The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (Consulting Magic Book 1)

by Amy Crook

  Alex's chuckles turned to a wry laugh. "What, our coffee bonding didn't give me this much leeway? I'll have you know that forces greater than his were working to get me into that Courtship."

  "Did your mother call?" she said, surprised.

  "No, and hush, lest the fates hear you and bring me to her attention. No, just every other family member, and another letter from young Julian as well." Alex paced around his own living room, the wood floors comforting under his bare feet. If Mother got involved, everything would go swiftly downhill. She had never approved of anything about him, and she'd be mortified at the very idea of his wardrobe gambits.

  "What did he have to say?" asked Lapointe, trying to sound neutral though he could tell she was highly entertained by the whole affair.

  Alex smirked to himself, "Don't you wish you knew," he teased, and hung up.

  A minute later, his phone rang again, this time with Smedley's number.

  He let it go to voicemail.

  ~ ~ ~

  After a nice, long bath and another short talk with Lapointe, Alex got himself ready to give himself over to the care of his true first love -- magic.

  The spelled cufflink set was a good first gift, but once he started with something so precious and magical, it wouldn't do to go back to anything mundane. Alex didn't have any of Julian's hair, but he had the love note which he'd yet to answer, and that would do for the next gift he had planned. He wasn't sure if he'd have enough time during the Courtship itself, though he already had plans to beg a lock of hair from young Julian, should he make it far enough to owe more gifts and have time between events to make them.

  This time, Alex was creating something that was both simpler and more complex -- a potion of heart's ease. Alex felt that it was appropriate, at least while he was still in the first stage of the layered Courtship, to do what he could to both acknowledge and soothe Julian's grief at losing his parents, and then his lover not a year later.

  Alex had a feeling everyone else would treat it as gauche to bring up, and he intended to stand out with kindness when he knew he couldn't compete in other ways.

  The first thing Alex did was to spend several minutes in the centre of the room letting go of his own heartaches as best he could. Years of magical training had blunted some of the bitterness he felt toward his family, but today it was as fresh and black as ever, and he had to lighten that up as much as he could before he could make something that would truly help Julian's grief.

  He sang his own personal meditation mantra, not so much words as tones given form through the shape of his mouth, something that grounded him and helped him to push away the feeling that came with knowing that his family didn't particularly like him. The feeling was mutual, but he was too self-aware not to know that it was partly out of self-defence. Flora and Fauna could both be quite kind, Victor strong and Henry unfailingly cheerful even in the face of tragedy.

  But they didn't like him, so he didn't like them, and there were barbs in their words to each other, meant to tear the soft places of their hearts.

  Deep breaths between each clear, pure sound helped him to let go of today's fresh wounds, to let them heal over, to take his triumphs in having made Fauna admire his cleverness in gift choices, in making Flora acknowledge that his sense of personal style wasn't utterly hopeless.

  When he was done, he had a small store of shining moments of goodness to add to his personal collection, and he felt he'd eased his own turmoil enough. He continued to hum, tunelessly now, as he gathered up the ingredients for the potion.

  Heart's ease had to be brewed in a cauldron of silver, over a heat too low to damage the soft metal, a fire fed with fresh lavender and rosemary. He poured out nine drams of tincture of heartsease, smelling the violet-tinged water like a fine fragrance.

  Finely chopped lemon thyme was weighed and sprinkled over the burbling liquid, adding its own healing and purification, not to mention love. Then he dropped in a cracked but insect-free piece of amber for calming and harmony, watching as it sank to the bottom of the small cauldron, its rich colour blunted by the violet tinge of the tincture.

  He struck the first tuning fork against the cauldron, causing them both to ring, and he could feel the magic beginning to rise. When next he looked, the amber had begun to melt like honey, though the fire wasn't nearly hot enough to have such an effect, and the bits of thyme seemed to be dissolving into the potion as well, giving it a cloudy blue-green tinge. Alex was patient, holding the tuning fork over the cauldron until its tone had died out almost completely before he set it down and moved on.

