The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (22 page)

“A good brownie could do it,” said
the sprite, reappearing. “I might know someone, if you’re
interested.”

Alex chuckled and shook his head. “You’re
already an answer ahead, though I think keeping you from being scorpion food
ought to make us even.”

“I reckon I could see to that, but there’s
still the matter of the whisky we discussed,” said the sprite, hopping
down to the table in one impossible-seeming leap. “And this,” he
added, showing off his anklet.

“And that,” Alex agreed, though
privately he’d have removed it, even without the favours owed. “Let me see
what sort of drink I have on hand before we bargain.”

He rifled through the cupboards, finding three
bottles at various levels of fullness, though the third one was both dusty and
nearly empty. “Well, this is what I have,” said Alex, setting them on
the table.

The sprite paced around them, opening each and
sniffing it, then closing it up. “That’s a pretty big favour there, and
more’n I can drink in a night anyway,” he said carefully.

Alex nodded. “Are you wanting to bargain
for all of it, or a measure?” he asked. He didn’t have a lot of experience
with the fae, which made him cautious, but this creature had so far done him no
actual harm.

“Now, that really depends on the sort of
favours you’re wanting,” said the sprite.

Alex thought about this for a moment.
“What if I wanted your name?” he asked.

That seemed to take the sprite off guard; his
name could be used to call him, or even bind him again, but Alex had already
shown himself to be both generous and honourable. “And ye promise to only
use it for future bargaining, no binding or curses?”

“I would be willing to promise that,
should that be our bargain,” said Alex.

The sprite laughed. “A cautious man, despite
the state of yer wards,” he said. “All the whisky and the anklet off,
for my name.”

“All the whisky currently sitting on this
table, and your iron anklet removed, in exchange for your full and true
name,” said Alex, smirking right back at him.

Another bout of laughter. “Throw in
another cuppa?” it said, producing the cup out of nowhere.

Alex chuckled. “If you promise not to
steal the china, I’ll pour you more tea for free,” he said, adding milk
and honey to the cup as he spoke.

“No, no, I won’t be beholden to your
hospitality, the tea before was in exchange for my honesty and we both know it,
but this tea is part of our bargain,” said the sprite stubbornly.

Alex poured and stirred, whistling a little
charm to get the honey to dissolve all through the liquid, then made up another
cup for himself as well. “All the whisky currently sitting on this table,
as much tea as you like this evening, and your iron anklet removed, in exchange
for your full and true name.”

“Deal,” said the
sprite, holding out a tiny hand.

“Deal,” said Alex,
shaking it. “You drink, I need to get my lockpicks.”

The sprite took up the middle bottle like it
wasn’t nearly his own size and carefully topped off his teacup. “I bet
your man doesn’t know about those,” he said, sitting down and sipping the
concoction. “Ah, now that’s bliss.”

“It’ll be even more blissful without that
anklet,” said Alex, slipping into his lab, grateful to find that those
wards, at least, had remained intact. Lapointe may or may not have known about
his lockpicks, but Alex definitely wanted to keep them from Smedley’s
attention. He had a feeling that, male bonding or not, Smedley wouldn’t put up
with nearly so much as Murielle had over the years.

“This may take a moment,” said Alex
when he emerged, blinking for a moment at the double vision of the sprite
drinking his tea and the table being empty. “I’m a bit rusty.”

“Off is off,” said
the sprite. “You’re the type to keep your bargains.”

“Oathbreaking is very serious indeed for a
mage,” he said, sitting down and opening up the kit. The sprite stuck out
one stubby leg, and Alex found it strange to cup the tiny foot and find it warm
and alive, despite the doll-like proportions. “I would not risk myself
that way, it’s not worth it.” He snagged two of the tools and slipped them
into the lock. “Hold yourself steady.”

“Oh, aye,” said the sprite.
“Smarter to just not promise nothing you ain’t ready to make good
on.”

