The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (17 page)

Alex flushed. “Henry says there’s ballroom
dancing after eleven,” he said, leading Julian into the glass elevator
that would take them to the very top of the building and the glass-roofed
restaurant waiting. It was a bit of a cliche to take a date there if you were
middle-class and wanting to impress, and a place to go slumming for a pretty
view and mediocre steak if you were from the aristocracy. “I’ve never
actually been before.”

“Me, neither,” said Julian, looking
up at him. “You like ballroom dancing?”

“It’s the only sort I’m good at,”
confessed Alex with a sheepish grin. “I hope that’s okay?”

Julian grinned. “It’s better than okay,
though you’ll have to lead. I’m a bit clumsy at it still.”

Alex laughed. “Could
you imagine how we’d look if you were leading?”

They were still laughing
when the elevator doors opened.

Whatever the Starlight Tower looked like during
dinner, it was a truly gorgeous place now. There were tables all around the
edges of the room, but the centre was a polished black marble floor just
waiting for dancers. The lighting was minimal, mostly candles on tables and
strings of fairy lights that echoed the real wonder of the place, the clear,
starlit sky above. The view out the floor-to-ceiling windows was equally
breathtaking, showing the sparkling lights of the city below from a dizzying
height.

“It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of
heights,” said Julian, stepping forward and looking around with wonder.

“You’d hardly be out on a date with me if
you were,” said Alex, but he, too, was impressed by the view. He could see
why it was so popular, even if most of the society boys who brought dates here
felt the need to pretend it was beneath them.

They got a seat near the band, and Alex
dutifully introduced himself to the bandmaster and made sure to request at
least one slow, romantic waltz he could use to impress Julian with what few
graces he possessed. They ordered champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries
from their bored-looking waitress, and soon enough the music was playing and a
few couples drifted onto the dance floor.

“May I have this dance?” asked Alex,
standing up and bowing formally, offering Julian his hand.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,”
said Julian, a charmed smile on his face. Alex led him out to the edge of the
dance floor, then swung him gracefully into position and started them moving,
his attention divided between the man in his arms and the people around them
who wouldn’t appreciate a collision.

“You really can dance!” said Julian,
looking very pleased indeed. He was an excellent partner, responding to Alex’s
gentle nonverbal direction and not fighting for the lead like some men did.

It wasn’t until they sat down that Alex
realised they’d been the only same-sex couple on the floor, and also were about
thirty years younger than the next youngest pair. “You dance much better
than the lady with the blue hair,” said Alex, as he poured them each
another half-flute of champagne.

“It’s all in the hips,” said Julian,
giving a little shimmy, “mine are original.”

“So, good
surprise?” asked Alex.

“Good surprise,” assured Julian, picking
up one of the cool strawberries and biting into the candy-coated flesh, making
very pleased noises despite the way the chocolate tried to crack and fall all
down his front. He managed to catch the little shards, and he licked them off
his fingers one by one with an impish grin.

Alex took another sip of champagne and wondered
how obvious his erection would be if it didn’t go down before it was time to
dance again. “Good,” was all he said, attention entirely on the sight
of Julian eating his strawberry bite by sweet red bite.

“Mmm, very good,” said Julian,
washing the treat down with champagne.

They spent about an hour there, dancing and
drinking and talking, until the band struck up a properly slow, romantic song
that Alex just knew would be perfect to end their night. “Come on, one
last dance?” he asked, standing.

“One last dance,” said Julian,
looking pleased and just a little tired. He let Alex pull him close and move
them through the measures, their bodies swaying together gracefully despite the
difference in their heights.

Unable to resist, Alex started a soft, low
whistle, conjuring first one or two and then dozens of soft blue-glowing
butterflies to dance with them, swirling around the dance floor like bits of
the night sky come down to visit them. They sparkled and shone, coming to rest
on the dancers before taking of again in flight, and Julian’s eyes sparkled
with them. “They’re beautiful,” he said softly, “I wonder if
they know you’re doing it.”

Alex grinned and kissed him, keeping up enough
of a hum that the illusion held through his moment of distraction. He let his
magic crescendo with the song, then let the butterflies burst into showering
stars that fell to the floor and floated for a moment like sparks on black
water before being snuffed out.