  Next he sprinkled finely powdered jade over the potion and then added a few drops of cedar oil and a sprig of feverfew. Another tuning fork rang out, this one a low, deep tone that rumbled through the cauldron, causing it to bubble and mix until there was nothing visible but a clear, pale green liquid.

  Lastly he added some very fine vanilla and a small but clear peridot, for comfort and cleansing in turn. A tiny sprinkling of olive oil made the fire flare just a touch hotter, and then he struck the third tuning fork, this time a very high, clear note that seemed to shatter the stone into a thousand glittering bits that were then swallowed up by the magic, leaving the final potion a single dram of clear, thick liquid the colour of new green leaves.

  With the deftness that came from years of practice, Alex struck the three-tone chord one last time, pulling the magic together and adding in his own voice as a fourth note, binding the potion to his will. The smoke that had hazed the room from the fire began to pour into the cauldron, giving it one last infusion of power and giving the green liquid the smoky quality of good jade.

  When the sounds died out this time, the fire was out and the potion completely cooled. Alex decanted it carefully into a tiny bottle and then tucked the phial into a padded case. He sat rather heavily, his energy drained from the effort, and forced himself to write out the potion's date, creator and purpose on a card to be tucked in with it.

  When that was done, Alex didn't even bother to look at a clock, he just took himself straight to bed. Whether it had taken minutes or hours, it had taken all he had to give this night.

  CHAPTER 5

  In Which Protests Are Lodged, and the Courtship Begins in Earnest

  "What would you do if I told you I forbid you to enter into this Courtship?" said Smedley, standing far too close to Alex.

  Alex smirked and stepped just a bit closer, turning intimidation into seduction. "I'd say you were jealous, Agent Smedley," he said.

  Smedley turned a rather unattractive shade of red, but he refused to step away. "That's not. Look, it's a conflict of interest! The boy's a suspect, you know."

  "Nonsense," said Alex, walking his fingers up the front of Smedley's shirt. "You say that as though I'll be shagging him tomorrow."

  "Won't you?" said Smedley, grabbing Alex's hand to keep him from his antics, which only brought them closer and made his face go from red to purple.

  Alex laughed and kissed the tip of his nose, then stepped away, bringing Smedley's hand with him. "Courtship is far more proper than that, at least in the earliest stages," said Alex, clutching Smedley's hand briefly to his chest. From the reading he'd been doing, there was a chance that Julian would want a taste of his potential husbands at the week-long garden party he'd be hosting nearer the end of the Courtship, but Alex would deal with that when the time came.

  Hopefully, by then he'd have found the clues he needed and been eliminated in favour of someone more suitable, anyway.

  "Agent Smedley, are you trying to seduce my consultant?" said Lapointe, from where she'd been watching across the room.

  Alex looked coy and innocent as best he could.

  "It wasn't. I'm not. Argh!" said Smedley, throwing his hands up and stalking out.

  Alex managed to hold in his laughter until Smedley was out of sight, if not hearing.

  "I take it he read you the riot act over joining in the St. Albans Courtship?" she asked dryly, handing him the newspaper socie
ty page with its full-page spread on the suitors and, of course, the prize.

  Alex made a face. "They must have gotten that photo from Victor," he said. He looked paler and thinner than ever in it, having been forced into wearing colours that didn't suit him at all.

  "It's terrible," she agreed, admiring the photos of the other suitors, all staged head shots meant to make them look handsomely dominant. Alex just looked faintly sick in his.

  Alex sighed, adjusting his own well-cut black clothing. It washed him out a bit, but in what he'd always thought was a dignified sort of way. His sisters always said he looked like an undertaker. "Well, all the more reason to have outfitted myself with a whole new flattering wardrobe at Victor's expense."

  Her eyebrows went up; she'd worked with him long enough to know how much he loathed accepting family money. "What brought this on?"

  Alex smirked. "He wanted me to represent the family, which costs more than I could afford even I did nothing but make charms like your new little bauble. So, the family gets to pay for me to come up to their standards, and I get a new wardrobe."

