The Courtship of Julian St. Albans (36 page)

“It’s definitely
magical,” said Sarah, sounding impressed despite herself.

“It’s good,” said
Jacques. “Now come on, Jones is waiting in the garage.”

Alex gave another whistle and the headdress
went out and flattened down, which left him looking sleek and strange and
mysterious, since his hair was still sparkly and the long strands looked a bit
like quills. “All right, let’s go,” he said, brandishing his cane.
“You first.”

Gerard turned off the mirror-spell and they
gathered their things, and then everyone trooped out of the flat, Alex pausing
to whistle at his wards and make sure no one had left anything behind, accidental
or otherwise. But no, once he himself stepped outside everything that had come
in with the designer had also left, and James locked up. “You take the
elevator after us,” said Jacques, talking to Gerard. “It’ll be safer,
and you can distract any paparazzi.”

“Yes, I wish my design to have its proper
premiere,” said Gerard with a nod.

“Thank you,” said Alex, feeling he
hadn’t been explicit enough in his appreciation. “It really is quite a
creation, and it suits me, sort of.”

Gerard chuckled. “It’s
fancy dress, it’s only supposed to suit you sort of.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say to
that, so the Guardians bundled Alex into the elevator, and then into the car,
and soon enough they were on their way to the Masquerade.

CHAPTER
27

In Which We Peer Beneath Some Masks

They joined a line of similar cars in front of
the venue Julian had chosen for his Masquerade Ball, the Royal Hotel. It had
played host to dozens of such events over the years, and was well equipped to
stage the ball on short notice. They’d even rolled out a red carpet; it would
be Alex’s turn to walk down it very soon, with a literal gauntlet of press on
either side held back by flimsy barriers.

“This part’s gonna suck,” said Alex,
as the car in front of them disgorged its passengers, which seemed to be famous
guests rather than any of the Suitors.

“Yes,” said
Jacques.

“We’ll make it
through,” said James.

Jones moved forward, a man in livery came to
open the door, and Alex took a deep breath.

James got out first, followed by Jacques, and
they flanked the door at perfect parade rest, their Guardian medallions shining
in the light of hundreds of cameras. Alex ducked out, activating the spell on
his headdress as he straightened up, so the magic tendrils flowered up and
started to spark before he stepped out onto the carpet. His Guardians fell into
step behind him but, since the Suitors were expected to at least pretend to
anonymity, he didn’t have to stop and talk to anyone. All he had to do was
walk.

He used his cane as little as possible, acutely
aware of the stiffness in his leg, though it was far better than it had been.
He let himself smile a wry little smirk, shaking his head once to make the
tendrils wave and spark as he walked, chin up, trying to be proud. Behind him,
the footman was extracting his gift from the car and following, as of course
the gift, too, was part of the presentation. Alex hummed under his breath to
make the boxes shine just a little under their lids, as though yet more magic
waited inside.

He was told, later, that the combined effect
was very impressive indeed, even though his Guardians had guaranteed he’d be
identified right off the bat, and online videos of his arrival had already gone
viral.

They were almost to the door when Alex felt
rather than heard the sickeningly familiar sound of one of the homicidal
constructs. The songs skipped and caught, as though it had been assembled badly
and in a rush, but Alex didn’t want to see if that meant it was any less
effective. “Look out,” said Alex, trying to figure out where it was
coming from.

“Duck!” said James, and Alex dropped
down into a crouch, even disabling the ridiculous headpiece to make himself as
small as possible. Twin swords swished through the space where he’d been,
slicing through what appeared to be some sort of large flying beetle.

At least it was, before it was pieces on the
ground all around them, twitching as the magic died out.

“Well,” said Alex,
standing up. “That was exciting.”

“Inside, now,” said Jacques, and Alex
spotted several Agents in the crowd including, he thought, Smedley, all moving
forward to quarantine the bug parts and clear up the scene. The poor footman
practically ran inside after them, panting as they made it into the relative
safety of the foyer.

“I, I’ll just, g-gift table, there,”
stammered the poor man, and he delivered Alex’s gift to the table and then
vanished behind the scenes, presumably to collect himself.

Alex had let the glowing illusion drop when he
heard the beetle’s spell, but his clothing was pristine, so he re-activated the
halo and made his dignified way into the ballroom and straight up to the bar.
He wouldn’t actually have an alcoholic drink, but he wanted something to help
get his heart rate back down after that excitement.