“Exactly,” said Alex, feeling around
with the little picks. The lock seemed to be a simple one, with no hum of magic
to it, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t thwart him. He pushed and the picks
slipped, and he sighed. “Bugger,” he said, trying to get the picks
properly set against the tumblers inside.

“Naah, ain’t my type,” said the
sprite, taking another big sip of tea before going all still and quiet again.

“Good,” said Alex, trying not to
think of what sort of strange perversions a human-philic fae might have tried
to visit on his sleeping body. “Damn, I really don’t want to have to call
a locksmith,” he said, when the picks slipped again.

“Oh, hey, bring me some
paper, would ya?” said the sprite.

Alex got up and fetched the little pad and its
stubby pencil from beside the phone. “Why?” he asked, handing it off.

“Key looked a bit like this,” said
the sprite, drawing the shape crudely on the page. “Had a funny thing down
here, like a little kink in it,” he said, pointing to the lower edge.

“Ah, that’s probably what I’m not catching
right,” said Alex. “Smart of you to pay attention.” He chose a
different pair of lockpicks and fit them in, feeling them slide into place much
more surely. “Hold still.”

This time, when he pushed, something inside the
lock gave and the little circle clicked open. Alex pulled it away and tossed it
into the sink with the frying pan with a shudder. “Nasty thing,” he
said.

“I know why I think so, but why do
you?” asked the sprite curiously, examining its wounded ankle.

“It was obviously created for the purpose
of tormenting the little folk,” said Alex with a shrug. “Why else
make a cold iron shackle in that size?” He rummaged in the cupboards until
he found a jar of healing cream. “Hm, this is nearing its end, but it
should help some,” he said, passing the jar to the sprite.

“I can’t read it to be sure it ain’t bad
for me,” he said, opening it up and sniffing curiously.

Alex picked up the cap and read off the
ingredients list. “Nothing I recognise as harmful to you, though the
magic’s faded a little.”

“I’m willing to try it if you’re willing
to wash it off should it hurt me,” said the sprite, dipping a finger in it
and sniffing again. There was a pause while they both waited to see how the
magic would react to the sprite’s skin, and when nothing happened it took a
whole handful of the cream and slathered it around the broken skin. “Seems
good,” it said.

“Keep the jar,” said Alex. “I’ve
stopped cooking the sort of things I burn myself on.”

The sprite laughed. “Cautious all around,
then,” it said, capping the jar and making it vanish. Upon inspection, the
bottle which had been half full was also empty, probably squirrelled away while
Alex got his lockpicks.

“I’m awful at it,” Alex said with a
laugh. “You wouldn’t want to eat my cooking any more than I did.”

“Now, you’ve kept your bargain and more,
so it’s time for me to be honouring my part,” said the sprite, standing
with a sigh. “I be Connaneach Kellimeannaugh, but me friends be calling me
Con, and I reckon you’ve earned that, too.”

Alex bowed. “It’s good
to meet you, Con, I’m Alex.”

“Alex it is,” said Con with a
chuckle. “I shoulda known ye’d be too smart to give much away there. Now,
I’ll be back for the rest, by the bye, so no drinking yon whisky.”

“It’s all yours, where
would you like me to store it?” asked Alex.

Con cocked his head. “You’ll leave a way
for me to knock, if you’ve warded me out?”

“There’s always the
doorbell,” pointed out Alex.

“Then it don’t matter much.” Con
jumped down to the floor with another of those strangely graceful leaps and
meandered toward the door. “I’ll be seeing ye.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Alex,
watching as Con faded out. The door didn’t even open, but there was something
quieter when he was gone, and Alex let out a sigh. The fae were always a
handful, but this one had been well met indeed.

Alex wrote down Con’s full name before he could
forget it, tearing off the page first and then sequestering it in his work room
along with both remaining bottles of whisky. He tucked the page with the full
name and the strange little drawing of the key inside his own personal
grimoire, which was as safe as he could make it and still have it to hand.

He only hoped it would be a long time before he
needed to call upon the little sprite.