  She laughed. "I suppose a courtship like this isn't cheap."

  "Not by any stretch of the imagination," he said with a sigh, followed by a grin. "It's a good thing Smedley didn't ask me to do it, the department would have to fire everyone and get a trained dog to do all the work for the next year to pay for it."

  "Perhaps I could stay on as his handler," she mused, leading him toward the kitchen, where there was a fresh pot of coffee just brewing.

  He chuckled. "With a nose like yours, perhaps you could do both jobs."

  "Less to scoop that way," she said, pouring them both a cup as soon as the filter stopped dripping.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next afternoon, Alex dressed himself in his new finery and double checked that everything was in order. In deference to his monochrome theme, his gift in its black velvet box was wrapped with a black satin bow on which he'd written black runes that would keep it from unfurling for any but Julian's hand.

  He'd even worn black underthings, in case there was any sort of accident -- some suitors in the past had not been above pranks to try to humiliate the opposition.

  Today's event was a formal dinner at the St. Albans home, and Alex had spent several meals with his family during the past week in order to brush up on his table manners. He sighed and checked his new pocket watch, then closed up the flat and went outside to wait for the family car.

  After all, it wouldn't do to arrive at a place like the St. Albans estate in a common taxi.

  On the way there, Alex found himself fingering Julian's third note, which had come just this morning. His second reply had been mostly an apology for his own poor social graces, and an assurance that he had every intention of Courting Julian the way he deserved -- to say outright that he wanted to win Julian's hand would have felt too much like lying. Even for cases, he tried not to lie when a good misdirection would do.

  The card was made of the same heavy paper, and he wondered what made it so touchable even as he forced himself to tuck it away once more. He sent Lapointe a quick text message suggesting a test on the paper itself rather than the words written upon the first two notes, which were properly in evidence, and then he steeled himself as the car slowed coming around the long driveway, stopping in front of the door that had seemed far less intimidating the first two times he'd been here.

  A footman opened the door, and Alex gathered his box and got out, making sure to smooth down his clothing so that Julian would get the full effect right away. He noted the fresh fairy-bread offering left out by the door for luck, the china spelled to keep the milk from spoiling and ants out of the honey, eyes finding the fairy-wards in among the rest of the arcane and decorative moulding around the front door.

  That door opened as he approached, and Godfrey gave him a dark look as he cheerfully walked past. Somehow, the man's disapproval improved his spirits greatly; whatever Godfrey suspected of him, he had a feeling it would only make him more appealing to young Julian.

  Godfrey followed him to the parlour, where Julian sat in his dark mourning clothes among the jewel-bright suitors, surrounded by gifts that had been opened and discarded. The butler cleared his throat and announced, "Alexander Nigel Frankfurt Benedict, the Fourth." Alex winced.

  "Alex," said Julian, and the smile on his face went from strained to welcoming.

  Alex actually blushed.

  "Julian, it's so good to see you again," he said, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to the offered hand. "I've brought you a small token of my affection," he said, as he was sure all the other men had said before him. He produced the box with a smooth gesture, finding himself touched as Julian's smile widened.

  "I'd say you didn't have to, but you did," said Julian impishly, getting a disapproving look from one of the suitors; Godfrey had already returned to door duty.

  Another young man, a Duckworth by the look of him, drawled, "Funerary as always, I see, Benedict."

  Alex did not smirk, but it took effort. "With our host in mourning, how could I be any less?" he asked smoothly. Flora had helped him practice.

  Julian looked suitably touched. "You wore this for me?" he asked, though of course all the men had likely had their suits made just for tonight.

  "Though it's true I do often wear black," said Alex, "tonight my black is for you, and for your losses."

  "Thank you," said Julian, his voice soft and small this time, as though he didn't know what to make of such honest kindness. He busied himself unravelling the ribbon on his gift, opening the lid to admire the sheen of the pearls before reading the jeweller's written explanation of the enchantment on them. "Oh! This is very kind of you."

  "What is it?" asked another suitor, a swarthy young man in rich amber and brown.

