The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (19 page)

Alex was doomed.

That thought pulled Alex’s attention outward to
a strange scratching of magic not inside the little sanctuary but pulling,
plucking outside the Temple’s very impressive wards, and Alex was very grateful
indeed for the gong that sounded, indicating it was time for him to get a robe
and continue on his journey.

He stood up and spent a moment getting used to
using his normal senses, including balance, before making his way to the archway
where a grinning old priest offered him one of their shapeless white cotton
robes.

Alex sighed again once he was clothed. “I
know it’s not protocol to speak at this time, but I’m afraid there’s something
scratching at your wards.”

The old man’s eyebrows went up into his white
hair. “And how would you know that, lad?”

Stephen came out of the little gong-room
secreted to one side of theirs. “Alex is a very good mage, and he probably
poked around a bit while he was trying to meditate. Where is it?”

Alex closed his eyes and hummed a little broken
bit of tune, then pointed unerringly to the weak place where the wards let
water out into the sewer system. “Over there. Do you have
someone…?”

Before he could finish that thought, though, a
gush of water went out and the thing slipped inside, heading right for the
three of them. “And me without my shoes,” muttered Alex, looking
around the bare, simple room for anything he could use to shield them.

The old man picked up his robes and went
running off at an impressive sprint, hopefully to get the resident priest-mage
to help.

“Can you hold it
off?” asked Stephen.

“Probably not,” said Alex. “If
it’s what I think it is, though, it might go dormant once it’s knocked me out,
and quick medical intervention might save me.”

“Not helping,”
said Stephen. “Where is it?”

Alex whistled the little tune again, the feel
of it familiar enough he was nearly certain it was one of those evil little
constructs. It was nearly there, though it seemed to have just as much trouble
with the maze of rooms and passages in the Temple as any other visitor who
attempted to wander off the proscribed path.

“It’s a construct, not a fairy or golem,
and it’s nearly here. Do you have any salt or iron?” asked Alex, feeling a
bit desperate. He really didn’t want to die in the middle of the Temple, he was
pretty sure that was a good way to curse your entire family line for a long,
long time.

If he was lucky, he’d get to
haunt his murderer.

He heard the thing before he saw it, a buzzing
wasp built of brass and malevolent magic, like all the insects before it. Alex
stepped between it and the priest, and said softly, “If it stings me, salt
will slow the bleeding, and smashing it with cold iron or something
spell-reinforced will stop it.”

“I’d prefer not to have to wash your blood
off my nice clean floor,” said Stephen, moving around behind Alex.

“I’d prefer that, too,” said Alex,
and then the wasp moved, diving toward him, clearly aiming to sink its stinger
somewhere vital. Alex dodged, trying to keep its attention away from Stephen,
and thanks to the focused seeking-spell he could feel woven through it, he
succeeded. It was fast, though, fast and mobile and it caught and ripped Alex’s
robe several times before the first nick created a fast-bleeding wound in Alex’s
shoulder.

“This way,” said Stephen, and Alex
ducked again, following the sound of his voice, feeling himself weakening
distressingly fast.

He almost laughed when they passed, through the
mysterious ways of the Temple, back into the mineral baths. He would have, but
his moment of inattention allowed the wasp to sink its stinger deep into Alex’s
thigh. Stephen gave him a shove, and wasp and man both went tumbling into the
cold, mineral-salted water.

CHAPTER
16

In Which We Get Checked Out in a Hospital and Checked Out of a
Hospital

Alex woke up in a perfectly ordinary hospital
room, in a horribly embarrassing hospital gown, surrounded by two armed
Guardians and a nurse who had, apparently, been attempting to change his IV.

“Oh, you’re awake!” she said,
“Let me get the doctor.” Then she left without a word of explanation.

Alex let his head fall back
against the pillows with a weak laugh.

“Something funny, Mr Benedict?” asked
one of the Guardians, likely hirelings of Victor’s as they were high above the Agency’s
pay grade.

“I was going to ask where I was and how
long I’d been here, but I suppose you’d know that as well as her, wouldn’t
you?” said Alex, voice rough and throat dry.

The other Guardian brought him a cup of ice
chips without even having to be asked.

“You’re at St Rita’s Hospital, magical
injury ward,” said the first one. “We were sent by the Temple.”

Alex looked surprised. “Do they need me to
take care of my mess or something?”

The Guardian just looked amused by the idea.
“Your brother stopped by, he says this is yours?” He picked up a
magical cage containing a rather unhappy-looking mechanical bird.

“Yes, that’s Horace, you can let him
out,” said Alex. “What are your names?”

“I’m Jacques,” said the man who’d
been feeding Alex ice chips. His voice was soft and melodic, and he looked
almost shy.

“I’m James,” said
the other. “We don’t…”

“Use surnames, I know, you’re pledged to
your Order now. So, what did I do to rate a pair of real magical
Guardians?”

