from both Alex and
Willoughby.
Alex reminded himself that he didn’t need to be
first, he just needed to not be last, and let it stand.
He was mostly quiet, standing at Julian’s side
as the men chattered around him, listening with his other senses when he could.
That sneaky thread was here somewhere, he could hear the tinny melody, but it
was hiding under so much from his own enchanted watch fob to the still-intact
house wards that it was just as hard to pinpoint as it had been the last time.
“I’m sorry?” said
Alex, when he realised they were all looking for him.
Julian giggled, sounding terribly young for a
moment. “Flynn asked you if you were still working for a living,” he
said.
“Ah,” said Alex, clearing his throat.
“Yes, though my family has chosen to back me in this matter.” He knew
there would be gossip about how a mere magical consultant could afford such
things as Alex’s gift, which was rare both in enchantment and the size and
quality of the pearls, and he felt it best to head it off.
“I’d heard you had a falling out with old
Victor, how is he?” asked one of the other suitors.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t
catch your name?” said Alex, cocking his head.
That prompted a cascade of introductions,
though most of the men already knew each other from school or any of the
hundreds of absurd social functions they’d attended in their lifetimes. Alex
had always hidden in the coat check room whenever possible, at least until it
got late enough that the coat check room grew busy with more adult visitors.
It turned out that George Entwistle had shared
a room with Victor at school one year, which led to polite gossip about
everyone’s family until the next suitor showed up.
Eventually, all thirteen suitors were there —
some early, some fashionably late, but all of them determined to make a good
impression. All the other men but Willoughby had chosen the rich, luxurious
colours that were fashionable this year, jewel tones chosen to make eyes
sparkle, skin look richer, and bring out the highlights in their hair. Cravats
were impeccably tied and pinned, cuffs always French with a glimmer of fine
cufflinks, and quality watches checked at every opportunity. Most of the hands
held rings, though none had their own signet — no head of household would be
in this Courtship, because they’d be expected to take up the reins of the St.
Albans household instead, so there were a number of second, third and even
fifth sons in the mix.
Alex found it all very tiring, just as he’d
known he would, so he distracted himself trying to match the discarded gifts to
their givers, and when that was too easy, to discern everything he could from
the soft songs each man carried with him, made up of his own personal aura and
the enchantments he wore, the places he lived and had recently been, and the
lingering residue of any magic they’d used recently.
“And how are you enjoying the party?”
asked one of the men, John Pembroke. He’d been there when Alex arrived, and
seemed supremely confident, something Alex couldn’t lay claim to.
Alex shrugged as nonchalantly as he could
manage. “I am here for Julian,” he said, as if that would explain
everything.
Pembroke chuckled. “That’s one way of
putting it, though a dozen of you will end up back out in the cold after I’ve
won him.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” asked Alex,
amused. Pembroke was one of the most heavily bespelled men there, from the
anti-wrinkle charms on his clothing to the cacophony of personal care potions
that kept his hair thick and soft, his skin clear and unlined; even his
fingernails had the sheen of magic.
Pembroke shrugged. “It doesn’t pay to be
uncertain in this game,” he said, slapping Alex on the shoulder.
“Then again, you’re the only mage among us.”
“The only working mage,” corrected
Alex. Auggie Duckworth had been in Alex’s year at school, and they’d both had
magical tutoring, as Alex was sure was
Willoughby.
Alex reminded himself that he didn’t need to be
first, he just needed to not be last, and let it stand.
He was mostly quiet, standing at Julian’s side
as the men chattered around him, listening with his other senses when he could.
That sneaky thread was here somewhere, he could hear the tinny melody, but it
was hiding under so much from his own enchanted watch fob to the still-intact
house wards that it was just as hard to pinpoint as it had been the last time.
“I’m sorry?” said
Alex, when he realised they were all looking for him.
Julian giggled, sounding terribly young for a
moment. “Flynn asked you if you were still working for a living,” he
said.
“Ah,” said Alex, clearing his throat.
“Yes, though my family has chosen to back me in this matter.” He knew
there would be gossip about how a mere magical consultant could afford such
things as Alex’s gift, which was rare both in enchantment and the size and
quality of the pearls, and he felt it best to head it off.
“I’d heard you had a falling out with old
Victor, how is he?” asked one of the other suitors.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t
catch your name?” said Alex, cocking his head.
That prompted a cascade of introductions,
though most of the men already knew each other from school or any of the
hundreds of absurd social functions they’d attended in their lifetimes. Alex
had always hidden in the coat check room whenever possible, at least until it
got late enough that the coat check room grew busy with more adult visitors.
It turned out that George Entwistle had shared
a room with Victor at school one year, which led to polite gossip about
everyone’s family until the next suitor showed up.
Eventually, all thirteen suitors were there —
some early, some fashionably late, but all of them determined to make a good
impression. All the other men but Willoughby had chosen the rich, luxurious
colours that were fashionable this year, jewel tones chosen to make eyes
sparkle, skin look richer, and bring out the highlights in their hair. Cravats
were impeccably tied and pinned, cuffs always French with a glimmer of fine
cufflinks, and quality watches checked at every opportunity. Most of the hands
held rings, though none had their own signet — no head of household would be
in this Courtship, because they’d be expected to take up the reins of the St.
Albans household instead, so there were a number of second, third and even
fifth sons in the mix.
Alex found it all very tiring, just as he’d
known he would, so he distracted himself trying to match the discarded gifts to
their givers, and when that was too easy, to discern everything he could from
the soft songs each man carried with him, made up of his own personal aura and
the enchantments he wore, the places he lived and had recently been, and the
lingering residue of any magic they’d used recently.
“And how are you enjoying the party?”
asked one of the men, John Pembroke. He’d been there when Alex arrived, and
seemed supremely confident, something Alex couldn’t lay claim to.
Alex shrugged as nonchalantly as he could
manage. “I am here for Julian,” he said, as if that would explain
everything.
Pembroke chuckled. “That’s one way of
putting it, though a dozen of you will end up back out in the cold after I’ve
won him.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” asked Alex,
amused. Pembroke was one of the most heavily bespelled men there, from the
anti-wrinkle charms on his clothing to the cacophony of personal care potions
that kept his hair thick and soft, his skin clear and unlined; even his
fingernails had the sheen of magic.
Pembroke shrugged. “It doesn’t pay to be
uncertain in this game,” he said, slapping Alex on the shoulder.
“Then again, you’re the only mage among us.”
“The only working mage,” corrected
Alex. Auggie Duckworth had been in Alex’s year at school, and they’d both had
magical tutoring, as Alex was sure was
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