Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henri Fairclough was, in the words of the old groundskeeper who first discovered his remains, “very dead.” The only untouched skin was that of the gentleman’s face, torn from its skull and hanging frayed from a bare December branch, the wind frosting its flat, purple lips. A confetti of Fairclough’s flesh and sinew painted the ex-man’s gardens, and the plants, if they could speak, would sing praises to the bloody meal. Scotland Yard only wished this were possible: the plants would forever remain the murder’s sole witnesses.

“The work of a monster,” the townsfolk would say tomorrow.

“The work of a maniac,” the country would say in fifty years.

“The work of a cult,” the world would say in a century.

“The work of a demon,” would be the eternal explanation.

But a demon was not to blame. And neither was the boy who commanded what was once a demon. The true culprit was the grotesque, beautiful, ruined, handsome, blood-bathed chimera born from their bond.

He answered to the name Sebastian. And he hadn’t always been this.

Chapter Text

Sebastian sighed as his gaze fell on a three-quarters-empty bottle of champagne left uncorked on the kitchen counter, a glass and a small spill marking the scene of the crime. It was likely the work of Bard. That chef could hardly cook without burning entire meals to a crisp, so why couldn’t he at least clean up after his own messes? The butler wondered, briefly, when this had happened, hoping the bottle had not been out for long, though its contents were certainly no good for drinking anymore. And surely it couldn’t be one of the vintage selections from the late master’s cellar?

Sebastian propped his forehead with two fingers, exasperated. He did not have the patience to sort out such mysteries right now.

Last night, and for many nights this week, Sebastian had been far too busy to give as thorough an investigation to the Phantomhive Manor as he usually would have. The main entrances and first floor hallways were never overlooked, but the kitchen and servants’ quarters he had passed by without much worry. He promised himself he would not be so distracted tonight and would be certain to confront Bard about the matter of the champagne at some point today.

But at that particular moment, the young master’s breakfast had to be prepared.

And usually that remedial task wouldn’t have been such an all-encompassing debacle, but lately Sebastian had to award some actual thought to it. For reasons he still did not entirely understand, this past week had been absolute misery. That wasn’t to say he could feel anything akin to sadness or depression, unless pushed to extremes. Yet lately even he, an esteemed and world-wearied demon, checked himself every time he had to deal with the young lord, Ciel Phantomhive.

It was as difficult as if he were learning to be a human butler all over again. This was because Ciel himself had regressed. That was really the only way to define it. He had been drifting into leisure and isolation, preferring the company of himself, for then he could not be judged for being slovenly and negligent. He did not attend his studies and slacked on his company work in favor of reading and pool and lazing in bed. He rejected invitations to minor social events. If it didn’t have to do with the Queen or the family of his betrothed, he wanted to waste no time on it.

Ten days ago, words were exchanged between Ciel and a strange boy. What were those words? Sebastian’s brain itched to know.

It began on the 18th of February, Shrove Tuesday. The general populace observed this as a day to feast before Ash Wednesday, the first day of the fasting period that lasted until Easter. For the wealthy and less devout, it was any other Tuesday, and for Miss Elizabeth Midford, it was an opportunity for a celebration. Amongst the lower-class, Shrove Tuesday was also known as Pancake Day, as pancakes filled the stomach and were easy and inexpensive to make. In Lizzie’s eyes, Shrove Tuesday was a chance to host an evening eating crepes with a group of her closest companions. If there was one thing the young master and his fiancée had in common, it was their naturally sacrilegious dispositions, even if Lizzie only meant well.

Ciel usually tried to finagle his way out of frivolous social occasions, but Lizzie wouldn’t let him escape this one, and so Ciel conceded, sighing only to Sebastian, “It could be worse. We’re only going to be eating sweets.” Indeed, come the 18th Ciel did seem to be in relatively high spirits. Sebastian rarely expected his young master’s good attitudes to last more than a few hours. What he hadn’t expected was for that good attitude, like a candle flame, to go from wavering to extinguished.

Between the carriage ride to the Midford manor and home again was the Shrove Tuesday party. Sebastian had not been present for it, and certainly that was where the transformative magic had done its work. He had entered the manor with Ciel and followed him to the drawing room. Inside, the chairs and sofas had been pushed aside to make way for a grouping of long tables, on which had been laid out an assortment of marmalades, jams, compotes, and, the main event, a stack of crepes as tall as a top hat. Dining chairs surrounded the buffet, all but one seating a doll-like aristocrat's child.

Lizzie dashed up to Ciel as soon as he arrived and clasped his hands in hers. “Ciel, there you are! You’re the last one to show up, you silly! Well, you’re just in time to eat, the crepes are still hot, and we’re going to stuff ourselves until we can’t move!”

This “we” included a few faces that were only vaguely recognizable to Sebastian. Three of the guests were girls around Lizzie’s age, wearing their warm winter fashions as they were yet due for the social season’s spring dress. Sebastian had only seen one of the two boys before, a second cousin from the paternal side of Lizzie’s family, whom Ciel had described as “boring but certainly tolerable.” He was a delicate creature who was taught at home, hence why he was able to attend the party instead of being away at school.

As for the other boy, Sebastian did not have any definitive answer why he wasn’t in college. The child was a black-haired, tousled thing who slouched and leaned his chin on the tabletop. One of the girls was hissing at him under her breath to straighten up, and he ignored her in all ways. Sebastian deduced that the two were siblings and somehow the younger brother had been forced into attendance, likely by the parents, as the sister seemed utterly humiliated to have to look after him. At around eleven or twelve years, the boy was surely old enough to be in school. But these were the only observations Sebastian made, and truly it was more in hindsight than in the moment, as the demon hadn’t yet to suspect the urchin of anything.

“Sorry, Sebastian, but you aren’t invited!” Elizabeth had wagged her finger at him in playful chastisement. “Us young adults are going to have our own party tonight! But of course you’re welcome to celebrate Shrove Tuesday with our servants downstairs. Run along now!”

“Your invitation is gracious, my lady,” Sebastian said with a small bow. “Young master?”

Ciel waved him off. “Yes, yes, go and make merry. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Naturally, Sebastian’s idea of “making merry” didn't involve eating pancakes with the Midford staff. He swiftly had himself situated in a treetop overlooking the manor, the gold fur of a slender tabby filling the spaces between his ungloved fingers. It wasn’t often he had the chance to indulge his feline tastes… and at the time, this had seemed like such a dream that he’d paid hardly any mind to the party happening behind the windowpane just thirty yards away.

Sebastian did not imagine he would ever regret being preoccupied with a cat. February 18th had changed his mind.

He did give brief glances to the drawing room indoors, for even though Sebastian was certain his charge was in no immediate danger, his guard never dropped altogether. It was just after he was permitted to touch the velveteen of the golden beauty’s inner ear that something caught his eye. Within the window’s bright square, Ciel had stood up from his place at the table and was berating that lackadaisical black-haired boy, who was still slouching.

Sebastian kept the cat entertained with his hands and his sights trained on the window. From far away, his perfect eyes could read Ciel’s lips: “If you can’t behave yourself, you can leave. You’re embarrassing your sister and ruining this party for the rest of us.” Sebastian chuckled to himself. How unusual for Ciel to play the role of the ‘responsible boy.’ But that wouldn’t be the most unusual occurrence.

The ‘irresponsible boy’ replied with something Sebastian could not make out with his back turned. Ciel raised his chin and retorted, “Well, then it’s no wonder they kicked you out of school.” That was when the little Heathcliff rocked out of his chair to his heels and shouted. Whatever the words, they made Ciel lower his brow and put on a puzzled, concerned expression. The sister put her hands to her mouth, and the brother dashed out of the room. Lizzie came into view then, and held Ciel’s arm to her chest and said something with a worried frown, nothing more consequential than an, “Oh, dear.” Ciel still seemed to be digesting the secret words that were shouted at him. He said nothing, and the children’s gathering disbanded soon after.

Sebastian scratched his coin-colored prize at the base of her tailbone till her back arched like a bridge. Now he had to make busy dusting off her fur before he could show up to collect his master. The answers would be his in due time.

“That seemed to end a bit swiftly,” the butler began, once he and his lord were alone in the carriage together.

“A bit.” Ciel had his elbow propped on the windowsill and his mouth pressed to his palm. His speech was thoughtful, muffled.

“Did something happen?”

Ciel eyed him with the single spot of blue. “Some drama spoiled the party atmosphere. I think Lizzie was secretly delighted about it though. She has this new fascination with gossip and scandal. It makes me worry she’ll ask me to make some kind of a scene with her in public someday.”

“Some kind of a scene, hmm?” Sebastian mused. “What kind of scene was there tonight?”

“Jane Reubin’s little brother was being a nuisance. He was making a mess and kept complaining that the crepes were too thin and such.”

When Ciel stopped his explanation there, Sebastian only felt his curiosity grow. Certainly there was more of a story here. “Did he say something shocking to you, young master?”

Now Ciel looked annoyed. “Why is that any of your business?”

“It certainly need not be.”

“Then it isn’t.”

“Young master, do not be so evasive. I can tell when something is troubling you.”

“You’re lucky I’ll excuse your impertinence,” Ciel growled. “When your master tells you his life is none of your business, you keep your nose out of it. Or your master might just be inclined to have you muck out the stables.”

Sebastian’s lips parted in mild surprise at the elevated turn of the conversation. No words would soothe now, and the carriage ride commenced in silence. He decided he would ask again about how the party unfolded in the morning. A good night’s sleep was the typical cure for a sour outlook.

“I don’t want to meet with Mr. Cavendish today,” Ciel said when he finally rose at nine-thirty. “Turn him away when he arrives, and tell him whatever he comes up with for the Dauphin line is fine. I’m sick of talking about textiles for stuffed bears. Yes, I know I had crepes yesterday, I still want three sugar cubes. I can wake up whenever I damn well please!”

Had the faeries spirited Ciel away in the night and left a most unconvincing changeling in his place? If only it could be so. Like it or not, this new brat was his master in the flesh.

When told he should be doing his homework, his paperwork, his responsibilities as the Earl of Phantomhive, Ciel would answer snottily, “I’m not going to today, and that’s that. You can’t make me do it, you know.” And in some ways Ciel was right — he couldn’t be commanded, not in the same way Ciel could command Sebastian, but that didn’t mean the boy shouldn’t be instructed. With trained patience, Sebastian had reminded Ciel of his goal to be the finest earl possible, which meant he had to make appearances and continue his studies, to remain impressive and decisive.

“Well, I don’t feel like it today, and perhaps not tomorrow either,” Ciel had drawled, and that was that. Ciel had instead spent the day in his office, fiddling around with books and board games. Sebastian had felt that perhaps just one afternoon of recreation would be enough to appease him, but still a week later Ciel rebuked studying for trips to town and dozing about.

Mrs. Mayell the dance instructor and Mr. Hancey the professor of arithmetic had no qualms about the young earl calling off their appointments at the last minute. This was to be expected, as they received full pay when there was less than twenty-four hours' notice of a cancellation. The tutors only expressed real concern when Sebastian informed them their services would be postponed “until further notice.” Sebastian could not have pitied them less; if they knew how the young master was acting, they would surely forego the paychecks than be in his presence.

And Ciel’s obstinacy hadn’t stopped at his lessons and meetings. When Sebastian had brought him his mid-afternoon snack in the library a few days ago, a more significant and healthy choice than usual because Ciel had neglected his lunch, the young master had glared at the crudités and then up at his butler. He gave a short laugh.

“I’m not going to eat this,” he sneered. “Take it away.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “You should, if you want to feel well. The vegetables will give you far more energy than sweets would, and you’re going to need that if you want to stay awake through dinner.”

Ciel waved his hand at it. “No, I don’t want it. Bring something with chocolate in it instead.”

Without another word, Sebastian had. Perhaps he should have objected — he usually would have objected — but he really was getting tired of making decisions for the boy when all he would get in response was griping. And despite his sweet snack, Ciel had indeed made it through dinner without trouble. In fact, when half past ten arrived, the boy said he was hardly tired and was going to stay up reading as long as he wanted. On his nightly rounds, Sebastian saw his charge finally retire at around two in the morning. When the sun rose, Ciel objected to both an eight o’clock and a nine o’clock alarm, and finally managed to stir when it was a quarter till eleven, very begrudgingly at that.

Sebastian did not voice his disappointment, but he wore it like a mask. He was hoping Ciel would respond to it with shame and try to change his rebellious behavior, but nothing worked. In fact, his performance only grew more disheartening. It was nine o’clock on a Thursday morning, and Sebastian could only hypothesize that the breakfast of toast, half an orange, and sausage links would not be turned away. A month ago this meal would have been acceptable, but now? There was no telling.

After taking the trays upstairs via the dumbwaiter, Sebastian rapped softly on the door, waited half a minute, and then entered without being called in. Lately it had been likely this — no doubt Ciel was not awake yet, having spent another evening staying up as late as he fancied, without heed to what the next day would bring. It wasn’t very becoming for a young person to sleep in so late, and Sebastian was tiring of this behavior, wondering when his displeased hints would have to transform into poignant order. He wasn’t looking forward to that whatsoever. It was just as unbecoming for a butler to be telling his master how to live his life than it was for the master to be so slapdash.

As expected, Ciel was curled up completely under the blankets and comforter in the huge bed, his form immobile. Sebastian wheeled the trolley of tea and breakfast to Ciel’s right and crossed briskly to the other side to open the drapes. It was a cloudy day, but the sun still peeked out between the gaps, and Ciel immediately cringed in on himself.

“No, close it... It’s too bright for me.”

“It’s time to get up,” Sebastian said merely, clipped. But immediately after speaking, he realized something was off. “Young master, are you... well?”

There was a croaking cough. “I threw up last night. Close the curtains.” Ciel’s hand waved out of the sheets. “Jus’ close the curtains already... ngh. It’s hurting my eyes.”

Sebastian did as he was told, abstaining from a sigh. “Where did you vomit? And when?”

“I threw up into a towel, so nothing is ruined or anything. ’s on the floor somewhere. Now leave me alone.”

Sebastian picked up the offending object and put it where Mey-Rin could find it later, glad he’d brought extra gloves, as always. He could not serve any food while wearing the same pair.

“Why didn’t you summon me last night?” Sebastian asked, truly curious and a little put-off. Though he had not felt the need to carefully inspect the mess on the towel, he did note it had been completely dry. “You know I would have come to help you. We could have gotten you on the path to recovery much faster.”

“I was too sick to.” A pause. “I don’t have to tell you everything. Now go away so I can rest.”

Ciel was still hidden under the blankets, so Sebastian allowed himself a frustrated glance at the ceiling. Ciel may be sick, but he clearly wasn’t sick enough to lose his foul attitude. “I’m not leaving yet. Come out from under the covers so I can see you, please. We need to find out what your symptoms are, so I can decide if I need to administer medicine.”

“Fine.” Fussily, Ciel slithered his way out from beneath the blankets, his mismatched eyes annoyed but lidded tiredly. Sebastian had wondered if the sickness was a new ruse to get out of work, but clearly the boy wasn’t well. Sebastian took off one sullied glove and tested Ciel’s forehead for fever. There was none.

“Would you mind describing to me how you feel, young master?”

“Yes,” Ciel said, “but I will anyway. My mouth is dry, but my throat doesn’t hurt. My head hurts a lot. Don’t open the curtains again, the light stings my eyes. My stomach still hurts, but I don’t think I’m going to throw up anymore.” Ciel frowned up at his butler. “You’re a demon, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be able to pick up on when something is wrong?” And then, with a hint of panic, “You can’t just know everything by looking at someone, right?”

“I cannot read minds, if that is what you are inferring.” Sebastian removed his hand and took his remaining glove off to put on the new pair. “We could have solved many crimes for the Queen much faster, if that were possible. In any case, I see you are not well enough to leave your room today. Because of your nausea, I also doubt you have any interest in eating. I think a glass of tea might do your stomach some good, however, especially if there isn’t honey in it.”

Ciel licked his lips. “I... I feel like I should eat something.”

“I don’t advise it. Judging from your symptoms, I imagine you have some mild form of gastroenteritis,” Sebastian said. Despite this diagnosis, he felt a bit wary of the boy’s responses. Ciel had to be sick, but... he was behaving like he wasn’t, in some ways. “I’ll prepare you some peppermint tea instead of Ceylon.” And then, reluctantly, “Is there anything else I can bring for you?”

Ciel had hunkered back down in bed and closed his eyes. “No. I just want to lay here. My head hurts too much. No lessons today?”

“Just as with the rest of this week,” Sebastian said, his tone dry, “there will be no lessons.”

“Good.” And that was all. No acknowledgment that he had been behaving like a spoiled brat, just a simple reaffirmation of his power. Sebastian gave a small snort in disappointment. Just what was he going to do with that boy?

Sebastian wheeled the trolley out of the room and back to the dumbwaiter. Another wasted breakfast. At least today it was with purpose: it seemed like every other morning this week, all Ciel wanted was bacon or butter or sugar or something else that was certainly no good for his body. Maybe that was why he had gotten sick. Sebastian noted this with a touch of spite: this would be fair evidence for a future lecture, when he had the time and energy to deliver one.

He could hardly believe that Ciel would be bull-headed forever, but he wished he knew how long the boy intended to keep this up. At every one of Sebastian’s suggestions, the young master could only oppose his butler. Ciel had to have his way, even if his way ended up being more of a hassle. For example, when Sebastian had recommended he take his bath in the evening, Ciel declared he’d rather have it the next morning. That had meant after breakfast, when Ciel had wanted to hurry to the early market, he first had to get the bath over with and had been utterly horrid then too. There was soap in his eyes, the water was too hot, the towels didn’t smell right... where hadn’t Ciel tried to turn everything on its head? It was stunning how burdensome this behavior could be. It was nothing Sebastian hadn’t dealt with from past contracts, certainly, but never before had he felt so... personally involved.

Sebastian reentered the kitchen and began to fix the peppermint tea immediately. At the moment Finny was there, having his own modest breakfast of toast and butter at the servant’s table. A swath of mud on his cheek said he had already started his chores for the day and was taking his first break.

“It seems that the young master is the only one around here who doesn’t acknowledge that the world begins at sunrise,” Sebastian said, handing Ciel’s full plate over to the surprised gardener, question marks dancing in his round eyes. “The young master isn’t feeling well, he has a minor illness. His breakfast will go to waste unless someone eats it.”

Finny blinked at the butler. “Mr. Sebastian?”

“What is it?” Sebastian had already poured the wasted Ceylon irritably down the sink and was preparing the kettle for reuse.

“Excuse me if this is a bit forward, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you speak so candidly about the young master before,” Finny admitted with the smallest smile. “All of us here are very grateful to him, of course, but... have you also noticed a change in his manners lately?”

Sebastian blinked. Should he confide in the gardener? He supposed it wouldn’t look natural if he dodged the subject now. He delved further into it, promising himself he was only doing so to come off as normal. “Yes, I have. He is very particular and no longer wants to participate in his studies or his work. I don’t know if he understands that this behavior is completely unacceptable for him.”

“Oh,” Finny said. “Well... I don’t know about that.”

Sebastian paused in the tea-making process. “What do you mean?”

“I guess I just mean...” Finny shrugged. “It is different behavior, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a lot of experience with other children until a few years ago, but I think... I think people go through phases where they change and grow, and I don’t think it would be unusual for the young master to be changing at his age, do you?”

“So drastically?” Sebastian hated that he had to ask.

“Maybe. I bet Bard and Tanaka would know more,” Finny nodded.

Ah, that was right. “Speaking of Bardroy, have you seen him this morning? I need to talk to him about his... alcohol consumption.”

Finny laughed brightly. “That sounds funny. I saw him outside in the stables when I was coming back in for breakfast, getting some feed out for the horses. Would you like me to go fetch him?”

“Please do.” At least he could get to the bottom of one case this morning. Bard wasn’t difficult to talk to, plus it was Sebastian’s job to keep him in line, so this conversation would be a fresh breath after dealing with Ciel. Finny sped out the servant’s entrance, leaving behind the breakfast plate, completely clean of food and shining as if it had been licked. Sebastian sighed. No one here tidied up after themselves, which wouldn’t be so much of a problem if the maid weren’t blind.

“G’morning, Mr. Sebastian,” Bard greeted as he came in and removed his shepherd’s cap, a question already in his voice. “Jus’ what’d you need me for, sir?”

Sebastian merely pointed at the bottle and the glass. He’d left out the mess deliberately (as much as it pained him) to use as evidence. “Might you be a bit more diligent about cleaning up after your little midnight escapades? Can you not wait until your night off and do this at the tavern?” He raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

Bard only shook his head in confusion. “Wasn’t me who did that, sir.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” Sebastian mused. The chef could have gotten drunk enough to forget about it... but surely less than a bottle of champagne wouldn’t affect Bard that strongly? No doubt he’d participated in his share of drinking competitions and could hold his liquor well.

Bard shook his head again and picked up the bottle, tilting it around to get a good look at the label. “No, can’t say it was. What is this, cham-pag-nay? Oh, champagne. It’s spelled like that? What's the ‘g’ for? Anyway, never been too fond of the whites m’self. Not usually even the reds, unless it’s heavy stuff. I’ve got a taste for mead really. Don’t you peg me as a beer man? You know you’re working with an ex-soldier, don’t you?”

Sebastian had stopped paying attention about halfway through that explanation. If Bard wasn’t the culprit, it certainly couldn’t be Finny, who was eating another piece of toast nearby and would have immediately admitted his crime with a waterfall of tears. Tanaka was too cultured for such a thing; if he drank, he would have removed the evidence but still mentioned it in passing. He certainly didn’t have the youthful gusto to finish nearly an entire bottle. And Mey-Rin, she wouldn’t drink, and even if she had, no doubt she would have found a way to shatter the glass, and of course it wasn’t Sebastian himself, wine had no appeal to his tongue...

Oh.

Oh.

Sebastian removed the whistling kettle from its station over the flame and calmly, carefully rearranged the tray so that it was once again ready for presentation. Bard and Finny were exchanging clueless looks, but Sebastian kept his face as placid as ever, even with a small hint of a smile. He used the pulley system to bring the trolley to the second floor again and met it, walking through the long hallways that he could have trodden with his eyes closed.

Sebastian made it back to the bedroom door and knocked thrice, solidly. This time there was a groggy reply.

“Come in, then.”

And Sebastian did, hitting the door just so against the wall as he swung it. He closed it again without turning the knob, making the latch click loudly, and approached the boy whose gray hair was spread across the pillow in restless disarray, a hand propped under his bangs. As Sebastian prepared the beverage, he let the spout of the teapot clink against the rim of the cup, the spoon scrape the glass concave as he stirred, actions he wouldn’t have permitted himself under normal circumstances but in this moment relished.

“Must you be so noisy? My head feels as if it’s being stabbed,” Ciel growled. “I don’t care what you think about starving it out. My stomach needs something in it or it won’t stop turning.”

“Hm.” Sebastian placed the teacup atop its saucer with an audible clink. “You know, young master, I think you may have had a point. I was wrong.”

Ciel snorted. “Yes, you probably were, but what do you think you were wrong about?”

“About your having gastroenteritis.”

Sebastian watched Ciel react to that. There wasn’t much change, but Sebastian detected the subtlest of movements: a tiny dart of Ciel’s eyes to the opposite wall and back. “All... right then. Well, I am sick. If something’s not wrong with my stomach, I don’t know what is.”

“Don’t you?” Sebastian asked. “I think you may have some idea.”

“Don’t talk to me that way!” Ciel shouted, somewhat hoarse. He glared hard at his butler, Sebastian gazing gravely back. Ciel held the stare for a few moments more. Then it dawned on him. Ciel knew what Sebastian knew. It was clear in those blue and purple eyes as they faltered to the floor: a look of uncertainty, guilt, perhaps even embarrassment, the classic expression of getting caught in a lie and wanting to disappear.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak but cut himself off when Ciel’s gaze shot up, as fiery as ever. With a grin, the boy folded his arms over his pajamas. “Well, what do you have to look so grim about? So what? I can do whatever I like. I’m the master of this place, not you.”

Sebastian sighed long and hard. “Young master, you are only fourteen years old—”

“And I’m already an earl!”

“Title aside, you are too young to drink nearly an entire bottle of champagne by yourself.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

“It isn’t my decision, young master. Many humans before you have proven this so.”

Ciel puffed out his chest, trying for proud. “They said I was too young to be the master of my own manor, too, but look at me. I’m- I’m practically an adult already! If I’ve seen people die, I can drink alcohol. I can handle it.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Clearly, young master, you are not handling it well in the least.”

“Well, if you were any good at your job, you would have stopped me before I drank!” Ciel shouted, having risen to his knees in bed so they were closer to the same height. He laughed once, mockingly. “But no one saw me! No one even tried to stop me, not even you, even though you say you’re always looking out for me, patrolling the hallways after I’m supposed to be asleep! Couldn’t even tell what a ‘child’ was doing, out of bed in the middle of the night! And now you’ll regret it, won’t you? You failed, Sebastian! Ouch! Damn it...”

Ciel hissed as his head panged, and he sunk back on his heels.

“You think I failed because I didn’t notice you were awake?” Sebastian said. Ciel nodded, baring his teeth in pain but trying to look as if it were a threat. Sebastian remained calm. “Perhaps I did fail, though I don’t know what that failure is based on. I did not miss you last night, because I was only looking for anything out of the ordinary. I did not look in the kitchen and, considering your new sleeping schedule as of this week, I did not think it was odd for you to be out of bed at that hour. I myself was rather busy with a task I deemed more important.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Ciel said, grinning maliciously. “What’s more important than making sure I’m well? Why didn’t you know I was up to no good?”

“Are you implying that you only drank so that I might catch you?”

Ciel looked away. “No. But I...” He trailed off and grunted, “Not that you need to know. Or deserve to know.”

“So you drank champagne with the express purpose of getting drunk?”

“Sure I did. Because I can.”

“That’s your only reason?”

“What more reason do you need from your master?”

Sebastian’s eyebrow ticked. “I need one to ascertain your own health.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “I’m not really even sick, I’m just affected by the alcohol, it’ll go away—”

“You’re ill right now because you made a poor decision, young master. You need to take better account of your own well-being.”

“It was the decision I wanted to make, that’s all that matters!”

“And why all of a sudden?”

“It isn’t sudden!”

“Ten days ago you weren’t—”

“I’ve always been able to do whatever I wish!”

“And why have you decided you can do whatever you wish?” Sebastian finally asked. He felt as if he had blurted it out: how often did he reveal he didn’t know something? But he was too vexed to care. “You are, obviously, at the oldest in this moment that you have ever been. Yet you are acting as if you are that ten-year-old orphan I first met. There were those weeks, long after you better recovered from your parents’ deaths and from your months as a captive, that your behavior began to worsen just a bit, because your freedom had come back to you and you realized that no one would tell you what to do anymore.” Ciel folded his arms more tightly at that, scowling. “That is how you are behaving again, and I know the Shrove Tuesday party has something to do with it. It is as if that Reubin boy has spoken the incantation to turn you into the troll under the bridge. But what those words could be, I cannot possibly fathom.” Ciel’s cheeks and ears burned a livid red. “And so I ask you, now, to tell me where this wicked nature has sprung from.”

“I don’t know!” Ciel shouted, throwing his arms out and laughing, but not merrily. “I don’t know, how the hell am I supposed to answer that? I’m only acting like myself, not anybody else!”

Sebastian put a knuckle to his chin. “I should tell your aunt about the champagne.”

Ciel’s eyes widened. “No, you won’t.”

“I won’t,” Sebastian said, “but perhaps she would better know how to put up with you, since she is family. As your butler, I must say I have no idea how to make sense of your behavior. You need to eat more healthfully, you need to complete the paperwork you are given, and you need to behave like a well-mannered young man. Surely you know these things, because I have seen you be capable of them. It is as if you have simply decided to disregard all of your hard work and transform into a silly child.”

“I don’t know why I am,” Ciel said, knotting up the sheets in his hands. He let go of them and knocked himself on the head with both fists. “I don’t know, I don’t know! I’m just being myself, all right? I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“And to answer your previous question,” said Sebastian, handing over the tea with a little too much force, “what I’ve been doing at night is trying to research what might have caused such an abrupt change in you. But I cannot find a single thread in the books in your library. I am going to keep looking, now in fact, for I understand you will not be going anywhere today. Rest.”

Sebastian turned to leave and was not terribly surprised to hear the sound of a shattering teacup behind him. The carpet was littered with splinters of china, Ciel’s hand leaning off the mattress in a downward thrust.

“Clean it up,” Ciel spat. His mouth fidgeted between a frown and smile, testing the man.

Then Sebastian said something he had never said to a master, something he didn’t even know he was capable of saying. “No, young master. I am not going to.”

“Then you violate the contract!” Ciel snarled.

Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t. I do not have to follow certain orders if I do not believe it is better for your well-being.”

“How is leaving tea on the carpet better for my well-being?!”

“You need to learn,” Sebastian said simply, “to behave yourself. And that’s not going to start unless you take responsibility of your own actions.”

Ciel glared at him again. “Well, I’m not going to pick it up either.”

“And so there it shall forever remain.”

“You aren’t the boss of me!”

“Then who is?” Sebastian asked meaningfully. “Because from your display over the past few days, I doubt that person is yourself.”

Ciel grabbed at his scalp with both hands and screamed. “Fine! I don’t care! Fine!” Sebastian flinched as Ciel flung himself off the bed onto his knees and snatched up the pieces into his palm, plucking haphazardly. After a few seconds, he thrust the few white chips he’d gathered out at Sebastian. “All right, I cleaned it up on my own! See? I can do these things!”

Ciel wasn’t crying, but his eyes did have a watery look to them that betrayed his frustration. Sebastian recognized the meaning for it. He even felt a bit unsettled to have such a face directed at himself. It was a face of hopeful fury, both daring and pleading for Sebastian to accept him for just what he was in this moment: a spoiled, atrocious, hurting, confused little horror.

“You should get back into bed,” Sebastian said, not as a snappish command but a gentle suggestion. Ciel’s expression blinked into surprise. Sebastian held out his palm. “Let me take those pieces from you before you cut yourself. I’ll clean up the rest.”

“No you won’t.” Ciel was still defiant but rapidly losing steam.

Sebastian answered steadily, “I will, because you aren’t well enough to, and I am. That is the reason, young master. That, and because it is my job. Nothing more.”

After an unwilling beat, Ciel’s posture slumped. He poured the pieces into his butler’s palm and turned around and clambered slowly back into bed, folding the blankets around his legs with deliberation. He watched tentatively as Sebastian removed the rest of the shards from the carpet and patted the damp spot with a towel. It was quiet the entire time as both parties were cooling down.

Finally Sebastian stood, hand full of tiny teacup fragments. “If you want to drink alcohol, young master, you may have a single glass of wine with dinner as often as you like. But you will not drink most of a bottle by yourself again — at least not for many years, not until you can make that decision more rationally, and even then I don’t advise it. It isn’t becoming...” He trailed off. “And it isn’t good for you. I think you learned that lesson for yourself today.”

“Fine.” Ciel had his knees pulled up to his face. He wasn’t looking at Sebastian.

“Please, get some real rest now, and I’ll bring you something bland to eat. Let me know if I can fetch you anything else.” Sebastian turned to go, leaving the trolley there within easy reach.

“Tomorrow.”

Sebastian turned his head over his shoulder. “Tomorrow?”

Ciel nodded again. “Tomorrow I’ll... be good. I’ll get back to my paperwork.”

“Oh? Will you?” Sebastian tilted his voice.

Ciel nodded once more, knees still covering his mouth and gaze still fixed dead ahead.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Sebastian hesitated. “But even if you decide you won’t... I will still be your butler.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? That’s obvious,” Ciel whined quietly.

“It means...” Sebastian wondered what he meant. He realized it too quickly. “It means that as ill-mannered and impossible as you behave, it isn’t going to change the fact that I will still be here.”

With another flinch of surprise, Ciel turned to his butler at last. The two studied each other pensively.

Eventually, the boy dropped his gaze. “I won’t drink that much again,” Ciel said, downcast. “I didn’t even like the taste very much. It was much too bubbly. It burned my throat and made me want to sneeze.”

“You don’t have to drink wine anymore if you don’t want to.” Sebastian returned to Ciel’s side and poured him more tea. “Now, you should lie down. And with your willing permission, I will prepare the delayed documents and studies for you to begin tomorrow.”

“Fine.” After another few careful sips, Ciel put the cup aside, turned and pressed his face directly into the pillows. He muffled something into them that sounded like, “Th’kks.”

Sebastian had a guess at the secret message but still said, “Pardon?”

Ciel surfaced just a little. “Nothing.”

“Very well. I’ll return shortly with some honey toast for you, my lord.”

Sebastian shut the door with quiet care behind him, not wanting to further disturb that nasty headache. He himself didn’t fully recognize what had just passed, but he had a feeling Ciel would suddenly be easier to tolerate. And even if Ciel wasn’t... somehow Sebastian felt he would at least be able to put up with it.

Chapter Text

The incident with the wine, it turned out, was just the beginning of Ciel’s transformation.

Ciel’s initial rebellion that hit the Phantomhive manor like a steam train had slowed, but it certainly hadn’t stopped. The boy had returned to his lessons and paperwork, though he paced himself, and his steadily growing appetite made way for healthier options come supper. However, the topic of sleep was still one where demon and master butted heads.

Though Sebastian tried, it was nigh impossible to coax Ciel to bed before eleven, and twice as difficult to wake him up again in the morning. Their battles were becoming an evening event that the rest of the manor had grown to anticipate. As the sky darkened, Finny, Mey-Rin, and Bard would begin to eye each other with apprehensive interest, as if silently betting on how high tempers would flare tonight. Ciel’s inconsistent sleep patterns threw off the daily schedule entirely, gave Sebastian less time to keep the rest of staff in check, delayed crucial appointments with business tycoons, and set his own housework back by days. Now it was ten o’clock, and the bedtime process was about to begin again. After three tedious weeks of these spats, Sebastian felt his patience exacerbated. Regardless, ending the contract was not even a question he considered.

It was all in wait of that delectable soul. Wasn’t it?

Lately, Ciel spent a lot of time alone. In the evening he could often be found in his study or his bedroom, and on occasion Sebastian was asked to “go away, come back later.” Indeed there was an increased need for privacy that did not go unnoticed. Sebastian preferred not to ask questions. He was aware of the Phantomhive library, however, and that certain books on human anatomy had been selected as of late. Sebastian had seen empty slots in the shelves, only to find their missing books in spontaneous locations around the manor while cleaning. No passages were marked, but favored pages seemed to involve the makeup of the derma layer, male and female alike. Scotland Yard needn’t be called in for this little mystery.

Ciel’s interest in his own body and the bodies of others was of no surprise to Sebastian. If he knew anything about humans, it was their fascination with the parts hidden beneath cloth and lace, whatever parts their culture deemed sinful to gaze upon. It had been that way for thousands of years. What Sebastian was significantly less familiar with were the swinging moods and sensitive feelings that began with a young one’s startling introduction to sexuality. Though he’d now been informed that Ciel was in the midst of a tender age, perhaps the tenderest of them all, the boy was as prickly as a hedgehog and as argumentative as a jay — truly anything but tender.

Tonight Ciel had chosen his study as his lounge spot. This made Sebastian’s job harder: at least if Ciel were in his room, he wouldn’t have to move much to get ready for sleep. Being a walk away from the bedroom caused Ciel to procrastinate until he was practically stumbling over his own feet down the hall in exhaustion, midnight chiming on the grandfather clock.

“If you don’t wish to walk, I will carry you,” Sebastian had offered stiffly a fortnight ago. He didn’t like to suggest it; it was something a nursemaid would say to a weary toddler.

Ciel had seemed to think so too. He’d slammed the covers of his book together hard. “I’m perfectly capable of walking there myself, when I’m ready to,” he’d snapped, and that was all there was to it. As if to punish Sebastian further, Ciel hadn’t gone to bed until two a.m. that night, and the following morning he’d refused to stir until after noon. Sebastian had been rethinking his strategies ever since.

Sebastian stood before the study door. What were to be his means of persuasion this time? Ciel was not swayed by logic or meaningful prodding, and Sebastian refused to resort to bribery. Begging was equally unbecoming. And Ciel was likely already poised for a fight. Perhaps… Perhaps this war had gone on long enough. Perhaps a penalty was in order. Yes. The very thought of enforced obedience brought his knuckles to the wood.

Sebastian knocked. After a slight hesitation, Ciel barked, “Who is it?”

“My lord. May I enter?”

There was a snort. “Whatever.”

Sebastian stole briskly into the room and stopped dead in the center of the lush green carpet, hands folded curtly behind his back. Ciel was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and propping up his feet on the tabletop, book in lap. “What do you want?” Ciel asked airily, without looking up.

Such feigned ignorance annoyed the demon. Sebastian put effort into steadying his voice. “It is after ten o’clock, young master. It is late, and time for you to go to sleep.”

“No, thank you,” Ciel said, gazing into the book.

“And why not?”

“I’m not tired yet. I want to read.”

“Whether or not you are tired, now is the time for bed,” Sebastian said.

Ciel flipped a page distractedly. “No, it isn’t.”

This was a new strategy of the boy’s: dismissing the other’s argument as insignificant so as to belittle it. Sebastian refused to play this game. “Yes, it is bedtime. I believe this routine must be enforced for your own good. You can’t afford to get fewer than eight hours of sleep or wake up after mid-morning anymore. You have to go to bed by ten o’clock from now on.”

“No, I don’t.” Ciel’s tone hardened a little, but he still forced his gaze on the book.

“You do,” Sebastian continued, “or I shall have to take away certain privileges.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will. No one should have any obligation to take you to town, for instance, if you do not rise at a reasonable hour. And if you are not awake by nine, you should not have your breakfast served hot.”

Ciel glared at him. “No, that isn’t fair. I can do what I want.”

“You can’t, and I want to believe you’ll thank me when you’re older for saying so,” Sebastian replied thickly. Ciel flared his nostrils, and Sebastian raised his chin. “We’ve discussed this before. Being an adult isn’t about doing anything you want. It’s about having the self-control to withhold yourself from greed and desire.”

“Greed and desire? Pff! What right do you have to lecture me on those?” Ciel snorted, standing up and pressing his palms to the desktop.

“Would you like me to get someone else to lecture you instead?”

Ciel pounded his fist on the hardwood. “No one needs to lecture me!”

Sebastian tutted, unable to resist mocking him just then. “Your quickness to anger says to me that you’re tired.”

That struck a nerve. Ciel rounded the desk and stormed up to the man with shoulders hunched. “I can do what I want to do, and if you don’t leave me alone, you can be my dog instead of my butler!”

Sebastian couldn’t help it. He smirked, which only ruffled Ciel further. “Do you believe you have such a say in the matter? If you think you can still change the guidelines of the contract, you are sorely mistaken. It does not matter that you are rich or a lord. You cannot change what I am.” He licked the tip of a fang. “Only I can do that.”

For an instant Ciel looked unnerved. Sebastian was suddenly aware he shouldn’t have bared his eyetooth like that, but the boy recovered quickly. “Well you can’t change me either,” he declared, standing tall. “You made a contract with me, so you have to put up with me too! I’m still the one in charge! Now get out of my sight!”

There was an order he was happy to take. Sebastian gave a smart turn on his heel and strode out of the study.

He realized too far down the hallway that he still should have said, “Yes, my lord” before leaving the room. Any butler worth his salt would remember to announce his exit. Cursing himself, Sebastian slowed his footfalls from an irritated stride to a thoughtful pacing. Had he really just lost his temper? At a human? His patience, certainly, but never had his composure fled him like a frightened dove. That was new.

Sebastian put a hand to his chin as he walked. He didn’t like this loss of control. He didn’t know what it meant, but it couldn’t be anything good. What was more, that little exchange had escaped his grip before he’d thought to rein it in. He had derived no pleasure from that conversation, none of it, not the threats or the imposed punishment, not like he thought it would. Instead Sebastian felt… hollow. Unfulfilled.

… Guilty?

No, this wasn't any good.

“Mr. Michaelis?”

Sebastian paused, glanced up. He had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed Tanaka approach him from the west stairwell. Or perhaps it was the senior butler’s soundless presence that hadn’t raised any suspicion. “Ah, good evening, Mr. Tanaka,” Sebastian greeted. “Is there something you needed from me?”

“I thought I heard the young master shouting just a moment ago,” Tanaka said carefully. “I wondered if all was well and came to take a look.”

Sebastian sighed. “I wouldn’t say that all is well, but perhaps that all is done, for now. As usual, I was unable to convince him to go to sleep on-time. The young master is quite attracted to staying up late these days. I know you’ve been taking on an increased amount of paperwork because of his new schedule.”

“Plenty of the paperwork already falls to me,” Tanaka said, smiling beneath his mustache. “It isn’t a concern.”

“But the attitude that contributes to the increased paperwork is a concern.” Sebastian put a thumb to his chin and his index finger lengthwise across his lip. “This night owl behavior needs to be nipped in the bud, in my opinion, but he won’t listen to reason from me. Do you feel as though he listens to you?”

“I don’t know if it’s a matter of him listening or not,” Tanaka said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think the master hears you loud and clear.”

Sebastian lowered an eyebrow. “Well, yes. But he does not take to heart what I am saying.”

“Perhaps,” Tanaka began, “perhaps you are not taking to heart what he is saying.”

“Oh? What have you heard from him?” Sebastian tried not to sound eager to know.

Tanaka chuckled into a fist. “He doesn’t talk to me about how he feels either. But I can see it, you know. I was young once. Growing up is difficult for everyone, much harder than getting old. And I can only imagine what it must be like to do so without his father around.” Tanaka’s eyes saddened. “I don’t know what the young master went through when he was kidnapped either. I don’t believe he’s ever told anyone the whole truth of it. It must hurt him badly. It is likely there are memories he’s tried to push down that are coming to the surface now with all this new confusion.”

Sebastian didn’t follow suddenly. “New confusion?”

Tanaka raised a knowing eyebrow. “The confusion of growing up, of course.”

But Sebastian could not relate to that. He did not understand what it was like to be human, and realized now that he especially did not understand what it was like to be a human child. He had gotten by in past contracts without having to fathom mortal intricacies. He hadn’t cared to. Now Sebastian found himself with a curious, inexplicable desire to unravel this whole thing. After all, he wanted to make nice with his prey. Make peace with his charge. Make sense of a child who found himself lost in the world of adults he would soon be initiated into.

Oh, dear. Had that thought really just sprung to him?

No, none of this was any good at all.

The young master did not go to sleep until after midnight. Sebastian gave Ciel a wide berth when he walked to his bedroom. Any further interaction between the two of them that night would likely end in discord. Fortunately, the boy had become adept at undressing himself, so as to cut Sebastian out of his nightly routine altogether, and would leave the clothes in unfolded puddles by his bedside to be picked up in the morning. He still needed help navigating his own wardrobe though, and so Sebastian would be necessary again come daylight.

Sebastian had eight hours of darkness to digest Tanaka’s words. As the sun’s rays first touched the horizon line, he felt no closer to the answer. “Perhaps you are not taking to heart what he is saying.” Sebastian lowered his eyebrows. He had no heart, no soul. Could he come to grasp this lesson?

And if he did, would that mean he had a heart after all?

When the clock sounded eight tolls, Sebastian sought out Tanaka again. “Perhaps you should awaken the young master today. I don’t suppose he will be pleased to see me. He will likely be more compliant with you as well. You don’t have a history of arguing with him as I do.”

Tanaka smiled, his typical response to a difficult situation. “No, I believe you should proceed as normal. Perhaps be gentle with him today though. Last night’s shouting match didn’t do either of you any good.”

“Strong a conversation as it was, I didn’t shout at him,” Sebastian felt the need to say.

“Perhaps not,” Tanaka nodded. “Mind the inflection of your voice anyway, I think. He cannot be angry at you for being rational.”

Sebastian was sure if anyone could find a way to be angry about rationality, it was Ciel, but he didn’t further question the old man. Instead he followed his advice, for it was all he had.

When he approached Ciel’s door at half past eight, he rapped on it softly with his knuckles. “Good morning, young master. Do I have your permission to enter?”

“NO! Go away! ”

Sebastian drew his hand back in surprise. The response had been immediate and shrill. How peculiar. Ciel was usually too tired to speak at anything above a murmur at this hour. Was he still angry with Sebastian about last night? No, the boy would just be aloof with him if that were all. Something had to be wrong. “Hmm. I see. Well, then… If you won’t allow me in, will you allow Mr. Tanaka?”

“I don’t want anyone to come in! ”

Ciel’s tone, so steeply pitched, said this was a fresh wound. Sebastian wondered what he could possibly have done now without doing anything at all. “Young master… you are concerning me. I ask again—”

“I said don’t come in, damn it! Why can’t I just be left alone? Why are you always bothering me? I hate you these days! Go away and don’t come in until I say so! Go away now! ”

If Sebastian were a normal human, he would have walked inside in a heartbeat to see what the fuss was about. But he was a demon bound by contract, and his intuition told him that opening the door now would in fact not be better for Ciel’s well-being.

And so his only choice was to leave.

Tanaka didn’t have a smile to offer when Sebastian regaled the details. He listened, and then hurried off in the direction of Ciel’s room himself. When he knocked on the door, the response was the same. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said to leave me alone! ”

“It’s Tanaka, young master. Please allow us inside.”

Tanaka’s tone was so much more businesslike than usual. Ciel seemed distressed by it. “No, you can’t come in! I don’t want anyone to come in! Leave me alone! Don’t bother me anymore! I don’t need anything! I don’t want anyone to see me right now! ”

Tanaka and Sebastian exchanged glances. “You sound very nervous,” Tanaka said cautiously. “I really feel I should—”

The door’s hinges rattled loudly as if Ciel had thrown himself against the entrance. “The door is locked and I don’t want you to open it, and if you do I won’t speak to you about any of this, so just go away until I say so! Go! ”

It was hardly an argument, but the desperation in Ciel’s voice made both butlers go silent. “All right, young master,” Tanaka said softly, “we won’t open the door. But we will be very near. Please call us when you are ready.”

“Fine, just don’t come in until I say so! Leave me alone! ”

After a final worried look at the door, Tanaka gestured for Sebastian to follow him a short distance away. “I think he must be experiencing trauma,” he said sadly, “perhaps from a dream or a bad memory.”

“Hmm. That seems a possibility.” Sebastian had seen Ciel in the midst of a panic attack, though, and usually his trauma caused him to want to be near people, just not touched by them. It would be one thing to turn Sebastian away, as hard feelings still lingered from the night before, but Ciel had also dismissed Tanaka. Sebastian couldn’t help but feel this situation was something different. “What do you believe is the next course of action?”

Tanaka sighed out his nose. “Well… it is hard to say. I’m very worried, but I feel perhaps the master’s boundaries need to be respected. I also fear that not attending him will only worsen things. If he does not allow us in by five o’clock, I believe we may have to go against his wishes. By then, he will have gone too long without eating. We should see if we can convince him to break his fast.”

“Hmm. Yes. I believe you’re right.” Sebastian wanted to use his demon abilities to see beyond that door, but he had to resist. He would know if Ciel were in pain or if there were someone else in the room. He did not sense any immediate danger. This only served to heighten Sebastian’s curiosity. Though he was bound by the contract not to lie and to obey all orders, Ciel had no such obligation. Could this perhaps be another trick to get Sebastian to stop scolding him?

Well, it certainly wasn’t going to work.

Bardroy folded his arms as he watched Sebastian stir, flip, and prod at various foodstuff over the manor’s impressive stovetop. “Gee, what’s the occasion?” he finally asked past an unlit cigarette. “You usually save the full English for holidays n’ company. N’ it’s not any holiday I can think ’a.”

“It isn’t a holiday,” Sebastian said, tipping the sausages a quarter-turn so that they sizzled perfectly in their skins. “The young master is refusing to come out of his room this morning. I am seeing if I can tempt him out with a breakfast more extravagant than the usual.”

Bard lowered his shoulders. “Refusin’ t’come out? Oy, that can’t be good, can it?”

Tanaka and the chef alike seemed to think Ciel’s reclusive behavior was more of a worry than a gimmick. Sebastian still wasn’t certain. “It isn’t good, but he must come out, or else he won’t have anything to eat.”

“He has been eatin’ a bit more than usual lately, hasn’ ’e?” Bard said with a grin, scratching at his stubbly chin with one finger. “He’s always been a small one, I hope this means his age n’ his height are catchin’ up for him. How old is he now? Fourteen? When I was that age, I ate every meal like I was half-starved, I was growin’ so fast. No doubt I could have billied up t’all this here n’ still had room for seconds.”

“No doubt,” Sebastian muttered, practically ignoring him, at least until an idea touched his brain. Bardroy had been young once too. He had been young even more recently than Tanaka. Perhaps he also had a perspective on this matter.

“Bardroy,” Sebastian began, and watched as the chef straightened up for an order, “is it possible you may have an idea why the young master is so reluctant to leave his bedroom?”

Bard blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, no, sir. Don’t believe he’d tell me anything he wouldn’t tell you, d’you?”

“No. What I mean to ask for is your own personal opinion.” Sebastian began to plate stewed tomatoes and baked beans onto white dishes. “Let me rephrase the question: when you were the young master’s age, would there ever be any reason you would refuse to leave your room if called?”

“Not if I didn’t want to get a good hiding!” Bard laughed. At Sebastian’s deadpan gaze, he stopped to consider the question more seriously. “Hmm. Well, let’s see. Maybe if I’d been out late all night n’ I didn’t want anyone t’know about it. If I’d gotten my good clothes all ragged, Ma'd throw a fit. Didn’t always like the boys I palled around with. We did all sorts o’ things we shouldn’ta.”

“So you hid when you wanted to avoid trouble,” Sebastian said.

“Well, not every time! I wasn’t that yellow,” Bard laughed again. “But yeah, sometimes I’d try to get out of a mess by keepin’ it to m’self. I’d have to come clean eventually though. Never worked out in my favor.”

“I imagine not,” Sebastian said, a little too bluntly. “Well, I’ve finished cooking, so you can get on scrubbing the pots and pans then. Gently.”

“Can count on me, sir!” Bard saluted. Sebastian took the trolley on its way, not really believing Bard could be counted on for this, but at least the chef had given him a potential clue.

Ciel’s bedroom door remained a shield between himself and the rest of the world. Sebastian knocked thrice on the center of its frame. In the room beyond, Sebastian heard a flurry of footfalls as Ciel barricaded the entrance with his body again.

“Don’t come in! ”

“I’m not going to,” Sebastian sighed. “I wanted to let you know I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Ciel didn’t hesitate. “I’m not hungry!”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not! ”

“Are you sick then?” Sebastian asked. “It isn’t normal for you not to be hungry at this hour.”

“I’m not sick!” A hesitation. “Go away already! I’ll call you when I want you!”

“Regardless of your lacking illness, I am worried about your condition.” Sebastian removed the lids from some of the trays, hoping the smells of streaky bacon and black pudding would leak under the doorway. “Again, just like with the wine, you aren’t taking care of your own body properly. You know I can’t allow you to jeopardize your health. What’s more, you’re not allowing me to do my job by—”

“I’m fine already! ” Ciel’s voice had jumped back to that shrill octave of terrified anger. “I said I’ll call you when I want you, so leave me alone! ”

“Young master, I only mean—”

“Just leave! ”

It was off-putting to hear the boy so enraged. As he set off down the hallway at a clip, Sebastian felt irked and tried to convince himself he was merely annoyed at the lack of cooperation. But Ciel was so clearly trying to avoid something… Was he afraid?

Sebastian set his jaw. If Ciel were really afraid, he wouldn’t be going to such great lengths to keep everyone away from him. It was more likely to be what Bard said: Ciel was just dodging trouble. Sebastian left the trolley of food at the end of the hall, where Ciel might be tempted to come after it, and then tried to occupy himself with the usual upkeep of the estate.

That task was easier said than done. There may have been clothes to wash, and a garden to manicure, and horses to feed, and a whole three staff who should be keeping atop those things but weren’t, and yet Sebastian found himself distracted in the middle of each chore as his thoughts dwindled off to the mystery of the day. At eleven, the food trolley had still not been touched. At noon, Tanaka had tried again to sway Ciel to come out and failed. At one, Sebastian prepared an early high tea of wulong with osmanthus flower and orange scones. At two, Sebastian took the food back cold. By three, Sebastian found the human pace he was expected to work at especially aggravating.

“Um… M-M-Mr. Sebastian?”

“What is it?” Sebastian practically groaned, turning away from the kitchen sink to see Mey-Rin standing there with a basket of clean laundry in her arms. “Oh,” he said, “did you finish them?”

“I-I did, sir,” Mey-Rin chirped. “It seemed you might’ve needed some help today, so I took care of the foldin’ after I finished up with the banister, I did.”

“Hmm. Looks like you even did it properly. Very good.” Mey-Rin was glowing pink from the praise, meager as most would find it. Sebastian’s thoughts were still elsewhere. He dried off his hands from washing the china — he would never trust Bard with something so delicate — and slipped back on his gloves. “Now then, since you seem to be the only one capable of doing things correctly today, I’m going to leave you to clean the silver.”

“M-M-M-Me? Clean the silver?” Mey-Rin squeaked, pointing at herself. “A-Are you sure I’ll do it right?!”

“I’m not, but I have other things to attend to. I’m counting on you then.” Sebastian hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “Ah, right. One more thing.”

Mey-Rin paused in the middle of floundering. “Oh, ahm, yes, sir?”

“When you were younger — around the young master’s age — would you ever hide from your responsibilities as he is now?” Sebastian asked.

“Oh, dear,” Mey-Rin said. She wrung the end of her apron in her fists. “I am worried about him too, I am. Don’t know what could have him shut away like this.”

“But maybe you do,” he prompted. “Think back to when you were a girl—it wasn’t so very long ago.” Mey-Rin blushed harder at that and Sebastian ignored her again. “Was there anything, if anything, that would make you do whatever it took to hide a mistake?”

“Whatever it took… Hmm… Well… Let me see…” Mey-Rin pondered this for half a minute. Then she jabbed her pointer finger into the air in remembrance. “Ah! Yes, I do recall one time that something similar happened... It was because, well, because actually I had almost broken something…” Mey-Rin poked her fingertips together with fresh embarrassment. “I-I-I know breaking something isn’t such an uncommon occurrence with me nowadays, but well, and not to be rude, but I’m certain nothing I broke in this household would ever be as valuable as a jade seal of my boss’s I once dropped while protecting his office... Oh, I’m shaking just thinking about it all over again, I am! I think he would have killed me if he ever found out it had been mistreated. Thank goodness it was in one piece or, well, I probably wouldn't have been in one piece either! I had to feel it with my hands to make sure it wasn't cracked, but even so, when he came back, it took all my courage not to run away! If he had noticed, I... Well, I might’ve had a fight for my life on my hands, yes!”

“What a distinctly unique situation…” Sebastian said under his breath. “Well. That perspective may be useful. As you were.”

“Uh, right, yes! I’ll make that silver sparkle, I will!”

Sebastian had his doubts that Mey-Rin could succeed so many times in one day, but it was three-thirty and nigh time to check on Ciel again. By five o’clock, Tanaka would open Ciel’s door with the manor’s skeleton key and all would be revealed no matter what. Sebastian did not tarry on his way. For a demon who had lived for thousands of years, this particular day felt like a decade in itself.

Another knock to the door. Another clamor as Ciel barricaded it. Sebastian snorted softly — what good did Ciel think his slender body could do against brute force? Well… perhaps nothing. Desperation made men do strange things. “My lord,” he began.

“Oh, when are you going to leave me alone already?”

Ciel’s voice had gone willowy with hunger and emotional exhaustion, it held no more bite. Sebastian did not pity that voice. It had brought this day upon itself. “Young master, I am not going to leave you alone, and it is foolish to think otherwise. You cannot hibernate forever — you will starve first, and I am incapable of letting that happen to you. You will allow me in now, or by five o’clock Tanaka and I shall come in on our own accord.”

A little energy came back to the boy with that threat. “You can’t! I don’t give you permission!”

“The contract cannot keep me from managing your health,” Sebastian reminded evenly. “Self-sabotage is grounds for action on my part. Whether you like it or not, I will enter and your well-being will be seen to.”

“I don’t give you permission!” Ciel reiterated.

“I don’t know what you’ve done,” Sebastian continued, with a calm darkness, “but I know you’ve done something you’re not proud of and you’re trying to hide it from me. Whether you broke an object or a rule, got drunk again or tore apart your bedroom in a fit, I will find out about it. You may as well let me in now, while you have the choice. In just over an hour, that decision will belong to Tanaka and I.”

“I hate you!" Ciel cried, desperate for something to change his mind.

“How natural it is, to hate a demon,” Sebastian said, unfazed. “I should expect no less, should I not? You have eighty minutes to make up your mind. Summon me, or do not, for I will arrive in due time.”

“No you won’t! I won’t summon you, so stay away from me! ”

A simple argument from a weary mind did not break Sebastian’s resolve. It was time to do what he should have done long ago. Much as he disagreed with the woman, he needed to involve the Marchioness of Midford herself — Ciel’s aunt Francis.

Chapter Text

With no mortal eyes watching, Sebastian moved nimbly through the surrounding woods towards the Midford manor, “like the devil was at his heels,” some might say. Behaving as a demon always helped clear his mind from the mortality that boxed him in. For the first time that day, he felt able to think properly.

There were few humans that Sebastian found impressive in any right, and this contract alone had introduced him to a small handful. Francis Midford was one of these humans. She was a force to be reckoned with; her voice alone brought lesser men to cower (Bard, for instance). And having brought up two children, who were fierce in their own way but perfectly happy, no doubt she also possessed a maternal instinct in her bosom… erm, somewhere. Either way, she was more equipped to deal with this childish behavior than Sebastian. Ciel would have no choice but to obey his strictest family member, unless he wanted to embarrass himself by opposing her.

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. Just thinking that had made him feel… something. He couldn’t quite locate what it was, but he knew what it was in relation to, and he didn’t like it. It was like worry, but not quite; pity, but not quite; and understanding it couldn’t be, for Sebastian was a demon and the human experience was not his to know.

He had never wanted to know it either. He preferred to observe humans at a distance, like a biologist without a hypothesis. At arms’ length from their emotions and suffering, that was where he stood, and happily so. Yet, all of a sudden, it was as if he’d taken a step closer to his test subject without meaning to, drawn in to its habits, as if forgetting this would ruin the experiment. Everything he’d worked for.

The meal.

Sebastian grinned subtly as he raced. He was not a biologist. He was a killer, and merry to be so.

On this dreary spring day, the English countryside was quiet. It was the end of March, and the social season had weeks yet to truly begin. Ciel did not like that time of year. He did not like to abide expectations, but he was still a member of polite society, and Lizzie had graduated from wanting to show off her latest dress to wanting to show off her fiancé. Yes, the social season would be good for Sebastian, even if it weren’t for Ciel. The boy would be taken out of his house and Sebastian would be taken out of his position as Ciel’s primary companion. Out to the flock, out of the fold, for a wolf in sheep’s clothing is no substitute for a sheep.

As Sebastian let his inner compass guide him, his keen eyes detected movement miles away, departing from the Midford manor. He fell back into his butler mindset at that — was Lizzie coming to meet Ciel out of the blue? No, it was not a carriage, but a single man on horseback. Thank goodness — a spontaneous visit might only dig Ciel deeper into himself. He had considered his own trip to the Midford’s enough of an emergency that he need not announce himself prior, but perhaps something was amiss for their family as well.

Sebastian dropped below the trees and proceeded to walk at a mortal’s pace down the semi-groomed paths of London’s backwoods. Minutes later, the rider appeared and Sebastian flagged him down. He recognized the man, though he did not know his name, and the young fellow clearly recognized Sebastian back as he slowed the horse to a gentle gait. He wore the attire of a footman and couldn’t hide his surprise to see an esteemed member of the Phantomhive staff walking to the Midford estate as if it were no more than a stroll.

“Mr. Michaelis!” the footman cried, hopping off his horse and bowing his head politely. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he should be impressed with the young man for recalling his name or with himself for being so memorable. “I was just riding to the Phantomhive manor to deliver a letter and here you are, all by yourself, no horse in sight! Goodness! Is something the matter?”

“Nothing of urgency,” Sebastian decided to answer. “I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

“Nothing of urgency,” the footman repeated. He reached inside his jacket and took out a letter, sealed with the Midford’s wax stamp. “The house just received this for Master Phantomhive, to be delivered as soon as possible, we were told. It’s merely an invitation though. The Midford family is currently visiting Master Edward at college. When they arrived, they discovered there’s to be an early cricket match next week, and young Lady Elizabeth wanted to make sure Master Phantomhive knew about it, so that he might join them.”

“Ah,” said Sebastian. “So, they’re not at home right now?”

“I’m afraid not,” the footman said. “They didn’t intend to be away for long, or else I’m sure they would’ve informed your house.”

“I see.” Sebastian put a hand to his chin. Well, that certainly didn’t resolve the matter of the day. It would take too long to bring the marchioness back from her holiday to make the request worthwhile. Which meant Sebastian would have to deal with this after all…

“Mr. Michaelis?” The footman extended the letter. “Is there any sort of message you need us to regale to the marquis and marchioness? Is all well?”

“Well enough. If they are not home, it is of no trouble. I will make sure my lord receives the letter.” Sebastian tucked the parchment into his own jacket as the footman politely nodded his leave. “Wait a moment. I have something to ask of you, if you aren’t in a hurry.”

The footman stepped forward obligingly. “Of course, sir.”

“Firstly, were you raised by your parents or did you grow up in the manor?”

If the footman was puzzled by the arbitrariness of the question, he didn't show it. “Ah, both,” he said, scratching at the back of his pearly blond hair. “My father and mother, they both work for the Midfords. I was raised to help where I could, until I was old enough to have a proper position.”

“Hmm. Then this may not apply, but… would there ever be a time when you were summoned by your parents and refused to come?”

The footman blinked at that. “I... Hmm. Not that I can think of.”

“Never a time you were too ashamed to approach them about a mistake?” Sebastian tried. “Perhaps you broke something, or had been reckless?”

“Oh certainly I had broken things and was careless,” the footman said with a smile, “but, you see, I was never too afraid to tell my father what I had done. He is a patient man to this day. When I made a mistake, he was the first person I would go to, because even if he were upset, he would always help me make things right again.”

“… Is that so,” Sebastian said quietly.

“I should hurry back to the manor now, if it’s not a problem,” the footman said, mounting the horse again. “Are you sure there’s nothing you needed?”

“Never mind it.” The butler turned on his heel. “I believe… we shall be able to handle things from here.”

The young horse stamped impatiently and tossed his head homeward, and the footman turned to quell the beast. “What is it that needs to be handled?” he asked. When there was no reply, the footman glanced back around, only to see empty space behind him. Sebastian had already departed. It was as if he hadn’t been there at all.

He did not knock. He did not scold. He merely called out, “My lord.”

“Go away.” The response was directly from the other side of the door. Ciel was still leaning against it, hopeful of barring the entrance, no doubt.

Sebastian kept his voice steady. “I am not going to go away.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Very well. You don’t have to speak. But I will.” Sebastian lowered his chin a fraction. “I am sorry.”

It was silent, but only for a moment. “Why?”

“Because,” said Sebastian, “I have been hearing you, but I have not been listening to you.”

Ciel said nothing.

“I know something now,” Sebastian continued. “I know why you are in your room.”

The boy panicked. “What?! No! But how could you—? I told you not to—”

“It doesn’t matter what it is, specifically.” Usually he wouldn’t interrupt, but this time it seemed necessary. “What I know now is that you are in your room because you are afraid of what we, Mr. Tanaka and I, will think of you. You are afraid of our disapproval.”

Again, a wall of silence.

“I wanted to tell you,” Sebastian said softly, “that I will not disapprove of you.”

Silence.

“It does not matter what it is you have done. What matters is your health, and the knowledge that there is nothing you could do to lose our good graces.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do not forget what I am, young master.” Again, his tongue swept his eyetooth reflexively. Perhaps he had grown a bit too used to flaunting his fangs at prior contracts. “Whatever has happened, I am certain to know worse.”

“…” He heard Ciel stand up. “That doesn’t mean you won’t think less of me.”

“I will not think less of you.”

“You can’t prove that!” Ciel cried.

“I can,” Sebastian said. “You are a human. No matter what has come to pass, you will still be a human. Nothing more, nothing less. And few know better than you and I what horrors humans are capable of. I cannot imagine any ‘crime’ you have committed today would compare.”

Ciel gave no response but silence. A minute passed, two, in this way. Then Sebastian’s gaze flicked back to the door when beyond it, light as a doe’s step, Ciel’s feet padded across the carpet and over to his bed, and there was a rustle as he folded the blankets around him. Sebastian wondered if he was about to be dismissed again, when the muffled and delicate words were spoken: “All right. You can come in.”

Sebastian felt something in his chest relax as a temporary restriction of the contract was dropped. The door was no longer a barrier between he and his charge. The door was merely a door. So Sebastian brought his hand to the knob and opened it.

The room was not in disarray. It was a bit musty, from having the curtains drawn all day, and dim from not having the candles lit or the sunshine allowed in. There was an unmoving, Ciel-shaped lump beneath the white covers that was, to Sebastian’s surprise, a bit of a relief to see. And there were his clothes unfolded on the floor by his bedside, as they usually were these days. Nothing else seemed to be out of place. Sebastian narrowed his gaze. So far there was no indication of anything amiss. So then why did Ciel seem to be hiding from him?

Asking likely wouldn’t yield a response. Be patient, he found himself thinking. Watching and waiting has always been your game.

Sebastian withheld his tongueful of questions and, as odd as it felt, proceeded as normal. He drew the curtains to let in a waning spring sun, then lit the room’s lamps too because darkness would not fall but a few hours from then. During all this Ciel scarcely stirred. Sebastian moved around to the other side of the bed and began to pick up yesterday’s outfit from the floor. This would all have to be ironed thoroughly after washing, the young master’s clothes looked best when perfectly creased… Sebastian restrained his usual sigh as he picked the garments off the floor. None of that mattered in the grand scheme of things, not the vest, or the shirt, or the, um… ah…

Ah.

“Young master,” Sebastian said slowly, “did you… sleep in your clothes last night?”

The covers shifted as Ciel curled up more tightly. “Yes,” he finally said, barely a whisper and hoarse with anxiety.

Well. Sebastian huffed out his nose. This was… a surprise, to say the least, but also an entirely small matter. Nothing more than a mark. Though the sheets would have to be changed as well, and he should get these trousers soaking immediately, but… well, it could wait, it had already waited all day. Ciel was clearly feeling some sort of shame about this, as inconsequential as it was. The young master had never wet the bed before, but this was different, this was a mark only an adult could make, and Sebastian realized then that Ciel was likely at the age where he would make this mark for the first time.

But oh, had it really been worth all the fuss?

“Young master,” Sebastian said, warming his tone, “this is what you were hiding in your room for all day? Skipping meals over and barricading the door?”

Ciel flinched again but didn’t speak.

“There isn’t anything wrong with you, you know. It’s quite normal for… this to happen when you sleep. Especially around your age.”

The boy’s voice was small when it finally spoke. “I don’t understand why…”

Sebastian waited for him to finish his sentence, but that was apparently all he had to say. Even after perusing those anatomy books, perhaps Ciel didn’t yet know what this was. Sebastian tried to explain things as delicately — and politely — as possible. “Well. I imagine you had this response because of a… a dream you were having.” He coughed. “A… good dream. I suppose. In any case—”

“But I wasn’t having a good dream! ”

Again Ciel’s voice went to that panic place it had been most of the day. His head and shoulders had lifted under the sheets when he shouted, but fell again a moment later. “I don’t understand… I was having a nightmare… That’s why I was… But I don’t know why…” Another block of silence. Then Ciel’s words seemed to tumble out. “They were torturing me, like they were before, with hot knives and hot wax, and I was shouting for someone to help me but no one would come, and it felt real, it felt like I could smell my skin burning, and it lasted so long, when I woke up I didn’t know where I was at first, even though it was just this room… and then… I was like that, I had done that, and I don’t even understand why, because it was such a terrible dream, but if… if that was my response then doesn’t it mean I was happy? Doesn’t it mean I enjoyed it, somehow? How?! Am I some sort of twisted lunatic?!” Ciel smacked his fists against the mattress. “What the hell is the matter with me, Sebastian?! ”

The shape under the covers shook with fear of itself, the juxtaposition of the dream and his body’s response to it bringing his own sanity to question. What normal person would derive pleasure from such a disturbing experience? All these years later, did it turn out there was actually some part of him that had enjoyed the endless suffering? And what did that say about him, about his future? What would everyone around him think, if they knew the truth? Those were certainly the questions that had been swirling in Ciel’s mind all day, questions that leaked venom and kept him from reaching out, leaving him to face his shock and terror alone.

“Young master.”

Ciel did not speak.

“Young master, there is nothing the matter with you.”

“How can you say that?” the boy choked. “You don’t mean it! You can’t mean it, you’re just saying that so I’ll get out of bed and get on with things, but I can’t pretend it didn’t happen! I’m so disgusted with myself, I can hardly think! How am I supposed to keep going on like everything’s fine when I know this about myself?!”

Sebastian took a step forward. “Young master, please. There is nothing the matter with you.”

“Shut up!” Ciel knotted the mattress cover in his hands. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You know you’re not supposed to lie!”

“Would you like me to tell you you’re to blame?” Sebastian said. “To tell you that these aspects of your behavior outside of your control are your fault? That you should have done something about which you could have done nothing?”

“I don’t know! ” Ciel sounded close to tears.

“What I think,” said Sebastian, more softly now, “is that you are at a strange time of your life, and that it is making you feel confused and angry. I think you had a lot of tension inside of you, because you haven’t felt at peace in a while. There is turmoil, from within and without.” I’ve been a part of that, Sebastian recognized, whether or not I meant to be. He pressed on. “Then, on top of that, you had a nightmare about your past, a vivid one. Your body’s response was to relieve some of that tension. And I understand why that was frightening for you. My hypothesis, however, is that there is no correlation.”

Ciel sniffed. “But what if there is?”

“Your feelings toward all of this are enough of an indicator, I believe,” Sebastian said. “You’ve been unable to approach anyone all day, so heavy was your guilt. I think that is the strongest argument that you are not possessed by your trauma.”

The chirping of the evening swallows filled the void that came next. Under the covers, Ciel shifted his weight. “I… don’t feel so well.”

Sebastian smiled almost imperceptibly. “Understandably so. You haven’t eaten in nearly a day, and I don’t suppose you slept soundly.”

Ciel sighed. “Mnn.”

“My lord,” said Sebastian. “You are not quite yourself these days.”

“I know.” There was a minor note of frustration in the boy’s tired voice.

“Might I make a proposition?”

“Whatever.”

“I would like to suggest,” Sebastian began, “that you take a holiday.”

The boy’s head perked up beneath the sheets. “What?”

“I’ve just received this letter,” said Sebastian, deciding not to reveal the circumstances of how. “Miss Elizabeth and your aunt and uncle have invited you to join them in Oxford, as they are visiting Master Edward at Weston College. I was informed they thought they would only be staying for a few days, until they discovered an early cricket match was to be held. My opinion, sir, is that you ought to take a break from your studies and work to spend time with your family. I believe their company will do your spirits some good.”

“… Maybe it would.” Ciel coughed. “I really don’t feel well, Sebastian…”

Sebastian took a step forward. “In what way, my lord?”

“I think I’ve made myself sick without food.” Ciel hesitated. “And I still… about… I…” The boy’s face pressed into the mattress. “I don’t know if I’m burning up with fever now or… I feel… completely stupid…” His head jerked up again. “What have the other servants said? They can’t know. Damn it, Sebastian, if you tell them—”

“I would never say a word, if you did not wish me to,” Sebastian said. “They have been nothing but worried about you, particularly Mr. Tanaka.”

“Don’t tell him either,” Ciel rushed, voice strained, “I wouldn’t be able to stand it, if any of them knew… I already hate myself enough as it is.”

There, again, Sebastian felt that stirring inside him, saying he must now reassure and tend to the boy in this moment of self-deprecation. No… there was no need to give in to further kindnesses. He had already done more than was necessary for a butler. Ciel would soon see his family: they would provide the nurture to this tormented nature. “Young master, take the time now to rest yourself. I will bring you something warm to eat swiftly and, if you feel it possible, perhaps a bath afterwards.”

“Perhaps.”

Sebastian put a knuckle to his chin. “Young master, are you still too ashamed to come out from the covers?”

“…” The silhouette beneath the sheets twitched. Caught.

“You know you will have to emerge eventually.”

“Obviously.” The voice tried to be defiant but wasn’t quite convincing. A bit of deep gray hair peeked out. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Sebastian chuckled a bit. “How strange it is, to see you for the first time today at such a late hour.”

The head tucked itself away. “Hmph.”

Ah, he’d only frightened the fox back into his den. “Come, now. I only meant it was different from the usual. If you cannot face me, how can you expect to face anyone else?” Still no movement. “Young master, please, you may as well get around to accepting it. This is not the last time this will happen to you, I imagine. Though I have little knowledge from prior contracts in such matters, I don’t believe you will ever fully understand why it happens either. I don’t believe the subject of the dream must necessarily be… connected, for you to respond in kind.”

“… It doesn't?” Finally a bit of interest entered the boy's tone. “So… what you're saying is, it didn't have to mean anything?”

“To my knowledge, not at all. Either way, it isn't odd for this to happen. Eventually you would need to have this conversation — if not today, in another year or so.” Though, frankly, Sebastian had hoped it would be Ciel and his uncle talking about this instead. “So then, please do take solace in this fact.”

Ciel had slowly been peeking his way out of the covers at this little speech, and he sat up pondering it without seeming to realize he was out in the open. He was still in his long pajama shirt, which did not hang haphazardly off one shoulder, as it might have when he was younger and slimmer of frame. His hair was limp, his face pale, Sebastian noted. And, with a sudden gurgle alighting the air, clearly very hungry. Ciel clutched his stomach with a blush.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Sebastian chuckled, as if he weren’t the most unfitting being to extend such an invitation.

Ciel glanced down at his lap. “Thanks.”

The response was unexpectedly soft and methodical — and grateful. Sebastian felt unsettled by it. “I suppose you’ll be wanting some dinner, now, won’t you, young master? I imagine what you want is something very sweet, but it would be best to be gentle with your stomach. It is easy for a human’s body to believe it is starving, if it goes long enough without food.”

“Yeah.” Ciel nodded meekly. “Maybe some bread and soup would be good. Do you think?”

Sebastian hesitated. “Yes… I was just about to suggest such a thing.”

“And then if I’m able to eat that, I can have something more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Sebastian stuttered in the face of obedience.

Ciel nodded to himself again. “That’ll do for now.”

“Very good. Then I will go about preparing it at once.” Sebastian turned to leave, suddenly feeling akin to a trapped rat.

“Sebastian?”

Pausing his exit was the most impossible command to obey. “Yes, young master?”

“I really mean it, don’t tell anyone about this. Not my family either.” Ciel sighed. “I think you’re right. I think I need a break from everything. I feel confused. I don’t know who I am these days. I feel angry about things that I used to accept… Like I used to think that being kidnapped was just something that happened to me, plain and simple, and now it makes me so angry that I want to break things. I’m mad at my parents, and they aren’t even alive anymore. Isn’t that stupid? Even saying this makes me feel stupid. How can I be angry at someone who’s dead? But I think that’s what makes it even worse. I want to yell at them, and they won’t even hear me! I want to make them angry, too, but they aren’t even alive to be angry!” Ciel’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and he stopped talking abruptly.

Sebastian didn’t turn around; if Ciel were crying, he didn’t want to know about it. “It’s been a very long day for you, young master. You will feel better after you eat something.”

“Y-Yeah. I suppose.” Ciel was barely able to keep his voice composed.

“I’ll be back shortly with food. Rest well, sir.”

As soon as Sebastian closed the door behind him, he let bewilderment overtake his features.

It was sympathy he felt stirring in his rib cage like a wicked potion. Sympathy! In him, a demon! That he could even name it was truly a devastation… and yet, that is what it was! Sympathy, for a human! For his prey! Where was this coming from? Why did it blossom in him now? He had been right to escape the bedroom before it latched onto him fully. There was no way he could allow Ciel to see it etched in his eyes.

Sebastian could think more clearly when he was not in the boy’s presence. This ended now. Ciel was going to join his family in Oxford. Sebastian was going to tell the marchioness all about Ciel’s behavior (at least, what he hadn’t been barred from revealing). The Midfords would take over the role of caring for Ciel’s emotional needs, and Sebastian could default to the formal butler he’d always been. Yes, that was it. Ciel’s new behavior had forced him into the position of a wet-nurse. He was merely responding in kind to his charge’s desires. All he had to do was delegate the task to someone else, and then he could get his brain back.

There were men who raised lambs for slaughter and men who raised lambs for wool. Sebastian was not cultivating this soul just so he could leave with his arms full of yarn. Let the shepherds raise the lamb. The butcher could not afford to let his blade falter.

“Mr. Michaelis! Did the young master allow you in his room just now?”

Tanaka, again, broke the thinking spell. Sebastian smoothed his features in a heartbeat as the gentleman hurried the rest of the hall’s length to him. “Indeed, yes, I was allowed in at last,” Sebastian said. He began walking to the stairwell to steer Tanaka out of Ciel’s earshot, even with the bedroom door closed. “I apologize; I’m not permitted to elaborate on my conversation with the master. All I can tell you is that he is quite well, albeit hungry. I can at the very least reveal that there were memories of his past haunting him today. But I think he’s going to be fine, from here on.”

Tanaka nodded solemnly, then grinned at Sebastian and put a hand on his shoulder. Sebastian restrained a cringe at the gesture. “So you see, even after all your bickering, he has still chosen you as his confidante. You should be flattered.”

“… I suppose,” Sebastian mustered. “I do believe he already considered me a confidante of sorts, however.”

“Oh yes, when it came to his work,” Tanaka said, smiling with his eyes, “but I imagine today involved a matter most delicate, one closer to the heart, and you were chosen to handle it. That speaks volumes about how he sees you, you know.” The old man sighed with relief and nostalgia. “The late master, when he encroached on adulthood, was away at school with other boys his age… I’m sure he learned much from watching the upperclassman about what to anticipate, other young gentlemen to question when he was confused. But Ciel has no such privilege. This will likely be far from the last time he requests you as a guide.”

A demon? Guide a human child through adolescence? What an utterly rich notion. It would have been laughable, had Sebastian not found himself in the position of said ‘demon guide.’ One may as well have the blind lead the blind. No, no, no; this wouldn’t do. Ciel must be immediately dissuaded from considering Sebastian as anything more than his second-in-command. The preparations for the trip to Oxford would begin posthaste.

Chapter Text

That same evening, Sebastian composed two letters. The first was to the Midfords at their Oxford address, informing them that yes, Ciel would join them within a week’s time to observe the Weston cricket match, and to thank them for the invitation. The second was a formal request (more of a command) to Miss Nina Hopkins that she clear her schedule for an immediate fitting with Lord Ciel Phantomhive. Indeed, the letter stated, Sebastian remembered their original appointment in April, scheduled just before the social season was to begin; however, Ciel would be visiting Oxford soon for the first cricket match of the college season and it would do him no good to show up in last year’s fashion. Desperate times called for desperate measures — and indeed Ciel was in desperate need of measurements.

Ciel was at an odd stage of growth, where he no longer possessed any baby fat, except in his face, but he had not started developing an adult musculature either. His arms and legs were growing longer while his torso stayed about the same size, giving him a rather coltish look. Fortunately it meant that Ciel still fit into his clothes, though they were a little short in the wrist and ankle, and that certainly wouldn’t do for an aristocrat of his stature.

The concept of physical growth was another Sebastian was not born knowing. As a demon, he’d had years to master a number of forms. When a contract ended and another began, there was no awkwardness in which he took to his next guise, adorning wings or claws or hooves as if they were mere accessories. Humans had enough trouble navigating their body’s natural changes, and those weren't immediate. Sebastian had witnessed this with contracts in the process of aging. Some fretted about losing their hair and their shapeliness much more than they did about losing their lives. Others peacefully accepted that they had to say farewell to youthful beauty and easy movement.

Sebastian had watched numerous humans fade out of the prime of their lives. He hadn’t spent much time observing humans who had yet to enter it. And for all the burden that came with Ciel’s indecipherable attitudes, watching the boy pilot his growing body was an entertaining bonus.

Thus far, most of Ciel’s physical changes had been rather gradual, so gradual that the boy did not really pay them any mind until the telltale moment that they posed a use or an embarrassment. Tripping had become a much more common occurrence, for instance, what with those legs stretching for new lengths. Watching Ciel trip had become the highlight of Sebastian’s career. It wasn’t to say he was happy to see his charge hurt — the young master only stumbled without falling — but to watch that stoic frown flinch into a look of utter dread was nothing if not hilarious. And then the blushing mortification that followed… Sebastian was always scolded for snickering, but it could not possibly be withheld.

Ciel’s increased height, meager as it still was, brought with it benefits nonetheless. As someone who rarely had to reach up high or climb over obstacles, Ciel discovered these benefits in a very roundabout way: in the bath.

The bathtub was a strange, subtle, unspoken little fiend in the boy’s world. This was due to its length and its finish. The sides of the tub were a very slippery porcelain, kept polished by none other than Sebastian himself. The slipperiness was merely a side effect of keeping them clean, which posed an unintended problem for Ciel. One could not lean against the tub’s walls without slowly sliding deeper into the water. This gave the tub’s user about two minutes of relaxing bliss before they discovered their lips were nearly submerged. Then they would have to go through the troublesome process of pushing their body back into a proper seated position — or at least, this was so if one’s feet could not reach the opposite end of the tub, keeping them suitably propped-up.

Ciel’s feet had long been unable to touch the other side, and so he could not lounge in the bath, an issue of such mild importance that the boy forgot it existed until faced with it each evening. Sebastian would be washing the young master’s hair when he would begin to feel the scalp slowly sinking away from his hands, and then there’d be a little snort of frustration as Ciel nudged his posture higher. The fight for stability was a never-ending one. The thin veil of water between skin and porcelain dissuaded any hope for traction. Ciel was eventually forced to sit on his feet just to stop slip-sliding around like an ice cube in a bowl.

And then the magical evening came when Ciel discovered he could reach his legs out just far enough that his tiptoes finally kissed the other side of the tub. Slick porcelain walls could not defy this natural leverage. With his back pressed against one side and his largest toes the other, Ciel at last soaked in the tub without threat of submersion. It was one of the strangest and most intriguing little victories Sebastian had ever witnessed.

He missed those simple days of missteps and calculated centimeters of growth. The breadth of puberty was a more treacherous landscape, and he and the boy had been plopped in the middle of it without compass or North Star.

Sebastian let Ciel sleep as late as he wanted the following day. It was to both their benefit: being in Ciel’s presence made Sebastian feel unusually wary, ever since that little seed of sympathy was planted in his chest. All he could think to do was deprive it of water and sunlight — deprive himself of Ciel, or at least, of this current Ciel, who needed attention and patience and reassurance and kindness — and, according to Tanaka, who needed Sebastian to fulfill all these requirements.

That was nothing if not the opposite of a demon’s purpose.

What was a demon’s purpose? Sebastian knew that well. It was to trick and charm and seduce God’s precious man off the thorny path to Heaven. It was to build snares out of gold, blood, and promises, three things man could not resist. It was to make man cry and sweat and piss himself as he begged for mercy, on his knees, only understanding at his bitter end that the golden gates would for him stand firmly closed. Most of all, the demon’s purpose was to take the soul into his mouth, into his being, and sup upon its poetry.

Sebastian was a connoisseur. He had tasted a myriad of lifetimes; he had smelled countless bouquets. The revenge-seeker was sweeter than the thief, and the thief could be bitter or sour, depending on his motives, his childhood. Bastards and drunkards had runny, salty souls like tears. The souls of the sick were curdled and textured. Sebastian personally enjoyed the rich gravy that came from the grief-stricken most of all.

“My lord, you are not quite yourself these days,” he had said, and it was true. The ten-year-old Ciel had held more fire and brimstone — he’d shimmered with sheer pride. Again the bath revealed this so. In his younger days Ciel was as unabashed in his nakedness as an Olympian. Now he’d grown shy of his body, only shedding his towel at the last possible second and donning his toga again at the soonest opportunity.

“You should put new sheets on my bed now,” Ciel had said during last night’s bath, while Sebastian had been scrubbing between his shoulder blades with a large soapy sponge.

“Certainly, sir, after we finish here.”

“No, you should do it now. I want you to. So I have something to sit on when I’m in my pajamas.”

Sebastian sighed and wiped dry his hands. He decided not to question his master, as the day had been a rough one, though the interruption was a little stilting: of course he not intended for Ciel to sit on a bare mattress, he merely meant to change the sheets while the boy relaxed in the water. But if it was to be insisted upon…

When he returned from the bedroom, Ciel told him, “I finished washing up while you were away, so you can get on to my hair.” Sebastian understood the scheme at once. He hoped this wouldn’t become a pattern. Ciel’s new bashfulness around washing himself while Sebastian was present was going to make bathtime complicated if he kept coming up with excuses for Sebastian to leave halfway through each time.

In the long-term, however, these petty annoyances could prove substantial. Adolescence was a different kind of emotional torment, Sebastian was coming to know, an unintended yet self-inflicted kind, and he wondered what sort of flavor this would add to the soul. He forced himself to fantasize about the delicacy until he felt the saliva growing in his mouth and was satisfied in his demonhood once more. Even humans who crooned over piglets and calves ate pork and beef without a second thought. A single spike in sympathy for his prey was no cause for alarm. As long as the end still excited him, Sebastian relaxed in the knowledge that his mind was not lost.

Ciel didn’t call Sebastian to his bedroom until it was a quarter past eleven. He was sitting up in bed, though his posture was slumped, and his hair had been fluffed up by his pillow even more so than usual.

“Oh my. It would seem you slept deeply, yes, my lord?” Sebastian asked with soft amusement.

Ciel rubbed at his tattooed eye, the innocent blue one at half-lid. “How late is it?” he asked, then immediately yawned, indulgent, mouth stretched wide enough to show off every tooth.

Sebastian smiled accordingly at this display. “Just past eleven, sir — you managed to sleep for over twelve hours. Truly you must have needed the rest.”

The boy nodded groggily a few times.

“Would you like me to bring you your breakfast now, my lord? I began preparing it not long ago; the temperature should still be palatable.”

“Yes, but… in a moment.” Ciel shifted his legs under the covers. He gave his head a hard shake in order to perk up more quickly. “I was thinking… well… I don’t know what I should do with myself today. I mean… I don’t know what sort of Ciel the servants are expecting to see… Though it isn’t as if I care about their opinion,” he corrected sharply, “but I do care about how they respond to me. And if they treat me like some sort of invalid, I’ll get cross with them, see if I don’t.” Ciel sighed, leaning back. “But at the same time, I’m not going to pretend as if yesterday didn’t happen. I just have no intention of ever telling them what I was up in my room for all day.” A blush, the color of a sliced strawberry, hinted the tops of his cheeks. “What I mean is, I don’t know how to respond to them, if they ask why I was in here.”

“You need not answer them, if they did,” Sebastian said. “If they were bold enough to broach such a topic with you, I would be very cross with them myself. The master’s business is not that of the servants’, unless the master wishes it to be.”

“Right,” Ciel agreed, bobbing his chin a bit, as if Sebastian had reminded him of this fact. “Right… Well… I still feel like I should have an answer. I’m worried that if I don’t say something to them, they’ll form their own opinions, and that would be worse than any lie I could come up with.”

“Mr. Tanaka’s first assumption was that you had had a nightmare about your past and it was affecting you, which wasn’t entirely wrong,” Sebastian informed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the other servants thought something similarly.”

Sebastian said this believing it would pacify Ciel, but his response was one of shock. “What? Are you serious? What the hell are they talking about my personal problems for?! Is that what they always think, when I’m a bit late in the morning or lounging in my room? That I’m having an attack of panic or something of that nature?”

“I haven’t any surefire idea what their thoughts are, as I of course haven’t asked them directly,” Sebastian said. “I don’t believe so, though. You may recall that Mey-Rin, Finny, and Bard have had their own experiences with trauma, yet are able to live normal lives. I cannot speak so admirably of them in most cases, but I believe they do know what it is like to have dark memories — what it is to sit with them.”

At last that did quell the boy. “I never thought about it that way,” he said. He breathed out his nose and folded his arms. “Fine. I’ll just let them assume whatever they want then. Saves me the trouble of coming up with some stupid story.”

“Glad to hear it, sir,” Sebastian said. “Shall I bring you breakfast now, then?”

“Yes,” said Ciel, and there was a full tray before him in moments.

He had never been a fast eater or a heavy eater, but these days Ciel did eat with reserved gusto. The plate was always bare when the master declared himself finished. Today was more of the same, not a crumb or speck overlooked. The high-pitched scraping of Ciel’s fork against the floral transferware for a last bite of hash browns reminded Sebastian of the “music” some lesser demons entertained themselves with.

“My, my, I shall have to be careful to wash this dish myself, or Bard will mistake it for a clean one,” Sebastian teased.

Instead of puffing up his cheeks at the remark, Ciel merely lapped at the tip of his fork. “What are you going to do today anyway?”

The young master’s tone had not been authoritative: he was asking out of pure curiosity. Such a strange thing to wonder… Ciel had never professed an interest in his butler’s daily routine before, except when they first met and were training each other. Ah, but it was possible that Ciel had a request and planned to see when it could be done. That was a normal reason for the master to ask such.

“Well,” Sebastian began, “after I finish tidying up breakfast, I was going to check the kitchen storage to measure our current stock of sugar, salt, flour, and the like, and leave orders with Bard for more, if necessary. Following that, I was going to inspect the rain gutters, as they seemed a bit clogged during the last storm. That may also be a good time to examine the state of the chimney flues, to see that they're efficient. Otherwise, my schedule shall not deviate from the usual of preparing high tea and dinner, and keeping the house in good order. Is there something I did not mention that you required me to make time for?”

Ciel shook his head no, sliding the tray off his lap and handing it to Sebastian. “I just wondered where you’d be around today was all.”

“Ah. I see.” Only he didn’t, at least, not entirely. Had that been an indirect request for reassurance, the very reassurance Tanaka had mentioned Ciel needing at this age? Sebastian sincerely hoped not. “Well then, young master—” he held out a hand to help the boy out of bed “—shall we go forth and greet the day together?”