Alex used up the rest of his nervous energy
cleaning up the kitchen, though he really didn’t have anything he could do for
the dents. He left a bit of bread, milk and honey in a bowl outside his door as
a sort of tithe to the faerie folk for keeping him alive and well another day,
and then finally let himself collapse back in his own bed.

Tomorrow, he’d have to re-ward the whole damn
place, and he’d need all the sleep he could get.

CHAPTER
18

In Which We are Very Busy, and Several Realisations are Made

When Alex next awoke it to the sound of his
doorbell. His phone had four different voicemails from various agents demanding
he answer for himself about last night, and he still hadn’t read the letter
from Julian that came in with Horace last night. It seemed everyone wanted a
bit of Alex’s time today; that and the scratches on his favourite frying pan
convinced Alex that it was a perfect day to be brought breakfast.

“Hold your horses!” yelled Alex,
putting on his dressing gown and finding his cane before letting in his two
very annoyed Guardians.

“You didn’t tell us you
were attacked!” said James irritably.

“I didn’t have your numbers,” said
Alex, tossing his phone to Jacques after unlocking it. “Add them, and I
won’t leave you out of the loop again.”

Alex stayed stubbornly in his pyjamas until he
was fortified with the coffee and a proper full English breakfast that James
had brought for all three of them, a tacit statement that they’d all need the
energy today. A long, hot shower and two more voicemails later, Jones arrived
for physical therapy. Alex had already amended the day’s to-do list. After PT,
they would pick up his coat, go by the Agency make his statement and get back
to the flat. He’d be half the night warding it again, and he needed to write to
Julian before that.

“This is proving more challenging than I
thought,” mused Alex, contemplating the notes he’d taken during the
sprite’s recitation. “Note to self, never accept a job from Smedley
again.”

“What’s that?” asked Jacques, though
his attention, like James’, was outside rather than inside the car.

Alex mmed vaguely and sipped at the the tea
he’d made to replace the long-drunk coffee. They made their way to the hospital
in distracted silence, the Guardians alert and Alex’s attention on his notes.
If only he could figure out the identity of the mage from the hints Con had
given him, he’d be well on his way to a case solved and a Courtship abandoned.

He ignored the pang he felt from that, then
when it wouldn’t be assuaged he tucked his notes away and pulled out Julian’s
note instead.

Dear
Alex,

Is it strange to admit that
I’ll miss the excuse to visit that I had while you were in hospital? I don’t want
you back there, but I’ll hate not seeing you until our date.

Speaking of which, will a
week from Friday do? That’ll make you second to last of the whole round, and
Saturday’s already spoken for by Willoughby and his relative-riddled schedule.
I think he just likes to call the shots, maybe more than I’m comfortable with,
for all I’m looking to become someone’s consort.

Will your Guardians
chaperone us, I wonder? They’re very nice, but you snog me more when no one’s
looking.

I
will miss your kisses each minute I do not have one.

Yours,

Julian

Alex swallowed, blushing, and folded the letter
back up. “I’m going to have to re-do my wards tonight, once I figure out
how the sprite got in,” he said.

James nodded. “We can’t
help, we’re not yours permanently, I’m afraid.”

“You’d be out in the cold if we needed to
divert that energy to another charge later,” said Jacques.

“Just knowing you’re keeping me safe while
things are in flux is enough,” said Alex quite truthfully. He tucked the
letter back in his breast pocket, then started searching through his jacket for
the mints he was sure he’d put back in there. What he came across instead was a
crinkling paper bag with the cleaner’s tag on it, stapled shut.

“What’s that?” asked James, suddenly
intent on the world inside rather than out.

“Stuff I left in my pockets, according to
Victor,” said Alex. He pulled the stapled-shut bag open, unfolding the
little packet to find a single object inside that he was absolutely sure wasn’t
his. “Ah,” he said, handing the bag carefully over to James.

James looked in at the innocuous little
carnelian ladybug, fortunately carved of one piece so it was merely magical and
not likely to attack. “Definitely the source of your ward breach.”

“You still need to re-ward,” said
Jacques. “But we’ll dispose of that while you’re in therapy.”