The applause surprised him into blushing, a
part of him having forgotten about their audience entirely between the magic
and his desire to impress Julian. “I think they realise,” said Alex
with a laugh and a bow.

They took their seats, and the bandmaster came
to thank them for the show, and insisted on tearing up their tab. “People
will talk for months about it, and the dancing will be popular again for a
while, even if you don’t come back,” he said with a grin.

“I’m glad it wasn’t an intrusion,”
said Alex, still unable to quell his blush. “I hadn’t really considered
how it might appear to anyone but my date.”

Julian grinned. “You’ve managed to impress
more than just me, Alex,” he teased.

A few more pleasantries and they were able to
escape, though he left a bit of cash on the table so the waitress, at least,
wouldn’t miss out on her tip. He suspected she’d appreciate the money more than
the show, unlike the business-minded bandmaster.

“Well,” said Alex, as they rode down
the elevator alone and he finally managed to stop being quite so embarrassed,
“I can see I’ll have to work on something more impressive than butterflies
next time.”

Julian laughed and kissed him all the way to
the ground floor, which he felt was worth every blush.

CHAPTER
15

In
Which the Evening Ends, and There is a Long Night at Work
Followed by an Attempt at Purification

The ride home was quiet and uneventful, mostly
chatting about inconsequential things between sweet, tempting kisses.

“I can’t decide if it’s good or bad that
I’m terribly jealous to think of you kissing those other suitors,” said
Alex, as they pulled into the St. Albans driveway.

Julian grinned and kissed
him again before saying, “Definitely good.”

Alex chuckled. “Shall I walk you to your
door?” he asked, the car slowing to a stop.

“I’d like that,”
said Julian, “though I’m the one with the warm coat.”

“A mere inconvenience,” said Alex,
getting out first and helping Julian out, then tucking his hand in Alex’s arm
and leading him up to the door. “Think of me fondly, and do try to give me
a few more days’ warning next time?”

Julian laughed. “I’ll set your third date
as soon as I can, as an apology,” he said. He gave Alex one more kiss,
this one sweet and chaste. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” said Alex, mentally
hoping it wouldn’t be too soon. He had no more gifts conveniently ready, and no
idea how to follow up on tonight’s performance.

Godfrey opened the door and Julian ducked
inside before Alex could think of anything more to say, so he went back to the
haven of Victor’s car to check his messages. “Home, please,” he said
to the driver.

“Of course, sir,” came the reply, as
though there had never been any doubt of his destination.

Alex’s messages alternated assurances he wasn’t
needed with irritating questions from the department about the various pieces
of evidence from the murder scene, and finally Alex lowered the partition with
a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ll need to go by the department, will I be able to
borrow you much later or should I let you go once I’m there?”

“Why do you ask?” said the man
carefully, and Alex couldn’t help but be darkly amused. Victor probably had the
man reporting back to him, knowing Alex wouldn’t be all that forthcoming, and
he’d want to make sure his report was complete.

“Well, you know, better to have my own car
than take a taxi at that hour, but I won’t be doing anything of interest to
Victor, just boring murder-solving,” said Alex dryly. “Mostly I was
wondering if I should take the coat.”

“If I might ask, sir, why did you bring it
if not to wear?” The man’s face, or what Alex could see of it in the
rear-view mirror, was carefully blank.

Alex laughed. “I’d forgotten it needs
tailoring, it doesn’t quite fit my freakish frame, and it would have been
noticeable.”

“Shall I drop it off at the clothier’s
tomorrow for you? I believe they have your measurements.”

Alex chuckled. “No, but if you’re not busy
with Victor I might have you drop me and it both off. I’ll need to do some more
shopping and it’s all in the same neighbourhood.”

“More shopping,
sir?” said the man.

Alex’s chuckle turned to a laugh. “Yes,
it’s endless, isn’t it? I need at least one more gift, and probably more than
that, and I’m trying to learn enough about my quarry that I don’t misstep in my
pursuit,” he said. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Jones, sir,” said
the driver.

Alex snorted. “Well, at least it’s not
Jeeves. Anyway, why don’t I let you go tonight and then I can see if I can
weasel another favour out of Victor tomorrow,” he said, seeing the agency
building up ahead. “Smedley might take pity on me and drive me home, if I
manage to solve enough little mysteries, or annoy Armistead too much.”