Ciel was dressed in a black frock coat, a deep grey single-breasted pinstripe vest, and short grey trousers with black stockings beneath. For a spot of color, the tops of the stockings were trimmed with burgundy and a matching ribbon was tied in a loose bow around the boy’s collar. Ciel toyed at one of his earrings, twisting it in the lobe while Sebastian adjusted his sleeve on the opposite hand. Yes, it didn’t quite meet the wrist…

“Ouch,” Ciel hissed lightly.

“Perhaps you should leave that be, hm?” Sebastian smirked.

Ciel didn’t take his hand away, nervously turning at the little gem. “What am I going to do today anyway? You said I should take my mind off my work for a bit. But I can’t decide how to keep myself busy.”

“I hardly expected that to be a hard question for you to answer.” Sebastian straightened up, the outfit passing his inspection well enough. “What were you doing last month, when you were neglecting your lessons and responsibilities?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Ciel snorted. His index finger rubbed at the handle of his cane after Sebastian handed it to him — certainly a better habit than stretching the holes in his ears. “I suppose there’re always new chess strategies to test out. Or billiards, I’m finally starting to get the appeal of it. And now that I think about it, I haven’t exercised Irish or Sysonby in a while.” Ciel’s grip on the cane tightened a fraction. “Well, I’d need to ask Bard to help me saddle them if I did that…”

Ah, so there was still some trepidation about facing the staff today. Sebastian chose to let that play out on its own: no more encouragement was to be doled out this morning, or he would just be teaching Ciel to come to him with every little gripe. Not at all the lesson he needed the boy learning just before his aunt was to come into the picture. “I don’t know if your riding boots still fit, my lord — in November you told me they pinched. Fortunately, Miss Hopkins should be in contact with me soon to tell me if she can get you in for an early fitting. We should have her measure you for shoes as well.”

Ciel kicked out his right foot in the high-heeled lace-ups he currently donned. “I can only wear these with thin stockings now, too, or else my toes feel cramped. Let’s visit a shoemaker soon and place an order for all-new pairs.”

“Perhaps just a few while your feet are growing,” Sebastian suggested. “It wouldn’t do you any good if they were too small by the time they arrived. Custom shoes take a while to make properly.”

Ciel blinked and craned his neck to gaze down at his feet. “Do you really think they’ll grow that fast?”

“It’s always a possibility.” Much as he had yet to learn about adolescence, Sebastian was not unfamiliar with the sight of a young man whose shoe size had reached adulthood before the rest of him.

Ciel cocked one ankle, then the other, looking somewhere between baffled and impressed with his feet. “All right then. Only one new pair for a while yet.” He took a large step forward; the conversation seemed to puff him up. “Well, it’s high time I got the day started — it’s already past noon. I’m going to my study. You go off wherever it is you have to go. Goodbye.”

The rain gutters on the east side of the house were especially stuffed with dead leaves dating all the way back to November. Sebastian knelt on the edge of the roof and fished out the debris with a trowel. This was just another one of the many tasks he would never offer to Bard or Finny: if they didn’t break their necks, they’d break at least a hundred shingles. It did feel hardly the head butler’s role to be doing this though. Was there even a graceful way to unclog a rain gutter? If anyone could make a ballet of this scrub work, it was Sebastian, but he reserved his energy for other matters today.

There was a distant whinny, and Sebastian looked up to see the postman’s arrival in the drive. Ah, there was Nina’s response: he was never sure what manners to expect of the woman, and it was good that she did not tarry. He sprung down from the rooftop behind the house, so the postman would not see his acrobatic descent, and accepted the message with a courteous nod, then opened it promptly.

The only addition to the message was a large, swooping signature that occupied almost the entire rest of the parchment. The terseness of the letter seemed to convey an irritation at the short notice; she did not even properly address the master, how shameful. Well then, she could expect to be paid handsomely in money and lectures alike. Sebastian never had a shortage of words for that coquettish tradeswoman.

Sebastian took a respite from his chores to bring the letter to Ciel. Sensing for the boy’s presence found him in the library, rather than his study, and Sebastian went on his way, wondering if Ciel perhaps had his nose in one of his texts on human biology.

But if one was having a conversation, they certainly couldn’t be reading. As Sebastian approached the door, he was immediately aware of a familiar voice in the room.

“I felt very helpless yesterday, hearing you speak like that.” It was Tanaka, of course. His words were laced with that perfect concern best captured in the voices of the elderly. “I so desperately wished there was something I could have said, but I didn’t know where to begin. I was afraid of making the situation worse.”

“It isn’t your job to say anything.” A pause. “In that moment… it hardly felt like me. I don’t even associate that person with myself. You shouldn’t either.”

“But… it is a part of you, young master.”

“Well of course I know that. I’m not mental.” Another pause. Ciel’s voice slowed down as he mulled over the best way to explain his experience. “It was more like… a little child overcame my thoughts all of a sudden. Yes, that’s it. There’s just something inside me that, when it gets anxious, snatches up the reins and shoves the real me out of the way, and doesn’t give me control again until it’s made me look completely ridiculous. I don’t know why and I don’t like it. I despise having to clean up its mess in the end. But it’s all I can do.” His voice had an airy ring to it, as one who dismisses a mere trifle.

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous, young master. I feel a bit sorry for that child.”

Ciel was very quiet for a moment. Sebastian could hear the grandfather clock inside the room ticking. “It isn’t something to feel sorry for. It’s annoying and it doesn’t listen to me.”

Tanaka made a contemplative noise in the back of his throat. “Well… if it doesn’t listen to you, might it listen to somebody else?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t care,” Ciel said, not harshly but still in a way meant to finalize the conversation. “I really don’t. I really just hate it. This discussion is tedious for me, and it’s all its fault. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

To Sebastian’s surprise, Tanaka did not allow the subject to close there. “What I think, young master, is that this ‘child’ is trying to tell you something. I think he deserves to be listened to, as much as I know he’s been a bother for you. Perhaps that would help you understand why he’s there in the first place.”

“It ought to listen to me, not the other way around,” Ciel said defiantly. “That’s all I have to say about it. Let’s not speak on this anymore. Do you have the letters written for Cavendish and Kashyap about mass-producing those fried Indian sweets? What are they called, jelly-something? Jelly bees^[※]? Good, have them sent promptly. Then, would you mind telling Sebastian that I’d like to have tea shortly? And some lunch as well?”

By the time the senior butler left the study, Sebastian had practically materialized behind the next corridor, out of sight.

There were not many in Ciel’s inner circle that could do what Tanaka had done just now. Aside from Lau and Undertaker, Ciel always did tend to be gentler with those he had known before the contract. They could tap into some softness in him that Ciel barred all newcomers from seeing. Sebastian considered it a good fortune that he had overheard this conversation by chance. He was, of course, not high enough on Ciel’s totem pole to know such secrets. And gladly so.

“I had a strange conversation with Mr. Tanaka just now.”

Ah, no, how could he forget: he was the totem pole’s watchman^[♣].

“He was asking me about yesterday,” Ciel continued, after Sebastian laid a plate of spring greens and radishes in a light balsamic before him. “He said he didn’t need the details — thank God, and I wouldn’t have told him anyway — but he asked me if there was anything he could have said in the moment to make me rational.” Ciel took a bite of the salad, made a bitter face, and drenched the vegetables in more of the vinaigrette he’d been offered from a tiny silver pitcher.

Sebastian stood by silently. Bound to the truth, there was only so much he could insinuate without revealing he’d overheard the conversation already, and he waited to see what the young master would catch him up on.

Ciel swallowed his mouthful. “He got me thinking, about how I really felt in that moment, when I was so ashamed and I didn’t want anyone to find out. I felt like I wasn’t myself. I felt like an entirely different person, but I had no willpower over him. I had to give in to his demands until I’d finally wrestled back the control.” Ciel shook his head, smirking a bit. “It’s like a disease, like my asthma — I can’t help but let this other being take control, just like I can’t help the coughing when it grips me. I’ve been so embarrassed about this alternate self for so long. But now I wonder if I should be. I wonder if there’s some parasite inside of me that makes me this way.” He tipped his chin at Sebastian. “Is there such a thing, some little organism that can get inside your skull and change your behavior, up inside your brain? Do you know of it?”

Would that there could be. “Sir, there is no such thing inside you.”

“Tch.” Ciel immediately grew frustrated. He banged his fist and the handle of the fork against the tabletop. “Lovely. And here I hoped for some way out. So then what you’re telling me is that all my thoughts were my own yesterday, and I’m absolutely crazy to try to attribute them to some other entity.”

“You are far from ‘crazy,’ my lord,” Sebastian said. “Even if such anxieties are a part of you, as you say, it does not mean they are without impulse.”

“Well then where the hell are they coming from?” Ciel demanded. “I hate behaving like that, like a spooked horse, it’s so embarrassing. I want to stop letting my feelings in the moment take control of me.”

“Young master, I do believe that is the result of being human.”

Ciel crossed his arms, flopping back against his chair so that it rocked briefly on its hind legs. “But other people don’t act like that,” he whined.

“‘Other people,’” Sebastian said, “haven’t been through what you have.”

It was spoken as an observation, but with a jolt Sebastian realized his words might have been served with a generous helping of sympathy — that accursed thing that was surely his parasite to bear. The grandfather clock spoke when neither of them did, a three-beat chime followed by those endless metronomic ticks.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Ciel finally said, to Sebastian’s masked relief. “You told me that you heard back from Nina when you first came in. So? What is it then?”

Sebastian was not blind. No, he could see with perfect clarity the circumstances he had put himself in. Whatever he had spoken to Ciel yesterday evening, whatever sympathy had seeped into his tone, it had increased the boy’s trust in him exponentially. He had not meant to convey to Ciel that he was now his surrogate, his lead through adolescence. Neither does the moon intend to change the tides: it merely does so by existing, locked in its eternal dance with Earth.

And like the moon, Sebastian was such a product of nature. Humans saw him quite the opposite, but the demon knew better. Following his instinct had merely gotten him in trouble this time rather than the other way around. So a dog ate chocolate and poisoned himself, so Sebastian comforted his charge and betrayed his purpose for existing. But nature prepares her children for their mistakes, and so the dog will not die if he eats grass to make himself vomit. And forever will the scent and taste of chocolate repel the wise dog.

Sebastian would take advantage of the boy’s newfound trust one last time. Then it was over. He could never allow Ciel to associate him with a guardian’s attention or patience or reassurance or kindness again, for these were fodder for the awful talon of sympathy that clutched Sebastian to its feathered breast.

It was ten-thirty in the evening. Ciel was in bed early, earlier than he had been all month, not having been up for even twelve hours, quite awake but lying down for an attempt.

“I don’t know how I should be able to sleep very quickly,” he said, hands folded beneath his head on the pillow, “but I suppose I should at least try. Aunt Francis won’t be very impressed with me if I’m not awake on-time for the cricket match this Friday.”

Sebastian smirked. “If only I had known that sending you off with your family would solve the sleeping matter sooner,” he mused, knuckle to his chin. “We may have had fewer arguments, at any rate. Well, I for one am pleased with your due diligence. If you keep it up, your efforts to turn your late-night habits around will not be in vain.”

Ciel pouted thoughtfully, looking away. “It was your idea to try, though.”

“Yes. But you did not have to act on it.”

“I suppose.” Ciel shrugged. “I’m only saying… maybe I wouldn’t have done it if someone hadn’t told me to. It wouldn’t have occurred to me.”

This was the day’s second indirect request for guidance. It reminded Sebastian of the task at hand. Take advantage of the boy’s newfound trust one last time. Then it is over. “You are not tired at all, yes, young master?”

“Not a bit. I could count a thousand sheep before my eyelids started to droop.”

“Then… before you try to sleep, perhaps you would be open to a discussion of a more personal nature?”

“A… personal nature?” Ciel looked uncertain.

“More of a recounting, actually. It need not be so personal, and you do not have to answer me, again, if you do not want to.” Sebastian gave the smallest hum of a laugh. “And I shall ‘muck out’ the stables, if that punishment still stands.”

Ciel lifted up his head to glare at him with sidelong confusion. “What? What are you on about now?”

“Please pardon any impertinence, my lord, but I wanted to address again the occurrence at the Shrove Tuesday party between you and the young man from the Reubin family.”

Ciel hesitated, breath crackling in his throat a bit, then said, “That? That was over a month ago.”

“It was,” Sebastian conceded, “but… I felt a change in you that night. I think you may have as well. And I think we can both agree that this is the first day in a while that we have been on good terms with each other. If you’re willing to recollect, I would be very curious to know.”

“Hmm.” Ciel leaned back in the pillow a bit, sighing out his nose, and closed his eyes. He considered this quietly. Then his brow slouched. “Ugh, it was just… It was really stupid, Sebastian. I don’t know. My mind is so scattered these days. It jumps from thought to thought and comes up with all sorts of things, I don’t always know how it gets where it does — I just find myself there.”

Sebastian understood that. My most recent thoughts have behaved in kind. He waited for the boy to tell his story.

“So, Lyle Reubin had forgotten his manners at home, and Jane was near to tears she was so ashamed,” Ciel began, knitting his fingers together and placing them at the base of his throat. “The other girls were getting frightened and upset. I knew if anyone was going to say something, it would have to be me. And besides, that stupid boy was being as bad as a drunk! It was getting on my nerves! So of course I told him off!”

There was a glimmer of the confident, irritated young master Sebastian knew best. It faded into melancholy all too fast.

Ciel had been toying with the top sheet, absentminded in his actions. “I said something like, ‘You’re spoiling this party for everyone else, you’re an awful nuisance.’ And he said, ‘That’s what all my teachers said about me too.’ So I replied, ‘Then it’s no wonder they kicked you out of school.’ Which, in hindsight, was a bit rude, especially towards his sister, but Lyle had really said so himself in the first place.” Ciel shrugged, chewed his lip briefly. He seemed not to want to speak more.

“The way he responded next,” Sebastian prompted, “was jarring to you somehow.”

Ciel pulled up his knees and huffed again, fussing over how to go about saying what came next. “Well, what he said was,” Ciel began, and stopped. He rambled to himself instead, “I’m ridiculous, letting it bother me like I did… I hardly even understand how I made that connection, or why I spent so much time on it, it’s silly…”

“Perhaps that conclusion can be reached, if you tell me what it is he said to you.” Sebastian spoke calmly, but inside he was equal parts intrigued and tentative.

“Well, what he said was, ‘Maybe I got kicked out on purpose, because nobody believed me when I said I was in danger.’” Ciel was red-faced when he finally got the words out. Sebastian wasn’t entirely sure where this hot embarrassment came from but made no comment. He was careful not to do anything that might keep his charge from at last revealing the dark cellar of his doubt. “And the way he looked at me when he said it, I knew that he really had been in danger… or, at least, he thought he had been. Either way, he wasn’t lying to me.” Ciel tucked some stray hair behind his ear. Swallowed. “And the way his eyes were, it reminded me of… of myself, when I was younger, I mean. The way he spoke mostly though. And it… It’s stupid, but he made me… jealous.”

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. “Jealous?”

“I know, I know, I said it’s stupid!” Ciel’s face was burning.

Sebastian patched it up quickly. “I don’t believe it’s stupid. I believe it is important. Won’t you explain, young master?”

Fortunately that had been the right thing to say. The boy’s skin still glowed, but he admitted, “I was jealous that he could just get out of whatever trouble he was in by acting like a little child. He made me start thinking about when you brought me back to the mansion, when I was just ten. All I did was focus on becoming an earl and becoming an adult, and I didn’t want to think about that horrible month at all, I didn’t want to acknowledge what I’d been through.

“But it’s been a few years and thinking about it is different now, and it makes me angrier than ever before. Like I said yesterday, I’m mad at my parents, and I’m mad at the London police for not being able to find my captors, and I’m even mad at Lyle, who’s got nothing to do with any of this — I’m just mad because he was complaining when he wasn’t even in as much danger as I was! I just want to scream at everyone, ‘You don’t understand anything!’ But that would be the most childish of all, and so I can’t say a word. I feel like a firework about to go off. I just feel wretched and stupid all the bloody time.”

Ciel finished his tirade with a ragged exhale.

Oh, the layers of grief this soul was wound up in…!

This is what Sebastian thought. But what was the tone of that thought? Sebastian himself was not sure. He decided it must be bloodlust over the meal. It must be.

It had to be.

But whether or not it was… it was due time to close this book.

“Well then,” Sebastian said, clapping his hands twice, as if to brush the conversation off, “isn’t it much better when we tell each other what’s really going on? Perhaps we would have gotten on a lot better these past few months if I had known what had truly been ailing you. So let this be a lesson in clearer communication between the two of us. Yes?”

Ciel blinked at Sebastian with lost, puzzled eyes. “That’s… Is that all you have to say about it?”

“Young master,” said Sebastian, amiable as a street vendor, “I am qualifying that I understand your perspective. You experienced a delay in your grief. You are coming to terms with your past. It is causing you to change the way you see the world — your world. It even changed the way we respond to each other. So I am very relieved to know your perspective at last.”

“Do you know my perspective?” Ciel regarded the small mounds his feet made beneath the covers. “I don’t know if I know it.”

“I’ve troubled you,” Sebastian said. “I did not recognize the answer to my question would be so complicated, emotionally, for you. I did not mean to cause a stir right before you are about to sleep. You hardly needed that.”

“No, it’s…” A pause. “It was good… that you asked.”

Sebastian dipped his head. “And it’s good that you think so. But now I should leave you alone, to your sheep.”

“Alone, to my sheep,” Ciel repeated softly. “I will make for a real shepherd tonight: I feel I will keep vigil for hours before I am finally able to rest.”

“The shepherd that cannot sleep is too busy watching for wolves,” Sebastian said, stealing the flame from the bedside paraffin lamp, the last light in the room. “I urge you to think of sheep, not wolves, if you wish to drift off.”

Ciel pressed his chin into the pillow he’d had since his youth, his greatest physical comfort. “A shepherd and his sheep are much more at peace,” he mumbled, “when the shepherd has a dog.”

Sebastian froze in the darkness. This metaphor… If Ciel were the shepherd, was the dog a simulacrum for Sebastian himself? Luckily this proved not to be the case — Ciel finished a moment later, “And I have no dog, so I must keep counting until I can count no more.”

Sebastian relaxed then. “Goodnight, young master. I wish that sleep is fast on your heels.”

The door, yesterday’s wall, today’s drawbridge, shut at the demon’s back. And from that moment on, Sebastian vowed he would never allow sympathy to so shape his actions again.

Three days. Three days until they would travel to Oxford, and Sebastian would deliver the child to his family. He saw these days stretching before him as bright as the suns that would dot their skies, blinding, inevitable. There were things to do about Ciel. Get him outfitted. Get his suitcases packed, his hair trimmed. Be his pawn or be his knight, but be no longer a thing wrapped around his finger, unless that thing is a serpent.

A serpent, a serpent. A serpent, not a dog. Ah, but Ciel had not appointed Sebastian the role of the dog — and in the moment, Sebastian had been so relieved not to be labeled the canid that he hadn't bothered to ask what it did label. He chuckled without merriment. Of course, the Reubin boy mystery would be solved just as a new riddle presented itself, and it would nibble at his brain just the same as the last.

The night’s darkness brought with it time for turning questions over. If Sebastian was not the dog in the equation… then who or what was?

Chapter Text

“Wake me when we get to Oxford,” Ciel grumbled, immediately plopping down on the plush bench of the first-class compartment and tilting his top hat over his eyes. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Certainly, my lord. Rest well,” Sebastian bid him, settling on the opposite seat and turning his attention to the window.

It was a Thursday morning at the South Western railway. The air tasted of coal smoke and the tang of iron. It was loud with the chatter of humans and the softer discourse of pigeons, as at-home in the eaves as they would be in the cliffs of Norfolk. The train station was perhaps just a bit less busy than usual, seeing as tomorrow was Good Friday and there was no great want to travel far from one’s favorite church. But still the city must function, goods must be delivered, and so for most of London’s population life did not slow, and the sweet, high voices of the beggar children with their baskets of flowers and mandarin oranges rang about the terminal.

And then, with a sharp chugging motion, the train was off and on its way to Oxford. Ciel was jerked a bit with the initial rhythm but was soon lulled by it. He breathed the steady breaths of the sleeping. Sebastian too was able to drop his guard, but for the very opposite reason: Ciel relaxed because he knew he was looked-after, and Sebastian relaxed because he went unobserved by the one being whose judgment mattered — whose judgment, in fact, needed to matter less.

It would be a three-hour trip, and in many ways all too short. Mainly, Ciel’s sleep schedule had not been revised — if anything it had worsened. When Sebastian had awoken the boy at 10:30 on Tuesday morning, he’d been fixed with such a glare that Sebastian almost forgot the two had been peaceful just the night before. The contract mark spangling that purple eye seemed to glow extra brightly with disdain.

“I barely slept,” Ciel snarled, tightening the covers around his body. “I was tossing and turning for hours. I finally managed to fall asleep just as the sky was getting lighter. I’m going back to bed.”

“Sir, Ms. Hopkins will arrive at the manor in a mere ninety minutes. Surely you’ll want to have breakfasted by then?” Sebastian tutted. “Come, come, sit up and open your eyes. It will be easier after you have some tea.”

“Hnnnghh…” Ciel rolled back over, tucking his face beneath the sheets.

“It’s chai tea, to put a spring in your step. A pinch of cinnamon in the brew will help with the fatigue as well.”

Ciel was adamant. “Another half an hour. I can be ready by then.”

Sebastian turned towards the door. “If you wake up now, you’ll have less trouble drifting off tonight. Now, I’m going to fetch your breakfast, so please do your best to have risen by then. It is the early bird who gets the worm, but the surly bird will never be satisfied, so he may as well get the day over with, hmm?”

“Shut up.”

When Sebastian came back with the trolley, Ciel’s eyes were shut with rest again, and he was just as grumpy about the second rousing, if not more so. Breakfast was eaten drowsily, with no discussion. Afterwards Sebastian dressed the boy almost as though he were a doll, tugging the simple attire over his master’s limp frame. He was clothed in merely a white button-up shirt tucked into blue short trousers, Y-back bracers fastening them over his shoulders. This light, single-layered outfit would make it easier for Nina to take her measurements.

“Nina did like working in the drawing room last time, so I’ve set up a space for her in there,” Sebastian said, loudly enough to register in the boy’s half-awake brain. “You can wait for her there, if you so wish… Open your eyes, now, I’ve finished lacing your shoes. That means on your feet, young master.” Ciel slouched up from the bed, eyes barely open. Sebastian put a knuckle to his chin, grinning with one corner of his mouth. “My goodness, are you sleepwalking? Turn around now so I can tie on your eye patch. There we are. Ah, look at this, such long hair. Surely you’ll allow me to cut it today? Last time I believe you asked me to let it alone, but what would your aunt think if she saw how scruffy you were getting?”

“I’m not ‘scruffy!’” Ciel barked, swinging around. “You’re being awfully bold this morning, do you know that? Shove off with the teasing already! I’m too tired to deal with you properly.”

“Oh dear, my apologies,” Sebastian smiled, bowing deeply. “I’ve gotten carried away, I see. Then, do let me know, is there anything I can do for you while you wait for Ms. Hopkins, sir?”

“You’ve done enough.” Ciel yawned hugely. “I’ll be in the drawing room. Goodbye.”

“Yes, my lord.” He opened the door for the boy, then closed it promptly to begin tidying up the bedroom.

Perhaps he’d laid on the banter a bit too thick. Sebastian had intentionally been bothersome in his mannerisms, wanting to portray an opposite person than yesterday, one Ciel could not see so much attachment to. Simultaneously, it was important to remember that he was a butler, and a butler did not go about mocking his master’s appearance or lack of sleep all morning long. Neither parental comforting nor ridiculous pestering need there be: it was time to return to that state of bewitching gallantry Sebastian most represented.

“Ms. Hopkins,” Sebastian said flatly, “just what are you doing here?”

He had found Nina walking about the first floor of the manor with her carpet bag as if she owned the place. Instead of being apologetic, she turned to face him with the sauciest glower. “Well, Mr. Stiff,” she snapped, chin raised up, “you might recall that you yourself invited me to come at noon today. Or did that slip your mind already?”

“Ms. Hopkins.” Sebastian did not hide his exasperation totally. “Of course I did not forget that you were coming today. However, for you to enter the manor uninvited… It is simply deplorable.”

“For your information, I lowered myself to come through the servant’s entrance — as is your rule for trades people, of which I am not — and no one was there to greet me!” Nina jabbed at him with her index finger. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Am I expected to simply stand there and wait for direction? Hmph! If anyone is deplorable, it is you and those gents you call a ‘staff!’”

“Of course you are expected to stand there,” Sebastian sighed. “It is just past a quarter till noon; if you had waited only minutes more, I or someone else would have been there to collect you. If this were your first or even fifth impression on the young lord, I should not find you fit to work under this roof again. I can only hope that someday your etiquette will match your talent with the needle.”

“I’m not the one making the Earl wait now,” was Nina’s quip. “If you want to keep talking, by all means do, but I’m ready to get to work and I charge by the minute. And it isn’t your hand that signs my cheques.”

Talent with the needle indeed — her tongue was a needle. “Once you’ve swallowed that enormous pride of yours, you may follow me to where the young lord waits.”

She was in his wake in moments, matching his strides though she was several inches shorter than him, her long skirts swirling around her ankles. Sebastian eyed her with his peripheral vision. At least she had followed one societal custom and was not flouncing around, showing off her bare calves and expostulating on women’s rights. Male, female, to Sebastian it couldn’t matter less, but as a diamond is formed through intense pressures, Sebastian too appreciated souls that strained themselves for the sake of decorum.

“You’re growing,” was the first thing Nina said when she caught sight of Ciel, sitting in an armchair by the window.

“Ms. Nina Hopkins has arrived, my lord,” Sebastian announced wearily.

“Good afternoon, Nina,” Ciel said cordially, standing up and pacing over to the duo. Nina had been outfitting Ciel since he was very small, and, for whatever reason, the boy had a place in his heart for this uncouth woman. Perhaps it was because she was very forthright with the truth: Ciel never needed to suspect her of lying, and, for the world’s littlest liar in particular, he placed a high price on honesty. Doubtless Ciel also enjoyed how much of a thorn Nina was in his butler’s side. “Yes, I am growing, which is why we needed you on such short notice. Thank you for making it here today.”

Nina let out a dramatic sigh. “As always, Lord Phantomhive, I am at your service. But I’m afraid even my expertise as a seamstress can’t help the fact that anything I make you today may not fit in just a few short months!”

“A few months? D-Do you really think so?” Ciel couldn’t help sounding a little surprised.

Nina sighed again, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s possible, especially if you take after your father and his broad shoulders. If you keep your mother’s build, maybe not, she always was such a lithe thing…”

Ciel stood taller and lifted his chest. Sebastian smothered a chuckle.

Nina clapped her hands together above her breast, twice. “Well then, we’ll just have to keep it simple for today so you have something you can actually wear, and we’ll worry about designing outfits when we have more time at our next meeting. Now, now, up on the stool, chip-chop! Out with your arms, do just as I say, and we’ll take these measurements in record time.”

With Sebastian’s aid, Ciel stepped atop the stool, obedient as a circus lion. Nina opened her carpet bag of tricks on the table nearby and began to lay out her tools like a surgeon with his scalpels. She turned over her shoulder to chat as she organized.

“And before I forget, while you have me here today, we should make the final alterations for your Easter outfit — I don’t believe we ever finished up that session months ago. You’ll be taking that with you to Oxford, yes?”

Ciel’s eyes widened with realization and he clapped a hand to his forehead. “Easter! That’s coming this weekend, isn’t it? Good grief, I completely forgot!”

Sebastian knew Ciel cursed himself not for any religious reason, but for the patience he’d have to award Lizzie on one of her favorite holidays, which to her was a celebration of newborn animals, pastel colors, and sweet foods.

“I couldn’t forget Easter if I tried,” Nina shook her head, unraveling her measuring tape and walking over to the boy on the stool. “So many requests for Easter gowns and Easter dresses and Easter bonnets… There goes all my faille and taffeta, and right before the social season too! Ah, but can the lady help herself? If she wasn’t married off in her first season, she’s apt to spoil herself in her second. Poor unloved little sparrows! How I’d marry them all if I could!”

“Marry them all off, you mean?” Ciel said.

Nina clucked her tongue, pleasantly amused. “You are very cute, Earl,” she fawned. Before Ciel could ask her what the devil she meant by that, she went on, “I imagine it’s a relief to already be engaged. Courtship is an awful game. You should see what these young women put themselves through. It’s a ridiculous society we live in, where people can’t fall in love with whomever they want, whenever they want! To structure the ways of the heart is to structure nature itself. It’s absolute poppycock.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ciel shrugged, then froze as Nina reminded him to stay still.

Sebastian went to the young master’s dressing room to retrieve the Easter attire — a pale yellow vest and trousers, both with gray pinstripes, not at all the master’s color but Lizzie held the reins here — and when he returned, the measurements had been finished. Ciel was sitting on the stool now, yawning into his hand, while Nina hovered over the table, ticking something off on a piece of scratch paper and muttering to herself.

“I knew this day would come,” she finally announced, almost sorrowfully. “Your perfect proportions are no longer so perfect.”

“It is hardly a thing to mourn,” Sebastian interjected, after ushering Ciel behind a folding screen he’d set up earlier. “The young master has always had trouble putting on weight and keeping it. Perfect proportions mean little compared to one’s health, wouldn’t you agree?”

Nina glared over at him. “Mr. Stiff in his natural habitat,” she sniffed, and turned back to her paper, shooing him off with a hand. “Now go help the Earl into his Easter clothes and let me at my task. I prefer to keep my work space clear of second opinions, thank you very much.”

The vest fit just fine, perhaps stretched a slight bit across the torso but not noticeably, and the original length for the trousers was too short in the ankle, as expected. Nina’s eye caught all these details and let out the fabric here and there, clamping pins between her lips and removing them to tuck into the butter-yellow folds. A white morning coat and top hat bedecked with a mint ribbon finished the crux of the ensemble. Nina instructed Sebastian to dye a carnation to the ribbon’s exact shade of green to serve as a boutonnière come Sunday. “I trust you’ll manage it,” she said, “seeing as you have no passion for anything but servitude.”

Sebastian smiled dryly. “You know me quite little, if you believe that to be so.”

“I prefer believing it’s so than to know any of your true motivations,” Nina responded.

In that, the woman was admittedly wise.

Before the trip, Nina promised, the fitted Easter attire and three dress shirts would arrive by post, with the rounded club collar that suited the young master’s neck so well, and two white dress shirts with high stand collars. Did the young master need a poet shirt? Maybe without too much lace in the ruffles, just one would be fine. Dress trousers in black, gray, charcoal, and navy would do. The Earl’s vests still fit, but certainly he’d need new ones before September. No, she didn’t know how to properly measure feet for shoes, but from heel to toe his foot was 24.6 centimeters, if that helped any. Finally, Nina reminded Ciel to think about which events of the social season he would want an outfit specially-tailored.

“With any luck,” Ciel sighed, “I’ll only be attending the usual Ascot and Trooping the Color — but I’m sure Lizzie will insist we go to Wimbledon and the Henley Regatta, too. I’ll just have to hope the queen comes up with something for me to do before then.”

“Let me know as soon as possible what your plans are,” Nina said with a wink. “I’ll be visiting you again at the end of the month. That will give me ample time to come up with some more creative ideas. Ciao, Earl!”

Sebastian led the way to the servant’s entrance again to see her off. They walked in icy silence, until Nina said, “You don’t need to follow me out. I know the way now.”

“Don’t argue it. It is merely my duty,” Sebastian snipped. “Even when it displeases me, I can recognize as much.”

Nina kept pace at his shoulder. “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Stiff, much as you might love to think so. I am a woman with pride in her work, and you of all people won’t discourage me. You might think you know more of duty than I — perhaps you do — but I’ll be damned if I ever show you deference. I am not your daughter, your wife, your sister, or your employee, and I am loath to believe you’d treat me this way if I were a man.”

“Ms. Hopkins, your sex will never be the issue with me,” Sebastian said simply as they returned to the kitchen and staff entrance. “You are far too forward in all that you say — that is the trouble. Though, in your defense, I was pleased to see that you kept your wardrobe appropriate this time.”

Nina’s eyes flashed daringly. “You really do think I’m an idiot, don’t you? I’ve been in this business longer than the Earl has been alive. It doesn’t matter how maturely he behaves — I’ve learned a thing or two about taking measurements from boys his age, and I don’t need anything changing those measurements while I’m in the middle of taking them. Modesty may be a social construct, but arousal certainly isn’t.”

Sebastian lowered his eyebrows. Her thought process wasn’t wrong, but he still took the opportunity to berate her. “You are exceedingly crude, Ms. Hopkins.”

“I am exceedingly honest,” Nina corrected, as if she could read Sebastian’s prior thoughts. “You never were a child, were you? You were an adult the day you were born. The aristocracy must love you — you have no spite for them, you just accept all as it is. Well then, enjoy your life in the proverbial caste system. I’ll be fighting the good fight elsewhere. Adieu, Mr. Stiff.”

She left Sebastian in the kitchen, he equal parts amused and perplexed. All at once, she had so perfectly understood him, yet completely missed the mark. Nina Hopkins… no matter his opinion, one thing was true: she could not be underestimated.

Sebastian returned to the drawing room with another pot of chai tea and Welsh rarebit half an hour later to find Ciel fast asleep in the armchair. He woke the boy with his voice. “Young master, you’ll find sleeping tonight very difficult if you nap during the day. I know it isn’t easy, but it will pay off if you can keep yourself awake.”

Ciel’s uncovered eye cracked to an angry slit. “Leave me alone,” he mumbled, swatting half-heartedly. “I told you I barely slept last night, so let me do what I want. I’m bloody exhausted.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, then stopped himself short. Indeed, the boy was much grumpier when he was tired, but now that might prove more of a help than a hindrance. It meant Sebastian wouldn’t have to try as hard to make Ciel annoyed, meaning Ciel would want to spend less time around him. So Sebastian left the tea nearby and the boy to his rest.

Tuesday and Wednesday evenings were more of the same: a futile attempt to sleep at night that had to be resolved during the day, thus leading to further insomnia. Over those two days, Sebastian had argued with Ciel over a hundred small things and rarely spoke in calm tones. The boy complained of headaches and exhaustion, and seemed to walk everywhere in the haze of one who is recovering from illness. When Thursday morning arrived, Ciel’s sleep schedule was an unequivocal wreck. He’d yawned more than he’d spoken as Sebastian pulled him into his travel clothes at six o’clock that morning. And now Ciel clutched desperately at whatever three hours of sleep could grant him before facing the very opposite forces that were Elizabeth and Francis Midford.

Sebastian had only visited the Phantomhive’s Oxford home once, a brick two-story building in the Gothic revival style, quaintly titled Peverel’s Honor and located in the Iffley suburbs. It had been in the Phantomhive family for three generations, initially purchased when Ciel’s grandfather attended Weston. The deed was technically still under the Phantomhive name and was therefore Ciel’s property by birthright, but the Midfords used it a few times a year to visit Edward, and Ciel tended to refer to the house as theirs. The last time Ciel was in Oxford two and a half years ago, it had been to celebrate Edward’s first semester as an upperclassman.

“It’s a shame we’re never going to be in school together,” Edward had said slyly, when the boys were alone in the sitting room one evening. “It’s perfectly acceptable to boss around the younger boys at Weston. Family or not.”

“Is that so?” Ciel had responded in a matching tone. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve been at least one prefect’s doormat?”

“What? I-I’m not talking about me! It’s just common is all!”

Ciel smiled like a fox. “I’d love to disrupt such a hierarchy. I would pay an older boy to take down anyone who tried to make me his vassal.”

Edward had gazed at him hard, as if seeing the Queen’s guard dog side of his cousin for the first time. “It’s not as though they’re bullies about it. There’s a kind of camaraderie to the whole thing, really,” he’d mumbled, and quickly changed the subject to Funtom’s latest collection of glass marbles that he knew Ciel could get him for free.

In the present, the carriage stopped at the white front door with its shining custom knocker of a lion’s head. Ciel pushed back the curtain a bit. “I can see Lizzie coming downstairs through the big window.” Sebastian did recall that running just inside the front wall of the house was a diagonal stairwell that would put Elizabeth directly at the front door, and the marvelous two-story windowpane that made this view possible. By the time Sebastian had exited the carriage and opened the door for Ciel to step out, here the girl came, and not in a flurry of bows and lace but a champagne-colored tea gown with tight floral embroidery on the bodice. Her arms swallowed up her fiancé before he could give her a proper greeting.

“You’re here!” Elizabeth cheered. Even if her clothing was uncharacteristically reserved, her enthusiasm was not. She pressed her face against Ciel’s, knocking off his top hat, which Sebastian dutifully caught. “I was so happy when you told us you could come! I thought for sure you would say no… and I didn’t want to get my hopes up until I saw you! But you’re here! Oh, it’s going to be such fun! And we have so many great things to do! Tonight we’re going to a party, and there’s the cricket match tomorrow, and then it will be Easter, and after that—”

“A-A party?” Ciel choked. He pushed the girl away gently. “Lizzie, don’t bounce around with me, you’re making my head spin… What’s this about a party?”

Lizzie took one of his gloved hands in both of hers. “I’ll tell you all about it — but the most important thing is that there’s going to be a huge garden and something beautiful made of ice. Anyway, come in, come in! You’ve had half a day of travel, so you must be tired. You’ll want to rest up before we go, won’t you? Are you hungry, by the way? Hammond went to our favorite bakery in Oxford and brought back all sorts of local sweets for us to have at teatime. I do so love Sebastian’s éclairs, but Pâtisserie Tropez does the most wonderful decorations with chopped pistachios!”

Ciel was then whisked indoors, leaving Sebastian to tip the coach driver and gather up the young master’s belongings. At the entrance, he immediately caught Lizzie chirruping farther from upstairs.

“Mother, Mother, Ciel’s just arrived! Let’s have tea now so I can show him the éclairs! Also, we must tell him about the party tonight! It’s held twice a year for the families who donate the most to the school, so it’s a very nice event. Weston’s treasurer, Mr. Goode, holds the party at his manor, and you should see his topiary maze! Last year I made it to the middle and there was a glorious fountain with nymphs and dolphins made out of stone, but then I got lost on the way out, and Mr. Goode had to send in his servants to find me—”

“Elizabeth, please, I’ve told you that you must quit that habit of rambling when you’re excited.” The marchioness entered the second-floor sitting room just as Sebastian crested the stairs. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and the corners of her mouth turned up just a bit at the sight of her nephew. “Well, well, good to see you’ve arrived in one piece, Ciel. I hope Lizzie hasn’t filled your ears with so much chatter that you’ll want a rest from conversation already.” Aunt Francis raised an eyebrow, and Lizzie laughed sheepishly, brightly. “Let’s have a seat, and why don’t you tell—”

“Ah, there he is—!”

The second interruption was caused by Ciel’s uncle Alexis. He hustled into the room next, brushing past his wife and seizing Ciel from his daughter in that same signature embrace. “Welcome, my boy, welcome! We are so delighted you could join us in Oxford! It’s been quite a while since you were last here, hasn’t it? Aren’t we in luck that you could make it for Easter!”

“Um, it’s good to see you too, Uncle Alexis,” Ciel coughed out from beneath the sturdy arms of the British Empire’s head knight. Once released, he seemed dazed. “I’m… I’m glad I could make it too. It’s… good to be here.”

“What a whirlwind you both are,” Francis Midford sighed at her family. “Let him sit and talk with us. Where is Hammond, or Broglie? Alexis, go ring for them, have one of them prepare us some tea.”

“Allow me to take care of that,” Sebastian cut in then, “as soon as I’ve delivered the young master’s luggage to his room, of course.”

The butler’s welcome was never as warm as his lord’s, naturally, but Elizabeth did not keep her pleasantries in short supply. “Oh, Sebastian, how could I forget about you? Welcome back to Peverel’s Honor! You were only here once before, right? Ciel will be staying in the same guest room as last time. It’s just down that hallway to the right, do you remember which door?”

Sebastian bowed his head, hefting up the three suitcases. “Armed with your kind instruction, Miss Elizabeth, I recall exactly where. Do pardon my intrusion on your conversation. I’ll return promptly with the tea and éclairs.”

The king-size bed was dressed in winter sheets, which was fine since the air still held a chill on misty mornings. Sebastian laid out tonight’s outfit and located a smoothing iron and board in the armoire. Then he went to where he remembered the kitchen and servants’ quarters were downstairs, passing through the sitting room again on his way. Ciel was on a Rococo loveseat next to Elizabeth, who was hugging his arm, while his uncle and aunt sat across, Alexis beaming and Francis reserved. Then she leaned over the coffee table that separated her from the children to touch at Ciel’s hair, making some comment about its length or style, scolding him lightly. Ciel leaned away initially but then let her tuck a stray bang behind his ear, rebuked her opinions softly as she attempted to smooth it all down with her hands. It flopped back into place as soon as she let the strands go. Alexis and Lizzie laughed, and Francis pulled away, shaking her head.

Yes, thought Sebastian, surely this is where he belongs.

Chapter Text

“Young master, after all the Queen’s errands you’ve been on, it would be a real tragedy for you to drown in the tub.”

Ciel’s eyes snapped open and he looked around the guest bathroom. The water splashed with his twisting waist. “What—? I’m in the bath, I’m not... I’m... Oh.” He rubbed at his face with wet hands and sank lower into the warm suds. “Ugh… damn it, not again. Why is it that when I finally try to repair my sleep habits, they’re more horrid than ever before?”

Sebastian almost dumped a pitcher of water over the boy’s soapy head but stopped himself in time as Ciel, again, yawned enormously. “I believe your aunt said you would not be staying at the party for longer than two hours,” he reasoned. “If you manage to remain awake throughout, you’ll fall asleep at a normal hour tonight and then perhaps everything will shift into place.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Ciel grumbled. “Of course, it’s never that easy for me.”

“My, it sounds like a child’s cautionary tale, doesn’t it? The Little Lord Who Couldn’t Stay Awake During the Party,” Sebastian smirked, and Ciel clambered out of the bath, not without a few snarled retorts in his butler’s direction.

Peverel’s Honor had been through a number of refurbishments across the generations, but for the second story floors only so much could be done. Therefore the old wooden planks of Ciel’s grandfather’s era were still intact in the bathroom and were more of a hassle to take care of than tile or brick. Once Ciel was dressed for the occasion, Sebastian immediately went in search of extra towels to clean up any standing water that could cause the floorboards to rot. Lizzie’s maid Paula directed him to the storage closet down the opposite hallway, and he thanked her before making his way there.

“You don’t suppose Lady Dawes will be at the party tonight, do you, dear?”

The voice coming from the master bedroom belonged to Alexis Midford. Sebastian generally gave all external conversation his secondary attention, and so he did not become attentive to it until his charge’s name was spoken.

“Do I suppose? I don’t know. Why do you ask?” Francis returned. She was likely at her toilette, as there was the soft clatter of things being picked up and put down again.

“I’m just thinking of what she might say to Ciel.”

Sebastian paused before the closet.

Francis scoffed that. “What are the chances of him talking with her, do you think? Lady Dawes is an old widow and he’s just a boy, after all.”

“Well, I don’t think that he’d approach her, but she might seek him out, if she knows he’s there.”

“Hmm. Yes, she of all people would go so far, wouldn’t she?” Francis sighed out her nose. “I believe last year she had retired by eight o’clock. If we arrive at seven thirty, the chances of the two meeting are slim. And nobody else will care that we invited him.”

“… Have you ever asked Ciel why he doesn’t donate to Weston?” Alexis asked after a pause.

“No. I scarcely ask him about money anymore. I used to meet with his accountant in private when he first began managing his own funds, but he’s really very smart about his finances, so I trust him to do what he thinks is best… Don’t tell him I said that.”

Alexis was surprised. “Why ever not?”

“Because,” Francis continued matter-of-factly, “he shouldn’t relax when it comes to me. Someday he’ll have to take care of Elizabeth too. I don’t ever want him to think I’ll ‘settle’ for how he manages his wages or his business or… anything, really. I have minimum expectations, but not maximum, and he can always be striving for more.”

“He is only fourteen,” Alexis reminded.

“He is a Phantomhive,” Francis reminded back.

There was the subtle movement of shoes on carpet, and then, “You have the strongest will in all of Europe, darling. I fell in love the day you beat me in the Queen’s tournament, and you’ve been parrying me ever since. I never can decide if you’re more beautiful when you finally let your guard down or when you keep fighting with everything you have.”

“Oh, stop it,” Francis chided, but warmly, and there was a whisper of sound as the couple briefly kissed. Sebastian opened the closet and chose three towels that seemed the most worn-out before traveling back to the guest bath.

The number of stray cats wandering the alleys of Oxford were too numerous to count — this Sebastian knew. But he had learned his lesson from the Shrove Tuesday party and tonight he would not gather any of them in his arms for entertainment. Instead he would train his focus on Ciel as best he could, because he refused to spend months wondering about some new attitude again. Considering the Midford’s discussion of this Lady Dawes character and Ciel’s short fuse from a lack of sleep, conflict seemed a high possibility.

They took the Midford’s five-glass landau to the party. Sebastian did not drive but rode in the boot — the Midford’s Broglie was the senior butler while he and Ciel were here, and there was only one space remaining in the front. The journey was not long but took them to the city proper, along the Thames by the Weston recreation grounds and the Christ Church Meadow. Weston’s treasurer, of course, would live on a piece of prime real estate near the school, in a manor half the size of Ciel’s but quite large considering the territory. Little lanterns guided the way up the drive and the house itself was a bull’s-eye of light and sound in the dark. The air was balmy tonight, and party-goers were made giddy by the breath of spring. It was England, the next rain shower was only a thought away — they’d enjoy the good weather each moment it lasted.

A short queue of fellow carriages deposited noble ladies and gentlemen at the manor’s entrance. When their own carriage made it to the front, Sebastian descended the boot and put down the long step to let the passengers out. Lizzie emerged first, wearing a sky blue silk gown with white lace and pink accoutrements, and Ciel followed after his aunt in an old favorite blue coat and trousers that just fit by Sebastian’s standards. Lizzie had been upset that she and her fiancé didn’t match, but there hadn’t been enough time to plan coordinating outfits tonight. “At least we’ll have Easter to look alike,” she’d lamented; Ciel lamented too, but for the very opposite reason.

The family went into the yellow glow of the doorway, and Sebastian climbed back aboard as Hammond flicked the reins to find a place to park the horses. The coach was stationed about five minutes away down an unpaved dirt road, amongst other nobles’ vehicles. Broglie went to sleep in the compartment, and Hammond lit a cigarette and went to chat with footmen from other houses who’d parked nearby; there was nothing for the servants to do but wait when the rich clicked glasses. Sebastian had no trouble slipping away unnoticed in the direction of the house. The darkness was a swift disguise. Within it, even humans became panthers. It turned demons into water and air.

In this darkness, Sebastian could observe the party through the windows. The inside world was gold and platinum. A hundred humans in a single room glittered with white wine and white jewels. Men were as different as sparrows and finches in their suits, while each woman was as unique as a shell. The whole room was awash in starry flames that reflected off every facet of every chandelier, every polished piece of furniture, every tooth when the people tipped back their heads in laughter, lost in their fabricated heaven.

Sebastian marveled the scene but was not dazzled. He did not lose sight of his mission. When focused, his sharp ears could make out individual discussions, and as a hound roots through a cacophony of scents to find the rabbit’s, Sebastian sifted through the voices until Ciel’s was the only one he heard. He followed that voice all around its sweep of the room, the voice of a prideful boy trying his best to sound interested and interesting when all he wanted to do was sleep and be left well alone. Sebastian fancied only he could decipher all the undertones of that voice.

An hour passed. Ciel faced a few small trials in that span: an intoxicated man gestured with his wine glass and splashed the boy’s shoulder; a runaway lapdog had nibbled at his shoe and untied one of his laces; he wasn’t in time to get a slice of cherry Madeira cake before it was all eaten. The fullness of the room began to overwhelm him too, and Ciel allowed himself a break by the far wall, where some of the spring air came in from the open doors leading to the gardens.

“Excuse me. Excuse me, boy, who are you? Yes, you. Tell me your name.”

There were few English words that Sebastian held disdain for. ‘Crotchety’ was one of them, and that was precisely how Sebastian felt this old woman’s tone should be described. He could not see her or the boy from his position, but he could imagine the scene, her leaning in too close and Ciel’s contained annoyance at being so addressed.

Ciel introduced himself with polite confusion and quite a bit of hesitation. He had been groomed to handle even the most awkward social interactions, though this one did come with strange circumstances: no one had introduced the two properly, he was not entirely sure how to speak to her until he knew her status, and it was likely she could only get away with being so forward because she was old or high-titled. “And who do I have the pleasure of knowing this evening...?” he asked slowly.

“I,” she said, putting on airs, “am Lady Opal Dawes, great aunt of your kind host, Mr. Theodore Goode.”

Ah, did it even take a demon’s intuition to know the forewarned meeting would occur after all? And it was past eight o’clock too.

“You would know this,” Lady Dawes continued, “if you had come to one of my nephew’s parties before, and you would have come to one of my nephew’s parties before if you were a benefactor. But I know everybody who donates to the school, and I know you have not — I don’t recognize you, and I would have seen your name before. What are you doing here?”

Ciel seemed floored by this accusation, and rightfully so. “I’m… I’m here with my family, the Midfords.”

“Yes, I know,” Lady Dawes said quickly, as if this conversation she herself began was a waste of time. “I know the Marchioness of Scotney was a Phantomhive before she married the Marquis; I daresay I know your family better than you do, seeing as they used to come to these parties before you were even born. Your grandfather and your father, Weston was their alma mater, and they donated graciously each year to the school’s upkeep. But we both know why those contributions stopped. What I don’t know is why you didn’t take up their mantle after they passed. Which wouldn’t be my business,” Lady Dawes pressed, “if you hadn’t decided you were invited here tonight after refusing to show the devotion to education that your forefathers did.”

Ciel was stunned into silence. Sebastian could tell by the sway of voices around the two that guests nearby had begun to notice the altercation. No one yet came to Ciel’s aid, so the boy was forced to speak for himself. “I came because I was invited by my aunt,” he finally stuttered out. His words began to grow hot. “If I’d known I wouldn’t be welcome here, I certainly wouldn’t have come.”

“You could have assumed it,” the old woman said. “You are young, but I hear a great deal about you and your exploits, you aren’t stupid — leading me to believe you withheld donations with a purpose in mind.”

“I promise you, I had no such designs,” Ciel said thickly, “and the ramblings of an angry old woman certainly aren’t about to change my opinion on the subject!”

Lady Dawes gasped. “Well, I never—”

“Great Aunt Opal.” A middle-aged woman’s voice cut through the exchange. She was likely the sister or wife of Theodore Goode. Sebastian could tell she would be too submissive to end the widow’s tirade. “It’s getting late, dear, how about we get you to bed? I believe all the company has made you excited.”

Lady Dawes ignored her niece or daughter-in-law. “What a good man I thought Vincent Phantomhive was,” she rattled on, “but if this is how his son behaves, then I see his goodness only went so far. I can only imagine what he would say if he were here right now!”

“Aunt Opal, that’s enough of that...”

“Yes, you can ‘only imagine,’” Ciel said shakily, “because I don’t believe you really know anything about who my father was.”

“Do you? ” Lady Dawes marveled. “How old were you when he passed again? Eight years? Nine? I probably remember him as well as you do. As far as I’m concerned, you’re too young to understand—”

“Shut up! ”

For the briefest moment, the chatter beyond the bright window dithered into whispers. Even Sebastian felt something in him go still. He could not see Ciel’s face in the crowd, merely a triangle of blue coat within a halo of gold ambience — then Aunt Francis called sharply above the din, “Ciel! ” and the blue went dashing off into the gardens outside.

Well, well, how the drama had unfolded. The Shrove Tuesday party was a mere sideshow attraction in comparison to this.

Sebastian moved silently from the shadows of the window to the shadows of the garden to see Ciel escaping into the infamous topiary maze. Francis Midford was behind him in twenty seconds, still calling his name. In polite society, she was a woman of stature before she was a mother, but this was an unusual occasion and her emotions too pushed her to act. Because of her skirts she could not keep up, however, and the boy’s head start gave him an advantage.

Sebastian found his charge in an instant but did not reveal himself. He stayed a wall of hedges away from the boy and watched through the leaves as Ciel paced the corridors, looking over his shoulder every few yards to make sure no one was behind him before continuing. Ciel walked quickly, his hands balled into fists by his sides. A natural at puzzles, it wasn’t long before he found the stone fountain Lizzie told him about, marble benches surrounding the structure. Ciel sat on one. He stayed like that for a minute, clenching his fists tightly, until they suddenly loosened and he pulled his legs to his chest, pressing his face into them.

“Oh, dear… Now what could this be about?”

At once Ciel jumped to his feet, rubbing his face hastily on his forearm. Sebastian was similarly surprised; he hadn’t noticed anybody else’s presence either, so fixated had he been on the boy. “Wh-Who is it?” Ciel said quickly. “I’m, um, who else is here?” Ciel’s stance said he was prepared to leave again, not yet ready for any confrontation about what had just happened indoors.

A tall, broad-shouldered man walked around from his seat at the opposite end of the fountain. A full head of dark brown hair spilled from under a sleek black top hat, though his face said he must be in his early forties at least. A plump cravat was clamped beneath his paisley vest, over which he wore a herringbone frock coat. He stopped when he was about three yards from the new arrival. Then he smiled politely.

“Beg your pardon, young man,” the stranger said with a dip of his head, “do you mind if I ask what seems to be the trouble? You appear distressed.”

Ciel took a step back slowly. “No… No, excuse me, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t bothering anyone who might be enjoying the fountain…”

“Sit. Please,” the man offered, gesturing at the bench Ciel had just left. Ciel hesitated. “I don’t bite,” he laughed, “nor do I bark. And I’ve been told I’m quite good at keeping secrets. Now, tell me, why should a young person your age look so distraught?”

Sebastian smirked. Ciel had trouble confiding in anyone, and he certainly wasn’t going to suddenly improve with a stranger. The boy opened his mouth to respond but it was Aunt Francis who stole the silence. “Ciel Phantomhive, there you are!” She appeared from the opposite entrance to the fountain area, holding her skirts with both hands. “Don’t you dare run off again, you stay right there… Ciel! How could you speak to Lady Dawes like that? I am so appalled and ashamed, I am beside myself with anger! What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ciel was glaring at the ground. He was quiet.

Francis put her hands on her hips. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she repeated. “A woman her age… What could she possibly have done to make you that upset?!”

Before the boy could answer, the gentleman gave a short laugh. “Are we thinking of the same Lady Dawes?” he said jovially. “I don’t know what the lad has said, but if anyone can pry discouraging words from a mouth, it’s her.”

Francis seemed to see the stranger for the first time. “Pardon me, but this is between my nephew and I,” she said. “He told a respectable woman and the host’s great aunt to ‘shut up,’ if you must know. Whatever she said to him, it was probably hard to hear; I’m familiar with her commentary, and I know she doesn’t mince words. Despite that,” she aimed her attention at Ciel, “that does not give you permission to speak to her the way you did. You must go apologize to her right now.”

Ciel’s head whipped up at that. “Apologize to her? ” His words were full of offense.

“You heard me,” Francis snapped. “At this point it’s the only salve we have. I refuse to let you leave this party without giving your most sincere regrets to Lady Dawes and Mr. Goode — don’t look at me that way, Ciel, you know it’s what must be done! Now, don’t stand there anymore, we have to make our way out of this ridiculous maze you made me chase you into, and you must prepare a very heartfelt speech while we walk…”

“Wait.” Francis and Ciel turned to the stranger, who held his top hat in his hands. “I think I have somewhat of an understanding of what happened,” he said. “I want to help, if I can. Mr. Goode and I have been friends for some time. I know all about Lady Dawes.” He smiled, somewhat sneakily. “She’s a tough old bird, and she’s worried of becoming irrelevant, so she causes a scene when she can.”

Francis looked at the gentleman narrowly. “You speak boldly yourself.”

“Boldly, perhaps. But also honestly,” the man said. He turned to Ciel. “You’re Earl Phantomhive,” he went on. “You’re a clever young man — anyone acquainted with your work can attest to that. I want to believe that whatever Lady Dawes said to you tonight, your anger was, in part, justified. Even if your words were strong,” he added when Francis shot him another look.

Ciel glanced between the adults in a sort of peculiar wonderment. He was facing the gentleman when he finally responded. “She… that is Lady Dawes, she asked me why I was at the party since I’m not a benefactor to Weston. And when I said that my family invited me to join them, she seemed to think I wasn’t donating any money because I was against the school or something of that nature… and then she started speaking poorly of my late father, and I…” Ciel suddenly seemed to feel embarrassed by his own explanation. “It isn’t like me to lose control like that. But I’ve been a little under the weather this week. I don’t know what came over me.”

“What came over you?” The stranger looked taken aback. “What boy wouldn’t be upset at someone criticizing his father? Excuse me — what young man wouldn’t be upset, I meant to say… but regardless, hearing this, I now feel I completely understand your actions.”

“I don’t want to justify this,” Francis clarified. Then she sighed. “Ciel… the way you spoke to Lady Dawes wasn’t acceptable, and you still must apologize to her. But I feel… a bit relieved and a bit angry to hear how she spoke to you, too. The truth is, I was afraid she might seek you out tonight and give you a piece of her mind. Perhaps I should have taken more precautions to make sure this didn’t happen in the first place.”

Ciel’s shoulders drooped and he propped up his bangs with the back of his hand. “What’s done is done, unfortunately… It doesn’t matter why I said what I did. People are going to talk, and the only part that anyone will care about is that I was very rude to a woman five times my age.”

“Not I,” the gentleman chipped in. “Make your apology gracious and allow me to do the rest… If anyone can be sure the Phantomhive name is a good one, it’s Henri Fairclough.”

That’s when Ciel backpedaled, and even Sebastian’s own lips turned in a fractal of a smile. “You’re—?!” Ciel sputtered, eyes widening. “You’re Henri Fairclough,” he exclaimed, and gave a short laugh. “So this isn’t the first time you have my gratitude — but now you’re more than a signature on a cheque. What an honor it is to meet you in-person, Mr. Fairclough. I only wish I had presented myself less…” Ciel grimaced. “Less… in the way that I presented myself tonight.”

Fairclough laughed boomingly. “I couldn’t resist keeping my identity a secret any longer! And it’s a pleasure to meet you in-person too, Earl. I had no idea that…” He tapered off and restarted. “I had no idea you would be at this party tonight.”

“You live in Clermont-Ferrand most of the year, don’t you? I assumed we would never cross paths,” Ciel admitted.

Fairclough looked impressed. “Well! Your French accent is quite good!”

Ciel tucked his hands behind his back. “Plus que simplement mon accent est bon.”

Now Fairclough looked thrilled. Aunt Francis refused to stay in the dark any longer. “Mr. Fairclough, what is your relation to my nephew?” she demanded.

“Mr. Fairclough has been the highest bidder at almost all of my display auctions,” Ciel explained in the man’s stead. “The toys featured in the store display windows are sold at the end of each season, and the money is donated to orphanages and workhouses across England. For the displays, toys are often specially made, and are larger or of a better quality than the ones that are sold to the public, making them a collector’s item. Mr. Fairclough’s name has come to my attention a number of times. I am very grateful for his patronage.”

“And I am very grateful to have met you in person!” Fairclough said, shaking Ciel’s hand suddenly and with vigor. Ciel was startled by this but masked it quickly. “Lady Midford… your nephew has my utmost respect. You can be certain that I will keep tonight’s incident from traveling farther than Mr. Goode’s doorstep.”

Mr. Goode and the woman who turned out to be his wife were actually quite reasonable about the whole event. They apologized before Ciel could: Mrs. Goode had overheard the entire conversation, and could not believe Lady Dawes had been so inappropriate with her claims. “We never want our guests to feel unwelcome, no matter who they are,” Mr. Goode promised.

“Thank you. Regardless, I shouldn’t have spoken that way.” Ciel’s apology, Sebastian could tell, was at least somewhat sincere, likely motivated by the Goodes’ civility. “I lost control of my temper, and I shouldn’t have. It isn’t right for a gentleman to speak to a lady so.”

Mr. Goode dismissed him with a hand raised. “Lady Dawes was nearly asking for it. You should have seen her after you ran off! She went upstairs unassisted for the first time in a year! Whatever you said to her, it gave her an energy boost. She was only pretending to be upset… At her age, the only joy she has left is in seeing she can still create her own gossip.”

Even with that graciousness, Aunt Francis was not going to let Ciel off the hook just yet. She rounded up her husband and Lizzie to leave at once, saying to Ciel in a harsh whisper as they approached the carriage, “We will talk about this further at home.” None of the Midfords were surprised at Sebastian's clairvoyance to have the landau prepared for their early departure. Ciel, however, glared at Sebastian in a way that said I know the reason you're here on-time is because you overheard everything that happened, bastard. Sebastian smiled sweetly back and closed the door behind his lord.

The talk on the way home was loud from the women and non-existent from the men. “You have my support, Ciel,” Lizzie declared. “The way Lady Dawes talked to you was ever so rude! She deserved to taste some of her own medicine!”

“Elizabeth, I will not have you responding to rumors with such a strong opinion!” Francis barked back. “I know you didn’t overhear the conversation — and Ciel is your fiancé, not your husband, and I don’t give you permission to back him on every one of his decisions yet.”

“Mother, you should be angry too! Lady Dawes was speaking poorly of your own brother!”

“I have no need to respond with anger. It isn’t becoming to be riled up by the opinions of others, particularly when they are unfounded. Lady Dawes is your elder. She is an adult and in charge of her own reputation. You and Ciel are still young, and I will not condone speaking your mind whenever you please!”

“But we don’t speak our mind whenever we please! Ciel was just defending himself!”

“This isn’t a discussion, Elizabeth, this is a matter of etiquette, and it has undoubtedly been breached. Keeping calm during an argument is one of the least expectations I have of you children.”

“But Mother—!”

“No more, Elizabeth!”

The rest of the ride was held in silence.

Sebastian opened the compartment door once they arrived at Peverel’s. He helped the women out with his hand, and closed the door after the men followed. Ciel refused to look at his butler as he went inside. Alexis touched Francis on the arm and said, “Dear, before you speak with Ciel, a word?” The lights in the house came on as Broglie lit them, and Hammond and Sebastian road to the carriage house to put the horses away. When Sebastian came in through the servant's entrance, he sensed the souls of Alexis and his wife in their own bedroom, and considered it safe to approach Ciel in his.

Ciel knew Sebastian by his knock, and called gruffly, “Come in, damn demon.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, shutting the door behind him, “it seems tonight was rather eventful, wasn’t it, young master?”

“Don’t be coy,” Ciel spat from his bed, arms folded tightly across his chest, “you know all the details already, you don’t need me to lay them out for you. Ugh! That awful woman pissed me off!”

“Indeed,” Sebastian said. “I didn’t realize such an evaluation of your predecessor would cause you to lash out so.”

Ciel shot up from the pillows. “It’s not that at all! I hate presumptuous people! She thought that because she met my father a few times that she knew him! What a joke! And then Mr. Goode basically confirmed that she just wanted to make me mad! As if I’m not already exhausted enough from this wretched week, and now my aunt must think I’ve developed such a quick trigger finger that I’m no longer suitable to be taken out in public!”

Sebastian tutted. “And now you wait like a schoolboy for the cane.”

“Be quiet,” Ciel snapped. “This is ridiculous too. I don’t need an adult to tell me how or how not to behave. I already know I made a fool of myself.” He crossed his arms again, leaning back down to the pillows. Then he looked at Sebastian sidelong, carefully. “I know what I said was rash, but… Well, what do you think? Lady Dawes was being rude too, wasn’t she? I mean, I could have come up with something much more formal, but… But you don’t think I was unjustified in saying what I did, do you?”

Ciel’s expression had changed during those last couple of sentences. There was a sort of pleading in his eye that Sebastian recognized from when his charges realized their contract was coming to a close. But Ciel wasn’t asking for his life — he was asking for support.

The truth of the matter was, Sebastian did not really have a strong opinion. No, of course he didn’t think his master should have spoken that way to a lady — but at the same time, what Ciel had said paled in comparison to Lady Dawes’ slights. She was not a senile old woman who’d forgotten how to hold her tongue; she had purposefully whetted her words like iron daggers in hopes of drawing blood. Some grown men would have had trouble staying level-headed, and undoubtedly most boys. Not to mention, Ciel was an aristocrat himself. It was within his rights to defend his bloodline.

But this was also Sebastian’s chance to dissuade Ciel’s faith in his guidance. And he promised himself he would push the boy away.

“I believe,” Sebastian said, “that your aunt has a point of her own, young master.”

Ciel wrinkled up his nose, betrayed. The pleading in his blue eye turned to scorn. He looked like he was about to curse at Sebastian when another knock came to the door. Ciel turned his unspoken words into a glare. “Come in,” he called, with contained emotion.

“Hello, nephew.” Instead of Francis, Uncle Alexis entered the room, then blinked when he saw the butler. “Oh, Sebastian! I hope you weren’t busy working in here, but I’d appreciate it if you came back later. I would like to speak to my nephew in private.”

“... Certainly, sir.” Sebastian turned away from the cold fire in his master’s gaze and left the family to themselves, shutting the door gently behind him.

Going against Ciel had been the right thing to do. He believed this, and yet Sebastian felt the regret rising in his chest for just a hair of a second and feared it. First sympathy and now regret. Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. If he was reciprocating his charge’s feelings, it only could mean that their connection was all the stronger, that he was cultivating a tastier soul than ever before. Or it could mean the opposite, or anything in between. No one had mentored Sebastian in demonhood. His life was one of trial and error, utter guesswork, and until this very instant in time, that had been enough.

Perhaps, thought Sebastian, I too need a holiday.

Of course a full-fledged leave of absence was nothing he had interest in, but a thirty-minute respite would do. Which was how he came to be stationed in a tree outside Ciel’s bedroom with a calico mistress cradled in his arms as a mother with her infant.

An esteemed butler should feel a bit disgraceful about all the eavesdropping he now participated in. Sebastian quashed this by telling himself he had to hear how Alexis spoke with Ciel. If Alexis addressed the boy’s needs, Sebastian could rely on him to teach Ciel about the business of growing up. And if not… the hunt for a suitable teacher continued.

Sebastian tuned his ears to the discussion after its start. Alexis was saying, “Your aunt told me what she overheard, but I’m sure you have a different perspective. Would you mind explaining to me what Lady Dawes said to you?”

Ciel sighed. “I’m sorry, Uncle Alexis, but I really don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. I’m very tired, and I honestly feel ashamed about the whole thing. It isn’t like me to act that way. I’m sorry that I did.”

“To act… what way?” Alexis pressed.

Ciel huffed. “Without heed.”

“Heed of what?”

“Heed of—? Of how the other person feels, of course! What else would I mean?” Ciel burst. Then he groaned in self-contempt. “Just listen to me… I’m still out of sorts. I’m sorry, Uncle Alexis. The truth is, I’ve had an awful time sleeping this week, and it’s made me very temperamental. I was spouting off at my servants every day before I came to Oxford. Now I’ve been rude to a stranger, and to you. I don’t like acting this way. It would be better if you left me to sleep, before I get any worse.”

Alexis was contemplative. He had pulled the desk chair over to the bedside when he entered the bedroom and he shifted his weight on the cushion. “Ciel… I think it was good that you talked back to Lady Dawes tonight.”

Ciel swung forward on the edge of the mattress. “What…?!”

“Because,” Alexis explained, “if you hadn’t, you would have hid your anger from us, and then I wouldn’t have the chance to ask what you really thought about what she said to you.”

Sebastian felt the cat bite his hand, unsatisfied with the way he stroked her belly.

“It helps to know what she said at all,” Alexis prompted.

Ciel cleared his throat. “What she said does not excuse my behavior.”

“Perhaps; perhaps not. I’d still like to hear her words and why they upset you.” A pause. “I know, at the very least, that she insulted your father, Ciel.”

“… Yes, she did insult my father,” Ciel sighed, “but it only upset me because I was tired and easily angered. If I weren’t tired, I don’t think it would have hardly mattered so much to me. Which is why I really need to rest, Uncle Alexis. May we please discuss this at a later time?”

“We’ll have to get ready for the cricket match in a hurry tomorrow morning, which is why I wanted to talk now.” Alexis stood up. “I wanted to let you know that you haven’t embarrassed me. I’ve never seen you behave that way before. I felt as though your aunt was too quick to scold. It doesn’t do any good to avoid the root of the problem.” Ciel gave a yawn, likely trying to speed things along, and Alexis finally relented. “I mainly wanted to give you the assurance that the air will clear. You rest, and I’ll assuage Francis. Tomorrow we’ll all enjoy the cricket tournament as it’s meant to be enjoyed.”

“Um, yes. Thank you,” Ciel said hastily. “I'm looking forward to it, too.”

“We’ll be leaving the house tomorrow at eleven. Sebastian has already been told. Do get some rest now, nephew. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Alexis. And, um…” Then Ciel put on a grateful voice that Sebastian knew was strictly for lying with. “Thank you, again, for worrying about me. I urge you to think no more of it. I’m sure I’ll feel myself again after a full night’s sleep.”

Alexis stood in the doorway. “I hope you do. But we’ll talk about this more later. See you in the morning, then.”

“Ah, yes…” Ciel couldn’t hide his perturbation at being unable to shake his uncle off. The door shut and he flopped back against the bed, began undoing the buttons of his vest. “Sebastian.”

The cat was placed gently on the lawn. She swiftly mixed into the ink of darkness.

“Don’t come to me. I can get ready for bed on my own.”

Where do the cats go at night? Sebastian could not sense any more paws on the grass, save those of the calico that had longed to desert him. Rats in the city, mice in the country, but naught in the suburbs but a demon. The light in his lord’s room went out. The silhouettes of Alexis and Francis sat close together. The stars shone ravenously above. So like demons, they were: beautiful, sparkling wish-fulfillers that, on closer suspect, were made of hellfire. Humans drew stars with five points, like hands. The sky was full of those tiny hands, reaching from millions of miles away, reaching out for humanity, the only thing that believed in them. Such faith humans put in celestial bodies. They did not realize gods needed humans just as much, if not more, than humans needed gods. Oh, the brilliance of mortality; oh, the inevitability of death. The question wasn’t when death would strike, rather which hand would reach down from the skies to take the soul when it was ripe.

But even the gods, they cannot say where it is the cats go at night.

Chapter Text

Ciel had not been entirely eager to talk with his uncle last night, but Sebastian deemed Alexis a worthy mentor anyway. How could he not have recognized it sooner? Though Francis was the definition of order and class, Alexis was a father figure, a graciously warm man who would be happy to sit one-on-one with Ciel and illustrate the truths of adulthood. At any rate, he seemed to embody all the qualities that Tanaka said would most benefit Ciel at this stage.

Sebastian would make certain to speak to the marquis about his newfound duty come sunrise. But before that, there was shopping to be done.

Peverel’s Honor was stocked with only non-perishables, and even that supply was meager. There was sugar, but none of it brown, olive oil, but not extra-virgin. Because the Midfords had not intended to stay this long either, the house was almost empty of food: only bread, eggs, and eight rashers of bacon remained for breakfast. This would all have to be remedied, and it could be done much more quickly on Sebastian’s own.

Before leaving for Oxford’s market, Sebastian lit a fire in the fireplace of the house’s hunting lodge-style main room. Ciel and the Midfords considered the antlers and redwood paneling a bit tacky, and only seemed to keep it that way for posterity’s sake — Ciel’s great-grandfather had been an avid hunter. The family spent very little time in that area, despite how large of a space it was. The reason for the fire was not so much to warm the room as it was to heat up the flat iron so that Sebastian could properly tend to Ciel’s clothes on his return. He balanced the iron above the flames on its proffered hanger, and then he was out the door.

Sebastian was at the early market when the sky had gone from amethyst to rich pink. He bought a pork shoulder that was just the same in color. Then he bought rump steak and chicken liver and ground sausage, and slid coins to the butcher until it was clear he wouldn’t leave without the lamb chops that most resembled jasper marble. He purchased the whitest milk and a brick of yellow butter and a mature pale cheese. Then there were jars of pickled pearl onions, full to bursting, and great, earthy potatoes, and baguettes that crackled beneath the gentlest fingertips. There were brown eggs and imported sherry and a bundle of thyme like a bouquet. The farmers at their stalls marveled at this butler, whose master had clearly instructed he buy nothing less than the finest goods. What was especially impressive was that the man carried all this food in a crate in his arms, as if it were no more than a box of orphaned kittens…

Back home in the kitchen, Broglie, Paula, and Hammond watched in equal awe as Sebastian turned this treasure trove of ingredients into pâté, scotch eggs, Cornish pasties, pork pies, hot cross buns, and quiches, all before eight o’clock. “Be certain that these keep cold and these keep warm,” Sebastian directed the Midford staff, “while I see to it that breakfast is made.”

Paula returned to Sebastian’s side while he fried yolk-drenched bread in a pan. “We cannot thank you enough for all of your help this morning,” she said, in a voice made both light and heavy with relief. “None of us have proper kitchen experience, and we were worried when we discovered the Midfords wanted to stay till Easter Sunday. We knew few restaurants would be open that day to accommodate them, and those that were would be full. We were completely uncertain about how to proceed with meal preparation during their extended stay. Your presence here is truly a godsend, Mr. Michaelis.”

Sebastian smiled in a way that could pass for appreciation, instead of the amusement that it was. “What I find most curious are the circumstances that have led the Midfords to remain in Oxford this long. Last night’s party and today’s cricket match — it surprises me that the marquis and marchioness were not properly informed of these events before they arrived.”

“That was the truly strange thing about it: nobody was,” Paula said. “The party for the benefactors and the cricket match — all of this was planned at the last minute, within ten days’ time.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, genuinely perplexed. “And despite that, quite a number of guests seemed to be visiting the Goodes’s residence last night.”

“Mr. Goode’s parties are very popular with the gentry,” Paula explained. “The first party of the year is usually held closer to the social season, you see, and I’m sure people took measures to be certain they could make it. It’s a fine opportunity for the benefactors to speak with other parents about sons and daughters, to hint at matrimony and compare wealth.” The maid hid her smile behind her hand. “It wouldn’t be any of my business, but Lady Elizabeth does like to play at matchmaking herself. She tells me much more than I ought to know.”

“But was there any explanation as to what caused the change in plans?” Sebastian pressed.

Paula thought for a second. “Yes… Supposedly it was to have the students’ families in-town for Easter. Then the boys could have their fun playing cricket and the parents could be sure they attended church on the Holy Day. It did all seem rather sudden. Weston has never done anything like this before.”

How peculiar. “I see.” With a small flick of his wrist, Sebastian was able to toss four strips of bacon so that they all flipped in the air and landed back inside their pan upside-down. Paula was immediately distracted by his performance and clapped.

“Amazing! How did you learn to do such a thing? Ah, but really, everything you’ve done this morning has been amazing… So much food and in such a short time! And you don’t even seem harried!”

Sebastian dipped his head modestly. “If I could not do this much, how could I call myself a Phantomhive butler?”

Paula laughed, as if that were a joke. “Surely that can’t be the standard! This amount of work is nearly inhuman.”

“Quite the observation,” Sebastian simpered. He transferred the bacon over to a tray, the French toast into a silver chafer. “A light breakfast should be acceptable today, considering the picnic lunch will begin before noon. Now, if you would, tell Hammond to bring this to the dining room in half an hour, so that the rest of us may tend to our masters and ladies, hm?”

“Of course, Mr. Michaelis! Right away!”

Sebastian smirked to himself as Paula hustled off. How amusing it was, that she found his food preparation the unbelievable aspect of his job. The true impossibility of his title had much more to do with the ‘Phantomhive’ part than the ‘butler.’

And he did have to wonder, as he brought the tea upstairs, what sort of Ciel he would see today. Perhaps one with as black a countenance as witnessed after the Shrove Tuesday party? Or with that fragile annoyance that came from being all too tired? Though he’d brought a sweet Munnar tea as a peace offering, Sebastian predicted something terrible might happen to it — he just hoped that that “terrible something” didn’t involve spoiling his gloves and the carpet beneath them.

He knocked on the door and awaited his fate.

“Come in.” It was a toneless voice. Sebastian abided it.

Ciel was sitting upright in bed, lower body snug beneath the covers, staring pensively at his butler. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his eyes lidded in passive scrutiny. “Good morning, my lord,” Sebastian said. He placed the tea tray on a marble-topped parlor table and went back to close the door. “I’m pleased to see you awake on your own today. I hope you are feeling properly rested.” When he glanced to Ciel next, the boy’s hand was lazily pointing a pistol at the demon’s head.

“This had better not make any damn noise,” Ciel drawled, and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. Sebastian’s fist was clenched by his side. It wasn’t often that Ciel wanted him to use a demon’s trick to solve things, but sometimes it was required, as it usually was when bullets were involved.

The boy smirked and stashed the now-empty weapon beneath his pillow. “There you are, a breakfast fitting of your ilk. Eat up.”

Sebastian knew better than to argue this order. He tossed back the three metal lozenges, feeling their cold slug down his throat. They wouldn’t hurt him, but they would weigh inside him for a few hours before the ichor and matière obscure that made up his viscera would completely dissolve the obstruction. “My lord—”

“Things have been far too easy for you lately,” Ciel interrupted, though his voice was even. “The Queen hasn’t requested our services in months. But that doesn’t mean I can allow my weapon to rust, now, does it?”

Sebastian felt something sinister and loyal flash inside him. The feeling of old times, the hunts for a cold-blooded foe… yes, he missed those days. But Ciel was not reminiscing. This was still a punishment for yesterday’s impertinence. Sebastian bowed his head over the tray, pretending not to know this. “A wise thought, my lord. You yourself are in mint condition. Were that anyone but myself, your aim would have been fatal.”

Ciel reached out for the teacup when it was handed over. He was studying Sebastian with his eyes. He sniffed the air. “You smell like pig fat.”

“My apologies, my lord. I’ve just finished making breakfast; you’ll find it in the dining room downstairs, when you are ready.” Sebastian handed the young master today’s copy of the Daily Telegraph. Ciel flared the newspaper open with a few shakes and stuck his face right into it.

As his master read, Sebastian moved over to the armoire to put together today’s wardrobe. “There is a small chill in the air this morning, but the weather has grown fairer with the rising of the sun. It would be best to go wearing a coat, and then you may remove it, if you so choose.” Ciel grunted in acknowledgement, absorbed in the text. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

The base of the flat iron over the fire was glistening bright. Sebastian used a hook to remove it and then wrapped the handle in a towel before transporting it back upstairs. He set the hot iron on a bar of soap he’d placed on the ironing board. Then he dampened the clothes just slightly with drops of water before setting to work. A normal person would need the clothing to retain much more water before ironing, but Sebastian’s care and skill made this unnecessary.

He promptly had a pair of black trousers creased and a vest uncreased to perfection. The vest itself was a lovely piece, white with a muted gold tapestry brocade — it would be a shame when the young master outgrew it. Next, he chose one of the high collar shirts Nina sent and a black, lightweight overcoat. He pulled the ensemble together with a deep green silk puff tie with tone-on-tone paisley.

The clothes were still warm when it was time to get dressed. The boy beneath the fabric spoke not a word as the attire was tugged at his ankles and wrists, smoothed across his shoulders and back.

“There we are.” Sebastian leaned away to assess his handiwork. “All that’s left is the young master’s hair.”

Sebastian went to the armoire and came back with a comb, pulling vibrant gray strands neatly along the scalp until they fell like obedient rivers around the boy’s ears and forehead. “Very good. You look quite ready for the day, my lord.”

“About time. I’m starving.” Ciel turned away from the demon, striding towards the exit in spat ankle boots, the same handsome black as his trousers. Before he could reach the door, he stopped. “Oh, Sebastian.”

“Yes, my lord?” Sebastian finished putting away the board and iron, now cool.

“I want you to slick back your hair today. The way my aunt likes it.” Ciel’s stature didn’t change but his words were poignantly enunciated when he said, “I know it’s not your ideal fashion, but I think she may have a point of her own. Don’t you? ”

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Hammond and Broglie were happy to lend some of their pomade, an awful substance made of bear fat that left a greasy residue on Sebastian’s fingers, uncomfortable even once his gloves were adorned. It would absorb into his skin soon enough, but his hair would stay styled back as long as Ciel insisted on it. Sebastian’s tastes tended to fall in line with older beauty standards, but his opinions on hair differentiated entirely. This style showed more of his forehead than he liked, made his hair artificially shiny. In his opinion hair should be tamed, cut, and cleaned regularly, but should not be so sullied with these unnatural substances. It was lovely enough when treated with care — why anyone would slick back their soft mane with lanolin and lard until it resembled the shining shell of beetle was beyond this demon’s reasoning.

But it had to be done… and when that sorry task was finished, Sebastian left the servants’ quarters in the direction of the dining room. Passing through the main room on his way, he immediately noted Alexis standing before the kindling left in the fireplace, admiring an eight-point rack mounted above it. Sebastian realized his good fortune at finding the marquis alone. Now was the chance to introduce him to the idea of being Ciel’s guide.

“Good morning, sir,” Sebastian greeted, with a slight bow as he approached.

Alexis smiled brightly, with his eyes closed, in Sebastian’s direction. “Good morning to you, too, Sebastian.” When his eyes opened, he blinked and then laughed. “Well, that hair is certainly different from the usual! It looks as though my wife got ahold of you, hm?”

Sebastian smiled badly in place of an answer. “Different, yes… Beg your pardon, Lord Midford, for my abrupt change in topic. I regret that I must speak to you plainly for a moment. I have a rather personal offer in regards to my young master. You’ll have to excuse my sudden and forward nature. I promise I only ask this out of high regard for your expertise.”

Alexis turned the rest of his body to face him with solemn curiosity. “Oh? What could this be about? By all means.”

Sebastian thanked him and clasped his hands behind his back. “The young master is of an age,” he began. “You may yourself remember what it is to be so young. It is a complicated time for him, one riddled with questions and… new experiences.”

A knowing smile slowly spread across the marquis’s face. “Yes, absolutely. It was for Edward, for myself, and no doubt for Ciel, too.”

“Absolutely, sir. So I suppose it is of no surprise to hear that my lord is in need of guidance. I can think of no one better to teach him. I don’t ask this as if to say you aren’t already an exemplary figure to him. Simply put, he is in need of someone who can answer all of his questions without judgment, someone he can already trust. Of course, I say none of this as a command—”

Alexis raised his hand to silence him. “Sebastian, please — let me spare you the embarrassment of further speaking,” he said with reassurance. “Allow me to handle the rest of the discussion from here. I’m sure whatever you’ve already talked with Ciel about has been more than your position should require. You poor fellow!” Alexis laughed.

The marquis seemed to quickly catch on to Sebastian’s request; he even seemed to know that Ciel had put his butler through some trials. “It isn’t an impertinence to be asked anything by my master,” Sebastian said. “I merely believe a family member would be much more suited to the task of educating him. I think the young lord turns to me because I am the most accessible. Though you have surely proven yourself an available resource to him at all times, if you were to make it quite clear he could speak with you about anything and everything, I feel it would bring him some comfort.”

“You are too kind,” Alexis laughed again. “I don’t know if it will bring him comfort to speak with me now, but he may well thank me in his adult years.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m glad you felt like you could approach me, Sebastian. In any case, I suppose it’s about time I got on to breakfast. Are you going to the dining room as well?”

Sebastian bowed again. “I am indeed. Thank you for listening to my humble words, sir. Your graciousness is very much appreciated.”

Though pleased with his success, Sebastian had a strange sensation that that had gone… a little too well. It was curious that Alexis had already predicted talking to Ciel would involve a bit of arguing here and there, which may keep Ciel from truly appreciating the advice until he was older. But then again, Alexis had raised Edward, so he probably had a much better idea of what to expect from a fourteen-year-old boy than Sebastian had. So Sebastian doubted the human’s expertise no further, and felt satisfied that a teacher for Ciel had been swiftly pinpointed.

In the dining room, Ciel and Aunt Francis sat across from each other. She was looking at him sternly but not angrily, while he was staring at his plate with a sort of aloof discomfort, mopping a square of French toast around in some syrup. “Well, what could you two be talking about?” Alexis asked as he took his place at the head of the table, Sebastian standing along the wall behind his master.

Francis leaned back in her dining chair. “I was just telling Ciel that, no matter what criticism he receives today or rumors he hears about the party last night, it is best to stay dignified in the face of it.”

Ciel ate his forkful and continued to analyze his plate. After giving his nephew a glance, Alexis hummed an understanding tone in the back of his throat, and reached forward a fork and knife to take some French toast for himself. “Well, that is true. It’s a new day, and a new chance to prove yourself. But understand, too, that no matter what rumors are passed around, your aunt and I will stand up for your reputation. ”

The boy was clearly uncomfortable beneath the gazes of two adults who looked at him not like he was the imposing Earl of Phantomhive, but just another aristocrat boy who’d stepped a toe out of line and needed a lecture. Ciel took a long time finishing his bite. At last he swallowed and wiped at his mouth delicately with his napkin. “Thank you, Uncle, but I don’t care what anyone says about me. The people who consider last night’s incident valuable gossip simply aren’t worth acknowledging. I’ve merely decided to ignore them.”

Alexis and his wife turned to each other. “Well… All right,” the marquis said to Ciel at last. “Good… Good. I’m glad you aren’t feeling… intimidated.” Francis shot her husband a look, and Alexis raised his shoulders and dropped them, as if to say, “I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.”

“Ciel,” Francis went on in her hard tone, “you seem to be forgetting that you are at fault for this, not the people who decide to talk about you and Lady Dawes. I don’t want to see any of last night’s attitude in you today. If anyone approaches you, you speak politely. You apologize if necessary. You bow your head. Do you understand?”

Ciel bristled. Sebastian could imagine the clenched jaw, the only thing keeping back a sharp retort. There was a slow, very begrudging nod instead.

How the boy hated being told what to do! Especially by anyone who considered him naïve and in-need of their direction. What made it all worse, of course, was the fact that Ciel knew he deserved it. If his aunt and uncle said nothing to curb his behavior, they would be even less respectable. And so, with dignity marred, Ciel swallowed down their commentary like bitter medicine.

Lizzie came in a second later to save the atmosphere, giving a twirl in an elegant emerald walking suit, dripping with so much white lace on the jacket’s bell sleeves and ruched skirt that she seemed hemmed in snowflakes. Compared to her mother’s own high-collared brown walking suit, which was all angles and shapeliness, it was as though a peahen had raised a swan. Then the conversation turned to reminding Lizzie not to spin too much or her ankles would show, and how fun it would be to see Edward bowling, and Ciel was left alone.

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By half past eleven, the Midfords and their procession made it to the sprawling lawns surrounding Weston’s cricket fields. Half a mile away, the school buildings’ red bricks shone with young sunlight across a glittering expanse of Thames’ water. Spring had come to Oxford on the perfect day. Students were beginning to fill the pavilion. The few visiting families that had arrived early were picnicking as well and were scattered throughout the lawn. Some groups sat on blankets in the grass, while others had brought chairs and tables and ate as they would in their own homes.

The Midfords went with the latter option. Sebastian had lashed four chairs and a small, round metal table to the roof of the carriage. He, Broglie, and Hammond carried the furniture now to a spot beneath a wych elm on the cricket field’s outskirts. Paula had one of the three picnic baskets — she and Lizzie shared the handle of another, the lightest basket, Lizzie having clamored for the sheer experience of it. Sebastian had the heaviest basket in his right hand, the same arm wrapped around the seat of an outdoor chair. His left arm hoisted up the table, the underside of its base resting atop his slick hair.

Hammond was looking at Sebastian with bafflement. “How in blazes do you hold all that?” He himself bore only one chair, a tablecloth, and the box for cutlery. Considering the distance they had to walk from the carriage, for the average human that was a fine load.

“When one has the strength, it all comes down to a matter of balance,” Sebastian answered cheerily. Middle-aged Broglie had to stop and take a rest halfway to the tree, so Hammond waited with him, shaking his head as Sebastian proceeded onward with all the effortlessness of a tightrope walker.

Beneath the elm, Lizzie had opened her basket and was admiring the presents inside. “This all looks so scrumptious!” she sang. “Can we eat right away? Before it cools down too much? Please, Mother? There are hot cross buns, so we have to eat them while they’re hot! It wouldn’t be right not to!”

“If you promise to stop kneeling in the grass like that, yes, we can eat,” Francis reprimanded, but had to smile at her daughter’s barely-contained excitement, the bounce of her candy floss curls.

Broglie and Hammond had just caught up to the group with their chairs and placed them in a ring around the table so that their masters may sit. Lizzie moved her chair closer to Ciel’s, touching his fingers to get his attention and pointing to some swans far off in the pond, swimming in tandem. Paula helped Sebastian fill the plates with squares of cheese and pickled onions, pâté and thin slices of baguette, semicircles of apple and lovely fat grapes, and of course the buns Lizzie anticipated.

“So yummy!” she crooned immediately after her first bite. “Sebastian’s cooking is the best in the world!”

“Too kind, as ever, my lady,” Sebastian said, a hand placed where his heart would have been.

“Your cooking is fine,” Aunt Francis said. “I’m much more satisfied with your current hairstyle. Usually I have to remind you to look like a proper gentleman. Did my teachings finally sink in?”

Your teachings, or a certain pair of metaphorical fangs, Sebastian frowned, watching Ciel polish off a bun and lick at the end of his thumb.

As time grew closer to the match between Weston’s Green and Red houses, the lawns began to fill up completely. Where at first families had spread out their picnic blankets and wicker furniture far apart from each other, now the crowd had no choice but to sit packed together like tinned fish. A particularly large group was staked out just to the left of the little Midford gathering. Two young ladies with glasses of lemonade stood to stretch and take a turn around their blanket, their gossip leaking over their shoulders as they passed.

“… I heard it happened at the Goodes’s party last night.”

“Did he really say that? I wish I’d been there to hear it for myself, but my father doesn’t donate.”

“I wasn’t there either. But as far as I know, it really happened.”

“Do you think he’d had a bit to drink?”

“To make such a statement? I hope he had a lot to drink!”

The women tittered into their hands, clearly trying not to sound too scandalous, but the Midfords had heard enough. They conspicuously turned to Ciel to gauge his response.

