The Apprenticeship of Julian St. Albans

by Crook, Amy

  “Yes, Father,” said Julian softly, turning his attention inward. He treated himself like he might an ailing plant, sweeping his attention from crown to toes methodically, out to the tips of each finger, through each strand of hair and inch of skin. He could feel something lingering at the very ends of his hair and he pushed the shine out, down the shafts until it stood out from his skin like static and there was no trace of the darkness left. He breathed in steady, deep breaths of the magic that permeated his apartment, and when he tightened his magic back up his hair flattened back against his skull, but there was more sign of whatever darkness had been clinging to it.

  “That’s good, very good,” said Father Stephen. “Now, take my hands,” he said, and Julian could feel where they were without opening his eyes. He put his hands in Stephen’s and felt a little jolt as their magic connected and some of that pure white devotion swept into him, clearing every little cobweb out of the corners of his magic, until he felt scoured new from the inside out.

  “Wow,” said Julian, blinking his eyes open when their hands, and the connection, came apart. He was surprised to find the room so dim, half expecting to see Father Stephen shining with his magic.

  “You’re clean,” said Father Stephen with certainty. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

  “Thank you, Father,” said Julian, aware that the priest had put a lot of energy into him, and also that something inside him had been shifted, like a block he’d had unwittingly in front of his energy that now allowed it to flow more freely. “You opened something up?”

  Stephen looked a bit embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’ve likely accelerated your magical development, I got a bit enthusiastic with the cleansing spell there.”

  “It’s all right,” said Julian, standing up and stretching again. “I think I’m going to need it, and everyone will help me get a handle on it.”

  “You’re already much more controlled than the shy little trickles you sent out to all my plants before,” said Father Stephen, accepting a hand up.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to nap after that, though,” said Julian, heading in to turn the shower back on. “Do I need anything special here?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Father Stephen. “There’s a bar of our soap and some special shampoo, here,” he said, pointing them out. “I’ll get your potion ready, though I’ve been told I’m not allowed to clean up after myself,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Definitely not,” said Julian. “That’s Nat’s job.” He washed carefully and thoroughly, getting the soap everywhere and then shampooing twice to get all the salt and massage oil out of his hair.

  “I wonder if my stylist would make a house call?” said Julian as he dried off. “I’m feeling the need for shorter hair.”

  Stephen chuckled and handed over Julian’s pyjamas and amulet. “I suspect he or she could be convinced, since you’ve got the means, but I’m not sure Alex would allow them inside.”

  “Probably not,” said Julian with a chuckle. “I’ll manage, either way.” He got dressed and presented himself for the final blessing, the kiss of peace with the potion. This time the potion sent a sharp, cold shiver through him, and Julian was very glad that there was no trace of the other spell left, because he didn’t want to feel what would happen if the two magics had collided inside him.

  Stephen kissed his forehead, and then smiled. “Go in peace, let them assure themselves of your wellness, and I’ll finish up here so you can nap.”

  “Yes, Father, thank you,” said Julian, kissing his cheek and sending him a tiny, bright tendril of power. “C’mon, Horace, let’s go see how everyone’s doing.”

  Horace flew down first to Stephen’s shoulder, giving his hair a little preen, before hopping over to Julian’s. “He likes you, and wanted to say thanks for helping his humans,” said Julian.

  “He is very welcome,” said Father Stephen. He reached out and stroked the bird’s head, eyes closing and making Julian wonder how he sensed magic. “He is also free of the spell, Alex has constructed him with some very interesting protections against outside interference. He might look to his old work to inform his new.”

  “I’ll let you suggest that,” said Julian. He made his way out into the living room, where the two Guardians came and looked him over.

  “You’re clearer than you’ve ever been,” said James, after long moments of silent examination.

  Jacques nodded. “Brighter, too,” he said suspiciously. “I’m not sure that’s an approved use for that spell.”

  “It worked,” said Father Stephen, amused. “And Julian is unlikely to go telling on me.”