“Good,” said Alex, wrapping his coat
a little tighter and hoping his favourite cleaning lady had merely been fooled
and not knowingly endangered him. He’d hate to have to find someone new who
could get bloodstains out of his clothes.

~ ~ ~

After Alex’s hour of torture, they stopped by
the Temple, the tailor and finally a restaurant for lunch, where not Victor but
Flora was waiting to check up on him. For once he was glad to see her, and
after a brief reassurance on his part she happily told him all the gossip, an
alarming amount of it centred around Alex himself.

“Someone even started a rumour that the
Guardians were watching you because they thought that you’d set the magical
construct on the priest yourself, but the Temple actually squashed that
one,” said Flora, sounding amused.

“We’re Guardians, not jailers,” said
James, sounding offended at the very idea.

Alex chuckled. “People do like to talk,
though,” he said, finishing up his food and feeling quite a bit better for
replenishing his reserves. “I don’t suppose this is your treat?”
asked Alex, making puppy-eyes at Flora. They were eating in a private room,
which meant the Guardians could get food, too, but also that waiters were few
and far between.

“Yes, go on to your busy life,”
teased Flora. “I’ll call you if there’s any new developments.”

“Please do,” said Alex, weirdly
grateful. He kissed her cheek and let himself be ushered back out to the car,
where Jones was just finishing up his own meal, courtesy of the restaurant’s
to-go menu. “To the Agency we go!”

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t pick up or
call back,” said Smedley, wagging his finger.

Alex shrugged. “I needed to do my PT and
get sustenance first. I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said, holding the door
for Smedley, who used his badge to get them all four on the elevator without
much fuss. “Was there something actually urgent?”

Smedley chuckled rather wickedly. “One of
the devices nearly took Armistead’s eye out last night, right about the same
time I was rescuing you.” He schooled his face into the appropriate
expression of sympathy as the elevator doors opened.

“So they both activated at once?
Interesting,” said Alex. “I wonder where the last one went.”

Smedley stopped short, all
signs of humour left. “What do you mean?”

“The sprite told me there had been three
left after the first six went to the shop. He was meant to deliver one for my
flat, and one to the Temple, which means there’s one more out there,” said
Alex, biting his lip.

“What sprite?” asked Smedley.
“No, nevermind, put it all in your statement and then I’ll ask
questions.”

“Hm, Lapointe was right,” said Alex.
They went into one of the recording rooms, as they were referred to when people
were being polite.

“Right about what?” asked Smedley,
sitting to one side to help foster the illusion that the room’s primary
function was not for interrogation. James and Jacques set themselves up on
either side of the door, surprisingly unobtrusive for all that they still
looked like Guardians.

Alex chuckled. “You are
smarter than you look.”

Smedley laughed and threw a
balled-up scrap of paper at him.

~ ~ ~

“You look worlds better,” said Alex,
sitting on Lapointe’s uncomfortable couch. “I guess Dr. Tamlinson does
know what he’s about after all.”

“I heard that,” said Geoff, coming in
with coffee for everyone; he’d insisted on seeing Alex for himself when he
heard his former patient was well enough to show up at the Agency. “Just
because you’ve got creamy mounds is no reason to be an arse.”

They all laughed at that, and Alex introduced
everyone to everyone else while they sorted who got what in their coffee and
endured the requisite stick jokes about his new cane.

“You seem to be recovered from your
sleepless night, anyway,” said Lapointe, amused at their antics.

“Thanks,” said Alex. “I actually
got a lot of sleep, in between things trying to kill me.”

“Technically,” said Smedley,
“only one thing tried to kill you. The sprite just tried to steal your
jewellery, and the mantis went after Armistead.”

“Ooh, he must be all right, though, I’d
have heard him whinging,” said Lapointe.

Alex laughed, delighted. “How is it that
he’s unpleasant and you all hate him, but I’m unpleasant and the waitress
thinks it’s charming?” he asked, only half rhetorically.

“You bribe us with good coffee, and you
have a sense of humour, even if it’s a bit weird,” said Smedley, sipping
his own cup with a blissful expression.