Ciel’s eyes were closed as he took an especially large bite of a Cornish pasty. When he finished chewing, they were still staring. “I told you,” Ciel sniffed, “they can say whatever they want about me. I don’t care.”

Aunt Francis narrowed her gaze after the two magpies. “Making assumptions about imbibing though — what rubbish! … You didn’t drink anything, did you?”

“No, Aunt Francis…”

“Good.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around one of Ciel’s, puffing out her cheeks. “No one ought to be talking about my fiancé like that, especially if they weren’t there!” she declared, as if her mother hadn’t given her that same scolding last night in the carriage.

“It’s right to ignore the gossip-mongers,” Uncle Alexis said. “What matters is that we know what happened. They can pretend to know all they like, but it will never change the truth.”

Still, Francis made sure to glare at the women when they returned to their starting place minutes later, their lack of discretion likely perturbing her more than their conversation’s subject matter. The friends were still babbling loudly and didn’t notice her expression.

“Well he is here today, so he must be serious about what he said!”

“Did you see how fast those boys were, practicing? Like a couple of greyhounds, back and forth between the wickets! They must know about his proposal too.”

“I don’t know how I feel about the competition though. I think it discourages sportsmanship.”

“Oh, it’s still all in good fun! Besides, it’s not as if they’re gambling. In the end, everyone wins.”

“But twenty-five pounds per point the winning team scores! What an incredible donation. If I were Mr. Fairclough, I’d be sweating under the collar.”

Lizzie and Alexis looked confused, but Francis and Ciel’s eyes immediately widened with understanding. Sebastian smirked from his place beneath the tree. He’d too understood. “Make your apology gracious and allow me to do the rest… You can be certain that I will keep tonight’s incident from traveling farther than Mr. Goode’s doorstep.” That was what Henri Fairclough had promised Ciel at the party, though his plan to fulfill said promise had been unknown at the time. Apparently this plan involved making a donation to Weston so enormous that no one even remembered Ciel’s outburst: the gossip today would consist solely of Fairclough’s deep pockets, and how well the boys would play to assure the most money for their school. A professional game of cricket could reach over two hundred points — the students likely wouldn’t reach a score that impressive, but even half as many pounds, multiplied by twenty-five, would be a load off one’s wallet. For a middle-class gent like Fairclough, it was expected to be toppling.^[※]

The marchioness pressed her thin mouth to her knuckles. “That... was far too generous.”

Ciel swallowed. “I agree.”

“What was far too generous?” Alexis asked.

Francis shook her head. “Later. Ciel, we must make sure we find Mr. Fairclough and thank him before the game ends today. I don’t know why he thought he needed to do something so utterly outlandish, but he still deserves our gratitude.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ciel had gone polite with shock — he stared at his empty white plate on the table fixedly. He seemed to be trying to work out why anyone would do such an incredible favor for him.

Then the start of the first inning announced itself with an uproar from the students in the pavilion as the two teams made their way out to the field. Lizzie sprung to her feet and bounced on her toes when she recognized Edward amongst the players. The rest of the family also stood as Weston’s orchestra struck up the first notes of “God Save the Queen.” Ciel mumbled over the words; Sebastian could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the boy’s brows were knitted, thoughts tumbling about in his brain.

The anthem ended. Students in coordinated uniforms came together in a ring. A coin was tossed by one of the umpires, and though the viewers could not tell who won the flip, Green House was batting first. As the players got into position, the band struck up again, this time with “Georgia Camp Meeting,” and Lizzie’s interest was taken by the game. She was not particularly competitive, nor did the sport intrigue her more than other recreation, but she did want to be in the thick of things, because she loved to have something to talk about later on. Ciel was staring off into space, unmoving, thinking intensely. Between the two children, there was such a fierce concentration that neither budged when Sebastian placed a tray of petit fours on the table for dessert.

Uncle Alexis did reach for one. “Something on your mind, Ciel?”

Ciel blinked back into focus. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Fairclough… I met with him last night by chance and told him about… er, what I said. We’ve only been distantly acquainted - he’s been a major consumer to Funtom Company. I met him for the first time at the Goodes’s party, and he assured me that he would keep rumors from spreading about the… altercation with Lady Dawes. I didn’t think much of his claim; I didn’t think there was really anything he could do. Evidently, there was. The proposition that Mr. Fairclough made, to award the school twenty-five pounds per point scored by the winning team… I can’t help but feel he did that so as to distract everyone from me.”

Alexis’s surprise had been growing in his expression throughout that explanation. “Goodness,” he finally breathed, adjusting his tie, “but to do something like that, without a second thought… you would have to be—”

“Intoxicated,” Aunt Francis filled in. “I changed my mind: I think those two young ladies had a point after all. What Mr. Fairclough comes across to me as is a wastrel. We asked him to do no such thing for us. This was all of his own accord.”

“I still need to thank him,” Ciel insisted. “I ought to give him something in return… I’ll just let him know the next display window is his, no bidding necessary.”

“No, you will not,” Aunt Francis chastened. “Then you would be saying that you acknowledge this as an exchange, not a favor. Certainly thank him, but no more than that. I don’t need my nephew getting in financial straits with such a blatant spendthrift.”

“Dear, this money is being donated. He’s not a spendthrift, he’s a philanthropist,” Alexis said kindly.

Ciel’s fingers flinched. He found philanthropists overbearing.

“Either way,” Aunt Francis continued, “he isn’t someone we’re familiar with. And I have especial trouble with people who so eagerly bandage a wound with money.”

“Y-You don’t really think he’s a philanthropist, do you?” Ciel asked, a little rushed.

That was when Lizzie gasped and pointed to the field, where the players were switching positions. “Edward’s bowling now!” She hopped to her feet, made her way around the picnickers, and dashed over to the chalk lines that divided the playing area from the spectators. “Edward! Your sister’s watching you! You can do it!”

“Lizzie! Don’t distract him! And stop jumping around!” With a small groan, Francis lifted her skirts and tagged after her giddy daughter. Lizzie kept waving at Edward, who scratched at the back of his neck but, Sebastian could see from afar, grinned hugely at the attention from his little sister.

Ciel sighed, leaning against the metal leaves that made up the support of his chair. “I’m glad Aunt Francis went with her. I don’t feel like running about right now.” Then he reached forward to the petit fours on the table. “And I want to try some of these.”

Alexis laughed twice. “Well then, since the ladies are gone, this might be the perfect opportunity for us to have a talk, hmm?”

The chocolate hesitated before Ciel’s mouth, and he grimaced. Being with Elizabeth suddenly seemed the better option.

“Uncle…” he began unsteadily. “Can’t we talk after the match, back at home instead? I don’t really want to think about last night right now. It’s such a nice spring day, after all. Don’t you think it would be better not to spoil it?”

“It is a nice spring day,” Alexis agreed. “In fact, it’s the perfect sort of day for what I really want to talk to you about.”

“What you… really want to talk to me about?” Ciel repeated, in a tone less than enthusiastic.

Uncle Alexis didn’t start his speech right away. He surveyed Ciel from where he sat with a hand to his chin, a gentlemanly smile lifting up one cheek. Ciel pressed himself into the back of the chair, tapping the metal armrests with his fingertips, a look of suspicious uncertainty clouding his eye. He didn’t know where this conversation was going to go, but it was clear Ciel already didn’t like it. Sebastian kept himself busy packing away silverware and containers into the baskets, pretending this scene held no interest to him whatsoever.

After a long minute, his uncle said, “Ciel, you’re growing up to be a fine young man.”

“Erm, thank you,” Ciel said flatly.

“I mean that,” Alexis insisted, mistaking his nephew’s wariness for disbelief. “You are very mature for your age. In many ways, I forget you aren’t already an adult.” Ciel’s lips parted in an imperceptible huff. He despised being told he was a youth. “In your fourteen years, there’s been a lot you’ve had to learn on your own. And, in certain cases, I believe it is better to learn from firsthand experience. In other cases, we need to be taught. Finally, there are lessons we could uncover ourselves but would appreciate guidance on. The trouble arises when we struggle to ask for that guidance.”

Ciel lowered his eyelids, bearing, for once, the classic expression of a judgmental adolescent. Meanwhile, Sebastian couldn’t have been more pleased. The marquis offered his knowledge in a way absolutely fitting of Ciel and his past predicaments. Certainly it would take the boy a while to warm up to the idea of sharing his trepidations, but Alexis’s proposition was thus far going very well, in Sebastian’s opinion.

“Sometimes we don’t ask for guidance because we feel ashamed or embarrassed,” Uncle Alexis continued. “Our society teaches us what we should and shouldn’t say. But between family members, no questions should be disallowed. That is what family is for.”

“…” Ciel tilted his chin away. “Why are you telling me this all of a sudden?”

Alexis, tactfully, did not divulge Sebastian’s prodding. “The timing seemed right, it being spring, and it being just the two of us at the table, without your aunt or cousin to listen in.”

“The timing seemed right for… what?”

“To talk about life,” Alexis said. “I was your age, once. I remember what it is like to have a hundred questions and not know how to begin asking them.”

Ciel was flabbergasted. “A hundred questions on what? ”

The marquis smiled again. “Men. Women. The duty that comes with marriage — the act that all of us one day perform, if we wish to carry on our bloodline and plan for the future. Edward especially needed this information, being surrounded by several young men with their own opinions and no experience at all in the ways of love. English society is too eager to keep young minds away from this knowledge, but I believe it is wrong to. Copulation is very much a part of life. It is as natural as breathing. We can scorn intimacy as much as we like, but it simply cannot go away — and so I want to make sure you are aware what the truth of it is, so that when your time comes, you do not feel addled about what to do.”

Oh, dear. Evidently, the marquis had not understood what Sebastian had requested of him after all.

Throughout that dissertation, Ciel’s face had been drained of all color and then splashed with it, now a hot beet red from chin to ears. His mouth and eyebrows quirked, unable to find the words or expression to respond to all this adequately. Any other time Sebastian would have been desperately restraining himself from laughter, and no doubt the Undertaker would find this scene alone worth a secret or two. But, unfortunately, Sebastian knew what he was bearing witness to was a failure on his part and the part of the marquis. The last thing Ciel would be was willing to talk to his uncle now.

As Alexis launched into an extended explanation for why this sacred topic need not be so taboo, Ciel slowly slid the petite four between his lips and began chewing to buy himself some time. He looked around for an escape, scarcely moving his head, and at last found an out.

“O-Oh, look! There’s Mr. Fairclough by the mid wicket!” Ciel interrupted. He laughed hastily and popped out of his chair. “I had better go thank him for yesterday before he moves off somewhere else! Excuse me, Uncle—!”

Ciel weaved through the throng like there were hounds threatening his heels. That descriptor of his escape would certainly buy another tidbit from the Undertaker — but what was gained could not compare to what was lost.

“Hmm.” The marquis settled one elbow on the armrest and rubbed his chin with the other. “Maybe I was being too boring…”

Sebastian didn’t respond. He watched Ciel dash up to Mr. Fairclough, Fairclough turning when Ciel called out to him. He smiled broadly at the boy as he caught up. There was too much sound interference to hear what they were saying, and Sebastian could only see Fairclough’s face, as Ciel’s back was turned. He made out the following lip readings in order:

“So, we meet again!” ... “For what?” Laughter. “I told you I would, didn’t I? I’m as good as my word.” A more serious but still jovial expression. “Lord Phantomhive, you are so humble. If it brings you comfort, I was going to make such a statement regardless.” ... “All right, you caught me; it isn’t a complete truth. However, for the sake of my client, I did want this cricket match to be especially exciting, and the promise of monetary winnings has the students at top-tier, I’m sure!” ... “Yes. My client is a benefactor himself — not much of one for parties, though. A very solitary sort. That’s where I come in.” ... “Would you, now?” Ciel gave a furtive glance back at his uncle, a ways away, and nodded fervently. “Well, if the Earl of Phantomhive himself wants to know, I would be more than obliged to explain what I do! Let us walk the perimeter while we talk.”

That was when the two began to pace the opposite direction along the outskirts of the cricket field, Fairclough’s face no longer visible from Sebastian’s angle. He had gathered enough from the conversation to know that Ciel had engaged Fairclough so as to avoid facing Alexis again. Sebastian sighed, unable to follow the pair, though rather appreciative that the marquis didn’t ask him for a critique. Elizabeth and her mother returned not long after anyway, and Alexis and his wife were able to talk while their daughter struggled to stay seated due to the intensity of the match.

At this point, the pavilion had turned into a collective shout as the students, made wild with competition, chanted the color of their house or the house they wanted to see win. Even some of the noble gentlemen lost their heads over this mere college match, jumping up out of their chairs on occasion while their wives looked away in embarrassment or tugged them back down by their sleeves.

By the time the match was nearing its close, the score was Green-111 to Red-107, and the tension was at its peak. Two young men by the pavilion even got into fisticuffs over something no doubt trivial, and it was broken up almost as soon as it began. As the game was in its final minutes, Ciel had still not returned to the table.

The marchioness would never lose her composure over a sporting event, even with her son pitching an incredibly tight game. “Where is Ciel?” she leaned over to ask her husband. “I don’t want to go looking for him in this crowd after the match ends. Everyone will be leaving at once, and it will be too easy to miss each other.”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Alexis answered. “He went to go speak with Mr. Fairclough about an hour ago and hasn’t returned since.”

“Allow me to go looking for him,” Sebastian offered. “It may be he forgot the exact location of the picnic and became lost.”

Alexis nodded. “That’s a high possibility. We’ll stay put and wait, in case he comes back.”

Sebastian stepped over skirt hems and stray legs and baskets with uncalculated ease, sensing for his master’s soul and following its pull. It was possible that Ciel had gotten lost among the masses, but Sebastian highly doubted that: Ciel’s sense of direction had always been strong. Indeed, after five minutes of brisk pacing, Sebastian noted him by the pond, still beside Mr. Fairclough, though the two of them were no longer alone.

A pair of adults and a pair of children were standing before the young master and the gentleman, a family most likely. Sebastian did not recognize the two adults, both dark-haired and tall, a sure coupling of beautiful aristocrats. The daughter, farthest from Sebastian, had her face blocked by her mother’s shoulder. However, the youngest member of the family, a skinny black-haired boy in a Weston school uniform, scuffing at the grass with his toe, was immediately recognizable.

“We’ve been looking all over for the Midfords and for you,” Lord Reubin was saying. “I suppose this is what they call ‘two birds with one stone.’”

Lady Reubin nodded, more to her husband than anyone else. “We can’t appreciate what you did for our son enough. Can we, Lyle?” The little Heathcliff was then taken by his wrist and turned around to face Fairclough. “Say thank you to Mr. Fairclough, Lyle. Without his intervention, you know you wouldn’t be in school right now.”

Lyle’s gratitude was evidently not up to snuff, as his father reprimanded, “Raise your chin now, Lyle, so that we all may hear you.” The second attempt didn’t look much better than the first. Lyle’s father relented, but his mother leaned down to him and said something sternly into his hair. “I’m beginning to understand the purpose of your profession,” Lord Reubin continued; Lyle went back to kicking at loose earth. “I never realized how difficult it is to communicate with the school board until, well… we had to. It really is a unique job though. And you said you came up with it yourself?”

Fairclough waved his hand. “No, no, I didn’t come up with it — I just happen to know the clever gentleman who did. Funny how many questions I’m getting about my profession today! Lord Phantomhive has been an exceptional ear this afternoon. Then again, I suppose I did make some people worried with my financial proposition last night. How kind and unexpected for others to be so considering my purse. I wish I could assure everyone, this is a well-paying business. I doubt it will be long before every college of prestige has their own public relations committee.”

“Every college! Well, that would be bad for you, then, wouldn’t it? Competition.”

“Perhaps, perhaps! But my partners and I have a niche market that I’m not sure the school itself would be able to capitalize on.”

“How much you’ve already considered the future of your service!” Lord Reubin said with intrigue. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. If times get rough, however, please do know I’d be happy to help endorse.”

“Isn’t that a glorious offer!” Fairclough exclaimed. “Your good word, I believe, would be more ideal than funds at this time, should you meet anyone in a similar predicament.”

There was a sudden roar of human noise when the game ended in Green House’s victory. “One hundred and fourteen points,” Lord Reubin read aloud from the scoreboard across the way. “My, those boys played like champions out there.”

“Are you in the Red or Green House, Lyle? Or one of the other two?” Mr. Fairclough asked.

Lyle was turned to the side when he mumbled, “I’m a Violet Wolf.”

“A wolf? How very imposing,” Fairclough commented.

“Wolves can bite even with their heads cut off,” said Lyle suddenly.

“Goodness. Where did you hear such a thing?” Lady Reubin choked.

“You shouldn’t talk so darkly,” Lord Reubin scolded.

“Cheslock taught me that,” declared Lyle, “but I know plenty of worse things.”

Lady Reubin then took Lyle by the hand and marched him a short distance away.

“I’m sorry about him,” Lord Reubin sighed.

“Don’t be,” Fairclough said. “And now you’ll have to pardon me, as well, for I should have met up with my client a while ago. I’ve certainly been keeping him waiting.”

That was when Ciel spoke up. “You should have told me sooner, Mr. Fairclough; I’ve been delaying you from your work.”

“I lost track of the time,” Fairclough admitted. “You had me wrapped up in a good conversation. I was happy to have it.”

“Please, do what you have to do. I’m glad we got a chance to speak with you today.” Lord Reubin extended his hand to shake it with Fairclough’s. “Lord Phantomhive, as I said before, I’m lucky we met up with you, too, because we’ve been walking around the lawn, trying to find the Midfords. We’d love it if everyone could come to our house for dinner tonight. Would you mind showing us where you and your family are sitting so that we can extend the invitation?”

“Certainly. Mr. Fairclough, a pleasure,” Ciel said, with an honest warmth, as he turned away.

“And to you too, Lord Phantomhive. Any time,” Fairclough returned in the same tone.

Ciel led the way for the Reubin family, the daughter pacing briskly along with her father, mother walking behind with the son kept close. Moments after parting, a voice rang out, “Fairclough! Where the devil have you been?!” A serious, mustached fellow was sprinting over to the aforementioned man, his expression riddled with impatience. Ciel turned to the scene, but it was too late for him to overhear the discussion between his newfound hero and the man who shouted at him. But, tucked away in the field of departing civilians, it was not too late for Sebastian.

“Our client has been waiting all afternoon for you!” the serious man barked. “I can’t make anything happen without you, you know. You’re the one with all the charm and ideas. I’m just there to execute them.”

“Calm down, Romilly,” Fairclough sighed. “He had the game to keep him occupied, didn’t he? I’m sure he was quite satisfied to watch. Those boys were really playing today, after all.”

“And so were you,” Romilly sniffed. “What were you doing, talking with that kid for so long? He isn’t even a student.”

“That ‘kid’ is Lord Ciel Phantomhive,” Fairclough corrected. “Speak with more dignity, why don’t you? He may be young, but he’s high-titled. And he’s a good acquaintance of mine.”

Romilly had a look of sharp confusion on his face. “You’ve not been yourself today, Clough.”

“Let’s just say…” Fairclough paused for a moment. “Let’s just say, I’m beginning to understand my job on a more personal level. That’s all.”

Sebastian felt a sudden tap on his shoulder and turned around. A middle-aged gentleman in a boater hat had his arm outstretched.

“Excuse me, good man,” the stranger said, “are you all right? You’ve been standing there for a long time, still as a statue.”

“… Yes.” Sebastian began to walk back in the direction of the Midfords, aware he should arrive at the same time or shortly after Ciel did. “I’m quite well. Pardon me.”

Behind him, Sebastian heard the man say, “He was making me nervous like that. He was staring as if he’d seen death itself.”

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The Midfords did join the Reubins for dinner and stayed until half past nine. Lizzie was delighted to gush about possible marriage proposals of the social season with Jane, while Alexis and Francis informed the Reubin parents about their experiences with Weston. Ciel and Lyle gave more attention to their roasted game bird and fiddleheads. It wasn’t until Mr. Fairclough came up in conversation that Ciel said much of anything at all.

“He’s the reason that Lyle got a place secured at Weston,” Lord Reubin enthused. “He was able to convince the board of trustees to accept Lyle, despite his prior expulsion and his entrance in the middle of the school year.”

“It can be so difficult to get your foot in the door,” Lady Reubin said. “These colleges can be so incredibly closed-off, especially if you’re not enrolled in them. I don’t know what he said to get them to listen to us, but that Mr. Fairclough must be fantastically convincing.”

“And here I was, thinking he was some sort of philanthropist,” Ciel mused. “He’s more of an entrepreneur, except that the clients come to him, rather than the other way around. Trustees and principals ask him about how they can increase donations, and he reaches out to the alumni and delivers their ideas to the school, and vice versa. It seems as though this system of communication has increased financial support for colleges exponentially. I expect this business model will catch on in a multitude of fields before long.”

“So, that’s what you got caught up talking about with Mr. Fairclough!” Alexis laughed. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone off to for so long.”

In response, Ciel concerned himself with a very long sip of water.

He wasn’t out of the clear once they made it home either. As everyone walked upstairs to settle down before bed, Alexis called out to his nephew, who was on his way to his room, “Ciel, about our conversation earlier—”

“Y-Yes, I remember it!” Ciel practically squeaked, his shoulders seizing up. He had made it halfway to his bedroom without talking to anyone and victory was in sight. “I understood, if I have questions I’ll be sure to ask, now I’m tired, so I think I’m going to do some reading and go to sleep, goodnight!”

“Ciel, hold on…” But the boy had already hotfooted into his room down the opposite hall and closed the door.

The marquis shrugged at Sebastian, who had been left in his master’s wake. “Well,” Alexis half-laughed, “no one can say I didn’t try.” 

“Certainly, sir,” Sebastian agreed, for it had indeed been no more than a try.

In the bedroom, Ciel was standing in the center of the carpet, his hands pressed over his glowing face. “Why in God’s name,” he said in a muffled snarl, “is my uncle trying to… teach me about… carnal knowledge? ”

Sebastian decided to dance around the truth of the situation. “His intentions were well-meant, I’m sure.”

“Oh there you are, agreeing with them again,” Ciel spat. He tore off his suit jacket and tossed it aside. “Why does everyone seem to think they know what’s best for me these days? My aunt thinks I need lessons in humility, and my uncle…” Ciel flushed again. “You’d think he’d realize that the Queen’s guard dog isn’t so ignorant about the truths of… procreation! Honestly! ”

Ciel plopped on the edge of the bed with his arms folded. Presently, his jaw tightened. “Maybe it’s all right if he thinks I know nothing about that,” he finally said, with a soft poison lacing his words. “It’s better than him knowing how acquainted I really am.”

Sebastian stood by, saying nothing. Eventually, Ciel took a breath out his nose, undoing the knot on his eye patch. “Draw me a bath, Sebastian. Standing around in all that grass and pollen this afternoon has made my skin itch.”

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Whether physically or metaphorically, Ciel had been far away from Sebastian all day. He wasn’t present during the bath either. He seemed to stare at nothing and said nothing as Sebastian scrubbed a warm washcloth in the valley between his shoulder blades. But the demon was distinctly aware that, if he took too long between applications of a sponge or hand to Ciel’s person, the boy would startle beneath that touch, a singular flinch, the sign that his millisecond-long journey from thought to reality was not at all a pleasant one.

Chapter Text

The weekend of the Oxford trip commenced with entirely less drama. The sky seemed to wake up from its spring dream, and the clouds cracked open with April showers. The Midfords chose to stay indoors and have a relaxing Saturday, reading before the main room’s fireplace and enjoying appetizers throughout the day. Sebastian had been to the market again that morning, and had Paula make simple cucumber bites with lox and finger sandwiches and bruschetta for snacking, while he prepared a marinade for tomorrow’s lamb supper. Before that, though, he mixed yellow and blue dye in a vase of water and speared a fresh white carnation into the liquid. Throughout the day, the flower would dye to a nice seafoam color to match Ciel’s ribbon for tomorrow’s Easter outfit.

In the kitchen, Sebastian prepared his ingredients: a jar of local honey, another of Dijon mustard, a long sprig of rosemary, and three gibbous moons of garlic to mash into brown paste. He was in the middle of separating rosemary leaves from their stem when the kitchen received unexpected guests.

“Sebastian!” Lizzie called, hurrying up to him in that same tea gown she’d worn the day they arrived, a clear favorite. “I saw the flower you’re dyeing on the window sill, and I thought perhaps you had more dye for making Easter eggs! Do you?”

Indeed he did, and plenty of eggs too, which he promised to begin hard-boiling at once. Lizzie darted back over to Ciel to give him the news. He was standing in the kitchen entrance, leaning his shoulder on the frame. Having now been embarrassed by both aunt and uncle, Ciel had at last recognized in his fiancée the one companion who wouldn’t mar his pride. Lizzie babbled at him excitedly and swung one of his hands in hers. Ciel listened in the way only a boy his age listened to kind girls: with a look that said he was softly perplexed by this enchanted and enchanting person, even as long as he’d known her. Sebastian left them to their innocence as he cleared away an old wooden table in the far corner of the room which had been used for keeping the largest cook pots and roasting pans. There he laid out a number of ramekins and the synthesized dyes in their eye dropper bottles.

Sebastian boiled water in a tea kettle at the same time he boiled the eggs. When the kettle whistled, he removed it from the flame and poured equal amounts of hot water into each ramekin. Ciel and Lizzie sat on stools before the table while Sebastian instructed them in how much dye to add to the water in order to reach a desired color, and what amounts of each to mix if they wanted a more yellow green or a more delicate purple. Lizzie was enthusiastic about making the colors just right, and Sebastian heard Ciel reminding her not to put too much dye in or the pink eggs would turn out red as blood. While the two of them discussed pigments like a pair of budding art students, Sebastian removed the finished eggs from their bath, dried them, and began to draw across one’s surface with a waxy white chinagraph pencil.

Ten minutes later, Sebastian brought over the eggs to see the dye mixes Ciel and Lizzie had concocted. The first ramekin contained a muddy color, a failed attempt at something, while the rest were emerald, orange, rose, yellow, and amethyst. Ciel was just finishing using a dropper to stir up a splendid indigo that Lizzie crooned was the same color as his ring. Ciel’s responding expression said this was unintentional but perhaps not undesired. Then Sebastian handed each of them a pair of tongs to submerge the eggs in the hot dyed water — the longer they did so, the richer the color would turn out. Finally, at the part of the table that faced the wall, Sebastian laid out wax paper for them to allow the eggs to dry on.

Minutes later, Lizzie gave a cry of discovery. “Oh my goodness, Ciel! Look at what appeared on my egg! It’s Bitter Rabbit!”

Sebastian turned to see Lizzie holding an egg aloft in her tongs. Ciel was blinking at the face of Funtom’s mascot Sebastian had drawn, a white wax outline on purple that had rejected the dye. He narrowed his eyes over at Sebastian next. “You and your parlor tricks…”

“It looks just like him!” Elizabeth was bouncing on her stool. “How are you so talented, Sebastian? This is the cutest Easter egg in the whole wide world!”

“Your compliments are, as always, graciously gifted, my lady.” Sebastian brought the white crayon over to her, bowing as he placed it in her palm. “You’ll find that most of the eggs come without art — I would be happy to make more, if you wish, or you can design your own.”

Lizzie was thrilled. “Ciel, let’s design our own!”

“You go ahead,” Ciel drawled, leaning on one elbow and removing an egg from the orange dye with his other hand. He gazed passively at the tiny ribbons and flowers Sebastian had etched onto the shell. “How does someone like you even think this up…” he muttered under his breath, knowing full well Sebastian could hear him.

“It’s like invisible ink,” Lizzie said, pressing the tip of the wax pencil to the eggshell. “I won’t even know exactly what I’ve drawn until I dye the egg. How exciting!”

A plethora of star-studded and polka-dotted eggs were placed on the wax paper like a festive army. Ciel continued to hold his plain eggs underwater, lift them out to check the color, and then submerge them again, as if administering a trial by water. Lizzie, noticing their lack of decorations, declared that this simply wouldn’t do.

“You have to put drawings on them!” she cried, holding out an unsullied egg and the crayon.

Ciel wrinkled up his nose. “I don’t want to draw anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because I never draw anything, ever. I see no reason to start now.”

“I never draw either. It’s just for fun,” Lizzie insisted, puffing out her cheeks. “Please, won’t you do just one? Please, please, please?”

Ciel huffed. “Fine, just one. But don’t expect to see the next William Blake…” He placed the tip of the crayon to the shell and paused. “Don’t watch me either. I can’t focus if you do.”

There being only one crayon between the two of them and no more decorated eggs to dye, Lizzie went to watch Sebastian prepare the marinade instead. She was intrigued with the way he zested a lemon, scraping only at the bright yellow layer and avoiding the white pith beneath. Then Lizzie looked on as Paula toasted little slices of bread for the bruschetta. Sebastian did admit, Elizabeth’s genuine curiosity about what the staff did was highly unusual — she had certainly not been taught to treat the hired hands so obligingly. Of course the future Lady Phantomhive would be remarkable in her own way…

When Elizabeth noticed Ciel dunking his finished egg in the dye, she hurried back over to his side. “What did you make, what did you make?” she asked, peering over his shoulder into the blue water.

Ciel flinched at her unexpected closeness. He snorted. “I don’t know…”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Lizzie said. She plucked one of her own eggs off the wax paper, admiring the small mismatched hearts freckling the pink surface. Then she gasped. “After we finish dyeing them, let’s make egg hunts for each other around the house!”

“Fine. Sure.” Minutes later, Ciel took his egg out of the water. Sebastian, who was drenching the iced lamb shanks in honey-mustard at the kitchen’s center table, glanced over to see his master’s work. It was nothing terribly imaginative — an attempt at a checkerboard pattern, the squares in varying sizes. In some spots Ciel had forgotten which squares he’d colored in and which he hadn’t, so it wasn’t a consistent look either. Ciel was, naturally, not impressed with his own handiwork, but Lizzie bounced on her toes in excitement.

“What a great idea!” she chirped. “It’s so pretty! It’s just like you!”

“How is it anything like me…?” Ciel muttered, and placed it on the wax paper beside Lizzie’s many creations. “All right, I did it. You can dye the rest of the eggs, I’m tired of it already.”

“Aw, but Ciel! We have eight more eggs left, and we can’t let them stay white! It wouldn’t be any fun!”

“Fine. You can draw on them and I’ll dye them. I just won’t make any more pictures.”

Lizzie hummed happily in her throat. “What a nice surprise this will be for Mother and Father, when they see all our hard work!”

“A surprise?” Ciel was puzzled. “And what hard work? We’re just playing around.”

“But the eggs look so lovely! So of course Mother and Father will want to see them!”

Ciel looked absurdly confused. “They’d be interested in this? Why?”

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Well it’s not as though this was very difficult to do,” Ciel rebuffed. “I mean, especially for me. At least you put effort into yours, I just did a stupid design that I didn’t really even care about. Otherwise I just held eggs in dye.”

“Well, we dyed them ourselves,” Lizzie reminded. “That’s what makes them special!”

Ciel’s face said he thought Elizabeth was over-embellishing in her usual way, but he was careful not to say anything that might insult her artwork. Paula brought over a basket, lined with hay, that she’d found in the stable, and Lizzie arranged the eggs within it to her liking. Then, one hand on the basket’s handle and another clutching Ciel’s, she darted out of the kitchen to the main room. Their conversation emanated merrily from around the corner.

“Look at what Ciel and I made!” the girl cheered. “Aren’t they lovely? Sebastian showed us how to make patterns on them using a crayon! See, look, he drew Bitter Rabbit!”

“Wow… that’s very good.” It was the marquis that was speaking. “Look at all these fantastic eggs! I like this one the most. What pretty little constellations — is that Orion?”

“I made that one,” Lizzie beamed. “Mother, which one is your favorite?”

“Aside from the one with the rabbit?” There was a brief silence. “This checkered one is all right. It has an orderliness to it that the others don’t.”

“That’s the one that Ciel did!” Lizzie exclaimed.

“It looks terrible,” Ciel said, and, as if Lizzie had frowned at him, tacked on, “What? I’m only being honest about it.”

“Be careful with that honesty. You don’t want to insult someone’s opinion,” Francis scolded.

The marquis spoke next. “I don’t think I could have done so well at your age. To me it looks very nice.”

Ciel seemed desperate to prove it wasn’t. “I missed filling in some of the squares. And drawing on an oblong surface made it impossible to keep everything evenly-sized.”

“Well then, that makes it even more impressive,” Alexis encouraged. “Good work, children, these are delightful. Let’s make them a centerpiece for Easter dinner.”

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Easter dinner itself went off without a hitch. Sebastian spent all day preparing it while the Midfords and the rest of the staff were at church. They attended a morning service at the Parish Church of Saint Mary and Saint John, which was just down the road from the house, and then an afternoon service at St. Mary Magdalen's, located in the Oxford city proper and promising a concert from their ten-bell arrangement. By the time the family came home at four o’clock, both Ciel and his mint flower looked wilted. Everyone was ready to eat, and Sebastian was ready to serve. The lamb was juicy and flavorful, or so the humans said, and the potatoes grand-mère was rich, and the asparagus was crisp, and the manchets were like the softest pillows. Anticipating overindulgence, Sebastian had made a lighter dessert, a Bakewell tart, but the only one with room for a slice was Ciel.

“My goodness. Don’t stuff yourself so,” Aunt Francis admonished. Sebastian took her empty dish away wordlessly. Though he would never voice his acknowledgment, a clean plate from the marchioness was a compliment of the highest order.

Ciel seemed to feel awkward having dessert while everyone else at the table watched. “I didn’t think I’d be the only one eating it,” he muttered.

“Well no law in the world says you have to finish all that is on your plate.”

Alexis laughed. “Eating a holiday feast and following it up with dessert is no great feat for someone Ciel’s age. I imagine you must be feeling hungry all the time now!”

Ciel did not respond, silently putting a forkful of tart into his mouth. He was still wary of his uncle and didn’t want another conversation about the fundamentals of adulthood sprung on him. And heaven forbid at the dining table in front of everyone else.

“Now I feel dozy,” Edward said, having joined the family at the second service, leaning down a bit in his chair. “Is it really only six o’clock? I’m practically ready to go to sleep.”

“You have been keeping busy this weekend,” Alexis said, taking a sip of water from a wine glass, politely declining to drink on the Holy Day. “The cricket game on Friday, and the Easter program today, and I’m sure you were busy on Saturday celebrating your victory.”

“Yeah, we had a small sort of parade along the Thames, but it was cut short when it started to rain. Weston made us all an extra-nice dinner to thank us for the money we raised instead.” Edward leaned forward, thinking of something. “Some of the younger boys that played were telling me that a gentleman approached them after the parade to commend them on their fielding. Said he was looking to build some sort of professional team, wanted to start training young… It made the boys very excited, but I told them to keep their feet on the ground. I don’t think any Weston parents would want them to pursue such a lifestyle.”

“Good.” Aunt Francis was ever in-favor of demolishing castles in the air. “Besides, if anyone was playing well on Friday, it was you and the other senior boys. Why no one came up to you is what I find more curious.”

“Really, Mother? You think I could play cricket professionally?”

“Now I didn’t say that, Edward.”

After dinner, Lizzie proposed a competitive egg hunt to her brother and fiancé, in which she would hide the eggs and they would both have to look for as many as possible, with the winner being whomever found the most. Edward’s fighting spirit wouldn’t let Ciel refuse the challenge; Ciel merely said he preferred this to forfeits^[※], which was Lizzie’s original choice of parlor game. The boys were instructed to wait in the dining room while she prepared the scavenger hunt. Sebastian watched her bounce around the main room while he poured coffee for the marquis and marchioness by their place in front of the fire. There were sixteen eggs in all scattered throughout the room.

“All right, you two!” Lizzie called, after placing the last egg in the log holder by the fireplace. “You can start searching now!”

Ten of the eggs were found within the first two minutes, six by Ciel and four by Edward. During the next five minutes, all but one was found, and Edward was behind by one.

“The last egg counts for double!” he gambled.

“Does winning matter that much to you…?” Ciel said slyly, clearly trying to goad him on. “Tying with me isn’t good enough, hm?”

But apparently tying with his cousin wasn’t good enough for Ciel either, because when the two of them simultaneously sighted the final egg, laying just visible between the wooden slats in the upstairs banister, they both shot each other a wild look before making a dash for the stairwell. Losing themselves in the moment, there was a little bit of pushing and general roughhousing that the marchioness was not going to have.

“Stop. Stop, stop, stop,” she snipped, repeating herself thrice, as it took Ciel a little bit longer to register her command. “What are you, water buffalo? There’s no need to stampede like that. You’re making the whole house shake. If you’re going to be raucous, then the game is over. You’ve both won. Now go play something quieter in the library.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Edward sighed, sheepish.

Lizzie hopped up from her chair in the corner. “Sorry, Mother! Well, let’s go play lookabouts^[♣] upstairs until Edward has to go back to school!”

Ciel said nothing at the moment. But later, when it was time to get ready for bed, he declared to Sebastian fussily, “I am out of practice with parents.”

Monday morning was a drizzly one, and the family seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of their house for the cold and dripping cave of a world outside. All holidays had to come to an end sooner or later, though, and by ten o’clock everyone was in their travel clothes to depart. Sebastian, Paula, Broglie, and Hammond had stayed up late cleaning the kitchen and arisen early to cover the furniture and pack their masters’ belongings, so they could change the bed sheets while the Midfords ate breakfast.

Sebastian returned the horses to the stable they had been rented from and arranged for two covered hansoms to deliver everyone to the train station. Upon their arrival, each servant was equipped with an umbrella to shield the lords and ladies as they made their way inside. Tickets for a first-class compartment had been bought in advance, which was good, because much of the visiting gentry appeared to be traveling home today as well. Sebastian usually rode in the same compartment as Ciel, but of course he would not while his family was there, and so he sat in a middle-class cabin with the other servants, who, fortunately, were happy to sleep the whole three-hour trip away, leaving Sebastian to quietly contemplate.

Ciel had allowed neither aunt nor uncle to take him under their wing. As well, the vacation had not entirely seemed to relax him, as Sebastian had hoped it would. It made the demon wonder how Ciel would then respond to being the master of his own manor again: would he have a fresh sense of responsibility or would he want to slack off more than ever, delighted to be left alone, at least until the social season reached its peak? Would he want to spoil his health with more tarts and chocolate? Would he stay up into the wee hours of the morning, pushing work aside? And would Sebastian himself be forced to talk Ciel through the emotional moments when they arose?

Upcoming events would not go in this direction at all, Sebastian would eventually find out, and duty was the reason. But that discovery was yet another fortnight away. For now he could only ponder his fate, as the dull English countryside passed beyond the cabin’s rain-struck windows.

The Midfords and Ciel parted ways at the South Western Railway. Lizzie gave him a tight hug and made Ciel promise they’d meet with Nina before mid-May to start planning outfits for the Royal Ascot. Alexis shook the boy’s hand and covertly reminded him that they could “talk whenever,” losing Ciel’s eye contact completely. Lastly, Francis put her hands on her nephew’s shoulders and told him that he must get his hair cut and at least consider slicking it back. Ciel sighed the affirmative, a bit sarcastically. Instead of wagging her finger, his aunt seemed to realize the impression she was giving off, and told him more familiarly that they should do this again next Easter. Then, with some awkwardness, she cupped her gloved fingers just under his jaw and looked at him as if she wanted to say more, but did not, other than a farewell. Then the Midfords went over to where a hansom that Broglie had hailed was waiting.

Nearby was a man with a capuchin monkey on a lead that Lizzie stopped to watch from afar. He had a hat on the ground with coins in it, donations from those who had seen the monkey perform. As the rain suddenly picked up, the monkey took the hat in both hands, spilled the coins onto the ground, and began using the bowler as an umbrella, chattering its sharp little teeth. Lizzie and her father began to laugh, a noise as clear and crisp as sunshine through the storm, their mirth following after Ciel and Sebastian into their own cab home.

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It was still raining a week later when Soma and Agni came to the manor for a surprise visit.

Sebastian blinked at the sight of them: Soma baring a close-lipped smile, eyes sparkling, excited as a child, and Agni behind him with a black umbrella, wearing a rather apologetic grin, as if to say, “Sorry for showing up unannounced.” The second thing Sebastian noticed was the carriage behind them, and how a small, tarp-covered cart had been lashed on to the back.

“Oh my.” Sebastian smiled back pleasantly. “Prince Soma and Agni. To what do we owe this visit?”

Soma took a breath in and chanted in reply, “Gulab jamun! Shahi tukda! Vermicelli shrikhand! And of course — jalebi! ” Then he raced past Sebastian into the manor, shouting for Ciel and taking the steps two at a time.

“The prince is as enthusiastic as ever,” Sebastian mused.

Agni had the weary, adoring expression of a mother who’d been held captive by her young child and was ready to hand him off to the nursemaids. “Yes… Beg pardon. I hope that Lord Ciel is not too busy today. My prince was insistent that he could not wait any longer to visit… I suppose you heard we came to the manor on Easter to discover that Lord Ciel was away. I told him we must wait for an invitation before coming back, but—”

There was a sudden cry of distressed annoyance from the upstairs hallway, followed by a deeper one of anguish, which was swiftly abided by the two butlers.

In the study, Sebastian was faced with quite a scene: the open door showed Ciel standing up at his desk with an expression of ghastly disapproval and Soma on the floor, mourning the loss of what looked like globs of bright white porridge. Some of it was on Ciel and some of it was on Soma, but most of it was on the carpet.

Sebastian was completely clueless about what was happening, but Agni seemed to know at once. “Oh, my prince! The curd!” he gasped.

“I forgot I left it in my sash!” Soma sobbed. “And when I gave Ciel a hug, the cloth burst and now it’s all over the place! Waah!”

“What the devil was this disgusting stuff doing in your sash?!” Ciel snapped, wiping at himself with a handkerchief, though it was proving futile. “And what are you even doing here?! Did you show up just to give me a hard time while I’m trying to work? You’re succeeding!”

Soma sprung to his feet and clenched his fists, all traces of his sadness disappearing. “I came here,” the prince declared, “because we are business partners!”

Ciel lowered his eyebrows. “We are no such thing.”

“Well, I did not come here to make your job harder! I have come to help you with your work.” Soma plopped his hands on his hips, closing his eyes with a look of triumph.

“I can scarcely believe that’s possible,” Ciel snarled. He twisted his body to allow Sebastian to tend more efficiently to the bits of curd on his jacket and vest front. “So far all you’ve done is cover me in this… whatever this is, and— look! It splashed on my letter to Mr. Fairclough! I’ve been penning that for the past twenty minutes, damn it!”

Sebastian paused his hand. “You’re writing to Mr. Fairclough, my lord?”

Ciel raised his eyes at him with mild affront. “Is that a problem, butler?”

“Never, sir. Excuse my question.” He finished wiping off the curd, sighing to himself with the realization that only a thorough washing could take care of this, if even. At least the young master would soon be fitted for a whole host of new clothing…

“Listen, listen!” the prince cried, tugging Ciel away by his arm once the clean-up was complete (earning Soma the rebuke, “At least warn me before you’re going to fling me about like a ragdoll!”). “I have been very, very patient all of this week for you to come back from Oxford! I even waited longer than usual, so you would get a chance to catch up with your work! But then I had the most perfect idea, because I know you are looking to sell Indian sweets here in England! Why don’t the two of us eat four of my favorite desserts together today and you can see which ones you like the best? Sebastian can help Agni to make them, so he will know if the process is difficult to replicate on a larger scale. What do you say, Ciel? It is a good idea, isn’t it?”

Sebastian could see in the boy’s relaxing posture that he was in-favor of this almost immediately, but Ciel didn’t let Soma have that victory, however small. Instead he pretended to mull it over before grumbling, “All right, all right, fine. I needed a break anyway.” Soma whooped with joy and threw his hands up in the air while Ciel merely stretched. “Sebastian, I want to change out of this stained thing, and then you and Agni can get to work. I don’t know if we’ll have all the ingredients to accommodate this undertaking, but perhaps it’ll be some approximation, at least.”

“Don’t worry about that!” Soma announced. “Agni and I were sure to bring all the ingredients we’d need. Your markets tend not to have any saffron or cardamom seeds, after all.” A teary look came back over his eyes. “Oh, right. Except… I ruined the curd we’d been hanging overnight… So I don’t know how we’ll make the shrikhand now…”

“Ah! Do not fret, my prince! It was only a mistake! You did not mean to do it!” Agni attempted to encourage, reaching out before him.

“Indeed. And perhaps we can still find some sort of substitute for the curd,” Sebastian said, putting a hand to his chin in gentle thought. “Well then, young master, let’s take care of your wardrobe, shall we?”

Once in the bedroom, Ciel sighed, holding out his arms like a scarecrow to allow his jacket to be removed. “I should have expected that nuisance would come calling on me sooner rather than later. I suppose it can’t be helped. I may as well get it over with.”

“A wise mindset. And I know the young master can become quite patient when there are sweets involved,” Sebastian said with a grin in his voice as he buttoned on the new vest.

Ciel tugged a clean jacket back across his body. “Quiet, you. I’m still annoyed about having to entertain that spoiled princeling for the next few hours. See to it that those desserts are made in good time.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sebastian bowed dutifully, and the two went in their opposite ways.

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The little cart Soma and Agni had brought was loaded with all sorts of things that the Phantomhive pantry was not armed with, so much so that Finny was requested to help unload. The gardener marveled at the satchel of bright orange saffron, cardamom the color of cinnamon, and, heaviest of all, a paper sack of powdered milk and another of flour. There were also pomegranates, unshelled pistachios, almonds, clarified butter, and yogurt like snow in a metal bowl.

Agni carried the yogurt in both hands into the kitchen. “I am sorry about the mess the curd made before in Lord Ciel’s study,” he said, placing the bowl on a countertop and smearing away rain from his forehead. “Prince Soma had been handling it in the carriage to see if he could squeeze out some of the moisture left over through the cheesecloth…  He becomes quite fidgety without something to do with his hands on long rides, you see. I should have reminded him that he put it in his sash before he went running off throughout the manor.”

“Not to worry,” Sebastian assuaged. “It’s nothing Mey-Rin can’t take care of with a little soda water. Besides, this manor has suffered far worse. Isn’t that right, Finny?”

“Huh?” the gardener blinked, white powder still freckling his cheeks as he set down a sack of semolina beside the rest of the ingredients.

“Never you mind. Now, off to the greenhouse,” Sebastian shooed him, then removed his tailcoat and rolled up his sleeves smartly to his elbows. “All right, then, Agni. How shall we begin?”

They started with the vermicelli, cooking the short, thin noodles on the stovetop in butter until they were a golden brown. Condensed milk glued the slender pasta together, and Agni showed Sebastian how to shape the mixture with his thumb to make eighteen small nests (of course, Sebastian mastered the technique on his first try). These were brought to the dry-larder to solidify. Once that was done, the prep work towards the rest of the meals could begin.

Agni spilled the pistachios before him on a chopping block and began to butcher at them with a large knife. “Though coming to the Phantomhive manor today was my prince’s idea, I must admit, I am quite glad that our sudden arrival was accepted. I feel that I learn something new each time that I talk with you, about what it means to be a butler… and lately, there is so much newness to learn.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with you there,” Sebastian sighed, mincing almonds into impossibly even slivers. “My young lord strives to remind me of this fact on the daily.”

“Your wording is all too accurate, Sebastian,” Agni enthused. “Without a doubt, our masters are our greatest teachers. And it is our job to be the greatest pupils.”

“… In a sense, yes,” Sebastian began. “I would not say I consider myself a ‘pupil’ under my lord anymore. Merely that he, so I’ve learned, is at an age where he is very liable to change his mind quickly and to have constantly evolving expectations.”

“Ah, I see.” Agni’s expression became troubled as he sliced open a pomegranate and began to remove the hot red seeds. “Your master is, of course, of a much nobler countenance than I was, in my previous life as a Brahmin. But I do recall being so young, and being very particular, and taking out my feelings on our family’s servants when they did not do exactly as I wanted, or even if they did but I was feeling cruel. I would never insinuate that Lord Ciel would have such awful designs, but… I imagine, for him, that he is just as lost and just as wanting to be understood.”

“That is how it is has been summarized to me on a number of occasions, yes,” Sebastian nodded. “I recognize my young master’s need for guidance, but a source is not easily found. Indeed, I was hoping over his Easter holiday that his aunt or uncle might become a designated teacher in the ways of the world, but their certain… singularities appeared to frighten my lord off.” Sebastian poured cream into a bowl and began to mix it with some of the powdered milk. Then a thought occurred to him. “Considering the way you just spoke of your youth, even you could prove a knowledgeable resource to him, should he need it. Of course, I don’t expect you to be constantly at his disposal, but… your influence could prove substantial.”

“Me?” Agni was utterly taken-aback. He paused his hand. “Sebastian… it is a great compliment for you to consider me more experienced in certain territories than yourself… But I must ask: why wouldn’t you become Ciel’s mentor?”

Sebastian began to boil the mixture he’d prepared on the stovetop. “I don’t believe it would be appropriate, for a butler to fulfill such a crucial role or speak so frankly with his lord.”

“I must disagree with you there,” Agni said, as he measured out clarified butter, sugar, and milk powder. “Prince Soma has turned to me for advice in a great number of areas, about all things that trouble him. Anything from choosing what to study that day, to what love should mean to him… and each time, these conversations have only strengthened our bond as butler and master. I wouldn’t trade those talks we have for anything in the world. So, no doubt if you had such a conversation with Lord Ciel, it would be a moment of great bonding for you too!”

Sebastian wasn’t sure how to tell Agni that he and his young lord had had such talks, but that any ‘bonding’ that came from them left a bitter taste in his mouth and a dread in his core. He shook his head. “My young master does not see me as Prince Soma sees you. It is not a boundary I wish to impede upon.”

“But,” Agni proposed, “what if Lord Ciel would like to see you that way? Have you asked him? Since he is changing, why should your relationship not change as well?”

“I have not asked him, no. And I shall wait for him to broach such a topic, as opposed to the other way around.” Sebastian squeezed lemon juice into the milk mixture and whisked away. “Your prince does well to have your guidance. But my lord has not directly asked me to lead him, and so I will not. Now then.” Sebastian poured the white broth into a bowl and moved in the direction of the dry-larder again. “Let us put all our focus into preparing the desserts, shall we?”

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The stove was at its maximum capacity, each burner covered: one by a pot with hot oil, another with a syrup made from sugar, the third containing milk, and the last burner claimed by a kettle for an accompanying Nilgiri tea. Agni began to make a sort of dough out of powdered milk, oil, baking powder, and cardamom, adding water as needed. He didn’t measure any of the ingredients this time, seeming to know instinctively how to make the texture just right. Meanwhile Sebastian worked on the sauce for the shahi tukda, which turned out to be an Indian version of bread pudding. The base for it consisted of boiled milk, condensed milk, and powdered milk — he hoped the excessive dairy wouldn’t give his master a stomachache. Sugar, saffron, and the two types of nuts were used to flavor the sweet gravy.

Agni finished rolling the dough into spheres, the size of small apricots. He gently placed them into the oil, and they began to turn a beautiful golden brown. Then he took the syrup off the flame, and used a frying pan to lightly toast four slices of white bread. Under Agni’s instruction, Sebastian made batter for the jalebi from flour, yogurt, cardamom powder, and clarified butter. He filled a piping bag with the mixture while Agni fished the balls of gulab jamun out of the oil with a slotted spoon and into the sugar syrup to soak. Once the bread was toasted and the hot oil available, Sebastian poured some of it into the empty pan and began to fry the jalebi, squeezing it out of the tube into tight spirals.

Agni chuckled a bit. “The shape is so perfect. That does not look like any jalebi I have ever seen.”

In short order, the spirals went into their own bath of sugar syrup. “This isn't terribly difficult to make,” Sebastian noted. “If my young master enjoys this, I shall fix it for him more often.”

“Oh! I hope that he does!” Agni beamed. “I know he is probably not used to many of these flavors, but you should have seen how delighted my prince was when he found out Lord Ciel wanted to sell Indian desserts. Prince Soma has very much enjoyed learning about English culture. I know that sharing his heritage in return has been very rewarding for him.” Agni clasped his hands together, suddenly tearing up with joy. “My prince has made his first diplomatic relationship! What a beautiful adult he is becoming!”

Suddenly there was the sound of fast feet and laughter crashing down the hall off the kitchen. Agni and Sebastian turned around to see Soma race in. Above his huge grin, he was wearing an eye patch. Sebastian stiffened; had he actually taken Ciel’s eye patch away from him? But the prince was only playful, not mean. Ciel stormed in a moment later, his own patch still adorned.

“Agni, protect me!” Soma shouted with glee, dashing behind his butler with arms outstretched. “I’ve made Ciel mad!”

“Ah! Prince Soma, please be careful! There is hot oil here!”

“You’d know if I was mad. I just want you to take it off already,” Ciel huffed, folding his arms and tapping his foot, like a tiger with its tail aflick. “That touches my face, you know. It feels weird to have you wearing it.”

“So this is what it’s like to be Ciel Phantomhive,” Soma giggled. “Though I suppose I should bend down a bit more if I'm really going to be you… There we go! Now I can see what you can see!”

Ciel was annoyed. “Oh, what a hilarious little game. And don’t I wish I had the luxury of pretending I only had one eye.”

Sebastian knew that his master felt relatively indifferent (he was, of course, not actually lacking the eye), but Soma was immediately apologetic. “Ah! I’m sorry, Ciel! I wasn’t trying to be heartless! I just wanted to understand what it is like to be my very best friend in all of England!” Soma jogged out from behind Agni and accidentally hit the kitchen table with his knee. “Ow! Ow, ow, ow!”

“Ah, Prince, you must be careful!” Agni repeated.

Ciel held out his hand. “Serves you right. Now take that thing off already and give it back.”

Soma rubbed his knee while Agni worked at the patch’s tight knot. “It is so much harder to tell where things are with only half of my vision! How do you do it, Ciel? I have never seen you walk into anything at all.”

“It isn’t hard once you get used to it,” the earl snorted. “You just have to be more aware of your surroundings if you’re in a new place.”

Sebastian smiled to himself. He remembered the early days, before Ciel had become adept at navigating with monocular vision. The boy had already been so fragile then, too. He’d had to learn a whole new set of visual cues so he could sit down without stubbing his toe on the leg of a chair or table, turn a corner without his shoulder clipping it. It was far from the hardest task Ciel had faced when practicing to become Earl Phantomhive. It still didn’t help that during his first week back in the manor, he was adding new bruises on top of his old ones.

“Are you almost done with the desserts already?” Ciel turned to Sebastian to ask.

“Indeed, sir.” Sebastian bowed a fraction. “A quarter of an hour more and it will be ready to serve.”

Agni finished untying the knot and immediately gasped. “Oh! Sebastian! I completely forgot to make a replacement for the curd! What are we going to do about the shrikhand?”

“Don’t worry.” Sebastian pointed to the door of the dry-larder. “The mascarpone I prepared while we were talking earlier should have drained enough to suffice.”

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“I’m so full, I can’t move,” Ciel said (a statement he hadn’t made in ages), leaning back in his armchair with a hand over his stomach. “I didn’t expect to fill up so fast…”

Soma selected another orange curl of jalebi and snapped it up. “Yes, it is very filling, all milk and bread and sugar! And that is why it is so delicious!”

“I don’t even want to think about food anymore.” Ciel closed his eyes. “Sebastian, remind me to ask you about how the preparation went later. I can’t do it right now.”

“Aww! I cannot even ask you about which one your favorite was?” Soma whined.

Ciel conceded that much. “I liked the ones that looked like little nests. If it’s not chocolate, my next favorite dessert will always be fruit.”

“The vermicelli shrikhand was good, but it would have tasted better with curd instead of mascarpone,” Soma said. “I wish I hadn’t dropped it! Shrikhand made authentically is the best!”

“That is the only dessert I feel would be difficult to mass-produce,” Sebastian interjected. “The other three should be possible to replicate en masse… though the expense of saffron might add up.”

Ciel waved his hand. “No more talking about food from here out. I mean it.”

Soma changed the subject with ease. “Oh, that’s right, Ciel! I needed to tell you that I received an invitation to the Royal Ascot from the Queen a few days ago! This will be my first year attending, and I am so excited to go! You received one too, yes?”

“First of all, it’s pronounced ‘Asket,’” Ciel grumbled drowsily, “and yes, of course I did. The Phantomhives have been in attendance long before I was born.”

“Horses are far less interesting and less beautiful than elephants,” Soma said, “but they can go faster than elephants. I’ll give you Englanders that much.”

“It isn’t as if India doesn’t use horses too.”

“And camels,” Soma nodded, “but the elephants are my favorite. If only we had an Ascot for elephants, but I think that would be far too dangerous. But it sure would be funny!”

“I told you already, it’s pronounced ‘Asket.’”

“Oh, Askaht, Asket, does it really matter as long as you know what I am saying?”

“Well if you misname it on race day, no one is going to be able to take you seriously.”

“All that matters is that Ciel takes me seriously!”

“I take you less seriously than anyone else on the whole bloody planet!”

After another half hour of this banter, the sky began to darken, and Soma and Agni said their goodbyes. Finny was tasked again to help them pack up their ingredients. While the servants loaded the cart, Soma made Ciel similarly promise to see him again before April was over, perhaps once the weather improved, if it improved. Then the carriage went off into the spring dusk and the house was quiet again.

“Hopefully that should satisfy him for the next few weeks,” Ciel sighed, pacing back up the front steps with Sebastian behind him. “What a disruptive afternoon… and I still feel stuffed.”

“Perhaps a light dinner, later in the evening, will suffice tonight?” Sebastian offered.

“Yes. That’ll do.” Ciel walked back in the direction of his office, Sebastian joining him momentarily to clear away the dessert platters. The boy plopped down at his desk, made a small noise of disappointment when he remembered Soma had ruined his letter, and set down a new piece of parchment to copy it over.

Sebastian knew the contents of the letter were none of his business. But a sort of curiosity came over him when he remembered how well the boy had gotten along with Fairclough. Perhaps it had all been a show to get away from his uncle but… Ciel had had a long conversation with Fairclough at the cricket match. The boy rarely subjected himself to long conversations, unless propriety demanded it, sometimes not even then. Ciel had also felt comfortable enough to tell Fairclough about the incident at the Goode’s party, too, despite having met in-person for the first time that very night. A certain level of trust had already been built, even after only two meetings. Perhaps… Perhaps the very mentor that Sebastian sought out for Ciel could be found in this mysterious, wealthy gentleman?

If Ciel invited Fairclough to the manor, Sebastian would see how the two interacted further. With guaranteed visits from Soma and Nina again, as well, it was certain to be a very busy month. The social season was upon them. Invitations from dukes and marquesses, viscounts and barons, would start pouring in, as they always did. During the height of the season, one day might include a recital in the morning, a tea in the afternoon, and a banquet at night. Ciel had a rule that he would only attend one masquerade per season (at Lizzie’s prodding), and tended to go to as many private concerts and poetry readings as he was invited to — not because he liked them, but because it meant he didn’t have to talk very much yet could still keep up appearances. Of course, there would be balls and dances too… and those were Ciel’s least favorite of all.

Sebastian, though more tolerant, didn’t much like this time of year either, unless he was in charge of planning the event himself. And who knew how moody Ciel would become with such a full schedule? As his little lord became a less-little lord, so he too became less predictable. Sebastian did not want to endure another candid conversation with his master. The ‘beast of sympathy’ inside the demon had finally quieted, and he had no plans to wake it from its slumber.

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One week later, Sebastian’s prayers, if one could call them that, were answered. Another letter imbued with the royal seal came in the post. Sebastian knew by the stateliness of the deliveryman that this was no mere invitation to the grandest horse race in Europe. The wax was stickily soft; the address was a terse scrawl. A hasty hand had prepared this letter and hastier traffic had brought it to their doorstep.

Sebastian’s mouth curved up in a wicked little grin. Ciel’s social calendar would be wiped clean at once. This was no time for play. The Queen’s watchdog had been summoned to the hunt.

Chapter Text

As it happened, the Queen had sent not one letter but two. Ciel finished the first within a minute before thumbing over to the next. He read the second message diligently, carefully, and his expression held more irritation than disapproval when he mumbled under his breath, “Human trafficking again.” Sebastian stood by patiently for the full explanation. The boy read the letter through twice, slouching down in his chair and rolling his head across its cushioned backing, as if a different angle of his chin would give him a different angle on the matter too.

Finally Ciel folded the papers and tucked them inside his jacket. “We should get to work immediately. I need to change into travel clothes.”

Sebastian kept pace with his charge as they walked out of the study and into the direction of his bedroom. “How far will we be traveling, my lord? Should I prepare for a day trip?”

Ciel’s cane tapped the carpet rhythmically. “No. Today we’re only going to the outskirts of Surrey, at the farthest, and then back into London. But from there on, who knows? I can’t yet tell how much of a wild goose chase we’re going to be sent on.”

The rest of the walk to the bedroom was contemplatively silent. Ciel would not discuss the content of the letters until they were in private, it seemed. Sebastian closed the door to the dressing room softly once they arrived. “I suppose you won’t keep me in the dark any longer, my lord?”

Ciel began to remove his jacket and the letters from within it while Sebastian selected a sturdier outfit from his wardrobe. “An hour ago, when the Queen’s initial letter was sent, I was to apprehend a Mr. Algernon Northcott, who’d been discovered to be smuggling Middle Eastern children into the country through his shipping business.”

“Children, hm?” Sebastian removed Ciel’s vest and replaced it with a heartier one of brown tweed. “So this isn’t just a repeat case of human trafficking but specifically the trafficking of young victims.”

Ciel climbed out of and into another set of proffered trousers. “But apprehending him is no longer possible, because Northcott has been murdered. He was discovered dead in his own stables just this morning when the police came looking for him. Hence the shorter letter, updating me on the matter — and, seeing as dead men tell no tales, we’ll have to discern what we can from the living.” Ciel paused for a moment as Sebastian fastened his trousers. “I have little doubt that Northcott’s reveal as a human trafficker is linked to the murder,” he continued, in a voice suddenly strained. “Someone knew that they could be tracked through him… which makes me think Northcott is merely a pawn in a much larger game.”

“A detail that I’m certain surprises you in the least,” Sebastian said, threading his lord’s arms through a matching brown Inverness coat. “Well, well, a murder in the morning, and that’s only for starters… It seems the quiet of London’s districts has finally been disturbed. No doubt the flies will be swarming.”

Ciel made a soft hiss of objection between his teeth as Sebastian worked at the coat’s buttons. “Don’t be daft. Surely someone’s moved the body by now.”

Sebastian leaned back to survey his work. “Not bottle flies, my lord. Scotland Yard.”

A sigh. “That lot… Let’s hope they haven’t sullied my investigation too much. They’re just fine for handling the day-to-day cases, but you can’t trust them with anything grander in scope than Fagin’s band of pickpockets.”^[※]

Sebastian handed Ciel back his cane. “Then I suppose we should arrive before much more damage can be done to your investigation, hm?”

“Yes. Get the carriage ready straight away.” A single step forward, and then Ciel froze, his entire body going oddly rigid. “Oof…!”

Sebastian whirled back in concern. “My lord…?”

Ciel was wide-eyed. “Damn it, I can’t even bend my knees! These trousers are way too tight, I’ve outgrown them! Don’t just stand there laughing, you idiot, get me new ones! ”

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By eleven o’clock, they had arrived in Merton and at Northcott’s estate, a boxy gray building with black shutters and little to boast about, other than size. Willow trees fenced the territory in a perfect rectangle, and Sebastian imagined it was a relatively quiet haven when a murder hadn’t just been committed. As it was, uniformed staff and Scotland Yard alike dominated the grounds, and there was an especial crowd around the stables behind the house. The only benefit to the populous was that Ciel and Sebastian were relatively unnoticed in adding to it.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing here?!”

Relatively — the accusatory eyes of Scotland Yard’s police commissioner would never miss the entry of his arch nemeses.

“Well, well, Lord Randall,” Ciel said snidely as they approached him outside the stables, “are you asking me to enlighten you on the very crime that has taken place here?”

Randall ground his teeth, peering down at the boy angrily. “When are we going to be rid of your meddling? Shouldn’t little aristocrats your age be off in school?”

“Perhaps the normal ones. I personally prefer discovering history over studying it. Let’s get to work, Sebastian.” Ciel made to go into the outbuilding, but Randall took a step in front of him.

“Scotland Yard has this under control,” he snarled. “You might be here on the Queen’s orders, but so are we. Don’t you dare make a mess of our investigation.”

“Your investigation?” Ciel laughed twice. “Oh, do excuse me for not realizing justice belonged solely to the Yard. I’m sure you’ll have this one swiftly in the bag, just as you had Jack the Ripper.”

“Old wounds!” Randall barked. “We acknowledge our missteps, and we learn from them. Our methods and manpower only continue to improve. We’re leaving no stone unturned. My men are in the process of gathering alibis from the Northcott staff. These interviews aren’t something you’re privy to — I won’t have you ripping documents out of Abberline’s hands again and memorizing them.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need your interviews. None of the staff did it anyway,” Ciel dismissed. Sebastian had to smirk: it was much more entertaining to observe this adolescent bluntness than it was to be on the opposite end of it.

“You don’t know that much, insolent brat!” Randall fumed.

“What could their motive possibly be?” Ciel scoffed. He was very much in his element. “Until I see proof that Northcott was poor at handling his finances or had an otherwise contemptuous attitude towards his staff, gathering alibis is meaningless. You’re wasting your time scolding the dogs while the fox runs off with the hen in its teeth. Because Northcott’s murder is most likely linked to his recently-discovered malpractice, that is the lead I intend to follow. Now, do let me at the scene of the crime so I can conduct a real investigation.”

“Hold on a damn second!” Still Randall refused to budge. “I’ll tell you this much, since you would have found out sooner or later anyhow: the way that Northcott died was by being crushed to death by an old racing horse he kept. Someone must have trapped him in the stall with the animal. It is mad and volatile. We are waiting for a horse doctor to properly secure the beast, identify it, and remove it from the premises.”

Ciel drew back a bit. “Do you mean to tell me the body is still in there?”

“No,” Randall said, quick to confirm his own team’s diligence. “We managed to restrain the beast long enough to drag out the corpse — what we could of the corpse. But I’m not so foolish as to handle a berserk animal, let alone one that has already committed murder. So we’re leaving it until it calms down enough for the doctor to lead it away.”

“So you believe trampling was the cause of death?” Ciel mused. “That nobody would have heard the sounds of a struggle, if he were on-site? That maybe Northcott was attacked away from home, and the horse was employed so as to cover up the evidence of what really killed him?”

Randall leaned down to glare with his cinched eyes into Ciel’s own. “I don’t claim to assume anything yet,” he spoke roughly. “Which is why we are gathering alibis.”

“All right, all right,” Ciel said airily, turning on his heel and walking a short way off. “We won’t go in yet. But we are going be waiting nearby for our own chance at the scene. Let’s go, Sebastian.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmph! Well, let that be a reminder that you can’t just go traipsing in anywhere you please!” Randall shouted at Ciel’s back, but the boy was far from caring.

They walked the sharp-cut perimeter of willows until they were out of easy earshot from Scotland Yard and the Northcott staff, a three-minute stroll during which the veterinarian arrived and made his way into the stables. Butler and master trained their sights on the outbuilding as they conversed. “My lord, what do you propose we do next?”

“After the horse doctor does his work, we’ll see what information we can gather from the crime scene, and then go to London proper.” Ciel removed the Queen’s letter from the inside of his coat. “The nine children they recovered from Northcott’s most recent voyage are currently being kept at the Orphanage Infirmary in Southwark. I doubt they speak any English, so you can figure out what language they do speak and ask them if they know anything about why they were brought to England. I also want to go to the London piers to account for Northcott’s ship, trade route, and which stevedores and dockers were assigned to his vessel. We need to find out how many trips he’s taken and where he’s been since his shipping business began… that might give us some guess at how long he’s been smuggling in human beings before he was finally caught. After that… we’ll go to Undertaker for the autopsy report. He should have information for us by then.”

“I recommend that I go to the orphanage alone,” Sebastian offered. “We don’t know what condition the children were in when they arrived in the country. If they have tuberculosis or pneumonia, I would not want you to become susceptible.”

Ciel gave a single nod. “Fine. I’d rather not wander around the docks on my own for long, though, so don’t take your time getting back to me.”

“On your own, my lord? I would never suggest that you do such,” Sebastian said. “I assumed that you would be much happier having lunch at the Criterion while I visit the orphanage.”

The boy glowered up at him. “I’d be happier smacking you in the head with my cane right now, too, but you don’t see me doing that either. Don’t patronize me, Sebastian. If the Queen sends me on an errand, I intend to be working, not milling about eating calves’ brains.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to make a retort about Ciel’s onset of sloth just last March, but instead found himself saying, “It seems as if you anticipate danger, young master.”

“I anticipate petty thieves and inebriated sailors. Things I may be able to solve with the glint of a pistol, but I’d prefer not to have to deal with at all.”

“And yet you choose that over a relaxing lunch…” Sebastian sighed, and then felt a bit silly for saying so, especially after Ciel shot him a rather sharp side-glance. He rephrased his statement, as much for his own sake as for the sake of clarity. “It intrigues me that you would prefer to wait for my protection and yet you forego it. Is my lord in so much of a hurry to solve this case that he would put himself in the way of ruffians?”

“You can’t complete a puzzle with half the pieces,” Ciel sniffed. “It’s too early to take a break, I’ve barely begun. I’d have nothing to mull over while I ate. A relaxing lunch? It couldn’t be, not with so little known and so many questions unasked.”

Sebastian smiled, barely. “Well then, my lord, I won’t trouble your decisions further.”

“You shouldn’t be troubling them in the first—”

Their attention was then seized by a bevy of new arrivals, walking up the pebbled drive of Northcott’s estate. Even from this distance, human eyes could recognize the tallest figure: a nun, thin and fully habited, flanked by a cluster of children in ebony. The group of them stood before the house in a line and, at the nun’s demonstration, pressed their palms together and bowed their heads to pray. The Northcott staff that were scattered outdoors stared at them, none of them seeming to know why this makeshift cloister was here.

Ciel took a step towards them with intrigue. “Now this is the sort of detail that deserves my consideration. Let’s go over to them before Scotland Yard can realize what a real opportunity for answers looks like.”

Sebastian and his charge finished approaching the little group just as they finished their prayer. “My regrets, sister, but you’ve chosen a poor day to come collecting alms,” Ciel announced when the nun opened her eyes. “The keeper of this manor has been murdered just this morning. I’m afraid his earnings are no longer his own to give.”

The nun did not seem to pick up on Ciel’s jocular tone. “Would you happen to be a relative of Mr. Northcott’s, young one?” she asked, in a voice as wholesome and crystal-clear as her duty to the Lord. “I am ever so sorry for your loss. For all our losses.”

Ciel shook his head. “My only relation to the departed is as his investigator.”

The abbess put a hand to her mouth. “You are an investigator? At your age? I did not realize that child labor had expanded into police work… This breaks my heart. God has a better plan for you, young one, and it will come yet.”

“… This isn’t child labor, I’m fourteen,” Ciel said, with such flat constraint that Sebastian’s mouth tightened with clenched laughter. “And I don’t work with the police. I’m here—”

“The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children will soon be founded, thanks to Thomas Agnew,” the nun continued. “Then you will no longer have to work for a living. Be patient and keep saying your prayers, and all will be well.”

“…” Ciel looked temporarily livid, but clenched his teeth and forced his mouth into a grimacing smile. “Thank… you. How… comforting. But for now my work continues, and so I hope you will not mind if I ask what your own purpose for coming to the Northcott manor is today?”

“We are here to pay our respects to Mr. Northcott,” the nun explained, “who was, in every way to us, our friend. Wasn’t he, children?” A few of the little ones behind her nodded, though most were staring at the manor with a dull sort of awe. They were clearly orphans, none older than ten and all looked after by this generous sister. From the way they gazed at the house, it was clear they were equally intrigued and dissuaded by this luxury, because they knew such could never be theirs. The nun kept speaking. “Mr. Northcott was a very private man, but donated food and money to us regularly. He was very humble and asked that his donations be kept anonymous. But now that he has passed, I see no reason for his good deeds to be hidden from the world. God rest his poor soul, and may we pray that he felt no pain in his darkest hour.”

Ciel had developed a natural avoidance of the devout, but he seemed to sense what Sebastian had immediately picked up on: that this woman was steadfast in her faith. She also seemed honest in her generosity, as a mop-headed toddler began to whine and she immediately went to soothe him, picking him up and rubbing his shoulder through the black fabric of his hand-me-down dress shirt. “I’m very sorry, but you must excuse us now,” she said, as Ciel opened his mouth again to speak. “We’ve come from Westminster on a coal delivery wagon, and the driver said he wouldn’t wait for us if we missed his return route. But we had to do something to show our appreciation.” There were tears budding in her short-lashed eyes. “Children, keep Mr. Northcott forever in your hearts. He was a dear, dear soul.”

“Your orphanage is located in Westminster, is it?” Ciel said before she could turn to leave. “What is the name of it? I would like to pay you a visit tomorrow.”

The nun’s eyes were still wet but she brightened suddenly. “I would be more than happy to accommodate you, young one. There would be a bed and food for you there, so you wouldn’t have to work anymore to—”

“It’s to ask you more questions about Northcott!” Ciel huffed, blushing, while Sebastian again choked back amusement. “Now what is your orphanage called?!”

“The Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey” turned out to be the answer, an orphanage that Ciel had in fact donated to using the proceeds from his display auctions. Though Ciel only gave to reputable organizations that put the wellbeing of the children and disabled first, he did not intimately acquaint himself with any of their occupants, as it seemed Mr. Northcott had. “A human trafficker who is secretly altruistic.” Ciel watched the nun and her brood walk down the drive and out of sight. “Well… that certainly is a curiosity.”

Sebastian dipped his chin. “His motivations are rather contradictory.”

“I want to find out more about what Northcott donated, specifically,” Ciel said. “If he ever gave clothing, for instance… Items he could have taken away from the abducted and given to the orphanage as a means of discarding evidence. Though Middle Eastern clothing would rather stand out…”

There was little time to ponder that further as the veterinarian emerged from the stables, leading the quarter horse with a rope around its neck — evidently putting a bit in its mouth was not currently advisable. The horse had also been blinded with a rag around its eyes, yet its brown flank still shivered with want to bolt and froth remained at the corners of its lips. The doctor led the animal away from the brunt of the crowd, warning “not to come too close — he has been sedated with an opiate, but he’s still very skittish.” Ciel eyed the sleek, petrified, supposed murderer, hand on his hip.

“Since I have no desire to see bloody bits of person scattered about the hay,” he began, “you go investigate the crime scene while I ask the doctor about what he thinks of the horse’s guilty sentencing.”

“Sir.” Sebastian bowed and went to take a look. For him, seeing a live person or dead corpse garnered nearly identical emotions, unless that person happened to be his contracted.

Northcott was no exception. There was, in fact, less gore than Sebastian had anticipated, though still a fair bit of blood had spilled. Scotland Yard eyed Sebastian as they went about their work, but they did not speak to him. Sebastian needed no more than his senses to gather what forensics would for them. He breathed in the air: hinted with blood, nine hours old, blood belonging to a man in his forties with no major health issues. He saw the flesh and sinew that had been ground into the cobbled floor with intense, consistent force.

But what was this? The scent of blood did not just linger by the stall, but on two paths leading to the stall as well. So Northcott had been presented to the horse already bleeding, if not already dead. This was further proof in favor of Ciel’s hypothesis: that the trampling of the horse hid the marks of the true murder weapon, rather than being the actual cause of death. Unfortunately, Scotland Yard and Northcott’s staff had muddied the air with their human smells, and it was impossible to tell the characteristics of the person who had delivered the man to his fate. With that gathered, Sebastian left.

Ciel was standing a fair distance from the doctor and his patient, cautious of the horse’s unpredictable nature. As Sebastian approached, he heard the veterinarian say, “Well, I don’t know, but I’d say it’s unlikely at this point. It’s not something I have the time for… and not something I can imagine anyone else having the patience for.”

“… No, I imagine not,” Ciel said, and looked over his shoulder briefly as Sebastian stopped behind him. “Well, I’m going to be in touch with Northcott’s lawyer and clerk. I would pay you handsomely, if you would be so kind as to tend to the horse until it’s confirmed that Northcott was crushed to death.”

The doctor nodded but looked puzzled. “Sure, if it matters so much, I’ll keep the gelding in my stable for a few days… But whether or not it’s guilty, it’s as I just told you. He’ll be sent off to the knackery; horses like him ain’t much good anymore after they’ve been spooked and riled up like this one has, and nobody’s going to want him.” As if to further prove its wildness, the horse suddenly thrashed on its rope lead and gave a screaming whinny.

“Yes, I understand,” Ciel half-barked, though whether in frustration at the doctor or surprise at the horse’s loud retaliation, Sebastian couldn’t be sure. “I’ll be by in a few days to give you word… Until then, I’ll let you take him before the sedative wears off. Let’s go, Sebastian. We still have a lot of ground to cover this afternoon.”

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It was two o’clock when Sebastian exited the Orphanage Infirmary and hailed a cab to meet Ciel at the docks. He told the driver to wait while he fetched his master, following the pulse of Ciel’s soul to the outside of a pub, likely a friendlier place at this hour of the day than the evening. Ciel himself was not looking friendly, arms folded as he leaned against the wall, bearing a sour, impatient scowl.

“I hope you didn’t get into any trouble with the local riffraff, my lord,” Sebastian said by way of greeting.

Ciel snorted, walking over and allowing Sebastian to lead him to the carriage around the corner. “I almost would have preferred that. It was the Docker’s Union that gave me trouble, damn it. They refused to supply any information on who worked Northcott’s ship. The strike last year has made them feel apt to protect their members’ privacy, even if their members might have assisted a trafficking ring apparently. And you remember, too, how the gentry were commending the union for their peaceful protests, including myself… See if I ever speak well of that lot again… What a nuisance…”

Sebastian held open the door of the cab once they arrived and climbed in after him. “So then,” Ciel began with a sigh, as the carriage tottered off in the direction of Undertaker’s mortuary, “please tell me that what you learned from the children was actually useful.”

“I’ll see what you can make of it, my lord,” Sebastian said. “For starters, seven of the boys spoke Persian; two spoke Kurdish and told me they were brothers.”

Ciel already stopped him there. “All of the children were boys?”

“Yes. And all of them had been sold by their parents into servitude to work as camel jockeys in Dubai. They had grown too old for it, however, despite that not one was more than nine years. Apparently many child slaves begin their career in camel jockeying at the age of two — living for seven more years with such a profession and such fragile bones is rather impressive.”

Ciel sniffed, waspish. “Get on with it, now. What else did you learn?”

“They did not know why they had been sent to England,” he continued. “They did not even know where they were going until they were taken to Egypt’s ports to be sold. They had never been on a ship before and were frightened, but said they were swiftly used to it. Aboard the ship, they were treated more kindly than they had been as jockeys. Though no one could speak to them, they were fed and allowed to move around the deck where they pleased, given they didn’t cause any trouble. When they eventually arrived in London, it was nighttime, and they were being shepherded off of the ship into a wagon. The police stopped the wagon not long after and evacuated it, arresting the driver. The children thought they were under arrest as well at the time. Until I arrived, I still don’t think they really had any idea what was happening.”

Ciel propped his elbow on a knee and leaned his chin on his wrist, thoughtful. “Northcott’s treatment of children continues to perplex me,” he said at last. “It’s expensive to transport live cargo overseas. If he merely dealt in general trafficking, there would be no reason to go outside of Europe for victims… Which naturally means it had to do with these children in particular, their expertise.” Ciel leaned back again. “They were young and lightweight, they had a history of jockeying… it sounds to me like the dealings of an illegal racetrack, especially when you consider Northcott’s so-called murderer. But it’s hard to imagine an illegal racetrack going to such great lengths to acquire this ‘perfect jockey.’ The dangers of it attracting attention to their cartel are too great — they’ve already made that mistake, if a racetrack is indeed at the center of all this.”

Sebastian bowed his chin in agreement. “Our opportunity for further answers shall arrive shortly. Thus, while we wait, my lord—” Sebastian made a small show of revealing an orange from the inside of his jacket “—how about a sweet snack to drive away hunger and a peel to drive away the smells of the mortuary?”

Another ten minutes later and they had arrived at the funeral parlor, a building with about as much charm as a shrunken head. When Sebastian tipped the driver and told him he need not wait up, the man muttered, “Thank God for that… I ain’t hangin’ around here one more second.” Though the appearance of the mortuary was hardly appealing, the aforementioned scent of the place was even more unsettling. It was a strange cornucopia that seemed to work its way into the human psyche: a mix of incense, salt, formaldehyde, and sawdust. Heady yet fragrant, lingering here too long often gave Ciel a headache. Before they went inside, Sebastian observed Ciel rubbing the orange peel between gloved fingertips and pressing it to the base of his nose before tucking it away in his pocket.

And then, as they entered, they were made quickly aware that they weren’t the only ones here on business.

“Wha—? You?” Ciel cried at the redheaded inspector, who was propped on all fours in the center of the cold stone floor. “Just what the devil are you doing?!”

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” Fred Abberline choked back, blushing profusely. “I’m trying to be funny, that’s what the devil I’m doing!”

Ah yes, the Undertaker’s fee: a laugh, or rather a fit of them, as the Undertaker always seemed to be laughing by nature, knitting such sounds of glee into his speech patterns. Sebastian had little difficulty finding the right words or actions to pay the toll, but it didn’t go without saying that Undertaker had a particular sense of humor. Abberline seemed to be attempting a sort of visual gag. Sebastian wasn’t sure what was supposed to be humorous about a man with both shoes tied around his ears, posed like a beast of burden, and he didn’t really want to know either.

Undertaker did not seem amused by this display himself. He was leaning one elbow on the lid of the coffin he was sprawled behind, using it as most would use a desk. He cupped his cheek in one hand, bored, though his mouth was curved up like a crescent moon at the sight of Ciel.

“Well, well, look who it is. Little Lord Phantomhive,” Undertaker greeted. “It’s been some months since I last saw you… I was beginning to wonder if your next visit would be for a coffin. But you’re going to be too big for the one I’ve crafted at this rate… I’ll have to start over, hehe.”

“Hilarious,” Ciel growled. “If you can just make yourself laugh, I don’t know what you need him for.”

Abberline sulkily put his shoes back on his feet where they belonged. “Don’t say it so dismissively… I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of him for over an hour now!”

Undertaker snickered, hiss-like. “Come now, if you aren’t going to be funny, then I’m not going to laugh, I think that’s fair. But your honest nature did make me feel almost sorry enough to pretend.”

“Ugh! Oh, I give up!” Abberline hung his head, then appealed to Ciel. “Earl, let’s work together on this, all right? Clearly you know him better than I do, and no doubt you’re here for the same reason I am. If you can get him to tell us about Northcott’s cause of death, I’ll let you take a look at the case file I have on-hand. Is it a deal?”

Things weighed in the boy’s favor here, and Ciel agreed to the exchange. “Sebastian, I’ll leave this to you. I’ve had to put my mind to enough today.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sebastian took a step forward and opened his mouth, sure whatever dirty limerick or double entendre he chose from his thousand-year arsenal would do the trick here. But Undertaker surprised him with other ideas.

“I think,” he mused, putting his sleeve-covered hands together, “that the butler has something he’d like to tell me in private.”

“In private?” Ciel repeated, and glared at Sebastian. “Is that true?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “… Evidently.”

Ciel’s gaze stayed on Sebastian for a few seconds more before drifting back to Undertaker. “I don’t like the sound of that one bit… The idea of you two degenerates swapping secrets without me present seems like a formula for disaster.”

Abberline was thrown-off. “You consider your butler a degenerate…?”

“Of the cheekiest variety,” Ciel growled, making Sebastian smirk primly. A thoughtful moment, and he asked, “But whatever it is he tells you, that will be enough to give us the details on Northcott?”

Undertaker nodded, that knowing grin never leaving his face.

“… Is this secret about me?” the boy asked then, immediately haughty. “I’m not going to let you gossip about me once I’m out of the room. True or false, I don’t care. I won’t have it.”

“How interesting that you’d think so, Earl,” Undertaker’s words followed him to the exit. “Must it always be about you? Hmm… Maybe so, maybe so. Be patient now and wait for your answers outside, like the good guard dog you are.”

“Nothing about me. That’s an order,” was Ciel’s final warning. Then the heavy black door shut, leaving Undertaker and Sebastian in silence.

“My, my. Looks as though somebody is changing,” the playful voice began. “Resembling Vincent more and more, but terribly confused about who he could become… Frightened, even, of who he could become. Behaving in ways he never has before. Forces beyond his understanding turning him into something new… and struggling to understand why.”

The Undertaker strode to the other side of the coffin and sat upon it, crossing one leg over the other.

“Could I be talking about the Earl,” he whispered, “or you, butler?”

Sebastian’s face flinched in surprise. Otherwise he stood unmoving, waiting for further explanation. What did the Undertaker know about his emerging sympathy over the past few months, and how? He wouldn’t simply reveal his fears to a man whose intentions were always in-question. Better to see what Undertaker knew from mere observation.

“You are not the same as the last time I saw you,” Undertaker went on. “Don’t look so shocked at my saying so — I have always been attuned to such things. Particularly those in the realm of the odd, and you, my friend, are most certainly an oddity. Do I know what you are, you might wonder? That I would never guess at, lest you consider it grounds to kill me… What I will say is this: you are at risk of becoming an entirely different entity.”

The Undertaker was right about one thing: Sebastian did feel the urge to kill him, but mostly because of how uncommonly vulnerable he felt in this moment, and how angry that made him. The Undertaker himself… Sebastian had often doubted his species in return — the world was populated with numerous immortals masquerading as humans for their own pleasure.

“What is it that you assume makes me ‘at-risk’ of transformation, exactly?” Sebastian began tentatively.

Undertaker smiled wider. “I think you know that better than I do, hmm?”

He did. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He was bound to his master’s order. He could not talk about Ciel right now.

Undertaker caught on to that. “Perhaps it has to do with the company you keep,” he offered. “Company that you will not or cannot leave, I wager.”

“You said that I had something to tell you,” Sebastian pressed on, “but it seems rather you had something to tell me. Is that so?”

“Just looking out for you, butler. You should be grateful for my insight.” The Undertaker spread out his arms in a shrug. “Your change in aura has me very curious. You’ve been an unwavering flame since the moment we met years ago. And now… that flame is growing inside of your rich black energy. Can you blame my inquisition?” He chuckled three more hisses. “And I suppose you’re wondering what I meant by saying you were ‘more like Vincent’… Well, that would be in your affection for the boy. Wouldn’t it? When the Earl speaks, that flame in you flickers…”

“What is your intention of telling me all this?” Sebastian said thinly.

“Because I want to study you, of course,” Undertaker proposed. “I want to see what other changes you go through, and why that might be, and why now… Why now, of all times, after going years unaffected… You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? I would.”

Sebastian made no movement. To admit his interest would be to expose his underbelly to a dubious ally.

“Do with my invitation as you wish,” Undertaker said at last, rhythmically tapping his cheek with long fingernails. “I’ll leave it up to you, whether or not you visit again, on your own time… But if you choose to keep me informed of what changes you go through, I will endeavor to come up with a cure… Because it frightens you to change, doesn’t it? It would frighten me…”

Still Sebastian said nothing. If he were human, he felt there would be sweat on his brow. If the Undertaker could make these observations, than it meant the sympathy he felt growing in him was as much of a cancer as he feared. Perhaps relying on Undertaker was the only choice he had…

“Well then. That’s all I have for you.” The fingernails stopped their rhythm. “But you need an alibi for the Earl, don’t you? So why not tell a joke after all? You may not feel like laughing, but I assure you, I do.”

Minutes later, Abberline and Ciel reentered the funeral parlor to the sound of Undertaker’s merriment. “Not bad…” he wheezed, arms and chin stretched across his coffin, as if he’d fallen over laughing and needed to be propped up. “Not bad at all…”

Abberline seemed put-off. “Wh-What did you do to make him laugh?”

“I told a simple joke.” Sebastian smiled, forced. “Nothing more.”

Ciel strode forward, plopping the thin case file into Sebastian’s palms for analysis as he approached Undertaker.  “All right, your ridiculous fee’s been paid. Now tell us about how Northcott died.”

Undertaker gave a long sigh, his breathing returning to normal. “The poor fellow,” he said remorselessly, “died from lung collapse due to blunt force trauma.”

Abberline smacked his open palm with the opposite fist. “So! He was killed by his horse, it wasn’t an attempted cover-up!”

“Not necessarily…” Ciel laid a finger lengthwise across his lower lip, thought for a moment. “Was there anything proving that a horse was the attacker?”

“The body is in miserable shape,” Undertaker shook his head. “The family isn’t going to want an open casket for this funeral, I assure you, hehe… The hooves that may have killed him did turn him to a fine pulp. Not much more can be discerned, alas.” He swept a long sleeve towards his back room. “You’re welcome to take a look for yourself, Lord Phantomhive. I only hope you didn’t eat recently.”

“Ugh. Your explanation will do, thank you very much.” Ciel took the case file from Sebastian as it was handed back, knowing his butler had read and memorized it easily even in that short time frame. “And there were no other signs of foul play? Rope burns on his wrists or ankles to imply he might have been restrained at one point?”

Undertaker shook his head. “There are no details I’ve spared you, Earl. It’s a corpse that’s been through much rough treatment. Certainly a terrified horse could have done this — so could a man, or a mob of them, with heavy enough of a weapon. Only further investigation can reveal the truth. But I wouldn’t say the trampling is so farfetched.”

Ciel turned. “All right, then. We’ll be off. Report to me immediately with any further discoveries, should they arise.”

Undertaker cackled softly. “I am your willing servant... Farewell, little Lord Phantomhive.”

The trio departed into the cloudy sunshine and the fresher air. Ciel handed Abberline back the case file. “So,” he said to the inspector, “Scotland Yard changed their tune? You too were assuming Northcott had been killed by someone other than his horse?”

“Ah…” Abberline shuffled the papers together, which had become unruly in his grip. “No… That is, I didn’t think so, until Randall gave me your opinion. He may consider you a rival, but the way I see it, we both strive for the same goal, and your sleuthing is so often correct, it seemed silly to ignore it. I trusted that you could be on the right path.”