  Julian showed them dutifully to the crowd. "They're charmed to bring love to the heartbroken," he said.

  "Did you make them?" asked Duckworth, his voice rich with implication.

  Alex shook his head. "I did not, they're from Clovis & Dade. I will get no advantage from my gift."

  "Oh, I don't know," said Julian, closing the box and holding it in his lap. "I'm already feeling more kindly disposed toward you." He sounded flirty, hopeful, and Alex swallowed a mix of triumph and guilt -- after all, it wasn't truly the young man's heart he was after.

  He was saved from making a clever reply by Godfrey announcing another suitor, this one a Holmes Willoughby. Willoughby was an athletic sort, blond and blue-eyed and grinning his white grin, his suit a soft dove grey with a crisp white shirt and blue cravat that made his eyes seem to glow.

  "Willoughby, how good of you to join us," said Julian, and Alex stepped back and joined the flock of colourful admirers around the main chair.

  Willoughby went to one knee and kissed Julian's hand, his eyes only on the potential prize with seemingly no attention paid to his rivals. "I am sorry for the circumstances that bring me here, but glad for the chance to win you," he said earnestly.

  Alex had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

  "Thank you, W- Holmes," said Julian, getting that lost little boy look that Alex found so disconcertingly compelling.

  Holmes kissed Julian's hand, and then presented his own gift, in a silvery grey satin box with a blue bow. "I've brought you a small token," he said, his tone suggesting regret that it couldn't be more.

  "Thank you," said Julian simply, and Alex wondered if he'd flirted with any of the others, and if this quiet vulnerability was Alex's fault, or something in the other man.

  Alex sighed and tried to remember his purpose, humming very softly under his breath to get himself centred and calmed in the midst of all the tediously difficult social intrigue.

  Willoughby's gift was a set of handkerchiefs, monogrammed and spelled for softness and self-cleansing, another gift for a grieving young man. Alex could see the rest of them looking nervous to have been outmanoeuvred in this by two men in a row, their own more commonly acceptab
le gifts cast aside while Julian clung to the boxes from both Alex and Willoughby.

  Alex reminded himself that he didn't need to be first, he just needed to not be last, and let it stand.

  He was mostly quiet, standing at Julian's side as the men chattered around him, listening with his other senses when he could. That sneaky thread was here somewhere, he could hear the tinny melody, but it was hiding under so much from his own enchanted watch fob to the still-intact house wards that it was just as hard to pinpoint as it had been the last time.

  "I'm sorry?" said Alex, when he realised they were all looking for him.

  Julian giggled, sounding terribly young for a moment. "Flynn asked you if you were still working for a living," he said.

  "Ah," said Alex, clearing his throat. "Yes, though my family has chosen to back me in this matter." He knew there would be gossip about how a mere magical consultant could afford such things as Alex's gift, which was rare both in enchantment and the size and quality of the pearls, and he felt it best to head it off.

  "I'd heard you had a falling out with old Victor, how is he?" asked one of the other suitors.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" said Alex, cocking his head.

  That prompted a cascade of introductions, though most of the men already knew each other from school or any of the hundreds of absurd social functions they'd attended in their lifetimes. Alex had always hidden in the coat check room whenever possible, at least until it got late enough that the coat check room grew busy with more adult visitors.

  It turned out that George Entwistle had shared a room with Victor at school one year, which led to polite gossip about everyone's family until the next suitor showed up.

  Eventually, all thirteen suitors were there -- some early, some fashionably late, but all of them determined to make a good impression. All the other men but Willoughby had chosen the rich, luxurious colours that were fashionable this year, jewel tones chosen to make eyes sparkle, skin look richer, and bring out the highlights in their hair. Cravats were impeccably tied and pinned, cuffs always French with a glimmer of fine cufflinks, and quality watches checked at every opportunity. Most of the hands held rings, though none had their own signet -- no head of household would be in this Courtship, because they'd be expected to take up the reins of the St. Albans household instead, so there were a number of second, third and even fifth sons in the mix.