“Very good, sir,”
said Jones, and that seemed to be that.

Alex fired off a last text to Victor, then put
on the coat and got out. “Make sure you tell him about the kissing, I love
it when he makes that face like he’s far too refined to be bothered by
it,” said Alex with a chuckle.

He was pleased to see Jones look surprised at
that before he scampered into the agency and went looking for Smedley.

“Don’t you have a life?” said Alex,
finding the Agent in his office staring confusedly at a pile of evidence bags.

Smedley chuckled. “Only
between active investigations,” he said.

“So, I take it you tried to half-arse the
system and now you can’t figure out what’s what?” said Alex, hanging up
the overcoat and coming over to sit on the edge of Smedley’s desk.

Smedley looked shifty.
“What makes you say that?”

Alex fluttered his eyelashes and said,
“Whyever else would you want to get me alone in your office late at night,
Agent Smedley?”

Smedley laughed, as he was meant to.
“Fine, fine, I got sloppy. Can you help?”

“Of course I can,”
said Alex, “but I’ll need coffee, a fresh pot.”

“If you can get this crap off my desk, you
can even use my mug,” said Smedley, levering himself up out of his chair.

“Deal,” said Alex, picking up the
first bag and palming his watch fob, which helped cut through the plastic to
the magic inside. He was already making proper notes on the front of the bag
when Smedley slipped out, presumably to get his coffee.

“Just put it here,” said Alex idly,
gesturing to the bare spot on one corner of the desk. He was still perched on
the edge, bag in hand while he tried to figure out what on earth Smedley’s
location notes could be referring to, matching magic to memory.

“I don’t think you get to tell me where to
put it, Benedict,” said an unpleasantly familiar voice.

“Armistead,” said
Alex, turning. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I was looking for Agent Smedley, this
being his office and all,” said Armistead. “Or are you going to move
in now you’ve broken your last agent?”

Alex waved him off. “She’s already on the
mend, I’ll have her back taking competent notes in no time,” he said, and
then, “Ah! That’s what that means.” He added to the notation on the
bag in his hand, then set it aside and picked up the next one, trying vainly to
set Armistead aside as well, at least mentally.

The man was always so distracting, standing
there radiating disapproval at him. It was worse than Lapointe’s smoking, and he
couldn’t exactly make a charm to turn Armistead’s personality around. It
wouldn’t be ethical.

Though he was occasionally
tempted.

“Well?” said
Armistead.

Alex looked up, irritated.
“He’s obviously not here.”

“Where is he, then?” asked Armistead,
with the tone of one speaking to a recalcitrant child.

“Wishing you’d get out of his way,”
said Smedley. “It’s no wonder he won’t work with you.”

Alex hid a smirk and went back to his
paperwork. “I trust you remember how I take it?” he asked, as
Smedley’s giant mug was set down next to him.

“Sweet enough for a candy store, and half
milk,” said Smedley with disgust, sipping his own black coffee out of
Lapointe’s favourite mug.

Alex chuckled. “Good,” was all he
said, and he took a nice big sip and tried once again to dismiss the
distractions from his mind. It never worked as well when he wasn’t doing magic,
more’s the pity.

“What’s he doing here,
anyway?” said Armistead, hostile to the last.

Smedley chuckled. “He’s fixing the
evidence notes that I messed up, as you requested.”

Armistead spluttered.
“Him? You messed up? As if-”

“Do shut it,
Armistead,” said Alex, without looking up.

“I didn’t understand the system fully, and
I messed up the notes, since Lapointe was in hospital, or had you
forgotten?” said Smedley, his voice mild and yet somehow dangerous.
“Now, what was it you wanted?”

Alex wondered if he could
learn to emulate the tone.

“I wanted to ask you about this,”
said Armistead, pulling another bag out of his pocket. “It says
here-”

“Toss it on the pile, I’ll fix the
notes,” said Alex, enjoying the freedom to continually interrupt the man’s
blathering.

Smedley took the bag and shooed Armistead out
without another word. “It’s no wonder he won’t work with you, either, you
two are like bickering children,” he said, adding the bag in question to
the top of Alex’s pile.