Ciel hardly contemplated this before making a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat. “Hmph. Well, I wasn’t on the right path, and it’ll do you no good to follow anyone blindly. As for the goal we’re striving for, it is the same, but don’t think I’m as friendly as you. I intend to do things my own way. Good day, Addison.”

“Abberline! It’s Abberline! ” was the shout that followed them out of the alley and onto the main thoroughfare.

There was no more discussion until Sebastian had hailed another cab. “My lord is not shy about saying he ‘doesn’t play well with others.’”

The carriage jerked to a start beneath them. “Is that a surprise to you? Of course it’s not, you just like teasing me too much.” Ciel fiddled with his cane, thinking again. “So it would seem that Northcott likely was killed by his old racehorse. But that doesn’t mean the animal wasn’t provoked… and I wager that being trapped in a small space with a stinking corpse for so long stirred up its fear sense even more. No wonder Northcott was a supposed ‘pulp’ by the time anyone found him.”

“I don’t think my lord was wrong in his initial assumption, though,” Sebastian said. “From my evaluation of the crime scene, the smell of blood was in places aside from the body’s location… two trails of Northcott’s scent led from the stable entrance to the stall. I believe the man was already injured or dead when he was deposited inside.”

“… Which would make some sense, if he worked an illegal racetrack and one of their horses murdered him,” Ciel said. “Then his body might be put inside the stall, to make it look like some sort of freak accident … But why would Northcott be near enough to the track’s horses for them to harm him? And why would he be trying to ride his own horse in the middle of the night without a stable hand to assist? Either scenario could happen… It just seems… strange. He wouldn’t be a jockey, that’s for sure. I don’t know… Despite how many mysteries still surround it, this particular case is beginning to feel rather pretty, isn’t it?”

“Pretty, my lord?”

“Like it’s all coming together too nicely. I’m already very certain Northcott worked an illegal racetrack, for instance. There’s just a lot of details I feel are already confirmed. It makes me wary.” Ciel sighed. “Well, we still don’t know where this racetrack could be located and who else is involved. I don’t expect the whole charade to fall apart just because one man is dead.” The boy leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes. “But that’s enough for today… All I have energy for now is writing to Northcott’s lawyer. Fix me some Assam tea when we get back so I can think properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh yes, and before I forget…” Ciel looked at his demon with suspicion. “Just what did Undertaker want you for anyway? Was it really just a simple joke?”

“It depends on your definition of ‘simple,’” Sebastian dodged.

Ciel was wise to this game. “What else did he want from you, aside from the joke?”

“… He wanted little from me,” Sebastian said, with masked care. “What he really wanted was to tell me something, not I him.”

“So what did he tell you?” Ciel was getting impatient.

“He told me that… he wanted to study me.”

“… He wanted to study you? Why—?” Ciel stopped and buried his face in his hand. “Ugh, never mind… I probably don’t want to know, do I? It’s the damn Undertaker, after all.”

Sebastian sniffed a laugh. “Yes, you probably don’t want to know.”

“Do I even want to know what joke it is that won him over this time?”

“Perhaps. I don’t believe your ears would be impartial to it.”

“Go on, then. Try and make me laugh.” A competitive edge had seeped into the boy’s tone.

Sebastian straightened. “You can tell a lot about a woman’s mood by looking at her hands.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow, then shrugged in inquiry.

“If she’s holding a gun, she is probably angry.”^[♣]

After a second, the boy did give a half-grin. “Tuh! I was hoping for more of a play on words… Seems Undertaker prefers the silly to the clever. I’m certainly not compelled to share that one at parties.”

Ciel was smug that he had not awarded Sebastian his own laugh. Sebastian was merely relieved that he had not been pressed for further details on his discussion with Undertaker. If there was anyone in the world who should not find out about his rapidly ‘changing aura,’ it was the boy who could best take advantage of it.

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Algernon Northcott was forty-six years old when he died. He was unmarried, with no heirs, which wasn’t so uncommon in this day and age. He had taken over his father’s shipping business, using a sturdy ocean liner with auxiliary sails, built in 1882 and taking the same route through the Mediterranean Sea to Alexandria for most of her career. Her imports included Egyptian cotton, Algerian olive oil, Tunisian wine — and Middle Eastern children, presumably more than once. Northcott had turned a decent profit and was an established member of the rising middle class. Only his hired crew had knowledge of the abducted children, as far as could be deduced, and Northcott had not kept any records of who these men were, likely in the off-chance that his crime was discovered. The crew was not about to turn themselves in, in any case.

In his return letter, the lawyer described the initial outline of Northcott’s will: that most of his money was to go to his remaining family (mainly first and second cousins, as Northcott had been an only child), with smaller percentages to be doled out amongst his staff, and the rest to charity. Unfortunately, the lawyer assumed most of Northcott’s trade documents were forged, as they did not account for any money that was made or lost by human trafficking, and it was possible Northcott had even held a private bank account to make up the difference. Until a better understanding of the dead’s financial exploits was known, Northcott’s riches were subject to forfeiture.

These were the details that Sebastian had gleaned from the case file and the lawyer’s letter, and this was the information Ciel had him regale on their way to Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey the following day.

“Aunt Francis told me that this was the most disgusting part of London when she was a girl,” Ciel said, looking out the window as they passed along Pye Street. “They once called it ‘the diseased heart’… But the year I was born, the Public Health Act was passed, and the worst of the filth was transformed into what you see today. Thank God.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Very good, my lord. Reciting history lessons unasked, how proud I should be.”

Ciel smirked. “They also called this sector ‘the Devil’s Acre.’”

“Of that you need not remind me,” Sebastian sighed. “The human association of the devil with filth continues to perplex me. Even those who do not believe in demons speak of our poor taste. How misguided.”

“It is the least of our slights against you.” Ciel was clearly pleased to have insulted his own personal devil nonetheless.

The orphanage was on Romney Street near Smith Square, in a two-story cubbyhole of a dwelling, squeezed between brick housing units. It was in some disrepair and clearly old, the shutters battered and walkway cracking, but a little garden out front tried to brighten the scene. The stairs creaked almost dangerously beneath their feet but held, and when Ciel knocked on the paint-peeled door, it took almost three minutes for the nun from yesterday to answer it.

She smiled warmly as she recognized Ciel. “Welcome, young one! I’m so glad to see you’ve found your way. Have you decided to come live with us after all?”

“Good grie— I’m not an orphan! ” Ciel snapped. His shoulders unbunched as he considered his words. “Well… actually, I suppose I am an orphan, but… I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.” Sebastian barely restrained himself from tutting. Perfectly able, is that right! That’s news to me. “I’m here to ask you more about your relationship with Algernon Northcott. Do you mind if we come in and speak with you briefly?”

Tears came to the young nun’s brown eyes again. “Yes, of course; it’s the least I can do in his memory.”

As Ciel strode into the narrow entrance hall, he couldn’t be restrained from bursting her bubble. “I know he was very supportive of your orphanage, but it’s worth noting that before he was murdered, Northcott was convicted of human trafficking.”

“I did hear that,” the nun said evenly, “and I have trouble believing it to be true.”

“I have trouble believing the opposite.” Ciel’s voice tightened distastefully as they passed a banister steeped in laundry. “He was murdered within hours of the victims being discovered by the police. And the testimony from the man driving the wagon of children revealed that he was only taking them halfway. Their final destination would be a secret even to him. So, with that in mind—”

“Please.” The nun held up her hand, stopping them before a whitewashed door. “The children are eating their lunch in here. I’d prefer they didn’t hear this disturbing talk.”

Ciel and Sebastian followed her into the little space, where the orphans were gathered around a large butcher block table, hunched over plates of what looked to be roast beef. They had no eyes for the newcomers, so focused were they on the meal they ate with their hands.

As if remembering it, Ciel said, “You told me that Northcott donated food to you, amongst other things. What specifically did he bring you?”

“What you see the children eating now is the last of the beef he gave,” the nun explained. “He told me he had a cousin who raised dairy cows. When one of them grew too old to produce milk any longer, Mr. Northcott would have it butchered and deliver the meat to us. Once a month or so, we were given these offerings. The meat doesn’t keep for long, but it would usually serve a couple days’ worth of meals.”

“A cousin who raised dairy cows…” Ciel’s research on Northcott’s extended family had thus far been meager, but this detail seemed to raise a red flag. “You said this was the last of it, but did you happen to discard any of the raw meat?”

“Only a bit of it,” the nun said, almost defensively. “Only a part that had seemed to go gray faster than the rest… It wouldn’t do us well to be wasteful here.”

“No, I trust it wouldn’t. If you still have it in your waste bin, I’d like for my partner here to eat it,” Ciel said, smiling more at Sebastian’s look of annoyance than the nun’s cry of shocked disgust.

“Don’t sound so worried, he’ll be fine,” Ciel spoke in his butler’s place. “He’s quite an experienced connoisseur... and he’s digested much worse. Take my word.”

“And mine,” Sebastian interjected stiffly. Ciel’s exposed eye seemed to sparkle.

“But why?” the woman had to know. “What is the purpose of eating raw meat that’s been thrown away?”

“I suspect that what Northcott gave you is something other than beef,” Ciel explained. “Nothing to worry about the children eating… but not beef. And if Sebastian tastes the creature’s blood, he will be able to tell us what it is. Won’t you?”

“… I imagine so.” It wasn’t often that Ciel was so forthright about Sebastian’s ethereal abilities, but the boy was lapping up his demon’s displeasure like buttermilk today.

There was a little metal pail in one corner of the kitchen, containing knotted fistfuls of pumpkin seeds and eggshells and apple cores, and a soft gray clump of meat like the cherry on top. Ugh… Sebastian reached in his gloved fingers, plucking the morsel out and tossing it into his mouth. He made no show of disgust, knowing it would only encourage Ciel’s schadenfreude, though Sebastian’s umbrage lay more in humiliation than nausea… But the meaning for this crude task became clear as a particular taste of death whirled around his senses. Ciel had been right to have Sebastian eat the raw stuff. If he’d sampled any of the cooked meat, he wouldn’t have known what it was, for he had never eaten it before. The blood spilled secrets that the flame would burn away.

“Horse meat,” he said, and by Ciel’s expression knew the boy had anticipated this.

The nun hadn’t. “Horse meat? Well, that’s all right as well, just as fine as beef… but why would Mr. Northcott lie about this?”

“That’s the question I aim to answer,” Ciel said. “With him, it always seems to go back to horses… Whether he killed them or they him. Did Northcott donate anything to you, apart from money? Any clothing or other sorts of food?”

“He did not.” The nun folded her hands in front of her. “It seems strange to talk about Mr. Northcott like this; almost as if I am betraying him. He would visit us a few times a year. He knew the children by name. He would share with them his favorite passages from the Bible. It isn’t easy for us to accept that within his chest was a dark heart.” The tears were in her eyes again.

Ciel was not well-versed in comfort. “Northcott left money for you in his will. Unfortunately, his assets will likely be forfeited to the government, as they may have been obtained through illegal means.”

The nun nodded solemnly. “Even in death, he cares for us…”

“The dead can’t take care of anybody,” Ciel said, words shadowed by his own experience. “Therefore I’ll be sending you a cheque tomorrow to help you keep up with the expenses of the orphanage. Expect it in the mail by the afternoon.”

“I couldn’t possibly take your money!” the nun cried, placing her hands on his unprepared shoulders. “God smiles upon such kindness… but a boy your age, working so hard to survive, should be saving every penny for himself.”

“Does what I say go in one ear and out the other?!” Ciel clapped a hand to his forehead. “Maybe your selective hearing can retain this much: I’m Lord Ciel Phantomhive, watchdog to the Queen. I’ve donated money to you before. Now please get your hands off of me before I change my mind about it.”

“You’re… Lord Phantomhive?” The nun covered her mouth. “Then you have also been our dear friend… But you’re so young!”

“And so exhausted by your declarations,” the boy sighed, turning his back to her. “I think it’s about time we left…”

“Young one.” The nun placed one of her hands gently on the side of his head, making Ciel blink largely, surprised, confused, and a little affronted at this familiarity. “You engage yourself in a dangerous game… One that people your age have no business knowing.”

Ciel rolled his head out from underneath her palm. “That’s where you’re wrong again.” He began striding towards the exit, holding himself tall. “This is only child’s play.”

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Over the next two days, the discoveries reached a drought. Ciel interviewed one of Northcott’s first cousins when he arrived in Surrey to account for Algernon’s possessions but, aside from confirming they had no relative who raised dairy cattle, nothing came of it. None of Northcott’s shipping crew was apprehended or heard of. The man who had been driving the wagon of abducted children was still the only one known to be connected to the trafficking. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of the big picture — he was just an East End vagabond who would take whatever odd job gave enough shillings for food and liquor. Running out of human leads, Ciel had taken to scanning day-old, week-old, month-old newspapers for anything related to horses or the Middle East or similar crime, any clues that might have been hiding behind a petty headline all along. It wasn’t until the letters arrived that any significant progress was made.

There were two of them, one from Undertaker and one from the nun, but their contents were virtually the same. Homemade envelopes contained twin posters for a competition, to be held by a Mr. Gwilym Hastings in a month. The font was bold, neat, attractive. Both nun and Undertaker seemed to find the announcement of this competition strange and a little too timely. Both also bid Ciel to take care — the nun with her candid worry, the Undertaker, more likely, with a sly, taunting edge.

The competition Hastings advertised was for a horse race.

“These posters were apparently tacked across the East End and London docks,” Ciel explained to Sebastian. “And if you read the print, you’ll see that this Hastings is looking specifically for poor young boys to train into jockeys. Poor young boys who, no doubt, are looking for work and may not have families who would miss them. This is out of charity, Hastings states, a way of helping the less fortunate to find work… perhaps even become famous. A real-life rags-to-riches story.

“Five of the most talented applicants will be selected to live at his manor. He’ll pay their room and board while training them as professionals to someday compete in the Ascot.” Ciel thrummed his fingertips over the center ink drawing of a man on the back of a rearing stallion. “Seems like the sort of competition one might propose if they, say, ran an illegal racetrack and had just lost their access to child labor.”

Sebastian grinned. “Yes, this does reek of coincidence, doesn’t it? And what would you like to do with this information, my lord?”

“Isn’t that the question.” Ciel plopped his elbows on his desk and knitted his fingers together. “This Mr. Hastings… I haven’t heard of him before. I imagine he’s also a member of the middle class, like Northcott was. Wealthy enough to sponsor a racetrack, perhaps… Not wealthy enough to run it through legal means.” The boy leaned back. “I’m about ninety percent convinced that this racetrack exists now. But where it is and how to find it is the mystery. And I don’t suppose confronting Mr. Hastings would convince him to outright show it to us, even if we threatened him. I’d try it if I knew that he were in charge of the whole operation, but he might just be another piece of the puzzle like Northcott was.”

“The English countryside isn’t small,” Sebastian said. “Even if I were to search for a racetrack, without a direct lead, it wouldn’t be a swift process.”

“But now we know another player in the game,” Ciel said. “Or at least, it seems very clear that we do. If we stood vigil outside his manor… followed him if he went somewhere in the middle of the night…”

Sebastian leaned forward a fraction. “Hmm. I think we both know why that wouldn’t be the most surefire answer, my lord.”

“Hastings might not go anywhere or do anything suspicious,” Ciel answered in a growl. “And I might just end up wasting my time…”

“That, and even if we did follow him to an illegal racetrack, what would you do from there?” Sebastian smiled. “Let’s say everything goes according to plan and we find just what we’re looking for. Even if I killed everyone there, stable hands and gamblers, and we happened to find the child jockeys too, the ringleaders pulling the strings from far away would still live. These people are the real threat, as you well know… But the answers you seek would die with the racetrack if you invaded it mindlessly.”

“Argh… And incapacitating or killing so many people would leave a lot of blood on my hands. The Queen wouldn’t be happy with the way I handled things… Especially not after Noah’s Ark.” Ciel chewed his lip. “I’ll have to infiltrate, of course. If I can blend in with the betting crowd, I could get them to lead me to their racetrack… Then I could explore the place and find out who the big bosses funding it were… And take out those leaders methodically instead.”

“But why,” Sebastian began, “would anyone be willing to lead a young aristocrat there? Or anyone so young, for that matter? Surely they must have standards for who is to be invited, or else word would get out all too quickly of their operation. Even if they did not recognize you as Lord Phantomhive, no doubt your age would raise suspicions.”

Ciel grunted. “And if they did recognize me, it’d all be over.”

Sebastian took a step towards the desk, leaning forward even more. “If only there were some way you could attend as you are and not be suspected… Hmm?”

The grandfather clock in the corner tick, tick, ticked. Chimed.

“… But that would be worse than the circus!” Ciel cried in realization, jumping to his feet.

“Oh come now, my lord. You are just the proper age to try out for the competition. And you already know how to ride a horse.”

“But I don’t know how to ride a racehorse! ”

“Neither would any of the other boys.”

“I would just exhaust myself! Last time I did something so physically taxing, I got sick and couldn’t properly investigate anyway.”

“I don’t think that would happen this time, my lord.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you would have an entire month beforehand to practice.”

Ciel went silent, angrily contemplating, angry because he knew this was the best course of action. A man who abducted young jockeys — killed when his trafficking was discovered. Another man calling for young jockeys — days after the first man died. Equine connections everywhere one looked. An underground racetrack, only hinted at, really only imagined, tucked somewhere in the foothills. Horses killed, a horse who killed, and a way to freely investigate it all plopped in their laps like a neat little gift.

“... I don’t suppose you know how to train a jockey,” Ciel finally sighed miserably.

Sebastian’s smile only changed the smallest bit, but the angle of his head above the boy somehow made it all the more menacing. “I believe I have… some ideas.”

Chapter Text

The Phantomhive stables contained five horses, all of them male. Three nearly-identical Welsh cobs were specifically for pulling the carriage. They were dark brown, sturdy animals, kept as sleek as burnished brass. The only notable differences between Yankee, Merrylegs, and Gilbert were the length of the socks they bore on their well-muscled limbs. Ciel did not concern himself with these horses, thinking more of them as extra servants — just as well, as he’d allowed Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin to name them. Only Irish and Sysonby were worthy of bearing the young master on their broad backs.

Irish was a mild-mannered thoroughbred, aptly named due to his red coloration. He was fourteen years old, just like the boy who owned him, though himself far past adolescence. He was gentle, easy to ride, but not opposed to a jaunt through the Phantomhive territory. Irish was bought with the intention of having a horse for Lizzie available, if she ever wanted to go riding when she visited, but Ciel liked the sorrel too. It was an obedient creature, not at all unpredictable, and difficult to spook. Though Ciel did not often proclaim it, he had a fondness for tame animals and their unconditional loyalty. “I can trust him more than I can most people. More than you, without a doubt,” Ciel had once sneered at Sebastian, before twice thumping a hand against Irish’s velveteen neck.

Sysonby was the very opposite of the gelding. For one, he was a stallion, and for another, he was very proud. A handsome black hackney horse, Sysonby had the attractive high step his breed was known for and flaunted it whenever possible. He adored being ridden, though he would often get overexcited and move a little more quickly than Ciel wanted him to. Sysonby was a challenge to control, and Sebastian knew Ciel was quietly thrilled by it. When it came to the stallion, the only thing Ciel seemed to enjoy more than reining him was making remarks about Sebastian’s likeness to the beast.

“What an idiot,” Ciel would say with a smirk as the nine-year-old horse paraded about in his stall, longing to show off for his master. “He’s just as eager as you are to do everything perfectly. And see how he looks to me for approval — or for an apple, maybe. It all comes down to food for the both of you, doesn’t it? I fancy your brains work just the same way.”

Sebastian did not consider himself at all similar to the horse, or any animal that man had bred for servitude, but as both shared a master, both would have to endure said master’s evaluations from time to time. Sebastian theorized he and the horse alike would receive a rather scathing review from a tired, biased lord today.

Though Bard was, by title, the chef of the manor, he was more often the horses’ caretaker. The stable just off the servant’s entrance was where he spent half his day, feeding, grooming, and exercising its five residents. He also kept the tack and leather in good condition, one of the few lessons the army had managed to ingrain, as far as Sebastian was concerned. When Sebastian walked into the stable that morning at half past five, Bard had one of Gilbert’s huge fetlocks in his palm and was examining the hoof’s underside.

“It was jus’ a pebble stuck in your shoe, Gil,” he teased the large cob. “You’re limpin’ and carryin’ on like a big baby over nothin’! Why, if you was a person, Mr. Sebastian’d have you right out the door and flat on your tailbone, lickety-split.”

“Hmm, would I now? And here I found myself considerably lenient when it came to you and the other two simpletons,” Sebastian announced himself.

Bard leapt up from where he’d been crouching in the open stall and threw a tall-backed salute. “Mr. Sebastian? Eh, uh, morning, sir. W-What can I do for ya?”

“What you can do is prepare Irish for a ride.” Sebastian took out his pocket watch from his jacket, sprung the lid, and tucked it back away. “The young master is going to be waking up in half an hour, and he’ll be working the horse hard. Make sure you choose a good headstall and a bit with fair tongue control.”

Bard’s shocked expression said he had a number of questions. “A ride this early, sir? What for? I’ve got nothin’ against anything the young master does, jus’ didn’t think he was wakin’ up before ten these days…”

“Well, that’s about to change,” Sebastian said jovially. “Please get to it, so that the horse is ready by the time I have the young master dressed.”

“Sure thing, sir… Ah, wait! Jus’ thought of something,” Bard called as Sebastian began to turn. “Does it hafta be Irish that the young master rides? Sysonby’ll be right upset if he sees Irish gettin’ first pick. Horses, they got a hierarchy a’ their own, y’see. Don’t like to have it messed with. Sysonby and Irish get along great most a’ the time, but I reckon Syson’ll bully him out in the pasture and act up somethin’ fierce if the master doesn’t make him the first choice.”

Sebastian knew it would be easier for Ciel to practice riding skills on a more obedient beast, hence why he had requested Irish. Ciel had not ridden in some time, either, and would probably need to reacquaint his muscles with the saddle, the motions of the horse.

But… Sebastian’s humiliation at the orphanage was fresh in his mind. The taste of raw meat he’d plucked out of the bin… The look of disgust on the nun’s pretty face as she watched him swallow… What an unbecoming aesthetic. So he agreed with Bard that yes, the eager, rambunctious, boastful Sysonby would be a terrific mount for the day and to prepare that horse instead.

And now, it was time to face the little Fred Archer^[※] himself.

The sun still burned low on the horizon at six o’clock. When Sebastian cast apart the bedroom curtains and invited in a face full of sunshine, Ciel didn’t move a muscle. It was clear he had been in the midst of deepest sleep and was still processing what the act of being awake at this hour even entailed.

“Good morning, my lord,” Sebastian said, leaning over the motionless form beneath the covers. “Are you ready to begin your first day of jockeying? I’m sure that Sysonby is raring to start.”

Ciel lifted his head a bit and opened only his cursed eye, wincing through the daylight. His face was scrunched up, tired, annoyed. “’s too early,” he managed in a sleepy slur. He rubbed all over his face with the heels of both palms and, when he was done, turned right into the mattress to hide from the sun.

Sebastian wagged his finger cheerfully. “It isn’t too early for the East End boys, sir. They’d be awake by now, on the fishing boats and by the street corners with their newspapers.”

Ciel made an ungentlemanly snarl in the back of his throat.

“Of course, the East End boys are usually in bed by nine o’clock to be sure they have ample sleep for the day’s work… And you went to bed after midnight last night, yes?”

The boy still lay there like a corpse.

“Up, up, and let’s get you dressed.” Sebastian leaned closer. “Dear, dear… Such a slow riser will not be tolerated at Hastings’s residence, I have no doubt… Are you giving up on the competition already, young master? What a pity.”

Apparently Ciel’s pride did not wake up with his consciousness. “My riding boots don’t fit,” he grumbled into the coverlet. “I can’t practice anyway…”

Sebastian tutted pleasantly. “You won’t be wearing riding boots, my lord. The East Ends boys wouldn’t have any, so neither shall you. You’ll be practicing in the old Brogan boots you use for going undercover.”

This injustice finally had Ciel raising his head. “That’s too complicated! I’m not used to all this.” He split off from whining to yawn. “What’ll you do if I fall off the saddle because I couldn’t ride right? You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Always did like thinking up new ways to make me look stupid…”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, surprised but amused. A tired Ciel was difficult to deal with, yet it seemed that a very tired Ciel couldn’t form a thorough-enough argument to take seriously. “I thought perhaps you would need the extra energy today, my lord, which is why I prepared a lapsang souchong brew for you. Such luxuries you won’t find as a jockey, naturally, but perhaps this is proof enough that my intention isn’t to make you suffer.”

Ciel sat up at last, glowering as he took the warm cup in hand. “Not yet, it isn’t…”

The expensive black tea opened the boy’s eyes and stood him to his feet but did not make him rational. Sebastian dressed him in long socks, plaid knickerbockers, and a white shirt with a club collar — not one of the designer pieces Nina had fashioned for him, but a tired, cotton one. During this, Ciel had a lot more to say.

“When am I going to eat breakfast?”

“At nine thirty, we will take a break.”

“We? You make it sound like you’re going to be working, too.”

“I won’t be riding, my lord, but I will be attentively coaching you the entire time.”

“And what are you going to have me do?”

“Practice on posture and form.”

“Is that going to take long?”

“Unless you prove yourself a prodigy, I imagine it will take all month.”

“But how long will it take today? ”

“It should take only four hours, my lord. Any longer and you may overwork your muscles.”

“Only four hours?!” Ciel swung a kick at Sebastian’s shin. “That’s not short at all!”

“It’s your decision whether or not you follow through with it, young master,” Sebastian reminded with a wry smile. “Four hours is what I would recommend, if you want to have a surefire chance to best the others in the competition by next month. But if you’d rather not train at all and wing it… well, that’s an option too.”

Another kick was delivered as Sebastian pulled a wool sweater over Ciel’s head. “Like I need your cheek,” said the voice, muffled beyond the layer.

“Oh? Was I being cheeky?”

“It’s you we’re talking about, of course you were being cheeky!” Ciel's head popped free in a splash of static hair, and he folded his arms crossly. As Sebastian began tying on the boots, he heard Ciel drop his voice in pitch and mock under his breath, “It should take only four hours, my lord.”

Sebastian paused in creating a bow, and looked up to see a boy who was blushing with self-awareness at the childish tone he’d just used. “Well, isn’t that unexpected. My lord does impressions,” he grinned as a third kick was administered promptly to his knee. “I was unaware I sounded so boorish. I shall endeavor to pay more attention to my inflections.”

“Stop talking altogether if you’re just going to be a nuisance!”

Half an hour later, Ciel had trudged down to the stables with Sebastian in his slow wake, still rubbing his eyes and yawning and drooping his shoulders forward. Sysonby looked the opposite of his master: dressed in gleaming leather, snorting and bouncing his front hooves, eyes wide and ready. Bard held the romping horse by its reins, warning laughingly, “Calm down, ya big fool! Behave yourself in front of the young master! You’re right embarrassing, you are!”

Ciel reached out to the tossing head, and Sysonby stuck his blazing white muzzle right into the palm, sniffing happily. The honest spirit had Ciel smiling in spite of himself. “Calm down, brute. How am I supposed to mount you if you don’t stop moving?” As if understanding English, Sysonby tried to hold himself still, though his legs did shake with contained excitement. He threw back his head again, snorting hard and tossing his mane, begging for mercy. “All right, all right. Hold him steady so I can get on,” Ciel told Bard as he put one foot in the stirrup, stepping high and allowing Sebastian to help him swing his body atop the huge animal. Ciel gave a huff as he settled himself on the saddle.

Bard looped the reins through his master’s hand and held Sysonby by his bridle. “Sorry if this is a mite forward a’ me, young master, but eh, is there a reason you’re wearing that to go out ridin’?” he asked, scratching the nape of his neck. “And so early, too! Though I suppose it ain’t any a’ my business,” he added as Sebastian glowered him into obedience.

“You can blame the one who chooses my wardrobe,” Ciel growled, shooting his butler a similar glare. “Apparently dressing me up like a little street rat is grand fun for him. As is rousing me at first light.”

Bard looked between the two of them, trying to piece together the strangeties. “Ah, well,” he said at last, “do have a pleasant ride, my lord. It is a beautiful mornin’ out there.”

It was a beautiful morning, by human standards anyway. The black horse’s strong legs parted the mist and sent dewdrops and grasshoppers scattering beneath his hooves. The sun was a strong young light that washed everything in an orange palette. Despite that, Ciel shivered beneath the wool. “You didn’t dress me warmly enough. Didn’t you think about that, or were you too busy making certain I looked like I had a single penny to my name?”

“I apologize for your discomfort. I’m sure my lord will find himself plenty warm, once he begins practice,” Sebastian said, leading the horse and his rider through an outcropping of trees surrounding the north side of the estate.

Ciel took one hand off the reins to rub away the goose bumps on his upper arm. “And dare I ask what it is you’re going to make me do?”

“That deserves an explanation, when the time comes,” Sebastian said, turning right towards a thicket. “Once you become comfortable riding in those boots, I will tell you what to do. And hopefully my lord will trust my judgment… For I believe it will be the key to his victory.”

“The key to my victory, hm?” Ciel was pensive for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I’m not looking forward to this. You sound too sure about it. No doubt that spells my misery.”

“We’ll see,” Sebastian said, and felt Ciel’s eyes on him again at that response. “Maybe misery now, to later trade in for success.”

“How am I going to practice this ‘misery’ anyway?” Ciel was grappling for excuses again. “There isn’t anything like a racetrack out here, and the ground is far from flat.”

“Of that you are mistaken, my lord.” Sebastian pulled back a low-hanging bow to reveal a new addition to the Phantomhive territory. “I believe this shall fulfill the requirements of a racetrack.”

Where once grew a circlet of trees and soft grass was now a perfect oval of dirt road, lined by a wooden fence extending three furlongs. The ground was groomed and level the full way around the circuit. This was far from the most impressive of Sebastian’s work, taking only four hours to build, despite his contractual requirement that he create it step by step. Sysonby was curious about the structure, having run these backwoods a number of times and thinking himself familiar with the area. Ciel, however, was clearly perturbed that this jockey thing was really happening.

“Stop looking so proud about it,” Ciel snapped to Sebastian, as his horse leaned forward to explore the wood slats with his muzzle. “You didn’t even ask me if I would allow this first.”

“But you agreed to let me be in charge of training,” Sebastian reminded, pulling at one of the fence posts to reveal it was a hinged gate. “I assumed that meant being certain there was a place for you to train.”

Ciel wrinkled up his nose. “Whenever you make an assumption, I should always be worried.” Still, he drove Sysonby forward onto the track.

It did not take Ciel long to get back in the habit of riding. Over the course of a few laps, Ciel worked the stallion up to a gentle canter. He swiftly fell into the motions of the horse’s rocking, moving his arms with the reins and his body with the momentum. Sysonby, however, was distractible and trying to show off his pretty step, and Sebastian allowed Ciel to speed him up and wear down his first layer of enthusiasm. Once the horse had been dulled by the monotony of the run, Sebastian addressed his lesson.

“So, my lord,” he called out from his place in the grassy center of the track, swiveling slowly to follow Ciel in his looping pattern, “what I’m about to propose may seem a bit unorthodox. But if you can adapt to the following technique, it will bring you absolute success in the competition.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” Ciel barked back.

Sebastian laughed behind his lips. “We will see when you give it a try, won’t we, my lord?”

The boy made a face. “Just tell me what it is already.”

“What you must do,” Sebastian began, “is lean yourself forward so that you rise off the saddle, up and over the horse’s neck as much as possible, and hold this position as long as you can without sitting back down.”

Ciel’s frown held, but he decided to follow the instruction — or at least try. He hiked himself out of the saddle and plummeted back down almost immediately. Again, with the same results. Sysonby slowed a fraction and twisted his head around, wondering what his rider meant by this. “That’s bloody impossible!” Ciel cried. He brought the horse to a walk and towards the inside perimeter of the fence. “It’s way too hard! Why in blazes have I got to do that anyway? Are you just trying to torture me?”

“Now, now, my lord. Consider it logically,” Sebastian said. “What do you think pulling yourself up small and close to the horse would do?”

“… It would cut down on wind resistance.” Ciel’s tone said he was stubborn to see his butler’s point.

“Correct — and it will minimize the effect your weight has on the horse’s movement. Streamline yourself, and you and the horse will cut through the air as a bullet.” Sebastian smiled. “But, as you’ve exemplified, it is much easier said than done.”

“Not to your displeasure,” Ciel snapped. Then he looked away thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb against the soft leather of the reins. “This is clever. This could completely change the way jockeys race… and yet, it’s so obvious when you say it out loud. It’s just too bad that a damn demon came up with it.”^[♣]

“From the young master, I suppose that is a compliment,” Sebastian beamed, making Ciel glare beneath his bangs. Sebastian returned a gaze full of his own fire. “But this technique won’t learn itself, now, will it? So, my lord… are you ready to try again?”

The blue eye stared at him hard, but eventually Ciel nodded once. He pressed his legs against Sysonby’s huge rib cage and goaded him into another canter. Once they’d gotten up to a nice even pace, Ciel lifted himself out of the saddle, holding his body up a bit longer this time. Only a bit, though — two seconds later, he faltered unsteadily. Determination swept over the boy, and he tried again… and again… on the seventh try, he managed to hold a rough crouch for four seconds before Sebastian saw his eyes widen and his balance almost totter. Ciel sat down swiftly and regained his footing, then slowed Sysonby and road him over to the inside fence again.

Panting hard, Ciel worked his sweater off and over his hair. “It’s. Too. Hard,” he growled through gritted teeth, and launched the balled-up clothing at his butler’s face.

It was hardly a projectile. Sebastian caught the limp wool in his outstretched arms. “Too hard to make perfect,” Sebastian offered, moving closer to the edge of the fence, “and certainly not in a mere day.” He took ahold of Sysonby’s bridle with one hand and reached out to Ciel with the other. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order?”

Ciel didn’t reach back. “Some demonstration that would be. You’ll do it just right without even trying. As if I could learn anything!”

Sebastian shrugged, then removed Ciel manually from the horse by seizing him under the armpits. “My perfection is exactly how you will learn,” he said above the boy’s ranting, and deposited him inside the middle fence, as one places a rabbit in its pen when they are done petting its ears.

Ciel was red with frustration as Sebastian took his effortless turn on the saddle. The stirrups were at an improper place considering Sebastian’s height, but it didn’t matter — this was nothing for a demon who opposed gravity whenever it pleased him. Sysonby was clearly unhappy with this change in command, but allowed Sebastian to bolster him to a jog anyway.

“This won’t just take just the efforts of your legs,” Sebastian said. He lifted his long body out of the saddle, hefting his knees over the top of the horse’s shoulders and laying his arms parallel with the neck, so that his head was just behind those pointed ears. “Every part of you should be engaged. The muscles in your abdomen should be holding you steady and hunched low, so that your knees stay crooked. Your arms must not go limp. They must remain just so along the horse’s neck. If you are to maintain utmost speed, than you must not think of yourself as a rider. You must think of yourself as being the least burden possible, to pretend as if you aren’t there at all.”

Ciel followed the display with his eyes but was mentally unmoved. “Congratulations. You’ve just made it sound even worse than it did before.”

“Given your physical prowess, I do not think you will manage to refine this technique in a month,” Sebastian said, making Sysonby nicker in surprise when he sprung out of the saddle and landed beside Ciel with a low bow. “But if you can even hold the crouched position for twenty to thirty seconds come the day of the competition, this Hastings fellow will surely find you talented enough to be within the top five contestants.” Sebastian held up a single finger. “Practice makes perfect, you well know. Therefore, what you will do is practice every single day, and how you will practice is through repetition. You will attempt the pose; I will tell you how to fix it. Then you will rest for a brief minute, and try the pose again. Again and again you will do this, for twenty-eight days, until it is second nature to you.”

“This is torture, damn it!” Ciel snapped with clenched fists.

“This is how you will infiltrate the racetrack,” Sebastian said. It was hard to mask his delight when his charge’s soul was so clenched. “Do you remember when I helped you bluff your way through the Noah’s Ark assessment? After a few days, the circus members were suspicious of your initial performance, because you could no longer throw knives and walk a tightrope. It ended up being all right, as we only stayed for a short while — not to mention you fell ill… but will things work out so smoothly here? I’m sure we could falsify your way through this test of skill as well… but that could lead to further complications. Would Mr. Hastings introduce you to his underground racetrack in a matter of days? Or would you have to prove your worth at his manor first? Would he not catch on to some such charade if you couldn’t explain your own training?” For the second time that day, Sebastian extended his hand as an offer to the boy. “What would you like to do, young master?”

For the second time that day as well, Ciel did not accept the hand. Instead, he glared at his demon quietly. A strong spring breeze sent his bangs billowing about his ears, sticking to the new sweat on his forehead. Then his glare disappeared behind his lids. “I think… I would like to have myself some breakfast.”

“Eh?” Sebastian’s elbow and wrist dropped ever so slightly. “… You mean, then, that you would like to stop already, sir?”

“No, I want you to serve me bangers and mash while I engage in this real-life carousel. Yes, I’d like to stop,” Ciel scoffed, “and I’m well aware we haven’t even been working for half an hour. But this is difficult, I’m starving, and I have something I want you to do instead anyway. Wipe that disapproving look off your face, I’m just done for now. Seriously, what did you expect, putting me on Sysonby instead of Irish? Look how impatient he is already, he doesn’t want to do this anymore. I’ll have to give him a jog around the estate or else he’ll start cribbing at his stall door.”^[♠] Then he extended a hand of his own, jabbing his index finger at his butler. “This work is hard. I can already feel my muscles starting to ache, and we’ve only just begun. If you really expect me to learn from you, you’re going to have to rethink your strategies. And you’ll have time to rethink them while I send you on an errand to go buy Northcott’s racehorse from the veterinarian.”

That spiel had given Sebastian a lot to consider. He chose to comment only on the final sentence. “What are your plans for Northcott’s horse, my lord? I have trouble seeing its necessity in the investigation any longer.”

Ciel folded his arms. “It doesn’t have any necessity in the investigation. I merely want the horse for my personal stables.”

Sebastian was confused. “A horse that has been so distressed?”

“I’m well aware of its disposition,” the boy growled. “I didn’t ask you to question me, I asked you to go and buy the thing. Though none of Northcott’s family wanted it, so technically it shouldn’t cost any more than what the knackery would pay, but be sure to throw in a little extra to accommodate the doctor’s care, and to keep him from spreading the word about my purchase. I don’t need half of London wondering why I’ve decided to house some deranged beast. Now, get me back to the manor and make me some sausages. The carousel quip may have been sarcasm, but the bangers and mash wasn’t.”

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The veterinarian was perplexed at why Ciel would want the traumatized racehorse (“He screams like a banshee whenever he gets frightened”) and surprised but accepting of the hush money (“I’m not much of one for gossip, but if Lord Phantomhive insists…”), and helped Sebastian fasten the drugged-up animal onto the back of the carriage. Yankee and Merrylegs had been assigned to pull, and they rolled their eyes and ears over their shoulders, listening to the nervous whickering of their fellow creature. The racehorse had been blinded with a makeshift hood fashioned out of a potato sack, two places cut out for its ears to come through. Unlike humans, horses were more likely to take chances when they couldn’t see what was up ahead — or far behind.

By the time Sebastian returned to the manor, the opiates had largely worn off, and the horse’s sounds of distress were beginning to unnerve the cobs up front (as well as anyone unfortunate enough to pass them by). Once they neared home, these noises also attracted the attention of Ciel and Sysonby — they emerged from the backwoods to keep pace with the carriage.

Both the boy and his mount were glancing behind them at the newcomer. “I could hear his commotion from down the road,” Ciel said to Sebastian, stationed in the driver’s seat.

Sebastian smirked in mild irritation. “I imagine that you could, my lord.”

“I see his time under the doctor’s eye has done little to calm his nerves.”

“Indeed. I’m not entirely sure what will, other than more opiates.”

“Bard thought of some things,” Ciel said. At Sebastian’s raised eyebrow, he added, “When he was in the army, Bard said some of the horses would get spooked by explosions and gunshots, especially if things went off right under their feet. He thinks he might know some ways to bring this horse around too.”

“You have quite an interest in rehabilitating him,” Sebastian noted.

Ciel glowered again. “Well, I won’t be able to ride him if I don’t, will I?”

Sebastian felt an irritated stirring at that declaration. Ride him? Why was the young master so interested in riding him? A point of pride, perhaps? It seemed a misplaced priority, considering the Queen’s mission they were practicing for. And the horse’s persistent crying was a reminder of just how questionable he was for human handling.

Ciel clicked the reins and started to ride ahead. He shouted over his shoulder, “Bring the horse over to the paddocks when you’re through in the carriage house. Then we’ll hear what Bard thinks.”

“Yes, my lord…” Sebastian said without total surety.

The racehorse had been fastened to the back of the carriage with a simple halter made of rope, above which was the crude sort of hood. Sensing Sebastian’s nearness, the horse began to paw and shy away. It didn’t act up too badly while he untied it from the carriage boot, but when Sebastian tried to lead it, the horse pulled back and reared slightly and shook its mane. Sebastian smiled and then yanked the heavy head down so that it was level with his.

“Oh my, we are feisty,” he purred darkly. “I have small patience for those who aren’t my charge, you see… Or rather, who aren’t my charge or of feline origins. Would you prefer to be cutlets and salami right now? That is the fate you have escaped at the knackery, you should know — and yet, you treat me as if I am the enemy. Your kind cannot be reasoned with so easily… If you did not oppose me, I should not have to use force. But so be it.”

And that was how Sebastian convinced the horse to go to the paddock: by tying a rope around its chest and shoulders and drag-tugging it along.

The horse was still snorting and whinnying roughly as they made it to the fenced-off area for the livestock. Irish and Gilbert immediately rushed to the front of the paddock, nostrils working to a catch a whiff of the stranger. Sysonby was in the enclosure with them now, too, looking especially curious. Ciel and Bard were standing by, watching Sebastian’s handiwork.

“Some brace you’ve designed there,” Ciel snorted. “Was that really the most efficient way you could think to get him here? Against his will?”

Surprisingly, Bard gave Sebasian’s method his approval. “It’s bit of a strange set-up, but it’s all right. The horse needs to remember that people are in charge and that that’s okay. Good things’ll happen if he puts his faith in people — good things like going to pasture, gettin’ food and water. Even if it means usin’ a bit a’ harmless force here and there.”

The paddock was segmented into four parts for the sake of rotational grazing. Bard opened the gate to a section separate from the rest of the herd. As Sebastian guided the hooded animal inside, the other horses followed along from their side of the fence, long noses pointed and scenting, like a trio of sight hounds. Bard and Ciel watched from the sidelines as Sebastian removed the blindfold and the harness. Once free, the racehorse scattered across the grass, arching and weaving before coming to a stop in the field’s center, his tail whisking as he watched Sebastian depart.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t been branded,” Sebastian heard Ciel say. “I suppose they wouldn’t do that to a racehorse though. It would look unappealing.”

Bard shook his head, chewing on an unlit cigarette. “Nah, he’s still marked, I’m sure. Probably just on the inside a’ his lip instead a’ his flank.”

“Oh.” Ciel put a hand to his chin. “So then… what do we do from here? How do we make him tame again?”

“You said he was trapped in his stall with a dead body?” Bard scratched at his stubble. “I mean, I don’t have any firsthand experience with that kinda circumstance… But to apply some general advice to it, we take it at his pace. Approach ’im softly n’ treat ’im good. He’s scared ’cause he thinks he can’t count on people anymore. So what we have to do is show ’im that he’s got to. I don’t got a clue what could be goin’ through his brain, but Avalon wouldn’t be behavin’ like this if he hadn’t come to some conclusion that people weren’t friends.”

Sebastian closed the gate behind him. “Avalon?”

“The name of the horse, ain’t it?” Bard said. “That’s what you told me, right, young master?”

“Um. Yes,” Ciel said, and lowered his chin to look at Sebastian from the top of his eyes, as if sheepish to be caught naming his own animal. He coughed into a fist. “Bard, your main job now is to look after Avalon and get him back to normal, or as close to it as possible.”  His blue eye looked onto the field. “Remind him what he is, what he’s capable of being again. Understood?”

“A’ course, sir. I’ll do my absolute best, at least,” Bard said. He sounded a bit taken-aback yet honored to be counted on for this. “Most a’ the horses I worked with weren’t so wary as this one. But I’ll give it my all, you can count on it.”

“As for you.” Ciel fixed Sebastian with a hot glare. “I hope you reconsidered your strategies like I told you to. We have a lot of work to do.”

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Sebastian had been Ciel’s teacher before, and he considered himself a good one at that. However, Ciel’s mental fortitude was vastly superior to his physical ability. Where Ciel needed little guidance when it came to the fundamentals of language and music, Sebastian realized by the second lesson that this was harder for him to grasp. Being of a flexible nature, the demon had never needed to award much thought to athletic feats, but recognized Ciel was getting nowhere fast trying to imitate the crouch pose all at once. It needed to be broken down into simpler parts so that his muscles could adjust.

Ciel started practicing by standing in lowered stirrups and maintaining balance with his feet. It was hard enough for him to do this at a trot — he wobbled uncertainly the whole while, trying desperately not to use his knees to hold himself steady. Sebastian had warned him that that would interfere with the horse’s gait.

“You seem to know an awful lot more about what’s going to trouble Irish than what’s going to trouble me,” Ciel snarled on the second day. But by the end of day three, he was able to hold himself upright with just a bit of struggling.

From there, Sebastian mentally constructed a schedule of what he thought Ciel would be able to accomplish. Standing up in the stirrups while at a canter; then doing the same but with knees bent at lowering angles; hovering above the saddle while leaning over the horse; and then working towards a true crouched position while minding that his knees and arms did not add increased pressure on the horse’s body.

Sebastian was also quick to discover that four hours of labor in a day was too much to ask. Not only was the boy physically unable to meet the requirement, but mentally: the tedium of the task wore him down so that he could only stay focused for up to three hours at most before his attention and drive would disappear, and he’d need to break for food or rest or merely something else to do.

“I’m not meant for this,” he would complain, walking with a stiff stride after a session, putting his hands on his lower back and arching over backwards. “Why anyone would dedicate their life to such a strenuous, mind-numbing headache of a regimen is beyond my understanding.”

The training was taking an equal toll on his body and mood. Ciel would submerge in a hot bath each night, washing away the day’s dust and letting his muscles relax. Then each morning he would wake up just as begrudgingly, just as in-pain. “Everything hurts,” he’d moan as Sebastian fashioned him in another one of his East End outfits. “I feel like I’ve been stretched out on the rack^[♦]… My legs are tight and my knees are clenching up and my back is aching and my neck has a cramp in it… And it doesn’t matter when I go to bed. I’m always tired! I hate this!”

The complaints began at dawn and didn’t stop until Ciel declared enough was enough and that he was finished training for the day. These complaints were always aimed at Sebastian — and more often than not had to do with Sebastian too. “This isn’t working!” “Argh! Why aren’t I getting better yet?” “No, I don’t want to do that, so I won’t!” “That’s impossible, damn demon!” “Stop saying it like it’s so easy!” “I’m the one actually working here, so quit looking so smug!” “No, I’m not going to do that because I’m done! Get me off Irish now! I need a break!”

At least once a day, Ciel’s frustration would reach its peak, and he would declare himself finished with practice for good. “This is ridiculous,” Ciel would snap. “This is too hard for me. I don’t care about the competition anymore! I’ll have to make do without all this miserable labor.”

But something always changed his mind. Sometimes that something was an increased rationality after lunch (the younger Ciel had eaten like a bird, but this current Ciel was a bottomless pit). Mostly, Sebastian noticed, his interest in training was renewed after spending some time with Avalon.

“What are you doing today?” Ciel would call out to Bard from beyond the paddock fence, leaning his elbows on top of it and supporting one of his tired knees on a lower board.

Bard was taking Avalon’s readjustment quite seriously. He and the horse were out in the field most of the day, doing small drills that looked simple, yet Ciel was still intrigued by. “I’m jus’ leading him in a circle so he gets used to a person being in-control a’ him again.”

Ciel pointed. “And why are you using that crop to touch his back leg while he moves?”

“It makes him want to keep walking, and reminds him that if I touch him, it’s nothin’ to be afraid a’ or do anything about.”

“Why is he afraid of being touched? He wasn’t abused.”

“No, but that’s how horses get, ’specially the ones prone to being skittish, like racehorses tend to be. When they get a bad opinion a’ somethin’, they want it to stay as far away from them as possible.”

Ciel moved over towards the gate and began to undo the latch. “I want to do what you’re doing. Show me how.”

Sebastian felt a twinge inside of him, but said nothing, and watched on as his charge approached the unpredictable animal. Bard’s work had already managed to pacify Avalon a little, and though the horse frisked away when Ciel approached, it didn’t flee. Bard gave Ciel some brief instruction, showing him how to engage the horse with the crop and the rope at once, and then laid them in the boy’s small palms. Ciel’s arms were a little tired from training earlier that day, so he had trouble keeping them raised, but soon he was turning the horse in circles to Bard’s approval. Out of context, the two could pass as a head groom and stable boy, given how Ciel was still wearing his East End garb. Sebastian looked on until Ciel gave the tools back. He left the scene before his charge could catch him staring.

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Another week and a half went by. Another morning of work at the track commenced. “Keep your back straight, even when you hunch over,” Sebastian called out. “Try to take your knees off of Irish’s shoulders. Lift yourself up higher. Bring your elbows in.” Ciel’s posture shivered and he collapsed onto the saddle. “Eight seconds that time. Rest a minute and try again.”

A look of pure rage crossed Ciel's features. He stopped the horse abruptly. “I don’t want to try again!”

He’d only been practicing for forty minutes that day, yet he was already infuriated. Sebastian wasn’t amused. “My lord, it is too soon for you to take a break.”

That didn’t seem to matter. “This is hopeless! I’m terrible at this, it’s not worth practicing any more. Every time I get up on the horse, I do a thousand things wrong. I’m not getting any better, I’m just wearing myself out. I could be coming up with better plans for finding the underground racetrack, but instead I’m wasting time and energy on this exercise that I’ll never be any good at anyway!”

“My lord, you’ve already put yourself through sixteen days of this,” Sebastian reminded. “Twelve days more can be all the difference.”

Ciel ignored him. “You tell me yourself,” he shouted, “since you can’t lie. I’m never going to be any good at this, and you know it.”

“If I knew such a thing, I certainly wouldn’t encourage you to keep at it,” Sebastian half-laughed.

 But Ciel shook his head. “Let me out of the track. I’m done.”

“Young master…”

“I don't want to argue it, I just want to stop!”

When Ciel was upset like this, it meant he didn’t want to be around Sebastian anymore. Sebastian sighed but awarded him his space. As Irish was ridden off at a clip to the stables, Sebastian was left to comb the track with a rake and think about what he’d just been told.

That outburst had been a bit of a surprise. Yes, Ciel hated the training — he never made any bones about that — and no, he didn’t have a natural ability in this area. But to say he was hopeless was far from the case. And certainly his riding had improved since day one! Ciel’s learning was not stagnant; he had been putting real effort into it. His balance was greatly improved, even if his muscular strength had built at a meager pace. He listened to instruction, followed it to the best of his ability. There were times when Ciel was so swept with determination, Sebastian wondered if there was an underlying passion, despite all the complaints — though Ciel had coined the racetrack “limbo” in reference to the first ring of hell in Dante’s Inferno, a clever but not exactly endearing nickname.

Ciel’s hatred towards racing was no surprise. The fact that he seemed to lack a concept of his progress was. He could hold himself aloft the saddle for up to ten seconds now. His posture wasn’t perfect but it was an approximation. Of course Ciel had improved — logically he could only improve, yet for some reason the very logical boy couldn’t recognize that improvement.

Come to think of it, have I ever made him aware of his improvement?

Once the thought dawned on him, the trouble seemed obvious. Sebastian had not been giving Ciel any praise — he merely told him what to fix and carried on. No wonder the boy thought he was terrible at jockeying. All he heard was that he was doing things wrong. Considering a human’s innate need for affirmation, it was almost a wonder Ciel had lasted this long knowing only negative feedback.

Sebastian’s aptitude for compliments was, like Ciel’s riding, a skill that went against his nature but one he had half-learned nonetheless. He knew he had to remedy the situation at once. A pot of Ciel’s favorite Darjeeling and a Battenberg cake to soften his demeanor, then a few kind words like a magic spell, and hopefully Ciel would be won back to the lessons.

It took forty minutes to prepare the colorful sponges and coat them in sweet pink frosting. That was probably enough time for Ciel’s bad attitude to have cooled. But when Sebastian brought the tea and cake up to the study, he found it empty. The bedroom as well held no occupants. Sebastian puzzled this only briefly before shaking his head at himself. Of course Ciel was out with Bard and Avalon; these days, nothing calmed him as well as caring for the racehorse did. Sebastian left the trolley in the hall and ventured out the servant’s entrance, around to the opposite side of the manor to the paddocks.

As soon as he turned a corner of the house, he could see Avalon running in the paddock of his own will, free from Bard’s rope and crop methods. Bard was watching but not attempting to stop the speeding racehorse. And Ciel was riding it.

All composure drained from Sebastian in an instant. It was replaced with something dark, encompassing, and indefinable. It filled the whole of him with frost.

He acted before he could think, as if on instinct. He moved like lightning. He whisked Ciel off the saddle and into his arms, away from the four-legged danger.

Ciel was startled by this unexpected touch and cried out. He blinked up at his butler, wide-eyed, then peered over Sebastian’s shoulder to see his bay horse springing away in the background, terrified at the sudden loss of its rider. Ciel’s jolting surprise faded into disapproval as he registered what was going on.

Meanwhile, Sebastian felt instinct give way to emotion: relief. The boy was safe now — the soul was safe. But Sebastian’s relief swiftly became realization, then disappointment, and ultimately he found himself angry. His face became stern. “What,” he began, “do you think you are doing, my lord?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ciel spat back. “Who said you could interrupt me like that?” He fidgeted relentlessly in the cradle hold. “Set me on my feet right now! That’s an order!”

Sebastian did as he was told, but his mood only heightened. “By riding that horse, you deliberately put yourself in harm’s way.” His words were seething, and he stooped so that he and Ciel’s eyes met. “That animal is not trustworthy anymore. He could suddenly decide you were too much for him and throw you off his back. Your fall could mean anything from a simple sprain to even death, if you fell badly enough. What could have provoked this utterly misguided decision of yours?”

Ciel was appalled. “How dare you!” he finally choked. “You can’t talk to me that way!”

“Your well-being is my utmost priority,” Sebastian warned. “I cannot allow anything to jeopardize that… Even your own actions. Honestly, what on earth were you thinking? I fail to see how you thought that ride could possibly go without incident.”

“I was doing fine! ” Ciel shouted, clapping a hand to his chest. “Nothing was going wrong at all, at least until you intervened!”

“If I hadn’t, I wonder what the results would be,” Sebastian snarled, and straightened himself tall again. “This is just how it was with you in March. You are making life choices that go directly against your health and safety. I had hoped you had overcome such inane behavior, but now I see you are far from it. Must I monitor you at all times to be certain you do not give in to impulse?”

“I’m allowed to ride my own damn horse!” Ciel shouted. “If I think it’s a good idea, that’s all that matters! I don’t have to run things by you firsthand and make sure it’s bloody fine!”

“You are my contractual obligation,” Sebastian snipped, quieting.

Ciel didn’t match his volume. “You are disrespecting your master!”

“If my ‘disrespect’ keeps you out of harm’s way,” Sebastian spoke curtly, “than disrespectful is what I shall be.”

Ciel reached up and slapped Sebastian as hard as he could on the cheek before stomping off through the paddock gate and into the manor.

Bard had been slowly moving closer during this exchange, but now he finished making his way over to his superior. “Oy,” he practically breathed, “that was… hard to watch… Are you all right, sir?”

The slap had left no sting, at least not a physical one. Sebastian secured the chef with an icy gaze. “And you let him ride this half-tamed animal, did you...?”

By the complexity in his expression, Bard clearly felt the weight of Sebastian’s words, like a slap of their own. “‘Let him?’” he finally said with soft disbelief. He shook his head slowly. “He’s the young master, Mr. Sebastian… We don’t ‘let’ him do anything. We just follow his orders, no matter what they be… Listen, I told him that it was too soon for riding Avalon, but the decision isn’t up to me. The young master insisted, so I saddled him up. I jus’ did what I was told. You’re the one who taught me that’s how it works around here, you know?”

The air between the men was stiff. Bard paused momentarily, mouth opening and closing a few times as he selected his next words with care. “The… The way you spoke to the young master just then, too, sir… It was… Well… It was a pretty bad look.” Bard scratched at the back of his head and chewed on his cigarette, seeming embarrassed. “I wouldn’t tell ya so if I… if I wasn’t so downright surprised at ya, sir.”

These words seemed to snap Sebastian into his right mind. His eyes widened on Bard. In the moment when he saw Ciel riding the horse, instinct had taken over. His contract was in danger, and suddenly Sebastian had viewed Avalon and Bard as threats. Not immediate threats, nothing he had to dispatch then and there… but, with a curdling in his core, Sebastian knew he had wanted both to suffer at his hands.

It wasn’t the notion of killing an innocent that Sebastian felt shocked by. It was his own overreaction to the situation. Ciel had walked into greater peril on every one of the Queen’s missions — Sebastian had let him do it too. The presence of danger on his own turf, when he had least expected it, had thrown Sebastian into a frenzy. But that wasn’t excuse enough. Seizing Ciel right off the horse’s back and contemplating Bard’s death were extreme reactions born from extreme emotion.

Extreme emotion. That sympathy beast was alive and well, and now it was a beast of terror, too.

The silence was pressing and long. Sebastian could not bring himself to break it either. There was nothing to say to Bard that would explain his actions — Sebastian could barely understand them himself. Something had to be done, something, anything. Sebastian never wanted to feel that way again. Viscerally upset. Charged with fear. Severed from the confidence and self-assurance that had led him all his life. What was he becoming? What was happening to him?

To turn and ask for help was the coward’s way. But the coward outlived the daredevil and in that sense was not a fool. The thought of accepting the Undertaker’s aid pained him — but it would be better than knowing that awful feeling again. And so Sebastian departed for the mortuary at once.

Chapter Text

Sebastian wasn’t the sort to look before he leapt. That was evident in the way he’d stolen Ciel off of Avalon’s back without warning. Therefore, Sebastian knew he shouldn’t be surprised that he would find himself at Undertaker’s funeral parlor without a plan either.

It had only taken him fifteen minutes to travel from the Phantomhive manor to London, alternating between human and demon speeds, depending on if anyone may be near enough to catch a glimpse of him. Now Sebastian stood hesitant before the great, ugly door of the mortuary. He was not nervous. He was embittered by the idea of relying on anyone — let alone Undertaker. He had never had to before.

Sebastian let his teeth grow sharp in his mouth and his pupils become slotted. Even if he turned to someone for help, there was no reason to show that someone submission.

The mortuary was cold and still, yet the air was so thick with frankincense, the atmosphere felt heavy. Sebastian stood in the midst of it, eyes ticking across each corner of the room. There were barrels of salt and sawdust, bookcases of assorted legal and medical texts, and, on the walls, lengths of rope with bundles of herbs dangling from them like pennant flags. Towards the back wall was the large black coffin that Undertaker used as either table or chair, however it pleased him in the moment. The lights of a few melted candles and a low fire could scarcely brighten the room. Sebastian sniffed. What a farce the dim ambience made. Undertaker likely spent more time sanding pinewood than he did embalming bodies. It was probable that this aesthetic was just one that appealed to his warped tastes.

“Well, well, well... Look who it is. It’s sooner than I expected, but here you are.”

First the gravelly voice and then the Undertaker himself emerged from behind the hanging black cloth that served as the door to his back rooms. His Cheshire grin seemed all the wickeder. Though his eyes were hidden beneath sheepdog’s bangs, Undertaker faced Sebastian the whole time he made his way to his favorite coffin and sat upon its lid. He slung one leg over the other, and the pointed toe of his boot stabbed at the air.

Sebastian glared and did not yet speak. He resisted the urge to show off his teeth. He didn’t like to be looked at that way by anyone he couldn’t tear to ribbons.

“Did you change your eyes just for me?” Undertaker said innocently, spreading an open palm across his chest in mock wonderment. “I’m touched! You shouldn’t have.”

The demon kept his expression flat. No doubt the jokes would only persist if Sebastian proved his annoyance. Still, Undertaker was quiet for ten seconds more, drinking in the moment, until he finally said, “Now… why don’t you begin by telling me why you’ve decided to come today?”

Sebastian shook his head stiffly. “You will begin by telling me how you intend to be of use.”

Undertaker mirrored his client. “Well, I can’t rightly do that without the proper details, now, can I?”

“You know enough. You’ve made that clear.” Sebastian felt himself pull at the shadows of the mortuary, so that they grew where he stood. “If you can sense my ‘changing aura,’ then you must have some idea what it might mean and what to do about it. That is what you will tell me. I’ll be the one to decide how much more you need to know.”

Undertaker had his chin propped in both his hands, drowsily pleased, like a child watching a warm fire. “Very well,” he agreed, still smiling in that same way. “Though the truth is that I have no answers for you. I merely have educated guesses, theories that I entertain myself with.”

Before he began, Undertaker reached back behind the coffin and picked up a bleached skull, cradling it gently in his palm and tracing the teeth and cranial sockets with a pointed fingernail. He seemed to speak more to the skull than Sebastian when he said, “Tell me, butler. What does it mean to be immortal?”

There were a number of answers to that question. Sebastian would not recite them all, like some little schoolboy. “To live without time affecting ones’ physical form,” he said curtly.

Undertaker nodded, and made the skull nod at the same time. “Simply put, yes, that is immortality. And a fascinating thing, isn’t it? Humans lust over the idea of living forever, even if life is not kind to them. They sing of heaven, but fear the grave. Strange… Quite strange.” Undertaker paused to scratch a bit of dirt or dust out of the skull’s gaunt jaw. “But immortality comes with its own disadvantage.”

Two long, pale fingers were held up. “In my research, I have determined that not one but two types of immortality exist. I have taken to thinking of them as true and false immortals. The differentiation comes from where each draws their strength. The false immortal, for instance, can live forever, as long as they still rest and eat. They must create their own energy, but they can use that energy more efficiently and precisely than a human.”

“As a Reaper does,” Sebastian said.

Undertaker seemed delighted with that answer. “Yes, yes. Like a Reaper,” he simpered. “True immortals, however, create none of their own power or strength. They draw it from elsewhere. From the stars, from the darkness, from God himself — that I cannot say. What I do know is that it allows true immortals to have almost unyielding levels of control over their environment… and themselves.” Undertaker tapped his long nails against the skull’s cracked scalp. “A true immortal such as yourself is designed to siphon energy from external sources. But putting trust in others is risky… and must be done with caution. Or else you would have come to me sooner, yes? In any case, I imagine that choosing a supply for your power is akin to putting faith in a stranger.”

Sebastian was lightly intrigued. He had never ‘chosen’ where his power came from; he had just done whatever he’d wanted, conjuring up sweet foods and deadly weapons with the slightest inclination. There were limits to his magic, but he’d never given those limits much thought… which was really sort of embarrassing. No reason for Undertaker to know that though. “What sort of risks do you imagine come with choosing an external source of energy?”

Undertaker cackled softly. “Well... let’s say one had no knowledge of where their energy came from… they might find themselves… unintentionally manipulated.”

“Manipulated?” Sebastian's brow darkened. “Why? And how?”

“Consider... that you are growing soft for the little Phantomhive boy.” Undertaker spoke just above a whisper. “Your aura has always been drawn to his… but it is different now. You are more watchful of him. More protective.” He held the skull over his heart. “More fearful. That weakens your judgment. And it weakens you.”

Undertaker was right. Sebastian, again, would not let him know. “You speak as if you’ve already drawn a conclusion.”

“As I said, I only have theories,” Undertaker continued. “I almost regret sharing them with you… But I am too curious not to. So I begin by asking: do you, butler, know where it is you draw your power?”

Sebastian was not so easily won. “I can think of no reason why you require that information.”

Undertaker giggled. “There is no dire need for me to know the source. But you should worry if you don’t.” He cupped the skull in his palms like an apple. “Because you must ask yourself… Do you trust the source of your energy? Do you know it to be… safe? Pure? Can its magic alter your mind, for instance? Your thoughts? Enough to convince you that you care for the human child? Or… could someone else have access to that power source?”

Sebastian merely stared.

“The Earl has promised you something,” Undertaker said. His words were edged with a slyness. “An immortal such as yourself would have no interest in him otherwise. But if you really cared for the boy… you might not want that promised something very much anymore. And then…” Undertaker used the skull to block out his own visage. “Someone else could be free to take it.”

The dead kindling in the fireplace suddenly snapped ablaze.

Undertaker leapt up when his back felt the heat, but he was baying like a hyena. “Touched a nerve, I see!” he cackled loudly. “Am I right, then? Or is the idea enough to make you angry?” Undertaker reached up to his throat. “How comforted I am to be wearing rosary beads, heh, heh… I do believe you just invited Hell into this room… Oh my, leaving so soon?”

“I cannot confirm nor deny your claims,” Sebastian growled over his shoulder, “but I’ll be returning to my master now.”

“Ah, yes. Got to make sure no one’s laid a finger on his precious little head!” Undertaker crooned to the skull, for his guest was already out the door.

Though Sebastian moved with the swiftness of his ilk, his rage settled by the time he took his second step. At long last, there was a possible answer behind the sympathy beast. With answers came relief and confidence. What the Undertaker hypothesized made sense. Sebastian was no earthly creature, and so he was not confined to an earthly source of power. He was a vessel, not a producer. Therefore, it was reasonable to think that wherever he derived his dark magic, it was within an ethereal location that others could locate or tap into. Sebastian was a powerful demon, but there were others of a greater strength. Was it possible that, instead of hunting souls, there were demons who hunted other demons, took control of them, and then stole their contracted when the moment was right?

The English countryside peeled back from Sebastian’s quick stride. If that was the game, he would play into it no longer. He did not need to be afraid of these thoughts: they were not really his. And he would prove his independence from the sympathy beast by craving the soul twice as much. He would become closer to his master than ever before. And he would make it abundantly clear that nothing would get in the way of his meal.

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Sebastian tapped the bedroom door with his knuckles. He was not sure what kind of response to expect from the other side, but felt enthusiastic to face it, no matter what it was. He was reminded of the day, just five weeks ago, when Ciel had barred anyone from entering his bedroom, due to the nightmare that brought forth a wave of panic and shame. Sebastian had initially been angry then, too. Losing his temper hadn’t gotten him anywhere; apology and acceptance had. Apology and acceptance would do the trick today as well.

A few seconds after the subtle knock, Ciel responded. “What?” Flat, bitter, but otherwise hard to describe — it was a tone like watered-down coffee.

“My lord. May I enter?” Sebastian made sure his own voice was a perfect blend of serenity and sophistication, with a spoonful of penance for good measure.

There was more hesitation, but Sebastian was pleasantly surprised when he was allowed passage. “Fine.”

Sebastian closed the door gently after entering. He looked at Ciel, who was lying in bed with his arms clamped tightly across his chest. A pride swelled in Sebastian at the sight: this tortured, delectable soul was his and only his, and no one would take it away from him, no matter how they may try. Ciel, knowing nothing of the mortuary’s prior drama, had a dull expression on his face, aimed at the opposing wall. He was using his pillows to prop himself up, two under his back and another tucked under his legs, which tended to get cramps from the exercise. His expression was hardened and fierce, but his cursed eye, which was currently uncovered, had an almost soft sheen over it.

This image harkened back to another memory, one from when Ciel was only ten. Sebastian had been preparing lunch in the kitchen one Sunday afternoon when Finny had burst through the servants’ entrance, clutching Ciel in his arms. Finny was still learning English then, and he’d explained in hurried, sniveling German that Ciel had accidentally ridden his horse too close to the manor’s apiary and disturbed a hive and been stung. Finny had rescued him from the swarm and been stung too, and now stood in the kitchen, muddy and tear-streaked and blubbering on about how he hoped the young master would not perish.

Ciel was wide-eyed but quite coherent, so there had been no need for panic. Sebastian immediately marched Finny back outside, because both boys still had drones crawling over their clothes. Sebastian swatted them down, then instructed Finny to stand the young master to his feet so that he could sufficiently check for bees that might be hiding under Ciel’s riding jacket.

Ciel hadn’t made a sound since he was rescued, whether out of shock or a lack of anything to say. As the boy stood there silently, Sebastian’s hands whisking over his shirt, Finny asked in his unsteady (and sob-filled) English, “Why are you not crying? You are also hurt?”

“I’m too old to cry over something like this,” Ciel had answered in a quiet huff. Those were the first words he’d said since being stung, and he didn’t speak much more for the rest of the day either.

There had been only seven stings, despite the uproar. Sebastian had used baking soda paste and witch hazel to reduce the pain, and the boy had spent the rest of the day in his smallclothes in bed, applying ice to the welts and drinking chamomile tea. Sebastian had checked on him frequently to apply more salve and bring him books. Each time he came in, Ciel’s jaw had been clenched firm and his gaze far-off. He didn’t cry, just as he claimed he wouldn’t — but there had been a pitiful, strained look on his face for the rest of the day. It was a look that Sebastian had before only acquainted with humans who had been denied something they craved, such as when a confession of love was not reciprocated. The expression was a combination of sadness and shame that Sebastian had not understood at the time, nor did he now. But unlike three years ago, Sebastian felt the need to make sense of it today.

He could not start by asking something so bold though. He had already been bold once today; he had to make amends for that first.

Sebastian walked until he was three feet from the bed before bowing deep and cordially. “My lord. I imagine you are appalled with my behavior earlier. I should deserve such disapproval. It was outside of my position to be so forthright. Therefore, I will not ask for your forgiveness; I will merely consider myself lucky if you so choose to award it.”

It was easier to apologize for speaking out of turn than it was to apologize for overreacting: the first was a fact, the other a confession.

Ciel made a noise in his throat. “Whatever. It isn’t as if I can dismiss you or anything anyway.”

Dismissal, no, but punishment was certainly not off the table. Ciel knew that. Sebastian inclined his head but kept his posture bowed as he said, “It isn’t just my disrespect that I need apologize for, young master. I was not a proper teacher to you. Without thinking, I failed to make your success at jockeying known. I have been most unexemplary today.”

“What success?” the boy snorted, finally looking at him. “I’m not good at it at all.”

Sebastian straightened, shook his head. “That isn’t true, sir. You have been working very hard, and have improved enormously since your first attempt — two hundred percent, if you simply consider how long you can stay risen above the saddle. And your form’s accuracy is entirely better.”

Ciel turned away again. “Fine. But I know you didn’t come here just to atone. So get on with it already.”

Sebastian chewed this over for a second. “It is, indeed, why I came, young master. I have no ulterior motive.” He tapped his chin with his index finger. “Though… Since I am here, and since the young master has invited further discussion, I am curious as to why you wanted so badly to ride Avalon.”

“I thought I said that didn’t matter!” Ciel snarled. “Some apology that was, if you’re just going to continue questioning my choices anyway!”

“You don’t need to tell me, sir. That is up to you.” Sebastian made sure to keep his voice kind. “Frankly, I think your decision does matter — all your decisions matter, as they matter to you. May I at least ask to understand your thoughts?”

“… Did you see Bard on your way up to my room?” Ciel asked suddenly, suspiciously.

Sebastian blinked. “I did not.”

“Oh.” Ciel’s expression relaxed a trifle, though he still frowned. He shifted his legs on their pillow. After a quiet moment, he responded. “Avalon is a horse. Horses are meant to be ridden. I wanted to see how he handled. That was all.”

“Even though Bard told you it was not yet safe to do so?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel stiffened. Evidently, he didn’t think Sebastian knew that much. “… I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

The boy picked up his eye patch, which had been resting on the bed beside him, and wound the strings between his fingers. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” he growled.

Sebastian took in a long breath through his nose. “You’re saying that you didn’t have a reason for deciding to ride Avalon, despite the warning it would be dangerous, then?”

Ciel sank lower on the pillow and honed his attention on the patch. “You don’t have to make me out like some sort of idiot.”

“I don’t mean to ‘make you out like some sort of idiot,’ young master. I’m only trying to be sure of what you’re telling me. I think it is unusual for you to do anything without a purpose in mind. And I recognize your interest in this particular horse and his rehabilitation. You’ve been joining Bard almost every day to assist in it.” The pieces began to slide into place. “… You rode Avalon because you thought it would be helpful to him somehow, didn’t you?”

“Well I sure as hell didn’t do it to make him miserable.” Ciel sounded almost miserable himself.

“You thought that riding him might make him his old self again,” Sebastian realized as he said it. “Perhaps that he would remember his purpose, if put to the test… Am I correct, my lord?”

Ciel shrugged loosely. “So what if you are?”

Sebastian smiled lightly. “If so, it is more proof that I vastly misjudged you, and more proof that you deserve my sincerest apologies. I took you off of Avalon’s back based on my own assumptions. I should have trusted you to know better than to put yourself in danger without care or thought. If your motivation was indeed to help Avalon, I should have respected your decision. At the very least, I could have spoken to you before I acted. Then I could have helped you in your goal, instead of immediately assuming you did wrong.”

The eye patch’s string was threaded between each finger of Ciel’s left hand. Ciel tugged it free and rubbed at the soft leather cord with his thumbs. “I don’t even care about that anymore. You were right and I was wrong, so you may as well stop with all that gracious talk. It’s making me sick.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Beg your pardon, my lord?”

Ciel huffed and swung his legs over the ledge of the bed. He began rolling the right leg of his knickerbockers up past his knee and then tugged down a white stocking. Sebastian was confused, until he saw the purple blossom. “Avalon kicked me when I went to his stall to see him later. So you were right, he hates me, and it was stupid of me to go near him.”

Sebastian closed the gap between them at once. He crouched down and twisted the leg around carefully in his hands. On the fatty part behind and below the knee, a bruise the color and width of a plum had formed. No wonder the boy had been lying in bed, that was sure to be swollen… Though, all things considered, Avalon could have done a lot more damage, especially considering the horse already associated stalls with danger. Fortunately, Ciel made no sounds of pain as Sebastian studied the area, and the bruising was minimal. But this did explain the boy’s wounded spirit. “Young master…”

Ciel jerked the leg out of his gloved hands. “Don’t give me your pity. You were right, act like it.”

Sebastian had to give a half-smirk at that. “This isn’t something I wanted to be right about, young master.”

“You always like proving me wrong, though.”

“Always? That might be a bit much, even for me.” Sebastian stood, went into the adjoining bathroom, and came back with a hot, damp washcloth, which he wrapped around the bruised area before placing the leg back on the pillow to keep it elevated. Ciel had his chin ducked and was glaring expectantly, daringly, for any mockery that might come his way. “If it wasn’t already obvious,” Sebastian said instead, “your getting hurt isn’t something I take enjoyment from.”

Ciel rocked his foot from side to side, watching its pendulous sway from his position at the headboard. “It’s not really much of a bruise.”

“No,” Sebastian agreed, “I imagine your pride took more of a blow.”

Ciel’s eyes tightened. “It was my fault, I deserved it. Whatever.”

“Maybe it was your fault,” Sebastian began, “just as it was my fault that I made you angry. And you responded just as Avalon did, yes? With an attack. So it seems we both learned something about staying within our boundaries today.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Ciel asked, “Do you think that Avalon really killed Northcott?”

“I know as much as you do… but I do not.” Sebastian took another glimpse at the washcloth on Ciel’s calf. “Avalon clearly knows what power he has in his hooves, and how to exact that power. If he wanted to, he could have done more damage. Much more.” Ciel winced; Sebastian couldn’t help being a little pleased to see evidence of future caution. Still, the bruise was enough of a lesson. “He could have, but he didn’t. And I have trouble believing Avalon would murder his master, yet show benevolence to someone he had known for only a short while.”

A corner of Ciel’s mouth lifted slightly. “That’s some relatively recent knowledge. Do you really think I would have bought the horse if I thought he was a killer?”

Sebastian decided to humor him. “And what was the young master’s reasoning then?”

“After Undertaker said Northcott died of blunt force trauma, at first I thought maybe I was wrong and Avalon was the murderer. But why would a horse kill someone and then panic because they were dead?” Ciel snorted. “Maybe it’s fine for a demon like you, but us normal creatures aren’t going to choose to be in a small space with a corpse.”

Sebastian closed his eyes with a light smirk. “… Indeed. A human’s reasoning has perhaps outdone mine today.” Sebastian had gathered this much himself, but there was no reason to say so. It was not worth sacrificing the notion that he and Ciel were on fair terms once more.

Ciel was doing cat’s cradle with his eye patch again and then said, with barely-masked curiosity, “So… I’m decent at jockeying, is that so? That is, I’m not terrible?”

“You know I can’t tell lies, young master.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “Yes, obviously, but you can embellish. I want a serious answer out of you. Just say yes or no. If I keep practicing for the next two weeks, do you really think that I’ll succeed at Hastings’s competition?”

Sebastian was pleased with his answer that came without hesitation. “Yes.”

Ciel studied Sebastian for any signs that he might have cheated the question. Eventually, deciding there were no loopholes, Ciel dipped his chin in acceptance. “Fine, then. I concede. I’ll keep doing this damn training.” Right after saying so, he slouched bitterly. “Even though it’s one of the most tedious and exhausting things I’ve ever been put to… Ugh. I can’t believe I just agreed to more of this! I must be mental!”

“The Queen will be delighted with your efforts, I’m sure,” Sebastian said quaintly. “But for the rest of the day, I believe you should stay in bed, so your leg can recover as much as possible before you return to horseback.”

“Mm.” Sebastian removed the washcloth from Ciel’s leg, dampened it with more hot water, and returned the compress to its place. “I saw the tea in the hallway, by the way,” Ciel said, laying his leg back on the pillow when Sebastian was through. “And the cake.”

“Ah, yes, I nearly forgot about that. Would you like me to heat up the tea and bring you the snack?”

“No need. I already finished the cake,” Ciel said, and at Sebastian’s shocked expression, burst, “What?!”

“You’re speaking as if you ate the whole thing!” Sebastian tutted.

Ciel looked incredulous. “It was my cake, wasn’t it?!”

“My lord, it wasn’t a small cake…”

“It wasn’t that big either!”

This whole afternoon was a prime example of why most fourteen-year-old boys were not the bosses of their own lives. “That much sugar is certainly terrible for your body.”

“This jockey business is terrible for my body,” Ciel shot back with fierce delight. He folded his hands behind his head. “I’ve been working too hard for too little of a reward. You said so yourself you haven’t been encouraging me enough. Let me have this one thing. Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.”

Sebastian shook his head, taking his leave as Ciel waved him off. ‘Let them eat cake.’ It was not a quote meant to be applied so literally. A century ago, it came to represent the French royals’ blunt misunderstanding of their people and their peoples’ hunger.

Sebastian licked at his fangs, sheathed beneath his lips. He didn’t want Ciel to understand his hunger either. And he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone take his bread away.

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Thus, training commenced the very next morning. The weather that had been almost unbelievably fair for England in April finally took a turn towards the usual rain. Sebastian built a sort of roof over the racetrack to keep the dirt (and Ciel) dry, but that couldn’t help the damp chill in the air. Ciel wore two sweaters on those cold days — the last thing he needed right now was to get sick — and he nestled his chin under the top one’s collar as they rode out to the track.

“It was so much warmer in bed,” he whined, tucking his sleeves around his fingers to form mittens as best he could.

“And despite that, you came out to practice anyway,” Sebastian reminded. “Not an easy thing to do, I’m sure.”

Ciel shrugged. “Well, I don’t really have a choice.”

“Of course you do, my lord. And you chose to do the more difficult activity.”

“I mean I don’t have a choice if I want to do well in the race.” Ciel eyed him narrowly. “You’re laying the praise on way too thick. It’s weird from you, you know.”

“My apologies, my lord.”

“Calm down. Just focus on if I’m actually doing well. I don’t need any mock flattery.”

“That wasn’t mockery, young master. I meant what I said, that you—”

“Ugh… Seriously, shut up.”

But Sebastian persevered with his compliments, honing them as he would any skill. He had given compliments before, certainly, but wasn’t accustomed to doing so before the “job” he was complimenting truly became a “good job.” Of course he himself enjoyed a well-earned compliment, but only when he felt it was, in fact, well-earned. He could get by on his own until that moment arrived.

For centuries, Sebastian considered it rather laughable that humans were so desperate for attention and approval that you could dangle it before them, like a chicken bone above a starving mutt. Sebastian had made contracts with those who coveted approval. These people became fast insatiable. But in controlled amounts, and with the proper wording, Sebastian now saw how a human could reach their full potential through incantation alone.

“You lasted two seconds more than the last time. Good.”

“That was your longest run yet. You should be quite pleased.”

“Remember, keep your arms off of the neck… Like that, yes. Well done.”

“And again, just like before… Very good. Your form has become impeccable, young master.”

“Wonderful work this morning, sir. My goodness, look at the time; surely you’ll be wanting to take a break? I think you’ve more than earned it.”

“I’m… fine,” Ciel panted, half-smiling and wiping at his brow. “Just give me… a minute. I’ll be ready to go again. I bet I can reach fifteen seconds today. I don’t want to leave until I do it.”

“Quite ambitious,” Sebastian mused. “I wonder, can it be done?”

“It can be done,” Ciel returned. “It definitely can.”

Sebastian raised his chin. “Well, why don’t you show me, then?”

And Ciel did.

Despite the newfound enthusiasm, Sebastian did not increase the amount of time Ciel trained above three hours. “You’ll overwork your muscles and do more harm than good,” he explained. “Already the exercises you’re doing would be too much, but the daily repetition is a necessity. We’ll just have to keep the regimen to a minimum instead.”

After practice, there was still plenty of time in the day for Funtom work and attention to the shire, as well as some free time that Ciel had once filled with Avalon’s training. Since being kicked, he tended to retire to his room or his office or the library. When Sebastian brought tea to the study one afternoon, the boy was peering out the window at Bard, who was training Avalon in the paddocks below. By the time Sebastian reached the desk, Ciel had pulled away but hadn’t manage to hide the longing in his eyes.

“Missing your old pastime, my lord?” he asked as he handed over the cup and saucer.

Ciel sniffed, shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I did. I already messed up once, I don’t need to make things even worse.”

“Hmm.” Sebastian placed an apricot flummery on the tabletop, made using some of the evaporated milk Agni had left behind. “Do you not suppose the situation can be remedied?”

Ciel shrugged again. “I scared him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d run at the sight of me.”

“Perhaps,” Sebastian said, “or perhaps not. It is natural for a horse to frighten — otherwise, Scotland Yard wouldn’t have been so quick to define Avalon as his own master’s killer. If you try again, on the horse’s terms, I imagine he will accept you.”

Ciel considered this over a spoonful of pudding. “I wouldn’t like anyone who scared me,” he grumbled. He rolled his eyes over. “And before you make any jokes, no, I’m not scared of you.”

That thought hadn’t crossed his mind, and Sebastian laughed low in his throat. “Consider it this way,” he said next. “If someone did scare you, on accident, and then they came to you with every bit of an honest apology… How would you respond?”

“Doesn’t matter if the apology is honest. They’re probably an idiot, and I wouldn’t trust them not to try it again,” Ciel said, too quickly and probably too triumphantly. “I wouldn’t tell them that, though. I’d pretend it was all water under the bridge, and hate them secretly.”

“… Well,” Sebastian continued, “I doubt such complexities exist in the mind of a horse. But I’ll leave it up to you, whether or not you approach Avalon again.”

The next afternoon, while Sebastian was sharpening Finny’s gardening shears by the greenhouse, he observed from a distance as Ciel tentatively, sheepishly, asked Bard if he could help with Avalon’s rehabilitation again.

“O-Of course, sir! Absolutely!” Bard scratched at the nape of his neck. “How’s that leg of yours doing, by the way? I mean, I don’t think Avalon would kick you again, I’ve been workin’ ’im good n’ close out there, he’ll let me pet his neck these days… But, eh, I’m only thinkin’ that it would be best if, eh… That is… If I made sure, uh…”

Ciel caught on to the hesitation. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I won’t ask to ride Avalon or anything.” Then it was Ciel’s turn to hesitate. “… I’m sorry that I did before.”

“Eh?! Um, no, that’s-! You don’t hafta apologize for nothin’, young master!” Bard’s cigarette actually fell out of his mouth as he blathered, waving his arms about. “It’s your horse, sir, you can do what you like with ’im! I just wanted you to be right n’ safe was all!”

Ciel glowered. “I know, that’s why I apologized. Just accept it already.”

“Eh, right! I’m sorry! I mean, thank you! I mean… it’s no trouble? … Blimey, young master, I don’t rightly know what to say. Is there etiquette for somethin’ like this?”

The only thing Ciel had a true smile for these days was honesty, and Sebastian had observed the boy smile at that, too. Sebastian felt his own mouth mimic the expression as he turned back to his task.

He was smiling because he wanted to, of course — sympathy beast be damned.

In the entire month of training for the competition, there was but one day Ciel went without practice. This was the day that Nina came to give him his new wardrobe. It was also the day that Lizzie visited, as Ciel had promised he’d see her again before the middle of May. The two appointments were combined for convenience, but it worked out swimmingly, as Lizzie loved to see Ciel all dressed up.

“You still haven’t cut your hair!” she exclaimed upon arrival, reaching for the strands that were getting a little too far past his earlobes. She covered her smiling mouth with both fists. “Mother would be so mad if she knew!”

“Don’t tell her, please,” Ciel groaned. “I don’t need Aunt Francis coming here and threatening to chop it off with one of her sabers.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a word!” Lizzie promised. “I think it looks very dashing, anyway! I like it!”

“It’s not how I like my hair to be,” Ciel said, taking her hand away from his head and guiding her up the stairs to the front doors of the Phantomhive manor. “I’m growing it out for a mission for the Queen. I’ll cut it when the mission’s over.”

Sebastian, in their wake, stifled a laugh. Ciel had definitely come up with that on the spot.

Lizzie’s response was the opposite of good humor. “A mission? Is it soon?” she asked, sadness and worry lining her tone like the lace on her two-piece day dress.

“Yes. That’s why I wanted to see you today. Because I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“You don’t know how long you’ll be gone?” Ciel stopped in the front doorway as Lizzie took his other hand in hers. “But it’s the social season,” she fretted. “Does that mean you’re not going to the Chambers’ annual game bird feast next week?”

Ciel sighed heavily. “I imagine that’s exactly what it means, Lizzie.”

“Hnnnn…” she pouted. “I guess missing just that one’s all right… but you will be back in time for the Ascot, won’t you?”

From his side of the door, Sebastian saw Ciel flinch irritably. The idea of living as a jockey for an entire month was surely nightmarish. “If I’m not back by then… ugh. I’d rather not think about it.”

“What do you mean?” Lizzie could only assume the worst. “Are you going to be in danger?”

“Ah, um, no. At least, not more than usual, I should think,” Ciel said quickly. “Eh… Probably less than usual, to be honest… It’s just going to be… Tedious. I can’t tell you much more than that.”

Lizzie had picked up her fiancé’s habit of searching for honesty in the faces of others, and she did so now. Finally, she managed a small smile. “All right. Good… I just want you to be safe, you know. To come back in one piece…” She was looking at his eye patch as she said it.

“I’ll be fine. Nothing to worry for.” Ciel did away with the topic by leading her into the entrance hall. “Sebastian has tea and pastries for us up in the drawing room. Come, let’s take it while it’s still hot. We’ll want to have eaten before Nina gets here anyway.”

Lizzie had feigned a happy atmosphere for Ciel’s sake when she heard about his mission, but her joy was genuine when Nina arrived. The girl leapt out of her chair when the woman entered the room. “Nina! I’ve missed you!”

“And I you, ma chère! ” Nina hurried over to the tea table in a swirl of navy skirts and pecked the girl gently on the cheek before stepping back to admire her dress. “Ah, yes! Crepe silk, white trim, lace ruche, and velvet bows… I made this for a boat race last summer, did I not? It’s a shame that your mother insists on such conservative fashions, but no one wears them more prettily than you, my dear. But this bodice is nearly too small for you now! Next time I tailor your dresses, I shall have to be sure to give a few extra inches for your chest to grow into.”

“Nina! Don’t say things like that!” Lizzie laughed, embarrassed. Whatever hue of pink her face turned, Ciel’s was easily three shades darker.

“You’ll thank me, if you’re anything like I was,” Nina said, putting her hands on her hips and puffing out her own chest as she said so. “But, unfortunately, we’re not here for you today. Mon lapin! ” She went over to Ciel’s side next and kissed him on his reddened cheek, too. “I spent a little time in Paris a few weeks ago, and it set my heart aflame! It inspired me as only Parisian couture can. The House of Worth… The up-and-coming House of Paquin… All awash in the bloodiest reds and the richest blacks! And Miss Paquin herself, oh, a woman after my own heart… And the artists of La Mode! Suprême élégance, indeed!^[※] Ahh… All that to say that my osmosis of French talent has granted you the wardrobe I bring today! Tell me you are not satisfied, Earl.”

Sebastian had been a bit apprehensive to see Nina’s creations, as the childish fashions inspired by Little Lord Fauntleroy were all the rage right now. Such a style would not become his growing master. But Nina had more than come through for them.

Sebastian had carried up the trunks for her, and from inside the treasure boxes she displayed cross ties and string ties, ribbons and cravats, some simple in their colors and others bearing stunning patterns to brighten up an otherwise drab outfit: imperial trellis in blue and cream; ogee, a repeating turnip-shaped pattern, in black and navy; braided frieze on emerald. A series of gorgeous vests were presented next. Two in the single-breasted style came first, one in ivy green with art nouveau leaves, the other in black cherry with gold quatrefoil. Another vest with shawl lapels, then a double-breasted with Baroque foliage, and finally a gold thread brocatelle waistcoat with twill figuring on beige dazzled them next. More subdued options for home included brown and dove Bengal striped silk, gray wool with glen checking, and brown brushed cotton. Each vest came with matching trousers and a tailcoat or jacket.

The most glorious of the vests was a panther-black piece with crisscrossed lapels and indigo tapestry damask, the intricate variegation appearing as brightly blue as Sirius in the night sky. Even Ciel could not hide his delight with it. It was mature and brilliant, and eye-catching without being too gaudy. Sebastian had Ciel dressed in each item to make certain of their fit, all of which passed, thanks to Nina’s precision, but it was well enough that Lizzie got to experience the fashion show.