“It won’t be the last attempt,” said
James, sword sheathed and not a bead of sweat on his brow.

“No, he’s really quite desperate,”
agreed Alex, looking out over the crowd. “Can you tell which Suitors are
already here?”

Jacques pulled out his phone and brought up the
gossip blog he’d cued up earlier, refreshing to see the list. “Hah,
there’s already an account of some sort of fancy show we put on for the benefit
of the cameras,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It looks like nearly
everyone is here, that’s why they kept sending us through the roundabout, so
you’d be one of the last to arrive. Chilcott’s arriving now, that’s him in the
Green Man costume.”

“So who’s left?”
asked Alex.

“Willoughby, which was expected, and
apparently Duckworth hasn’t made his appearance yet,” said Jacques.

“I suppose you could arrange to be late
and try to look more important that way,” said Alex wryly. He only barely
remembered Duckworth from school, and didn’t have much more of an impression
from the first Courtship dinner.

“Or maybe he’s having
trouble with his costume,” said James.

Alex sipped his fizzy water, enjoying the tang
of lime and mint, and letting it remind him of that earlier event and
everything he’d learned about these men. Jacques pointed everyone out to him in
turn, costumes from a mundane comedy-mask on Entwistle to the fantastic
illusion that made Winston-Smythe appear to be an elaborate soap bubble. Alex
admired the way the designer had used a cluster of smaller bubbles to create an
actual mask, but otherwise let the illusion do everything, so that each time
the man reached out to touch something Alex wondered if he might pop and vanish
into a little puddle of soap.

“Those three are Standish Flynn, quite
tastelessly dressed as a hunting hound, Henry Strathmore as an equally subtle
falcon, and the sun there is Chudleigh,” said Jacques, consulting his
phone and pointing.

“Chudleigh’s costume is lovely,” said
Alex, surprised. The glow on it was gentle, and his mask was a beautifully
fashioned antique-style sun, with wavy golden rays. His suit started almost white
at the bottom and darkened up to the pale, clear blue of a winter sky, with
cloud-white shoes and shirt. Rather than a cravat, the bottom set of rays on
the sun formed a pectoral collar, so his mouth was still free to sip the drink
he was holding. “He’s either got hidden depths or a really great
designer.”

“They’re all pretty
well-constructed,” said James, “just not all in the best of taste. At
least your Julian won’t likely be a fox or game bird.”

Alex chuckled. “No, he’ll be something no
one expects of him, I’m sure. He’s got that way about him,” he said
fondly.

Jacques chuckled at that. “He does, all
those little hints at depth under the pretty-boy surface.”

 “So, who’s the book?” asked Alex,
gesturing to a man in a suit like aged paper, rustling and somehow
fragile-looking, with a beautifully constructed mask of an actual book with
words that seemed to flow across it.

“Phineas O’Connor…
Oh, and here’s Willoughby, too,” said Jacques.

They turned to the door, and Alex’s eyes
narrowed. Holmes Willoughby had chosen to be a moth, his suit a soft brown that
looked like very fine velvet, his mask modelled off a traditional butterfly
mask, but done all in shades of brown. There seemed to be two sets of wings as
well, one that stayed covering his face and another, illusory set that
fluttered and moved. “As an insect,” said Alex.

“Hm,” said James, and Alex could feel
their tension ratchet just a little higher. “Suspicious.”

“Though butterflies are traditional,”
said Alex. “And not very masculine. It’s not as if the falcon’s a very
friendly image for the other suitors.”

“True,” said
Jacques. “Best not to dismiss anyone at this point.”

“We’re all agreed it’s definitely a suitor
now?” asked Alex, just to check in with them.

“Oh, yes,” said James. “Though
your mage might not be, you said there was a contributor besides that.”

Alex sighed. “Yes, I think to allow the
third party control.” He wished for a moment that he could rub his
temples, but he set that aside in favour of identifying the last few costumes.
“So the fountain is…”

“Grover Barnes,” said Jacques.
“A costume suited more for a consort than a Suitor, though.”

Barnes was dressed in soft grey that was
mottled with shifting patterns of light as though underwater, with a fantastic
shimmering mask that let out streams of water that broke up into droplets that
never reached the ground. There was something about the cut of his clothing and
the feel of the outfit that lacked the same aggressive tone as some of the
other men, and yet, it suited what Alex remembered of Barnes.

