New Places, New Faces A tiny witch with crumpled parchment for skin and a chin-length haircut the color of iron peered critically at Julian over her tiny little painted spectacles as she strode into the painting Julian was standing beside. The witch was just a series of brushstrokes on canvas, largely incapable of interacting with objects that were not also painted, but Julian still wanted to step away from the intensity of her look as she put her hands on the hips of a set of dress robes almost a century out of fashion.
“Talking to my husband,” said the painted lady, “is no way to get one of your own, young woman.” Julian blinked, startled. The man in the portrait looked young enough to be the new arrival’s son. “You should go mingle. Even if your parents make you a match, you’ll need to know people – won’t she, Jonathan?”
Jonathan, who had been busily writing in a book since at least shortly before Julian drifted over to his wall and who still looked as surprised to see her as she was to be addressed by his wife, nodded. “Hm, yes,” he said. “Kitty’s quite right, girl. One must make connections.”
Sallie had said something very similar, Julian recalled, at some point, though only in passing. Most of the arguments she had used to convince Julian to come to this party at all had centered on the idea that it would be fun to dress up and go to a party, not on the idea that doing so would be useful. Julian remembered the part about meeting her distant cousins and cross-cousins and so forth vividly, though, because of the strange lurch her stomach had given when her biological mother had brought it up, a feeling of something that was not exactly fear but not exactly eagerness, either.
Whatever she had felt about the prospect then or did feel now, though, wasn’t relevant because it had quickly become apparent that she wasn’t going to get to know any of them at all. After Sallie abandoned her among them, the only girl anywhere near her own age Julian had seen who she hadn’t felt was looking down at her was the one who had hardly looked at her at all, a girl of about sixteen who, had she been fairer-skinned and short-haired and just a little bit taller, could almost have passed for John in a dress as she read a book hidden in her skirts and offered only brief, slightly irritated replies to any remarks addressed directly to her. The only time she had spoken of her own volition had been when she (apparently under the impression they truly didn’t know instead of that they were merely being an odd combination of catty and delicate) bluntly informed the others that Julian was “that bastard of Richard’s”, embarrassing the other girls almost as much as she did Julian. In the end, though, they had recovered, but then seemed to realize that Julian was not going to divulge much in the way of gossip, and once she had heard them start twittering about how obviously pre-made her dress was the second she started walking away to get a drink, Julian had elected to abandon the whole crew altogether.
Unfortunately, she had not been introduced to anyone else except Sallie, Cousin Bertram, and, more recently, Bertie’s brother Eleazar (the host of tonight’s holiday party) and his wife, none of whom she felt particularly comfortable strolling up to in this environment. She had ended up almost walking into the wife, one Ceyda, but that conversation had consisted mostly of Julian assuring Ceyda that she was enjoying the party and hoping against hope that that was actually what Ceyda, who spoke with a pronounced accent that Julian didn’t recognize, had asked her and had only impeded Julian’s progress toward a wall she could blend into for a few minutes. Since then, Julian’s only company had been the scritch-scritch-scritch sound of Jonathan’s quill, which had been more enjoyable than all the other company she’d had this evening. When she’d closed her eyes, she had almost been able to pretend that the noise was actually being made by one of those metal-nibbed straight pens that John favored and that she was hearing it because she was back home where she belonged.
That, she thought, was the whole problem. This place was beautiful, maybe one of the more beautiful rooms Julian had ever entered. She felt beautiful, custom sewing or none, in a pretty dress and with her hair done up and everything. She was sure some of the company was brilliant and would have been enjoyable if she had had a clue how to engage with it. But this was not where she belonged, and she should have known that from the beginning. Being here was a terrible idea and she should have never let Sallie talk her into trying it.
It had all started simply enough. It turned out (somewhat, all things considered, unsurprisingly to Julian) that being an heiress wasn’t all suddenly having a lot of money to spend, at least not if she wanted that one agreeable part of the current state of affairs to continue. Julian had avoided the worst of it all, the parts where her cousins and sort of-stepmother’s family had been contesting wills and such, by being underage when the lawsuits were going on, but there was still work involved now that she had the dubious honor of owning things. One of the first things Julian had asked her academic adviser at the university had pertained to the availability of bookkeeping classes, but unfortunately, large amounts of paperwork had started crossing her desk before she could gain any proficiency in accounting and her mother had mentioned that Sallie had met “Mr. Crowley” (a name which always sounded more like it was being pronounced by a displeased schoolteacher than like the mark of respect the man himself probably would have assumed it was when Mom said it) when she had become his brother’s assistant manager. Before Julian had quite known what was happening, she had started spending far more time with her biological mother than she had planned to during those long months where being out anywhere had often felt more comfortable than being at home when neither she nor Mom had any idea how to deal with her sudden, if temporary, status as the next thing to an only child. Exposure had led, gradually, to comfort, which had led to increasingly casual conversation, which had led to something like affection, which had led to glimpses into Sallie’s personal life, which included Cousin Bertram….
