The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (35 page)

They spent all day Saturday talking about
magical theory, and Alex showed off a few of the things he’d made for himself
as well as finally letting the Guardians see his isolation room for themselves.
They hung out mostly in the work room itself, talking about materials and
designs for the various amulets and charms Alex was hoping to create once this
was all over. All in all, it was the perfect distraction, enough so that Alex
dreamed of runes and magic and woke refreshed.

Well, as refreshed as he
ever was first thing in the morning, anyway.

He spent the extra time in his rooms having a
bath, but didn’t bother to dress, just wearing fresh pyjamas to breakfast.
“Since when do you two have formal uniforms?” asked Alex, sitting
down to pour himself a cup of tea. “And what time is the fitting or
whatever again?” He’d given them his phone last night, just to be certain
nothing would interrupt his sleep. He had a feeling he’d need all his wits
about him a tonight’s Masquerade.

“Of course we do, and two o’clock,”
said James, grinning. “Did you give them a nice steam for us to get the
wrinkles out?”

Alex chuckled. “Of course,” he said.
“Though I could hear the anti-wrinkle charms, so I doubt it made much
difference.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” said
Jacques, putting a plate down in front of Alex. Breakfast today was waffles,
eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes, beans and fruit salad. They weren’t
pussyfooting around on the most important meal of the day, apparently.
“So, why is this important enough to send ants to kill you?”

Alex chuckled. “Well, the Masquerade is
optional. Either the candidate isn’t sure who to choose for his top seven for
whatever reason, which would be totally reasonable given one of them was just
killed, or he’s decided already and wants to declare his choice without having
to slog through the rest of it.”

“And if it’s the second one, you’re the
most likely candidate,” said James. It was most definitely not a question,
and it made Alex blush.

“Potion first,” said Jacques, when
Alex picked up his fork. Alex sighed, but downed it, glad that it wasn’t likely
to be part of his routine forever.

“Blech,” he said, washing it away
with tea, and then a big bite of beans on toast. “Mm, but this is
good.”

“I told you he’d like our plebeian
swill,” teased James, cutting up his sausage in neat pieces.

Jacques chuckled. “Not longing for the
fancy figs and tiny quiches of yore?” he asked, sitting down to dig into
his own plate.

“They were pretty tasty, but no,
especially not the company,” said Alex. “Even Willoughby was less
annoying than Mother.”

“She’s not as bad as
Armistead, though,” said James.

“Well,” put in
Jacques, “she’s different, anyway.”

Alex was grateful for the Guardians’ easy
banter, which helped keep him from worrying that his gift was boring, his
outfit was stupid, and his estimation of his own place in Julian’s heart was
inflated. Mostly.

“So,” said Alex, sitting back and
rubbing his very full belly, “what’ll we do with the next few hours until
we’re invaded by Gerard and his minions?”

“Which will be very interesting to get
past your wards,” said James. “Did you warn him about them?”

“I told him to bring as little magic along
as possible, and as few people,” said Alex, “And then I told him my
wards might fry his coattails if he didn’t.”

“So, even odds,
then,” said James with a smirk.

“I think we should play cards, and then
taste all the stuff from Saveur,” said Jacques.

Alex laughed. “If I can digest enough of
breakfast to make room, it’s a plan.”

They took their tea out to the living room,
where Alex shamelessly got tucked into blankets for more card games. The
Guardians taught him the sort of game that might be started and stopped at any
time, citing it as traditional when teaching newbies how to stay up for night
watches. Alex thought they just enjoyed having the upper hand, since he’d been
winning at gin two games out of three.

Lunch was light, and then they brought out the
chocolate samples and passed things around, finding spiced pear truffles and
slices of pear dried to a crisp like the apple things, only these were dipped
in dark chocolate and actually really good. There were truffles made with mint
and rose from the Benedict gardens, ones filled with a sweet cheese ganache,
and ones that tasted of the first crisp bite of apple. There was a bar of
chocolate flavoured with sage and crystallised lemon rind, and another one that
had crystallised pear chunks with fragrant ginger.