“You look so handsome!” she’d cry, or, “Oh! Now I wish we were going to a party tonight!” or, “Nina, please make me something to match that! It’s beautiful! ”

Nina was glowing with self-importance (she kept making gloating faces at Sebastian, which he pretended not to notice). “I knew they would be just right, of course. Though…” And here she narrowed her eyes sharply at Ciel. “I can’t help but see that, even a short five weeks later, you are… different.”

Ciel blinked as Sebastian slid his arms out of a burgundy sovereign tailcoat. “Different how?”

“You’re building muscle!” she tsked. “No doubt you’re taking advantage of the outdoors too much! Stop getting so much exercise! It’s changing your frame! And your thin proportions are so much more beautiful, anyway. Do us all a favor and retain them.”

Ciel had only seemed to hear the first sentence. “I have more muscle than last time?”

“Yes!” Nina scolded. “The average eye may not notice it, but nothing gets past me!”

Ciel glanced over at Lizzie, as if wondering something, but she herself was lost in thought.

Nina left soon after receiving the cheque for her winning work. Lizzie stayed for the rest of the afternoon. She was not a girl who liked to sit still, and though she had fortunately stopped wanting to adorn everything in the manor with a bow, she was still someone Ciel made efforts to keep up with. At first Ciel asked if they could play jackstraws, because he was tired of moving around so much, getting in and out of clothes. It seemed Lizzie could only comply for a few rounds, because Sebastian was with them outside only forty minutes later, choosing flowers from the garden for book-pressing. Sebastian was tasked to properly cut them from their stems, but even that activity quickly lost its interest to Lizzie when she saw Bard training Avalon in the paddocks. She sped over to get a closer look, Ciel in her wake. Sebastian held the forgotten bouquet as Ciel pointed at his horse. He was likely explaining to her what Bard was doing, as Lizzie was watching him with rapt attention.

“I wish I could stay for dinner, but Mother insisted I be back by then,” she said as they delivered her to her waiting carriage. She took Ciel’s hands in her own again. “I had so much fun today. Is it really going to be so long before I see you again?”

“I don’t know. I hope not,” Ciel said. “I don’t like when an undercover mission takes more than a few days of my time. Those days are usually very taxing.”

“I like it best when I know you’re home,” Lizzie said. She blushed lightly. “Whenever you’re off working for the Queen, I think of you. Even more than I already do. I think of how much I want you to be safe and come back to me.”

Ciel still balked at the poetry of true romance, so at least his manners were passably Shakespearean. “I hate to know I worry you. I promise to take extra care, for your sake, so don’t trouble your heart.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Oh, Ciel, don’t you know? That’s the way a woman’s heart is for the one she loves. I couldn’t tell it to do anything but worry.”

Now Ciel did balk. “Oh, well… That’s… I’m… fortunate to have your… fondness.”

Sebastian could have clapped a hand over his own face in exasperation. Lizzie took the tongue-tied speech well. She kissed Ciel on the cheek shyly before ascending the carriage steps. “Be sure to write me as soon as you are home,” she called, and then the carriage took off into the sunset world.

Once the vehicle was out of sight, Ciel turned back for the stairs, a very hot flush taking over his face for the second time that day. Sebastian just had to tease him. As far as he knew, that was the first kiss Ciel had received from his fiancée, even if that kiss was best defined as ‘chaste.’ “My lord shall have all the luck he needs for his mission now, yes?”

Ciel hunched his shoulders, growing redder as he climbed the steps. “Luck! With you around, there is no luck! Just bloody talent that I still pay for in humiliation!”

“My, my, I’ve never seen someone so unhappy to be kissed by his betrothed.”

“I’m not—! Sh-Shut up! I’m unhappy with you!”

“Oh, dear. Would you please tell me what it is specifically that I have done wrong, sir?”

“As of right now,” the boy snapped, “what you’ve done wrong is exist! Now go make dinner, and be quick about it. And it had better be something delicious.”

“Yes, my lord. I'll get right on it.”

How odd, that Sebastian should not feel so rewarded by the teasing as he thought he would feel. Oh, well… he had been working hard on his compliments lately. The young master was likely overdue for a little ribbing. It was best that Ciel did not suspect things were any different between them anyway.

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“Hey, this isn’t the way to the track. Where are you taking us?”

“Have patience. You’ll soon see.”

The day before the competition glittered with dew and sunshine. It was into this jewelry box of a world that Sebastian led Sysonby by his bridle, down the dirt roads of flowering trees and liquid gold puddles that caught the light of early morning. Down and up and down the roads of an earl’s lands they went, past fields of farmers and old ponies, both with heads bowed, tilling their soil while the air was cooler. The lower classes of the world always learned to look down, at the earth or at their hands, stooping, deferring. The farm children had yet to pick up this lesson. From a distance, they did not recognize their county’s earl while he was dressed in brown trousers and wool, and so they stared unabashedly at the sleek ebony butler who guided the horse of a boy who could just as well be one of them.

The sun was still bright, but a gray-blue tinge on the horizon threatened an afternoon of storms. “Seriously, how much farther?” Ciel groaned after twenty minutes of this trek.

“Nearly there now.” The main road forked off at every farmer’s residence, and a minute later, Sebastian lead Ciel down one of those forks. “There were only so many locations I could pick from that fit the bill. Not a lot of choice land stays abandoned for long outside London.”

“There’s only one piece of land in this county that goes unwanted,” Ciel said as they ascended a small hill. The road here had not been tamped by hooves or wheels in some time, and Mother Nature had half-reclaimed it. “The old Durnin tobacco farm. I’ve actually never been here before. Funny, when I think about how much my father and Aunt Francis used to talk about it when I was little.”

A small, dilapidated cottage with a thatched roof came into view. “What sorts of things would they say, sir?”

“I remember they were always angry at the Durnins. At least, Aunt Francis was.” Ciel looked about at the rugged green grass in the yard that was allowed to grow wild. “The Durnins planted tobacco without asking my father’s permission first. Usually we allow the farmers to plant what they want, but tobacco is hard on the soil. It drains all the nutrients right out of it. Aunt Francis was upset, because she knew the Durnins would make their fortune and then leave four years later, and we wouldn’t be able to pawn off the grounds to anyone else. Father was annoyed but more fair. I think he asked them for ready access to their product.” Ciel sniffed a laugh. “Come to think of it, he did always have a new box of cigars ready whenever we had guests.”

The front yard was the opposite of the empty tobacco fields they came to next. Nothing grew here, and nothing could, not for years and years until the soil’s nutrients were sufficiently replenished. To find a new renter would be nigh impossible, just as Ciel’s predecessor had predicted. Ironic, then, that the useless farmland should benefit no one but the Phantomhive heir today.

There were many reasons Sebastian had chosen the old Durnin property for its assigned task. It was flat. It was without owner. It was long. It could be converted into a perfect strip of track, without the pockmarks or subtle turns and bumps any public road would have. This was what Sebastian had done with the land: groomed down the spent soil so it was just right for running a horse on, without worrying about it tripping and hurting itself or its rider.

There was not sufficient space on the Phantomhive grounds to allow for such a straight track of that length. Ciel knew this, and he knew what the track was made for. It was given as a statement, then, not a question, when he said, “So I run this as far as I can.”

“And I will follow alongside,” Sebastian confirmed.

Practice was over now. This was the final test. It was time to ride fast, and true.

Wordlessly, Ciel positioned his dark stallion at the beginning of the track. It was not fenced, like his track at home was, but it was wide enough that Sysonby wouldn’t easily veer off-course. Sysonby was sensing something in this stillness, something important, and he grew tense with readiness, as a grasshopper before it springs. As soon as he heard Ciel cry, “Ha!” and flick the reins about his face, Sysonby ran like he was born to it.

Sebastian kept pace. Ciel had never ridden at this speed before, and if the boy faltered, he would be sure to catch him. But Ciel stayed steady, and fiercely attentive to what he was doing. He hovered just above the saddle, but his knees were pulled high over Sysonby’s back, almost tented together. He held his arms parallel to the neck and hunched low over it, practically breathing into the mane. Only his feet and ankles were touching the horse now.

Five seconds… ten… fifteen… twenty... and at twenty-three seconds, all of Ciel’s strength shivered out of him at once and he drooped in the saddle like a scarecrow. Sebastian was ready. He caught at Sysonby’s reins and slowed the horse to a gentle stop. Before Sebastian could say a word, the boy’s ragdoll body was sliding into his arms, heaving with exertion. Ciel gave a hard cough.

“My lord, are you all right?” Sebastian would not soon forget the asthma attack.

Fortunately, Ciel nodded weakly. “Just… exhausted… I’m… fine…” Still he spent a whole minute doing nothing but breathe, his eyelids shut, sweat and goose bumps spreading wherever his flesh was bare. Sysonby had felt the rigor of the exercise too. His nostrils gusted out great clouds as he caught his breath. Finally Ciel looked up at Sebastian, and his blue eye sparked like flint with pride. “How was that?” he could scarcely say.

“Magnificent, sir,” Sebastian said. “Truly the magnum opus of your efforts. But I think you may need to push yourself a little less far tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I think so too… Ugh. Put me down. I feel like I’m going to retch.” Sebastian did so, and Ciel crouched in the dirt, made a bit of a choking sound, but then recovered. After another minute of rest, he looked at Sebastian again with that same molten eyeful of satisfaction. “I bet you didn’t think I could do so well,” he panted, and laughed dryly. “I bet you thought I’d just get a little better… or that I’d give up… But I didn’t… I showed you… I showed you…” Then Ciel did spit up onto the dead soil. He dragged the back of his hand shakily over his lips. Laughed throatily again. “… Admit it. You thought I would give up, didn’t you?”

Sebastian considered it best not to mention all the times Ciel said he would give up, as well as the one time he actually did. He held out his hand. “The young master has most certainly outdone my expectations.”

“To be honest,” Ciel admitted, reaching up so Sebastian could carry him home, “I outdid my own expectations, too.”

Within minutes, the boy was asleep, and the thing that would rouse him from bed three hours later was the smell of a celebratory Manchester tart.

Chapter Text

When it came to travel, Sebastian was the fastest mode of transport Ciel possessed. However, Ciel, being of a practical nature, in most cases insisted they take a coach wherever it was they were going.

“I don’t need anyone troubling me with questions about you,” he’d said at nearly the beginning of their contract. “That’ll just come back to bite me later. Besides, people might pay attention to how I get places, if I arrive really quickly or mysteriously. No, we’ll take carriages and look as normal as possible, and then we won’t have to worry so much.”

The exceptions to this rule were when fleeing danger, at times when no one would see them, or, as it was today, a time when they didn’t want to be identified. Should anyone suspect Ciel and “Astre” were the same person, spying a Phantomhive carriage at all near Gwilym Hastings’s residence would be quite a tip-off.

“Astre is an interesting choice of alias,” Sebastian had commented early that morning while dressing the boy in his East End guise.

“Isn’t it?” Ciel tugged at the loose collar of his gray shirt and pulled the thin wool vest across his frame. “My parents considered a number of nontraditional names for me, and apparently Astre was one of them.”

“I see. Trying it on for size, then, are we?”

“As if!” Ciel sniffed, and then shook his head. “Astre is hardly the worst of them. My parents also considered calling me ‘Celeste,’ ‘Estelle,’ and ‘Angel.’ Aunt Francis must have wanted to strangle them, she can’t tolerate anything even mildly bohemian. I mean, can you imagine? Angel? Forget the irony of having you around, I don’t think I could possibly stand it. Thank God they settled on Ciel.”

Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “Hmm. All of those names are related to the cosmos.”

“Yeah. I think my parents were kind of eccentric in their own way.” Ciel turned around so Sebastian could tie on his eye patch. “Anyway, I’m going with Astre Renault, so put it to memory.” He adjusted the string around the back of his head when Sebastian finished with the knot. “Did you decide what you're going to call yourself yet?”

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Like Mr. Northcott, Gwilym Hastings lived on the cusp of Surrey just outside Greater London, in the rural town of Banstead. A map was provided on the back of the competition poster, but Sebastian had the way memorized. He had been there several times already.

The night before Ciel’s jockey training began, Sebastian visited the Hastings residence for the first time, to see if he could deduce anything unusual. Alas, he did not. Hastings had not been home. Nor was he home the following night, or the night after that. And the staff that maintained his quaint stone manor did not gossip about a racetrack, even in lowest whispers.

The stable hands had the closest thing to an answer. This Sebastian discovered on his final visit to Hastings’, which he attended in-person. He had donned his own East End disguise, composed of cotton trousers, lace-up boots, and a white collared shirt with a pinstriped amber vest over it. Amber was not his color, but that was part of what sold the appearance. A lower-class vagabond could not afford to buy clothes that always matched his summer or winter palette.

“Good morning,” Sebastian had called as he’d stepped into the Hastings’s stable. He’d bowed to the stable master and the teenaged hand that he knew were inside. The two blinked at him curiously, pausing the swat of their brooms on the hay-covered floor. “Please do pardon my intrusion. You’re just the gentlemen I was looking for. May I have a word? Or shall I come back later?”

The stable master, a short, burly man with a mustache resembling his push broom, tipped up the shepherd’s cap higher on his forehead. “Depends. What’re you needin’?”

Sebastian smiled and from behind his back drew out one of the posters for the competition. “I, like most of South England, am quite intrigued by the prospects presented on this advertisement.”

The stable master interrupted before Sebastian could get any farther. “That competition’s for li’l boys. Not grown-up men like y’self. Sorry.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I’m well aware, my good man. But when it comes to finding work, I consider myself somewhat of an opportunist. And when I look at this poster, I see more than a competition: I see a job. You’ll find few more talented than myself at both handling skittish horses and rowdy young men, on top of anything else you might need. A jack of all trades, if you will, and master of most. So, how may I be of service?”

The stable master and assistant exchanged a brief glance. The younger returned to sweeping. “Well, it’s not up to me to take on hires,” the stable master answered with a shrug. “Only Mr. Hastings decides on who works here, and he won’t be back till the day of the competition.”

“I see.” Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “I’m surprised he’s away from home right now.”

The stable master started sweeping again too, dismissive. “Aye, he’s off in the north, doin’ some research. In Manchester, Liverpool, Nottingham. Lookin’ for where he might want to take the young winners for some learnin’ up.” He shrugged. “He’s goin’ to have ’em travel before they start trainin’, watchin’ races n’ the like. Says he wants the boys to become a bit more worldly first. Meet some folks in the business. See their country. Round ’em out, I s’pose. In any case, there’s not much I can do for ya right now. Come back on the eleventh. If you’re as good ya say, maybe Mr. Hastings will find somethin’ for you to do. But don’t be countin’ on it. Good day.”

Sebastian had bid him good day in return before leaving the property. His confidence in securing a job there was scarcely an act. Mr. Hastings would hire him come race day. After all, if he couldn’t impress a mere human, how could he call himself the butler of Phantomhive?

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It took Sebastian forty-five minutes of dashing through the countryside, across rooftops and treetops, skirting the perimeter of London Proper where they may be noticed, to reach Hastings’s territory. It took forty-five minutes because Sebastian could not move at top speeds while carrying his charge — it would make Ciel sick, and it was well enough that this pace was tolerable. In fact, the boy slept most of the trip. It was six o’clock in the morning, and Ciel wanted all the energy he could muster for the race, but it was rather incredible that this jilting ride could more lull than nauseate him.

Perhaps it was related to the bond of their contract. Sebastian always felt more powerful when nearer to his contracts’ souls. Being in this proximity to the delicacy that was Ciel’s very existence flooded Sebastian with a beautiful sense of invincibility. It was possible that Ciel also benefited psychologically from this closeness.

As they entered Banstead and encroached upon Hastings’s home, Sebastian could sense a comingling of souls near the property. He kept his path to thickly forested areas, as the territory’s many farmers were all awake now, and the road somewhat populated this particular morning.

Sebastian and Ciel were far from the first to arrive at Hastings’s residence. Sebastian had expected this, but still the attendance was a sight to behold. More than a hundred boys, nearly identically dressed in plaid knickers and brown caps, were scattered in a line outside the fence that marked the territory. They huddled together and chatted, their excited breaths like small clouds in the dawn air. The oldest boys looked to be about sixteen, and some were as young as five, holding tightly to the hand of a brother or cousin, seeming barely capable of sitting upright in a saddle. Amongst the crowd, Sebastian even recognized two girls dressed as boys, pretending for the sake of this incredible opportunity.

Many of the children were coughing. Almost all were dirty. Sebastian narrowed his gaze. It would be terribly unfortunate if Ciel were to fall victim to another asthma attack, spurred on by this cesspool of affliction…

The aforementioned was awake now; he was a vigilant sleeper, and the pause in movement doubtless roused him. His gaze on the crowd was observant and haughty. In this ragtag band of children, all he saw was his own success uncontested.

“I hope it doesn’t take long for the actual competition to begin,” he said at last. “There are so many boys here. Some of them are barely beyond infancy. There must be some sort of vetting process, the horses would be exhausted if everyone got a chance to ride.”

“It would seem there is.” Sebastian pointed out a doctor who was giving each child a general inspection as they waited in line. The white-coated man had the boys stick out their tongues and pull down on their eyelids, roll back their sleeves to observe their skin. If there were to be a breakout of smallpox or yellow fever, it would happen during the summer, and it was best to take precautions to keep it from spreading.

So far, quite a few boys were getting turned away. The majority didn’t seem to be from illness, though, as the dismissed boys had a strength in their disappointment, kicking at the dirt bitterly or even crying, if they were young enough not to feel ashamed to do so. Most of the boys told to leave were the little ones, but Sebastian noted one child with a twisted foot was sent away too.

He tapped at the thread of Ciel’s eye patch with a finger. “What will you say, if the doctor tries to keep you from entering because of this?”

Ciel’s expression immediately soured. “I would tell him he’s a fool, and I’ll make him sorry he even thought about it! I haven’t needed to take this thing off once since we started training. I’m more capable than anyone else here. Nothing is going to stop me from winning now.”

And nothing would. Sebastian knew it. His master was proud, but his confidence often wavered. It was present today. It made his soul glow like a sun.

Ciel turned to face him abruptly. “All right, don’t you think we’ve stood up here enough? I need to get in line before it stretches all the way to Newport. You’ve got your orders. Get to work.”

Moments later, Sebastian was bounding off the way he came, back to a manor bathed yellow in dawn. By now, the Phantomhive staff had finished their early chores and eaten breakfast, and Sebastian gathered the four of them promptly in the kitchen. Finny and Mey-Rin looked chipper and expectant, eager to please. Bard was more subdued. Ever since their altercation in the paddocks a few weeks ago, the relationship between Bard and Sebastian had been… different. Bard’s work ethic had not changed, but his attitude towards Sebastian had. When asked to do a chore, Bard would somewhat roughly sigh, “Sure. I’ll get on it.” Sebastian had not broached the topic of their acquiescence because he didn’t feel like it. Still, one detail had impressed yet confused Sebastian: Bard had not told anyone else about their argument.

There were more important matters to consider now than that. “You all are going to be alone in the manor for an unspecified amount of time,” Sebastian began. “Naturally, you remember why you were hired in the first place. The young master is away on a mission. Should anyone take advantage of his absence, you know your duty.”

The puppyish faces of maid and gardener grew shadowed at that. “Is there anyone in particular we should expect?” Mey-Rin asked. She even removed her glasses as she spoke, taking on a different persona. “Should I go up to the roof as soon as you leave and make sure the rifles are clean?”

“If you haven’t seen to their condition in a while, please do. But no urgency is required.” Sebastian checked his pocket watch. Half past seven. When he looked up, Mey-Rin had adorned her glasses again and Finny was breaking a stray piece of straw off the brim of his sunhat; the noble hunting dogs had gone back to lolling their tongues. “While I’m away, Mr. Tanaka is in charge, as always. I do not know when the young master and I will be returning. If anyone other than the Midfords, the young master’s lawyer, or a Queen’s representative asks when he’ll be back, merely tell them it will be soon. Take note of unfamiliar faces. As I said, I do not suspect an ambush. But ruling out the possibility is too dangerous. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Sebastian!” Only two of the three voices were enthusiastic in their declaration, and Tanaka bowed the affirmative.

The next order of business was preparing their suitcases. Each was filled with four outfits an East Ender would own — and doubtful an East Ender would own much more than four outfits. One suitcase was for Ciel, the other Sebastian, for their temporary new lives. Then Sebastian dressed himself in the same clothing he wore to Hastings’s stables a few days ago, tucking his bangs beneath a gray wool shepherd’s cap and feeling he must look younger than he typically liked to present himself. Finally, it was off to the Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey.

Sebastian did not knock when he arrived at the little ramshackle place. He strode right in to where he heard the children noisily eating their breakfast of oatmeal and chattering like chickens. The nun stood from the table when she saw Sebastian and approached him, her arms reaching forward for the suitcase. Unlike her orphans, she was solemn. “Lord Phantomhive is very bold, to go right into the belly of the beast,” she said. “I will be praying for his safety all while he is gone.”

Sebastian handed the suitcase off. “So then, you believe this competition may lead to the uncovering of the missing Middle Eastern children?”

The nun’s chest lifted as she breathed deeply. “I believe that somewhere children are being harmed and that it is God’s will for those children to be saved. My orphans and I have been pleading for their safe return. Lord Phantomhive could very well be our answer… If you find the little ones, bring them here. We do not have much room, but since you began your search, I have felt a responsibility to their souls. I have promised God that as long as their hearts still beat, I will share with them His teachings. And if it is already too late… I know in their innocence, they have found their way to Him. ” She shed two tears as she spoke. They left clean spots on the musty floorboards.

“Should my lord win a place in the competition, he will ask to be sent here in order to gather his belongings. I do not think you will be questioned, but if you are, tell them Astre Renault has not lived here long. He came here from his Uncle’s farm in France, after a poor harvest left his remaining family with empty purses.” The nun was gazing at the floor. Her eyes were glassy and tired. “You have a forgetful nature,” Sebastian reminded, “likely due to the amount of work you take on by yourself. But it is very important you do not forget these details.” He next removed a cheque from the lining of his vest. “Perhaps this will keep your memory fresh — even if your vow to the cloth keeps you from bowing to greed. Hm?”

The nun took the cheque but, admirably, did not look at the number it bore. “Astre shall be welcome here any time.”

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The day was in full swing as Sebastian departed the orphanage steps. Boys carrying newspapers and girls with baskets of early orchids hustled amongst droves of silk-gloved gentlemen and their wives. The London population always rose during the social season: in from the country came the rich to mingle and matchmake, and out from the gutters came the poor to hawk their wares or pick pockets. Sebastian could not afford to reach demon speeds when there were so many eyes about to sight him, and so he hailed a cab. The driver he managed to stop gave him a once-over, shrewd — in that garb, Sebastian didn’t look like he would ask for a ride unless he was planning to steal the carriage. But presenting the money upfront cleared the driver’s countenance, and Sebastian was back on his slow, rumbling way to Surrey.

Half an hour later, the cab reached the border of Woodmansterne. Sebastian knew it was safe to travel on his own two feet again, and he bid the driver farewell. There were few trees to hide him here, but it mattered little: these were the quiet parish lands belonging to St. Peter’s Church and the scattered gentry, with manors spaced so far apart, their masters did not even share oxygen. It was pretty here, by human standards. In contrast, the beauty of Banstead was broken up by ugly limekilns and chalk pits. Or a thick, untouched bit of forest might suddenly turn into farmland, and then into an ungroomed meadow. If one ventured deep enough into Banstead, all became rural — fortunately, where Sebastian needed to travel, the trees remained to conceal him. Scratch Wood became Swingfield Plain; from there he could move into Solome Wood, which just touched Doctor Wood; and finally, between the end of the Doctor Wood treeline and the main road leading to Chipstead, Hastings’s land was situated, and alive with the sound of excited boys.

Sebastian had last stood in this tree ninety minutes ago, and the view had since changed. The line of boys, which had initially just curved around the long wooden fence of Hastings’s land, went down the lane, around two hundred strong. There weren’t only competitors here now either: it was becoming an event for the whole of the East End to participate in. Wagonloads of boys were delivered by locals charging threepenny for a ride from London. Some small newspapers had sent photographers and young headliners to get the scoop. Vendors had chosen to bring their luncheon stalls here for the day, offering Chelsea buns and baked potatoes, slices of plum duff and fried fish. Sebastian had given Ciel his own breakfast wrapped in a checkered kerchief, a ham sandwich with Leicestershire cheese and pickled cucumbers, a modest meal secretly made with as fine of ingredients as ever. Ciel munched on it now, looking impatient, shifting his weight from foot to foot, glancing around at nothing and everything.

Sebastian recognized quickly that his angle from the treetops was a rather good position to observe the show. From here he could see a circular track next to the stables, not unlike the one he had built for Ciel back home. It was too small for a proper race, though: the turns would be too sharp for a horse to manage at high speeds. Where exactly did Hastings intend for the competition to take place?

That question would answer itself, in due time. For Sebastian, there was no need to wait with bated breath. A young tortoiseshell farm cat was hunting dormice not far from him, and as soon as she made her kill, Sebastian would be sure to reward her accordingly…

Quickly passed a nectar-sweet half hour, lost in the mottled fur and white-grape eyes of a darling mistress. At the sounds of cheering boys, Sebastian realized the competition was starting, and had to put real effort into tearing his sights from the feline, who had only just begun to retract her fickle claws and settle in to his affections. There was no fanfare to announce the event’s grand opening — Hastings did not even appear present yet. The gates to the property swung wide, and two men Sebastian did not recognize from Hastings’s usual staff were managing the crowd, making sure the boys went in one at a time. After the first eight boys entered, there was a cut off, and beyond the entrance, another man led those boys to that circular track by the stables.

Not knowing what was happening, the boys waiting their turn began to whine and grumble that the line had already stopped moving. Even Ciel was giving in to his age, looking annoyed at the lack of communication and wanting very much to get this over with. Only Sebastian had a clear view of the scene.

As the first eight competitors made it to the track, the man that guided them there secured each one with a different-colored armband. An octet of thoroughbreds was marched out of the stable then and matched to a rider. The boys mounted their steeds using step stools, and all of them appeared uncomfortable, testing at the stirrups with their feet. It was likely that most of them had never sat a saddle. This would be another great advantage for Ciel — though it would look suspicious if he held himself with the nobility of an English gentleman.

Ciel had been right about there being a vetting process. With two hundred boys in line, the horses would be worked to death if they were ridden all day at top speed. Therefore, the competition had to be narrowed down by testing the boys on their form. Eight boys at a time were brought to the ring to show their handling and posture. Three men observed them, one of which was the Hastings stable master, the other two being strangers to Sebastian. The boys were given three minutes to show their skills in the ring while the horses moved at a steady canter. Then, from among the eight boys, one and occasionally two would be selected to continue on to the next round.

For Ciel and the rest in line who could not see the track very well, the wait was dull. Comparatively, Sebastian was having a ball. He had nothing to do for some hours yet, a cat in his arms, and the best seat available. And the show he was seeing — at this point, he had to wonder if all of Ciel’s practice really had been worth it. These boys had learned to ride by simply climbing onto a horse, and had developed their own bad habits and postures. Some of them refused to put their feet in the stirrups, and relied heavily on their legs for balance, as they would if there were no saddle present. Most were fidgety, constantly switching the way they rode and eyeing the judges heavily, trying to figure out what was wanted of them.

Those who passed the test did not show exceptional talent. What they showed was a quick adaptation to the saddle, or an understanding of a horse they had not grown up riding, or something else Sebastian couldn’t or didn’t bother to pick up on. In some cases, Sebastian felt the judges’ choice was entirely random — or, at least, based on something other than their performances in the ring.

The potential jockeys who passed the test sat in the grass beyond the track, waiting. They were sitting tall and proud, and looked on like they were judges themselves. Some pointed and whispered while the riders took their turns. And when another joined the winners’ circle, he was greeted merrily by his peers, as if they were all part of an exclusive club. It was a strange camaraderie. Sebastian found it very amusing. He wondered how Ciel would respond to it when he was inevitably added to their ranks.

The line of participants had been completely thinned of boys who were too young or ill to compete, putting Ciel at around a third of the way from the front. Still, it took some time for his turn to arrive. When it did, Ciel huffed out a big breath and walked with the other seven onto Hastings’s land.

For the past hour, Sebastian had observed every stride a child could exhibit: excited bouncing, hesitant rocking, long steps with swinging arms, bumbling confusion. Ciel’s stride, like his soul, stood out. It was impatient, confident, in front of the pack but not the pack’s leader. Sebastian smirked. It was his master, through and through. There were times when even the world’s littlest liar could not bring himself to lie, and this was one of those times.

Ciel was given a green kerchief to tie around his arm, and a brown thoroughbred with a white blaze on its face. While the other boys fumbled on the provided stools to mount their horse, Ciel stepped smoothly aboard, as if the saddle were a throne and he its prince. Sebastian had watched this horse work for over an hour now, saw the tolerance and monotony take over its stance, so that its neck and tail drooped a bit with each new rider. It snapped to attention when Ciel snapped the reins. It practically danced into the ring when Ciel’s heels swatted his ribs.

Sebastian’s fingers carded the feline beauty’s fur. Perhaps demons had more in common with horses than he’d given them credit. They too had an innate understanding of who was worthy and how to treat them.

A minute later, all were assembled in the ring, and the boys were instructed to begin. Round and round they went, a three-minute loop. Ciel was the star of the show — that much was clear. He made a few adjustments to his normal riding technique, so as not to betray his noble upbringing, but no ounce of propriety was shed. He moved with the horse, kept his shoulders squared, his head up high, while the judges nodded their approval from the sidelines. When time was up, Ciel was the obvious selection, and he was called to the winner’s circle with clapping and cries of, “Good show, good show!”

Now that Ciel had made it past the first trial, Sebastian’s eyes left the ring and instead focused on his master. The seven losers looked on enviously as Ciel made his way over to the winning boys on their hillside.

“And that makes nine!” a sandy-haired skinny boy announced with a gappish grin.

A freckled boy rocked to his feet to look more closely at Ciel. “Wow, but you’re a pale thing!”

“He’s only got one eye!” shouted a scrawny young one in awe.

A stockier lad put his hands on his hips but smiled broadly. “Well? Whadda they call you, then?”

“Um. Astre,” Ciel finally said, swallowing his bewilderment. “Astre Renault… Pleasure.”

The stocky boy drew back a bit. “Oy, but you speak real proper. Whassat about?”

Sebastian chuckled lightly. He was just as curious to know the answer his young lord had concocted. “I grew up in France,” Ciel said quickly. “Working my Uncle Durant’s land in Campagne-lès-Guines. I was lucky enough to learn English from a diplomat who vacationed in the countryside. I only knew to copy his accent, so I speak English like him.”

“You was taught English by a diplomat? ” Naturally, it wasn’t quick to be believed.

Ciel was ready for that, though. “It’s a long story, but, to put it short, my uncle got the diplomat out of a tight spot when his carriage broke down near our cottage and a couple of ruffians came over to give the poor man trouble… Uncle Durant’s put his brawling days behind him, but he still remembered a thing or two, and gave the rogues what-for. And until the day he died, that diplomat was our friend, and visited us each time he came to the countryside.” Ciel sighed mournfully. “France may not be my home anymore, but if I can speak English as well as any gentleman, I want to believe I’m doing my country proud.”

The boys nodded slowly, digesting his story. They didn’t need an explanation for why Ciel was so far from his native land. They knew how life could swallow you up in its terrible sea and spit you out far from home.

The stocky boy chewed his lip and finally smirked his approval. “Oh, guess you’re all right. You come in talkin’ all uppity, like you’re better’n the rest a’ us, you’re right coppin’ a mouse^[※], y’know. But that ’splains it.” He put out his hand and ensnared Ciel’s in a vigorous shake. “Cuthbert Whitby’s the name. You can call me Whit.”

So, that was the tall tale Ciel had chosen to explain his proper diction. Sebastian smirked at the show of it all. There would be no need for this silly lie if Ciel didn’t just put on an East End accent, or even a French one. But Ciel had made it very clear since the beginning of their contract that his acting skills couldn’t be pushed to that extreme.

“I’m no good at accents,” he’d insisted when Sebastian first proposed he disguise his voice, years ago.

“Perhaps you are too critical. Go on, show me your best,” was Sebastian’s response.

But Ciel had dug in his heels. “I told you, I’m no good at them. I won’t convince anybody. I’d have a much easier time making up some story about why I speak like a noble.”

Sebastian had chuckled at him. “That I doubt.”

“I’m telling you, it’s easier, and that’s that.”

It had taken Sebastian only seconds more to catch on to the truth of it: Ciel was too embarrassed to use any voice other than his natural one. When he spoke French, he spoke it properly, but that was as far as Ciel deviated from his own dialect. He was sensitive to such a critique, and would go to all lengths to avoid humiliating himself… even at the stakes of failing a mission for the Queen.

The competition continued, and Ciel settled on the grass to watch the next round of racers, but the winners were not done with their interrogations. “What happened to yer eye?” the scrawny boy wondered, kneeling beside him.

“There was an accident on the farm years ago,” Ciel said merely. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Sounds awful!” the scrawny one yipped.

“You’re awful,” Whit said, plummeting between them. “Askin’ questions y’ ought not to be askin’. You ain’t too young to know manners, are ya?”

“I’m eleven!”

“Then you should have enough sense to respect boys bigger than you, ’less you want a pop in the jaw,” Whit said, showing a fist for gumption, but not really angry. He brightened when he turned back to the newcomer. “What about you, Patch? How old’re you?”

Ciel blinked, realizing he’d just been nicknamed, before answering, “Fourteen. And you?”

Whit stared, then laughed. “Fourteen! No you ain’t!”

“Y-Yes, I am.” Ciel wasn’t sure what he was missing here.

Whit was quick to clue him in. “No way you’re older’n me!” he cried. “Your voice is higher than mine!”

Ciel colored; Sebastian grinned wickedly. Oh, the irony of it all. Ciel had used his true voice, specifically to avoid such humiliation, and that had managed to backfire completely. To Sebastian’s further amusement, Ciel stuttered back, “It’s… It’s not that much higher!”

“You’re really fourteen, then? Sorry.” Whit looked at him pityingly. “I’d be sore if my voice hadn’t started cracking yet.”

Ciel’s flush darkened. “It… does, too. Sometimes it does.” It doesn’t, Sebastian thought merrily.

“I’m thirteen, and my voice is already broken,” piped up another boy smugly.

“Oh, bully for you. D’ya want a medal?”

“Mine breaks sometimes, too, and I’ll be thirteen next month!”

“My da’s voice is so low, when he had a bad cough, he frightened an old miss into thinkin’ a big dog was right behind her!”

“A dog, huh? Must be half-terrier, the way you speak!”

“D’you want a blinker?”^[♣]

“Oh, shove off, I’m only kidding. Save your pride for the race! Then we’ll see who the real men are, voices broken or not.”

The group of winners more than doubled over the course of the next two hours. The sun was high now, and everyone was getting a bit bored and tired — all except for Sebastian, who had been joined by another shorthair tabby and was fixated on the show of his master’s awkwardness. Ciel spent very little time around other boys his age, and certainly when he did, they were aristocrats like himself, not the rowdy, streetwise variety he was surrounded by today. But there was one thing in particular Ciel was not used to, and that was the very physical way that boys showed each their feelings, from friendliness to disapproval and everything in-between.

The animated Whit was an especial deliverer of these blows. Over the course of that first trial, he’d slugged Ciel in the arm, shook him to get his attention, slapped him on the back, and even once used Ciel’s shoulder to hoist himself up. Ciel struggled to keep his hackles from rising. He did not like this touching one bit. But he endured it, for the sake of the Queen, and with the clear rationalization that this would not be the most difficult part of his mission.

Eventually, the line had to reach its end. The hundreds of boys who had lost the competition dispersed slowly, glumly, ambling to Banstead Village or Chipstead, or loading into carts by the dozens for a sluggish but cheap return to London. They had known their chances of victory were slim, but they had longed to win anyway, and when the dreams of the young are dashed, they splinter like bone china. Their heavy faces told enough of a story. If they were lucky, London was their last stop. Many more would have to buy a second train ticket back to their homes in Hampshire or Kent or Sussex or Dorset. A ticket was an expensive item when one lived hungry and threadbare — travel was a risk, and the poor only did it when it was absolutely necessary. Some boys, from the snippets of conversation Sebastian caught, wouldn’t even be able to return home today, and would have to somehow scrape together the pennies until they could afford the trip. An adult worry had darkened the eyes set in those gaunt young faces as they made their journeys away from Hastings, away from a wisp of a dream.

Little did they know what danger they had dodged. That is, if the young lord was right about Hastings’s scheme.

The twenty-four winners who weren’t Ciel smiled and laughed with each other about making it so far. They shook hands, as gentlemen did, but more in mockery than civility. The competition was not over yet. Only five of them would actually earn a sponsorship from Mr. Hastings. It was the tension that made them want to laugh, not the relief.

That was when Hastings at last made an entrance.

Chapter Text

Gwilym Hastings emerged from the front double doors of his house, flanked by a small troop of maids and butlers, who were working together to carry tables and trays heaped in meat pies and scotch eggs. The boys all straightened to attention and made themselves look good for their ultimate judge. Ciel joined them in their posing, but Sebastian noted his brow furrowing the slightest bit as he took in Hastings’s visage. He was a younger man than Ciel had expected, roughly thirty where Northcott was at least forty. The fact that his hair was a rather bright ginger and his face was shaven bare further encapsulated that youthfulness.

Hastings carried himself with squared shoulders and smiled encouragingly at the boys on his hillside. As his entourage put together the luncheon, Hastings greeted the first round’s winners.

“My, what a fine lot of lads you all are!” He spoke as a man admires a litter of well-bred hounds. Sebastian could not pick up on any further nuances in that tone — Hastings was too far away to be heard with perfect clarity. “I saw, from my upstairs window, how many, many boys came here today. Over two hundred, I was told! You were the best of them — I can see it in your faces. Strong and eager, as boys ought to be! If only I could choose all of you to come live with me. I don’t doubt a single one would disappoint.” He heaved a big sigh. “Unfortunately, the competition must continue until only five are left. But let’s not launch into it right away. I’m sure you all are quite hungry!”

Some of the younger boys nodded. Most just stood tall and obedient as soldiers, waiting for a command or a chance to show off.

“I want to get to know all of you,” Hastings said. “So while the rest eat, I shall call you one by one for a brief interview. It isn’t anything you need worry for. I only want to know more about your family and why you think you deserve to win.” He clapped his hands together twice. “Now, I’ll count you off, one to twenty-five.” Hastings did so then. Ciel was coined number sixteen. “I look forward to shaking all your hands,” Mr. Hastings said. “Please, enjoy the lunch spread while you wait. If number one will follow me for the interview, then, the rest of you will have your turns in due time.”

Hastings took the first interviewee a short distance away to a gloriously large, twisted hornbeam tree nearby, where there was a set of chairs with a little dish-top table between them. Here Hastings and boy number one sat and began to talk.

The discussion was very brief. Mr. Hastings hadn’t been minimizing when he said he merely wanted to know about the children’s family lives and motivations. The younger boys answered shyly or enthusiastically, while the older ones kept themselves straight-backed and dignified, or some approximation. Ciel, who wanted very much to feel like he was investigating, stared hard at Hastings as he talked with each contestant. Whit distracted him before too long.

“Cor, if this isn’t some a’ the best grub I ever had!” he cheered as he plopped down beside Ciel on the grass. “Never had a biscuit before that wasn’t a ‘quick biscuit’^[※] — or catsup, and with lamb, too! Listen, I just wanted to tell yeh, if we’re versus each other in the race… well, I hope we’re not, because wouldn’t it be somethin’ if we both got to learn together, Patch? I think you’re going to win, is what I mean. Anyone who goes against ya will be eatin’ dust. So best of luck to us, right?”

“Uh, right, yeah,” Ciel mumbled offhandedly, stuffing a sardine and cracker into his mouth. When he swallowed, he’d refocused on his role. “I hope you win too, Whit. I didn’t get a chance to see your handling while I was in line, but I bet you’ll do all right.”

“Bet I will too, ’long as I’m not against you.” Whit gestured with his thumb across the lawn. “I was checkin’ it out. Over there’s where we’re goin’ to be racin’. They’re gonna have five of us go at a time and do a quick sprint, and the winner of each round gets to move on and become a jockey-in-trainin’ for Mr. Hastings. I don’t know how they’re gonna choose who races who. Guess we’ll jes’ have to see, hm?”

“Y-Y-Yeah,” Ciel stuttered, as Whit shook his shoulder hard for the seventh time.

“Sixteen!” called one of the judges from before, and Ciel took his grateful leave over to the hornbeam.

Ciel settled himself in the chair before reaching to shake Hastings’s hand, with a modest, “How do you do, sir? I’m Astre Renault.”

“Astre? What an interesting name. Pleasure to meet you.” Hastings smiled, and Ciel smiled back, amiable and false. Sebastian could imagine what was going through Ciel’s mind: Am I, right now, mere feet away from the very man I must apprehend?

Hastings’s kind smile became one of slight surprise. “You speak the Queen’s English. Where exactly are you from?”

Ciel repeated the same story he told Whit of his rural upbringing in the French countryside and his rapport with a diplomat.

“And I imagine you suffered some incident on the farm that cost you your right eye?”

Ciel nodded, downcast, giving all the appearance of a boy who didn’t want to keep speaking on a subject so delicate.

“… I see.” Hastings still looked perplexed. Was he disbelieving? “You’ve had quite a life, young Astre!” The man was all smiles again. “What a story yours would make… all the way from France to England… A French jockey who speaks like a noble. Oh, forgive me; I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t mean to get your hopes up. But I won’t lie, I am fascinated by your circumstances! So then, where are you living currently? Are you still with your uncle?”

“No, sir. My uncle had a poor harvest, and I’m too young to be of much use to him. He’s been kind enough to let me live with him until I came of age, but now I’m old enough to make my own way, and I didn’t want to be a burden on him anymore. Campagne-lès-Guines is hardly a place to find employment, but England is just across the pas de Calais— er, I mean, the Dover Narrows— and I knew there would be plenty of labor in the city. I’ve been staying at the Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey since I arrived a few months ago.”

“You had no other family in France?”

“No, sir, or prospects. That’s why I came to London.”

“You are an orphan, then. I’m sorry to hear that.” Hastings’s sorrow did not sound so deep, but that wasn’t necessarily suspicious. Many of the boys here today were orphans. “But you’ve pulled yourself up by your bootstraps! You’re a fighter — else you wouldn’t have gotten this far. So tell me, then, why you believe you deserve to become a jockey?”

Ciel needn’t lie to answer this question. “Because I have a technique that ensures my victory in the race.”

Hastings was quiet for a moment, but still smiling. “That sounds very intriguing.”

Ciel didn’t bat an eye. “It is.”

“You are very confident!” Hastings laughed sparklingly. “I admire it… and I look forward to seeing this technique in action. Best of luck, Astre.” They shook hands again, and Ciel took his leave of the table. Sebastian watched, but Hastings betrayed no signs of suspicion towards Astre, or that he suspected Ciel of lying. He merely had one of his men call, “Seventeen!” Though, as Ciel walked away, Sebastian did observe Hastings mark something down on a notepad.

After the last nine boys finished their interviews with Hastings, the air became taught as a bowstring with anticipation. The boys grew ill with silence, and didn’t talk with each other anymore. They were firmly reminded, watching a new herd of fourteen racehorses trot past them, that everyone was an enemy now.

Sebastian now saw that Hastings had converted some of the lawn to the south of his abode into a flat dirt track, approximately one furlong in length. It would be a sprint, then, a quick chance to show how one’s skills translated into speed, and to prove how much control one had over that speed. Sebastian followed the C-curve of the treeline around the property to get a better angle on the race. Some race it would be, all but fifteen seconds, but that would keep the horses from wearing out. Besides, similarly to Ciel’s estate, there wasn’t enough land for Hastings to make a true racetrack here. A sprint was more efficient in all ways.

Hastings’s stable was not large enough to accompany all of these horses, meaning that some of them were borrowed. Sebastian studied the equine crop. All of them were thoroughbreds, a fast breed that surged with the hot blood of Turkomans and Arabians. They were also all bays, like Avalon, brown with black manes. Their wide eyes and gnashing jaws gave away an anxiety equal to the boys who were about to ride them. It was natural for a racehorse to be flighty. But some of the horses seemed more aggravated than merely nervous. Sebastian could not decipher their moods with total certainty. The behaviors of horses were not ones he had ever paid especial attention to.

Hastings also had a few extra stable hands on duty. Sebastian watched as Hastings passed on to these men the notepad he had been marking before, which turned out to be a list of who would be racing whom. Sebastian wished he could read it from here. How had Hastings made his decision on which racers were best? Was the competition rigged, and if so, how? Either way, Ciel’s victory seemed assured: his riding was superior to every other contestant, and Hastings had taken somewhat of a liking to ‘Astre’ and his curious upbringing.

Sebastian grinned to himself, feeling something akin to pride. Maybe Ciel had been right to keep his natural voice after all.

The boys stood in a straight line with their shoulders back, again like soldiers, though this time perhaps soldiers who had been informed they were being sent on a deadly mission. Commanding officer Hastings approached them, surveying his troops with his hands behind his back. He assuaged them, then, in the manner of a friendly uncle. “I can see in your faces that this race holds gravity for you,” he began, “and I must tell you, it’s no great comfort to be the man holding the scepter either. If I could, I’d have you all win.”

Sebastian saw Ciel wrinkle his nose. Hastings did not earn any Phantomhive respect today.

“But please don’t allow your nerves to hamper your performance,” Hastings went on. “Things change. This life is not for everyone. There is a possibility that a winner may find the training is more than he bargained for. And then I’ll need one of you to take his place. So, chins up, lads! All is not lost by this race alone.”

This did cause relaxation in twenty-odd faces. But Ciel’s remained perturbed. Sebastian was in agreement: that was more ominous than reassuring.

“With that said—” Hastings gave his hands a solid clap “—shall we get to it, lads?”

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“Dorsey, Sutherland, Tatham, Jepson, Wilkie!”

The race was rigged. Sebastian quickly discovered how.

The Sutherland boy won the first sprint. His assigned thoroughbred blew through the string that marked the end of the furlong. Sutherland was shocked at his victory. He gasped, panting in exertion and wonderment, while his horse stood on four steady hooves. Was this race nothing for a champion steed? Perhaps… but the other four horses who came in last (for, in Sebastian’s mind, there was no second or third, only last) panted before settling. They’d felt the exercise in their cores. Sutherland’s horse? Its muscles twitched with the desire to keep going. A detail one might miss if they weren’t paying close attention. It was the only sort of attention Sebastian could pay, where his lord’s orders were concerned.

“Kersey, Dickinson, Pender, Browning, Tracy!”

The horse would run again, only once more. It would run for his master. And in the sea of identical brown stallions, no one would know. No one but Hastings, and his men, and Sebastian Michaelis.

The winner was Browning. Sebastian saw it again: a horse with just a slight bit more energy leftover at the end of the sprint. It was not the same horse as before. This he was certain of. Hastings had already decided who was going to win. He’d given the instructions for which horse should go to which rider. All the groomsmen had to do was be certain they were correct in their assignment.

Now the question remained: how had Hastings made his choice on the victors?

“Adams, Fenn, Whitby, Hanley, Simpkin!”

“Wish me luck, Patch!” Whit thumped Ciel again on the back. Ciel suffered through the treatment, hopeful it would be the last of this friendly abuse. But it wouldn’t be. Whit won the race, and the four losers were beaten twice, once by the finish line, once again by Whit’s crowing.

“Marlee, Harlow, Baker, Erickson, Black!”

And then, as if he was being called to the spotlight by his old circus moniker, it was Sebastian’s turn to perform.

The firing of a blank sent the horses on their path, and it was Marlee who won this time — but his horse didn’t get the memo. When the string broke across his chest, the horse kept running, at full speed, tearing the lawn with hooves like spades and ignoring the warning tugs of its small charge, as well as his cries. “Whoa! Whoa! Stop it! Hey! I said whoa!” But this horse had fire instead of blood, and only someone with the might of Apollo could curtail its course now.

Sebastian was quite the opposite of a sun god, but he would have to do.

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“Corbin Bleu.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow, an action he’d gotten quite good at despite the eye patch’s string. “That’s your undercover name? It’s strange. How did you come up with it?”

“Perhaps my lord can dissect it, using his knowledge of language?”

Ciel looked at him reproachfully. “Well, I’m assuming ‘Corbin’ is related to ‘corvid’ or ‘corbeau.’ Crow. You’re hilarious.”

Sebastian only betrayed his delight through a small smile. “And Bleu?”

Ciel waved his hand. "It's just a color."

“Is it?” Sebastian walked to open the bedroom door for his master. “If my lord says so, than perhaps it is.”

Ciel glared at him as he passed, with that sapphire jewel studded in his slimming face. “‘If my lord says so…’ Feh. As if I would embody such a statement. I should hate to live in a world where what I speak becomes anybody’s truth. I’d always rather know the truth, and then speak it.”

Bleu. A French surname, derived from an epithet, specifically denoting one who dressed in blue or had blue eyes. So, Corbin Bleu literally became ‘crow of the blue-eyed boy’ and hid, as he loved to, in plainest sight.^[♣]

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A gloved hand caught the reins, near the bit, with all the darting precision of a cobra, and that hand had the huge head under its control in seconds. Wild eyes rolled and teeth, fearful, tried for a bite, but they missed their mark. Then the prey animal remembered it was a racer and calmed quickly, but not before that trained hand could gauge its strength. The horse was strong. Unusually so.

“Cor!” Marlee looked down at Sebastian as if he were his savior. “I thought we was about to bash into the trees! I couldn’t make ’im do nothin’!”

“Then it seems I’ve arrived just in time,” Sebastian said, tipping up his shepherd’s cap.

The handlers had dashed after Marlee’s mount when they saw it wasn’t going to stop, but slowed their pace when they noted another man was handling it. The eyes of most were distrusting, but Sebastian was recognized by the stable master. “Oh, it’s you,” the old gent said. “You’re, eh… Well, technically trespassing. But looking for a job also still, hm?”

Sebastian laughed in a way that sounded honest. “Yes, and I do beg your pardon. Your land does bend into Park Downs. I was waiting for the right moment to make an entrance… and to be honest, this seemed like a fine one. I did tell you that you’d find few more talented at handling horses than I.”

“Yes, well.” The stable master coughed to clear the air. “And I told you, that decision isn’t up to me. But I s’pose Mr. Hastings will be interested in seeing who just spared his latest jockey a nasty fall.”

Sebastian smiled charmingly up at Marlee. “You’re a winner, then? Congratulations.”

“N’ double lucky, too!” The lad, at least three years Ciel’s junior, was still breathing hard with the relief of being alive.

Sebastian was a head taller than Hastings, but that didn’t stop the man from sizing him up. “You’re clearly quite strong,” Hastings said, while Ciel glared on in the background. “Even if you are a trespasser…” His eyes flashed with a hint of suspicion, a mood Sebastian would always be able to measure, no matter how quickly it blinked by. The suspicion disappeared into curiosity as soon as it came on. “Well!” he said. “I have always admired someone with mettle! Forward thinking… yes, I like it. I like it. Or else I wouldn’t be holding such a competition! Well, boys, what do you think? Shall I give him an interview?”

The boys, whether they won and were full of vigor or lost and wanted to show good sportsmanship, cheered at this. Ciel was, in fact, the only one not hollering favorably, and only clapped a little bit to blend in. Sebastian was highly amused.

“Well, then.” Hastings gave Sebastian a hearty handshake. “I think that says all. I look forward to speaking with you further, Mr. Mettle! And with that, let’s delay no further. It’s time for our last race.”

There was no need to call names. The five boys remaining knew who they were. Sebastian observed from the sidelines as the quintet filed towards their horses, watched as Ciel was helped aboard the bronze Arabian that won for Browning. He wondered if even his young master, with his mortal sight, could tell the differences between the near-identical horses. He wondered if Ciel knew he’d been chosen to win, or if he spurred his horse to the starting line with blind determination.

“Ready, boys!” Hastings called, lifting his pistol to the air.

Ciel hunched in the saddle, holding the crop above the horse’s right flank.

“On your mark! Get set!”

Bang.

Like a rabbit as it hunched before the bound, Ciel pushed himself out of the saddle, held his chest low over the horse’s straight neck, and let the thoroughbred run as a wild mustang, while bearing his own weight up high. His knees and elbows were nearly touching each other, and Sebastian, the only one who saw life so clearly that the fastest things weren’t a blur, noted his master’s teeth were clenched tight in the fiercest grin. If only it wasn’t the eye patch facing him: the blue eye was sure to be a firework. Hastings, the onlooking boys, the groomsmen — all were quiet in the presence of this magic. It was as though a blank hadn’t been fired but a real bullet, and it had come alive and finished the race faster than anyone else.

Sebastian felt the muzzle of a gun jab his hip at the exact moment the crowd of boys took up cheering. “You’ll go straight over to the stable without a word to the little ’uns, if’n y’know what’s good for ye,” a man’s voice said low in his ear.

The last thing Sebastian saw before he turned heel was Ciel clinging to the horse’s hot neck and using it to support himself as he dropped down to the ground, mobbed by lads who suddenly thought him a hero to poor boys everywhere.

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“And when I show up unannounced, you suppose Mr. Hastings’s will merely disregard me as a vagabond, and not suspect anything behind my sudden appearance?”

“I imagine he will. I imagine he’ll suspect something immediately.” Ciel stepped forward in the beaten-up Broglie boots as Sebastian held open the front door of the manor and watched him walk down the steps into the palest yellow of morning. “He’ll be certain you know he’s up to something. He might even shoot you, once he has you alone.”

Sebastian crouched to pick Ciel up. “And what should I do if he shoots me?”

Ciel wrapped his arms around his demon’s neck for support. “Seeing as you can’t lie, you mean?”

“I could pretend to die. If it goes unspoken, it doesn’t technically go against the contract.”

“No. I need you around. I can’t afford to have you ‘die.’” Ciel shook his head. Thought for a moment. “If they shoot you… You tell them the truth.”

“The truth, sir? How much exactly?”

Ciel didn’t hesitate this time. “As much as is necessary to spark Hastings’s interest.”

And with his master’s plan filling his ears, Sebastian carried Ciel off to the territory of the man who, in a short six hours, would want Sebastian dead.

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Sebastian was held at gunpoint in the stables for an hour before Hastings appeared. He stormed into the stall Sebastian was being contained in, with a very different face than before, a darker and more mature one, and asked, “Has he said anything?”

The groomsmen shook his head. “Not a word, he tol’ me, till you arrived.”

“Not a word?” Hastings was distraught. “You have a gun, don’t you? Did you consider waving it around a bit, or reminding him what a gun is for? ”

“For announcing the start of a race, isn’t it?” Sebastian answered brightly.

Hastings breathed hard out his nose. “A joker, I see. Did you search him?”

“O’ course I did. He’s not armed. Not even a knife.”

“Not armed?” Hastings looked at Sebastian anew. “Nothing at all?”

“A man generally does not carry weapons when he doesn’t suspect attack,” Sebastian answered. “Being non-threatening usually helps win one a job. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Hastings paused, shook his head. “No. I don’t buy this.” He held out his hand for the gun without looking at his henchman. “Leave us be, Hardwick. Guard the exits to the stable with the others. And if any of the boys ask about a loud noise, tell them the neighbors are hunting duck. Though none of them should be back from collecting their belongings yet.”

Hardwick left, begrudgingly, and Hastings walked forward with menace, staring at his victim (staring him down, Sebastian imagined was the intent) with his brown eyes shimmering like his horses’ backs. He stopped moving when their faces were inches apart. “How much do you know,” Hastings began. He was no kind uncle anymore.

Sebastian tipped an eyebrow. “Evidently, too much.”

Hastings jammed a gun against his jugular. “How much? And who told you, dammit?!”

Sebastian only smiled. “Nobody told me. Nobody but you.”

“This,” Hastings snarled, “is not the time to be bold. I’ve kept a lid on all this. Everyone has — everyone who wants to stay alive, anyway. If you think your life isn’t the perfect thing to stopper a leak, you’re damn wrong. And you wouldn’t be the first one offed.” Sebastian heard the hammer click, just below his left ear. “Now. Who… told… you?”

Sebastian repeated in a sly whisper, “You.”

The gun flicked away from Sebastian’s throat and sent a bullet cascading into his leg. As he was instructed, Sebastian did not flinch or feign injury. The only part of him that changed was his smile, widening at Hastings’s shock. He let show the very tips of his eyeteeth.

Hastings immediately turned a ghostly white. “What in hell…?” he breathed. He fired another shot, right into Sebastian’s chest. It put a hole in the shirt but not in the flesh beneath. “What in hell?!”

“A very astute pronouncement indeed, Mr. Hastings,” Sebastian simpered. He held out the twin bullets to their trembling owner. “Right on the money, you might say. For I am not a man come to sabotage you.” He spilled the silver nuggets to the dirt floor, leaving only his palm extended like an offer. “I am a demon come to join you.”

Chapter Text

Who was Sebastian Michaelis?

He was the crease in trousers so sharp, it seemed to have been made with a bone-folder; a collar that stood up as straight as if it had its own spine; cufflinks that reflected light as an eye did, and winked with as much character. He was the arm of a globe that showed back the world in a curved but otherwise perfect mirror; an Oriental carpet that gleamed as if newly woven; a banister so smooth beneath one’s fingers, it may as well be ivory. He was the wisp of a candle that had just been snuffed out; a satin ribbon around the pale throat of a duchess; a stag’s antler shorn of its velvet. He was the pheasant, the gravy, and the spices dappling its crackled brown skin.

Sebastian Michaelis was a butler. It was not so miraculous, when you played the part of a butler for some time, to find you had perfected the role. But within the span of this contract, Sebastian had become a thousand things more interesting, things he had not intended to become. He was a droplet of ink clinging to the well-worn nib of a favored pen; the shadow that existed between the painting and the wall it hung from; the inside seam of an opera glove. A needle of polished obsidian.

Who was Sebastian Michaelis? He was all of the above.

But that was the wrong question to be asking. The question to be asking was, Who was Corbin Bleu?

And so at once Sebastian’s long-established acting career was traded in for one of improvisation. Who was Corbin Bleu? Why, that question was answered the very instant Corbin Bleu was born. Corbin Bleu was the sort who bowed a little sweepingly and flourished his wrist and snapped back upright like a mechanical soldier. His actions weren’t so methodical but sometimes sharp and other times lackadaisical, as if he always knew what he meant to do without trying. And Corbin grinned beautifully. He wasn’t so much a demon as he was a devil; and what did today’s humans interpret the devil as but the king of persuasion, with a fiddler’s bow instead of a scepter?

Alas, devil and demon shared one key trait: both Corbin Bleu and Sebastian Michaelis could not tell lies. A grand disadvantage when he was to convince a foe that he was an ally. But who was Gwilym Hastings? A man all too ready to be persuaded that the Grand Devil himself took interest in his scheme. A man who grinned when Sebastian gestured to a spindly-legged table he had conjured from smoke, and grinned wider when the cobbled stone beneath their feet turned to marble. A man who had been waiting all his life for some sign that he was special, he was memorable, he was worthy — and if not in the eyes of God than at least in the eyes of Satan.

Tiny chips of white light from a chandelier beset themselves in Hastings’s dark eyes, which were wide with desire as they fixated on the demon who spoke in a voice like silken cream. He did not notice that Sebastian’s own chocolate-red gaze shown with nothing but its own color. Everything in this room was an illusion, a simple spell. It had been some time since Sebastian had created such an elaborate falsehood. Ciel insisted every physical object be created by hand, a rule Sebastian had come to respect. But he’d been given permission to reveal “as much as is necessary to spark Hastings’s interest” when it came to his demonhood. Illusions were within the realm of possibility.

Sebastian was not unfamiliar with humans who coveted approval. He had made contracts with them several times. Hastings fit that description in more ways than one. He assumed Sebastian’s attention was a form of praise, and he was willing to accept that that was the case without Sebastian even having to say so. But perhaps Hastings wasn’t so presumptive. The Sebastian of a hundred years ago, in his hunger, might have made a contract with such a man. He might have even liked the taste of his soul.

How dull and uninteresting an appetizer Hastings looked now.

“How long have you been watching me?” Hastings wanted to know. “When did you decide I was worthy of your aid?”

Sebastian’s smile was like that of a cat observing a cornered mouse. Though he warned his own charge of developing such a habit, Sebastian had always been partial to playing with his food. And in the end, I’m not even going to eat this one. “I have not been observing you long. I wish I could have been… but you were not always easy to find.”

“I was traveling for a bit. But that was all part of the plan.” Hastings paused. “The plan… Do you know what it is, even? You must, or else you wouldn’t be talking to me, would you? You can probably become invisible to the human eye whenever you please.”

“I have done nothing of the sort,” Corbin simpered. “What I’ve done… is caught whiff of your particular cunning. And now I’m here to watch your game play out.” He leaned back and tapped the side of his jaw. “But I’ve never done well as a mere bystander where games are concerned. I prefer to be a player. And I choose to play for the side that interests me the most greatly.”

“What about me interests you?” Again, Hastings was in want of attention.

“Now, now, my good man,” Corbin tutted. “You are getting ahead of yourself. What interests me is your potential… not anything you have yet done. That’s why I’m here. To be dealt in. My cards are all yours… once you tell me what game it is we’re playing.”

Speaking metaphorically was a grand loophole. It wasn’t really a lie this way. Hastings could interpret what he wanted from the conversation, leaving Sebastian free to act as he pleased.

Hastings, who had been so eager to talk mere moments ago, paused for a second. “I want to repeat my question from before,” he said. “How much… do you know? About what it is we’re up to?”

At least in part, Corbin would have to come clean. “Well done, Mr. Hastings. You’ve caught me. The truth is, I only have an educated guess. Hence my curiosity… hence my desire to assist you.”

“Give me your guess.” It was a fair demand.

Corbin studied him with amusement. “From the evidence so far, it seems you may be running an illegal gambling operation that involves horse racing.”

“Ha!” Hastings belted a single laugh, jumping out of his chair. He paced back and forth, grinning triumphantly. “Well this just proves it, then! First the Yard, and now the Devil! We’ve managed to keep it a secret from everyone! And here I thought it might all be over when Northcott passed… But then again, I guess everyone turns a blind eye where foreign children are concerned… and, apparently, local orphans just the same.”

Corbin tilted his jaw down and smiled. It had been a while since he’d heard the late Northcott’s name. “Very interesting. Then how far off the mark was I?”

Hastings clasped his hands at the small of his back. His grin was a wild one. “A gambling ring,” he answered, “is nothing compared to what we’ve done. Demon, my men and I are going to change the world.”

Sebastian’s eyelids flickered with interest. He felt a throbbing inside him: his hunger. Finally, he smiled with his fangs at their sharpest.

“Well, then, master… Where shall I begin?”

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Corbin Bleu was formally introduced to the boys at dinnertime. The boys were also introduced to him.

First, there was Cuthbert Whitby, that square-jawed lad who seemed determined to become Ciel’s closest mate, his gaze intense but friendly when it fell on Sebastian. He had his sleeves rolled up and a brown flat-back cap angled jauntily over his forehead, as if he were more prepared to herd cattle than eat dinner.

Nelson Marlee was the boy Sebastian had saved when his horse lost control. Judging by appearances, he was the youngest of the five to pass the test. Indeed he was the smallest, though his ears seemed suited for a much larger head. He was looking all around the little dining room like he couldn’t believe this was real, or that was real, or any of it was real.

Teddy Sutherland had thin brown hair that clung close to the scalp like that of Julius Caesar. Nothing else about his looks could be attributed to royalty. He brightened up an otherwise dull visage with a keen smile. His eyes were lidded and sad like a basset hound’s. It was the sort of face one might see staring back at them on a poster, advertising collections for the Relief Society.

Trevor Browning was possibly the oldest of the boys, and acted like it too. He sat tall in his chair at the dining table and kept his delight reserved — but it still spangled in his large blue eyes. Sebastian smiled back at him with the same quaint grin he offered to Phantomhive guests. Such honest humans. A quartet of boys who felt like all their wishes had been granted. They certainly looked at Gwilym Hastings as if he were their own personal djinn; just the same way Hastings now looked at Corbin Bleu.

“And lastly, Astre Renault,” said Hastings, gesturing to Ciel. “This afternoon’s grand champion, I should say! What a race! What a technique! I’m sure you’ll have a lot to teach the other boys. Won’t you?”

“Certainly, sir!” Ciel beamed. When he acted that well, it was easy to remember why his Noah’s Ark nickname had been ‘Smile.’ “I think we’ll all have plenty to teach each other.”

“Patch is modest,” said Whit, knocking Ciel’s arm with his own. “He’s the best of us for sure. A regular don.”

Confusion altered Ciel’s grin ever so briefly, as if to say, A regular what?

“It looks as though you’ve picked your plates clean,” Hastings continued with a laugh, hands on his hips. He was a fair actor, too. “I trust everything was to your liking?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” four of the boys chorused. Ciel nodded a beat after them. Sebastian noted his plate had a few scraps left on it. His was the only one that did. Sebastian almost let himself smile, recognizing that even Ciel’s newfound hunger could not necessarily be swayed by imperfect cookery.

“Very good.” Hastings clapped his hands together. “It’s been a very exciting day for us, hasn’t it? A new life is about to begin. So, I think we all should be at our best. Tonight you’ll take baths and settle down in your new beds. You can sleep in as late as you like. We’ll start the real work in two days’ time, when you’re fully rested.”

“I’ll be rested, sir! I could ride right now!” Little Marlee piped up.

Teddy and Trevor looked taken aback at the youngster’s words. They had probably come from a workhouse or strict orphanage, where speaking without being spoken to was grounds for a punishment.

Hastings only smiled. “I knew there was a reason you won today! You’re full of spitfire. Raring to start proving yourself a prime jockey. Then perhaps there will be time for some riding tomorrow. Whatever you all might like.”

Excited glances were exchanged among the boys. Never had they had such freedom in their lives before, or known such reassurance.

“’scuse me, Mr. Hastings?” Whit raised his hand, as if he were in school, but didn’t wait for an invitation to keep talking. “Could we draw straws t’see who gets t’go first for the bath? Probably best that we don’t all get ta fightin’ straight away.”

“No need for that,” Hastings said. “Each of you will have your own clean, hot bathwater to use. Corbin will see to it.”

All but Ciel looked shocked and amazed to hear they would not have to share the same dirty water from one boy to the next. Ciel tried to look shocked and amazed, though the relief of having his own bath appeared to be the winning emotion on his dusty face.

Indoor plumbing was a relatively new feature in homes outside of England’s major cities. Even twenty-four years ago, it had been a revolution for the middle and upper classes of London, and Banstead was just newly introduced. Hastings’s own abode was a place in the midst of innovation. It was not a new building and could not handle some of the adaptations that plumbing circuitry required. For one thing, there were only four water sources on the property: the kitchen sink, a pump outside, the sink in the domestics’ bathroom, and Hastings’s bath, which was out of the question for use. For another, there was not a water heater, and so if one wanted to create enough warm water for the baths of four exceptionally dirty boys and one somewhat dirty boy, they would need to heat copious amounts of it at once.

So Sebastian did, in his usual innovative style and with a bit of flare.

Whit, Nelson, Teddy, and Trevor did not seem surprised that Corbin assisted them in cleaning themselves. Though they of course had never had a butler, they were likely very familiar with communal bathing, whether in a public bathhouse or merely in a sanctioned area outside their workhouse. Sebastian took them one at a time in a metal washtub in the kitchen’s storeroom, where they at least had some privacy. But the boys were so happy to have their own clean water and fresh towel that they didn’t seem to mind if someone ducked into the storeroom briefly to grab an ingredient for tomorrow’s breakfast.

After Trevor had left the bathing area dressed in his nightshirt, Sebastian emptied the basin into the sink. He then went out to the fields to fetch the remaining tub from its blazing source, testing it with his finger — ninety-four degrees, just right — and brought in the huge container of steaming wellwater. Adelaide Hollingsworth would be displeased if she knew he hadn’t any Turkish borax to add to the bath, but that was for manor living. Hard water was for the countryside.^[※]

By the time Ciel came down to bathe, the rest of the Hastings staff had retired to bed, and the two were able to be alone. Regardless, Ciel chose to use French when he finally spoke.

“A bonfire,” he said flatly as Sebastian began to undo the buttons on his shirt, the fabric of which had become a bit stiff with dirt and dry sweat. “That’s how you heated up so much water at once? I saw it out the parlor window, near the Park Downs. It was huge. Did it remind you of hell?”

“The young master sounds tired,” Sebastian deflected. “But how is Astre?”

“‘Astre’ had a fantastic day.” Ciel allowed Sebastian to untie his beat-up shoes and peel them off his worn feet. “The ‘young master’ is tired — tired of smiling so damn much, that is.”

The undressing finished in silence, and Ciel touched the water with his heel before quickly settling in. He needn’t have tested it. Sebastian knew just what temperature the young master liked best, and knew it would be doubly important to get it right after such a grueling day.

“‘Sebastian’ seems as disgustingly self-satisfied as ever,” Ciel began. He was definitely irritated, from the day and from having to squeeze into such a small metal basin just to bathe. He scowled as he tried to find a comfortable place to put his elbows. “‘Corbin’ must have gotten along swimmingly with Hastings then.”

“Yes, I think Corbin did.” Sebastian removed one arm from the water and began scrubbing at it with a creamy sponge that hadn’t been used on any of the other boys. “I find Hastings a bit vain. But it seems he may have a few things in store for us, and in that, he inspires curiosity.”

“‘He inspires curiosity,’” Ciel repeated, a bit hotly. He held out a leg for Sebastian to wash. “So, he didn’t reveal his entire plot to you?”

“No, he didn’t. The less I knew, the happier he seemed to be. So I let him be happy.”

“Tch!” Ciel swatted the surface of the water so it splashed at Sebastian. “Your contract with him is just a farce, if you recall. Letting him play around only complicates things on my end! Did you get anything worth knowing out of him or not?”

“He spoke briefly on Northcott.” Sebastian lifted Ciel’s other leg out of the water for him. “The way he talked, it seems as if Northcott’s death was, in fact, an accident.”

“Is that so?” Ciel was thoughtful. “Well. That’s something to mull over. What else, then?”

Sebastian dipped his head but tilted his chin to look his young master in the eyes. “There is no gambling ring to speak of. There is, however, something in the works that is ‘going to change the world.’”

That blue eye was quite interested now. “Change the world? What does Hastings mean by that?”

Sebastian shrugged with his typical grace. “He did not elaborate.”

“You should have asked then,” Ciel said, sounding irritated again.

“I suppose I should have,” Sebastian said merely.

Ciel lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward so swiftly that water rushed over the lip of the basin as he jabbed his finger into Sebastian’s chest. “I should have guessed! You didn’t ask him to elaborate because you’re actually enjoying the drama, God damn it!”

“Such an accusation,” Sebastian tutted. He removed Ciel’s finger from his chest and started soaping up that outstretched arm. “Is it not my task to get Hastings to trust me? He may not be so pleased with me if I bullied the information out of him.”

“I’m the one whose displeasure you need to worry about!” Ciel leaned his head all the way back over the rim of the metal basin, causing another small waterfall. He massaged his temple with the hand that wasn’t currently being washed. “This is why I can’t let you handle a case without me. If it were up to you, you’d just spend the whole time pussyfooting around until you got bored, and then you’d kill everyone before you could find out why they started this whole horse racing… thing, in the first place. If someone doesn’t keep you on a leash, you’ll wander off in the wrong direction.”

“You can trust me more than that,” Sebastian simpered. His gaze deepened. “Or, perhaps you should.”

“Now what do you mean,” Ciel groaned.

“What I mean,” Sebastian began, “is that in two days’ time, you are going to be drugged and kidnapped and taken to the other side of Banstead by cover of night, where at last you shall wake up in the Hundred Acres.”

“The Hundred Acres?” Water sloshed when Ciel straightened up abruptly, froth puddling on the stonework, soaking into the knees of Sebastian’s trousers. “But isn’t that where—?”

“Yes,” said Sebastian. “That is where.”

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The Hundred Acres was the location of the infamous Banstead Asylum. Theoretically, it wasn’t so different from most asylums, but it was in how it functioned, as it was largely self-sufficient, and therefore visitors rarely came to the premises. Even more rarely did the patients leave, and many of them could not have spoken rationally about life there anyways, aside from the women who were accepted due to ‘female hysteria.’ The Lancashire City Council had been slowly taking command over such local hospices, but the Banstead Asylum was still privately owned. What went on there was largely unknown. But perhaps it wouldn’t be unknown for much longer.

“Edward used to tell me and Lizzie made-up stories about the Hundred Acres to scare us,” Ciel said as his hair was fluffed dry with a towel. “It has a reputation for admitting those whose families can’t afford for them to go elsewhere. This is because all able-bodied patients are required to work: cooking, cleaning, farming and harvesting… whatever else there is to do. It’s an interesting model, to be honest. But there’s a shroud of darkness about any place that no one leaves. I don’t like the idea of the asylum being connected to this case. I don’t think it bodes well for the missing children at all.” He paused to allow Sebastian to slip the nightshirt over his head. “After everyone in the house is asleep, I want you to go there. See if you can find anything unusual.”

Sebastian bowed his head. “Certainly, my lord, if you think it best. Just remember that I can’t lie. Should Hastings suspect I know anything about his plan, it might not bode well for us either.”

“It will bode fine. You’re just being dramatic,” Ciel huffed. “Stop making a game out of this case, and solve it seriously. We can be done with this before we’ve even begun, depending on what you find at the asylum. Get there as soon as you have the chance, and scope the place out. That’s an order—and it shouldn’t have to be one, damn it!”

But there did end up being some trouble after all. When Sebastian had finished tidying up the makeshift bathing area, he returned to Hastings’s side. The house was very quiet by then. The servants were bedded and so were the boys, who, despite their excitement over their new life, were exhausted enough to sleep soundly. As Sebastian passed by the upstairs parlor that had been converted into their sleeping quarters, he felt no stirrings from their souls, save that of his charge. Sebastian smiled ever so slightly. Perhaps the mattress was not as comfortable as Ciel’s bed at home; perhaps the home itself was not comfortable enough a place to rest. Either way, beyond that door, beyond that wall, the boy was still awake, waiting in silence for his eyes to close or for night to end — whichever came first.

But Ciel was far from the only one awake on the grounds. In the master bedroom, Hastings remained alert, and outside so did his men, four of them stationed around the property, sniffing for danger. They need not be so guarded. Sebastian could sense for a quarter-mile around that the nearest living threats were not men but owls, toads, and hedgehogs.

Well… that was not entirely true. The nearest threat to his master was Mr. Hastings himself, and now Sebastian had arrived to serve him.

“Ah, there you are,” the gentleman said, as he might greet an old friend, when Sebastian ventured in. Hastings was not yet in his nightclothes, but stood crisply dressed in a smoking jacket near a small table. The table and his wardrobe made the majority of the room. It was a fine master bedroom, for a Banstead manor at least, but rather paltry compared to estates built on old money. There was also a fireplace and a rug and a stag’s head and a four-poster bed, with no awning or drapery, simple and masculine. It occurred to Sebastian then that Hastings was not married.

“It’s not very good,” Hastings suddenly continued, “but I’m having a glass of red, and you’re welcome to partake.” He poured for Sebastian without being asked, then held his own wine aloft. “To Algernon Northcott. A good man until he wasn’t.” Hastings sipped deeply, before adding, “Until he wasn’t alive, I mean. He was always good, till the day he died.”

Corbin raised an eyebrow “Oh? Was he?” He found himself sipping the wine, as he supposed a human’s devil would enjoy wine, though it may as well have been pond water to him.

Hastings sighed. “Yes. Oftentimes too good. But he died doing what he loved.”

“Which is to say…?” Corbin began.

Hastings put the glass down, sighed again. “Protecting the innocent.” After a reminiscent pause, he then shrugged. “That’s not why I’m toasting him, mind you. He was a devout man, but the best thing about him was his loyalty. That’s his quality I miss the most. Well, perhaps one of the two qualities I miss the most. But I digress.”

He gestured for Sebastian to sit down at the little table and joined him a moment after. His face was very serious, and then he laughed. “You are nothing like what the Grand Grimoire calls a demon,” Hastings explained. “I’ve never read it myself, but I know people who have. You’re not a monster. You look almost exactly like a human. Of what I can see, at least. But I suppose that you can change yourself into different shapes? You changed my own stables, for just a while, after all. You must be able to do whatever it is you like. Am I right?”

Unwilling to divulge a demon’s most vital secrets, Corbin answered only the first question and left the second alone. “I can become what I wish to become, yes. I choose the form that I deem most convenient.”

“You are a bit of a strange-looking fellow, though,” Hastings said, then added, “What I mean is, you look like you belong to no country. It is hard to decipher your pedigree. You appear mostly English, but your hair and eyes are so dark.”

“Indeed.” Corbin’s eyes flashed pink, for just a fraction of a moment. “There are some features I cannot alter completely. But never you mind them. Do you ask these questions about my appearance because you would like for me to turn into something else?”

“That’s it.” The red hair bounced just slightly along with its owner’s nods. “I’d like you to go to the Hundred Acres and keep watch… That is, if it isn’t too belittling of your stature?”

Sebastian huffed a small laugh out his nose, which Ciel would have immediately recognized as a sign that his demon found great humor in the situation. He’d been a dress-up doll for a flouncing aristocrat’s daughter, trained a gaggle of untrainable fools, and had received all his orders (and punishments) from a child for the past four and a half years. Playing sentry was hardly a blow to his ego. “I am here to aid you, sir. If a guard dog is what you require, I shall become one, and go where you tell me to go.”

Hastings gazed at him brightly. “How obliging of you!” he cheered. “Now I see why some folks are so interested in demons! You make for a fantastic servant. When I die, I should not feel so badly about you having my soul.”

Sebastian blinked. “Eh?”

“Well, that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Hastings said plainly, as one might talk about the weather. “At the end of my life, I go with you to hell, don’t I? I become your slave for all eternity, or something of that nature? We didn’t exactly go over that when you first revealed your demonhood to me, but that is how the exchange works, isn’t it?”

The demon stared, momentarily at a loss for words. “… Something of that nature,” he finally managed to reiterate.

“I suppose we’ll talk about the details of that later,” Hastings said. “For now, I’d like you to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters around the Hundred Acres compound. And you don't literally have to be a guard dog. Be whatever creature allows you to best observe the area without finding yourself noticed. Can you do that?”

“With ease, sir,” Corbin smiled.

“Ah, and one last little thing,” Hastings added, with somewhat of a sheepish air. “Do not go inside any of the buildings. Particularly not the asylum’s main hospital. Do I have your word?”

“You do,” Corbin said, “though I’m quite curious why. If I may?”

Hastings laughed low in his throat. “It’s where my team and I are doing our work,” he said. “And I want to be with you when you see what it is. I don’t want to miss your response. So do not attempt to discern the mystery.” He lifted up his glimmering glass again. “And now I drink to you, my friend. To the beginning of something beautiful.” His lips kissed the glass, and Hastings tossed back the beverage with the easy, greedy gulp of a younger man. To his credit, he did not look dazed after doing so.

Sebastian likewise took a careful sip. Convenient, that both true and false masters had the same plans in mind for him. Less convenient was the knowledge that the building holding all the answers would remain unexplored for tonight. But he couldn’t be kept out forever.

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The Hundred Acres was located about as far from Hastings’s countryside manor as it could possibly be while still remaining in Banstead. For Sebastian, the journey was nothing. Beneath a pale dappling of stars and a crescent moon as delicate as onionskin, the demon and the darkness became one. Rolling hills and little farms disappeared beneath his impossible gait, and eventually so did the cozy village of Banstead itself. It was only two short miles outside of town to the place of childhood fears.

Eventually, Sebastian reached the road that most would follow on to Woodmansterne, and the thick trees that began the Hundred Acres territory. The little forest was like a barrier between the Banstead Asylum and the rest of the world. It certainly deflected most visitors, those few that had any reason to want to go there. Even the creatures of the night were quieter here. Sebastian was merely another soundless presence in this small corner of the world as he skimmed the treetops at his usual fantastic lope.

The trees broke not far into his travels. There stood the Banstead Asylum compound, a homely assortment of buildings made even more dull by the color of night. A large building of four stories was clearly the main hospital, stationed in the near-center of it all. Around it was a barn, two greenhouses, a scattering of sheds, and numerous gardens where able patients were to farm for their own produce. There was also a well, and a few other outbuildings for hanging meat or preserving pickled foodstuff, and, closer to the treeline, what appeared to be cottages, quite possibly for nurses when they weren’t on-duty.

Ah, right: he was required to transform. He had agreed to become something that human eyes wouldn’t notice. A rat would fit the bill, he decided, and he donned the guise as easily as a new uniform.

Sebastian had not been a creature so small in a while. Ciel was a unique contract in many ways, one being that he very infrequently asked Sebastian to transform himself. Up until now, it had been unusual for Sebastian to play one role for the crux of his employment. It was a dawning moment the first time he realized he no longer viewed Sebastian as a role at all, but more of a persona he could fully slip into. It was perhaps the only instance he’d ever felt that way in his ever-unwinding career as a true demon.

This knowledge would once have made his onset of sympathy an even more worrisome notion, but Sebastian distanced himself from it now. He had a job to do.

As he settled into this new but not unfamiliar body, Sebastian returned his focus to his senses. During his trip to the Hundred Acres, there had been nothing but explicable nocturnal noises around him; now he could hear and feel a sort of thrumming sound. After a moment of listening, he realized that he recognized it, a sound he had not often heard isolated until fairly recently: the sound of a single horse running its hardest. The strange part about it, the part that had kept Sebastian from pinpointing it immediately, was its oddly muffled quality. It was as if he were hearing the noise from inside a building… only he himself was outdoors. Did that mean-?

Footsteps. Running. Sebastian turned his petal-thin ears to those now. They were the doe-like steps of a small young woman, coming from one of the outbuildings. He darted in their direction, even after the running stopped, and found himself ten yards away from the exact sort of woman the footfalls betrayed. She hunched over herself, then fell to her knees, hands clamped over her ears. A middle-aged woman followed shortly after, still pulling a cardigan over her nightgown. Her hair was done up in a loose bun that must have been assembled in seconds.

“Dear, come back to bed,” the older woman soothed, though she sounded a bit worried. The wind stirred the ends of her gown, and she shuddered against its chill. “You’ll catch cold out here.”

The younger woman, a patient to this nurse most likely, dropped her hands but didn’t move. “I can’t stand it, Elise,” she said softly. “I need to get out of here. I wasn’t mad when I arrived, but I’m becoming it now. That damn heartbeat. Why doesn’t it stop? Why doesn’t it stop? ”

“Oh, dear.” Elise paced closer. “Marie told me you ran away last night too. Is this why? Oh dear… I wish I could do something more… But you know it can’t stop, love. Without it, you couldn’t stay here. Neither could so many others. It’s paying your way, so think no more of it.”

“It’s mocking me!” the woman continued, weeping now. “William’s little heart couldn’t beat on its own…”

Elise came to her, knelt down, and put an arm around her shoulder. “No one would dare mock you. You’re too sweet of a girl. It wasn’t your fault. God knows when to call His children home, even if it seems too soon…” When the patient continued to shake beneath her steady hand, Elise said, “Listen more closely, dearie. It’s too fast for a heartbeat, even a babe’s. We may not know what that sound is, but I can tell you what it isn’t.”

The woman finally raised her head. “If I knew what it was, it wouldn’t bother me so much,” she said resolutely.

“Shhh, now. Shhh. You know we can’t ask that.”

“But why can’t we?”

“Because we’ve been told not to ask, and we must respect our benefactor’s wishes. Perhaps it is for the best that we don’t know. Please think of it that way. Won’t you, love?”

The patient’s voice turned to stone. “Yesterday I thought I heard a child screaming under the hospital.”

Elise paused at that. “There are no children here. You must have imagined it. It is merely a construction project—”

“Why are these strangers helping us?” The woman shook her head in disbelief. “What do a town of invalids have to offer? I’m frightened of them. Whoever they are… and whatever they’re doing in that basement… It’s wicked. I can feel it. I don’t want to hear those noises anymore.” She covered her ears again.

Elise coaxed the patient to her bare feet and began shepherding her to the outbuilding they had both come from. “You need sleep, love. Tomorrow, you’ll take a rest from the fields. If I have time, I’ll come read to you… This is only your first week. Soon the noise will fade away, you’ll see. We all get used to it. It just takes a little time. You just have to stop listening for it… that’s all…”

Then the night was bare of human voices once more. But the heartbeat never ceased.

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Sebastian returned to Hastings’s manor just as the corners of the sky turned plummy with premature sunlight. It must have been around four in the morning, and farmers, the earliest risers of humanity, were letting their flocks out to graze upon the rich grass and chalk pits. It was this diet that made the sheep of the southeastern downs the most desirable flesh of their kind in all of England. It was, in fact, the only source of mutton Sebastian would entertain purchasing for his master’s table. And speaking of his master…

As Sebastian touched down on the manor roof, he sensed again the souls of the sentries stationed in the woods, wavering but awake. The widest-awake soul belonged to the only guard dog who should be off-duty — and yet sleep had still not come to claim him. Sebastian felt a small smile climb his cheek (which was happily no longer that of a rat’s). Even a long day of physical exertion and rowdy boys and playing at being a good little orphan was not enough to soften the shell of his young master’s vigilance. If sleep hadn’t come yet, it likely never would. All things considered, perhaps now was the best time for Sebastian to report to him on his findings at the Hundred Acres.

Sebastian usually only entered the sleeping area of his charge when it was requested. The young master felt, rather naturally, at his most vulnerable at night, and Sebastian’s sudden arrival could startle him. Instead of appearing at his bedside like a phantom, Sebastian chose to enter the makeshift bedroom through its door, using a light footstep that he knew Ciel would still hear but also recognize was too light for a normal human to replicate. By the time Sebastian approached him, Ciel had stopped pretending to be asleep and was staring up at him inquisitively. Sebastian extended his hand as an offer to come with him. He expected Ciel to cock his head in question and hold out a hand of his own, waiting for a Morse code message on his palm that wouldn’t wake the other boys. But Ciel didn’t ask for an explanation about this visit. He stood to his feet and, after wrapping the boy up in one of the provided blankets, Sebastian carried him outdoors.

The night was cool, but not so cold that the blanket wouldn’t protect Ciel from it. Outdoors was the safest place for them to talk without being overheard, in any case, and soon they were stationed back in the very tree they’d stood in yesterday morning, overlooking Hastings’s property. They stared at the rolling countryside again as they conversed.

“So? What did you find?” Ciel asked. His voiced sounded low and rough from lack of sleep.

“Well,” Sebastian began, “for starters, I think I’ve found where they’re keeping the boys.”

Ciel looked mildly stunned. “You found it? Already? Well, then let’s go get them! The sooner we’re done with this, the better!”

“There will be some difficulties in moving ahead swiftly,” Sebastian reminded. “For starters, I’m under Hastings’s orders still. And he seems so enamored with his plot that he’s asked me not to go into the Hundred Acres’ Hospital until he can be present alongside me. Unfortunately, I believe this to be the location the boys are being kept at — along with the racehorses.”

“… They’re keeping racehorses inside the hospital?” Ciel’s eyebrows drew together. “That’s not a question I ever thought I’d have to ask… but is that true? What are they doing in there? What’s the purpose of hiding the horses?”

“I couldn’t say for certain,” Sebastian began, “but I can tell you one interesting tidbit: the horses are being ridden inside the hospital as well.”

Now Ciel looked truly perplexed. “Ridden?” he finally said. “Wh… How? How is there any room?”

“I’m not entirely certain, sir, but I have a theory: that your assumption of an underground racetrack might have actually been right on the nose.”

It clicked into place then. “… It’s literally underground. It’s in the basement.” Ciel turned to look directly up at Sebastian. “There still shouldn’t be enough room. This is ridiculous. What the hell is going on in there? Are you sure they’re riding horses?”

“I was not allowed to look inside, as per Hastings request—”

“Can’t I overrule that?” Ciel interrupted.

“Certainly, sir, but recall that I can’t lie? If Hastings were to ask—”

A second interruption. “Forget Hastings. We know where this madness is happening now. Let’s go there and take care of things.”

“Perhaps you are too tired to think rationally,” Sebastian prompted. “What good would it do us now? We’re building our reputations with Hastings. Let me feed his ego and learn a bit more about his plot. Once we reveal ourselves, we may never learn anything of substance about why these oddities are happening.”

Ciel looked a bit miffed to be told he was ‘too tired’ to do something, but relented at that logic. “You’re right. I’m just getting ahead of myself because I already don’t want to be here anymore. But I’ll look like an idiot if I can’t explain to the Queen what Hastings’s grand design is.”

“There was one other thing I discovered,” Sebastian said. “Whatever is happening with the horses and the boys is supplying the Hundred Acres with funds to host many of its patients.” Here he repeated the overheard conversation between the woman and her nurse.

“More charity,” Ciel said when Sebastian was done. “The hospital is letting Hastings’s men do whatever they want because of the money... Little do they know what they’re hosting right under their own feet. Little do any of us know. Well, somebody there must have an inkling of what’s going on, even if the nurses don’t. And either that person is being paid off to keep it quiet or is being blackmailed.”

Sebastian nodded his agreement. “I’ll see what I can tempt further out of Hastings. He’s an odd one, for certain... I should mention that the well-being of his men seems important to him. When I visited him in his chambers, he was toasting Northcott’s partnership. It gives me cause to believe that there was no foul play when it came to Northcott’s demise.”

“That’s interesting. I don’t know how important it is yet, but it is in…teresting.” Ciel split off mid-word to yawn, then looked annoyed. “Damn it. I’m exhausted but I just can’t fall asleep. This always happens when I’m in some new place, I don’t know why I expected it would be any different this time.”

The butler bowed his head. “My apologies, sir. If I knew how to help, I would do it.” Or did he know? Sebastian’s thoughts circled back to yesterday morning, when he carried Ciel to this very location. The boy had slept then, untroubled, despite the day ahead and the movement beneath him — or was it because of the movement beneath him? Rocked to sleep, as any child would be, only with speeds and motions more comparable to a scenic railway.^[♣] Seeing Ciel blink sleepily, Sebastian found himself offering, “Perhaps the young master would like to join me on surveillance?”