“That still doesn’t explain the
waitresses,” said Lapointe. “You should see it, shop girls, too. It’s
like they just can’t fathom that he’s queer.”

“Perhaps they’re out to
cure you,” said Geoff dryly.

Smedley chuckled. “He’s incurable, though
fortunately it doesn’t appear contagious.”

“So what sort of thing tried to kill
you?” asked Lapointe, her usual determined self already back.

“Scorpion,” said Alex. “I
smashed it with a frying pan and Smedley carted the parts back to
Armistead.”

“Who was holding off the mantis with the
box he’d pulled it out of and a long-handled lighter,” said Smedley.
“I actually did get to rescue him.”

Alex laughed delightedly. “I’m a terrible
damsel in distress,” he said, “just ask Murielle.”

That got them started in on the funny stories,
and the Guardians even chimed in, having determined the Agency was safe enough
for conversation, at least in a room with the door closed. Jones had taken his
leave after dropping them off, so Alex just stayed and relaxed while they
waited for the car to return and take him back home to the work waiting there.

It would be soon enough to
exhaust himself all over again.

~ ~ ~

The flat was welcomingly quiet when they got
back and, sensing that Alex was about done with talking after everything, James
and Jacques just made tea without being asked. Once Alex was flopped on the
couch and they were all in possession of a cup of tea, he said, “So, pizza
first, then warding?”

The Guardians laughed, and Jacques shook his
head. “I’ll cook us something, your brother got actual food when they went
out shopping.”

“Actual food?” said Alex dubiously.
“What does one do with that? Who do you tip?”

They laughed at his joke, and it was warm and
friendly and good, an extension of earlier, which is just what Alex needed. He
did sometimes grow tired of always feeling like an outsider, and those small
things that signalled “home” were just what he needed before setting
up fresh wards on his flat.

Alex showered again while Jacques cooked,
donning what he thought of as his Ritual Pyjamas, a set of unbleached raw silk
trousers and tunic that he’d have to make sure not to spill any dinner on. He
belted on a perfectly ordinary dressing gown to help with that, and emerged
from his rooms to an absolutely exquisite mélange of odours. “I own
spices?” asked Alex, looking confused as he took a seat at the kitchen
table.

“I brought my own mix,” said Jacques,
who was just now plating the food, chicken and vegetables in sauce over rice
that seemed very exotic to Alex despite knowing intellectually it was a pretty
basic sort of food to cook. “It’s got some herbs in it for strength as
well as flavour.”

“Jacques’ cooking is sought-after even
among the Guardians,” said James, looking very smug to be the recipient.

“If it tastes anything like it smells, I
can see why,” replied Alex, taking another deep inhale, eyes closed to
better appreciate the scent. When he opened them, there was a plate in front of
him and a Guardian sat on either side. They toasted with simple water, then dug
in and ate with gusto.

It was, Alex thought as he sat back and rubbed
his fully belly, rather nice to eat with people who understood about expending
magical energy and needing food to replace it. “If I wasn’t about to spend
hours doing magic, I’d say you were going to make me fat,” he teased.

They laughed, and Alex left them, sitting at
his writing desk to gather his thoughts. He wrote Julian back first, purging that
worry from his mind as he did, reassuring and accepting the date, asking
teasingly what Julian might like for a gift this time. He gave Horace a nice
long petting once the letter was locked away, just sitting there and thinking
of his home and his magic, and listening to his own wards, hearing the tiny
disharmonies that had formed.

Jacques cleaned up and James Guarded, but they
were quiet and good at fading into the background, and so Alex had no problem
cataloguing and dismissing them along with the rest of his fears. After he let
Horace go out the kitchen window, Jacques watching the whole time, Alex found a
nice big pair of tuning forks, choosing them for their low, soothing notes. He
struck them together against the table and began walking through the flat, his
watch-fob in the hand with the tuning forks and his cane in the other,
listening to everything there, every little snippet of melody and otherwise
that lived in his flat.