“You protected Master Stephen,” said
James, letting Horace out. “A lesser man might have hidden behind the
priest, hoping to be shielded.”

The bird flew out of the cage and landed on one
of Alex’s bed-rails, accepting a gentle caress, though Alex left its message
where it was, for now.

Jacques nodded, offering Alex another ice-chip.
“You guarded him with your life.”

“The construct was there to kill me, not
him,” reminded Alex, but he accepted the ice anyway, and he’d take the
protection, too, as long as it was on offer.

“We heard the police talking, they will
attack anyone nearby if they can,” said James, his tone one of gentle
correction.

Alex ate another ice chip from Jacques’ gentle
fingers. “All right, I accept your Guardianship for so long as it is
freely offered,” he said, the formal words from a book he’d read as a boy
on the Guardians of the Temple.

Jacques giggled.

“You’re a bit of a
reader, I take it?” said James, amused.

Alex blushed, but he was saved from answering
when the doctor came rushing in to examine him. “I’m glad you’re awake, I
was starting to worry.”

“How long was I
out?” asked Alex.

“Twelve days,” said the doctor,
poking distractedly at Alex’s chart and the machines around him. “You lost
a lot of blood, and then almost drowned.”

“Mineral water must be
bad for the lungs,” said Alex, a bit worriedly.

“I healed the lung
damage,” he replied. “I’m Dr. Chesterfield.”

Alex shook the proffered hand, unable to resist
getting a feel for the doctor’s magic, which was powerful and full of complex
melodies that put Alex in mind of knitting bones and winding DNA strands.
“You’re
that
Dr.
Chesterfield,” he said, impressed. “Victor’s doing?”

Chesterfield chuckled wryly. “I should
claim I caught your case in the ER, but no, between the Temple and your name,
they brought you straight to me once you’d been revived at the scene. Though
your brothers and sisters have all been by to check up on you.”

Alex laughed, albeit weakly, his throat still
scratchy; Chesterfield’s exasperated tone told him the man spoke the truth more
than anything else. “Hopefully not all at once.”

“Not all at once, no,” said
Chesterfield, moving in with a pen light. “Let me see.”

Alex opened wide obediently, giving James a
wink. He allowed himself to be examined, including the nearly-healed graze on
his arm and the very nasty puncture wound in his thigh. “Will that
heal?” he asked, feeling a bit nauseous after seeing it.

“Yes, of course, now that you’re awake and
can participate, it’ll only take a few weeks of therapy to get everything back
in working order,” said Dr. Chesterfield, adding some magical salve and
reapplying the bandages. “Your lungs were an emergency, but I’m afraid we
depleted your healing reserves doing them while you were unconscious, that’s
why you slept so long.”

Alex nodded, recognising the strain in his body
now that he knew what it was. “I can tell. Horrid potions for a few days
before my first healing session, then?”

Chesterfield laughed. “And here I thought
you’d be a terrible patient,” he said.

Before Alex could protest, a nurse came in with
a small cup on a tray that was smoking ever so gently. “And so it
begins,” intoned Alex, but he drank the whole horrible-tasting thing in
one swallow.

Chesterfield left a note on his chart.
“Bring him a proper meal, and maybe a cuppa,” he said, the former to
the nurse and the latter to the Guardians, and then he was out and Alex was
still making a face, trying to get the taste of the potion out of his mouth.

“Why are healing potions always so
horrible?” Jacques asked rhetorically, heading out to get tea after a nod
from James.

“You should see what’s
in them,” said Alex to his retreating back.

James laughed. “Best
not, we do rely on them in our line of work.”

“So, have my other possessions made their
way from the Temple?” asked Alex, rather than giving in to his curiosity
about what a modern Guardian actually did. Yet.

James nodded, going to the closet and bringing
down the familiar silk bag from the shelf above where Alex’s clothes were hung,
with his shoes tucked down below. “Everything is as you left it, we didn’t
allow the police to bother your things.”

Alex chuckled. “I bet that annoyed
Smedley,” said Alex, accepting the bag and rooting around for his phone.
He turned it back on, grateful that he’d been made to power it down so there
was still some charge left after almost two weeks.

“Perhaps,” said James, his tone and
expression saying it had and he’d enjoyed it immensely. “The woman didn’t
seem to mind too much… Lapointe.”

“She’s smarter than he is,” said
Alex, amused, and then he sighed when the message count kept going up.
“How many people called me while I was out? Ugh.”

There were text messages, too, and Alex looked
through those, first, scowling at them as he did so.

“Bad news?” asked
Jacques, returning with their tea.

“Just annoying people,” said Alex, texting
everyone who’d sent something to let them know he was alive and would recover,
while totally ignoring whatever issue they’d been asking him about. “Thank
you, you’re an angel,” said Alex, taking a sip of the tea and making a
very happy face. “Oh, caffeine, let’s never be apart again.”