“… All right. It’s better than just lying there waiting for sunrise, anyway.” Ciel pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, and Sebastian leapt nimbly off into the darkness.

The wind rushed over them as Sebastian wove an odd path through the boundary of the forest, moving carefully for the sake of his passenger, yet not at all surprising the boy as they traversed open air for twenty-foot stretches at a time. For the first five minutes, Ciel was as alert as ever. Just as Sebastian was beginning to worry that his method was faulty, the exposed eye began to droop, then close, and within moments, the body that was constantly tensed for anything became gentle and limp.

Sebastian decided he had been correct this morning when he assumed that their contractual bond brought both master and demon comfort. It was an observation he took light interest in — until Undertaker’s words returned, beating down the door of his thoughts. “Consider that you are growing soft for the little Phantomhive boy… That weakens your judgment. And it weakens you…The Earl has promised you something… But if you really cared for the boy… you might not want that promised something very much anymore. And then… someone else could be free to take it. ”

Sebastian’s arms tightened just slightly around his charge, feeling suddenly possessive. He did not like the thought that someone could be intruding on his territory, and he especially didn’t like the idea that his own mind could be manipulated. Was he “growing soft”? Or was he merely concerned with the boy’s mental state because the soul was ultimately going to be his meal? That to guide Ciel through these difficult times would get the boy closer to reaching his revenge, and therefore get Sebastian closer to his reward?

The soul.

Yes, he still wanted it. And nothing else mattered as long as he wanted it. It meant he was still a demon. It meant he wasn’t lost.

In spite of that, he determined the best course of action was to return Ciel to his bed and remain alone until morning truly arrived.

When he came in through the servant’s kitchen entrance, the house was peacefully silent. Each soul that slept within its walls did so without fear. Sebastian met no one on the stairwell or in the halls. He returned to the bedroom and placed Ciel gently back down without disturbing him or any of the other boys. As he turned to leave, he pretended he didn’t notice the way Ciel curled into himself a bit more tightly, how his eyebrows lowered a fraction or how he mumbled a few not-quite-words in his sleep.

Right outside the parlor’s double doors was a huge window overlooking yesterday’s racetrack. Sebastian raised his head, squared his shoulders, and folded his arms behind his back. Outside, the sky was turning to amethyst and cream. Day two of the mission was beginning.

Chapter Text

“… All except for the French boy. That one wasn’t supposed to win.”

Sebastian blinked curiously down at his false master. From their place beneath the manor’s awning, Hastings was pointing out at the fenced ring where the preliminary trials had been held just the day before — where now Ciel and the other boys practiced their riding on high-stepping thoroughbreds. Hastings had a gentle smile plastered on his features, so if ‘Astre’ were to notice the pointing, he might assume he was being complimented.

This information was bound to be quite illuminating. Sebastian did not betray his personal interest in the answer. “Is that so? And what happened, then?”

“Well,” Hastings laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I suppose what happened is that I underestimated him. He told me… Astre, I think his name is… Astre told me that he had a technique that was sure to secure his victory. To be honest, I believed him. He seemed so very confident in himself. So I did take precautions to keep him from winning. It just seems they weren’t enough.”

“What precautions exactly did you take?” Sebastian could only hope he didn’t sound too eager now.

Hastings spoke willingly to the devil. “I made notes to my men about which horses to assign to each boy,” he said. “The strongest horses were given to the boys I wanted to win… and the first four races went just as planned. As for Astre’s race, I told the men to give him whatever horse seemed the most aggravated — and then to nick its flank with a knife. Not enough to be seen or to stop the horse from running, mind you. Just enough so that the horse’s performance would falter.” Hastings sighed. “And yet still, that French boy was good enough to win. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed! But he wasn’t exactly the sort of boy we were looking for.”

The pricking of the horse’s flank must have happened while Sebastian was saving Nelson Marlee from a crash. “What sort of boy were you looking for?” he pressed.

“A boy with no family at all. A boy with no one who will ever miss him, if something were to happen to him,” Hastings said distantly. “Fortunately, it seems that young Astre has few relatives to put up a search, nor anyone who lives in the country… but we can’t just let him go free now. It would look very strange, and I don’t have a good reason to dismiss him. So we’ll just have to take this little hiccup in stride.”

Sebastian revealed the tips of his sterling fangs, trying to look devilishly intrigued. “A boy with no family at all, you say… My, my. And just what might you be planning to do with these stray pups?”

Hastings wagged a gloved finger at him. “Tt-tt-tt. We mustn’t talk about that here or now. But have patience, my friend. I promise you will be pleasantly rewarded.”

Corbin followed in his master’s wake as he walked over to the corral. “Good work, boys!” Hastings called to get their attention. “I see you all are trying your hand at Astre’s curious technique! Why don’t you take a break and have yourselves some lunch?”

The boys, eager for more of the delicious food they’d first sampled yesterday afternoon, made to scramble down from their mounts, tumbling out of the unfamiliar saddles as a toddler dismounts a pony. The horses weren’t small, so even with all of Ciel’s training, the process was awkward at best. He swung one leg over to the other side and tried reaching to step down, but couldn’t figure out how to touch ground without leaving his other foot too high in the stirrup. Eventually, Ciel had to lie on his stomach across the saddle and slowly slide off his horse’s back so that both his feet met earth at the same time. He was very pointedly not looking at Sebastian as he scurried over to the others, who were accepting slices of bubble-and-squeak wrapped in newspaper from the scullery maid.

While Marlee, Whit, Teddy, and Trevor gnashed at their fry like hungry dogs, Ciel looked at his with mild distaste before forcing himself to sample it. Sebastian understood his feelings. The two had very similar appetites, had even discussed it before: they had no desire to eat something that was not made with the finest ingredients nor resulted in the finest appearance. It pleased him to see Ciel noting the dish’s troubles with a discerning eye. The “food” was so deplorable that Sebastian had to truly restrain himself from going to the kitchen and lecturing the cook at once. Her master would likely be imprisoned or die in a matter of days, and if she wanted to find herself another position, she’d have to at least crack the spine of a Mrs. Beeton’s cookbook.

“Don’t know how you do it, Patch,” Whit was saying to Ciel. “You’re really fizzing at this whole jockey business. How’d you learn to ride so jemmy?”

“Oh... Um…” Ciel swallowed his bite. “Eh… If you’re saying what I think you mean… I just learned it from some of the other farm boys. If we had any free time, we might race for sport, but we didn’t have any quick little thoroughbreds to run with. The draft horses were so heavy that the only way to speed them up even a bit was to take your weight off their backs. The higher you could hold yourself, the better chance you had of winning.”

“You must’ve won an awful lot!” chirped Marlee.

Ciel shrugged. “As much as any of the others.”

“How long’d it take ya to learn?” Whit asked.

“About a year, I suppose. I was never too good at it.”

“Fimble-famble!” Whit laughed. “The rest of us has got bellows to mend, while you’re still ridin’ flashy.”

“Speakin’ a which,” Teddy cut in, “you gonna finish that bubble-n’-squeak, Patch? Y’ don’t seem too int’rested in it.”

Before Ciel could put in a word, Whit’s easy smile flashed to a defensive frown. “Don’t you go griddling him! That’s his, and he’ll eat it in his own good time.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed tah mean? I only asked ’im for it, I didn’t say he’s got tah fork it over.”

“It’s all right, you can have it.” Ciel handed Teddy the sorry excuse for food. “I’ve… got a stomachache.”

“A stomachache?” At once Whit’s voice became worrisome. “We’ve been workin’ like dogs out there, though. Your guts should be cryin’ cupboard.”

“Uh,” said Ciel, “I think it’s just…” He seemed to steel himself for the upcoming lie. “The food is richer than I’m used to is all.”

After saying so, he glanced very, very quickly at Sebastian, who stood nearby, keeping watch according to Hastings’s instruction. Sebastian had a guess at what that glance meant: Ciel probably expected his butler to prepare him a real meal at the soonest available moment.

Whit filled his mouth with a last bite of fry and stood up. “I’ll nip off to the area for yeh. I bet there’s some poppy you could fill up on.”

“Some what? ” Ciel snapped, irritation finally getting the best of him. Whit looked surprised at the tone. “Uh… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ciel tried more calmly. “In fact, I really don’t know what you’re saying a lot of the time. I mean, my English is pretty polite, I never learned any slang from this country...”

“Oh! Cor, I plum forgot! Sorry ’bout that,” said Whit. “I shoulda realized. I mean, ya speak so polite n’ all. ’Course yeh wouldn’t know anything about anything.”

Though clearly perturbed by that wording, Ciel forced himself to say, “Er, yeah… What is it that might be in the kitchen? I can get it for myself.”

“Jus’ bread,” Whit laughed. “Are you sure I can’t fetch it for yeh? I’d be happy to, y’know, ’specially since you ain’t feelin’ well.”

Ciel waved his hands. “N-No, really, I can manage it.”

Ignoring him, the other boy jumped to his feet. “I’ll come with yeh!”

“Uh, that’s all right… I’ll just be a second…”

After a brief moment of deciding whether he should act like Hastings’s guest or another one of his staff, Ciel decided to go around the back of the house and enter the kitchen from there. Whit plopped back down with a sigh.

“Oy, Whit,” Teddy said, with a keen grin slowly lighting up one cheek, “ya get kicked by a horse out there t’day?”

Whit looked at him in flustered confusion. “What? ’Course not. What’s with that? You callin’ me a half-wit?”

“No, no, no, no,” Teddy trailed off in a singsong way, “just seems to me like you’re a bit familiar with iron hoofs.”

Nelson Marlee didn’t seem to understand what had been said, and Trevor mumbled, “Enough a’ that, behave y’selves, we only jus’ got ’ere,” words which seemed to hold back Whit’s fury by just a hair. His face turned red and his fists were balled up, but he didn’t lunge at Teddy.

“Shut your bone box, or I’ll shut it for you,” he growled.

Teddy looked surprised, laughing as he said, “What’s the trouble, then? Just a bit of fun, right?”

Whit glared down at the other boy. “‘A bit a fun.’ Sure didn’t sound like ‘a bit a fun.’”

Teddy’s brow furrowed. “A’ course it was! D’you really think I’d let you stick around if I thought you was a bloody sod? Cor!”

Whit’s posture relaxed, almost drooped. He plopped back on the grass with a huff. “Well… don’t go spoutin’ off about it in front a’ Patch. He doesn’t talk our English. He might take you serious, if he knowed what you meant.”

“Heh! Wouldn’t that be funny.”

“Oh, shut your head.”

Finally satisfied that the arguing would not result in a brawl, Sebastian walked away unnoticed, treading the same path his master had moments before. Though his knowledge of Cockney vernacular was also limited, he had gathered enough from the conversation to know what it was about. He smirked lightly. It seemed his young master would attract attention everywhere he went, whether he meant to or not...^[※]

Sebastian rounded the house towards the rear entrance to the kitchen. A nagging voice grated from within, words spilling from the propped-open door into the outside world.

“... isn’t good enough for ya? Well? When I was a lass, I ate what I was given and didn’t say no word otherwise. Ain’t they still teachin’ little boys to mind their manners? Or were you one a those orphans raised by yer own kind?”

Ah. It sounded as though Astre’s confrontation with Hastings’s cook was not going well.

“I-I’m not trying to be rude.” Ciel’s voice was forcibly steady, reining in tight on his own anger and trying to pass it off for hesitancy. “I-It’s a fine lunch, really, I’m just not used to all those, er, flavors.”

“And why do you talk like a li’l prince? You tryin’ to insult me?”

“Er, no, ma’am, this… this is just how I speak.”

“Oh, right, right you do. That’s a good story, that is.” There was silence for a moment. “Fine, then. I’ll take pity on you, prince. Here. Yeh can have the end a’ the loaf, then. Go on. Take it.”

“Oh. Um… I appre—”

THWACK!

Sebastian had entered the kitchen just in time to see Ciel’s outstretched hand getting solidly struck with the back of a wooden spoon. Ciel promptly dropped the slice of bread he’d been given with a small shout of alarm. The middle-aged cook folded her arms over her proud bosom, and seemed about to mock Astre further, but her words never got the chance to debut.

“I think you’ll find there’s only one person in this room who deserves to have their knuckles rapped, and it isn’t the boy who came asking for something else to eat.”

Both turned at Sebastian’s voice. Almost at once, Ciel looked a little disappointed. He was likely embarrassed to be caught in the midst of a scolding so beneath his stature, but Sebastian had no interest in teasing him for this. This wicked old crone had struck his charge. He wasn’t going to sit idly by, even for the sake of this mission. He couldn’t.

The woman puffed up her chest. She had convinced herself that this was her domain and everything here fell under her rule. “Beggin’ your pardon?” she grunted. “You’re that new gent, aren’t yeh? What business d’you have in my kitchen?”

“Plenty, I think you’ll find,” Sebastian began, “if you indeed believe that sorry excuse for food to be an acceptable presentation even to street urchins.”

Cradling his beaten hand in the other, Ciel nonetheless whispered sharply, “Calm down.”

Sebastian neglected to calm down. His smile was biting as he continued, “You are the head cook, correct? I would be ashamed to bear such a title if I were you. That bubble-and-squeak you prepared is not even worthy of being called the leftovers that it is. To let such an item leave your kitchen… how you managed to earn a position here is baffling to me.”

The woman’s face was as red as the tomato sitting on her cutting board. “And where do you get off?!” she fumed. “What do you savvy about cooking, ya barmy tramp? I’d graduated from scullery work while you were busy gettin’ your arse switched. Though I guess you didn’t learn anything from it, didja? And how d’you know what’s so wrong with my cookin’ anyhow? You take this un’s food for yourself when he didn’t snap it up?”

Sebastian had not stopped smirking at her all through her tirade. “I don’t have to taste it to know the trouble,” he answered. There was some fry still left in a pan on the stove. Sebastian walked over to it. “The decision to purchase cauliflower was your first mistake; it is far too early in the season. Perhaps you could have created something halfway decent had you chosen to make pie or beef hash. Even then, your chopping technique is all wrong. You should know that an onion must always be sliced with silver to preserve its color, and that the knife should not be shared with any other vegetables, even after washing, or the harsh flavor spreads and taints them. And I can see here that the quality of the beef is poor. Perhaps cow is easier on the budget, but flesh from a heifer or an ox is going to make for a superior meal.” He fixed her with an earnest look. “Your ability to purchase quality produce for this household is lacking. So is your ability to sculpt that produce into a worthy dish. You may as well throw your stipend in with the rubbish if this is how you plan to feed your master and his guests.”

Ciel had buried his face in his hand, seething for his own reasons while the cook seethed for hers. “Is this Buckingham Palace?!” she bellowed. “Am I makin’ a four-course meal for royalty? Yeah? Or am I cookin’ for five scrawny whelps who don’t add a penny to my pay? Feh!” She raised up her dimpled chin. “You come in here and speak like that t’ me, a woman old enough to be your mam, when I’m the one makin’ sure you get your fill! Well, you can just go right ahead and be in charge of your own meals from now on! I think you’ll quick find cookin’ ain’t the pretty world of winkin’ silverware yeh might imagine it t’be!”

“What a great shame that you have never known a meal better than your own,” Sebastian tutted sadly. “I will gladly take up the mantle, and not just for my own sake, but for everyone in this household. I shall prepare tonight’s dinner, and then you can see for yourself just how food ought to taste.”

“Tuh! Be my guest!” The cook gestured to her kitchen. “But you treat my tools with respect! You hurt a one a them, I’ll see to it you replace it with your own pay!”

“I would be more than happy to replace them all,” Sebastian said, only to notice Ciel glaring at him near the exit. Hmm. He may have gone too far. “In that case,” he finished, brushing past the burly woman, “I will get started on preparing supper shortly, given I have received permission from my master.”

“I hope he gives you an earful then!” the cook shouted, not knowing her wish was about to come true.

Sebastian followed Ciel around to the other side of the house, near a collection of rain barrels and a sorry-looking trellis. The boy spun around sharply on his heel, his blue eye glowing with anger as if it had a contract mark of its own. Gone was the humble orphan; the demon’s master was here now.

“What are you doing?!” Ciel hissed. “Just parading around your culinary expertise like that! Are you an idiot?! Do you know how suspicious you’re making yourself look? Is showing up that woman so important to you? God’s sake!” Ciel bit down on his lip, massaging his temple as he did so. “What’s got into you all of a sudden?” he finally asked, still angry.

“Is your hand all right, sir?” Sebastian said first, grabbing for the hurt one gently and studying the back of it. The skin was colored the loud red of stinging pain, but it did not appear that it would bruise to match the welt Avalon had delivered to Ciel’s calf a few weeks ago.

The hand was snatched back by its owner. “Obviously I’m fine! It was just a slap on the wrist. You’re acting like she took a finger.” He glowered at his butler. “Explain yourself.”

“Apologies, sir.” Sebastian put a hand to his chest. “When that pitiful woman struck you, I could not allow her to get away unscathed — if not physically then verbally. My young master does not deserve to be handled in such a brutish way.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, don’t I? So what, is this a belated apology for striking my palms when we first started out?”

Sebastian blinked. He had not thought about that in some time.

The question was apparently rhetorical, as Ciel had already moved past it. “Keep yourself together,” he growled. “You’re only allowed to be a demon around Hastings, remember? What’s done is done, so you’ll have to cook, but be more clever from here on, damn it. I don’t need anyone else finding out what you are.” He started to walk away, back to the front of the house where the other boys likely still sat waiting for Astre’s return. “And tonight’s dinner had better be comparable to anything I’d eat in the manor. If you’re going to give yourself away like this, at least make it an asset to me somehow. That’s an order.”

With that, Ciel rounded the bend.

Once out of sight, Sebastian stood there, feeling odd and reflective. Yes… yes, he had used a more corporal form of punishment when he was teaching Ciel how to be a proper nobleman those four and a half years ago. Ciel had punished him back in a similar fashion. But still, to hit his charge, even though he had been a child… no, especially because he had been a child… it felt so barbaric now. Had he really once thought that was the best way to instill a lesson? To help the boy learn? He supposed he had. It was only half a month ago that Sebastian had forgotten to praise Ciel for his efforts on horseback. And what a difference it had made. What a difference it would make.

There was that twinge again, that sense that he should be nervous. He had never responded passively to his young master’s injuries, so it wasn’t so unusual that he should snap at the doddy old woman for her impertinence… was it? He was just shielding his prey from threats… wasn’t he?

Or was he feeling sympathetic?

Something like a growl started low in Sebastian’s throat. He cut it off at once, closed his eyes. These thoughts didn’t mean anything. As long as he still wanted the soul… this didn’t mean anything. Yes. That was still true. They’d have to pry the meal from his cast-iron grip before he’d let anyone else so much as look upon it. He was fine. He was fine.

Shaken at last from his subtle delirium, Sebastian turned back towards the kitchen to set his mind on the challenge of making a delectable dinner from meager ingredients.

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The cook’s odd decision to boil beef in the summertime was further proof of her missing talent. Sebastian wondered how best to make use of the remaining mouse-round and thin flank she had cooked for last night’s dinner. It was not the cheapest cut of meat, but it had certainly not been expensive. However, Sebastian was fortunate to discover the cow’s aitch-bone had not yet been disposed of. Its flavor as a boiling piece could serve a meal well. A sack of dried green peas in the pantry cemented his decision to make soup. And if he used the flank to make a simple forcemeat, the mouse-round could be transformed into beef olives. Naturally, there would be no more bread in the kitchen, and that had to be made before anything else could get started…

It was only when he set the dough to prove and the peas to boil that Sebastian realized he had nothing to do for two hours.

In the Phantomhive manor, this would never be the case. This was largely because the house did not possess a full staff — but it didn’t need to because Sebastian was around, hence why there was always something for him to do. Surely there was something here to do as well. Sebastian reported to Hastings in his study to see how he could be of use.

“Didn’t you just tell me you were preparing dinner?” his temporary master asked.

“Yes, sir, but I possess ample time to perform other tasks in-between.”

“Oh.” Hastings thought for a moment. “No, I think I’m alright for now, thank you. Why don’t you take a break?”

Take… a break?

“Are you sure there’s nothing you need?” Sebastian inquired. “I could organize the pantry and check the perishables, for instance, or mend something broken… assist with laundry and tidying up… Take care of any specialty shopping the house might require?”

Hastings blinked at him. “Do you... want to do those things?”

Sebastian blinked back. “That doesn’t matter, sir. I am here to serve you.”

“Every minute of every day?” the man laughed. He waved him off. “No, I’m doing just fine. I have the domestics to take care of all that, and I’m not paying you immediately or monetarily. Besides, tomorrow night and over the next few days I’m really going to need your help. I won’t have you doing petty housework all the while!”

“Very well. None of that then.” He let his eyes and canines flash. “Then, do you by any chance require services of another nature?”

Now Hastings hesitated. He studied Sebastian as if evaluating every part of him, from his feet to the top of his head. It was a careful but musing look. Ponderous. “... Yes,” Hastings said at last, slowly. The end of the pen he was holding slowly found itself in the corner of his mouth, and he clenched it in his teeth subconsciously. “Yes… but… not now. Report to me this evening, after you’ve put the boys to sleep. Then I’ll have a task for you.” Hastings smiled quaintly. “But for now, you are free to do as you wish.”

Do as he wished. Did he wish to do anything right now?

There was a reason that Sebastian did not like to go too long without a contract: demons, naturally so insatiable, had few indulgences outside of eating a soul or grooming it to be eaten. The only two Sebastian could think of were sleeping and playing with cats, though that last one was more of a personal pleasure and not universal among all demons. He didn’t want to sleep — a demon’s sleep could actually be fairly obnoxious to wake up from — and it was probably better if he didn’t play with cats when Ciel might call for him at any moment.

Ah, there he had it. Ciel might call for him at any moment. He could stand at the ready for that.

So he did, returning to the front of the house where the boys remained, making sure to be in plain sight so Ciel would notice his presence.

The boys weren’t practicing their riding right this moment. Instead, they were distracted by a gangly young Belgian sheepdog who seemed to have escaped its duties in search of playmates. Nelson Marlee and Whit pointed and laughed at the sharp black ears that stood straight up in the air, rabbit-like, while the handsome animal gallivanted around the five boys in a circle, not even aware of its own natural instinct to herd. When one of the boys tried to break away, the dog would scamper after him and weave him back to the group, and soon it became a game. All while the shepherd corralled at the children, his feathered tail wagged and his merry trot never ceased.

Ciel was not much of one for running around. He did have a fondness for dogs, though, and he tried calling the cur over with a whistle. It absentmindedly obeyed. Ciel took the sloped face in his hands and offered the dog a half-smile of approval when it became attentive for an order. He thumped the shaggy black head twice and sent the eager animal off with a swat on the ribs. At once it was back at sport.

“You’re pretty good with animals, aren’t you, Patch?” said Whit.

Ciel turned and shrugged. “It comes with the territory.”

“I think I could have done all right on a farm,” Whit continued. He leaned down and plucked a long piece of grass and put it in his mouth. “I always wanted a dog, but it wouldn’t have done me any good. There’s no work for dogs in the West End.”

“The West End?” Ciel looked at him with mild surprise. “Er… Isn’t that a very wealthy area?”

Whit chewed at the grass. “Sure, yeah, it’s got a lot a’ rich folk, but my people live there too.” He grinned. “The most bloody brilliant people in all a’ London, Patch! Actors and actresses, writers and artists. Don’t listen to anyone who says different. They took me under their wing when no other soul would. Raised me up so I wouldn’t have to be no hook.” He paused. “That’s, eh… ya know what a pickpocket is?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do.” Ciel watched as the dog ran laps around the yard, moving like a shadow celebrating freedom from its host. “I’ve always wanted to see a play. What actors do you know?”

“What actors don’t I know!” Whit laughed. “I know Miss Ernestine, and Miss Ernestine knows everybody! Or, well, everyone knows her. She was famous back in the day.” He folded his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels. “She would let me stay with her when she wasn’t touring in Lancashire. She moves around a lot. But because I know her, I can stay with jus’ about anyone, s’long as I help ’em memorize their lines an’ put on their costumes or do chores around the house. So I’ve stayed with, lessee… Mr. Maskelyne... Mr. Soutar... Ms. Studholme...  Mrs. Campbell, she sometimes had me keep her little boy Alan busy when she was at the Adelphi, and Mr. Campbell was so often in Australia that I kept her company too… oh, and Mr. Barrington let me stay in the St. James in the warmer months, at least until ’e went bankrupt, which didn’t take so very long, and lovely Mrs. Langtree was much more businesslike than ’im, so I couldn’t stay there after she took charge...” He grinned proudly. “There’s more, but Miss Ernestine is the best. I wonder if I’ll get t’be famous like her! I think that would make her right proud.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Ciel said, sounding more than a bit surprised. He knew most of those names, even if he didn’t know their work. There was one that stood out in particular. “I learned a little bit about the British theatre from my aristocrat friend… The name Ernestine… Would you happen to be referring to Mrs. Ernestine-Constance Lefèvre? She’s the wife of a photographer in France who is pretty well-known.”

“Who?” Whit laughed. “I don’t have any idea. Miss Ernestine is…” He paused. “Miss Ernestine is jus’ Miss Ernestine. I dunno her last name.”

“You said she’s very famous, though,” Ciel tried. “She must have a surname, right?”

“Um…” Whit looked awkward. He shrugged after a silent moment. “Never mind it! We’ll have plenty of time tah talk brass tacks in the future, right? C’mon, then, let’s go join the others! Soon we’ll be the ones makin’ names for ourselves. You know, we might jus’ be the luckiest cast-offs in the world, Patch! I can hardly wait t’get started!”

Whit once more took off running after the wily dog. Ciel tagged a couple weak steps after him before stopping, staring at the other boy as if he were a ship bound for a distant land; as if he were something that might never return. His expression only grew more complicated as he watched the four boys playing with the dog, innocent, blissfully unaware, and when he eventually caught Sebastian staring, he promptly turned away.^[♠]

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“Cor!” cried Whit. “This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted in my entire life!”

The other boys could scarcely nod their agreement, lapping up the last drops off their spoons and scraping every morsel of the beef olives from their plates. It was likely they had never tasted pea soup made with brown sugar and dried mint — apparently neither had Hastings’s cook, who, after trying a spoonful, had merely grunted, “Feh!” before turning in early for the night. Sebastian felt prideful, even though he knew he shouldn’t. After all this time, besting a human at their own game still holds this much appeal for you, doesn’t it…

“I’m inclined to agree!” said Hastings. He was eating with the boys again tonight, further solidifying his role as a trustworthy mentor. “It’s really one hell of a meal.”

Sebastian gave a subtle snort at hearing his own coy phrase spoken from another’s lips. Hastings knew exactly what he was insinuating, what precious information he dangled out in front of his unknowing tablemates. Ciel had never granted much acknowledgment to Sebastian’s puns, though he did ignore Sebastian whenever he thought his demon was trying to be funny. It was part of what made repeating the puns so endlessly amusing, little did his charge know.

Alas… there wasn’t room for amusement right now. Despite his order that dinner be “comparable to anything I’d eat in the manor,” Ciel seemed uninterested in food. He chewed his bread as meticulously as if it were taffy; the soup and beef remained untouched. Whit noticed Astre’s despondent air with a touch of worry.

“Are yeh sick, Patch?” he doted. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing all day. Don’t ya feel hungry, then?”

“Huh?” With a blink, Ciel snapped to a sluggish attention and then stared at Whit as if he were looking at him through a fog. “Oh… Um… No, I’m not sick… just… Tired, I think.”

“Maybe you should go to bed early,” piped Marlee helpfully.

“No…! Uh, no,” Ciel half-shouted, then corrected. “I’ll be all right, really. It’s only seven-thirty, after all.”

From outside, there was a bark.

“Josef’s back!” cried Marlee with a merry gasp. “He missed us!”

“Could we go play with him some more before bed, sir?” Teddy asked their host.

Mr. Hastings nodded and shooed at them pleasantly. “Of course, run along! Just be back inside once it’s dark.”

“We will be, sir, I’ll make sure of it,” Trevor promised over his shoulder as the younger children scampered out of their chairs and made a mad dash for the front door.

Whit tugged on Ciel’s hand. “C’mon, then, let’s go too! We can walk instead though, since I know you’re tired.”

“Uh, right… Yeah, here I come,” Ciel mumbled hollowly before shuffling after into the dimming evening. Outside, the boys’ laughter could be heard, along with more barking. Sebastian already knew Ciel’s voice would not join in the fun. Perhaps Hastings would soon let his demon off-duty, and maybe then he could ask the boy how he was faring.

“Josef the dog… Sounds familiar. That’s from a book, isn’t it?” Hastings was quiet, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember the title while Sebastian closed the three doors leading to the main hall, parlor, and study. “Heidi, maybe… I think that’s her St. Bernard.”

“Indeed, correct.” With a snap of his own, Corbin had the plates and bowls neatly piled up at one end of the table. “Though the way this dog fancies running away from home, I’d say ‘Kashtanka’ is a more suitable name.”

“Kashtanka?^[♣] Is that Russian? I don’t think I know that story.” Hastings spoke casually, but his eyes lit up whenever he saw Corbin flaunt his abilities. This instance was no exception. “The domestics,” he said, “by now, they should have all gone to their rooms and started packing their luggage. Now’s the time to discuss our plan for tomorrow.”

Hastings reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little blue bottle of what Sebastian correctly guessed was chloral hydrate. “You’ve been a brilliant asset to me these past few days,” Hastings said with a smile. “Your cooking tonight, for instance, will make our job all the easier tomorrow. Some knockout drops in the leftover soup at dinner, and we’ll have the boys ready for delivery in short order.”

He handed the vial to Corbin, who tucked it away safely on his person. “Sykes and Pickering will bring around a pair of carriages,” Hastings continued. “We’ll stick all the boys in one. I’ll go behind in the other. As for you, I’d like you to follow the entourage as a bird of some sort and keep yourself alert for anyone who may see us. We won’t leave until after nine o’clock. The roads should be plenty clear by then, but I’m not going to risk it. Of course, the carriages are nothing but your average broughams; on their own they shouldn’t raise suspicion. I would just prefer you were doing surveillance as well. Can you?”

“Of course.” Corbin bowed ever so slightly, keeping his gaze on his master. “I take it we’re headed for none other than the Hundred Acres?”

“Precisely.” Hastings put his elbows on the tabletop, folding one hand over the other and propping up his chin on them. “And that’s where you’ll see what we’ve been working on for so long. The thing that has brought you to me.”

“I’m infinitely curious.” Corbin cocked his head to the side eagerly. “I don’t suppose I get any hints?”

Hastings’s eyebrows raised as a smile lit his cheek. “Maybe if you’re good,” he said, standing up and walking to the door, all without breaking the gaze. “After you finish your nightly duties, come visit the master bedroom again. There, I’ll have another very important task for you.” The door opened without a creak. “But before that… I’ll need you to tidy up the kitchen and get the boys to bed.”

The kitchen wouldn’t take long to clean, especially if Sebastian were able to use his demon’s abilities to speed up the process. Just his luck, then, that one of the maids kept nipping in to grab a spice or utensil she meant to bring with her. Sebastian wagered the grouchy old cook was sending her on these errands, too, loath to face the man who proved her wrong. Unfortunately, it meant there was no time to check in with Ciel before Sebastian needed to put him and the other boys to bed.

As the eldest boy, Trevor, had promised, everyone had been shepherded back indoors by nightfall. They were, in fact, already in their nightgowns when Corbin was at last able to venture upstairs to their makeshift bedroom. Teddy and Whit were teasing Little Marlee, who could barely stay awake and was swaying on the spot.

“Don’t fall asleep, Marlee! You can’t barely keep on yer plates!” Whit laughed.

“All right...” mumbled the youngest of the brood, before immediately closing his eyes and almost losing his balance.

Teddy clapped his hands loudly. “Don’t fall asleep! Don’t fall asleep!”

Whit pushed his accomplice somewhat. “Not so loud! Patch’s tryin’ ta kip!”

Teddy narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Honestly, the way you go on about that bully-trap…”^[♦]

Whit pushed Teddy again, more forcefully. “Patch isn’t a bully-trap!”

Teddy didn’t take this advance so casually. “Oy! You want a go, then?”

“I think not,” Sebastian snipped, stopping their fight with the lilt of his voice and the glint in his eye. It was a warning that always made Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin stop what they were doing at once, and it worked here just as well. “Into your beds, off to sleep. Anyone who thinks they can continue this little spat after I shut the door will find their new quarters in the kitchen. Do I make myself understood?”

“Yessir…”

“Mmhm…”

“S’rry about them,” said Trevor guiltily. He really had designated himself the caretaker. “I should’ve been lookin’ after ’um better.”

“Never you mind it. It isn’t your concern.” Corbin picked up the drooping Marlee and settled him into his cot before he could topple to the floor — an action he seemed mere seconds away from exhibiting. “You boys must practice your own self-discipline. Fighting won’t be tolerated under Mr. Hastings’s eye. Not a bit.”

“Yessir...” chorused Trevor and Whit quietly.

Sebastian turned to view the middle bed before he shut off the lights. Only Ciel’s recognizable hair stuck out from under the covers. The rest of him was burrowed deep in a shelter of blankets that felt much safer than it truly was. The only question remained was, what was Ciel hiding from this time?

He couldn’t ask. Not now. He’d have to wait for Ciel to call him, whenever that may be; if the time even came.

Sebastian waited in the second floor hallway until four of the young souls pulsed with even breathing and even heartbeats. The fifth soul, the one that would always stand out no matter how crowded a room, tremored in its host like a small, cold thing. But outwardly, his master was motionless and silent. And alone.

Gwilym Hastings was sitting at the table when Sebastian entered his bedroom at ten o’clock. He was drinking again from a deep green bottle of wine, though tonight he seemed to be tolerating its effects with less nobility. He wasn’t drunk when his eyes lighted upon Sebastian, but there was a certain punch to his words that likely sprung from a bellyful of liquid courage.

“There you are, at last.” He spoke with just a hint of a slur, but it was present. “The lambs are bedded down, then?”

Corbin Bleu bowed his head. “Yes, sir. They are an excitable bunch, but they have settled.”

Hastings nodded drowsily, his gaze drifting to the floor. “And the domestics? They’re all asleep?”

Again, an inclination of his head.

“Very good.” Hastings downed the rest of his glass and then held out the bottle to Sebastian. “Take it away from me before I finish the damn thing, would you?”

Corbin did so, and decided not to mention that Hastings had nearly finished ‘the damn thing’ already.

“Sit,” Hastings instructed, and Corbin did so. The human’s eyes were transfixed on his demon’s face for a few moments. “I don’t suppose the devil has any qualms about sinning,” he finally said.

Corbin smiled. “You suppose correctly.”

“Any sort of sin,” Hastings tacked on. It seemed serious. Sebastian wondered what he had in mind.

“Any sort of sin,” Corbin said, and added darkly, “Which of the seven do you desire to act upon?”

Hastings laughed with his mouth closed, a noise that seemed to resonate in his chest. There was a flush coming over his features. “I think you already know,” he simpered, finger tapping at the base of the wine glass. “Forgive me for being so forward. But my bed is cold, and here I have the king of pleasure himself at my beck and call.”

As usual, sexual desires shocked Sebastian not at all, nor did the idea of initiating in them with any adult or while he was in any conceivable form. It also didn’t matter to him a mite that Hastings was a man and, currently, so was he. But this was no doubt an intimate detail that Hastings did not share with just anyone, and it made Sebastian wonder what other secrets he may be privy to.

He showed his reciprocation to the advances by leaning across the table, faces only inches apart, and offering, “Shall I follow you, then?” assuming correctly that Hastings would want to play the lead role here.

Hastings led him to the bed and met Sebastian under the sheets with the enthusiasm of a man too long deprived. He was voracious, and practiced, and knew well what to ask or demand in order to reach the heights of his pleasure. It went without saying that Sebastian knew how to answer him. If there was one thing he was well-versed in, it was how to abide a human’s most primal need. Many of his contracts had used him for sexual gratification, whether or not that was the reason he’d been summoned in the first place. Hastings had been in more of a hurry than most to perform the act, and Sebastian learned why when the man admitted to him afterwards, “Northcott was the only one before this. I’m glad you’re nothing like him. It might’ve broken my heart.”

They were lying still in Hastings’s enormous bed. It was calm now. Sometimes when a human finished with him, they wanted Sebastian to leave, or to go again, or, most commonly, they would fall asleep after reaching ecstasy. Hastings didn’t seem to want anything but to lay beside Corbin and look at the ceiling.

“I see now why you miss him,” Corbin said, chuckling low and deep. “He was the only one who knew, wasn’t he?”

“He was the only one who knew.” Hastings sighed. “He was the most genuinely kind man I ever met… He was a good Christian too. And I suppose he went to Hell all the same… Just because of whom he loved.”

It had always intrigued Sebastian what humans thought ‘Hell’ was like; it was really nothing akin to their hypotheses. And a soul certainly wasn’t “sent there” merely for relating with a person of the same sex. Why humans had decided their exclusive god judged that point so strongly was still amusing to him.

“I didn’t understand why he still tried to earn God’s faith,” Hastings went on wistfully to the ceiling. “He was so brave… So much braver than me. I’d given up on God. I was born a heathen; I may as well live like a heathen. If Hell is my fate, why bother with doing unto others and loving my neighbors and all that foolishness? That’s what I said to Algernon, anyway. And he said, ‘It’s the principle of the thing.’ Imagine that! I thought he was full of himself. But no… he was just a man of good standards, through and through. The only crime he ever committed against God was allowing me to love him.”

Sebastian saw an opening. “Is that so? But was he not a part of this little jockeying scheme himself?”

Hastings didn’t speak right away. He closed his eyes. “Algernon was... a smart man,” he said at last. “We — that is, I and the other men behind this little plot — thought we had him cornered. I knew he was an Urning^[♥], but he didn’t know I was, and we threatened him with that. We wanted his money to fund this project, and if he didn’t agree, we’d reveal him.

“But Northcott wasn’t afraid of us. He said he’d give us that and more: he would provide us with the children we needed to act as jockeys. He brought them in from overseas. It was even better than we’d hoped. Without English, the boys were helpless. But those boys were as good as dead, even if they’d stayed in the Mediterranean. To us, they were the perfect specimens, but to Northcott, they were already angels in the arms of his lord. It was the children of London he swore to protect. They had futures, he felt. As long as he supplied us with these foreign boys with no hope anyway, he was keeping us from murdering the street rats of our mother country. He knew if he couldn’t stop us, he’d have to derail us. That’s exactly what he did. He helped us and scorned us every step of the way. I hate how much I loved him for it.”

Sebastian felt the smirk on his own face. Algernon Northcott actually sounded rather interesting. He would have piqued the demon’s interest, had he still been alive… but without a soul, he meant nothing to Sebastian.

“You said he died protecting the innocent,” Corbin spoke softly.

Hastings looked at his bedmate out of the corner of his eye, then back up at the ceiling. “He jumped in front of a horse that was about to trample a boy. He should have just let it happen… The damned fool ... My men had to set up his body in his stables and make it appear that one of his own horses did it. But I… won’t forget how he looked in death… No, not ever.”

There was a long, haunted pause, before Hastings continued, “Northcott never could stand to see the boys die. Or get hurt, for that matter. I suppose you may know about the Cleveland Street scandal last year? Scotland Yard would never have uncovered it without his tip-off. Northcott thought young people should be treated as children until they were nearly twenty. Something about brain chemistry, I don’t quite recall. Well, the boys in the brothel were around fifteen, and Northcott said he found that disturbing. He said it was wrong for men to bed people that young, girls or boys. And in giving that tidbit to the Yard, he very nearly revealed himself. All for a group of poor whelps he’d never even met!”

Corbin’s grin seemed to glisten in the night. “You differ quite a bit in that regard, hm?”

A sigh. “Experimentation requires sacrifice.” Hastings was quiet for a full minute before admitting tonelessly, “I wonder when I stopped caring about killing children.”

That was when the pulse hit.

It had been some time since Sebastian had felt this odd, knotted feeling roil inside him like a tangle of eels. It was a summons — a desperate, whispered summons perhaps, a plea in the darkness, from a mouth only half-conscious of what it begged for. It tugged at him like a leash, with just the same message as it would mean for a dog: return to your master.

The pull was irresistible. Still, he could not leave without an explanation.

“One of the boys is awake,” Corbin said, standing with his clothes donned before he had finished the sentence. He began towards the door.

“Don’t worry about him. Come back.” Hastings patted the now-empty side of the bed.

Corbin threw a forced smile over his shoulder. “Now, now. You’ve had your fill. We can’t have too much of a good thing, hmm?”

Hastings sat up, sheets pooling around his lap. “I thought you said you were here to serve me.” It wasn’t a command or a threat, but a light question: why were you so eager to find work before, but now you are resisting it?

“Were I to stay,” Corbin answered, “I would not serve you, but indulge you.”

“To indulge me is to serve me,” Hastings said.

Corbin snorted. “You are a greedy master, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hastings.

The pull was irresistible. “Abstain from your desires, and the next time, it will be even better.”

“I don’t want to have another stitch. I want you to be my company.”

The pull was irresistible... “Exercise restraint now, and perhaps I will return.”

“Stay. Talk with me.”

“I cannot.”

“You must.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Sebastian turned to face this nuisance. As he did, the shadows swallowed the room so that naught could be seen in the darkness but two glowing eyes and a pair of sterling fangs the length of knuckle bones. “You fear me not enough.”

He cast off the guise like a cloak and left his false charge to shiver in the near-tangible hoarfrost of a demon’s vitriol.

Chapter Text

Shutting the door softly behind him, Sebastian looked at the small human standing at the opposite end of the hallway. Ciel seemed to gaze at nothing as he hesitated in the corner before the stairwell. His chest rose and fell beneath his nightshirt; the rest of his torso was swaddled in the gray boiled-wool blanket he’d wrapped around his shoulders. His feet were set somewhat far apart, as if to hold himself aloft took diligence. He breathed like a winded colt.

Sebastian waited. He was not sure Ciel noticed him, and so eventually he came closer, kneeling below the boy’s height and looking up into the pale face with subtle inquisition. The blue eye was wide and vacant. The other had been behind that eponymous patch for well over a day now.

“Dear me,” Sebastian said barely above a whisper, “that right eye of yours must be in want of some air.”

When there was no response, Sebastian stood and ventured a hand to the back of Ciel’s head. The boy gave an exceptionally hard flinch — but he did not cry out. This was good, for then Sebastian would have had to clamp his other hand over the boy’s mouth, and he felt that that would be rather unhelpful right now. Instead, he finished undoing the patch’s knot to reveal an iris glowing so brightly with its contractual mark that Ciel’s opposite pupil somewhat dilated.

Sebastian tutted and frowned at this distress, but there was little consolation he could supply within earshot of Hastings and the other boys. He held out a hand in silent question, and Ciel nodded hypnotically, his eyes still focused on an impossible distance. Sebastian plucked him up and took him out into the night, back into the overlooking tree for a third time. This Cornish oak was practically their accomplice at this point.

It was a warmer night than the last. The soft breezes up high stirred at their hair. Ciel’s breathing had slowed, and his gaze was softening. Still, he did not speak right away.

“Are you all right now, young master?” Sebastian tried after the silence pressed for many minutes.

Ciel lay in his arms, motionless as a fawn, yet inside he was wound like a coil. His fingers, which had sunk into the front of Sebastian’s shirt and held on, did not release their iron grip. No, evidently he was not “all right.” Something had frightened him as badly as any of his old nightmares. One only had to look at his face to see the depth of the haunting.

Suddenly, the boy’s slender hand began to move, rubbing the lightweight pongee fabric of the shirt between shaking fingertips. Presently, thin eyebrows drew together. “It doesn’t feel real,” Ciel finally whispered.

He was talking again. Good; that was something. “What doesn’t feel real, my lord?”

“... Anything.” Ciel lifted one hand and stared at it. “This doesn’t feel like my hand. I know it is, but it doesn’t feel like it.” He looked down at the ground. “And that. It feels like if I fell, nothing would happen to me. It feels like I’m dreaming.”

Sebastian’s lips parted in confusion. Ciel didn’t seem to be experiencing a fever. But was he delirious? “Sir…?”

“I want to touch the tree.” An odd request. After a brief pause, Sebastian moved closer to its trunk. Without looking, Ciel ran his fingers along the bark, first gingerly, then so rapidly that he seemed to want to scrape off his own skin. Sebastian pulled back to stop him from continuing. “No… that was helping,” Ciel explained airily. “I can feel that… I’m still here… I’m still here…”

Sebastian had no words to understand. All he could do was wait for an explanation.

“Everything feels far away,” Ciel admitted next. He started pinching along the spine of his own ear, then tapped on his cheek. “I can feel things, but it’s like I’m under a sheet.”

“Did this happen all of a sudden, young master?”

“No. No, not at all…” Ciel was pensive. “Earlier today… When I was talking with Whit… I started feeling strange… Like I’m outside my own body.” He hadn’t stopped poking and prodding himself all the while. “I think I’ve felt this way before,” Ciel said. “I think… It’s hard to say.” He sighed shakily. “I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”

“Hmm, I see. Feeling some apprehension about our adversaries?”

“It’s more than just that.” The boy’s face was etched with worry, the lines of it shining in the moonlight. “It’s… I… hate that I feel so terrified right now.” Ciel swallowed, and then seemed more angry than anxious. “This is stupid. I’ve done harder things before. There’s been more on the line. It’s just… It’s me, Sebastian. I’m the problem. I’m making this worse for myself by thinking too much. I wish I could just stop thinking.” There was such bitterness and incrimination in his tired voice. His lips clamped shut, grinding his teeth behind them, as if chewing apart the things he did not dare to say aloud.

Sebastian waited in pensive silence, reflective. The way Ciel had been standing above the stairwell, still as a gargoyle, reminded him of the paralysis that occurred when Ciel had a nightmare, most specifically at the start of their contract. Ciel’s nightmares were almost always about the period just before he met Sebastian — a period he typically referred to as “that horrible month.” Perhaps he had dreamt of it again… Sebastian felt he should say something. But where would he even begin?

“You’ll falter tomorrow if you sleep as badly tonight as you did the night before,” he decided, realizing right after speaking that it wasn’t a useful comment.

“I know that.” Ciel rubbed at his forearm. “That’s why I’m so angry right now. I need to sleep but I can’t. I just can’t.” The rubbing turned into pinching, tighter, tighter.

He could draw blood doing that. “Young master, you must stop.”

Ciel shook his head mechanically. “It’s helping...” He was nestling back into his fear-place.

Sebastian took the boy’s wrist and guided it away. “Come, now, you know better than that. Let us dissect this. Tell me what about your conversation with Whit this afternoon made you start to feel uneasy.”

Ciel’s chin turned away. “It was just… Whit... he… he doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what, sir?”

“What do you think?” Ciel snapped, then softened again. “He doesn’t know he’s going to be kidnapped tomorrow. He doesn’t know he’ll be drugged. None of the boys know. All they have in their heads is excitement. All they can think about is how wonderful their lives are going to become. But the reality is…” He broke off, fidgeting with his sleeve. After a minute, he continued quickly, “It’s too familiar. It’s too much like that day. So even when I know I’m going to be fine, I’m still…” He broke off again. Made a noise of disgust. “It’s no good. I’m just no good right now. I can’t think about this in a practical way, when it’s so important that I do my job. All I can think about is…” After stopping a third time, Ciel began pinching himself again. “God damn it, why do I feel so far away from everything?!”

Sebastian pulled his wrist away again too. “My lord, you have not successfully convinced me that causing yourself pain is a cure for your malady.”

“I just don’t want to feel this way!” he groaned. “I need to focus, I need to be serious, and I can’t even sleep. I hate that I’m like this, Sebastian! Why can’t I just get over it?”

Sebastian could not immediately think of anything useful to say. And that was fine, of course. He shouldn’t have anything to say. He wasn’t supposed to have anything to say. It was not his place to have something to say.

And yet, despite how much he wanted to have nothing to say, his lips began to move.

“I suppose… that if ‘getting over it’ is your goal, you may never be successful.”

The boy growled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I don’t mean that you will never improve at all. I mean that… perhaps you are not thinking about your emotions the right way.” Sebastian swallowed. What was he saying? And, more importantly, why was he saying it? But the words kept pouring from him, easy as water. “You can’t will your apprehension away. Yet that is what you are trying to do, hopelessly, and it is impractical. Instead, I believe you should accept that you are always going to have your memories and that they are going to affect your performance in this mission, but that you will persevere regardless. Because that is what you want, correct?”

Ciel was quiet for a moment. “That sounds like you’re telling me to give up.”

“Quite the contrary, sir. You give up when you allow your fears to control you. When you accept them, that is when you can move forward.”

“You’re telling me to accept this? The way I feel right now?” Ciel’s eyebrows drew together. He sat up sharply in Sebastian’s arms. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m going to do that. I don’t have to accept anything. I’m the one in control here, not my past, and certainly not the people who…” He chewed his lip fervidly. Doubt leaked into his voice as he said, “I’m the only one in control. I’m the only one who decides what happens, what I feel. Not you, not anybody. I don’t have to accept anything! I don’t have to accept it!”

“Your lack of acceptance,” Sebastian said, “is what allows your past to control you.”

“No, it’s not,” Ciel said. He didn’t really sound like he believed himself.

“In that case, you are saying to me that your panic is deliberate?”

“...” Ciel was quiet again.

“...” Sebastian sighed. “What I think,” he pressed on wearily, “is that by trying to deny your anxieties space, you only prove to exacerbate the situation. You can only hope to soothe yourself if you examine why you are anxious, not if you deprive yourself of clarity.”

“What, do you want me to say I’m afraid?” Ciel snorted. “All right, fine. Maybe I’m really nervous right now for a stupid reason. And look at that: I admitted it, and I don’t feel any better. So there you have it. It doesn’t work.”

“What is it that you’re ‘really nervous’ about?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel drew his head back, flabbergasted. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm, don’t you? Well, think on it, then.”

The demon was shot a nasty look. “I’m not worried about anything that will happen, it just reminds me of that day. I don’t like being reminded of it. That’s all there is to it.” The response was hot, angry that Sebastian insisted on prodding an area so tender.

Sebastian kept prodding. “What you’re saying is, the thing you fear most is the reminder? The memories that you believe tomorrow’s kidnapping will conjure?”

“Sure,” Ciel snarled, just as hotly as before.

“Well,” said Sebastian, “I think it makes sense that you would feel worried then. Don’t you?”

“No! ” Ciel insisted. “No, because it’s not helpful! And you’re not being helpful either! Why are you talking about this so much?! It’s just making me feel worse! If you really want to help, you should be trying to distract me, or… or something! I don’t want to think about how I’m going to be worthless if I feel like this right at the most important moment, but now I am thinking about that! And I hate it!” A pause. “And I hate you for making me do it!”

“Very well,” said Sebastian. “Hate me, if you must.”

Though the mismatched eyes that glared at Sebastian in the darkness were piercingly enraged, one glowing like a miniature star, they soon fell beneath a layer of bangs as their owner’s chin tipped downward. His master was shaking subtly in his arms, bottled emotions making his shoulders tremble, until eventually he went ragdoll-limp.

“I don’t want to be on this mission anymore,” Ciel whispered hoarsely. “I mean, I’m going to finish it. But I don’t want to.” He sagged against Sebastian’s shoulder. “It’s stupid, but you’re right. I’m scared. I’m going to be scared tomorrow. And that’s just how it is. I can’t do anything about it. So I might as well recognize it, because then I can at least stop fighting with myself. I’m scared, and my past does control me, and I just have to accept that I’m a coward, and that’s it.”

“I think it would be better to say that your past affects you,” Sebastian said. “You are still very much in control. You are going to go through with tomorrow’s mission, despite that you are afraid. And that is quite the opposite of cowardice. After all, can bravery even exist without fear?”

“... Yeah. I guess that’s true.” Ciel rubbed at his knuckles. “I guess… it’s not really bad for me to… be affected. I can… do my job and feel this way at the same time.”

“Very true, sir.” Sebastian felt himself smile lightly. His master was coming around. “It is just the same with Avalon, you know. You could never hope to tame him if his fears were not acknowledged and treated.”

“... I never thought about it that way,” the boy said quietly. He toyed with his fingers, a substitution for playing with the gold signet ring and Phantomhive sapphire he typically donned. “It’s true, though. If I just put a saddle on Avalon right away, instead of having Bard do the rope-and-crop practice, I never would have been able to ride him at all.” He sighed. “Too bad there’s no similar method for humans.”

Sebastian hummed a laugh. “Certainly there is, sir. Humans have their words.”

“I guess.” Ciel hesitated before looking up at Sebastian from the tops of his eyes, puzzled. “Since when do demons have those words?”

There was a sour feeling in Sebastian’s mouth, but he answered smoothly, “Could I truly be a Phantomhive butler if I couldn’t do this?”

Ciel glowered in mild annoyance. “So full of it…” he muttered, then yawned.

Sebastian cocked his head. “Oh? Is the young master fine to return to bed then?”

“Mm… Not yet.” Ciel looked out at the stars, the landscape made navy without the sun to warm its palette. “Is Hastings having you do surveillance tonight?”

“Not tonight.” And best not to mention what they had been doing.

“Oh,” said Ciel. “Well… I want you to tell me about the details of the… the kidnapping tomorrow. So I can be prepared. But it’s boring just standing here.”

Sebastian smiled lightly. “I agree, my lord. Hold on, now.”

Into the night-world they plunged. Ciel secured the blanket around him as the wind rushed past, as did the wooded countryside below. He watched the earth scroll by for a few moments before repeating, “Tell me now. How is the kidnapping going to begin?”

As Sebastian explained Hastings’s ploy, he watched the tension slowly release from the boy’s face. Eventually, Ciel’s eyelids began to droop as he muttered, “You’ll be nearby the whole time?”

“Yes, I should be very close all the while.”

A yawn. “And… you’ll be the only one that touches me? Not any of Hastings’s other henchmen?”

“I’ll make sure it is so, young master.”

“Good…” A restful sigh. “I think... I’ll be fine then… I think I can do it...”

“I believe you can, sir,” Sebastian said quietly.

“If only I could… fall asleep…” Ciel mumbled, his head rolling limply to his own shoulder. “It’s so stupid that… I can’t…”

With that, he was out like a snuffed candle. And then it was Sebastian’s turn to wonder at himself.

Since when do demons have those words? The words to pacify fears, not create them? Sebastian himself did not know. He did not think such words existed inside him. They seemed to come from elsewhere, just like the chairs and table and chandelier he’d magicked into existence to impress Hastings: he did not have to think about this chair and table before he created them, and yet, when he needed them, there they were.

“Do you trust the source of your energy? Do you know it to be… safe? Pure? Can its magic alter your mind, for instance? Your thoughts? Enough to convince you that you care for the human child? Or… could someone else have access to that power source? ”

For the umpteenth time, Undertaker’s words echoed in his head. Again, Sebastian found himself clinging all the more tightly to his charge. Maybe there was a reason those words of reassurance had felt foreign in his own mouth. Could it be because they weren’t his words? Did they belong to another demon, using him as a puppet, controlling him through the same mystical vein that Sebastian drew his powers from? It was hard to conceptualize this being so, but Sebastian only felt the prior conversation proved this further. He was not himself.

… Or was he?

Sebastian wasn’t sure which notion was more chilling.

After half an hour of continuing his patrol, Sebastian realized he should put Ciel back in his bed. Though he was hesitant to part with his contracted soul, especially right now, he too recalled the state he had left Hastings in… hmm. He didn’t regret going to Ciel’s side (as if he could have resisted the summons much longer anyway), but he did wonder if he could manage to successfully charm his false master back into trusting him. 

The boy did not disturb one bit when returned to his mattress — exhaustion had fully claimed him. It was for the best. He would rise again in six or seven hours, which, given he barely slept the night before, would have to do. The other boys snored lightly like sleeping puppies, as oblivious to their fates as Ciel knew they were. But Hastings’s soul remained astir.

Sebastian put his hands on his hips and sighed at himself, mildly annoyed. He had been in such a hurry to get to Ciel in his hour of need that he’d let his poised facade drop. He had not wished to divulge to Hastings that he had limits, could experience desperation… but so be it. Somehow, the relationship had to be mended. Sebastian supposed he had obtained a lot of practice in apologizing these days…

Deciding a knock would still be too demure, Sebastian carefully opened the door to the master bedroom and entered with his head ducked, shutting it immediately behind him. A nearby lamp flicked to life with the demon’s will. It cast its light upon the human, who was sitting up in bed, exactly where he’d been left less than an hour ago. He was looking at Sebastian very curiously, with a bit of caution but mostly concern.

“Well,” said Hastings at last, “you were gone for a while.”

“So I was,” said Corbin, and then bowed with almost theatrical grace. “I must ask your forgiveness… My rough nature can occasionally rear its head at the worst of times. I wish you had not seen it so soon. Unfortunately, you have. I hope I have not slighted you too deeply.”

Hastings hesitated, before saying, “I am more confused than anything else. Why did you need to go away so suddenly, and for so long? I doubt we were about to be discovered.”

Sebastian bowed again. “Ask me not for details. Simply understand that being a demon… is more than about pleasing one’s master all of the time.”

“... As you say,” Hastings muttered. He held up his head. “But I wish you would at least come when I call for you.”

Corbin laughed darkly. “What a greedy master.” In a leap too quick to be conceived by the human eye, Corbin had pinned Hastings by his arms not painfully to the bed, his fanged maw grinning down at him, eyes an electric pink. “If you wanted a dog, dismiss me now,” he breathed, “for what you have is a wolf, and a wolf does not come when he is called.” He put his mouth right beside the man’s ear. “He comes when it pleases him.”

The look on Hastings’s face when Sebastian pulled away was dizzy and captivated — just as Sebastian had hoped. “Christ,” he strangled out at last, “if you’re going to talk like that, then I do want another stitch.”

And so, using a much more familiar method, Sebastian helped yet another human to sleep that night.

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On the morning of the 23rd of May, Ciel had eaten breakfast. He’d eaten as if he had never in his life tasted something as delicious as fried potatoes, baked beans, and sliced ham. He ate like the voracious, growing young person he was. Whit commented with a laugh that “Patch” must be feeling better today. Ciel agreed that he was. The rest of the morning was then spent riding, as the four other winners once again tried and failed to imitate Ciel’s technique.

“You can’t do it all at once,” Ciel kept reminding them. “And you should try to get used to the saddles before you do anything else. You’re going to wear yourselves out if you push yourselves too far. Trust me.”

In the afternoon of the 23rd of May, a reporter and photographer from The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News came to see if they could learn more about the promising young jockeys who would be leaving Banstead tomorrow to begin their training across Great Britain. Hastings agreed to speak with them, but he was very vague in his responses to the men, particularly about where they would travel. “Please, try to understand, we don’t want the press following us from place to place,” was his excuse.

The boys were also asked a few questions. “Are you excited? Are you nervous? Is this the farthest you’ve been from home? Do you think we’ll see you in the Ascot in ten years?”

Whit, naturally, was the darling of the interview. “We’re so excited! I’m not nervous a bit. I haven’t been outside London in my whole life. If I’m not in the Ascot by the time I’m twenty, just wager I’m dead!” Whit laughed, and so did the reporters and the boys and Hastings. Ciel momentarily stiffened, but then Sebastian watched him collect himself and pretend to laugh too.

After the photographer began putting away his equipment, Hastings whispered surreptitiously to Sebastian, “Do something to make sure their film doesn’t turn out. I don’t want anyone to know the boys’ faces.” It didn’t take much effort. As Sebastian could steal bullets from guns before they fired, so too was he able to remove the celluloid roll and damage the film without anyone noticing. The journalists wouldn’t find out what had happened until they attempted to develop the photographs hours later.

At the same time, Hastings’s personal staff and temporary staff, which had been borrowed from a friend for a few days, left the countryside manor, either to return to said friend or begin working for him. Sebastian had learned from Hastings that this “friend” was a part of the strange operation involving the horses and the stolen boys, and could tell, from the way the domestics spoke as they tidied up and packed their belongings, that it wasn’t unusual for them to switch houses depending on their masters’ schedules. Did they not concern themselves with the strangeness of their employers’ lives? Sebastian supposed that these particular humans were passive enough not to care where their paychecks came from, so long as they received that paycheck.

And then, as it had to, as all things had to, the evening of the 23rd of May came.

“Aren’t you going to eat with us tonight, Mr. Hastings?” Marlee called from inside the dining room. Sebastian stood just around the corner from its closed door.

“Alas, no,” Hastings answered with despondence. “I have some preparations for tomorrow’s trip to attend to. But don’t worry, boys; we’ll see plenty of each other these coming years. Eat up, and then get on to packing your things.”

“Yes, sir!” “We will, sir!” “Goodnight, Mr. Hastings!” chirruped the boys.

Hastings passed Sebastian in the entrance hall as he made his way to the staircase, raising his eyebrows with a quarter-smile as if to say, And now it can begin.

“I’m starving,” said Teddy, probably through mouthfuls of soup, “even though we had a nice, big lunch. I’m gettin’ used to havin’ three square meals.”

“We’re right spoiled,” said Whit, “and I think I’m takin’ to it. Oy, Trevor, can I have the salt?”

“Where’s it?”

“Ajax yer elbow.”

“Wot?”

“By yer elbow. Other elbow. Thanks.”

“I’m so excited that I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight!” Marlee bubbled.

“Me neither,” Teddy agreed.

“Who says we got to?” laughed Whit. “We’ll be travelin’ most a’ the day tomorrow, I wager. We can tell stories long into the night n’ sleep in the brougham.”

“I don’t think Mr. Hastings’d like it if we stayed up,” Trevor said. “And you two don’t want tuh be gettin’ in any more trouble.”

“We can whisper,” said Whit. “Whattayou think, Patch? Yer feelin much better, yeh?”

“Mostly,” Ciel said, voice a bit strained, but only when he first spoke. His next words were injected with that faux enthusiasm he’d mastered pretending. “I think we ought to see if Josef will come out and play tonight. If we run around with him, then we’ll get tired and be able to fall right asleep!”

“I hope Josef comes back to play.” Marlee yawned. “Though I think I was wrong… I am feeling a little sleepy after all.”

“You don’t even remember last night, do ya?” Whit laughed. “You were jus’ barely standin’. It was hilarious.”

Teddy clapped his hands and repeated the mantra, “Don’t fall asleep! Don’t fall asleep!”

The boys proceeded to make jokes about Marlee’s tiredness for the next five minutes. As he was much smaller than the other boys, it made sense that the drug would affect him first.

“Cor, I think he’s actually fallin’ asleep!” Whit laughed.

“No, ’m not…” Marlee’s voice was tonelessly relaxed.

“Mar-lee, it’s only half past seven!” Teddy scolded jokingly.

“Do you feel alright?” Ciel couldn’t seem to help asking.

“Mm…”

“Get yer head off the table, Marlee! That’s not proper!” Teddy was laughing as he said it, though.

“’S’alright, let the pup sleep. I’ll carry ’im up m’self.” As usual, eldest Trevor would take charge of the situation. Sebastian had to give him a larger dose than the others to ensure the boys would all succumb to the chloral hydrate at around the same time.

“Think it’s catchin’, though.” Teddy yawned next. “Now I feel knackered.”

“Come off it!” Whit still sounded as energized as ever. “What happened to tellin’ stories and playin’ with Josef?”

Ciel decided to chime in. “I don’t know… suddenly, I’m feeling it too.”

“Tha’s troublesome. Not gettin’ sick among ourselves, are we?” Trevor said.

“No, we can’t be!” Whit’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Snap out of it, lot! You was just sayin’ how much you wanted ta stay up all night! Marlee! Can’t believe it, he’s already dreamin’!”

“It’s been a busy week,” said Trevor, the third to yawn. “It’s just catchin’ up to us is all…”

“Stop that!” Whit snapped. “Yer makin’ me feel it too… Teddy! Trevor! Not the both a’ you… Patch! Say yer still with me!”

“I’m awake…” Ciel mumbled.

Whit snorted. “Good God, the lot a’ you. It jus’ came over you so fast, like you…”

There was a long pause.

Whit was hesitant as he ventured, “Teddy...? Trevor? Yer not really asleep, are ya?”

No response.

“Oh, Cor,” Whit whispered. His chair fell back with a solid thud. “Oh, Cor, Patch, Cor! We been slipped somethin’! We gotta get outta here, quick!”

Seconds later, the dining room door swung wide, hitting the wall loudly. Whit was tugging Ciel by the hand when he rounded the corner and very nearly ran headfirst into Sebastian. Still, with only a second’s hesitation, Whit had leapt onto the unbeknownst demon and was attempting to beat him back. “Run for it, Patch, run! Go get help! Before you end up like the others! Go—”

The boy’s voice cut off abruptly when Sebastian put him in the gentlest carotid restraint that could feasibly exist. There was a struggle, but after a brief ten seconds, Whit’s body sagged against Sebastian’s elbow, subdued as all the others had been. Ciel had run a short distance, but feigned a collapse on the front carpet, arms and legs sprawled as if he’d been struck with narcolepsy. Sebastian could feel the fluttering of the soul in his master’s chest, like its own separate heartbeat. Ciel was frightened, but he wasn’t going to let the guise slip.

Sebastian placed Whit gently on the ground and went to retrieve his master just as he heard Sykes and Pickering drive the carriages to the front of the house. They had eighty minutes at most before the knockout drops wore off. All would need to be concluded before then.

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It had been a while since Sebastian had truly flown. He wasn’t sure he had exactly longed for the experience, but there was something about feeling the wind flowing over and between the owl’s feathers he’d adorned that was somehow nostalgic. He had let Hastings witness his transformation into a beast this time. His false master responded in the way his many past masters had: with eyes sparkling like a child’s. Interesting, then, that his true child master was the only contracted soul Sebastian had known whose eyes didn’t sparkle at the sight of magic.

Below on the dirt path tottered the two carriages, moving at a decent clip, though not so fast as to raise suspicion. But raise suspicion they had, and from a very unexpected source. Sebastian would have smirked if he had lips and not a beak. ‘Josef’ was trotting several yards behind the carriage that carried Hastings, determination in every stride. He smelled the boys that had become his playmates. Did he too smell the danger they were in?

A journey that could have taken twenty minutes took closer to thirty, as the drivers tried to avoid going through the village of Banstead outright, but eventually, after passing by countless fields and chalk pits and wide stretches of furze, the thick forest surrounding the asylum came into view. Sebastian swooped beneath the trees to follow the carriages on their rickety way. Without the stars and only the lanterns to guide them, the journey became pitch black. Sebastian did not fly close enough for the drivers to see him, but he could see them: their faces looked haunted as they tried not to imagine what could live in this brand of darkness. The demon felt a laugh against his breastbone. This forest was nothing but a safe haven to England’s most common wildlife. It was what lay beyond the wood that should truly inspire fear.

After five minutes, the clearing came into view. The main hospital loomed above everything else, with its lit windows like probing eyes. At this hour, few lights remained, most of the nurses and doctors having retired for the evening, with only the skeleton crew still lurking inside the building. No one came to check on the carriages arriving just outside the hospital’s doors. Perhaps they had expected this arrival.

Sebastian transformed back into his human guise away from where anyone could spot him and walked over to the little entourage. The carriages had come to a stop along the side of the hospital, where a pair of steel cellar doors were being flung wide by Hastings’s men. Emanating from inside, Sebastian could hear that tell-tale thrumming: the staccato footfalls of a breakneck horse.

When Corbin approached the others, one of the henchmen stopped what he was doing and stared at him with a shocked expression. Sebastian recognized him as Hardwick, the man who had held him at gunpoint in the stables for an hour while he waited to be interrogated by Hastings, a mere three days ago. Evidently, Hardwick had never expected to see Corbin again, alive or dead, and certainly not working alongside him.

Hardwick was standing by the carriage that contained the boys, apparently preparing to carry them inside. “Allow me to help,” offered Corbin, reaching past the dumbfounded man and into the pile of sleeping children propped haphazardly around the compartment. Ciel had been positioned near the far window; Sebastian gathered him gently in his arms and pulled him into the moonlight. Hardwick continued to gape. Corbin only smiled quaintly and proceeded to where Hastings stood, just outside the cellar’s maw.

Sebastian hoped Hastings wouldn’t tell him to put the boy down, and he didn’t, fortunately. He was altogether too excited about showing the devil his little project to care about anything else. “Here we are, then,” Hastings said, with a dark enthusiasm. “This is it. Are you ready to see what it is we’ve done?”

Without waiting for a response, Hastings gestured with his fingers for Corbin to follow as he descended below ground. Sebastian secured his grip on Ciel before stepping after him into the gloom.

When the short flight of stairs ended, Sebastian felt sand beneath his feet.

The room they stood in was scarcely lit by a dusty lantern, which hung in the corner. At the moment, there was little to see; it was a scant basement room with unpainted walls and no furnishings other than the lamp. The biggest curiosity was the deep layer of sand covering the ground — that, and the way the sand seemed to have been churned in a curved pattern leading from a large entranceway on the east wall, into an equally large entranceway right in front of them…

The hoofbeats had become an almost steady pulse, background noise. But suddenly, the noise grew louder.

A white horse appeared in the rightmost entryway, a thing so pale in this underground lair that it seemed to shine. It was like a cave creature, devoid of color after spending eons growing in a place without sun. Almost as quickly as it entered, it left, spinning whorls of sand in its wake.

Ciel gasped subtly, and Sebatian glanced down. The boy’s eyes were open. Sebastian could see by the look on his face that he hadn’t really believed horses could be kept underground until he’d seen it for himself. But he feigned sleep again when Hastings called from the next room over, “Keep coming, this way, this way. O’Leary! That horse’s lost his rider. How long has he been going now?”

“Eighteen hours,” Sebastian heard someone shout several walls over. He left the first room and entered another that was nearly identical to the previous: barren and dark, a large open entryway to the right and a smaller door in front of him, cracked partially open, some light escaping. “The boy fell off an hour ago, but he survived; now we’re just waiting for the beast to tire out.”

“That could take another four hours,” Hastings sighed. He was almost to the other end of the room, heading to that smaller door where the yellow glow threatened to spill. Sebastian stepped calmly to the side as the horse made another lap. It easily passed them at over thirty-five miles per hour, yet it took the turns as if it were going half the speed.

“Come in here, Corbin.” Hastings’s voice reached out from the lit room. Obediently, the demon heeded the summons.

The noise, the smell, and the sight was sure to have overwhelmed any human unprepared for what came next.

The space was full to the brim with brown quarter horses. Each one was tethered to a steel ring in the wall by a rope. The horses’ physical and mental conditions varied greatly: some threw back their heads and tossed their manes; others kicked and stamped impatiently; but just as many laid on the earth with their enormous ribs heaving in exertion or with a leg sprawled out at an impossible angle, broken and gangrenous. The room reeked of their sweat and blood and leavings, but not as much as it could have: the sand had been kicked over anything that stank, including the horses’ festering wounds. Sebastian tipped Ciel’s head towards himself, hoping to stifle the stench even a small amount, if possible. The boy furrowed his brow, breathing through his mouth. Feigning sleep could not have been easy now.

The horses’ bones were becoming visible beneath their thin blankets of flesh. None seemed to have ready access to food or water. Their muzzles were bound tight with surgical tape, possibly to keep them from making noise or biting. Yet, despite these cruel conditions, the uninjured horses did not act sick.

They acted like they wanted to run.

“A curious sight, isn’t it?” Hastings said, suddenly by his side. Sebastian reflexively turned Ciel away from the man. “A bit unnerving, really; I don’t like to look at the test subjects for long, if I can help it. Though I suppose this sort of suffering appeals to you.”

“No, not especially,” said Sebastian. Another gaze around the room. “What exactly is being tested on them?”

Hastings’s smile was devilish itself. He looked down at Ciel menacingly. “This little thing can be the one to show you — as soon as he wakes up, that is.” He spun around, just missing the sight of Sebastian’s upper lip curling, and walked to the sixth and final room just right of the ‘stables.’ “Follow me, demon. Soon, our master plan will become clear.”

The boy flinched just once before forcing himself into stillness. Sebastian responded with a tighter grip, reassuring, before following Hastings into the last chamber.

It was good that Ciel’s eyes were shut, for here was where the stolen boys were being kept.

The orphans stood or laid against the walls in similar conditions to the horses: chained by their necks to metal rings, emaciated — and impatient, or, at least, the ones on their feet were. Some lay in misery just like the horses, gasping for air. The four remaining upright stared at Ciel guardedly. Sebastian noted that, unlike the horses, the boys were spread out far enough that they could not touch each other. The way they bared their teeth, feral, at the sight of another victim seemed to imply that the boys would fight, if given the chance.

“You can put that one over here,” Hastings called to him from an unused ring. He then nudged with his toe at an unmoving child. “Get this one out of here, O’Leary. His ribs are broken, he may as well be dead.”

A man sitting at a metal table covered in syringes and vials didn’t even glance over. “I don’t want to touch ’im. Get your man to do it.”

“Never mind him, Corbin,” Hastings waved his hand. Then he continued to O’Leary, “Where’s Vogt? He wanted new subjects, well here they are. We need to vaccinate them while they’re still asleep, but I don’t know which serum he wants us to use.”

“Don’t put me down,” Ciel whispered tightly. Sebastian wouldn’t dream of it.

“Vogt went out to take a gander at the stock you brought in. He wants to see what age the oldest boy is, we’ve been testing on tykes for too long.”

“Fifteen years, I think.” Hastings picked up one of the syringes, looking at the clear liquid it contained as if he could make out something about it. “Certainly more durable than the ones Northcott was getting for us. We’re lucky if they last more than three trials.”

Hastings turned to Sebastian then. “Sorry about all the keeping shop.” He held up the syringe. “This,” he explained, “contains the thing that is going to change the world.”

It looked like no more than water, perhaps a bit more viscous. “I’m intrigued,” Corbin forced himself to say politely. “It seems so unassuming.”

“It does, doesn’t it? But it is just the opposite.” Hastings pressed the plunger, and fluid fountained out of the needle. “The boys and the horses have been injected with this everyday,” he explained. “Perhaps you’ve noticed their transformation: they should be weak in these conditions, and yet they remain strong. Only serious injury can put them out of commission. We’re working on that too… the boys are still dropping like flies… but they are still much more capable than the average person of surviving in a less-than-ideal environment.”

Hastings’s voice picked up speed as he grew more excited. “Not only are they surviving, but they are accomplishing feats of endurance that the average man could never hope to replicate! That horse you saw out there — he’ll be running for an entire day before he’ll need a rest, and two hours later, he’ll be raring to go again.” He tapped the syringe, grinning almost maniacally. “Liquid energy. That’s what we created.” He gestured wide. “Isn’t it incredible? Look at how aggravated the boys are. They’re practically overdosed on the stuff. All they want to do is ride the horses, and all the horses want to do is run. If only the horses didn’t throw their riders so often, the boys would last longer… But you see now, don’t you, demon? We’re creating the new soldier. The most superior man will truly belong to England, it’s indisputable! All this study of jawlines and brain cavities, it’s rubbish! We Englishmen are no different from the people we overthrow. But now… now we will be.” He was breathing hard and looking at Corbin, practically begging with his eyes for praise.

“What’s the matter with you? Why are you getting so worked up?” O’Leary grumbled over his shoulder.

Hastings placed a hand on his hip. “Shall we tell him, then, Corbin? Shall we tell him what you are?”

They shouldn’t. But before Sebastian could begin to craft his own diversion, fate did it for him.

“Oy, Mr. Hastings! We’ve got trouble!”

In rushed the rest of Hastings’s men, looking frazzled and terror-stricken. Hastings frowned at them, as if they had interrupted him at the worst of times. “What, what kind of trouble? Can’t you sort it out yourselves?” he snapped.

“Well, we thought we could,” Hardwick said. He held up his gun. “There’s a rabid mutt ou’ there who’s got in the carriage with the kiddies. It’s foamin’ at the mouth n’ actin’ like it’s guardin’ ’em or sommet. It won’t le’ us get near.”

Ah. So the good dog Josef had successfully aided the orphans in their darkest hour. Perhaps he did take after Heidi’s companion after all.

“Then shoot it, you idiots,” Hastings growled.

“Tha’s just it.” Hardwick shook his head. “All our bullets… Someone’s taken ’em out. Not a single one a us has any. N’ we don’t wanna get bit. Ain’t worth it.”

This interruption was still clearly too much of an inconvenience. “God’s sake… Take mine then.” Hastings reached into his jacket. Felt around. His brow furrowed. “What on earth.” He switched to the other flap. “I could have sworn—”

“I’m afraid you aren’t going to find what you’re looking for in there, Hastings.”

All the men’s heads turned at the boy’s voice. Ciel sat tall in Sebastian’s arms. He had the stolen Webley revolver pointed at Hastings’s heart. His aim did not waver. His gaze said that he was prepared to fire it, even if the kickback was more than he could handle.

Sebastian smirked proudly, fervidly, as Astre Renault died with the threat and Ciel Phantomhive rose out of it like a phoenix. Gone was the humble orphan; the demon’s master was here now.

And so was the demon.

Hastings stared into that fierce blue eye with utter confusion. His gaze ticked over to his presumed demon. “Corbin, what are you doing? What’s going on? Take that away from him.” Sebastian did not move, other than to draw his smile wider, wickeder. Hastings was rapidly frustrated. “Corbin!”

Ciel chuckled darkly at the man’s desperation. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he doesn’t work for you. He never has.” He waved the mouth of the gun at the crowd, watching the men flinch one by one as it pointed their way. “Listen up. Which of you is Vogt?” When no one spoke, Ciel added, “You may as well tell me. I have other ways of finding out. And they’ll be much less fun for the lot of you.”

“He is,” one of the men said at last, prodding forward a man with a pointed mustache who licked his lips in worry.

“Good.” The pistol pointed back at Hastings. “Who else here is important to running the operation? Is it just you, Vogt, and this O’Leary fellow?”

Hastings was absolutely dumbstruck. “Corbin,” he tried again, “what is happening?”

“Answer my question, and maybe you’ll find out,” Ciel huffed, clearly feeling belittled. When Hastings only continued to stare, the boy addressed the crowd. “Does anybody else play a crucial role in the business?”

Hardwick and the other men were quick to blubber their innocence. “No! We didn’t know anything!” “I didn’t even know what was happening!” “I’ve never been here before in my life!”

“Very good,” said Ciel. With a nod, Sebastian set him on his feet at last. “Then you’re unnecessary to me.”

The color drained from six faces.

Hastings did at last address the boy. “Who are you? What the hell is going on?”

“I’m the Queen’s watchdog,” said Ciel, prying off his eye patch. “Sebastian. Since you seem to miss showing off your cooking prowess so much, prove to me you still remember how to trim the fat.”

Sebastian hunched to spring. “Yes… my lord.”

The cellar doors banged closed. The whole place went black.

The men had tried to run. Tried, but, of course, failed to make it more than a few steps into the adjacent room before Sebastian broke every last neck. He did it quickly, so that they could not even cry out. In this place that stank of blood and misery, his master hardly needed another horror ringing in his ears. It was hard enough as it was to keep those shoulders from trembling.

When the lights came back on, Hastings, O’Leary, and Vogt had been bound by their wrists and ankles, and deposited in one of the empty rooms, away from the suffering children and livestock and henchmen’s corpses. The horse that had been running laps had been halted. The air was silent and still.

Ciel stood in front of the three men, soaking in their fear of him, gaining strength from it. This was the part of the mission where at last everything came together. Sebastian stood beside his true master, wearing a matching expression of cold-blooded satisfaction.

The horror on the faces of Vogt and O’Leary was pure and animal, as a creature who is hunted knows not his predator. Only Hastings’s visage bore the distinctly human creases of betrayal. It aged him ten years. It withered his confident nature to the bone. He was scarcely recognizable.

“Corbin...” said Hastings again. He choked on his own breath, as if trying not to sob. “So it was a trick… All of it, a lie…?”

“Not a bit. I unfortunately don’t possess the ability to lie.” Sebastian smiled with his eyes closed. “I was just lucky that you possess a fine gullibility.”

Hastings blathered, “But the chandelier— The owl—”

“Quiet,” Ciel barked, kicking the man in the shoulder with the sole of his boot. “Rather than delusions of grandeur, you should be worried about your life. If you’re lucky, you’ll find it in the hands of Scotland Yard. But for now, I hold it captive, so you’d better be bloody well careful about what you say and when you say it. Now.” The gun was aimed at Hastings once more. “Tell me about each of your roles in this game.”

Hastings was still looking at Sebastian with remorse. Sebastian only smiled glitteringly back. “Hey!” Ciel jammed the gun against Hastings’s forehead. “I’m the reason you’re in this mess, all right? He works for me, so stop turning to him for help. And before you ask,” he added when Hastings opened his mouth, “no, he doesn’t want your money, so don’t try to buy your way out of this situation. It’s a waste of my time.”

“But Corbin, you told m—”

Hastings’s words turned to screams as the gun went off, a bullet shattering straight into the bones of his foot. Ciel knew how to hold himself to lessen the recoil’s impact, but even so was knocked back by the shot, and Sebastian caught him from stumbling too far. The bullets in this gun weren’t small either; there was a reason Webleys were legally issued to military personnel only.

“Right,” Ciel breathed, trying not to sound too affected. “Since he’s busy now, you can introduce him as well yourself.” The boy nodded over to O’Leary.

O’Leary swallowed, his blue eyes wide. “I-I’m… I’m a doctor,” he stammered over Hastings’s cries. Swallowed again. “Hastings is… he manages the finances and hiring and resources.”

“A doctor, hm? Some doctor. Employed at the Hundred Acres by day, are you?”

O’Leary shook his head. “I’m an equine doctor, mainly.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for being concise.” Ciel turned to Vogt next. “How about you then?”

Vogt spoke in a German accent when he answered. “I invented the serum. But I never meant for it to be used like this, I swear—”

“Don’t give me that coward’s story. I’ve plenty of bullets for cowards.” Then Ciel looked sidelong at Sebastian with a small smirk. “He sounds a bit like Diedrich, doesn’t he? And that isn’t the only thing that reeks of familiarity. This whole scheme feels repetitive. Let’s see… A daily vaccination that grants a person unusual abilities, crafted by German scientists… Where have I heard about that before...? Oh, yes.” Ciel crouched down in front of Vogt. “There was that one underground facility outside of Bavaria where every single staff member was murdered during a raid.”

Vogt’s eyes had been growing wider. “Oh, God,” he said at last. “It was you. It was the both of you. You killed them. You killed them all—”

“How you got away is what I really want to know,” Ciel said almost to himself. “No, that’s easy enough to guess: you weren’t there, for one reason or another. Well… you may be interested to know that the only person who escaped alive was one of your ‘test subjects.’ He’s now employed as my gardener.”

“One of the subjects is alive?!” This seemed to shock Vogt even more. “I thought all our research was destroyed! I’ve had to start from the ground up… But maybe, if I met him—”

“You all just can’t shut up, can you,” Ciel growled, pointing the gun at Vogt suggestively but not firing it again. “I don’t know why you think you’re going to be allowed to do more research. Your methods are barbaric, and children aren’t rats. In any case, your story does explain why this injection doesn’t just make anyone stronger, you weren’t smart enough to replicate it perfectly. But your work stops here.” Ciel stood up. “As does your life.”

“Bitte,” said Vogt, but no words could follow that single plea.

“Your old team was right to destroy its evidence.” Ciel turned his back on his captives. “You’ve created a power no country should have access to. And no country will. You’re going to get rid of this serum entirely.”

Vogt shook his head, disbelieving. “Your Queen… she would pay you handsomely for it… If I made more—”

“I wouldn’t dare make an assumption about what my Queen would do,” Ciel said. “But I have my own opinions on how the world ought to be shaped. And it doesn’t involve turning this country into an unhinged global empire... No, England’s doing a frightening job of that as-is.” The boy shot a glare over his shoulder. “Don’t think I’m foolish enough to keep you alive so you can barter your way to freedom, Vogt. No one should ever learn what you know. And seeing as my friend here can’t lie, I’m leaving the serum’s destruction up to you. Then when you’re done, you can send yourself to hell.” Abruptly, he handed the gun to Sebastian. “Now, I’ve had enough of this rotten atmosphere. You can finish the job.”

Sebastian blinked. “Sir?”

“See to it that O’Leary and Hastings are too scared to do anything but speak the truth, and get them to say the names of the other people supporting this awful experiment. I don’t trust Scotland Yard to interrogate them properly.”

Without waiting to see if his demon followed, Ciel plodded through the dark and the sand back towards where they’d first entered the tomb. He strode with purpose, but the sand has a way of slowing down anyone who isn’t keen to its nature. Though the boy stumbled many times, nothing could sway him from his desired path. Sebastian was in his wake. He did not know if Ciel wanted him there. He only felt, perhaps, that he should be there.

The night air broke over them like cold water. It seemed to hit Ciel with the same force as a tide as, after a few steps away from the cellar doors, his knees buckled beneath the moon and his face tossed skyward. He gulped hungrily, greedily, for breaths that tasted not of despair. He clenched his fingers around the sparse grass as if to tether himself to what was right and just.

“How much I’d love,” he said at last, “to just set it all ablaze again. To end their misery… send them to heaven or wherever. Earth will be their hell as long as they’re alive.”

The breeze’s caress was the only response the universe granted the lost one. There was no activity stirring in the upper floors of the hospital either. Perhaps so many strange noises had come from the basement by now that even a muffled gunshot did not raise any hackles. Good; Sebastian had eyes and ears for only his master now.

“Fire is the only way I know to start over,” Ciel said raggedly. He was shaking, entrapped in the same deep delirium of last night. “But even then, it can’t destroy the memories. I can’t forget. I’ll never forget. No matter how many things I burn, as long as I’m alive, I won’t forget!”

These words, Sebastian knew, should fill a demon with pleasure.

Souls were meant to be nurtured, as meat is turned tenderly on a spit. A good butcher knows that the process of cultivating meat begins long before the animal is bled out. The man who catches a lamb as it comes spilling into the world, wipes blood from its nose, and breathes air into its lungs until the newborn screams with life has already begun to turn the mutton. The man who docks its tail, weans it, dags it, trims its hooves, rolls it on its back to shear off all its wool, has already begun to turn the mutton. And when, at last, the lamb has become a fat, happy sheep, the man kills the sheep, puts it over the fire, and turns the mutton, just as he has been all along. Every drop of milk and blade of grass enriches the flavor. Every instance, positive and negative, in the sheep’s simple existence makes the meal what it is.

For souls, it isn’t so different. Every moment of a human’s life seasoned their soul just right. And for Sebastian, grief and torment were ambrosia. To see his contracted suffer not through wounds but through internal conflict was akin to a farmer watching his flock graze on fresh clover, wagging their tails and bleating. It was the look on the faces of manor guests when a perfectly prepared dessert was offered before them. There was something utterly right and beautiful about observing the combination of fine craftsmanship and Mother Nature’s blessing. Ciel’s soul was predisposed to such a marriage: his personality and intelligence, tied with his bloodline and history, was a circumstantial myriad that could only lead to the most delectable soul Sebastian had ever had the luxury of absorbing.

Thus, Sebastian knew that these words, this admission of Ciel Phantomhive’s suffering, should fill him with pleasure.

But they didn’t.

And what was worse, Sebastian knew what would help alleviate that suffering.

Josef snarled monstrously when Sebastian opened the carriage door, pressing his belly flat against Marlee. Then the dog saw Ciel sitting alone in the moonlight, and his demeanor changed at once. He yipped and sprung out, jauntily pranced over to the boy, and began licking all over the down-turned face.

“Wh-? Whah-!” Ciel leaned backward at the affectionate tongue-bath he was suddenly being chased with. “Hey! Blegh— Hey!” He had tilted back as far as his waist would allow, and still Josef insisted on kissing him. Ciel shielded his face with his hands. “Cut it out, that’s enough! Er… Back! Wait! Find! Walk on! Eh… That’ll do! Something, I don’t know! Didn’t your master teach you any commands?!”

The shepherd eventually stopped licking the boy, but didn’t stop circling, as if trying to herd him toward the rest of the ‘flock.’ Ciel panted, swiping at his cheeks with his sleeve to get the saliva off. But the dog’s affections seemed to knock him out of his somber trance. Eventually, Ciel stopped cleaning his face and sighed. “Yes, yes, hello, Josef,” he huffed, and ducked and swatted and spat when the dog responded to the nickname with more kisses. “Cut it out! I get it! I get it!” Josef did at last ‘cut it out’ and instead sniffed at Ciel’s hair, nuzzled his chin. Ciel sighed, and smiled in spite of himself. “You’re quite clever, aren’t you. To come all this way, to put yourself in danger just for us… Yes, you’re a clever one.” He scratched between the tall, black ears. “Clever boy… Very good...” He muttered under his breath over and over again as his fingers carded the soft fur.

Sebastian watched the two of them for a minute, thinking. It was just over a year ago that he’d held in his arms a panicked boy demanding he incinerate a house, along with the broken children inside it. These children, Ciel had believed, could never be happy again. In his mind, Ciel had granted them the cruel mercy he himself could never be offered. Sebastian had reduced the manor to ash. It had not troubled him to do so. Not for the sake of the broken children; not for the sake of his broken master. He had been content for so long to accept Ciel’s belief that there was no cure for this brand of sadness but fire.

Now the demon watched a dog overwhelm the boy with its unconditional, animal love and thought, There is a cure, and it is this.

Sebastian went back inside the asylum.

Hastings screamed with renewed pain as he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and dragged roughly through the sand into a room separate from Vogt and O’Leary. Sebastian tossed the man down so that his shoulder dug into the sand, then pulled him upright again by his hair.

The injury was still fresh in Hastings’s eyes. “Damn you,” he said. His face was a mess. “What is it that you want? It’s not lust, it’s not glory, it’s not wealth, so why?” He sniffled angrily. “Why are you doing this?”

“I should ask you the same question,” Sebastian purred, “though I believe you have just answered for me. Lust, glory, wealth… Those desires and impulses that so define your race mean little to my kind. My master, my true master, has the only thing in this world that means anything to me.”

“The boy?” Hastings was livid. “What does he possibly possess that I couldn’t give you?! What has he done that compares to what I’ve created?! What… What has anybody done that compares to what I’ve created?! I’m an anomaly among my kind, demon, you saw that! I’m special! I’m good! I’m… worthy! Of you, of the world! Of anyone!” He laughed through his own tears. “You know it! You saw it in me, you said so yourself! You say you can’t lie, but you must be lying, Corbin!”