It had all gotten complicated, true, but that was not a good reason for her to have believed there was any chance she could function in one of these venues no matter how Sallie and Bertram had sold it to her. Her eyes stinging with frustrated humiliation, she started trying to edge toward the door. Sallie could figure out where she had gone in her own time. It was, after all, Julian’s freedom of movement as an adult which had gotten her into this mess, so it might as well be the same thing which got her out of it again.
…Unless it got her into more trouble first. Which, predictably, it promptly did. Just when she thought she had a clear path to a way out of the room, a shoulder materialized directly in front of her. She swayed dangerously in her tall shoes as she dodged to avoid it and accidentally caught the attention of its owner as she grabbed the offending shoulder automatically to catch herself.
“Oh!” the wizard she had nearly walked into said. “I’m sorry, miss – “
“No,” said Julian quickly, letting go of his robes as her more of her face than had been made up to look that way began to take on a distinct reddish tint. “I am. Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going – “
“Neither was I,” said the wizard. He was, on closer inspection, young, but still a little older than Julian. He was also quite handsome - if, of course, one went for the broad-shouldered and blond type. He smiled and Julian very much wanted to Disapparate to some abandoned corner of one the territories. “Shall we call it even?”
“Um – yes – I guess – “ Nunavut, she decided, would do nicely. The Yukon and parts of the Northwest were too close to her current location. The far eastern bits of Nunavut, though, might just be far enough away from here to hide in for the rest of forever and never think about this evening again.
“You’re new here,” continued Handsome Guy, proving he had brains to go with his looks. “I haven’t seen you before. Ah - William Welles. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish I could have done so under more attentive circumstances.”
This guy used a lot of words, she noticed. That wasn’t the weird thing about him, though. The weird thing was that the words actually sounded good coming from his mouth. She guessed that was one of the perks of being hot: one could talk in the formal, old-fashioned way purebloods did and it didn’t sound completely ridiculous, at least if the clothes matched the vocabulary. His did. She chuckled at the joke, hoping she didn’t sound like a flustered hyena. “Yes,” she said. “I’m – um – I’m Julian. Nice to meet you, too.”
“Julian…Julian….” Julian winced, expecting a comment about whether or not he was saying it correctly or why her parents had given her a boy’s name. Suddenly, though, William Welles snapped his fingers. “Oh, yes. Miss Lynch!”
Julian winced. This was worse than what she had imagined. Being introduced as a Miss Lynch with no warning from Sallie or anyone else about it was the point at which she felt like her evening had started to go downhill. Welles evidently noticed because he paused for a few seconds, evidently reconsidering what he had planned to say. “Though I’ve heard you don’t use that name,” he added. “I was surprised to realize who was being referred to earlier.”
“My name is Umland,” said Julian, momentarily defensive enough not to get too swept away by the fact that he had taken enough notice of her existence to be surprised by something about it. She didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect and was surprised when Welles nodded.
“Of course, of course,” he said. “I understand.”
Julian eyed Welles critically, wondering how in the world someone like him could possibly understand anything about her, especially after the past four years. People who came to parties like this were not exactly known for their uncertain senses of self. Rogue Japanese demons did not attack them by scrawling riddles about their loyalties onto the blackboard where their little brothers could see them. “Do you now?” she asked coolly.
“Well, not the details of course,” he said quickly, surprising her. He actually sounded the tiniest bit contrite, as though aware that he had been insensitive. “But I imagine I would want to stick with Welles at this point even if I found out I had a right to another name, so....”
Julian blinked several times, too rapidly, surprised by this flash of empathy. If she’d had to lay money on it, she would have expected everyone here to express complete confusion about why she wanted to keep her own name instead of embracing life as Miss Lynch or Miss Crowley or whoever the hell else she had a ‘right’ to be this week. Umland, after all, came with no perks, no inheritances. It was a commoner’s name, not even fit for a mistress, much less a guest. Then another thought, previously obscured by surprise and embarrassment and something like anger, occurred to her. “And how do you know I do have a...right...to any other name?” she asked.
Welles had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry to say it’s through my contacts in a flourishing family friend grapevine,” he said. He looked over her shoulder and Julian tried to decide whether to snap at him or plan her escape. She ended up doing neither, though, when he looked back at her. “I think the dancing is about to start,” he said. “If you’ll do me the honor, I’ll be happy to explain how it works to you.”
It took Julian a few seconds to conclude that he might well have just attempted to flirt with her. She didn’t know if trying to figure out how to respond at the same time had anything to do with why it took her a bit to catch on. She could feel herself flushing again even though the more advanced bits of her brain were helpfully pointing out that she shouldn’t for more reasons than said advanced bits really cared to list at the moment. “I guess the grapevine didn’t warn you about my dancing,” she said.
“Then we both stand to learn something. An excellent coincidence, don’t you think?”