The Guardians laughed, Jacques taking over the
role of hovering by the door while James went to sit by the window with his
tea.

Alex sighed, and listened to
his messages.

The very first one was Julian, calling to
apologise again for moving up the date and telling Alex that the others would
have to work very hard to top that. It was time-stamped from the morning of the
attack, and Alex sighed, feeling guilty that he’d not checked it before going
into the Temple. He had a couple more from Julian, all with hopes he’d get well
soon, and several from various family members who seemed to think it would
somehow help to leave phone messages for an unconscious man. Those he erased
unrepentantly, though he saved all of Julian’s.

After that there were a few messages from the
department, all from the day of his attack and clearly unaware that he was out,
given the content. He kept those to answer their questions when he was feeling
better, and that left just one final message that Alex eyed suspiciously. It
was from an unknown number, several days into his involuntary rest.

He opened it with trepidation, laughing when it
turned out to be the tailor letting him know his coat was ready.

Finally, phone dealt with, Alex turned to
Horace, coaxing the bird onto his hand and petting its metal feathers.
“Aren’t you a good boy, waiting all this time,” he said softly,
feeling self-conscious about talking to the little construct in front of
others.

Fortunately, the Guardians were good at
pretending to see nothing out of the ordinary.

Alex retrieved the little note from inside
Horace’s chest, closing up the latch and moving the bird to his shoulder while
he unfolded the paper.

Dear
Alex,

I can’t seem to stop
thinking of kissing you, only this time it’s not a spell, just your kisses. It
even feels different, though I can’t explain how.

Of all my suitors, you’re
the only one I can imagine would prefer me without the lands and titles. When
you kiss me, I know it’s because you want to kiss me, Julian, and not because
the St. Albans fortune will go to whoever I choose.

I am tempted to schedule
your third date as soon as I can get away with, just for more of those kisses,
but I suppose time apart will help me be certain the spell’s truly broken.

Just try to leave my heart
intact, I don’t want to end up feeling hollowed out like your lovely bird.
Though I suppose in a way your message was his heart, and he returns holding
mine.

Come back to me soon.

Julian

This note was awkward but warm and felt more
like Julian than any previous letter. This was the wistful young man enjoying
what he could of the velvet trap he’d been led into, trying to figure out any
possible way out that could lead to happiness. This was the man who’d stolen
his way into Alex’s heart with a few kisses and a bit of honesty.

Alex sighed. “I’ll need paper and pen, and
to send Horace back out, does the window open?”

“No,” said James firmly, indicating
that it would not be made to open, regardless of its actual function.

“Ah,” said Alex, chuckling.
“Well, then, paper and pen and someone to carry Horace outside for
me?”

His puppy eyes must have been effective enough,
because James unfolded himself and brought over pen and hospital stationery.
“Finish your tea,” he added, going back to the window.

“Guarding all of me, hm?” teased
Alex, but he had no intention of letting his tea go cold. He’d need all the
brains he could waken for this reply.

Dear Julian,

I’ve
just woken up and read your letter, which Horace kept safe for us. The messages
are the heart of him, his function I suppose, though he’s more than he seems.
If you pet him, he might even grow to like you.

I’ve
already grown to like you very much, and it feels strange to have missed almost
two weeks of correspondence. I suppose it means less chances to put my foot in
my mouth.

You’ll
be about done with your round of teas and first nights out, and on to the third
and final dates for each of us. Give me a bit of time to recover, but don’t
count me out just yet. I’m still hoping to survive to the next round.

Yours
faithfully,

Alex

PS -
I can’t seem to stop thinking of kissing you, either, it seems to work better
than any enchantment to keep you at the forefront of my thoughts.

Alex blushed, but he couldn’t deny the letter
was honest, if nothing else. He folded it up in a pretty little shape, to make
up for the lack of fine paper or smooth writing, and then carefully tucked it
away in Horace’s chest. “Take that back to Julian for me, will you?”

The bird gave a few little mechanical chirps,
rubbing its beak against Alex’s cheek, then cocked its head inquiringly at the
window.

“That’s my cue,” said James, amused.
“And as you’ve finished your tea, I shall acquire us all more… Keep him
safe, Jacques.”

“Yes, sir,” said
Jacques, moving aside to let James go.

“Go with him, Horace, he’ll let you out
the front door,” said Alex, launching the little bird in James’ direction.

James held up an arm and the bird alighted,
dipping its head to rub its beak along the man’s skin affectionately.

Alex chuckled. “He likes
you.”

“He has good
taste,” said James dryly.

~ ~ ~

Alex endured three full days of healing potions
and annoying visits from his relatives and Smedley, along with slightly less
annoying visits from Lapointe and Geoff. It wasn’t until after he had returned
from his first assisted healing session and finally been allowed a proper
shower that he got the one visitor he’d been hoping to see.