“I have never lied to you,” Sebastian said easily. “You let yourself believe what you wanted to believe. And you won’t find any sympathy in me. Sympathy…” Does not exist in me, he wanted to say. The words wouldn’t, couldn’t come out. “... is never a reward you shall earn from me.”

“So I see.” Hastings went quiet. Then he said, “I am the fool. I should have known. Where there is a demon, there is hell.”

“Not yet there isn’t.” Sebastian cocked his head with a grin. “But it was my master’s request that you experience it.” He gripped Hastings’s head in both hands. “Now,” he breathed darkly, “let us see how many bones I must snap before you too lose your ability to lie.”

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“Those are all of the gruesome details, in any case,” Ciel sighed, knitting his fingers together as he looked out on the racetrack below the grandstands. “I hope I wasn’t too graphic in my descriptions. I tried to spare you the worst of it… especially when today is supposed to be a day of celebration.”

Queen Victoria chuckled gently as she cooled herself with a decorated fan. “Oh, my dear boy, I am not so delicate. I come to the Ascot every year, and it’s always the same. I don’t mind talking about something other than racehorses.” She lifted her teacup off the lace tablecloth and took a sip. “But I speak falsely. That’s exactly what we are talking about. I must say, I am impressed to hear you qualified in Mr. Hastings’s race.”

Ciel closed his eyes, smiling. “You are too gracious, your majesty. I can tell you honestly, my competition wasn’t comparable to anything you see today. Though if you favor a particular jockey, I do have a useful trick I could share with him.”

“You are a devil,” the Queen said, winking at him youthfully, “to make a joke about such a thing. You know I would have loved to learn more about that serum if it hadn’t been destroyed.”

“The serum?” Ciel blinked. “Oh… The ‘useful trick’ I was referring to is actually something I learned while practicing jockeying on my own. But yes… it is a shame we could not find out more. Vogt’s suicide was quite unfortunate.”

“Quite,” said Queen Victoria. She and Ciel both clapped appropriately when the latest race came to an end. “I don’t suppose,” she added eventually, “that the world would ever be the same, should such a serum become commonplace.”

Ciel dipped his head. “No. I daresay it wouldn’t.”

Sebastian stood behind the wicker chair his master was situated in. This summer’s day, the 18th of June, was neither too hot nor too windy, the perfect weather for enjoying a race. Beneath the roof of the gazebo-style bandstand, the Queen and Ciel sat beside an elaborate glass table decorated with the famous botanical china the Queen herself had purchased at the First World Exhibition in London in 1851. Silver platters of scones, Scotch eggs, pork rillettes, and candied citrus peels accompanied a pot of Twinings’s Ceylon black tea. Grey, Phipps, John Brown, and Sebastian were the only other beings privy to this conversation.

“I’ve been informed by Scotland Yard that one of the men in custody keeps referring to your butler as a demon,” Queen Victoria said next. “The man insists that Mr. Michaelis turned his stables into a palace, and even transformed into an owl in front of him.”

“Sounds like he’s truly the one who belongs in an asylum,” Ciel half-laughed, before tacking on with less levity, “as would anyone who sees no wrong in forcing children and animals to participate in such a disturbing experiment.”

“Let us speak more of them. The horses and the Middle Eastern boys.” The Queen removed her gaze from the track as the next racers prepared for their chance to run. “I believe you said that they have made a splendid recovery?”

Ciel nodded twice. “Once they were no longer receiving the vaccinations, they no longer felt the constant need to expend energy, and their endurance levels returned to normal. The horses are being cared for by gracious volunteers around London. It may, at this point, be impossible to find their original owners, if they were even stolen. They’ll be auctioned once their health improves, with some of the proceeds going to the volunteers and the rest to be contributed to the Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey, which has been instrumental in solving this case.”

“That pleases me to hear.” The Queen smiled. “And where are the children now? I was especially sorry to learn of their condition.”

“The four remaining children from the Middle East will now be living at the Sacred Heart Orphanage,” Ciel explained. “I’m hopeful that when they learn to speak better English, they will gratefully acknowledge your nationalizing them.”

“It isn’t a trouble whether they understand or not. It was the least I could do for them.” Queen Victoria bowed her head, abruptly solemn. “There shall be a memorial erected in the town of Banstead to commemorate the boys who died protecting Britain’s children. Who knows how many countless lives were ended in the name of science… I did not know them, but I shall always think of them fondly.”

“In a roundabout way… Northcott is to thank as well.” Ciel took a thoughtful sip of tea. “I do believe he was on our side. He was only blackmailed into joining with Hastings. Despite that, he made whatever efforts he could to keep the children of this country out of trouble. He died trying to protect a boy from being trampled. And then, it was only through Northcott’s death that we could begin to unfold the operation.”

The Queen gave him a slight smile. “In your letter, it sounded as if you believe he too proposed that the operation take place in the Banstead Asylum, and that the rent was covered by means of supporting all patients financially. It is a shame that the owners of the hospital could be so corrupt as to allow this... but the Lancashire City Council shall control the asylum from here out.” Another small span of quiet. “The English boys who were taken alongside you. What has become of them?”

Ciel smiled, as if thinking of his temporary companions with some humor. “The youngest two have gone to stay at the same orphanage as the Mediterranean boys,” he began. “The orphanage is rather crowded at the moment — but I do believe they shall soon come into more space. The eldest of the winning jockeys, Trevor, has found a job with one of the aforementioned volunteers and is helping to take care of the horses. And, as for the last of them…”

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“Orphanage? Nah, I’ll be going back tah the West End. That’s my true home, y’know.” Whit gazed around the entrance hall for a last time. “I still can’t believe this is your true home.”

The night of the 23rd had been a full one. Even after completing the interrogations and destroying the serum, there was still the matter of the test subjects: they could not remain where they were, but they could not simply be freed either. This was where Scotland Yard was meant to shine. The Queen’s watchdog and his demon did not compare to an organized task force when so many boys and horses required immediate medical attention, food, lodging, and general care. No, best to leave the busywork to the secretaries.

Sebastian would alert the police soon. But first, he had to get his master and the sleeping boys to safety.

Ciel sat on the first step of the carriage, still kept company by the ever-attentive Josef. When he saw Sebastian coming, he stood, nodded as if to ask, “Is it done?” and, upon receiving a nod in response, disappeared back into the cab. With a quick whistle, Josef hopped in after, and the door closed.

Sebastian took his place at the reins, and the brougham took off the way they had arrived. From there, they began the two hour-long trek back to Phantomhive manor, stopping only once in the village of Banstead. At the town’s lonely pub, Sebastian found the off-duty postmaster drinking with a rugged old farmer. “I implore you to return to your office and telephone Scotland Yard with this message,” he said, smiling as he passed over his handwritten note, along with five pounds of paper money. The postmaster stared, surprised but fortunately not too far into his cups. “There is urgent trouble at Banstead Asylum. Read them this note, and tell them the Queen’s watchdog has been by… They will promptly understand.”

This too was where Ciel released Josef into the night, with the gentle command of, “Wander off home, now.” The dog trotted away, its own personal mission complete, and fast blended into the shadows.

With nowhere else to go, Teddy, Trevor, Marlee, and Whit had spent the night in the guest rooms of the Phantomhive manor. If they had been shocked at the ‘luxury’ of Mr. Hastings’s abode, Ciel’s residence utterly floored them. But what had especially surprised them was the notion that ‘Astre’ had been acting all along.

It was the morning of May 24th now. Three of the four orphans were getting ready to depart for their new, proper homes. A carriage outside the front door waited to take them to return them to London; only Whit couldn’t seem to separate himself from Ciel’s side.

“I can’t believe ya pulled it off,” Whit was saying to Ciel for the sixth time, shaking his head. “Yeh had us all fooled. I really thought ya were this little whelp from France… Even though yeh speak like a noble! And it’s ’cause ya are one! Cor! You should really consider a career in the theatre!”

Then Whit looked at Sebastian apologetically. “I’m sorry I tried to attack yeh, honest! I had no idea you was with Patch! Ah,” he turned to his host. “Sorry. S’pose I should stop callin’ ya that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ciel smiled cordially. “You risked your life for mine. You are a most trustworthy ally. I won’t forget your courage.”

“Aww, Patch!” To Ciel’s unmasked surprise, Whit captured him in a hug. “I won’t ever forget you either,” he promised. He pulled back, looking sadly at the marble floor. “T’be honest… I’m really upset that the jockey apprenticeship wasn’t real. I wanted us to become best friends. I was really looking forward to it. Thought we’d have years together...”

“...” Ciel didn’t seem to know what to say. It was doubtful he returned the sentiment. “Yes. Well. If it were real, we never would have met at all.”

“S’pose not.” Whit scuffed at the floor with his toe. “Um… but if yer ever in the West End, would yah come lookin’ for me? I-I’m always easy to sniff out. Wherever the best show is at, yer sure tuh see me nearby!”

Ciel held out his hand and grinned graciously. “Of course I’ll look for you, Whit.”

Whit looked absurdly grateful. He pumped Ciel’s hand in both his own. “Yer incredible, Patch! Cor, yer really somethin’! I’m so lucky to have met you! I’ll never forget ya for m’whole life!” He kept shaking Ciel’s hand, until Sebastian interjected that the cab driver would be expecting him aboard.

“Sure gonna miss you,” Whit said one last time.

“I’ll miss you too,” Ciel said, in that sugar-sweet voice he used for lying. Though his tone was more earnest when he added, “Stay out of trouble, then.”

“I will!” Whit promised, waving over his shoulder as he sped down the stairway. “When I have a permanent address, I’ll try to write ya! So then ya can keep in touch! G’bye, Patch! We’ll meet again, mark my words!”

“All right, all right. Goodbye,” Ciel called back. He and Sebastian politely waved him and the others off from the front door, until the carriage had turned the first corner out of the Phantomhive territory.

Once they were out of sight, Ciel gave a long sigh. He touched a hand to his forehead. “Over at last. Thank God… I feel exhausted. My head hurts, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” said Sebastian, more than happy to be back in his proper butler’s attire. “A tea of chamomile, feverfew, and lavender may assist with that.”

“It may.” Ciel sighed again. “What’s more likely is that I’m going to get sick no matter what I do. I always get sick after a particularly stressful mission.”

Sebastian held out his arm, gesturing for Ciel to precede him indoors. “Fortunately, the young master has an open schedule for the rest of the week. I think you’ve well-earned this rest period, sir.”

“Obviously.” Ciel strolled inside, exuding aristocracy once more. “And while you make that tea, you can prepare something with chocolate, too. I haven’t had a proper dessert in days.”

As Sebastian went to close the front doors behind his master, he gave one last look at the sky. It was an unusual sky for England: not a cloud dotted its surface. The endless blue seemed to invite a thousand possibilities. Sebastian smirked at his own thought. ‘Possibility’ was a mere illusion. Humans and contracted demons, bound temporarily by the laws of Earth, could only watch their lives play out a single way. Sebastian always found himself content to go along for the ride, to be surprised at each turn. And yet, he couldn’t help but find himself thinking, What is going to happen next…?

Chapter Text

Human memory was a most curious thing to Sebastian.

For demons, memories were a perfect chronicle of exact events. A demon’s memory also did not appear to fade. Though Sebastian would often have to think meditatively in order to recall memories that were hundreds of years old, he could absolutely regain them. Good experiences, bad experiences, all were filed chronologically within him and were ready to be thumbed through at a moment’s notice.

But the way memory worked for humans? There was nothing accurate about it. Humans could remember very few details in crystal clarity; even the memories that humans felt the nearest and dearest to could become stripped bare of all but the most poignant moments. Their brains were not designed to hold onto the facts so much as the feelings of a moment in time. If what actually happened and the human’s emotions about what happened tended to differentiate at all, the memory frequently became something entirely separate from the event itself.

The intertwining of memory and emotion could be as glorious as it was dangerous. A happy memory could warm a human’s heart for their entire lives. A frightening memory could continue to eat away at a human’s psyche for decades. Bad memories could come calling any moment — as they did at the Shrove Tuesday party; as they did in the asylum.

Sebastian knew if he was to keep the emotional outbursts of March from repeating themselves, he would need to talk to Ciel about his anxieties during the mission. And he’d need to do it this week, while there was time to rest and build strength. Next week, Ciel would be plunged into the heart of the social season, and with that, there would be no breathing room until mid-August.

And even so, an “open schedule” for an entire week was a bit of an exaggeration. Though Ciel had no formalities to attend for seven days’ time, it did not mean there wasn’t much to prepare. He needed to finally get his hair cut, have his feet measured for new shoes, and, most of all, respond to the countless letters that had been pouring in since the end of April.

Tanaka had attended to the post during the month Ciel trained for Hastings’s competition, but Sebastian had seen the never-ending pile of invitations that Tanaka had been responding to and saving. There were polite rejections for anything in May, and a backlog of June and July events that would need Ciel’s approval. The Queen herself would be so busy holding court for all the young ladies who wanted to present themselves this Season and attending London’s many summer events that even getting a meeting with her to discuss the found children would be difficult to coordinate.

Though Ciel was only fourteen, it was a small relief that he was already engaged to be married and thus did not have to play the petty game of matchmaking that so many nobles did. Unfortunately, Ciel did have to play the equally petty game of keeping up appearances. Sebastian mocked pettiness to its face, but there was a part of him that was fascinated by the standards humans set for themselves. Their lives were short, so every decision they made was treated with the utmost importance. As such, mating rituals and social bonding had become elaborate dances meant to be performed over weeks, months, years, lifetimes. It was a beautiful, inane theatre. Sebastian could not help being darkly intrigued.

Perhaps it was due to his intrigue that Sebastian had, in the past, tended to keep Ciel’s calendar very full during the Season. Most of the time, Ciel did not complain. He hated mingling and small talk, but accepted that it came with the territory of his position. And not all outings had to be purely social. There were scientific and medical lectures to attend, as well as poetry recitals and small concerts, events where conversation was generally unwelcome, the perfect locale for wallflowers. It was the picnics and polo matches, garden parties and five-course dinners, elegant balls and late-night soirées, that truly exhausted the boy.

Ciel was typically the youngest person at any evening event. Most of the time, he was not treated as a child either. The Phantomhive name was a respected one. In this time of the rising middle-classes, nobles found comfort in their own kind. Ciel was the head of a storied, old household and direct servant of the Queen, and so in the eyes of the aristocracy, even in his youth, Ciel’s prestige was seen above that of any adult member of the bourgeoisie. He publicly acted as an adult, and was to be respected as an adult.

But Ciel was not an adult.

Sebastian was becoming more aware of this fact by the day. He’d always known it in the literal sense; he had scarcely considered it in the cognitive sense. Ciel was not a childish person by any means… or, he hadn’t been until recently. Seeds of terror had been planted in the boy’s heart when he was young. For so long, they had been small, inconsequential, ignorable enough that they only threatened Ciel in his dreams. Now those seeds were growing along with their host. They had created tiny cracks in Ciel’s forced maturity and exposed the fragile nature hidden beneath. That fragile nature needed tending to. Someone had to be its caretaker.

Alexis and Francis Midford had left Ciel feeling embarrassed and contemptuous. Agni and Tanaka had insisted Sebastian was better suited to play the part of the boy’s keeper. Sebastian had decided he was an adequate stand-in until the correct mentor finally did make their debut. But who could possibly serve the role?

A reminder appeared, of all places, on top of the letters he and the young master were meant to evaluate that week.

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Ciel did not wake up that day until half past noon. Sebastian had expected this, seeing as a difficult mission often required some time for recuperation. Though he was a bit surprised, upon being summoned to the bedroom, that Ciel had already fallen back asleep.

Evidently it was a light sleep, for when Sebastian took just a few lithe steps forward, the boy’s eyes opened to half-lid. After a pause, Ciel said tiredly, plainly, “I’m sick.”

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Sebastian strode over to the bed, began removing a glove. “May I check for fever?”

Ciel sat up and let the bare hand curtain his bangs. “Mm-hm… I’m pretty sure I have one, though.”

“Yes, you do feel a mite warm.” Sebastian adjusted the pillows behind Ciel’s back so he could rest comfortably against them in this new position. “Are there any other symptoms you’re experiencing?”

“I have a headache, and I just feel exhausted. I’m sure it’ll pass by tomorrow.” Ciel blinked sleepily at the far wall. “I don’t think I need any medicine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sebastian tutted. “If it were up to you, you would never need medicine at all.”

A huff. “Fine, I’ll consider it… Just don’t make me eat any pickled barberries.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow with a small smile. “Pickled… barberries, my lord?”

“My mother used to swear by them.” The memory alone disgusted the boy into making a face. “I think she actually liked the taste… I never understood it. Barberries have such a sharp flavor, not even birds will eat them. Anytime I got a fever, she’d bring some to me… Ugh, it was the worst. Sometimes I’d pretend to be asleep just to avoid it.”

That was something else Sebastian had noticed lately: Ciel had been telling him more and more stories about his parents. At the start of their contract, he never talked about his mother or father when he could help it. That had lasted until… perhaps this year. Another behavioral change to add to the list. Just what else am I to be in for…?  “For starters, we’ll see if clove tea helps. If your condition doesn’t improve, then I’ll administer raspberry vinegar. Will that suffice?”

“Obviously. I’m not that particular, I just can’t stand carbonate of potash.” Ciel closed his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my stomach, by the way, so make a breakfast large enough to last me until teatime.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll be back shortly.” He nearly put his hand on the doorknob, then drew it back. “Ah, that’s right. I almost forgot.”

“Mnn?” Ciel grumbled in question.

Sebastian reached inside his tailcoat and removed the letter. “The majority of the post can wait until you are feeling better, my lord, but I thought you may be interested in this message from Mr. Fairclough specifically.”

“Oh.” Ciel accepted the envelope, though he did not seem overly curious about it. He stared at it for a second, then placed it on the bedside table. “I’ll read it later. Go make breakfast now.”

Sebastian made his way to the kitchen, a fair walking distance from the master bedroom. Henri Fairclough… Sebastian had not thought about that man in some time. He had left an impression on both demon and master, coming out of nowhere to save the day when Ciel had misspoken to that old woman harassing him at the Goode’s party. Fairclough supported Ciel in front of his aunt; distracted the partygoers so that they would forget the incident; had even unintentionally spared Ciel from having a birds-and-bees conversation with his uncle the following day. Fairclough’s letter seemed a promising thing.

If only that could be said of all the letters… Sebastian frowned at the mail pile as he passed it on his way. It sat just inside the basement room that housed the servant’s bells, a nook of a space that had become a sort of makeshift study, so that Sebastian and Tanaka could complete paperwork while still keeping attentive to Ciel. Sebastian usually only went there at night to record the manor’s expenses. Tanaka sometimes spent most of the day there, helping the young master keep up with shire taxes and the least imperative Funtom forms. But the mail had since become a rather threatening foot-tall stack of invitations, waiting almost impatiently for Ciel’s approval.

Just how many of those events would the boy be forced to attend this season? Sebastian did not stop to give the pile any more thought. They could deal with that later, when Ciel wasn’t under the weather.

Bard was at the worktable pounding spices and glanced up when Sebastian entered the kitchen. He immediately looked back down at the orange thyme bristles he was stripping from their stalks. Sebastian said nothing as he strolled to the pantry, but he could feel Bard’s tension emanating off of him. The two of them hadn’t spoken much since the day Ciel had ridden Avalon. It would be false to say Sebastian exactly missed whatever his dynamic with the chef had been before, but things were… somewhat off, now.

Sebastian returned to the stovetop with the jar of cloves, which he added to the coffee grinder (a device rarely ever used to grind coffee) and turned them into a fine, cinnamon-colored powder. Hot water was always readily available on the stove, so the cloves could begin steeping immediately. Sebastian selected a transferware tea set in Wm. A. Adderley’s Floribel pattern, to match the day’s early-summer weather, and began to fill the kettle.

“So… Eh… How’d the mission go? The young master seems t’be doin’ okay… I think.”

Bard suddenly, tentatively, broke the silence. Sebastian had almost forgotten he was in the room. He waited a beat before answering in a light clip, “The adversaries have been found and apprehended, as planned. The young master appears to have a mild fever today, but he is not injured.”

“I don’t doubt that. I didn’t think he would get hurt on your watch. I mean… you always keep a pretty sharp eye out for ’im.” A meaningful pause. “None a’ us here… want anything bad to happen to the young master. We’d do anything for ’im. Anything ’e says.”

Sebastian was preparing the tea tray while he listened. The corners of his mouth twitched, picking up on Bard’s insinuation. He sighed. The topic had to come up sooner or later. Now was as good a time as any. “Bardroy, I understand you were just following orders when you allowed the young master to ride Avalon. I only think you should have considered the foreseeable consequences more carefully.”

Bard was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I’m not understandin’ somethin’ then,” he said at last, not angry but somewhat charged. He’d stopped handling the thyme; Sebastian had stopped organizing the tray. They stood back to back at their separate stations. “Aren’t we to answer to the young master on everything? That’s what you tol’ me when I was jus’ startin’ out. But I’m beginnin’ to feel like that isn’t the philosophy anymore. You was actin’ like I did somethin’ real wrong, and I jus’ want to understand when things changed.”

Now it was Sebastian’s turn to hesitate. “Bard...” But his voice almost immediately stopped again, and not on purpose. He’d been about to say, “I have never condoned that you must listen to the master when he is potentially putting himself in danger.” But the words wouldn’t come. Which meant those words were a lie.

Sebastian had very likely never specified that the Phantomhive servants should protect Ciel from his own actions. He hadn’t thought he’d need to… but therein lay the problem. Had Ciel not, just four months ago, been staying up late, ignoring his paperwork, and eating unhealthily, all because Sebastian had let it happen? All because Sebastian had believed that the boy could be in charge of himself?

Just as the rest of the world seemed to believe?

The words wouldn’t come because they were a lie. Then what words were the truth? When, as Bard had said, did things change? Boiled down, Ciel was still Sebastian’s contracted soul, the lord of this manor, the watchdog to the Queen, and... a child. That wasn’t new. Then what was new?

“Mr. Sebastian?”

‘Mr. Sebastian’ indeed.

He turned away from the stovetop. “I suppose it’s worth saying,” Sebastian finally began, “that… you weren’t the only one to make an improper judgment that day.”

Bard twisted over his shoulder. “Sir?”

Sebastian straightened his spine and put his fingertips together. “The young master is just that: young. He doesn’t always know what is best at his age. But… he is not stupid either. Simply put, it was wrong of you to allow him to ride Avalon… and it was just as wrong of me to scold him so blindly.”

“... Alright. I think we’re mostly on the same page,” Bard said carefully, facing Sebastian in full. “Jus’... what am I suppose’ta say to ’im if he insists on doin’ something dangerous again? I ain’t never told ’im ‘no’ before. I think he’d be right angry if I did.”

That was a fair question. Sebastian drew his gaze to the side. “Tell him… that I have insisted on his safety, and that he should speak with me if he is disappointed by the state of things.” Sebastian met Bard’s eyes then. “You are right. This is different from what I initially instructed you to do. The opposite, in fact. But I have come to understand that the young master is not old enough to keep himself from all harm, or even from merely poor judgment. In certain cases, I believe we must intervene, even if it goes against our position.”

Bard stared for a few seconds before folding his arms and lifting his chin as his signature smirk overcame him. Sebastian hadn’t seen that expression in some time. “Well, that’s more than alright with me… T’be frank, I’m pretty relieved by that.” Bard scratched at the nape of his neck. “And, y’know… Relieved we’re seein’ eye to eye again. Been a little uncomfortable around you lately! There were days I was just waitin’ for you to give me the sack!”

Sebastian offered a capricious smile. “You needn’t have worried about that. To let go of an employee for such a minor infraction would reflect poorly on my lord’s reputation.”

“Oy, you really don’t wait around to start ribbing me again, do you,” Bard said flatly. He smiled back a second later. “Well, you better bring that tea up b’fore it gets cold, I reckon. Oh, n’ I almost forgot — should let you know the farrier is comin’ tomorrow. I thought you might ask the young master if he wants Avalon t’get shod along with the others. I haven’t tried gettin’ a good look at his hooves yet, but it might not hurt tah try and fit him for some new shoes, if the fella can handle it.”

“I will pass it along.” Sebastian picked up the tray. “Just as well, please pass along to Mey-Rin and Finny what I have told you today.”

“Yessir, Mr. Sebastian sir! Can count on me!” Sebastian was already leaving the kitchen, but Bard’s hasty salute was practically present in his voice.

Well. That took care of one problem... though it added another. It occurred to Sebastian that it would be right to let Ciel know of what he’d just informed Bard and the others. Except… Such a reveal was sure to result in bitter fury, and neither of them needed to deal with that. This week shouldn’t be about fighting, but rest.

… Maybe this would never become an issue. If Ciel did not ask the servants to assist him in a blatantly unsafe activity, he would never be told ‘no’ by them, and thus would never find out Sebastian had instructed the household to monitor his behavior. Besides, he and Ciel were communicating better than ever before. Perhaps those days of griping over every little thing could be well behind them.

When Sebastian returned to the bedroom, Ciel was reading Fairclough’s letter. It was put to the side in order to accept the teacup. “Mr. Fairclough has written to let me know he’ll be staying in London at least for the rest of the Season instead of going back to France. He’s found some work with colleges in the area, so he sent me a sort of open invitation to visit whenever I might be available.”

“Very good.” Sebastian set down the tray and held out a small jar of honey. Ciel took the dipper and let some drizzle into his cup. “When planning your schedule for the summer, we shall make certain to leave time for that.”

“Ugh… as if I’ll be left with much time at all,” Ciel grumbled, already going for a second dose of honey. “If this year’s Season is anything like last year’s, I’ll be spending more of the day outside the London house than in it.” The boy’s brow furrowed. “And Soma’s going to be there, too. I won’t have any peace for well over a month.” He sighed angrily, bringing the wand to the honey for yet a third dropper full.

Sebastian pulled the container away. “That’s enough of that, I should think.”

“...” Ciel shot Sebastian an annoyed glare, but decided not to argue it. His spoon clinked gently against the china as he stirred the honey in. “When I was little, I hated to be sick. Not just for the obvious reason. I always felt like I was missing something fun. Now when I get sick, especially during the social season, I’m almost excited about it. It means I get to take a break from everything.”

Sebastian smirked a bit. “You didn’t seem to feel that way when you fell ill during the circus mission.”

“That was different. I had a job to do.” Ciel took a sip of tea. “Wish it were sweeter…” he muttered under his breath. Then he continued, “I don’t like to have any interruptions when I’m doing something important. But I hate going to parties, I hate dancing and small talk, and I hate how every time, someone has to come up to me and say, ‘Oh, you’re the Earl of Phantomhive? I had no idea you were so young! ’ God, the Season is trying.”

“It has certainly always been a struggle for the young master,” Sebastian said. “Perhaps we shall have to think of some way to make it less overwhelming.”

Ciel slouched down on the pillow. “There isn’t anything that can be done. It’s the same torture every year. I just have to deal with it. For two whole months. Without respite.”

Something about the way he spoke troubled Sebastian. “My, such wording. I didn’t know you saw it as torture.”

“Of course you wouldn’t know,” the boy snapped. “It’s not like you have to deal with this, only I do! So don’t mock me like that!”

The sudden flare-up was unexpected. Sebastian almost raised his hands in defense out of surprise. “My intent surely isn’t to mock you, sir,” he said, with a short laugh of confusion. “If anything, I would like to understand better.”

Ciel’s thumb rubbed at the teacup’s handle. “Well, you can’t understand, because everything comes easy for you. So stop arguing with me already.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow ticked. “A… Arguing…?”

“Can you just go make me breakfast now?” Ciel whined. “I told you I was really hungry, so stop wasting time and get around to it. You’re not Hastings’s plaything of a djinn anymore, you’re my demon, and I actually have expectations of you. Get to work.”

“...” Sebastian had no idea what to say. He opted for the default. “Yes… my lord…”

The bedroom door shut softly behind him. Sebastian stood still for a moment in the long, empty hallway. Birds twittered distantly behind the west window, flitting in the warm summer sun. Their far-off song was the only sound to fill the void. Ah. How quaint.

So then...

What the hell was that accusing conversation just now?!

Sebastian grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and slowly composed himself. So, it was going to be like that… It seemed the days of griping over every little thing were, in fact, not behind them at all.

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Get his hair cut. Have his feet measured for new shoes. Respond to the countless letters that had been pouring in since the beginning of May. Talk to him about his anxieties during the mission.

They had six more days to complete all these tasks. It didn’t feel like nearly enough.

“Damn demon! I don’t want to do that right now! Leave me alone!”

Simultaneously, it seemed far too long.

The boy’s small illness had fully cleared up by the end of the day, without the need of medicine or, heaven forbid, pickled barberries. But Ciel Phantomhive’s touchy mood had not faded with it. And when Ciel was feeling touchy, tasks that were once straightforward found themselves in a tangled mess.

Get his hair cut. That should have been simple enough. Ciel had fairly ruly hair, neither too greasy or too dry, too thick or too thin. Sebastian had been cutting it since the very beginning of their contract. Its style had been scarcely altered over time, and was frankly a bit unorthodox, with long bangs that hung around his ears and interlocked in the middle of his forehead (Francis Midford never made a mystery of how much she despised it). Sebastian was just grateful that his charge seemed to have the same opinion on hair that he did: if the texture and appearance were naturally agreeable, there was no reason to attack healthy tresses with products and perfumes. Brushing alone was enough taming.

“It’s too short,” Ciel said to the provided hand mirror, once the cut was over with.

Sebastian removed the towel from the boy’s shoulders and swatted at the back of his neck to brush the stray clippings onto the conservatory floor; the abundant greenery provided for a more engaging view when one had to sit still for a long period of time, so the haircuts were always conducted here. “You asked for me to cut it how I usually do. That’s precisely what I did, my lord.”

“Are you sure?” Ciel’s head turned this way and that. “It doesn’t look right to me. I look younger than I did before.”

That criticism was far too direct to ignore. Sebastian went around to evaluate his charge from the front. He put a hand to his chin, studying. “I’m not sure I see what you mean… To me, shorter hair has always given you a more mature appearance. Perhaps it is only strange this time around, since my lord waited longer than usual to have his hair cut. The difference is much more prominent.”

Ciel was busy fussing with his bangs in the mirror and making expressions of increasing frustration. “It still doesn’t look right to me,” he said, placing the mirror on the trolley beside the scissors and combs. “I don’t need anyone looking at me as if I haven’t grown a bit since last summer. People already consider me a child, they don’t need any other excuses.”

Sebastian supposed that was true too, to an extent. The aristocracy will call him a child, but they’ll only treat him like one when it suits them… and when it doesn’t, he’s an adult again. How very convenient.

Ciel stood, but reached back for the mirror to take a final glance. His fingers tugged through the newly shorn strands, pulling them behind his ears, then back in front. His reflection wrinkled up its nose. “Maybe it’ll look better after a few days, but right now it’s off.”

“I’m sorry it isn’t to your liking, sir,” Sebastian said with a small bow. “Next time, I’ll remove less and see what you think of that.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix anything,” was the biting retort. “‘Next time’ is months away. I’ll just have to put up with it till then.” Ciel rounded his shoulders as he walked briskly out of the conservatory.

Put up with it...?!

Sebastian felt his irritation growing. He knew he had not made a single mistake, and yet somehow, he was being treated like a failure. Again, he took a moment to get ahold of himself. He was thinking about this the wrong way. If Ciel were upset when he received just what he asked for, the problem lay not with Sebastian but with Ciel. Spontaneous outbursts of emotion did not seem to be so unusual during adolescence… Sebastian tidied up, shaking his head subtly. How this behavior could possibly be part of evolution’s design was nothing if not baffling.

Have his feet measured for new shoes. Surely this could go without a hitch. In the bedroom, Sebastian placed a portable desk on the floor and a piece of paper on top of the writing slope. Ciel stepped on the paper and held still so Sebastian could trace his bare foot with a black chinagraph pencil, then again for the other foot on a separate sheet. Finally, Sebastian used a tape measure to find the ball width and circumference measurements of left foot and right, recording the numbers on their respective pages. These details would be sent to Nina’s entrusted shoemaker, who would use them to create two sets of plain congress shoes and button-snap ankle boots alike. It had been decided that until Ciel’s feet had completed their adult growth spurt, it would be somewhat a waste of money for him to have specially-designed footwear.

“You didn’t measure my feet correctly. One of the tracings is clearly bigger than the other.”

Sebastian was kneeling on the floor, bunching up Ciel’s stockings to help slip them back on. He glanced into the boy’s furrowed face, which was studying the two outlines with the meticulousness of a jewel appraiser. Sebastian kept his frown in check. Again, his abilities were under scrutiny… “I made no such mistake, sir. Your feet are slightly different sizes.”

“They’re different sizes?” Ciel’s arms dropped to his sides indignantly. “Why are you acting so calm about it?!”

Sebastian clucked his tongue. “Come now, my lord. I do not think it is so unusual, especially at your age, for this to be the case. There’s no need for panic over something we can do nothing about.”

“There’s no need for you to panic!” The boy plopped on the bed and groaned up at the ceiling. “What are people going to say when they notice? I’m going to look so stupid!”

Hmm… “Young master, I don’t think this is going to be the sort of thing that others will notice. The difference in length isn’t quite an inch. And with shoes on, it will be even less obvious.”

“How do you know what other people will notice?” Ciel stood again, lining up his heels next to each other. He made a noise of shock when he discovered the difference in growth for himself. “How have I never noticed this?”

“It may be something recent,” Sebastian sighed, “and it may very well sort itself out with time.”

“But what if it doesn’t?!”

“Then there is nothing we can do about it, and we’ll merely have to deal with it.”

“No, I’ll have to deal with it! Not you!” Ciel let the papers flutter down to the floor so he could fold his arms. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Shy of binding your feet or removing part of a toe, I can think of nothing, sir.”

With that, Ciel fell back against the bed, with a flop punctuated by a loud, angry snarl from the back of his throat. Uncertain of how else to placate him, Sebastian left the boy to his silent tantrum as he tugged the stockings over his long legs and fixed them to their sock garters.

“I know you’re secretly laughing at me, by the way, so once you put my shoes back on, you can leave.”

“Eh?” Sebastian had just finished with the second pair of laces. He steeled his nerves and glanced up with a weak smile. “I’m certainly not laughing at you, young master… And I thought you wanted to go to your office after this to start planning for the Season’s events.”

“We can get to that later,” Ciel snapped, still laying on his back. “I need a break from you. Go make me a dessert or something that I can eat while we work. That’s an order.”

Such a light request didn’t really merit the command Ciel chased it with, but because the line had been spoken, Sebastian turned around promptly to leave. Externally, the demon kept his countenance as placid and blank as that of a marble bust.

I didn’t even say anything that time, and still...!

Internally, however, he was a roiling sea.

Respond to the countless letters that had been pouring in since the beginning of May. There was no use in pretending this one was going to go well. But, armed with some amicable words and a freshly-baked batch of chocolate fanchonettes, perhaps it could at least be a tolerable meeting.

The heavy-lidded glare Ciel shot from the other side of his desk said otherwise. Right, then... Best to present the peace offering first. Sebastian placed the plate of tarts on the desktop beside the stack of letters. Ciel’s eyes shifted between both and then back to his butler. Sebastian could feel the eggshells beneath his feet.

Amicable words. Time for some amicable words.

“Before we get started,” Sebastian said with effort, “I want to acknowledge that the young master is having a… rather tempestuous sort of day.”

Ciel’s blue eye was as cold as ever. “All right. You’ve acknowledged it. Hats off.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed by the smart aleck commentary. It weakened his cordial smile just slightly. “I wanted to say,” he persevered, “that if you wished to go through the mail tomorrow instead, I would understand. And if you wanted to… tell me anything about how you’re feeling right now, that would… be welcome all the same.”

He’d kept his eyes pleasantly closed until he’d finished speaking the last sentence. Embarrassment was a foreign concept to Sebastian — there was just something in those words that felt like such a betrayal of his own character, he was unexcited to experience Ciel’s response to it.

And with good reason. The look Sebastian eventually had to face was one of judgment, almost disgust.

“... What?” Ciel said at last.

The boy was going to make him explain himself when he was trying to be nice… “I only mean to invite conversation about your current... emotional state. Your mood has surprised me twice today. If something unbeknownst to me is causing your anger, perhaps our time would be better spent evaluating that anger and saving the p—”

“Yes, I gathered that much, thank you,” Ciel spat, still looking at Sebastian with drawn eyebrows. Then his face abruptly relaxed. “Well… I’ve just got one thing to say to you: I’m sorry.”

Oh? “‘Sorry,’ sir?”

“Sorry that I thought you had anything sitting in the cavity between your ears.”

Oh.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say right now.” The fire was back in the boy’s voice and eyes. “You’re asking me why I’m angry? Well, what do you think, you were there for all of it! I don’t like my haircut! My feet are two different sizes! And you, you’ve been a thorn in my side all day, too, you know! I mean… what were you expecting?!” Ciel’s glower was cutting. “Did you think it was going to be like it was during the mission? That something… something that reminded me of that horrible month set me off, and then I’d tell you all about it, and you could give me some of your fake pity? Would that be easier? Maybe for you it would be. Then you wouldn’t have to consider that you’re the problem. Which you definitely are!”

Sebastian was at a loss for words. Even the air around them felt as fragile as glass. “That’s… all well and good sir. If I’m the trouble, then that deserves just as much… discussion as anything else that could be bothering you.”

“As if I even want to talk to you right now.” Ciel’s fingers gripped and ungripped the armrests of his wingback chair. He looked more distraught than ever. “I’m done with you. Leave me alone until I call for you again. Go do something else.”

How miserably that had gone. Sebastian gazed a second longer at the boy who couldn’t meet his eyes, before bowing deeply to show his benevolence. “As you wish… my lord.”

Once again, his back was to a closed door. Sebastian let his head droop in temporary defeat. Even when I bring dessert, I’m still the enemy…?

All right. It was time to reevaluate. He had tried to be patient, gentle, and understanding, and where had that gotten him? No further than when he’d left Ciel to his own devices. Sebastian was deep in thought as he walked the halls. What wasn’t he getting right? Everything Ciel said made it clear Sebastian’s intentions were being completely misinterpreted, though Sebastian himself couldn’t have been more plain. If this point-blank method didn’t convince Ciel he needed to exercise self-reflection, would anything?

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to go and play with cats. He didn’t want Ciel’s irrationality to be his problem… but who else’s problem would it be? Francis Midford’s? The marquis’s? Maybe it should be, but Ciel wasn’t even letting it be anyone else’s problem. It was always Sebastian… and it was always Sebastian he pushed away the most strongly too. Just who did he expect would want to help him if he continued to act so impossible? Nobody would be willing to put up with this kind of behavior unless they had no choice in the matter. Usually, that would be the child’s parents, but Sebastian was the only one left in the boy’s world with ‘no choice,’ so now he was dealing with all that terrible treatment in their stead.

… Oh.

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“I’m taking some sugar cubes with me to give to Avalon while he has his hooves checked. So don’t panic this time if you see me outside with him, all right? I’m not going to get hurt.”

Sebastian had been washing china at the kitchen sink when Ciel’s sudden words had all the effect of a surprise tap on the shoulder. He hoped Ciel hadn’t noticed the way his spine had stiffened at the notion of being directly addressed. To say he was a little jumpy right now was an unfortunate understatement.

Sebastian smoothed his features and responded gracefully, “Certainly, sir. I hope all goes well.”

“Mm-mn.” The affirmative was muffled, as if Ciel had started sucking on a sugar cube while he had them in-hand. Sebastian nearly sent him off with a caution about cavities, but swallowed the words before they could form and returned to his task. Perhaps there was a time when he could chide the young master without worry, but now such scoldings may just create an association with p… pare…

No. He couldn’t bring himself to think the word.

Ciel had gone out the servant’s entrance directly into the stable. Bard was apparently waiting for him, as Sebastian heard the chef ask what he had there.

“It’s sugar. For Avalon. I thought it might help if he had something as a treat to calm him down while the farrier cleans his hooves. He isn’t a biter, right? It would be safe for me to feed it to him, if I were on the other side of the paddock?”

“Yeh, should be jus’ fine, I think, if you keep yer palm and fingers nice n’ flat, but I, uh… Well, I just don’t want you to, uh… That is...” Sebastian could practically hear Bard’s fingers scratching nervously at his stubbly cheek, remembering yesterday’s conversation about saying ‘no’ for the boy’s own good.

Ciel waved off Bard’s hesitation. “Father just said it was fine, so don’t worry about getting in trouble.”

Sebastian almost dropped the teapot he was drying to the floor. Those words were shattering enough on their own.

… surely he didn’t just…

Surely he didn’t just accidentally refer to me as ‘Father’?!

Bard’s voice was like a beacon of confusion slicing through the fog Sebastian’s thoughts had become. “Eh?! Um… You… Talked to him about this before, young master?” he stammered.

Ciel didn’t seem to realize he’d substituted in a very specific word in place of ‘Sebastian.’ “Yes, just a moment ago. When I was getting the sugar.”

“When you was…?” Bard trailed off. “Ehm… Wait… So… Are you saying you… saw him…?”

“Yes, obviously I saw him,” Ciel huffed.

Bard didn’t seem to realize Ciel had subbed in a very specific word in place of ‘Sebastian’ either. He seemed to think Ciel really had meant to mention his father. A father who was no longer alive… or at least... no longer corporeal...

It would be hilarious if Sebastian didn’t feel so threatened.

“Oh… Uhm…” Bard was choosing his words very carefully. “Is that… er… usual? For you to see him?”

Ciel snorted, probably thinking Bard’s phrasing was so odd, it could only be an attempted joke. “I wish it weren’t usual, but unfortunately, yes, I see far too much of him.”

“Whoa!” The chef was gobsmacked. “A-Are you tellin’ me you’re bein’ haunted, young master?!”

“Well, that certainly is one way of putting it,” said Ciel, again with an amused lilt.

Bard was the opposite of amused; his feet shuffled as he whipped around. “D-Do you see him right now?! Is he in here?”

“What? No, he’s not in here! I just told you, he’s in the kitchen.”

“In the kitchen?!” Bard was in full shock now. “Is that where he always is?!”

“Of course not!” Ciel was nearly in equal shock. “He follows me around half the day, how could he always be in the kitchen?! Don’t you think you’d have noticed?!”

It was quiet again for a long moment as Bard tried to process the supposed existence of poltergeists. “Young master… I had no idea… I’m so sorry…” he finally said weakly.

Ciel tsked, nonplussed. “I have no idea how you haven’t noticed, but your sympathy is appreciated.”

“So, are you sayin’ he’s… in the kitchen right now?”

“He was just there a minute ago, so he probably hasn’t left.”

Bard howled, “R-R-Really?! And if I went in, you wager I’d see him?!”

Ciel couldn’t help matching his volume. “Yes! Why wouldn’t you see him?! Are your eyes as bad as Mey-Rin’s all of a sudden?!”

Bard’s footfalls thumped in the direction of the kitchen. He flung wide the servant’s door and stormed in. He was breathing heavily, nervously, as he glanced around the empty room.

“Ehm,” Bard panted with lowering fear, “I don’t see him.”

Ciel clacked in a second later. “Well, then he’s not here! Good grief! You’re acting like he’s some sort of rare bird!”

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Bard stuttered. “It’s… I don’t mean to be rude or, uh, sacrilegious… Honest. It’s just… I’ve never seen a ghost before.”

“A ghost?” More bafflement. “Now what are you on about?”

“Oh! Um, maybe you call it… a-a spirit,” Bard tried. “Or… an apparition? H-Him, I mean, not it.”

“I can promise you, I’d much sooner call him an ‘it’ than a spirit,” said Ciel.

“No, I… I wouldn’t ever call him ‘it’... that’d be disrespectful…” Bard paused. He sounded exhausted. “I’m sorry, sir. This is just a lot for me to take in at once. I didn’t think ghosts really existed... It’s pretty hard, to think your own father might be comin’ from the beyond jus’ to haunt ya…”

Then there was a very long quiet.

“What are you talking about,” said Ciel.

“I… Uh…” Bard’s brain was probably at full capacity now. “Uhm… I’m still not sure what word you want me tah use, but… I thought we was talking about the ghost of your late father...?”

There was another very long quiet.

“... Why in…? What?! ” Ciel was incredulous. “My late father?! Where the hell did you get an idea like that from?! A Dickens novel?!”

“Y-Y-You said you were talking to your father in the kitchen!” Bard shouted, frenzied.

“I never said that!” Ciel shouted back.

“You said that you just asked your father if it was okay to feed Avalon sugar!”

“What?! Why the hell would I say that?!”

“I don’t know, sir, but that’s why I was so confused!”

“I said I was talking to Sebastian!” Ciel yelled. “Where did you get ‘father’ from that?”

“Eh… Um…” Bard got quieter. “You… You definitely said… ‘Father’ just then in the stables, sir…”

“W-Why would I say ‘father’ when I meant Sebastian?” Ciel choked out. Embarrassment was starting to creep into his tone.

“Uh, well, I certainly couldn’t tell you that, sir, only I don’t think I ever would have got it in my head that the ghost of your father was followin’ you if you hadn’t said the word ‘father’...”

“Ghosts aren’t real, you idiot!” was the argument Ciel chose to present.

“I-I-I didn’t think so either, sir, but I was confused, and I didn’t want to make you feel silly if you did believe in ’em!”

“Of course I don’t believe in ghosts! If ghosts were real, this place would be bloody swarming with ghosts! There’d be more ghosts on the property than living creatures!” A pause. “Excluding the bees!”

“But I thought ghosts only came back if they had unfinished business…”

“Don’t act like there are rules for something that doesn’t exist!”

It was quiet again, as clearly a lot of digesting had to happen for both parties.

“So… This whole time, you thought I was talkin’ about Mr. Sebastian?” Bard said at last.

“I can’t comprehend how you thought we would have been talking about anyone other than Sebastian,” Ciel hissed.

“You said ‘father’!”

“Th-There’s no way I did! I would never do something like that!”

“I don’t mean to insult you, honest! I-I called a teacher ‘ma’ once when I was a boy! It just slipped out, that’s all there was to it! It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of!”

“I didn’t say it! You just misheard me!” Ciel’s voice was growing strained. He seemed earnestly worn-out, as his next words were, “This has to be the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had in my life! The farrier has been waiting outside for ages, can we please go join him now?!”

“A-A-A ’course we can! I’m sorry I misunderstood you, but, well, I hope you can see why I was so confused…”

“Stop talking about this already! Ugh, you’re lucky I’m so patient with you lot…”

That was the last of the conversation Sebastian could hear.

He had left the kitchen in a flash the second he heard Bard coming to investigate the “ghost.” There was no way Sebastian could have faced the two of them under those circumstances, nor seen the look on Ciel’s face when he received confirmation that he’d called Sebastian by the wrong title...

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Years ago, when Ciel was barely eleven, he’d made a mistake similar to Bard’s, calling Sebastian ‘father’ while they were in the midst of a latin lesson. As soon as the word left the boy’s mouth, he’d realized it, and hastily, blushingly, went about correcting himself. Sebastian had been highly entertained by this display of regret. For the rest of the day, Ciel had not been able to look at his butler without a sheen of mortification reflecting in his blue eye.

It didn’t feel entertaining now. It felt like a crystal ball prediction of what he and his charge’s relationship would become if he wasn’t careful. He had just made his peace with the idea of at least assisting Ciel through the bouts of adolescence… but a guardian he wasn’t and could never be. That would ruin the soul. That would ruin everything he had worked so hard for. It would ruin him. The only one it wouldn’t ruin was Ciel Phantomhive.

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For the rest of the afternoon up into nightfall, demon and master scarcely spoke. When Ciel went to his bedroom and didn’t call for assistance, Sebastian felt his body relax. With the young master in bed, the entire house had gone to sleep. Now at last he could be alone.

Aah, what a grueling day… Even if his after-hours work still consisted of cleaning up after the other servants, making various small repairs around the manor, and balancing the checkbook, it would be a welcome break compared to everything else he had endured. It all circled back to the young master. He had been so impossible at every turn, hated Sebastian at every turn, and yet still there was some internal part of Ciel that saw his butler as a par... Well. The dreaded word.

Sebastian knew he could only blame himself. He still hadn’t figured out how to be patient with the boy without being too gentle; how to scold him without coming across as concerned. He no longer knew which way was up or down. Was the conniving demon escorting the child to adulthood because he was worried the soul would not properly mature either? Or was the sympathy beast jeopardizing the taste of the meal Sebastian had worked so very hard to preserve? And even though this was entirely new territory, why did Sebastian sometimes have the feeling he knew exactly what to say in order to bring Ciel down from the precipice of sadness, anger, fear?

That aspect worried him the most. Why did he know what to do when he had never done this before? Been any sort of... surrogate, for anybody. Was it just that he knew the boy so well after years of trailing in his stride? Or was there some parasite inside him that made him this way; some little organism that could get inside his mind and change his behavior?

Sebastian could still not say which answer worried him more.

His trepidation only spiked when he entered the so-called servant’s office and saw, next to Ciel’s ever-growing stack of invitations, there was a letter addressed to him. Who in the world would be writing me? Sebastian snatched the letter up immediately and studied the handwriting. That script… it could only belong to Undertaker. Anger was a pulse in his core as he tore open the envelope to see just what message that bothersome excuse for a human had sent him...

Salutations, Butler ~ !

It’s been a while, hehehe…

I’ve missed you, so why don’t you come and visit sometime soon?

I’d love to hear more about you and your adventures with the little lord. I’m sure you wouldn’t want him to learn about our little adventure, after all... ♡

Looking forward to seeing you again ~

Sebastian opened the mouth of the office’s potbelly stove and thrust the letter inside to burn apart.

That’s what he got for trusting the damn Undertaker… As if he’d had much choice. Sebastian closed his eyes, sighing. He despised feeling that anyone other than his contracted had some power over him, some bargaining chip they could use at any moment. But Undertaker’s arsenal of information truthfully wouldn’t make for much of an attack against him. Sebastian’s own fears were the real source of any power Undertaker possessed. Besides, Sebastian could use the laughing bastard right back. If they worked together to uncover the reason behind the sympathy beast, then Sebastian would have his answers, and Undertaker's life would go back to mattering as much (or as little) as it ever had.

All of a sudden, the sound of small footsteps lit the air.

Sebastian swept over to the desk to make himself look busy, but there had been no need for haste. The owner of the footsteps took his time coming into the room, and even once he got there, he seemed bleary-eyed and distracted.

“My lord.” Sebastian turned to face the boy. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour? It is nearly two a.m.”

Ciel had foregone slippers or a dressing gown and was only wearing the knee-length nightshirt he went to sleep in. He had an uncertain atmosphere around him. His gaze was trained somewhat below eye-level.

“I can’t sleep,” Ciel answered at last. “I thought, if I’m just going to lay there, I may as well do something useful.” Sebastian watched him slouch into the room and wander behind the cherry-wood davenport desk to sit in the room’s only chair. “Let’s work on the letters.”

“Oh.” Sebastian blinked. “Now, sir? I think your time would be better spent on something more relaxing, if you’re feeling overly awake.”

Ciel shook his head slowly. “No, I want to work on this.”

Sebastian was torn. He could guess why Ciel was here. The boy wasn’t the easiest sleeper, but once he managed to drift off, he generally stayed that way through the night, unless something woke him up. The weather outside was peaceful, the wind quiet, and there was no mention of feeling sick again. The disturbance was almost certain to have been a nightmare.

But Ciel seemed not to want to talk about it. Should Sebastian mention it? Or should he be relieved the young master was sparing him that personal conversation?

“Sir, I really think…”

Ciel stared at him wearily, pleadingly. Sebastian could not bear to face such a look.

“... Let’s… begin with the most important events first.”

In a few minutes, they were ready to get started. On the tabletop, Sebastian laid open Ciel’s personal docket and flipped to the month of May. “So far, the only major events you’ve been too busy to attend were the Great Spring Show and the London Philatelic Exhibition… neither of which I imagine you’ll be very upset about,” he began. “Next week, June starts with the Trooping the Color. On the 15th, you’ll attend the opening day of the Queen’s Club Championships. I know tennis isn’t your favorite sport to watch, but it’s the tournament’s first year in Kensington, so it would be appropriate to go and show your support. Three days later, you’ll attend the Ascot to watch the Royal Hunt Cup. Then the 30th is the first day of Wimbledon; a week after is the start of the Henley Royal Regatta; and the reopening of Battersea Bridge will be on the 21st of July. And sometime before September, we’ll want to be certain you see the Royal Military Exhibition and the Summer Exhibition…”

Sebastian said all this clearly, calmly, but he was not thinking about his words a bit. Ciel was digesting none of this information. His eyes glazed over the calendar, scarcely attentive to Sebastian’s gloved finger roving from date to date. The truth was, neither of them wanted to do this right now. The world of dreams hadn’t let Ciel out of its clutches yet. Sebastian was only rambling on about future appointments to avoid talking about the real reason Ciel was out of bed. Maybe Ciel even knew that. Maybe they had both constructed separate facades as a shield against the terrible truth: that they were afraid.

Ciel was staring at him now. Sebastian realized he had stopped talking, and without words came the silence. The dreaded silence. The honest silence.

... This was silly. He was a demon. He was not going to live in fear of anything, not even himself. That would not be living.

Sebastian crouched down on one knee to make himself shorter than the boy. He tilted his head to one side and asked, “Young master, are you unable to sleep because of a nightmare?”

Ciel looked at Sebastian with an exhausted surprise that seemed to come from a far-off part of him. He returned his attention to the almanac. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s pencil in the exhibitions for early August. I’ll have the most free time when the Season is winding down, and I know July is going to be completely full.”

“Never mind the exhibitions. Now isn’t the time to talk about that. It’s very late, and you need to be in bed. If you went back upstairs now, would you be able to fall asleep?”

“If I were able to fall asleep, I wouldn’t be down here.” Ciel frowned. “Don’t tell me to go to bed. This is what I want to do right now.”

“Is this what you want to do,” Sebastian began, “or is it what feels safer to do?”

“Safer?” Ciel growled. “Why would it feel safer to go through the mail? What the hell are you on about?”

“Not necessarily going through the mail. But being somewhere outside of your bedroom. Being around others. Avoiding having a nightmare.”

“Stop pretending you understand me!” the boy snapped. “What’s with you today? It’s like you’re trying to make me angry at you! Why can’t you just be normal?!”

“Normal, sir?”

“Normal!” Ciel repeated. “Someone who doesn’t keep asking me what’s wrong when everything’s fine!”

Sebastian offered a benign smile. “But everything isn’t fine, is it?”

Ciel pointed forcefully. “Like that! Stop saying things like that!”

“Young master, we need to discuss what happened during the mission.”

The hand faltered. “... Where is that coming from? What’s there to discuss?”

“I know you don’t want to, but I think it’s very necessary that we look more closely at the times where your anxieties consumed you.”

Ferocity entered Ciel's tone. “Why?! What’s the point in doing that? Honestly, can’t we just get back to the mail?”

“If you still wish to go over the letters after we talk about the mission, I promise we can keep working on it. But right now, this seems more important.”

“Why do you get to decide that without me?!” Ciel leapt to his feet. “I’m trying to forget about all that stupidity, but it seems like both you and my dreams won’t let me! Awake, asleep, I can’t escape no matter what I do! Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe I’m sick of being upset all the time?! I don’t want to dwell on the things that make me feel useless! I want to push forward!” He slammed his palm on the desk. “I want to keep going!”

Ciel breathed heavily as he stood over Sebastian. Otherwise, it was silent.

“Ah, young master.”

Sebastian raised his chin, smiling up at the boy primly.

“Our goals are not so different, you know.”

Ciel plopped back in the chair when Sebastian suddenly stood to his feet and rounded the desk. He watched as Sebastian snatched the first letter off the top of the stack and tore back the wax seal. “Very well, sir. As you said, let’s keep going.”

“A-All right…” said Ciel, sensing a shift in the atmosphere.

Sebastian removed the paper and read aloud, “Lady Augustine is inviting you to observe a game of lawn tennis and have brunch at her home along with other guests on the 23rd of June. Would you like to attend that event?”

Ciel was studying Sebastian carefully. “Lady Augustine is close with Aunt Francis, so it wouldn’t be right to turn her down.”

“Perhaps,” said Sebastian. “But, I ask again: would you like to attend that event?”

Ciel hunched his shoulders, wary. “Not... really.”

Sebastian put the card aside and opened the next letter. “Lord Sterne wonders if you would like to hear a private concert at his residence on the 5th of July.”

“Private concerts aren’t so bad. I can go to that one.”

“But would you like to go?”

“I just said they aren’t so bad.”

Sebastian smirked. “My lord has trouble answering this question properly.”

“If it were just about doing things I liked, I’d probably scarcely go to any of these,” Ciel huffed, throwing out his arms. “Maybe even none of them. But it’s not about what I like.”

“In the past, it hasn’t been,” Sebastian said. “I was wondering if perhaps we should change that.”

Ciel cupped his chin, leaning on his elbow. “What’s your plan for that? I can’t just suddenly enjoy all these parties.”

“No. But you can avoid going to them altogether.”

Ciel was staring at Sebastian like he was speaking a different language. “I can’t say ‘no’ to everybody, you idiot, it would look like I was trying to send a message! What would people say if I didn’t do anything all summer?! They’d probably think I felt like I was too good for anyone else, or that I was acting like a hermit!”

“I don’t think you should do nothing all summer either. But I do have to wonder… if the young master were to paint his own picture of the Season, how would it look?”

“Probably how it does any other time of year,” Ciel grumbled. “Work, studies, recreation. The very occasional and sparing party.” He furrowed his brow. “I feel like you’re trying to get at something here, but I can’t tell what it is. Out with it.”

“Very well, sir.” Sebastian tucked the stack of letters into the nook of his arm. “I was thinking that, perhaps instead of going to many small parties, my lord would rather throw one very large event and invite all the people who sent him letters to attend. And when questioned why you were busy, you could answer that it was in preparation.”

“...” Ciel leaned back in the old chair, making it creak loudly. He shook his head. “No... no, no. That wouldn’t work as an excuse. People throw parties and attend others’ parties every Season. I should be able to do the same.”

“Young master,” said Sebastian, “you are fourteen years old.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with any of this...” Ciel groaned.

“Plenty, sir. What an expectation it is, to have to do so much at your age.” Sebastian raised his eyebrows to show he was being facetious. “Yes, I know you hate to hear that. You don’t have to believe it. So long as other people believe it, that is what will allow you to escape the careful scrutiny you so detest. So then.” Sebastian held up the first letter. “Would you like to attend Lady Augustine’s brunch?”

Ciel ducked his chin. “No.”

“Very well, sir.” Sebastian cleared his throat and recited, “My dear Lady Augustine... I must regretfully decline your kind offer to join you for brunch on the 23rd of June. I have no doubt it will be a most exquisite party, but I have my hands full planning an event of my own. You must imagine that at my age, it is a lot to balance. I hope you can understand, and please do expect an invitation in the mail in the near future. It simply wouldn’t be the same without your attendance. Humbly yours…”

And then Sebastian opened the stove’s furnace door and fed Lady Augustine’s letter to the fire.

Ciel’s mouth was open when Sebastian turned back. He looked almost dazzled with disbelief. “You’re fully serious right now?” he said. “You’re actually going to let me spend my summer doing whatever I want?”

“I wouldn't put it exactly like that,” Sebastian chuckled. “I think you should absolutely throw a very large and impressive party for all the people you don’t plan on seeing who kindly invited you to their socials. But I think it should be the sort of party you would like to attend.” He thumbed over to the next letter. “Now, would you like to go to the concert at Lord Sterne’s manor?”

“No,” said Ciel, with a sly mirth just under the surface of the word.

“How about the dinner hosted by Lord and Lady Thrussell’s daughter?”

“Not at all.” There was genuine relish in his voice now.

“And the cricket match to be played in Mr. Hendry’s garden, accompanied by hors d’oeuvres?”

“Definitely not! Watching Edward’s match was all the cricket I needed for a whole year!”

So it went for the next eight letters, with Ciel joining him by the stove to throw the paper into the flames. Sebastian would remember the contents of every single note burned and would respond accordingly, so there was no reason to hold back. The boy was grinning wickedly, the hearth casting orange light on his face, as he gorged the merry fire on paper and ink. Its crackling voice sang back its approval.

Eventually, Sebastian caught Ciel yawning and put the envelopes aside. “That’s enough of that for now, I think. You should give sleep another attempt.”

“Yeah. Sort of got caught up in it. Forgot what time it was.” Ciel moved reluctantly away from the furnace warming his legs. He shot Sebastian another probing glance. “You’re serious about this? You’re going to let me say no to every single one of these?”

Sebastian bowed his head. “If that is what you want, sir.”

“I shouldn’t want it,” Ciel said. He smirked. “But I’m not going to pretend it isn’t exactly what I want.”

“Very good. Now, allow me to light your way back, young master.”

Ciel strode a few feet ahead of Sebastian, but both were perfectly illuminated in the golden orb the candle made. The house somehow seemed more quiet than ever with their steps tapping down the halls and up the staircases. Sebastian wondered if he should break that silence. Ciel did it first.

“You’d think I’d be afraid of fire, after everything that’s happened here. Maybe I’m a fool not to be. But I think I find it sort of comforting.”

The flame wavered, as if realizing it was the topic of conversation.

“That’s why I liked burning the letters so much. There’s such a feeling of finality when something turns to ash. You know it can never come back. You know it’s really gone forever.”

Ciel seemed to need no provocation to speak. Sebastian did not interrupt him.

“I think that’s why there’s a part of me that feels… guilty and sick, when I think about those boys at the Hundred Acres. I want to look back on the mission and think, ‘Ah, right, they’re gone. They aren’t suffering anymore, and they won’t have me to blame for that.’ And then I won’t have to suffer either… It sounds selfish when I put it that way. As if I’m playing God. But looking back, I can only feel selfish that I didn’t burn it all. I let them keep their suffering. Should they forgive me for that?”

“You could ask them yourself,” said Sebastian, “if it would bring you peace.”

“They’re children. They’re too young to know all the burdens I’ve left them.” Ciel sighed out his nose. “... but… despite what I feel right now… I think I would like to become someone who didn’t want to burn things.”

Sebastian felt the corners of his mouth lift just slightly. “Poetically put, my lord.”

“Tuh.” The small procession stopped in front of the master bedroom. “Back to normal now, are you?”

“Sir?”

“Never mind.” Ciel opened the door. “Don’t let me sleep past noon tomorrow, all right? We have work to do.”

“Certainly, my lord. Rest well now.”

Sebastian was then left alone in the hallway with the candle. He had no need for it on his own. He went to blow it out like he usually did… but, after a second thought, Sebastian kept the light his companion as he wandered back into the darkness.

Chapter Text

“You played some part in this, didn’t you?”

Francis Midford held up a copy of The Times from a few days ago, the front page bearing the article “17 Horses And 4 Boys Rescued Beneath Banstead Asylum.” An ink drawing attempted to capture the sight of the horses being led out from the basement by Scotland Yard at night, an image no doubt strange enough to have the papers sell themselves. Ciel had already read the article and knew he wasn’t mentioned in it, but Francis Midford was familiar enough with the Watchdog’s work to sniff out when it had been exacted.

“Oh. Uh, yes,” said Ciel from his side of the coffee table. Lizzie sat close to him on the baroque sofa and kept herself plastered to his arm. “It kept me pretty busy over the last month… that’s why I’m so behind on preparing for the Season.”

Francis glanced the article again, narrowing her eyes. “To think people this deranged can evade notice for so long… and on English soil… It sickens me.”

“You told me you weren’t going to be in that much danger, Ciel!” Lizzie fussed. “I’m glad those terrible people didn’t hurt you, too!”

“Yes… the victims do appear to be children a bit younger than yourself…” Aunt Francis mumbled under her breath. She finished skimming and looked up at her nephew again. “You weren’t hurt, then?”

“No, I was fine,” Ciel said, almost indignant. “It’s all taken care of, so it’s back to business, as usual. Quite literally. Funtom work is going to keep my schedule pretty full this summer, but I thought I’d ask if there were any events you expected me to attend, other than the major events of the Season that we already agreed to.”

Sebastian stood against the east wall of the Midford’s sitting room, near Lizzie’s maidservant, Paula, as if awaiting a possible order. He knew his primary job here was to act more as Ciel’s planner and listen in to take note of any dates the Midford ladies wanted Ciel to keep. This was because his young master had realized, the morning after the letter-burning session, that it was too early for him to be canceling any invitations.

“I’ll have to check in with my family to see what their plans are first,” he explained. He was sitting up in bed, seeming fully rested, despite the fact that it was only ten a.m. Sebastian had been utterly surprised to see Ciel awake before he came to get him. That hadn’t happened in quite some time. “Write them a letter, and see if I can meet with them within the next few days. I’m sure they’ll be available, but it’s better to double-check.”

“Certainly, sir,” Sebastian said, and then couldn’t resist pointing out, “It’s unexpected to see you aren’t still asleep.”

Ciel sniffed, a slight glare in his eyes, as if Sebastian’s observation wasn’t anything worth mentioning. “I told you that we had plenty to do today, didn’t I? I’ve had a lot on my mind since we decided last night that I’d be hosting some kind of big party. I have to get started preparing now, if this event will be anything like I want it to be.”

Again, Sebastian was surprised. “You already have some idea of what you’d like to do, my lord?”

“Well,” Ciel began, “in truth, it wasn’t that hard to narrow it down… When I thought about your suggestion that it be a party I’d like to attend, it didn’t take me long to realize that the only large party I’d ever be interested in going to would be one that benefitted me in some way. So, something promotional for Funtom could be just the thing. I’ve always found the best way to advertise is to get the public talking, spreading word all of their own accord. And that’s exactly what I’ll do… the only question is, what to advertise.”

Ciel had trailed off in thought. Now he looked up sharply. “I’ll need you to send a message to Mr. Cavendish posthaste. The factory equipment necessary to create the Indian desserts is still in development. It may be far too early for me to expect food samples. If that’s the case, the promotion would have to be about something entirely different... Summer is usually a slow period for Funtom in terms of everything but confectionery sales. Rain gear is entirely dependent on the weather. However, toy sales tend to be at a steady low until autumn, because the majority of our toys are intended for indoor use. We could choose to expand deeper into the sales of outdoor games… no doubt we’d be successful… but I’m much more interested in uncharted territories.”

Sebastian lifted one corner of his mouth. “And just what territory would that be?”

“I have yet to decide. But I think I know just the person who can help with that.”

Henri Fairclough. It brought Sebastian some relief to know they’d be visiting with the man soon. At last, he could get a better assessment of this human, see if he had a suitably paternal nature that Ciel could benefit from — and Sebastian in turn. But maybe at this point, it wouldn’t even matter.

Two days ago, Ciel had accidentally called Sebastian ‘father.’ Initially, this had terrified Sebastian; made him feel more like the hunted than the hunter. But he didn’t want to be terrified anymore. It was exhausting, and personally humiliating. So what, then, if his prey thought of him as a parent? So what, if he were to even behave as a parent along the way? Had he forgotten what he was? Had he forgotten how much he enjoyed the end of the contract? To see his charges’ faces change as they at last realized the one who had been so attentive to them and their whims, the one that they’d allowed themselves to trust, had never been their friend, had never been a part of their flock, had never been anything more than a starving wolf, and they a vulnerable little sheep?

When Sebastian at long last had this lamb backed up against a cliff, surely he would thank himself for dashing the child’s unspoken hope for parental nurturing. That fresh pain would add even more delectable nuance to a soul already marbled in grief and torment.

Surely… surely... he would thank himself.

Lizzie’s voice swept through Sebastian’s thoughts like a gentle wave. “Edward’s graduating in a week! Are you coming to that?” she bubbled.

Ciel’s eye widened. “H-He is? Did you send an invitation? I don’t think I knew that… Well, I knew he was graduating this year, I just forgot it was so soon...”

Aunt Francis cleared the matter up. “No, I didn’t send you a letter. Don’t worry about it, it’s going to be far too busy. Peverel’s Honor won’t have any spare rooms after Edward joins us, not to mention…” She sighed, hand touching lightly at her forehead. “Alexis’s entire family is coming to the ceremony… and you know they’re all just like him. It’s going to be ridiculously sentimental and boisterous the entire weekend. I’m not even certain they will all be allowed to attend the ceremony itself, unless it’s outdoors, there are far too many of them. We’ll have another celebration here at the manor later, and you’ll certainly be invited to that, but I thought you might not care to be part of all the... pandemonium.”

“Er, you thought right… thank you,” Ciel said, in a strained voice that betrayed he was imagining that ‘pandemonium’ and was all too grateful to be skipping out on it. “All right, so there will be an upcoming party for Edward... I’ll definitely be in attendance. Is there anything else?”

“Yes! Yes, there are so many things!” Lizzie was pouting. She jogged up and down, bouncing on the sofa cushion. “What about dancing? What about the Sunday Church Parade? And picnics and lawn games and gymkhana and fêtes champêtre at Buckingham Palace? Aren’t we going to do activities together? Is your work really going to keep you so busy for the entire summer that we can’t see each other at least once or twice a week?”

“M-Maybe once a week or so is all right…” Ciel stammered, likely to avoid whatever protestations might strike if he said otherwise. But once he was sure she was appeased, “No more than that, though. Funtom is going to be very busy over the next few months. We’re coming out with a new line of Indian desserts, and the marketing team will want me to sign off on logos and packaging. The Queen made a special request for this, so I want to make sure everything is perfect. Plus, I’m going to host a publicity event for Funtom before the Glorious Twelfth^[※], and I still have to plan it. It’s a lot of work.”

Lizzie’s shoulders drooped, but she forced a smile. “Well, then… Is there anything I can do to help you, so you have more free time?”

“I can’t imagine what you could possibly help with… er, but I’ll let you know if I think of something,” Ciel added hastily when she continued to stare at him with large, hopeful eyes.

Francis nodded her approval. “Well, I think focusing on your business is wise… Just so long as you don’t plan to spend the entire summer working. I don’t want to hear any rumors about my nephew becoming a shut-in.”

“Neither do I,” Ciel sniffed, “which is exactly why I came.” He leaned back towards the armrest somewhat to better face his fiancée. “Three events. I’ll go to three events of your choosing, and no more than that. I’m sure Edward would be more than happy to take you wherever else you want to go. And we can still visit each other outside of that, but I don’t like parties. So only three.”

Lizzie tapped her cheek. “Only three? Ah, I’ll have to think really hard… There’s so many wonderful parties this Season…”

“Just let me know as soon as possible,” Ciel sighed. He looked back at his aunt. “Other than the celebration for Edward, is there really nothing else you need me for?”

“No. I’m glad you’re working. I trust you to handle your own schedule.” Francis took a sip of tea, then added almost hastily, “But yes, you... should try to see us at least a few times a month this summer. I hope your work doesn’t keep you so busy that that becomes impossible.”

“Oh. Er, no, I think that’s fine.” Ciel sounded confused. “Is there any reason you want to see so much of me?”

Aunt Francis looked at him curiously. “We’re family. Do we need more reason than that?” She took another sip of tea. “Lizzie isn’t the only one who enjoys spending time with you, you know.”

Lizzie hugged Ciel’s arm tighter. “That’s right! And Edward likes you, too, even if he won’t admit it! And of course Father thinks you’re wonderful!”

Ciel shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Uh, sure… Well, as I said, just let me know when. Knowing the dates for all this will help me finalize my schedule.”

“Let’s meet every Saturday!” Lizzie decided. “That way we don’t have to worry about planning so much!”

“E-Every Saturday?”

“You said once a week was all right!”

“Eh, I-I guess… But I might have to reschedule sometimes.”

“As long as it’s not that often!”

“Fine, fine…”

“Good.” Lizzie jumped up then, loosing herself from Ciel’s arm in order to take his hand. “Speaking of parties, I have something to show you in the ballroom! Come on, come with me!”

“Hold on, both of you.” Lizzie had just hoisted Ciel to his feet when Aunt Francis’s voice stopped them in their tracks. She had an authoritative air about her. “Sit back down. We need to have a talk before you go running off anywhere.”

Ciel seemed to shrink back from this sudden change in tone. Lizzie plopped down again, frustrated, as if she knew just what was coming. Ciel sat down gingerly beside her, looking every inch of him unexcited.

He had good reason to be, as the conversation ended up being about his least favorite topic. “The two of you are growing up,” Aunt Francis began. Sebastian could practically sense Ciel’s soul shriveling in displeasure as if to say, Not this nonsense again... “Elizabeth, if you weren’t already engaged, you would be presented in court next year. Goodness knows your father and I would have our hands full if that were the case… because you are a strong-willed girl, and there’s nothing shy about you. That is why…” Francis folded her hands in her lap. “... from now on, whenever you and Ciel are together, you cannot go unescorted.”

“But Mother!” Lizzie was swiftly opposed. “Ciel and I have been engaged since we were children! We’ve always spent time together, just the two of us, even when we were little! Why does that have to stop just because we’re getting older?”

“That’s my point entirely,” Aunt Francis tutted. “Perhaps you don’t feel it yet, but as you grow up, you will want different things from life. And whether or not you do, society has expectations for children when they come of age. What would people think, if I did not make the minimum effort to prevent scandal? It is out of the ordinary for those who are affianced to spend much time alone at all.”

“Scandal! Mother, just what do you think of us?” Lizzie’s pitch rose. “You’re making assumptions before we’ve even done anything!”

“As it should be.” Aunt Francis gazed resolutely at her daughter. “I don’t want to see you behaving like my brother did at your age… Turning into a gamboling stag every summer when he came home from school, filling the ears of any pretty girl who came his way with poetry and lies. No, I absolutely won’t have it. You may have your wits now, but it won’t last forever. Glare all you like, Elizabeth, it won’t change my mind. I wouldn’t be a proper mother if I didn’t do this much.”

“As long as you still trust us,” Elizabeth said. “Ciel and I have always been very well-behaved, you know!”

“And I have a reputation to uphold, so I wouldn’t…” Ciel trailed off, feeling too awkward to finish his own sentence — probably uncertain of how he even planned to finish it.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” the marchioness said earnestly. “I am only doing my duty. The two of you really aren’t anything like Vincent was, at least in this regard, thank goodness. I hope I don’t sound as if I’m revealing something, either. Your father outgrew such behavior long before he met your mother, Ciel. And even when he did flirt, I think it was more for the sport of it. Such a wanton young trifler…” She shook her head disapprovingly at the memory. “Well… that’s all I have to say. You children can run along now. Just take Paula or someone else with you to chaperone.”

Lizzie sprung to her feet, hoisting Ciel up with her. “Children, adults! Which one is it?” she huffed. “It seems like you choose whichever one is most convenient for you in the moment.”

“You’re children,” said Aunt Francis simply, “with brains that are telling you you’re adults.”

Ciel blinked at his aunt after she said that, as if finding her words strange. He only had a second to process this before he was whisked off his feet.

“Sebastian can come with us,” Lizzie said, as she marched a stumbling Ciel over to the doorway. Paula wilted slightly at being dismissed but did not say anything. Sebastian noted this but did not say anything either. He merely responded, “Yes, my lady,” and followed the pair of child-adults out of the parlor.

The journey was quiet for a short while. Ciel eventually began, weakly, “Well… that was emb—”

“Oohhh, I knew that was going to happen!” Elizabeth snapped abruptly, her shoulders bunching up just a bit. “I just knew it! It’s so unfair!”

“H-How did you know that was going to happen?” Ciel stuttered. The back of his neck was flushing pink.

Elizabeth explained fiercely, “I told Paula that I kissed you on the cheek before your mission—”

“Y-You, you huh—?”

“—and it’s not like that was anything to fret over! It was just on the cheek!” Lizzie huffed again. “But Paula was acting nervous when I told her, as if I’d done something truly inelegant, and I made her promise not to tell Mother… But she must have done it anyway! Oh, I knew that was going to happen.”

It was quiet again: Lizzie puffed up with rage like a small, territorial bird, Ciel practically melting with mortification as he was dragged along. He finally found enough of his voice to say, “You… We… shouldn’t be doing things like that anyway. And you… shouldn’t be... telling people about it either. As if it’s something to brag about… It’s a silly thing to do.”

“Mm. I suppose.” Elizabeth didn’t seem like she was fully listening. Then she squeezed Ciel’s left arm tighter, and announced, “But my friends do say they’re very jealous of us, and sometimes I can’t help it!”

“What do they possibly have to be jealous about…”

“Plenty!” Lizzie said. “It’s not every girl who gets to marry someone she actually enjoys the company of, you know! Our parents were lucky, and so are we. Jane and Amelia are worried about getting wed to someone boring and intolerable who’s much older than them, and that they’ll live far away from London, and then they won’t get to do anything fun anymore. That’s what happens to most girls when they marry! I don’t have to worry about any of that.”

Ciel still didn’t see her point. “Right. As if I’m very much fun myself.”

“Sure you are! I have more fun with you than anybody! You’re tons of fun!”

“Am I, then… I’m not sure how that’s possible, but if you say so.”

A minute later, the entourage arrived at the ballroom where Elizabeth and the rest of her family practiced their fencing. The Midfords were more social than Ciel (as if it were possible to be less social than him), but they didn’t often have dances, and the large, empty room afforded the perfect space for swordplay. Lizzie was hurrying her way over to a table with several long paper parcels draped across it.

Ciel’s gaze was on the wide windows overlooking the gardens, greater in scale than his own, if only because this gardener was more adept at growing flowers than killing them. “Are you going to be entering any fencing competitions this summer?”

“No. I don’t really like competitions very much anymore. The boys always get so upset when they lose to me, and so do their fathers. It made me feel too sorry for them.” Lizzie said all this offhandedly, seeming far more concerned with the parcels than the conversation.

Ciel turned to her, brow furrowed. “That’s not fair. You’re better than them, you shouldn’t have to feel bad about it. If those boys can’t handle being beaten just because you’re a girl, they shouldn’t be competing in the first place.”

Lizzie smiled over her shoulder. “Aww, you’re so nice, Ciel. But I don’t miss the competitions. They weren’t all that fun, honestly.”

“It’s not about being nice, it’s about being realistic,” Ciel said. Then his posture tensed when Lizzie finally discarded the paper layer surrounding the ‘surprise.’ “Wait… Are those—”

“Matching outfits for the Trooping the Color!” Lizzie cheered, spinning around with her arms bundled full of clothing. “Nina and I have been hard at work making a wardrobe we can wear on all our excursions! This is only the first one, Nina is still crafting the others, but she promised they’d all be on time for their respective events. She still had your measurements from last month, so it should fit just fine, too! Come look at what we made, Ciel, we did such a fantastic job!”

Elizabeth spread the clothing out on the long table while Ciel shuffled reluctantly over. From a distance, Sebastian could see the glints of gold in the afternoon sun. He moved a little closer himself, staying his usual respective distance away.

“Oh… Wow…” Ciel said awkwardly. “This must have been expensive to order at the last minute… Wasn’t Aunt Francis angry…?”

“Nope! Nina said it wouldn’t cost a thing as long as we promise to wear everything she’s making to every event and to advertise her business if anyone asked where we purchased the clothing!” Ah. Of course she did. Elizabeth captured Ciel’s shoulders in a hug. “What do you think? Aren’t they just so pretty and festive?”

Sebastian’s eyes could see just fine from fifteen feet away what Nina had concocted. For Elizabeth, there was a long-sleeved and high-necked cuirass bodice in navy blue. It was in the dolman-style, to match the military event, and was fully decked in every bit of gold passementerie that could be imagined. Sebastian did have to note that the galloon was what humans now referred to as “real galloon,” hand-embroidered, as opposed to soutache, which was much cheaper and easier to apply. Fringed epaulettes and aiguillette made the bodice certain to turn heads. The matching flared skirt had no decorations, save for a few thin white stripes around the hem. Its simplicity was clearly meant to emphasize the fineness of the dolman bodice. A soft tam o’shanter trimmed with gold ribbon would complete the look.

As for Ciel, he too had a jacket in the dolman style, though it bore considerably less embellishment. Two columns of gold buttons reached up to a tall neckline, the collar of which was trimmed in galloon that continued down to frame every edge of the jacket. The epaulettes and aiguillette came across as much more masculine without embroidered designs to mar the blank navy scape of the fabric. The revers^[♠] on the sleeves and pockets revealed an interior of soft white silk. Just as Lizzie’s skirt was simple, so too did the trousers remain undecorated. Instead of a tam, Ciel had a Glengarry to go with his outfit.

“Why are the hats Scottish?” was the first real comment Ciel made.

“Because they’re cuter!” was the natural answer. “British helmets are too bulky and bucket-shaped! Not a cute base at all! These have both style and comfort.”

“I suppose I do prefer this to the alternative…” Ciel muttered. He blinked, remembering that Lizzie had helped to make these, and that he should provide some positive feedback. “Uh, they’re very nice. The colors and style are good. I just hope people don’t, er… think we’re trying to make a mockery of the military by dressing like this.”

“Aww, no one will care! I bet they’ll think it’s fun,” Lizzie said. She swung Ciel’s hand in her own. “We should wear fun and cute things while we’re young! We won’t get to do this forever, you know!”

Ciel looked down at the table. “We’re not that young…”

“Don’t say that! I’m older than you!” Lizzie pouted. “If you think you’re old, then you think I’m old too!”

“I-I didn’t say I thought I was old…” Ciel defended. Then, to try to clear up his mistake, “You’ll always look younger than me either way. You put effort into it.”

“Heh heh.” Lizzie blushed. “But! I don’t dress like a little girl anymore either! You’ve noticed, right?”

“Uhm, of course,” Ciel said. After a long pause in which Lizzie stared at him expectantly, he tried, “Y-Your dress is very nice today.”

Fortunately, Lizzie laughed brightly, and hugged him again. “Oh, Ciel, you can be so bad at giving compliments sometimes! It’s all right. We’ll get enough compliments when you and I dress alike to make up for it. You will wear it, right? If you don’t, I’m going to be so embarrassed!”

“Yes, yes, I’m going to wear it…”

“Hooray! I’m so excited!” Lizzie clapped her hands together. “Sebastian, make sure to take it with you when you leave today, please! But now let’s go outside and walk around! It’s so warm, and the flowers have all come in, so let’s enjoy them before the rain makes the ground too soft!”

Ciel was promptly toted off to the next location. Sebastian almost forgot to follow after them. So the two couldn’t be alone anymore... That might make things difficult when Elizabeth was to come to the Phantomhive manor. But... Sebastian couldn’t help wondering if they needed to obey these rules when off the property of the marchioness. It wasn’t because he found the rule arbitrary in general. He just felt that Ciel was more trustworthy than Francis was giving him credit for. Somehow... that made him feel oddly unsettled.

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“What do you think about what my aunt said earlier?”

And apparently Sebastian wasn’t the only one considering this topic.

It was bedtime, and Ciel lay propped against his pillows, arms folded atop the comforter. His face was highlighted a gentle orange by the flame behind the tall glass bulb of the paraffin lamp. He was staring right at Sebastian with both eyes revealed, the mismatch of blue and purple. The contract mark did not glow, not like it had less than a week ago when the boy stood at the top of Hastings’s stairwell, delirious with fear. Now, Ciel’s expression was one of surly inquisition. A very familiar expression indeed.

Sebastian finished closing the curtains and ventured, “Which of her words are you referring to, my lord?”

“I’m talking about when she said that Lizzie and I were children with brains that are telling us we’re adults,” he grumbled. “I’ve thought of myself as an adult for a long time now. I own a business, I’m an earl, and I’m the Queen’s guard dog. These are things a child couldn’t be. And now Aunt Francis is saying that it’s just normal for someone my age to believe they’re grown up, even though they aren’t. But I actually am.” Ciel slouched down so his chin was closer to his folded arms, his nightshirt riding up around his neck. “I just… feel stupidly angry about it. She’s wrong, isn’t she? At least about me. There are probably plenty of boys my age who think they’re grown up, but actually aren’t. Does she really lump me in with them just because we’re all fourteen years old?”

Fourteen years old. Sebastian had no memory of being so young. Most demons were considered whelps until reaching their first century of life. For his species, Ciel was no such thing. But was he an adult?

No. Of course not. In fact, as much as Ciel hated being called a child, Sebastian was surprised to hear he felt this way.

“My young master thinks he is fully grown already?” Sebastian mused.

Ciel lowered his eyebrows and glanced to the side. “I mean… It’s not… Obviously I’m not done growing. I just mean…” He snorted a breath, seeming frustrated. “I just feel like I have more in common with adults than children. I don’t even like being around children. Most people my age are very boring and petty. They even feel like children to me. When I talk to them, it’s like they don’t know anything about… how life is. And maybe they shouldn’t. But they make for terrible company.”

Sebastian couldn’t help laughing a bit, not unkindly, though Ciel glowered anyway. “You might say the young master has an old soul, hmm?”

An eye roll was the (probably deserved) response. “Stupid jokes aside,” Ciel continued, “I always thought my aunt saw me as an adult too. But after visiting with her today… I just feel like… Like I’m… Ugh!” He clapped a hand over his eyes. “That conversation was so embarrassing! Does Aunt Francis… Does she really think she can’t trust me and Lizzie anymore?!” Ciel was seething, his teeth grit whenever he paused his speech. “I feel like she had more faith in me when I was ten than she does now! She barely meddled in my life when I first came back to the manor, but now… Now she’s setting all these rules, as if she suddenly has a say in what I do! Why does she think she has that power? She’s not in charge of me! She never has been!”

Ah; so that was the real trouble. Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “Yes… I can see why that would be annoying for you.”

The anger dissolved from Ciel’s face for a second. “Wait, what? You can?” He shook his head. “I mean, you should agree with me. I’m just surprised that you do.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I have no trouble agreeing with my lord when what he says is true. Your aunt did not ‘meddle in your life’ when our contract began. This is recent behavior.” He paused when a thought dawned on him. “It could be… that she is trying to make amends for her absence.”

Ciel was back to being angry. “I don’t need her to make amends! Especially after so much time has passed,” he snapped. “Of course, I can’t tell her that without being disrespectful. But it’s infuriating that she’s suddenly deciding to act this way now that it’s convenient for her.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sebastian surprised them both by saying. He added, “It would have been more helpful to my lord if she had been attentive since the beginning.”

Ciel was quiet. “I don’t know about that,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t be who I am now if she and my uncle had decided I should live with them. This is my estate, and I have a right to it. And there are many things I never would have accomplished if someone was there trying to dilute my success, trying to tell me what a child should and shouldn’t do.” He sat up straighter. “I’m mostly angry because it seems like she doesn’t see any of that. When she stays out of my business, I’m perfectly capable of success. So she should just leave me alone, like she did before.”

Sebastian felt himself disagreeing. He decided it was better not to voice it. He didn’t even fully understand his own feelings on the matter. “Perhaps that is so, sir. Maybe there is a way you could make her aware of your thoughts without trying her authority as your elder.”

“Hmph. Well I certainly can’t think of one.” He rolled over on his side to watch Sebastian snuff out the lamp. “Anyway, wake me up at ten o’clock tomorrow. I’m seeing Fairclough for tea at four, but I want to get some of my questions for him organized before then.”

Sebastian smiled lightly. “Very good, sir. Sleep well.”

And so the house fell quiet, another day ended for all its inhabitants, sans the one who never slept. The sleepless one’s mind was not quiet a bit. Ciel had got him thinking back to the beginning of the contract, too.

Sebastian had barely existed in the boy’s world when he first met the Midford family. The reunion had been… curious to Sebastian, even then. Edward had just gone back to school after a period of mourning (though he would come home again after he got the news of his cousin’s safe return), but Elizabeth and her parents were there to meet Ciel. Lizzie had cried and held the boy tight when she saw him again. Sebastian had expected the same of the marquis and his wife.

The two of them seemed more dumbfounded than anything else. They hugged Ciel at first, but their words were a mix of shock and formality. They asked him where he had been all that time. Ciel lied and said he couldn’t remember. They asked him where his injuries had come from. Ciel lied and said he couldn’t remember. They asked him if he would like to stay with them for a while. Ciel said no. They didn’t force the matter. They let him return to the Phantomhive manor with his mysterious new butler, a man who was all but unfamiliar to them.

Francis Midford had been a Phantomhive. She knew what being a Phantomhive meant. She knew her daughter would become a Phantomhive someday, and that only through strength and perseverance could a Phantomhive shoulder the burden of their surname. Perhaps Francis felt that Ciel needed to learn self-sufficiency the hard way, even early on; perhaps she feared any assistance would only keep her nephew from reaching his full potential. No matter what she thought, her advice to Ciel had always been distant, careful, lacking in clear affection.

Because of that, Sebastian had had no choice but to be in the thick of it with the boy. He wondered if Francis Midford knew that. Ciel had met the challenge of becoming an earl head-on, had worked hard to succeed in a world built by and for adults… but he had not done it alone. He could not do it alone. Sebastian had been there the entire time. The two of them had raised each other up, from child and demon to lord and butler.

With that in mind, it was no wonder that Ciel saw Sebastian as more of a parent than his aunt.

Sebastian lowered his eyebrows. He was registering something in himself: anger. It was presumptuous of Francis to think she could come in now and try to set rules for Ciel. She could have done that years ago, but she’d chosen not to, for whatever reason — fear, ambivalence, some odd sense of duty, whatever it was. She hadn’t been there to tell Ciel not to eat sweets, to go to bed on time, to complete his lessons. She hadn’t seen Ciel after a nightmare: shivering and balled-up under his blankets; screaming loudly enough to echo through the house; staring vacantly at nothing. She did not know what Ciel had been through. She did not know Ciel at all.

The soft fur beneath Sebastian’s bare palm and the clouded sky above his head soothed him. His anger dissipated with each stroke of the wayward tabby. He was not innocent himself. Of course, early on in the contract, he had rejoiced at Francis’s lack of attention. He’d known, even then, that the more the Midfords left Ciel alone, the better his meal would ultimately taste. The more the boy felt the only person he could rely on was an unpredictable demon, the more it would hurt when that demon eventually turned its fangs on him.

Sebastian held the cat in his arms and tried to focus on the way her purrs emanated like a little pulse. It was better to focus on that than on the way his tongue felt dry; the way his teeth stayed flat in his mouth.

Chapter Text

Half a minute after Sebastian knocked on the door of the enormous house, it was opened cheerily by its current occupant. “Lord Phantomhive, what a pleasure it is to see you again!”