  “What spell was it?” asked Julian curiously, making the three of them laugh. “You brought it up.”

  “Normally it’s used to clear out magical blockages caused by trauma,” said Jacques. “Sometimes an accident will cause someone to wall off their own magic, which can get to be very unhealthy if they’re blocking something vital, so things build up and get toxic.”

  “It’s a very intimate spell, though,” said James. “Usually only used by a therapist who’s been working closely with the traumatised person and knows them. Someone they trust implicitly.”

  “Well, Father Stephen does know me and I do trust him,” said Julian, “and I have been rather traumatised by magic lately, so I approve.”

  “I think it was probably good for you,” said Alex, coming up to hug him and kiss his hair, humming the little tune he used to check on Julian.

  “It felt good,” said Julian. “I feel stronger now, more sure of myself. The thorn’s gone, and Father Stephen helped heal the damage it did when it was forced out.”

  “You do look healthier,” said James, stepping close and kissing Julian’s forehead, giving him another tiny trickle of magic.

  Julian beamed. “Thank you,” he said, letting Alex lead him over to sit, though not without getting a forehead kiss from Jacques, who wasn’t about to be outdone. “I’m also feeling much less in need of a nap after that,” said Julian. He curled up in the reading chair with Alex and accepted the cup of tea that floated up to him.

  “Well, I may still drag you off for one,” said Alex, snuggling up. “Unless Jones wants to be my cuddle bear,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “For a nap in a real bed, it might be worth it,” teased Jones right back. “Though those Guardian pallets do look comfier than they ought.”

  “We’ll set you up in Alex’s office, once Lapointe’s done with you,” assured Jacques.

  “Actually, I’m good,” Murielle said, flipping her notebook shut. “You’re all excellent witnesses, though we still have basically no leads, so you’re actually all bloody useless.”

  “At least we feed you well,” said Alex. “Speaking of bloody useless, how’s Fischer’s newbie consultant doing?”

  Jacques got up and grabbed his things, leading Jones into Alex’s open work room to get his nap and leaving them to their gossip.

  “Terrible, and well on his way to being fired,” said Murielle with no little satisfaction. “He’s less useful than you were on your second case.”

  “That is pretty useless,” said Alex, sounding impressed. Which led to the two of them telling the story until Alex was looking asleep where he sat, and it was Julian’s turn to take care of him.

  “Come on, love, let’s get some sleep, our guests can entertain themselves until dinner,” said Julian, getting up and coaxing Alex with him.

  “Do get some rest,” said Stephen, waving him off. “We won’t make trouble.”

  “We’ll just talk about you behind your back,” added Murielle with a look of false innocence.

  “You always do,” said Alex dourly, but he allowed himself to be led away and tucked into bed with Julian there to hold him. Once they were horizontal, Julian felt the stresses rushing back in, and he was glad of the excuse to let sleep claim him, too.

  CHAPTER 19

  Horace was sent in to wake them for dinner, chirping and hopping over to gentl
y nuzzle against Julian’s cheek and tug Alex’s hair. Julian grinned as he woke, stroking Horace’s back and feeling his pride at being useful. “You’re brilliant, love,” he said, kissing the top of the mechanical head.

  “I’m going to be jealous of my own bird,” said Alex, stroking his fingers over Horace’s bright plumage and getting a kiss of his own from Julian. “You’re a very nice alarm, maybe I should give you the ability to tell time so you can take over for the clock.”

  Horace chirped happily at this idea, and Julian giggled. “It sounds like Horace approves.”

  Alex smiled and kissed Julian’s ear. “It’s a simple enough spell to add in, I’ll do it when all this is done,” he promised.

  Horace chirped again, then hopped to the edge of the bed and launched himself in the air, flying back to the living room to report success. Alex and Julian indulged in a few more kisses before getting up and shuffling out, though Julian added his dressing gown over his pyjamas despite the warmth of their flat.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” asked Julian, yawning.