“I’d say he started it,” said Alex,
making some notations on the bag in hand before moving on to the new one,
“but I honestly can’t remember anymore.”

The rest of the night was more of the same,
Alex and Smedley drinking coffee and fixing evidence forms, punctuated by
Armistead bringing in more bad attitude and messed-up baggies. It was pretty
much morning by the time they were done, so Alex convinced Smedley to take him
down to the infirmary to look in on Lapointe before driving him home.

She was not only awake, Geoff was there with
her. “That’s a beautiful piece of work, where’d you get it?” asked
Geoff, pointing to the quit-smoking charm visible over Lapointe’s smock.

“I made it,” said Alex, slipping into
the room now that he was sure he wasn’t going to interrupt an exam.

Geoff grinned. “I can
see why they hire you, then, how much was it?”

“We did a trade, I made the charm and she
has to actually quit now,” said Alex, straightening his cuffs fastidiously.

“How is that a
trade?” asked Geoff, cocking his head.

Lapointe grinned. “He hated it when I
smoked at crime scenes, said it muddied up the air.”

“Smoke is smoke, it
obscures things,” said Alex with a sniff.

“But I’ve seen some mages who deliberately
smoke when they’re working,” said Geoff. “It never really affected me
one way or the other, that I’ve noticed.”

“Sometimes the smoke lets sight mages see
better when the magic interacts with the smoke, I’ve been told,” said
Alex. “Others who sense magic as currents around them can track the
currents within the smoke, though that’s about as rare as your talent for
touch.”

“But smoke interacts with the magic?”
asked Smedley, equally curious now.

Alex nodded. “It doesn’t so much affect as
is affected by magic around it. Air is, too, though it’s much harder to notice.
Water can wash magic away, unless it’s specifically water magic to begin
with.”

“Metal seems to be a
popular choice,” said Smedley.

“There’s more in there than metals, but
yes, it’s easier to freeze magic into a shape with something earthy like metal
or stone.” Alex chuckled. “And most mages don’t have the capacity to
melt stone in their labs.”

“What about carving
stone?” asked Lapointe.

Alex grinned, surprised to find himself
enjoying the discussion despite the ridiculous hour. It wasn’t often that he
got to talk about magical theory to people who were actually interested.
“Hard to mix in anything with a solid block of stone, though for certain
charms you can do okay with just one material. There’s inlay work, too, though
I’ve never been very good at it.”

“I bet it’s
fascinating, watching you work,” said Geoff.

Alex flushed and shrugged. “I expect not,
it’s mostly a lot of tuning forks and humming, and putting stuff into a pot and
stirring it up. Well, crucible in the case of charms,” he said, “but
a pot for most potions.”

“Well, if we don’t want him to fall on his
nose like magic now, I’d best take him home,” said Smedley, levering
himself up out of the visitor’s chair he’d been occupying. “And me, too.”

“When will you get sprung?” asked
Alex, standing and stretching himself.

“A few more days, I want to keep her on IV
fluids a while longer. You can cheer her up later with a proper meal, once
you’ve slept,” said Geoff, making shooing motions. “At least eight
hours, both of you,” he paused and chuckled, “in separate beds.”

Smedley made a properly disgusted face, as he’d
been meant to, and Lapointe laughed. “Go on, you two, I’ll be fine. He
said he might let me do some paperwork later.”

“Be still my
heart,” said Alex with a laugh.

They said their goodbyes and left, Alex’s mind
still buzzing with more magical theory, and how it related to their current
case.

It turned out work was the one thing that could
make him forget the softness of Julian St. Albans’ lips, at least momentarily.

~ ~ ~

When Alex got home, he decided to take the
initiative and use up the rest of his caffeine high writing to Julian. He
penned a short, awkward note that only mentioned the kissing once, and felt
like an idiot to be so affected by such thing at his age. Then he got one of
his few truly complex magical possessions out of its cage, a magical sparrow
that would hold the note inside itself and fly to the recipient, then wait for
a response.

It had been a project assigned to him by one of
his magical instructors, and it had taken him months to complete the delicate
sculpture, each thin bronze feather made by hand and etched with runes that
would anchor the complex series of spells he’d constructed. It was, in a way,
very similar to the constructs that had killed the artificer and injured
Lapointe, but for a benign purpose.