“Well, if Julian isn’t impressed,”
said Alex, letting a lemon mousse truffle melt in his mouth, “then I will
take the box back and give him myself instead, because, damn.”

“Now I’m torn,”
said Jacques.

James laughed and tossed a tarragon and honey
truffle at him, which Jacques caught with that same eerie grace. They seemed
just like any other friends until they did things like that, reminding Alex
that they had trained and given up their whole lives to be Guardians of those
people the Temple felt needed their lives preserved against a threat.

“Don’t worry,” said Alex with a
chuckle, eating another of the addictive chocolate-covered pear crisps.
“I’ll still love you enough to buy you chocolates.”

They laughed and kept chatting, and soon enough
it was time to clear the treats away and make up a fresh pot of tea in
anticipation of the arrival of Alex’s ridiculous costume. He wouldn’t have to
leave for the Ball until six at the earliest, and he really, really hoped it
wouldn’t take four hours to get him ready.

“We’ll dress before
they arrive,” said James, “just in case.”

“All right,” said Alex, staying right
where he was on the couch. He was warm and his leg didn’t even ache like this,
so he was determined to stay there until forced out by the evil pressures of
the designer. He’d even worn a button-up pyjama top in the hopes that they’d do
his hair before making him stand up and fit the rest.

James vanished into Alex’s room, and when he
came out he was looking every inch the Guardian of legend. His formal uniform
had a stiff collar and broad shoulders, a belt for an actual sword, high boots
and of course his Guardian medallion on a ribbon around his neck. It gave him
the authority to accompany his charge anywhere, regardless of invitation or
propriety.

“Damn,” said Alex. “I guess it’s
good my head’s going to glow, or else no one would even look at me.”

Jacques laughed, leaning in the kitchen doorway
and drying his hands. “Don’t give him a big head, or we won’t be able to
fit you both in the car.”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “I have no idea how
I’m going to fit that ridiculous head thing in the car, Jones is going to kill
me.”

They laughed. “I’m sure your esteemed
designer has taken that into account, since you’ll be doing one of those
Hollywood entrances where we walk a gauntlet of press,” said Jacques. He
tossed the towel back into the kitchen and said quite seriously, “That
will be when you’re most in danger of being assassinated, we think.”

Alex sighed and nodded. “I’ll be
careful,” he said, “and I’ll be relying on you.”

“We’re good for it,” said James, and
Jacques smacked his arm on his way back to change into his own dress uniform.
“What?”

“There’s confidence, and then there’s
being an arrogant prick,” called Jacques from the depths of Alex’s room.

Alex chuckled. “I like a bit of confidence
in the guys keeping me alive,” he called back.

James just looked smug.

~ ~ ~

The final dressing was every bit as tiresome as
Alex expected. Gerard showed up with the taciturn tailor and an equally
grumpy-looking hair-and-makeup person, who seemed determined to do something
horrible to Alex’s eyes. They left him right where he was on the couch to start
with, Gerard explaining that the headdress had been designed to lay down flat
for the ride, and would spring up and start to glow as soon as Alex triggered
it. They made him practice a few times, and then once Gerard was satisfied it
was properly dramatic, he was left in the hands of the hairdresser.

“How does it all come off?” asked
Alex, as she pulled out a kit bigger than some toolboxes Alex had seen and
started choosing things with which to torment him.

“Same way it stays in place all night,
magic, some of it,” she said. “I’ll give you a special wipe for your
face, and the hair stuff just washes out with soap and water. I’m Sarah.”

“I’m Alex. And why do I
need to wear stuff on my face?” asked Alex.

“Goes with the
mask,” she said. “Shut up and close your eyes.”

“I want breaks for
tea,” said Alex petulantly, but he did as he was told.