  “Alex waking Jones, first,” said Jacques. “None of us could get the door back open.”

  Alex chuckled. “Right, sorry,” he said, veering off course to the work room door and heading in to wake Jones.

  “The question stands, though,” said Julian, curling up in their chair. “And are we eating out here?”

  “There’s not room for seven in here,” said Alys tartly from the kitchen. She’d reappeared earlier to apply the poultices, and seemed to find it not worth her trouble to vanish again.

  “Right,” said Julian with another big yawn. “Brain’s still asleep.”

  “We’ll trade off naps after dinner,” said James. “It’ll be good for us, and so far we’re all safe in here.”

  “Plus you know we’ll wake you if there’s a problem,” said Julian. The work room door opened again and Jones came out looking disheveled and somewhat refreshed. “Sleep well?”

  “Better than I expected,” said Jones. “Alys’ poultice is a wonder.” He took a spot on the couch with Murielle, while the two Guardians had kitchen chairs and Father Stephen was in the other comfortable chair. Alex joined Julian in their reading chair, and they made a full circle around the low coffee table, with the Guardians facing the door.

  “Any news on the case?” asked Jones, picking up the teacup that appeared in front of him with a yawn that Julian and Alex both echoed.

  The rest of them laughed, and Alex stuck his tongue out. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get to nap.”

  “So far there’s no news, other than confirming that the seeds were witch grass. Are, I suppose, they’re in stasis still,” said Murielle, sipping her own tea. There were no more biscuits or other treats, but everyone had a full cuppa.

  Trays began to float out, laden with a pork roast, fingerling potatoes, homemade applesauce, mixed cauliflower and carrots with some sort of sauce, and little salads. Julian and Alex got one big tray with two sets of plates and silverware to share, much to everyone else’s amusement, but it all looked so good to Julian’s suddenly ravenous appetite that he didn’t care one bit. He started out by cutting up his roast, which was stuffed with an amazing mix of Alys’ sourdough bread, mushrooms, and apples.

  “Oh, wow, this is amazing,” said Jones. “Alys feeds us very well.”

  “Very well,” agreed Father Stephen, who’d been given a mage’s portion of the food, which meant three slices of roast, so it was good he liked it. “Jacques helped cook while you napped, too.”

  “Alys and I worked out a few new ways to get some good herbs in you,” said Jacques proudly. “The stuffing recipe is one of mine.”

  “The sauce on the veg is mine,” said Alys from the kitchen, “but your Jacques is no slouch.”

  Julian dutifully tried one of the carrots, finding it was coated in a buttery sauce with a gingery kick to it that sent warmth all through him. “Oh, these are delicious,” said Julian, trying one of the cauliflower. The sweet vegetables went wonderfully with the spicy sauce, and he could feel his energy reserves already starting to perk back up. “Oh!” he said, feeling something else, a sense of the earth the ingredients had grown in, the familiar feeling of the St. Albans vegetable gardens and a hint of somewhere far away and rich in magic that instilled the sauce. “Wow, that’s a lot of, um, information.”

  “From cauliflower?” said Jones, raising one eyebrow.

  “Julian’s attuned to plants more than anything else,” said Alex. “What do you feel?” he asked curiously.

  Julian was already eating a carrot and had to chew and swallow before he could answer. “I can feel the garden plot back at the estate, and a little bit of wherever the ginger came from, she’s been buying magical ginger for our food.”

  “It’s a little more coin, but worth it when feeding you boys,” said Alys, unrepentant.

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” said Jacques. “I’m going to do that when I restock my own spice cupboard.”

  “I’ll mention it to Mary Margaret when I’m back at work, maybe we can do something for our herb garden there,” said Julian thoughtfully. “I wonder how things are doing there?”

  “You can call her after dinner,” said Alex. “She won’t mind, even if she’s off work.”

  “Oh, good idea, and we can hide Jones in the kitchen to call Jenny, too,” said Julian, laughing at the look on Jones’ face. “You’re not getting out of this one.”

