there, too, not just a façade but an ingrained trait. Alex let the note die and his hand drop away from the charm in his pocket, and smiled. “That is very clever, your designer is correct,” said Alex. “Thank you for letting me listen.”

  Winston-Smythe smiled. “Well, it would hardly do for me to deny such a secret to magic himself.”

  Alex chuckled, as he was meant to, and was glad when the end of the song and Flynn’s dance took their attention, and they moved back into the spotlight.

  Julian chose not to bestow Flynn with a kiss, which Alex thought was rather bold and a pleasant surprise, though the hound’s nose would also have made it awkward to attempt. He turned toward Alex and for one moment Alex thought it was his turn, but instead Julian came over to the man next to him.

  “Leslie, I’m fascinated by your costume,” said Julian, leading him out onto the dance floor.

  Alex suppressed another surge of jealousy at the flirtatiousness in Julian’s tone, and instead made his way over to where Flynn was looking less than thrilled at the implicit rejection. “Tough break about that nose,” said Alex, nodding to Flynn’s mask.

  Flynn took the face-saving lie and smiled wryly. “Not as clever as I’d hoped, I guess. Our little fox wasn’t as impressed as my designer seemed to think he’d be.”

  “I can’t imagine the falcon will be getting a kiss under that beak, either,” said Alex, nodding to Henry Strathmore’s elaborately feathered mask with its wicked-looking beak for a nose.

  “Nor the comedy mask,” said Flynn with a chuckle. “You went the smart route and kept all your
stuff,” he gestured around his head, “away from your face.”

  “I’m very keen on getting my kiss,” said Alex. He turned as if to watch Julian, and slipped his hand into his pocket to fondle his watch fob. “How’d the dance go?”

  He tuned out Flynn’s answer, concentrating on the man’s personal magic, which was disorderly and not particularly appealing, but didn’t hold the studied disharmonies of their culprit. He sighed and let go just in time to hear the end of Flynn’s tirade.

  “…didn’t even bother to try to kiss me. Ah, well, I’ve got a nice bit on the east side I can go visit when this is over, she’ll enjoy getting hounded.”

  Alex did not roll his eyes, but it was close. “Always good to think ahead,” he replied neutrally, allowing the crowd to part them and then move him away while another Suitor cornered Flynn about his chances.

  “He’s really not smart enough,” said James, amused.

  “But he’s not harmless, either,” said Jacques, though his tone wasn’t any less amused.

  Alex sighed. “They’re both here, I just haven’t managed to catch up with them.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so they wandered through the crowd while the song finished up, then stood out front as Julian gave Winston-Smythe a kiss, giggling after and making a comment that was no doubt about the illusion. Winston-Smythe left looking pleased, and Julian steeled himself and went for Henry Strathmore and his sharp-looking falcon.

  Alex sighed and went on circulating in the crowd.

  “He does seem to enjoy the magical costumes the best,” said Duckworth, who had drifted up silently into Alex’s sphere. His fog slithered out to cover Alex’s toes, chilling them for a moment before it moved away.

  “That’s not surprising, Julian’s shown a very appealing joy in magic all along,” said Alex. He leaned on his cane and slipped his fingers into his pocket, then said. “Did you design the spell on your costume yourself?”