When it was all done, his hair had some of the
same sparkles as the suit, and his curls had been turned to undulating waves
that looked to him like some sort of eerie tentacles. The headdress seemed to
emerge from the waves of it. The spines laid back neatly when he whistled it
down, and stood out from his head in a three-dimensional halo when he activated
their magic. His eyes had been blacked and shadowed and glittered, and he kept
wanting to rub at his eyelashes.

She made him close his eyes again and sprayed
his face with a gentle mist that was most definitely magical. “There, now
if you do rub it, nothing will happen.”

“That obvious, am I?” asked Alex,
reaching up to find his face smooth and dry.

“Everyone wants to rub their eyes,”
she said. “Now, have more tea, because it’s about time for your final
fitting.”

“Bless you,” he said, taking the cup
she handed him and drinking half of it in one go. She’d also done something to
his lips and cheeks and even brows, though he’d drawn the line at any sort of
plucking. She said the extra make-up was just in case he had to take the mask
off. He thought if he took the mask off he’d look like he’d been punched in the
face.

“We’re ready for you,
Alex,” said Gerard impatiently.

“Tea first,” said Alex, implacable.
He lingered just a little stubbornly over the second half of the cup, which
seemed to amuse Sarah.

He got up and allowed them to dress him, glad
he chose nice pants that weren’t too revealing when he realised everyone,
including Sarah, would be watching. “Clothe me or turn up the heat,”
said Alex irritably when they’d gotten him stripped but neglected to start
dressing him again, fiddling with the costume instead.

“Patience,” said
Gerard.

“More tea,” said Jacques, handing him
a fresh, hot cup. “You’ll need to have your potion and a snack before we
go.”

“Ugh,” said Alex, but he was grateful
for the tea. It was taken away again soon enough, and then he was poked and
prodded and straightened and fluffed. He was allowed to keep his own shoes,
socks, pants and watch fob, but everything else down to the watch chain was
provided by the designer. Alex was also wearing a minor protection charm he’d
dug out of his work room, but since that laid flat against his chest it didn’t
even garner comment.

It seemed like forever before he was declared
finished, then asked to sit and stand and walk, and by then he insisted on
sitting and took a couple of aspirin to head off the ache he was starting to
feel in his leg. They took his jacket away to make a few last adjustments, and
left him in the kitchen for his potion and tea.

“How is it quarter to six?” asked
Alex, as he dutifully ate the snack Jacques had shoved in front of him.

“I think your hair took two hours by
itself,” said James, shaking his head. “I hope it’s worth it.”

“Well,” said Alex, finishing off the
last bite, “mm, at least they’ll have a photo of me other than that awful
one Victor sent in?”

“Do not speak of that photo, it’s
hideous,” said Gerard, coming in with the jacket. “Now, put this on,
it’s almost time.”

“I know, I know,”
said Alex. “I suppose I should have a real one taken.”

“You should have yourself photographed in
the first outfit we made for you, the black,” said Gerard, which surprised
Alex. “It’s striking and unusual, and it will match the photos of this
costume well.”

“I’ll think about
it,” said Alex.

He finished off his tea and stood, letting them
bustle him back out into the living room and into his jacket. The whole outfit
was thick with spells to prevent the diamonds falling off, wrinkles, creases,
tears, stains and any other mishaps, and Alex found it rather comforting after
a fashion. It reminded him of his shoes, which were as polished and scuff-free
as the day he’d taken delivery of them. They put the mask on, threading the
ribbon carefully through the mesh of the headpiece, and he was done.

“All right, do I pass
muster?” he asked, turning himself around.

Gerard pulled out a little set-spell that
conjured a trio of mirrors for Alex, and Alex triggered the spell on the halo.
The headdress rose up and then lit from base to tip, the ends letting off false
sparks that were magic and illusion rather than any kind of heat, and the third
eye sparkled even in the dim light of his flat.