“So that makes Archibald Cruther our
hedgehog,” said Alex, unable to keep from smiling at the whimsical
costume. The quills on his head and back were impressive, and the white suit
was a soft velvet that set them off quite well. The mask itself was mobile and
delightful, with an adorably upturned nose and big, silly ears. “I didn’t
know he had it in him.”

“When will Julian appear?” asked
Jacques, putting his phone away. Alex was amused to see some disapproving looks
at the idea of a Guardian neglecting his charge so, as though it wasn’t
valuable to identify their potential enemies.

“Once all the Suitors are here,” said
Alex. “And that must be our tardy Duckworth.” He nodded toward the
door, where a man meandered in looking just a touch lost, fitting as he seemed
to be half-hidden in a fog. He was wearing a suit in pearly grey with a
matching satin half-mask, and the illusion wreathed him in shifting billows of
white-grey mist.

“Creepy,” said
James.

“Definitely,” said Alex, watching him
move. The fog drifted to obscure his movements just enough that he seemed to
not walk so much as appear a little closer with each blink. “And even less
the costume of a Suitor than Barnes’ fountain.”

“He definitely needs watching,” said
Jacques. The two Guardians shifted subtly, and then everyone else did, too,
though for different reasons, as most people’s attention went to the balcony
above and the long stairs leading down, where Julian would descend on
Emmeline’s arm to join the crowd below and start the dancing.

Emmeline was in a beautiful blue-green gown and
very traditional peacock mask, elegant but not too magical, nothing designed to
outshine her brother. Julian, on the other hand, had gone away from tradition a
different way. He was wearing a lovely suit and frock coat in a dark brown
pinstripe, but the upturned collar of his jacket grew out into an amazing
spread of branches that framed his face rather than hiding it. There were green
leaves along the outside of the halo, and up high out of anyone’s reach there
was a single red apple, ripe for the picking.

The best part of Julian’s costume, however, was
the familiar figure of Horace sitting near Julian’s face. “I think Horace
looks quite smug, don’t you?” said Alex, trying not to grin too much.

“Everyone is going to wonder why you look
so pleased,” said James, but he sounded approving.

“He does fit with the costume, I believe
the apple is artificial as well,” said Jacques.

Alex’s smile softened a little bit. “He
looks wonderful, doesn’t he? All that brown suits him, and the green cravat
sets off his eyes.”

“You are so gone for
him,” said Jacques under his breath, chuckling.

“But you’re right, he does look like quite
the prize,” added James, sounding no less amused.

Alex couldn’t help but drift closer to the front
of the crowd, his eyes on Julian and nothing else for the moment. The branches,
though they seemed to grow quite naturally out of the coat, weren’t fabric at
all. The pinstripes continued up them as decoration in lieu of realistic bark,
however, and the leaves were folded green paper. James was right, the apple,
too, was artificial, an intricate carnelian puzzle-carving with jade leaf and
golden stem.

Emmeline led Julian out to the middle of the
dance floor; traditionally the relative “giving away” the consort
would claim the first dance, and afterward Julian would give each Suitor a
single dance, choosing by costume as though unaware of their identities. If the
consort was willing, and the suitor was appropriately masked, the dance would
end in a kiss.

Alex licked his lips, rather glad he’d
convinced Gerard to leave his mouth free.

“So, odds that Julian’s also been online
to see who’s who?” murmured Jacques, watching as Julian searched the
crowd.

At Julian’s delighted grin upon seeing Alex,
James chuckled. “He knows who is who, whether from the internet or
otherwise.”

“Did anyone ever not know?” Alex
wondered. After three dates apiece, Alex would think a consort would know his
Suitors well enough not to be fooled by a mask.

“Of course not,” said a new voice,
and Alex found himself in conversation with Whitby Chilcott. The green man
costume was a masterpiece of subtle design; his green suit held a very subtle
leaf pattern in the weave, his cravat had been pinned in leaflike folds, and
his mask was as gorgeously carved as any frieze. His hair had been darkened
with just a tiny bit of green and given a slight leaf-like wave, so the effect
from a distance was mundane but up close it was quite beautiful.

“Your costume is magnificent,” said
Alex, impressed. “Is there any magic, or is it all art?”