  “Apparently not,” said Jones, but he was grinning. “I just hope she meant to give me her number, and wasn’t spelled or whatever.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be upset, even if she was,” said Alex. “She just wanted to make sure you weren’t flirting so she wouldn’t be mad at me.”

  “Why would this lady have been angry with you?” asked Father Stephen, and they told him the story of her misguided flirtations and Jones’ subsequent attempts to get her number. That led to more stories of women trying to flirt with the Guardians, including one who’d been a Charge at the time, and of course Alex’s long-standing luck with shop girls and waitresses other than poor Jenny.

  Julian told a story of a disappointed maid who had to eventually be dismissed after trying to drive a wedge between him and Cecil, and then Murielle even had her own tale of woe about a barista who used to make eyes at her. They all enjoyed the diversion from their current troubles, and everyone was more relaxed by the time the food was gone. Murielle offered to drive Father Stephen back, so they took their leave and Jacques claimed the first nap.

  Jones took his phone into the kitchen to call Jenny, while Julian dutifully called Mary Margaret, who chattered happily on speakerphone about things at the greenhouse. She answered a few questions from Alex about the history, and approved of Julian’s idea to add in some sections of special edible, magical herbs. They’d just finished up when Jones came out looking very pleased with life, and was followed by a wave of full teacups and saucers of truffles.

  “Reading?” suggested Julian, as the snacks settled on the table. Everyone came to a tacit agreement to allow Jones to enjoy the glow of his success with Jenny without too much teasing, at least for now, and instead went to find their books.

  “I’ll need to borrow something, my book’s out in the car,” said Jones, “but that sounds wonderful.”

  “Nonsense, I can get it,” said Nat, vanishing to make good on his word before anyone could protest.

  They spent a pleasant evening reading quietly, playing cards and sharing treats as Alys provided them. Julian mostly succeeded at not thinking about what their adversary might be up to, and why; he could see the same worries passing over the rest of their faces sometime, too. The next trouble would be upon them soon enough, without inviting it into their thoughts.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning, Alys made them all a hearty breakfast, and then they took their cups out to the living room to play more cards. They taught Jones the Guardian card game, which was wel
l-suited to a morning full of phone calls and interruptions, since he declared himself tired of losing at gin.

  Julian sighed and stood up, laying his hand of cards face down. “I’m just gonna,” Julian gestured toward the front of the flat.

  “All this tea,” said Jacques, sympathetic. “You’ll start a flood.”

  Julian chuckled, and walked to the door. “It’ll be fine,” he said, though he wasn’t sure of it even as he said it, with five humans and one little bathroom. His feet took him around the couch and toward the front of the flat.

  Julian walked to the door, and paused with his hand on the door handle. Julian’s brow knit, because there was something wrong, some reason he couldn’t open the door. His hands moved up to take off the chain, undo the deadbolt. He was sure what he wanted was just on the other side.

  Jacques said, “Stop!” He had to struggle to get off the couch, feet caught up in the blanket Julian had abandoned.

  Julian slipped through the door, closing it after himself, surprised to find he was in the hall outside their flat.

  “That’s a good poppet,” said a voice to his right.

  Julian turned and saw a familiar older man holding a paperback-sized doll made of witch grass and bindweed, wrapped in scraps of cloth and topped with a lock of familiar auburn hair. Julian found himself walking to the elevator with him, hearing sounds behind him as the Guardians struggled with a door that wouldn’t open.

  “Hurry up, poppet, that won’t hold them long,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Julian’s wrist. Julian got a flood of information through the contact, images of a dying tree, of the lab at the Agency, of himself in Lapointe’s office looking oddly distorted and glowing with health and life. By the time he managed to clear his vision, they were in the parking lot, walking toward a car with its trunk open.

  “Oh, no, no way,” said Julian, even as his feet drew him forward.

  “Sleep, little poppet,” said the man, doing something with the doll.