“Oh! M-Mr. Fairclough,” Ciel returned, with unmasked surprise. “Good afternoon. I… I didn’t expect you to be the one answering.”

Sebastian definitely hadn’t either. Usually it was the job of the servants to invite guests in, unless someone was an old friend or a family member. Even if Ciel had fallen into one of those two categories, however, it still would have been odd considering the territory. The abode Fairclough was borrowing for the season wasn’t just any manor: it was Sedgemore House, and much like the Phantomhive’s townhouse, it was one of the few true stately homes left in London proper. An untitled man like Fairclough staying here for the summer and answering his own door instead of a servant… It was so odd that Sebastian was sure it had immediately rendered him and his charge a pair of gawking idiots.

Fairclough laughed at their dumbfounded expressions. “My apologies! I’m still sorting out how to manage the domestics during my time here,” he explained. Then he stared at Sebastian more closely. “And tell me, who is the gentleman you’ve brought with you?”

Ciel gestured loosely. “This is my butler, Sebastian. You needn’t pay him any mind. I only invited him to come and listen in so he can act as my notetaker during our conversation. His memory is rather more reliable than the average person’s.”

Sebastian put a hand to his chest, bowed just slightly forward. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fairclough. I hope I won’t be of any bother.”

“... Oh! Not at all, I should think,” Fairclough said with a light laugh. Then he gestured them indoors. “Please, come inside, and I’ll lead the way to the parlor.”

Sedgemore House was as grand in scale as any countryside manor. At one point, it most likely was a countryside manor: London was not built with such large homes in mind, but instead built around them, until the miniature palaces were fully incorporated into the expanding city bounds. Most of the gentry possessed terraced manors instead, a Georgian creation that allowed for much more housing in a much smaller area. That a middle-class person like Fairclough could stay here said much about his connections. Just how far did this man’s social reach extend…?

“My cottage in Clermont-Ferrand is significantly more manageable than this enormous space,” Fairclough explained as they walked the crisp marble floors down a sunlit hallway lined with oil paintings and exotic flora. “I regret that I only have five servants here at the moment, and they’ve all been so preoccupied with Sedgemore’s upkeep that they can barely spare themselves a free moment. I thought it might lighten their loads if I were to take care of my own guest for a change! I’m happy to do it, anyway.”

They passed one of these servants on the way, a blonde girl who seemed in a hurry until she saw their party coming. Dutifully she stepped to the side, bowing her head. In passing, Fairclough asked her in French to bring him and his guest “the usual,” and she agreed with a quick “Oui, monsieur” before hastening on her way.

“I tend to keep a fairly bare-bones staff myself,” Ciel said. “In some ways, it’s easier, but it does have its drawbacks as well.”

Sebastian pressed his lips together, internally wondering just how many ‘drawbacks’ Ciel actually felt he experienced with an all-powerful demon around.

“If you have any recommendations for hires, I’d love to hear them,” Fairclough continued. “I’m afraid I’ll need to take on quite a few more people temporarily, and I have no connections here.”

Ciel laughed apologetically, politely, accordingly. “And I’m sorry to say that I’ll be utterly useless in that area. All my staff were hired through… unusual circumstances, and they have no connections themselves. But I may know some people you could get in touch with who will have a better opinion than I would.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it! Lord Sedgemore may be able to assist me in this area. In fact, he may prefer providing his own staff.”

They approached a door that seemed somewhat out of the way to belong to a parlor. Fairclough opened it for his guests, revealing that it wasn’t a parlor at all. It was probably the size of Fairclough’s parlor at home, but in a manor this grand, the cozy room was more likely a den or a study. There was a solid wood roll-top desk with an armchair behind it, and another pair of oxblood wingback chairs by an unlit fireplace. Fairclough sat in one, Ciel in the other. Sebastian stood against the wall near the shut door, arms folded behind his back.

“It made me nervous when I first saw this room,” Fairclough said, gesturing to the deep turquoise walls. “The mansion was built in the 1700s, and I thought it might have been painted with Scheele’s green. Lord Sedgemore’s cousin was quick to assure me that it’s actually some new pigment made from cobalt. He was staying here before I arrived, anyway. Nips in from time to time, but otherwise, it’s been very quiet! It’s so nice to have a guest come by at last.”

“I’m glad I can return the favors in at least one way,” Ciel said. “More often than not, it seems I am in your debt.”

Ciel then stiffened slightly, as if remembering his aunt’s warning not to “get into financial straits with such a blatant spendthrift.” But Fairclough responded kindly, “You owe me nothing in return, Lord Phantomhive. I was happy to help in Oxford, and I’m happy to help today. Though,” he grinned with one corner of his mouth, “I do have one simple request, now that I’m thinking of it.”

Ciel tipped his head with inquisition. “Oh? Please. What can I do for you?”

Fairclough made a sheepish expression. “Not only has it been a while since I’ve had guests at all, but it’s been a while since I’ve spoken in French with a guest,” he explained. “I must admit, I’ve grown a bit homesick for my mother tongue. Would you be willing to speak in it with me, at least for part of our conversation?”

Ciel smiled back, the request possibly even simpler than he’d imagined. “Bien sûr.” He continued in French, “I’m afraid my knowledge of the language is more conversational than professional, however, so I may need to switch back to English at times to fill in a word or two.”

“Pas de problème, Siegneur Phantomhive.” Fairclough chuckled happily. “So tell me, how can I be of service? You didn’t give me all the details in your letter. I think you only mentioned that my association with the community of toy and display collectors would be useful to you.”

Ciel nodded, putting his elbows on the armrests and folding one hand over the other. “I’m planning to do an impromptu promotional event in August,” he began. “Summer is the one time of year that Funtom notices a slight dip in toy sales. It’s somewhat natural that this would be the case, but regardless, I’d like to remedy the situation. I was thinking one way to do that would be to market specifically to collectors. But I want to make sure I’m creating something that would actually spark interest, as opposed to a clear gimmick. Collectors like you tend to be some of my most important patrons. Funtom’s store display items were simply going to waste before people began writing in, asking if they could purchase them. The money donated from the auctions is always substantial. It’s clear that there’s a very enthusiastic audience here. I want to help this audience thrive, and I think I can understand that best by going right to the source.”

By the way Fairclough beamed, Sebastian knew that was just the right thing to say. But of course it was. His master’s greatest personal weapons were his brain and his vocabulary. When he knew precisely what he wanted from someone, Ciel Phantomhive was capable of twisting his words to make the other person eager to grant him their time, ideas, money, nearly anything. It made Ciel well-suited to his chosen career — perhaps more than it did to his inherited career.

“Well, now, this sounds fantastic! I’d be more than happy to give you my perspective,” Fairclough said. He leaned forward. “I’m not sure where to begin… What information can I provide more specifically?”

“You can start by simply telling me what you enjoy about collecting,” Ciel said with an inviting smile. “What is it that interested you in the first place? Is there a goal of some sort? This is different from collecting stamps or cigarette cards; toys from the window displays can’t be easily shown to others, and they don’t have an inherent value. But, excuse me, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s stick with the first question. What do you like most about your hobby?”

Fairclough sat up straight, talking and gesticulating excitedly. “You’re correct, that it is very different from stamp and card collecting, where there is a virtually unlimited supply available of a given item. The window displays are finite, and that makes them more or less priceless. For example, I own a seven-foot Bitter Rabbit Santa Claus mannequin that was in the Paris and London stores for Christmas in 1888. I know for a fact that only one other exists. For me, that makes it an exciting purchase. And there will be a time, in ten, twenty, thirty years, where it could well be considered a piece of history. It’s worth preserving things that represent the time they came from, particularly if they are special or unusual.”

Ciel looked vaguely fascinated by this explanation. “That’s interesting. You’re speaking of your collection almost like it's a series of artefacts.”

“Yes! It feels that way at times,” Fairclough nodded. “It’s a modern-day cabinet of curiosities. And we really do live in curious times. The success of Funtom is a true sign that humanity is thriving. Toys, books, music, delicacies from around the world… The aristocracy is no longer the sole connoisseur of such splendor. In a hundred years, I hope the world still remembers these years as a time of joie de vivre. This collection is one way I can assure this.” He smiled. “But I make myself sound so noble. Of course, I never would have started collecting set pieces from front-window displays if I didn’t have a unique interest in specially-made luxury items. And Funtom always pays particular attention to details. That’s why your company has attracted attention from collectors in the first place. Perhaps it wasn’t on purpose, but in our eyes, it’s as if you’ve been catering to us all along.”

Ciel smiled lightly and opened his mouth, but his words were cut off when there was a knock on the study door. Fairclough called for his servant to enter, and a footman did moments later, rolling in a silver trolley bearing all the accompaniments for afternoon tea. There was a tiered plate stand decked with pale macarons and papillon cookies, another one with all sorts of finger sandwiches — egg mayonnaise, cucumber, lox. There was the tea set itself, a plump pot filled with what smelled like Twinings earl grey blended with blue cornflower. The teapot, along with the sugar bowl, cups, and saucers, employed the entire second row of the trolley. On the bottom row was a bucket of something, which the footman removed last. All of these things were settled on a round table off to the side of the chairs. Sebastian managed to get a good look at the final items after the footman bowed and took his exit.

His eyes narrowed as they fell upon the bucket. Was that…?

“Can I interest you in some champagne?” Fairclough asked the boy, plying the pre-opened cork from the bottle. “This one is rather sweet. A perfect choice for a hot summer afternoon.”

Ciel hesitated. “Oh. No, thank you. I’m all right.”

Fairclough was already pouring two glasses anyway. “Have you had champagne before, Lord Phantomhive?”

“Yes.” A note of indignance had entered Ciel’s tone, as it had the day prior: annoyed by an adult’s insinuation he may not have been able to handle something they could. He tacked on, sounding slightly embarrassed, “I… didn’t like it very much.”

“Well! Perhaps you’ll like this one better,” Fairclough said, handing over the cut crystal by its stem. “I’m sure you’re aware that we French know our wine. It’s worth trying one from my country before you knock the stuff for good.”

Having not much other option, Ciel accepted the glass and took a small sip. Then another more substantial one. “Oh. That’s… actually pretty nice.”

Fairclough laughed merrily. “I thought you may be partial to it! La vie est trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin, Lord Phantomhive. I would never serve my friends anything but what I’ve deemed the best.”

Presently, the discussion turned a corner, but Sebastian was still sorting out the prior conversation. Had Fairclough really just offered alcohol to a boy? Not only offered it, but then pushed that boy to drink it? It seemed… utterly irresponsible. Sebastian lowered his eyelids. No, it was utterly irresponsible. The only time Ciel had been offered alcohol by an adult before was in a setting where a toast was being held and everyone else in the room was being granted the same service. And at an afternoon tea? Wasn’t it a mite early for this sort of activity?

Perhaps it was a cultural difference. Even so… Even so, it wasn’t the quality Sebastian would want for Ciel’s mentor. No, not a bit. It said to Sebastian that Fairclough did not see Ciel as a young person, or that he did not know how to treat young people. He would make for a poor guide if that was to be his outlook.

“Anyway,” Fairclough said at last, “I think Janvier interrupted you in the middle of a thought. Please continue?”

Ciel put his glass down. “I was about to say, I can’t possibly run a display auction when there aren’t any display windows to auction… plus, those are already organized events held at the end of each season, so it wouldn’t make any sense to have one at the start of August. But I was curious if you believe an opposite sort of item would hold any interest to collectors.”

“An opposite sort of item?”

Ciel nodded. “I have a new line of Indian desserts that I plan to put on the market before Christmas,” he explained. “It is far too early to finalize any marketing materials for the line. But perhaps, in a roundabout way, nothing needs to be finalized in order to begin advertising. Not to the general public, of course, but to appreciators like yourself who are curious about the craft of Funtom goods.

"I was thinking about releasing a new toy alongside the desserts to drum up interest from children. Each toy is a multi-step process in itself. First we need to draw up concepts, and then translate those concepts into a viable three-dimensional drawing. That design has to be built, and then another version with its finalized fabrics. All that to ask: do you think collectors would be as interested in an auction for prototypes and templates as they would be in the display windows?”

Sebastian wagered Ciel knew the answer to that question before he asked it, judging by the mounting enthusiasm in Fairclough’s expression. “Not quite as many people,” the man began, “but yes, absolutely. I can think of several friends who would very much want to participate.”

Ciel sipped his drink. “And yourself? Not to put you on the spot.”

“For certain specific items, absolutely,” Fairclough said with a nod. “Especially if you auction anything to do with the window display items I already own.”

“I’ll have to check with my engineers to see what we have archived.” Ciel thought for a moment. “To my knowledge, we usually only save preliminary planning documents if we believe we’ll want to copy them later on or release a new version of an old model. But I have no hand in that. Either way, I don’t care if we keep the original files of anything. We can just make copies and save those instead.”

“You don’t want to keep any of the originals for yourself?” Fairclough asked, almost worriedly, as if concerned he may be pushing the very head of Funtom in the wrong direction. “You would be willing to auction away something that may accrue value with time?”

“Yes, to be honest,” Ciel said, without any worry whatsoever. “The key word in your sentence is ‘may.’ These so-called collectibles may accrue value with time. But if they don’t accrue any, what was the point in keeping them to myself? You’re telling me my old blueprints have value right now. Well, then I’m going to strike while the iron is hot. If the world wants to place a greater value on them in the future, that’s just the way it is. This isn’t a wine collection that only improves with age. Funtom is a toy company, and it’s relevant now. I can only do so much to prepare for the future, but I can always take advantage of the moment. So that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Fairclough gazed on him almost proudly before bowing his head in another nod. “I can’t argue with that, my lord. Your judgment seems all too sound. I should know better than to have my doubts where your opinions are concerned.”

Ciel waved that aside. “Please, voice your doubts, if you have them. You are an important client, and I rely on you far more than you do on me. Your viewpoint is invaluable.”

This performance of buttering up would usually make Sebastian smirk, thinking of the way his small master could orchestrate every business venture like a seasoned conductor. There was nothing the matter with it today — it was just that Sebastian couldn’t help feeling that Fairclough didn’t deserve such praise. His hackles only rose higher when Fairclough asked twenty minutes deeper into swapping notes, “Would you like a second glass of champagne, Lord Phantomhive?”

“Uh, I’m fine now, thank you,” Ciel said. “It was nice, though. I’ve never had champagne chilled before. I don’t typically get ice deliveries to my manor; it always melts on the way to the countryside.”

Good, well done. Sebastian couldn’t help glaring daggers at Fairclough, who surprisingly seemed not to notice. The initial offer for champagne was… forgivable, maybe, but the second? There was no excuse. Perhaps Fairclough had grown up in a village where beer was safer to drink than water, and had spent his youth supping on alcohol. But temperance was no new concept, and Sebastian was no stranger to the way the liquid turned geniuses to ramblers. He did not need anyone coercing his young master to foolishness.

Fairclough and Ciel talked for an hour more about the finer points of toy manufacturing, much of which Fairclough already knew, as the subject clearly interested him. “Why not stay for dinner?” the host asked, in English again, when his guest said he must be leaving. “There will be plenty of food for two. Join me, why don’t you?”

The offer was, thankfully, turned down. “Some other time, perhaps. It’s a Saturday evening at the height of the Season, and I’d like to leave the city proper before traffic picks up. I’ve heard the Opera Comique has been hosting full houses these past few days. I would rather not compete with the theatregoers.”

Fairclough bowed his head in smiling defeat. “I will concede that. Some other time soon then, yes.” He stood. “Shall I lead you both back to the front entrance, then?”

“You needn’t do so.” Sebastian stepped forward, trying to look more accommodating than forceful in his suggestion. “This is a servant’s job, is it not? Allow me. I recall the way.”

Ciel eyed Sebastian with minor suspicion but said nothing. Fairclough was persistent. “I’ll accompany you regardless. I’ll be going that way myself in moments, so I may as well come along.”

Begrudgingly, Sebastian allowed the man to precede him. Fairclough and Ciel chatted with finality as they wove their way back through the crisp white halls, darker now with the evening light. Sebastian was wordless in their wake, and gladly took hold of the door handle when they made it to the front, wanting to hasten the goodbye process.

Fairclough noticed. “No big hurry, now, is there?” he aimed at Sebastian with slight annoyance. He at last seemed to be catching on that his guest’s butler was not a fan of him.

“No reason to dawdle, either.” Ciel tipped his hat and gave a final cordial smile at Fairclough. “Thank you for meeting with me. Let’s talk again soon, shall we? You’ve been a fantastic resource today, and I think I should need your help going forward.”

“Lord Phantomhive, I would be delighted.” Fairclough tilted his palm, and Ciel accepted the boisterous handshake. “Please visit any time. Your company is always a pleasure. And it needn’t only be for business! Come as a friend, and I shall happily provide you with the finest France has to offer.”

Ciel returned Fairclough his most charming countenance. “I shall certainly take you up on that. Au revoir, then, Mr. Fairclough.”

Sebastian tailed Ciel to the awaiting Phantomhive carriage, Yankee and Gilbert seeming chipper from their short rest in the no-doubt elaborate Sedgemore stables. When the gleaming gate was pulled open by a pair of guards, the horses needed only the slightest click of the reins to be persuaded onto the thoroughfare. Sebastian did not look at Fairclough as they left, but saw him wave out of his periphery. Mild contempt flared in his chest. 

The two cobs were smart, and needed very little guidance to weave their way home. Sebastian could thus turn the brunt of his attention to himself. Should he be this upset over Fairclough offering champagne to a boy? He wouldn’t have been this upset a few months ago; not at Fairclough, at least. He would have merely expected Ciel to handle the situation properly, to drink no more than what was polite and appropriate. If Ciel had pushed the boundary of his own tolerance, Sebastian would have blamed Ciel. Now Sebastian felt entirely different: that Fairclough should have known better than to offer champagne to someone so young, and that Ciel’s decision to abstain beyond the first glass was worthy of praise.

But that wasn’t all… There was something else needling him, an unusual sense of unrest, something humans called a hunch. Sebastian did not like Fairclough. He couldn’t say definitively why this was. He only knew it was true, and that he wanted Ciel to stay away from the man whenever possible. But without a good reason for it, how was he to voice his argument?

Sebastian brooded over this for the duration of the ride home. It was only after rehearsing the entire memorized conversation between Ciel and Fairclough that it dawned on him. French. The whole meeting, Ciel and Fairclough had been speaking French. Not until the very end did they switch back to English. This had not posed an issue, because Sebastian’s French was of course impeccable. He’d understood every word exchanged between his charge and the man.

Ciel knew that, so he had no reason to switch back to English. But Fairclough had no idea. As far as he was concerned, Sebastian hadn’t gathered any bit of dialogue. And maybe, for reasons unknown, Fairclough had wanted it that way.

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At nine o’clock that same evening, Sebastian brought up a tray with hot chamomile milk tea to Ciel’s study. This was a new ritual Sebastian had suggested to help Ciel settle down and fall asleep more easily. Ciel could even have his tea with honey, given he brushed his teeth afterwards, of course.

The young master was sitting at his desk, and stretched his arms above his head as Sebastian approached. “I have some letters for you to deliver to the postbox tonight. Soma should be coming soon after he receives it, so expect him by tomorrow.”

The cup was placed atop the saucer by the boy’s elbow. “You’re inviting him, sir?”

Ciel plummeted into the tight quilted backing of the armchair. “Tuh. No, the very opposite. I just have no doubt his response to being told I won’t be staying in the London house with him all summer will be to come and demand I change my mind.”

“Ah, yes. Even after all this time, our spoiled prince doesn’t take well to the word ‘no,’” Sebastian chuckled.

“No, of course not… So, my final free day before the Trooping the Color is going to wind up with a social call anyway,” Ciel sighed. He spread the addressed envelopes out across the tabletop like a deck of cards. “I made further headway into turning down invitations, too, so take note of the names here and remember them when I’m sending out cards for the Funtom event.”

“Certainly, sir.” Ciel scooped the letters back up and handed them over. Sebastian rifled through them, each name sticking in his infallible memory like a dart. His hand paused as he got to the last letter. “Another message for Mr. Fairclough, then?”

Ciel finished his sip, cocking an eyebrow. “Yes. Thanking him for seeing me today, on such short notice. Why do you sound irked about it?”

He’d sounded irked? He hadn’t meant to. Sebastian cleared his throat. “Pardon me, sir. I just find Mr. Fairclough somewhat… less than exemplary.”

That earned Sebastian a dead-on look. “What?” Ciel angled himself in the chair to better face his butler. “Why?” he demanded. “He’s gone out of his way numerous times to help me, sometimes at a detriment to himself, and you find him ‘less than exemplary’? Where is this coming from? If anything, you should find me less than exemplary for having to rely on him so many times…” The last part was somewhat grumbled out.

Sebastian answered carefully. “His actions today were… not ones I find to be conscientious of his particular audience.”

Ciel slouched against the armrest, staring with scrutiny, trying to gauge the meaning of the demon’s intentionally cryptic statement on his own. After a few seconds he grasped it. “You’re upset because of the champagne, are you?”

“‘Upset’ may be too strong of a word—”

“Don’t try and get me caught up in the semantics, damn demon.” Ciel glowered. “What do you have to be upset over anyway? Even you told me it would be acceptable to have a single glass of champagne whenever I wanted, and I stopped at one.”

“Yes, you did, and I’m glad for it,” Sebastian said. “For him to offer you more, though… At your age, that simply isn’t—”

“At my age? Ugh, who cares about my age?” Ciel flicked his head to the side. “Actually, it’s all anyone seems to care about these days — except for Mr. Fairclough. It was nice for someone to treat me like a person for the first time in a while, instead of a child who needs to be constantly shepherded around! Even you’re doing it!” Ciel folded his arms, souring. “Well, you can cut it out! It doesn’t matter if the whole world wants me to be a child, I’m not one, and I don’t want to be treated like it either. The way Mr. Fairclough acted was perfectly appropriate for someone of my stature, so stop thinking that way.”

“Do you not find it strange that he insisted on speaking French the entire time?” Sebastian decided to ask. “He did not know I could understand him. Even when he spoke about the very party I was supposed to be ‘taking notes’ on, he did not change back to English. I find it odd that he was so interested in excluding me.”

Still Ciel was not swayed. “Are you so selfish that you think even this is about you? Obviously he just got caught up in the moment and forgot. I knew you understood, so there was no reason to correct him when he kept going in French. Thinking about that for even a fraction of a second could lead you to that conclusion, idiot.”

There was only one argument left, and it was the weakest by far. “I have a bad feeling about Mr. Fairclough, young master. I apologize that I can’t supply a worthy testimony to my claim. I merely sense something ominous about him.”

Ciel rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and standing after he downed the last of his tea. “As if that means anything. Your judgment of humans is abysmal, it always has been. You’ve looked directly at guilty men and gathered just as much about them as I have, if not less. You scarcely like any humans; why should I be surprised that you don’t like Mr. Fairclough either?” He began to walk to the exit. “I don’t know why you’re entertaining thoughts like these in the first place. Don’t tell me how to live my life and who to associate with. That’s not your place.”

Then Ciel left the office, leaving Sebastian behind to tidy up the room from the evening’s work. He sighed out his nose. ‘Not your place…’ What was he to do, then? Sit by and let the young master be taken in by the charms of a man he found suspicious? Though he couldn’t fully explain his own reasoning behind that suspicion… only that it was present.

The boy was right, at least in one regard. It was not a butler’s place to set rules for his master. But they were not simply a master and servant — they never had been. Sebastian’s ‘place’ was not dictated by the mere social customs of humans. It was outlined in the pact they had created four and a half years ago. The proof existed on the back of the demon’s hand; on the surface of the boy’s right eye. Until the day Ciel Phantomhive gained his revenge, Sebastian would remain unfailingly by his side. That was his place.

As for what remaining by his side implied… Sebastian had been left to gauge that by himself. So what did he do here? Listen to the boy? Or listen to the strange, new voices telling him to be careful, voices that sounded so much like his own?

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“Ciiiiiii-eeeeeellll!!!”

In accordance with his master’s prediction, Soma arrived the next day just past noon. This time they were given no knock as a courtesy. The prince entered the manor as if it were his home and began striding around, his voice echoing down the halls as he cried out, “Ciiiieeellll! Explain yourself immediately!”

Prince Soma was no Nina Hopkins, but a guest, so Sebastian did nothing to stop his tirade. He followed the sound of the whining until it emanated from the open door of Ciel’s study. Agni was just hastening up the opposite staircase as Sebastian arrived at the room. He looked exceptionally apologetic, and only moreso after he caught Sebastian’s eye. Sebastian merely smiled to show no harm was done. Well, at least to him. Perhaps not to the young master's eardrums.

“Ciel, how could you do this to me?!” Soma was fuming. He stood wide-stanced before Ciel’s desk, finger stabbing furiously at a piece of paper he held aloft in the opposite hand. Agni and Sebastian watched the scene play out from the doorway. “How could you write such a cold and heartless letter to your very best friend from India?! I was so looking forward to spending the entire Season together, and now you tell me you are coming to the London house for maybe two weeks at most?! But whyyyy?!” Soma stamped his foot, making Agni gasp and Sebastian smirk in utter amusement. “I was very, very, very patient with you when you said you couldn’t come until June because of your mission to the Queen! Even after you promised we would see each other before the end of April! When you took it back, I was very understanding! But now! Now you’re doing this to me!” Soma’s temper tantrum finally subsided into loud weeping. “I-I-I was s-so excited and n-now you aren’t coming to London at aaaall! This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me! Selfish, horrible Ciel! I hate you! I h-hate you!” Soma rubbed at his face with his arm, sniffling and hiccuping dramatically all the while.

Sebastian expected Ciel to be absorbing the rant with a patience worn thin as spider’s silk. But just as Ciel had expected Soma’s arrival, so too it seemed he had expected this explosion. His expression was calm, almost discouraged, as he finally said, “What a shame. I should have guessed you wouldn’t read the entire letter. But actions speak louder than words. I guess I can’t trust you with this project after all.”

The blubbering fit was, unsurprisingly, mostly theatrics, as Soma asked in a near-normal voice, “Eh? Huh? What? What project? What are you talking about?”

Ciel gestured to the paper Soma had crumpled up in his fist. “As I said, maybe if you read the entire letter, you would know.” Soma struggled to undo his destruction at once, as Ciel continued airily, “It doesn’t matter what it is at this point anyway. I see you aren’t ready to take on any real Funtom work.”

“W-Wait… Hold on…” Soma finally managed to straighten out the letter, and he pressed his face close to decipher the crinkled writing. He read aloud, “‘If you manage to stay away until I next call on you, then I’ll consider you a business partner—! Who can help me with a new project—?!’ Ah! Wait! But I still want to help!”

“Too bad.” Ciel had pretended to return his attention to his paperwork.

The prince was utterly crestfallen. “B-But-! But, but I… But—”

“No.”

“Please, I just—”

“Sorry.” Ciel didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

Soma clenched his fists and bunched up his shoulders. He looked like he wanted to have another meltdown, but was holding back because he knew it definitely wouldn’t get him his way anymore. Finally, he dropped down to his knees and put his chin on the edge of the desk, peering over it like a small child or a needy dog. “Ciiiieeelll…” he whimpered.

“What?” Ciel’s voice was completely placid. Sebastian knew the boy was secretly relishing making the spoiled prince suffer.

Soma sniffled again. “I’m sorryyyy… Please, let me help you… Please, I want to help so much… You are my very best friend… Please, please, please... I will do anythiiiing…”

Ciel finally looked Soma in the eye. “Is that an honest statement?”

Seeing he’d gained some attention, Soma straightened up, though he was still kneeling. “Yes! Yes, I’ll do anything!”

“Then promise me,” Ciel began pointedly, “that you won’t come here for the next six weeks while I’m planning the Funtom event, not even one time, unless I invite you. I’m going to be busy, and I do not need any spontaneous interruptions. If you behave, then you can help me with my work. Do you promise me this?”

The prince sprung to his feet. “Yes! I promise, cross my heart! Not unless I am invited will I come over!”

“... All right. Good.” Ciel put away whatever faux-work he'd used as a distraction and removed a few other sheets of paper from a drawer. He came around to the opposite side of his desk. “I’m designing a new rabbit to be released when the Indian desserts debut. I want it to fit the theme, so I’m going to model it after an Indian prince, and I'd like you to tell me… Oh, don’t make that face,” Ciel sighed when he noticed Soma’s eyes were brimming with joy.

“Ahh, Ciel! I was wondering when this day would come!” Ciel made a noise of distress as Soma captured him in one of his back-breaking hugs, swinging him from side to side. “You are finally making a Bitter Rabbit doll inspired by me! This is the greatest day of my life! Perfect, thoughtful Ciel! I love you! I love you!”

“Let me go this instant,” Ciel coughed out, stumbling away when he was finally released. He glared slightly as he straightened out his clothes and massaged at his shoulder. “It’s not inspired by you. You aren’t the only Indian prince in all of history, you know. I only chose it because it makes the most sense.”

“Perhaps that is what you will tell yourself.” Soma plopped his hands on his hips. “In my heart, I will always think of it as me.”

“Yes, well, wonderful. You and your heart can do whatever you want,” Ciel dismissed, turning back to the papers and tugging Soma over by his sleeve to indicate he should do the same. “This here is a general design document for a standard-model Bitter Rabbit. Stop bouncing. I’m not sure if this toy model will be what we ultimately go with, but we can use it to at least plan an outfit. I need you to either send me examples from your own wardrobe or wear them here so we can start making pricing decisions based on the fabrics. I also need to see what they look like. All right? That’s how you can help in the future. Can you handle that?”

“Of course I can!” Soma clamored. He turned to the doorway. “Agni! We brought some of my festival clothes to England, didn’t we? Ah, we’ll have to check. You probably want Bitter Rabbit to wear his best, right, Ciel? Not everyday clothes?”

Ciel looked Soma up and down. The prince was still decked out in glistening jewelry and vibrant cloth even for this simple call. “I don’t know. Is what you’re wearing right now considered ‘everyday clothes’?”

Soma laughed. “It is for a prince! See here, this is called a kurta, and most men wear them, but mine is much more decorative and colorful than what the average citizen would own…”

“It is so very kind of Lord Phantomhive to include my prince in his work.”

Sebastian was torn away from the scene when Agni suddenly spoke to him. Like his charge, Agni’s eyes were filled with joy as he watched Soma jump around in various ridiculous poses, as if posing somehow illustrated a point.

Sebastian chuckled. “‘Kind’ is quite a curious word to use in regards to my young master.”

“How is Lord Phantomhive feeling lately, by the way?” Agni asked, lowering his voice somewhat. “Does his mood seem to be improving? Have you found someone to be a guide for him yet?”

Sebastian hesitated to answer. He slowly looked back at Ciel, who seemed to be writing quick notes as Soma introduced him to each piece of his royal ensemble. He hadn’t thought about it, but Ciel’s overall mood had improved over the past few months. The boy was back on track with his work, and was even going to bed on-time again (well, nearly). The sudden spikes of anger and occasional nightmares hadn’t gone away, but these were things that could be worked past. And… they weren’t unusual or shameful. Not given the stage of life Ciel was at, nor the experiences he had endured along the way.

Sebastian had seen Ciel through every trial. For a long time, he had viewed it as a thing he had no choice in the matter of. But something had changed in Sebastian. He knew it had. He had changed before. He had started this contract utterly clueless about how to make a dish that didn’t overwhelm the taste buds. Now the science of food was as familiar to him as the art of killing. It was just as well that Bard was abysmal at cooking: Sebastian could not imagine allowing anyone but himself to create the majority of meals for Ciel. Once he had mastered a talent, all he could do was see flaws in the methods of others. “Never mind, I’ll do it,” was a phrase he muttered several times a week, when the servants failed to do something right on the first go and he was feeling too impatient to give them a second chance.

If Ciel were to have a proper mentor in the ways of life, it would be just the same. Sebastian couldn’t lie to himself and say it would be otherwise. He would be constantly nipping and tucking at the mentor’s techniques, constantly thinking he could do better, and then casting the mentor off with the very same, “Never mind, I’ll do it.” It was too late to turn back. By now, Sebastian knew too much. He was critical to the point that he had begun judging humans on that basis alone. The potentially innocent Fairclough was forever a blight simply because Sebastian had measured him on conditions he had no business being measured by.

There was no competition. Maybe there never had been.

Sebastian raised his chin. “Yes. I believe I have found… the most suitable individual for the job.”

Chapter Text

Greetings, Phantomhive butler~

Perhaps I should blame your lack of response to my previous letter as an error on behalf of the postal service. I shall pray that this letter finds you — or else I should have to address future mail to the Little Lord himself in hopes that someone receives the message on your behalf ~

Visit me when you’re able, and we may speak more on our little secret. Perhaps night is best for creatures such as yourself? I’ll be waiting ~

Undertaker ♡

Sebastian glared down at the paper in the same way he would look at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. After tossing the letter into the fireplace of the servant’s office, to join the cinders of his own lord’s mail, he sighed in annoyance. The message was clear. He could not ignore Undertaker’s summons again, not without getting the young master involved. And Sebastian couldn’t afford for that to happen.

Ciel was an observant boy. Even if they had not spoken much on it, Sebastian knew that the young master was at least partially aware that his demon was behaving in new ways. For instance, when Sebastian prodded his charge to talk about his fears during the last mission, Ciel had told Sebastian to return to “normal” and not provoke such delicate conversations. At other times, Ciel almost seemed to be seeking comfort, albeit with reluctance. This was probably why Sebastian’s new kinder behavior had never been addressed forthright: Ciel himself didn’t know what to do about it, purposefully leaving it alone so it was never verbally acknowledged nor totally ignored.

Initially, Sebastian had not wanted Ciel to find out about what he once referred to as the “sympathy beast,” because he had been sure Ciel would use it to his advantage. Sebastian knew much of how to exploit weaknesses: he had been doing it for as far back as his memory reached. That was why he kept his own vulnerabilities so well-guarded. He could not let his contracted see the chinks in his near-impenetrable armor. He could not let Ciel know precisely where to strike.

But… Sebastian’s newfound gentleness had not been turned against him, even once Ciel became aware that something was different with his demon. That was likely in part due to suspicion. Ciel was hesitant to let anyone see his true feelings. Emotions, once out in the open, were swords that could be sharpened and driven right back into his heart. And who would be more willing to take a stab than his future killer? Sebastian’s growing kindness was, therefore, probably causing Ciel more doubt than ease. The boy merely sought out that dubious kindness because he saw Sebastian as the only one who could never leave his side, no matter what came to pass.

Thus, the current reason Sebastian did not want Ciel to find out he was meeting with Undertaker was… more tender. Undertaker had offered to assist Sebastian in returning to his old demonic self: defeating the so-called “sympathy beast.” Even if Sebastian was no longer so keen on that goal, it didn’t change the original reason Sebastian had gone to Undertaker, nor the reason he was forced to keep going. Undertaker could tell Ciel at any time what Sebastian had been up to behind his back. And would it not hurt for Ciel to find out that not only did someone care about him in an almost parental way, but that that same individual had been actively trying to stop caring so much?

No. Under no circumstances could Sebastian allow the young master to get involved.

Night would be the time to leave. During the daylight hours, he risked Ciel noticing his absence; it had only worked out the last time he visited Undertaker because Ciel had blatantly wanted Sebastian to keep away from him. It was always possible the boy would wake up from a bad dream in the middle of the night, yes, but even that could be minimized. Ciel was less likely to have nightmares when he was exhausted. And what exhausted him more than an entire day outside of the house, surrounded by strangers, being led around London by his energetic fiancée, making uncomfortable conversation and wearing uncomfortable clothing for hours in a row?

Needless to say, by the time Ciel made it home after the Trooping the Color and spending all afternoon with the Midfords, he was worn to the bone and starving for rest. He drowsily went about the nighttime ritual of drinking milk tea and having a bath. Once he was dressed in his pajamas, he trudged over to his bed and flopped upon it. Sebastian’s bidding of “Will that be all then, young master?” was met with no more than a muffled grunt of dismissal.

Task one was completed. Now… who was to act in Sebastian’s stead while he was away: Bard, Finny, Tanaka, or Mey-Rin?

Bard and Finny definitely wouldn’t suffice. While they were immediately attentive when told of real danger, they weren’t so very useful when it came to an ambiguous danger. Finny wouldn’t know about an intruder if they managed to get inside the house; Bard wouldn’t know an intruder was outside it. The two could work passably as a team, but Sebastian only wanted one person left in charge. He didn’t need anyone gossiping about his mysterious disappearance in the middle of the night. If two of them spoke on it, the third would find out before long. And all three of the idiots combined, while a nearly impenetrable force against human enemies, were decidedly useless when it came to keeping secrets from the young master.

Tanaka could keep a secret… but he wouldn’t let Sebastian leave him on night watch out of nowhere without an explanation either. The senior steward was the only other intelligent member of the staff. Lying was off the table for Sebastian, as always. If Tanaka thought Sebastian were hiding something, he would be sure to broach the matter with Ciel, and then Ciel would find out about Sebastian’s meetings with Undertaker all the same. No, unfortunately the most trusted servant would not do here either.

Not the most trusted servant. Not three idiots, and not two. Alas, Sebastian’s hopes lay in a single idiot all by herself.

“M-M-Mister Sebastian?!” Mey-Rin stammered, peering out the door of her bedroom. She was half-awake and flustered by this one a.m. call, clutching a shawl tightly over her nightdress. She knew that this visit didn’t require an immediate jump into action: Sebastian had a specific knock he employed for the occasions when the manor received ‘special guests.’ “Wh-What is it you need me for at this hour? Ah, someone hasn’t gotten sick, have they? Is something amiss?”

“No, and it should stay that way,” Sebastian said. “I have a night excursion to embark on regarding the young master. You are going to look after the manor while I’m away.”

“Oh! C-Certainly.” She knew better than to ask questions of where Sebastian was going. Even if she did ask, denying her an answer wouldn’t raise suspicion. Sebastian had purposefully phrased it to sound like he was doing something for the young master anyway — not behind the young master’s back. “Um… how long do you need me on watch?”

“Only an hour or so, I hope. You shall be allowed to sleep in until seven a.m. tomorrow to make up for the lost rest.” Sebastian checked his pocket watch and closed it again with a neat snap. “You’ll go to the rooftop with your rifles and keep a three-hundred-and-sixty degree lookout until I return. I suspect no intruders will come, but consistent and constant vigilance should never be squandered. Am I clear?”

“O-Of course!” Mey-Rin piped up. “But, um! Wait! Mr. Sebastian?”

“What is it?” Sebastian sighed. He had already started back up the stairs, eager to keep the conversation short so he could be on his way and get the meeting over with.

Mey-Rin held one hand in the other. “The young master… he doesn’t have another mission already, does he, sir?”

Sebastian smiled pointedly at her. “A rather forward question, hm? By now, you should know such things are not your business to ask, nor discuss further beyond this conversation.”

“I-I don’t mean to pry, really I don’t!” Mey-Rin stuttered. “I only meant… it would be rather soon for the young master to have more work from the Queen, and that I think I’d be a bit worried about the young master’s well-bein’, if that were the case. So, since you can’t tell me what is happening, p-please look after Lord Phantomhive a bit extra, if he does have another important mission, that is. I think… I think he would need it, after workin’ so hard, he would.”

Sebastian looked at her only a second more. Presently, he turned away. “I see… Then, I must implore you not to worry. To your station now.”

“Ah! Y-Yes, Mr. Sebastian, sir! Right away!”

He waited at the top of a tall sessile oak for her to emerge on the rooftop and stand by her weapons before he departed into the night air. The sky shone with a majesty of stars. It was a clear, warm evening at the height of the Season; he’d have to travel carefully once he came to the perimeter of the city proper. Though his eventual destination would be one of the dark corners of London that no one would tread tonight.

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“Oohhh,” Undertaker simpered, stepping towards his guest with keen interest shining in his crescent moon smile. He circled a bristling Sebastian to observe him from all angles, as someone would judge a prize animal for sale. “Oh, you have been changing…! Yes, even more! How very, very interesting!”

Sebastian felt his upper lip curl slightly. “It’s so obvious, is it?”

Undertaker nodded, wringing his hands together with glee. “Oh, yes. You might say it couldn’t be more apparent.” He cackled to himself while staring at Sebastian, as if to gauge the demon’s response. When there was none, Undertaker continued, “This is very strange indeed. I have never seen anything like this before… No, never.” More laughter. “I’m positive!”

Sebastian wasn’t sure what was so funny, but he’d already had enough of it. “Tread lightly, Undertaker,” he warned curtly. “You do not want to make an enemy of me.”

Undertaker only clasped his hands together by his cheek, as if he were marveling over something very precious, and ignored his guest. “Ahh, dear butler,” he said cheerfully, “you have changed so much that I think you should be quite worried.”

Sebastian sniffed. “I can scarcely believe that. I don’t feel any different.”

“What makes you think you should?” Undertaker sat back down on that favored coffin at the other end of the room. “Let me ask you a question,” he drawled. “What animal is found inside a cocoon: a caterpillar or a butterfly?”

Sebastian lowered his chin. Undertaker seemed to like starting his lectures with an odd little query. He’d humor it, for now. “Both.”

“Is it?” Undertaker grinned. “A caterpillar goes in and a butterfly comes out. But somewhere in between, there is a mystery beast forming out of liquid. A thing that is both caterpillar and butterfly, and thus is neither.” He pointed at Sebastian. “That is what you are right now, butler. A thing half-formed. Between your original form and… What, I do not know.”

It was, momentarily, a frightening thought. But Sebastian shook it aside when Undertaker asked, “Can you think of anyone who might wish ill will on you? Anyone who could be using such curious magic to change you into a, heh heh… a demure little butterfly?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said hotly. “You are the only guilty party I can think of.”

“Ooh!” Undertaker was delighted. “That’s hilarious! I guess you really don’t think before you speak sometimes, do you? Please, explain to me why I would be so kind as to warn you of your metamorphosis when I would be the one orchestrating it. I’m dying to know.”

This carefree attitude was becoming extremely irksome. “To throw me off your trail.”

“I’m not sure you would have even suspected me if I hadn’t spoken up!” Undertaker laughed. “You would probably still be busy pretending nothing was wrong at all! It’s as you said yourself, butler: physically, you don’t feel any different. How I would love to take credit for such persistent magic, but unfortunately, it is not something I am in a position to execute.”

“Oh, really?” Sebastian still didn’t believe him. “It is a magic more powerful than your own?”

Undertaker thought for a moment, that awful smirk finally leaving his face for the first time since Sebastian came in. “No… it’s not powerful,” he said at last. “It’s an odd magic. It isn’t one that hits all at once, but builds up over time. That’s clear in the way you can scarcely notice its effects.” Undertaker frowned, thinking more. “You have heard of Scheele’s green, I imagine. The arsenic wallpaper that slowly poisoned all who spent too much time around it in their own homes, their future coffins, heh heh... It took some time for it to be understood that arsenic could kill, for it did so slowly and silently… until even one’s vision could be turned green.” The unfortunate grin returned. “That is what this magic is like. It is a magic I personally wouldn’t know how to begin concocting, and likely wouldn’t have the time for even if I did… Heehee, tell me, butler, you aren’t seeing green, are you?”

Scheele’s green. Sebastian remembered Fairclough mentioning it just the other day. There was a time when humans had looked at the vibrant pigment and saw only beauty. But now, they knew what such a bright green could signify: Pain. Illness. Death. Was Undertaker giving an honest hypothesis? Should Sebastian consider that his sympathy was the cause of a sort of poisonous magic?

That had been close to Sebastian’s initial theory. The sympathy beast. A creature separate from himself, yet embedded deep inside, deeper than he knew how to reach. Poisoning him with its existence.

“Your comparison to Scheele’s green,” Sebastian said, not betraying any anxiety he might have. “Are you saying that this change in myself may result from exposure to some thing, rather than the meddling of some one?”

Undertaker tapped his own cheek with his long nails, rhythmic. “It’s as much a possibility as anything.” His grin took on a greedy quality. “Perhaps I could find out for certain if you let me dissect you…”

“How interesting that you think I would allow such a thing.” Sebastian’s words sparked with demon energy. “Why is it that you insist on toying with my patience? You are lucky that I have not yet toyed with your life.”

Undertaker laughed harder than ever — a mistake on his part. “Lucky!” he belted out. “Yes, you are right, I’m very lucky! To have you under my thumb the way I do, the opportunity to learn more about the way immortals tick… and, if I fail to cure you of your new ailment, do you know what will happen? You’ll simply be an even better knight to the Earl… the best knight a boy could hope to imagine. You’ll care for him more than you care for yourself.” He grinned wickedly, sensing his words could be Sebastian’s greatest fear realized. “And you may not believe this, but that would be just as much a prize to me as putting a scalpel to your abdomen and seeing all the treasures inside...”

That was enough.

The demon was a shadow with eyes and claws, firing arrow-straight at Undertaker’s throat. This action was a heavy threat — meant to scare, but badly, so badly that most humans would unleash a chilled scream from the very depths of their own mortality. And how delicious Undertaker’s scream would sound, a sound so the opposite of that horrible merry laughter—

A sound Undertaker did not make.

Beneath Sebastian’s hand, there was no neck. But there was a fingertip on the very back of Sebastian’s own.

“Heh, heh, heh…” That creaky snicker lit the air like the slow striking of a match. “Tread lightly, butler… You do not want to make an enemy of me.”

Sebastian did not move. He was unnerved. He had long considered the idea that Undertaker’s true form may not be human. He had never considered that Undertaker’s true form may be stronger than his own.

Undertaker was already back to his lanky, languorous parading. He circled the stricken demon to plop back down on his coffin throne. “I suppose it’s not worth pretending that I don't have a stake in this game. The truth is, I don’t want to be rid of you. Our goal is just the same: we want Ciel Phantomhive to live, and you are quite a dedicated servant — at least, you are in this moment. And should that ever change, know you will have me to contend with… But. For now, I fear we are fighting an enemy neither of us can detect, and that is troublesome indeed. So we must work in tandem. Yes? For you cannot discover the wielder of this strange, deliberate magic that slowly warps you into a creature with a heart, and I cannot fathom who would use such a long and indirect approach to change your very nature.”

“You said the magic isn’t strong. I can fight it on my own,” Sebastian snarled.

“Then by all means, fight it,” said Undertaker. Then he splayed his fingers across his chest and put on a voice of faux-sympathy. “Oh? You can’t? That’s why you’ve come to ask for my help? My goodness, don’t forget why you’re here, you poor pathetic thing. You’ve run out of options. Now.” He extended his hand. “Are you going to work with me or are you going to let the boy be taken away by the unknown?”

Sebastian’s eyes slammed shut. He was furious. At Undertaker, yes, but especially at anyone — this mystery someone — who might want to harm Ciel. Undertaker had chosen his words well. He knew what it would mean for Sebastian to lose this boy. It would mean everything.

Molten pink eyes opened again. “Why is it that you want to protect Lord Phantomhive so badly?” their owner asked.

Undertaker hummed happily in his throat. “Let that be my business… and simply be glad that our goals overlap. For without the other, I daresay neither of us would find peace now.”

Sebastian took off a glove. With the hand not bearing the mark of the contract, he reached back into his mouth and tore free a molar tooth, then placed it atop the lid of a huge salt container. The empty spot in his gums grew a new tooth immediately. The removed tooth stayed corporeal as well.

“You can dissect that,” Sebastian spat. “That’s all you’ll get from me for now. Run your strange little tests on it and see what you find. I don’t know what it is you intend to do or what secrets you think my chemistry might unveil, but you had better discover something of note.”

“You are very cute to threaten me now!” Undertaker kicked his feet out as he cackled. “What a delightful meeting this has been, dear butler. Yes, I will happily take that tooth of yours. And I will be sure to send you another message when the time comes… You have my word.”

“I don’t want your word,” Sebastian growled. “I want nothing to do with you whatsoever. I only do this for the sake of my master and my master’s contract.”

“Of course, of course~” Undertaker sing-songed with a lazy wave. “I have what I need from you, for now. So run along, little doggie, back to that master of yours!”

His back prickled with rage, but Sebastian left the mortuary without another sound. No, not just the mortuary, but London entirely. He did not let himself think until he was far from Undertaker’s lair, and when he did think, his dread caught him, too.

How many centuries had it been since he’d met a creature who could kill him? And even then it had been when Sebastian was young, not yet fully fledged in his demonhood. He did not remember what it was to fear the end of himself. He did not fear it now either — but perhaps he should. The mere existence of a stronger foe was enough to leave him pensive about his own safety.

But… no. He still wasn’t interested in being afraid. He felt far more fear when he considered losing Ciel’s soul. The idea that Undertaker could kill him simply made Sebastian want to stay away from Undertaker.

“Our goal is just the same: we want Ciel Phantomhive to live, and you are quite a dedicated servant — at least, you are in this moment. And should that ever change, know you will have me to contend with…”

Then, there was that.

Sebastian stared long into the void of night, until his perfect eyes could make out the stars millions of lifetimes away and the entire sky seemed to be made of light. He cleared his vision, and the sky returned to a darker scape. How many of those stars would he outlive? It felt all too possible to outlive a star. It was the shorter task, the immediate task, of outliving Ciel Phantomhive that currently seemed the real challenge.

Chapter Text

Time went on.

It went on with the uneven pace of a foxtrot, some days slipping through his fingers like running water, other moments seeming to pause and invite him to drink deep from their still pools. Sebastian was used to the passage of time feeling stilted — at least when he was in his true form and could slither right out of time’s grasp. Locked in an earthly body, as he was currently, a second was a second, a day was a day, and even if his age had reduced those measurements of time to something less significant, he still experienced them the way other earthbound creatures did.

But Sebastian had long ago learned that a second could give the illusion of a day and vice versa, depending on how it was he spent his time. He was feeling it now more than ever. The days when there was nothing to do but manage the household, cook this, repair that, and chasten those who couldn’t cook this or repair that, were the days when time passed in a blink. It was the days when his schedule varied from its beaten path that time seemed to slow. More often than not, those days happened when Ciel required him for something.

Ciel was working hard. He had more on his to-do list than ever, but because these were things he enjoyed doing, he kept at them with diligence. He was in constant communication with Funtom’s lead manager Mr. Cavendish, in person, by letter, and even occasionally over the phone. Funtom had never attempted such a hasty production before, though the circumstances were unique: they only needed to make enough Maharaja Bitter Rabbits to accommodate every attendee at the upcoming event, which meant a few hundred dolls would be produced as opposed to tens of thousands. Despite the rush, the doll needed to go through the entire line production, so that Ciel would be able to auction off all the concepts, diagrams, and prototypes that were part of every toys’ development process.

On top of that, Ciel had taken up his dance instruction with Mrs. Mayell again (“The only thing worse than having to dance at a party is having to dance at a party without any recent practice”) and even a bit of violin. For recreation, he read or rode his horses or helped Bard with Avalon. Once a week, he saw Elizabeth, whether at her manor or his. He was even able to meet with the Queen at the Ascot to at last discuss Hastings’s racehorse operation and the child test subjects. Everything seemed nice and orderly again for the first time in months. But that orderliness only lasted a few weeks before getting dressed for Edward’s graduation party brought tender feelings to the surface.

Ciel had grown again, this time in his shoulders, chest, and hips. The bones in his arms and legs had been stretching towards adulthood for some time, long as a fawn’s, and now it seemed his torso was trying to play catch-up. This meant the black cherry waistcoat Nina had delivered in May, along with its matching tailcoat, no longer fit so gracefully. Sebastian sighed out his nose as he felt the buttons of the waistcoat straining slightly (only slightly) with more chest area to pull across. It was a pity that the wardrobe they purchased less than two months ago was already becoming obsolete. But for Ciel, the issue wasn’t about wastefulness.

“It isn’t fitting right,” Ciel said, tugging at the vest’s armholes, which may have been cutting into him a bit.

“I’m afraid not,” Sebastian said, fastening the final button. “What a shame. And we only just— sir?”

Ciel had abruptly stepped away from Sebastian. He turned his back and ambled out of the dressing room, over to his bed. With a frustrated sigh, he settled onto it lengthwise and laid there with his arms folded into his stomach.

Sebastian’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. He stood up from the single knee he had been leaning on. Otherwise, he was momentarily uncertain of how to proceed. He had not expected Ciel to be happy that his new clothing no longer fit comfortably, but he hadn’t expected… well… whatever this was.

Yes… what was this? Sebastian wanted very much to know.

The butler paced over to the bedside. He stood by one of the posts. Ciel didn’t look at him or speak, and Sebastian felt suddenly aware of his stature. His human form was tall, and it was even taller compared to a boy lying in bed. It occurred to him to do something rather daring. He thought about it for a moment, and then he did it. He sat down on the far end of the mattress.

Ciel had been glaring angrily in the direction of the window, but he eyed Sebastian in puzzlement when he felt the shift in pressure. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting,” said Sebastian. Then, because he really should account for the fact that this was rather a breach of etiquette, asked, “Would you prefer it if I stood up again?”

“...” Ciel turned his furrowed gaze back to the window. “Do whatever you want.”

That seemed permission enough. Following another span of quiet, Sebastian said, “It appears you’re very troubled that the fit of your clothing is no longer just right.”

“Of course I’m troubled by it! Are you really surprised?!” Ciel snapped. He pulled his folded arms more tightly into his stomach. “None of the nice clothing I only just bought is going to fit me properly right now, and I have somewhere to be! So my only options are not to go, or to look like an idiot in front of my family’s friends! People are going to see me and think I’m someone who doesn’t know how to dress! I’ll be a laughingstock!” He blinked rapidly against the frustration gathering in his eyes.

It had been a while since the sensitivity of adolescence had reared its head. Now, it was telling Ciel that a pinched vest and misaligned jacket shoulders meant he would look like a clown to all who saw him. Sebastian knew that was untrue. Humans, though capable of being petty, tended to be rather self-absorbed. A teenaged boy who had barely begun to outgrow his clothing hardly made for juicy gossip. But Ciel seemed to think everyone would be staring at him, jeering at him — a thing Ciel had never much worried about before these growth spurts started.

Sebastian knew he had to navigate carefully. “That’s a lot of pressure to be under, young master.”

“Oh, shut up!” Ciel shouted. “I don’t need you making fun of me, too!”

“I don’t mean to sound as though I’m making fun. Not a bit. All I meant was, I can see how much this is distressing you. I can see why it would make you feel like you’d rather not go.”

“As if that helps anything!” Ciel curled into himself a bit more. “It won’t make my clothes magically fit! It won’t stop people from whispering about me behind my back! So who cares if it makes sense to you? I don’t!”

Sebastian didn’t respond to the taunting. He let Ciel seethe to himself, until the boy’s anger was able to lose its edge. After a few moments, it did. Ciel’s pose slackened somewhat. “Maybe I should tell them I was too sick to go,” he said at last. His voice sounded taut. “I don’t really even want to be there. It’s going to be my uncle’s side of the family and some of Edward’s school friends, and I don’t care about them. They don’t care about me either, so what’s the point? I don’t want to be judged by strangers.”

Sebastian lowered his chin. “I would be very surprised if you were. How many parties have you been to now in which you have noticed the way others’ waistcoats fit them? I don’t suppose you could name even one?”

Ciel refused to see his point. “I’m hardly an example of what most people do at parties. I don’t care about how strangers conduct themselves, as long as they aren’t trying to bother me or play the fool. But I just…” He sighed out his nose, eyebrows lowering. He slowly uncurled, sat up, glaring deeply at the surface of his comforter. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now. I just really feel like I don’t want anyone to see me. I mean, if this waistcoat doesn’t fit, none of the others should. They’re all based on the same measurements. Though I suppose different elasticity in fabrics explains why this is the first day I’ve had trouble with this batch of clothes…”

“Yes, I think one of your new poplin waistcoats should still fit,” Sebastian reasoned. “Though, I must say that I believe your current waistcoat would scarcely raise an eyebrow either.”

Ciel rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just had this idea in my head that everyone there is ready to laugh at me, and I can’t let go of it. I know it’s silly.” Ciel paused. “I-I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know.” He looked ashamed.

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you, sir,” Sebastian said. “You are growing up physically, and I should think that also means you are growing up mentally. You are changing in the way you perceive the world, just as well as in the way you want the world to perceive you.”

That didn’t wipe the sunken shame from Ciel’s face. “But I’m being so bloody stupid right now…”

“Sensitive, I think, would be a more fitting word.”

“Well, I don’t think it would be,” Ciel growled. He rubbed at his upper arm. Faced aside. “Sometimes I really think all of this… all of this growing-up nonsense… is actually turning me into an idiot. I don’t see situations clearly like I used to. I get in my own way all the time. It doesn’t make me feel like an adult at all. I was more of an adult when I was twelve than I am now.”

Sebastian chuckled gently. “I disagree, sir. And so does your waistcoat.”

He’d hoped to inspire some levity with that comment; there was no real rush, but if they wanted to show up for the party on time, they’d need to get back to preparing. And it would be best to clear up this foggy mood. Instead, Ciel hesitated for a long moment before barely saying aloud, “Shouldn’t I… look even more grown by now, though?”

Sebastian’s mind was suddenly transported back to the day Ciel locked himself in his bedroom, and Tanaka’s words on the matter of adolescence came to him at once: “The late master, when he encroached on adulthood, was away at school with other boys his age… I’m sure he learned much from watching the upperclassman about what to anticipate, other young gentlemen to question when he was confused. But Ciel has no such privilege.” Sebastian recognized very strongly in this moment how right Tanaka had been. Ciel’s questions could well be answered by a close peer group. In them, he would surely see that young humans found their way to adulthood in their own good time, never all at once, and never all at the same age.

But the boy didn’t have a close peer group. All he had was a demon.

“I couldn’t tell you what it is you ‘should’ be,” Sebastian began, “but I will say that, as many curiosities on Earth that I have seen, I don’t think I will ever meet a fourteen-year-old in the body of a fully grown adult.”

Ciel’s face went through a short cascade of emotions: eyebrows lowering, jaw tightening, and presently, he pinkened with embarrassment. He jumped sharply to his feet. “This discussion is stupid. I’m over the waistcoat matter now, it was silly for me to even feel the way I did. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s forget this conversation even happened. Go get me something else to wear, hurry it. We’re going to be late.”

Sebastian paused. Ultimately, he decided it was better not to push the subject now. “... Very well, sir.”

Maybe it wasn’t just a matter of not pushing the subject now, he recognized as he strode back to the dressing room. Maybe it was better not to push it at all, at least in regards to discussions of Ciel’s physical appearance. It was clearly a sensitive area for him, and perhaps one that would bring Ciel comfort to have full control over. So Sebastian said nothing else on the matter of clothing or growth spurts just then, other than to comment that Ciel looked “more at-ease” in the Bengal striped poplin waistcoat. Ciel only shrugged in response. The previous conversation, as per Ciel’s wont, was not mentioned again. But Sebastian would not forget it.

He’d written to Nina that evening without Ciel’s prompting to do so. Her response came the following afternoon, assuaging that if her emergency fee was paid, her assistants would be sure to create a host of general daywear and formalwear with size adjustments that aligned with Ciel’s previous proportions yet allowed room for filling out. That, she hoped, would offer Lord Phantomhive enough summer options while they waited for this growth spurt to end. She’d done this before. It would be fine. Relax. “There’s no need,” she’d put it, “to fret at me like a mother hen. Though it is an improvement to your usual plain, stoic demeanor, hm?”

On the off chance of anyone ever finding it, Sebastian decided to burn her letter too.

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Another half-week later marked the delivery of two more important letters: one from the amicable Lizzie, the other from the inconvenient Fairclough.

Ciel read Fairclough’s first. “Good news,” he said after finishing it, “we have a venue decided for the Funtom promotional event.”

“Ah. That is good news,” Sebastian said, trying to sound civil as he poured a cup of Ceylon tea infused with lemon peel. He still didn’t care for Fairclough. He probably never would. But it wouldn’t do any good to go about mentioning it every time the man’s name came up in conversation.

Ciel nodded, putting the letter on the left side of his desk so that he could remember to respond to it. “Mm. Apparently, when I told Mr. Fairclough that I was scouting out a location in London to hold approximately two hundred people at once, he got in-contact with Lord Sedgemore, and Lord Sedgemore said his manor could be made available. Well, that certainly makes things easy. I shall have to thank Fairclough and the marquis alike very graciously for granting that.”

“Indeed. Sedgemore House will be a most convenient location.” Sebastian placed a slice of roly-poly jam pudding next to the tea saucer and then stood by for further instruction.

“As for this letter…” Ciel picked up Lizzie’s envelope with a touch of hesitancy. “Lizzie promised me at Edward’s party that, before the week was up, she’d have decided on what events for the Season I should attend with her. Let’s see what she’s gotten me into, then…”

It was quiet for a minute. Ciel then finished reading and announced with a sigh, “Lizzie’s friend Jane Reubin seems more like a charity case than a companion.”

“Oh?” Sebastian prompted.

“Jane was meant to throw a small party next week at her family’s townhouse. A formal high tea with just her friends to celebrate the Season.” Ciel folded his arms, leaning back in his armchair. “Well, her parents ended up being invited to an event that same evening and told Jane that she had to look after that little brother of hers, since no one else will be there to mind him. Jane was thinking of canceling the party, but Lizzie encouraged her to keep the date by inviting you and I along to… enliven it or something.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Lady Elizabeth would like me to attend?”

“Yes. Apparently, the Reubin servants that came with them to London for the Season aren’t much built for entertainment. Though I am loath to give you an opportunity to show off, especially after you nearly squandered my mission by challenging Hastings’s chef,” Ciel half-barked, then shrugged. “But I suppose if I have to go to this party, I’d rather you were there to make sure the atmosphere never goes completely stale. Maybe then I won’t have to force a conversation.”

“Well, hopefully you won’t have to,” Sebastian said pleasantly. “Perhaps it won’t be so terrible. With luck, there may be circumstances in which you would like to talk with the others.”

“Tuh! Right. And there really are fairies living on the moon,” Ciel spat sarcastically. “You already know how I feel about Lizzie’s lot. They’re boring and they act like children. All their interests are so… frivolous. Who did this, who did that. What some actress was wearing to some party. Everything they talk about sounds like something you’d read in Town Topics.^[※] Even Lizzie acts more like her friends when she’s around them. I would decline the invitation without a second thought if I hadn’t promised her I’d go to three events she picked. At least it’s still better than a damn masquerade ball, seems I missed one of those by the skin of my teeth. With luck, I’ll be able to sit there and listen to everyone else prattle on without being bothered to participate.”

Sebastian shook his head subtly. So stubborn, this one.

“That little brother of Jane’s — Lyle, I think — is far too old to need minding,” Ciel continued after a sip of tea. “If he’s entering Weston as a first year, then he’s thirteen or about to turn it, but he acts more like he’s half that age. It’s no wonder Jane is so embarrassed of him. Her parents shouldn’t have left her to play nanny when she was trying to have an afternoon with her friends. But it’s kind of Lizzie to support Jane without a second thought, especially after Lyle went and made a fuss at Lizzie’s party back in February.”

So, Lyle Reubin would cross paths with his young master again. Sebastian certainly wouldn’t forget that boy any time soon. The “fuss” Lyle had created at the Shrove Tuesday party was a catalyst for Ciel’s sudden mood swings and the incident with the wine. Sebastian understood now, at least, that Lyle’s outburst wasn’t really to blame for Ciel’s behavior: that biology and chemistry were the true culprits behind such abrupt changes in his growing lord. Well… That, and a history of trauma.

Hmm. A history of trauma… Following that recollection, a thought began to crystallize in Sebastian’s mind, leading him to say, “I do have to wonder if there’s a reason for such behavior from Lyle.”

“Boredom, probably,” Ciel said. He picked up his pen and started playing with it between his fingers. “Boredom, and a constant need for attention.”

“Perhaps.” Sebastian put a hand to his jaw. “Though… He does seem like a bit of a sullen child. Not the sort to seek attention for attention’s sake.”

Ciel glared with suspicion. “What’s your point?”

“His words to you at the Shrove Tuesday party were rather specific, were they not?” Sebastian said. Ciel found sudden interest in his teacup. “You told me that Lyle felt he was in some kind of danger when he was in school. And you said he sounded believable. I think it’s possible that something has troubled Lyle very deeply, and that it continues to trouble him.”

“… It’s not our business, whatever it is,” Ciel said at last. “That’s for Lyle and his family to worry about.”

Sebastian lowered his chin. “I suppose.”

“Besides,” Ciel went on, as if trying to convince himself of something, “it’s been months since then. Lyle is going to attend Weston now. I’m sure whatever ‘danger’ he thought was after him has long been forgotten. It’s more likely that he just has a naturally unruly disposition that doesn’t allow him to be left to his own devices.”

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Sebastian brought the clarence^[♠] around to Elizabeth’s house at three o’clock on the afternoon of Jane’s party. Forty minutes later, they arrived at the Reubin’s London townhouse early, as requested, and were greeted by quite a scene in the parlor: a sobbing Lyle Reubin, gripping tightly to his sister’s waist; Jane, near to tears herself; and a maid doing her best to pry the siblings apart, but Lyle was proving utterly inconsolable.

“He’s always like this now,” Jane moaned to her shocked audience. “He’s been like this for the past two weeks. If Mother and Father go out, he affixes himself to me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. He won’t even go with Hector, and Hector has worked for us since before I was born.”

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth, ever the problem solver, bent down to look up at Lyle. “Lyle, won’t you let poor Jane go? It’s only going to be for the evening. Then your parents will come home and you can be with them again.”

Lyle was nearly smothering himself in the ochre ruching of his sister’s party dress. He ignored Lizzie.

“Young master Lyle, that’s— oof— enough…!” the maid grunted. She pried at the youngest Reubin’s fingers, which only sunk more deeply into Jane as soon as they regained their grip, causing Jane to cry out in alarm. “This is terrible behavior for a boy your age. Your parents will be so ashamed when they hear of it!”

“I don’t care!” Lyle grumbled. “You can’t make me leave!”

Jane looked at Elizabeth miserably. “I knew I should have canceled the party. What am I going to do? Everyone else will be showing up in twenty minutes. Lizzie, you have to help! You promised me it would be all right!”

Elizabeth wrung her hands, trying to think. “I know, dear, I know. Er…”

“Lyle. Listen to me.”

All eyes turned when Ciel spoke. His tone was firm, but not angry. Somehow, it even made Lyle peek at him, albeit with an eyeful of wariness.

Ciel continued, “I want to make a deal with you. If you promise not to make a scene while your sister is entertaining, you can stay in the parlor with us. But you absolutely have to behave yourself. If you don’t, you must leave at once. You can’t argue it. Do you understand?”

Lyle turned the rest of his tear-stained face out of his sister’s side. He nodded.

Ciel nodded back. “Good. Act like a gentleman, then. Or else you will have to go spend the evening with your domestics.”

Jane gave a huge sigh of relief as her brother finally disentangled his fingers from her clothes. Now it was her turn to grab him, though: she gripped his shoulder with one hand and wagged a finger in his face with the other. “Lyle, you really had better be good, or my friends will never speak to me again,” she scolded. “Don’t you dare say a word to anyone unless spoken to. Just sit over by the sofas and move to the chair by the piano when my guests leave the table. And do not take any of the pastries until we’re finished with them! Mother said those are especially for my guests! And please, don’t grab me again! I’m a lady now, and you shouldn’t be treating me like that!”

“All right,” said Lyle, but he didn’t really seem as though he was paying attention. He had been pacified by the thought that he didn’t have to leave with the maid.

The maid herself had become thoroughly fed-up by the ordeal, her blonde hair askew, and she wasn’t finished giving Lyle her own earful. “The poor mistress and master,” she fumed. “What a rotten lad you’ve been since you dropped out of St. Augustine! What a little disgrace! Weston will surely have their hands full this autumn! I wouldn’t be surprised if you wound up back home a second time, I wouldn’t!”

Lyle wasn’t granting her much mind either. His tears had dried up. He had gotten what he wanted and he was clearly feeling better about it. “I don’t want to be in London anymore, and I don’t want to go back to St. Augustine,” he mumbled. “Anywhere else is fine.”

Sebastian felt his eyebrows draw together. That was a curiously specific thing to say.

“You’re only lucky the master has such a gentle heart,” the maid went on, even as Lyle walked over to a sofa at the opposite end of the room and slouched on it. “The switching you’d have received from my father! You wouldn’t sit right for weeks, I promise you that! You don’t need to learn a lesson twice when it’s being driven in by a hickory branch—”

“Um, Effie, why don’t you go have the tea brought up? It should be ready about now,” said Jane awkwardly.

Effie stomped out then, still muttering under her breath about sparing the rod and spoiling the child.

Jane looked about ready to wilt. “I’m so sorry… Effie has a wicked temper. She’s a very hard worker, though, really.”

Elizabeth raced to her friend’s side. “She’s horrible! We won’t let her stay after she comes back with the tea!” She wrapped Jane up in the most comforting hug. “Never you fear, darling! We’ve brought Sebastian with us, and there’s no one you’d rather have serving high tea. He’ll be sure all of our friends are comfortable and fed and happy. He’s a perfect butler, you can count on him for anything.”

Sebastian bowed just so at the waist, hand to his chest. “Lady Elizabeth is always generous with her praise. Rest assured, I shall do my utmost to make your party the success it deserves to be, Miss Reubin.”

The relief was clear in Jane’s expression. “Thank you, all of you,” she beamed. “You’ve really put my heart at ease. I’m not so terrified anymore.” She glanced over at the couch, where only the top of Lyle’s head was visible from this angle. “It’s been so tiresome lately,” Jane said in a half-whisper. “Lyle has been refusing to leave the house. He won’t go anywhere, not even the threshold. And Mother and Father are cross all of the time. None of us know what to do with him. I’ll be feeling truly better once Weston’s new semester begins.” Jane put a hand to her forehead. “But if Effie is right, and he’s expelled from school again… Oh, I just don’t know what we’ll do.”

“You said Lyle has been like this for the past two weeks,” Ciel said. “What reason is there for that?”

“I haven’t any idea,” Jane answered, polite but without real concern. “We were out having a family stroll at St. James’s Park, and all of a sudden it was like he lost his mind. He demanded to be taken home at once. When Father told Lyle to behave himself, he started screaming and crying, and he forced us all to leave… Oh, it was so embarrassing. I thought I would die of shame. But you saw how Lyle was back in February. He can’t behave himself anymore. Something is wrong with him.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Lyle’s voice traveled over to them.

“You’re very fortunate that Ciel said you could stay! If it were up to me, you’d have gone off with Effie anyway!” Jane called back. “But I suppose it’s better that he’s here,” she continued to her companions. “It does give me peace of mind to know exactly where he is. I prefer it over worrying throughout the entire party that he’s going to run in and shackle himself to me in front of everyone.”

Ciel studied the back of Lyle’s head. He didn’t say anything else, but found his place at the table next to Lizzie’s, which was marked with a name card. Sebastian familiarized himself with the place settings and refreshments while he was at it, the tiered trays of French fancies, mazariners, and tartlets in a variety of fluted shapes, and heard Jane say, “There’s one more thing I have to tell you, Lizzie. I’ve invited Patricia.”

“Oh, Jane!” Lizzie immediately sounded concerned. “Why did you do that? Patricia isn’t a nice girl.”

“I know,” Jane sighed, “but the other girls so love her, and I really need someone like Patricia to let me into her circle. I’ve got to be invited to all sorts of parties next Season. If I merely rely on my parents’ introductions, I might end up marrying someone boring and old.”

“Patricia’s friends can’t be any good either,” Lizzie assuaged. “Your parents won’t let you be unhappy with your marriage. And I won’t either! You’re my dear friend, Jane. Please, listen to me and don’t share your time with unkind people anymore. You deserve much better than that!”

Ciel and Sebastian swapped a glance. Ciel’s face seemed to say I just knew this was going to be dramatic. Sebastian offered a cordial smile in response. Now, now, it’s only for a few hours. You can do this. Ciel snorted and rolled his eyes to look away.

Over the course of the next half hour, guests trickled in and found a place at the table. All of them were girls around Lizzie and Jane’s age, and all of them seemed to find Ciel’s presence there quite the novelty. “I didn’t expect any boys to be at this party,” said the potential villain Patricia. “Jane, why didn’t you tell me you would be inviting a boy?”

“I-I didn’t know it mattered,” Jane said, her voice wavering as if worried she’d made some sort of faux pas. It was obvious that pleasing this particular guest was of the utmost importance. “I didn’t know he would be arriving when I initially sent out the invitations. Lizzie was kind enough to invite him. The more, the merrier when it comes to games, after all!”

“It’s so very remarkable that you already have a fiancé, Lizzie,” a dark-haired girl named Louisa giggled shyly.

Another, Anna, nodded her agreement. “It’s so sophisticated! I’m jealous!”

“Yes, I wish I had a fiancé, too!”

“Me, too!”

Lizzie beamed, pleased as punch to be fawned over like this. Ciel wasn’t.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” he said straightforwardly. “It’s not as though we’re married. Until then, it’s rather more like being very close friends. I’m sure you’re already familiar with what it’s like to be close friends with someone.”

Clara tittered. “Yes, but not with a boy!”

Anna nodded. “Boys don’t want to be friends with girls, not at our age.”

Patricia had a surreptitious smile on her face. “I imagine it’s rather different from being close friends at least some of the time. I mean, surely you’ve kissed by now?”

The other girls looked at Patricia with a shock that said they were secretly glad she’d been brave enough to ask.

Ciel wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t know why you believe that’s your business,” he said calmly. He didn’t seem embarrassed, not like he had when Francis had told him he and Elizabeth needed to be chaperoned. Sebastian assumed it was because Ciel saw the girls as children and himself as an adult, even though all of them were older than he was. Ciel’s philosophy seemed to be that if you acted like a child, you were a child and should be treated that way (it certainly applied towards Prince Soma). “I’m not some creature to be gawked over, I’m just a person, the same as you. If you ask me any more inappropriate questions, I’m simply going to ignore them.”

Most of the girls seemed not to know what to do with that. They were used to boys their age being intimidated by them, frightened by them, on rare occasions entranced with them. Ciel’s nonchalance was rather difficult to work with.

Sebastian imagined that Elizabeth usually would have been a little put-off by Ciel’s unembellished description of their relationship. Today, she seemed more contented that Patricia was being put in her place. “That’s right, it isn’t anybody else’s business,” she said, sitting tall. “Ciel and I may be betrothed, but it isn’t an opportunity for others to ask whatever they like about us.”

But Patricia no longer found Ciel entertaining. “Well, Lizzie won’t be the only one with a fiancé for much longer. Next year when I’m seventeen, I’ll be presented in court, and obviously I’ll have a betrothed by August. The rest of you will be coming out as well, yes?”^[♣]

“My parents have decided I can’t come out until I’m eighteen,” sighed Clara. “That means three more years of waiting for me.”

Louisa nodded in empathy. “And I certainly won’t be presented until my sister is engaged. It would be too embarrassing for her, if her little sister was married first. But she hasn’t been doing well with suitors.”

“I-I’ll be coming out next Season,” Jane piped up, looking meaningfully at Patricia when she said it.

“Sixteen is the perfect age to come out,” said Anna. “Next year would have been just right. The sooner, the better, if you ask me; then, if you can’t find someone early on, you can go into your second Season still feeling youthful and relevant, and everyone will know who you are by then. I wish my parents agreed. But they told me I’ll have to wait at least two more Seasons.”

“But you’re still so young, all of you!” Lizzie marveled. “Aren’t there so many things you want to do before you settle down? Isn’t it grand, to have summers of picnics and field excursions and getaways to the countryside with your friends, still? Don’t misunderstand me, I do love to play matchmaker, but there’s still plenty of wonderful adventures to have in the meantime!”

Patricia fixed Lizzie with a cunning grin. “My, my. Are you having your cake and eating it too, Elizabeth? Even though you can sit comfortably while the rest of us worry about our futures, you believe you can tell us to be patient in the ways of love? I don’t think that’s very fair of you.”

The other girls, minus Jane, nodded minutely with approval at this. Lizzie’s face was pink, and she turned to Ciel with her mouth open, as if hoping he was just as affronted. Ciel looked away with a hand slightly raised, as if to say, This one is yours to fight; I want no part of it. Elizabeth lost some of her steam at that, but still pouted and muttered, “It’s Lizzie.”

Patricia held out her teacup to be refilled, and Sebastian abided, perhaps pouring a little bit less than he usually would. “I couldn’t help but notice,” Patricia continued, “that Ciel isn’t the only boy at this party.”

Now it was Jane’s turn to blush. “Um, Lyle isn’t really a guest. He… He just hates to be alone, so Mother and Father said I had to keep him company… But there’s no need to pay him any mind. He’s fine by himself, really.”

Lyle was already peeking over the edge of the sofa upon hearing his name. The other girls laughed lightly at his curiosity. “Why not? Didn’t you say the more, the merrier?” Jane tensed as Patricia gestured her little brother over with a finger. “Why don’t you join us, then?”

Lyle did stand up, but he looked at Ciel for approval before coming any closer. Ciel closed his eyes and conceded. “You’ve minded yourself well. You can sit at the table.” Then, to Patricia, “There’s no need to heckle him, though. Just let him have some of the pastries and sit with us. That’s all he really wants, anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” Patricia simpered as Lyle took the chair to her left. “I’m sure he’d love to join us when we play games, though. I brought something with me that I think will keep things lively. In fact, why don’t I show you all right now?”

Ah, so that’s what that basket was supposed to be. Sebastian glanced at the item on the console table in the room’s northwest corner. He’d assumed till now that it was a gift, as it was a rare something belonging to a different part of the world: a lauhala woven basket, with a colorful kapa sheet tucked over whatever the basket’s contents were. Sebastian was certain he was the only one present who could recognize these items by name. It was surprising to see them here. The Hawaiian people and the Americans who had built sugar plantations on Hawaiian soil were currently at serious odds with each other. Ciel predicted things would come to a head soon. There was talk of taxation and annexation, but England did not have much involvement in the matter.^[♦] It was likely that Patricia had relatives who had somehow acquired these as souvenirs for her.

What she intended to do with the basket’s contents Sebastian wasn’t certain. But that was about to be revealed. Patricia stood from her seat, pushed her plate to the side, and retrieved the basket, which she placed on the tabletop. “My uncle visited Hawaii recently to photograph the wild birds there for the Queen,” she explained proudly, “and he came back with all sorts of treasures he purchased. So, instead of keeping them for myself, I thought I would share some with the rest of you.” The girls began to croon and thank Patricia for her thoughtfulness. Patricia waited for the praise to die down somewhat before adding, “But: these gifts each come with a price tag. And that price is the revealing of a secret. You have to be willing to share a fine bit of gossip with the rest of us in order to win something.”

Gifts with a price tag. Sebastian smirked subtly. That didn’t sound very much like a gift anymore.

Patricia’s hand shuffled past the kapa sheet and removed a mother-of-pearl comb, its surface shimmering with pale rainbows by the light of so many wall sconces and the afternoon sun still pouring in. “Well?” she mused. “Which of you is brave enough to start?”

It was quiet for a long moment. No girl wanted to go first. They all glanced around at each other, hopeful, hesitant.

Elizabeth was, perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not, the one to break the ice. “I have an interesting bit of a story,” she said. “It isn’t really mine to tell. But I can trust all of you not to share it, right?”

The other girls nodded, leaning in. Lyle took a too-big bite of a millefeuille and licked his fingers. Ciel cocked an eyebrow, looking a little wary about Lizzie's decision. He knew that a secret was rarely safe with a roomful of talkative, boisterous young girls constantly seeking to impress other talkative, boisterous young girls. But Patricia smiled that signature smile of hers once more and said, “All right. Go on, then, dear.”

“I overheard a few of Edward’s friends talking about this at his graduation party,” Lizzie began. “There was a rumor going around that Weston’s vice headmaster leaves his housing every night of the full moon and has a swim in the Thames, totally unclothed. Edward’s friends sneaked out during their last week in the dormitories to check, and sure enough, it’s true!”

That was first faced with a chorus of “ooohhs” followed by sheepish giggling and minor applause.

“Fine, then,” said Jane with an air of indifference, handing off the comb across the table, “if the rest of you think that’s good enough, I’ll allow it.”

Lizzie sat back down with her prize, smiling primly at the victory of her friends’ approval. That got the ball rolling, and now the rest of the girls were sharing their own secrets, clamoring for something special to win: a painted bamboo pan flute, a cowrie shell the size of a cream bun.

Ciel was more preoccupied with Elizabeth. He gave her a look when she turned to show him her spoils. “You certainly were quick to throw your hat in the ring.”

Lizzie whispered behind her hand, just low enough for Ciel to hear (and, unintentionally, Sebastian), “You mustn’t tell the others, but I’ve only just made up that story now.”

Ciel’s other eyebrow raised to join the first. “You made that up?” he nearly mouthed. Lizzie nodded minutely. Ciel’s cheek slowly lifted with a half-grin. “You made up a story about the vice headmaster of Weston swimming naked in the Thames?” Lizzie nodded again, blushing and grinning back and reminding Ciel to be quiet with a finger pressed to her lips. Ciel chuckled now, unable to help it. “All for a… a bloody comb you could have bought for yourself?” Lizzie ducked her chin and tried not to laugh; Ciel smiled wryly and stared at her, as if both surprised and amused at her insidious behavior. He shook his head, turning away. “What a show. See, now you are spending too much time with me. I’ve rubbed off on you.”

Lizzie tugged at his sleeve. “Don’t act put-off! You’re still smiling, Ciel, I can tell!”

“That’s not a smile. I’m very disappointed in you.”

“It is a smile! It is!”

“You’re only seeing things.”

“IT’S NOT FAIR! ”

Lyle’s piercing shout halted all other conversation at once. Every head whipped in his direction. Even Patricia appeared more unnerved than she did curious.

Jane was the first one to respond to him. “Lyle, you promised you wouldn’t make a scene!”

“But, but i-it isn’t fair!” Lyle sputtered. He was pointing at the pale object Patricia held up, which was likely a large piece of pumice. “I have a really good secret, but I can’t tell it, and if I could then I would win!”

“You don’t have a secret! You’re lying again!” Jane hissed.

“Yes I do! ”

“Then tell it!”

“I can’t! I can’t, and it’s not fair!” Lyle moaned. He started rocking his chair back and forth on its heavy legs, making an awful thumping noise. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

“Lyle, why is it that you can’t you share your secret?” Ciel asked firmly.

“Because I can’t! ” was Lyle’s screaming reply.

Jane hopped to her feet and pointed at the door. “Lyle, you have to leave! You promised you wouldn’t cause a scene! You’re bothering my guests!”

The little Heathcliff abruptly halted his actions. “No, don’t make me! I’m sorry!”

“It’s too late for that! You’ve broken your promise and now you have to go!”

“I don’t want to leave! Please don’t make me leeeeave!” Lyle was near to sobbing again.

Jane was at the end of her rope. “Ciel, he listens to you! Please, tell him to go away!”

But Ciel was curiously transfixed on the boy throwing a tantrum right across the table from him. He didn’t seem to remember how to speak. Jane was staring at Ciel, hoping he would help her, and the other girls were beginning to whisper nervously amongst themselves. Lizzie was looking back and forth at everyone, wondering what she could possibly do to alleviate the situation.

It was time to employ drastic measures.

He had seen the show only once, but once was enough for the spring-trap memory of a demon. Ciel had had Sebastian attend the event one afternoon at the very start of the Season, after Elizabeth had told Ciel it was the “most popular thing” in London right now. Ciel had even allowed Mey-Rin, Finny, and Bard to go along too. Bard hadn’t understood the show’s appeal, but Mey-Rin and Finny had ended up humming the songs for a week after while they flitted around at their chores. They finally abandoned it after Ciel threatened them with, “You can either stop that bloody singing, or I can cut off my ears. Which would you rather happen?” Clear hyperbole though it had been, Mey-Rin and Finny had immediately started repenting for driving their poor master to disfigurement, and Ciel had spent another week with his hair tucked behind his ears so they’d quit asking to see if he was in one piece.

Perhaps now Ciel wouldn’t find that show so regrettable.

Sebastian sat at the piano. His fingers found the right notes with ease. And he began to play.

For a moment, only the melody filled the air. Then, with near-perfect synchronicity, all of the girls cried aloud, “The Starlight Four!” and rushed the piano as one, shrieking in merriment and singing along at the chorus.

Yes, the Starlight Four. It was a singing group that was very popular with young girls, considering the boys who made up the singing group were young themselves. A quartet of dropouts from Weston, they now made their living performing at the Empire Theatre of Varieties once a week. One could only imagine what the boys’ parents thought of such a living: they were noble-born and never intended for a life in the performing arts. But the public adored them, and fortunately so did Lizzie’s band of friends. Sebastian hoped the song would provide enough of a distraction here for Lyle’s outburst to be forgotten.

The piano and the girls’ singing wasn’t quiet. Sebastian could still just hear Ciel above it, talking to the boy who had been sitting across the table from him. Sebastian strained his ears to listen.

“Here. You can have this,” Ciel said, presumably referring to the pumice. “If Patricia says you can’t, have her talk to me, and I’ll reimburse her.”

“Thanks…” said Lyle, in a preoccupied voice that implied he was very fascinated with his new prize and would rather leave the prior scene behind him.

Ciel didn’t want to do that, though. “Lyle, why can’t you share your secret with anybody else? What will happen if you do?”

Lyle didn’t answer immediately. Only after he was prompted a second time did he mumble, “I can’t tell you.”

“Ah, right. If you do, you’ll be in danger, is that it?” Ciel said.

Another pause from Lyle. “Do you believe that?”

“I believe that you believe that.” It was Ciel’s turn to pause. “I believe that someone threatened you. And that that frightened you very badly. Did someone threaten you?”

“Threatened is when someone says they’ll hurt you unless you listen to them, right?”

“Yes. Is that what happened to you? A person told you they would hurt you if you didn’t keep their secret?”

“Yeah. But no one believes me, because then I don’t tell them what the secret is. You’re really saying you believe me?”

Ciel’s voice was resolute. “Yes, I believe you, Lyle.”

“Good.”

Lyle stopped talking there. Ciel tried to push him to speak more. “Was it an adult who threatened you?”

“Mhm.”

“A man?”

“Mhm.”

“… Did he hurt you already?”

“No. But I still know he’d do it, because he told me that he had a pistol and he knew other men with pistols, too.”

Ciel exhaled slightly, perhaps with relief. “Lyle, listen to me. Sometimes strange adults tell children to keep secrets or else they’ll be hurt, but those adults aren’t being honest. I think the man who threatened you was lying, too. I think he wanted to make you feel frightened, but the truth is that he was frightened. He was frightened because you knew something that could get him in trouble. Is that correct?”

“He wasn’t lying! He wasn’t…” Lyle lost confidence in the middle of his sentence. Then it returned with a vengeance. “He would have hurt me!”

“Maybe he would have in the moment. But he isn’t here right now, is he? He can’t harm you anymore.”

“He said he had spies!” Lyle shouted. Fortunately, the girls were still singing too loudly to notice.

Ciel didn’t buy that either. “I think that man was lying to you. I think he was very scared of the trouble you could get him in and he said whatever he could to scare you. Who was this man anyway, Lyle? Can you tell me that much?”

“No.”

“Was it a professor at your old school? St. Augustine, was it? Or a senior boy, maybe?”

“No.”

“All right. Then… It doesn’t have to do with Mr. Fairclough, does it?”

Sebastian was surprised to hear that name come up. He launched into another song to give Ciel more time with this conversation.

“Who’s Mr. Fairclough?” Lyle asked.

“You’ve already forgotten who-? He’s the gentleman who made it so you can attend Weston now. It would do you well to remember his name, since he did you that enormous favor… But it doesn’t have to do with him, does it?”

“No,” Lyle said huffily. “Why do you keep asking me questions about this? I don’t want to talk to you about it. Or anybody.”

“Because,” said Ciel firmly, “I need you to know you’re not actually in danger. This secret is making you miserable, and it’s making your family miserable, too. I know they don’t believe you. But you’re not helping anything by keeping this to yourself either. You need to tell someone what it is. All right? So if you can’t tell me, you have to promise you’ll tell your mother or father.”

“I’m never going to tell anyone for the rest of my life,” Lyle said.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Ciel emphasized. He was starting to lose his patience. “Come off it, Lyle. I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me. I’ve met enough petty criminals to see that they’ll say just about anything to children to keep them quiet. They’re not nice people, but their bark is worse than their bite. And if it turns out that the man who threatened you is someone powerful, it’s better that Scotland Yard knows who it is. They will make sure that nobody hurts you.”

“I’m. Not. Gonna. Tell. Anybody,” Lyle enunciated each word. “You’re the only person who ever believed me. Nobody else does! Everyone else called me a liar! Well, too bad! They don’t get to know my secret now!”

“But what if you shared your secret and everything was fine?” Ciel challenged. “Don’t you want to be happy? Don’t you want everyone to stop being angry with you?”

“But what if they don’t stop being angry?” Lyle challenged back. “What if they hate me more than ever? What if they still call me a liar, or they still say something’s wrong with my head? Then everything would keep being terrible! Or maybe even worse! So leave me alone! Y-You’re just as bad as everybody else! Everyone is mean to me all the time, and I’m sick of it! They think I’m a bad person for not telling them my secret, but it’s just because they don’t know how much worse it would be if I did tell them!”

That was where the conversation ended. Sebastian’s back was turned away; to twist around would catch the attention of his audience. He didn’t get a chance to see the aftermath until the song was finished. When he finally did get a look, beyond the clapping and crowding of the excited girls, he saw that Lyle was sitting underneath the dining table, rotating the pumice between his fingertips, placated. Ciel had taken his own seat at the sofas. He stared at nothing. His face seemed to hold little emotion.

The girls, at least, had been united by the spell of music, and for the rest of the party, the air was free from animosity. Even Patricia had been converted from her antagonistic streak. They had Sebastian play as many Starlight Four songs as he knew (which was, in fact, four) and then had him play them again, this time while they conducted a game of musical chairs. Then someone remarked that Jane’s table was perfect for deerstalker^[♥], so Sebastian cleared away the food and they each took a turn at running lengths until they were exhausted. Even Lyle participated, and managed to win as the deer, lifting the blindfold from his face and breathing heavily, happily, as the girls congratulated him on his artful escape. But no matter how many times Elizabeth asked, Ciel said he was too tired to join in.

“I really can’t thank you enough for coming!” Jane said, hugging Lizzie tightly after the other guests had started preparing to go home. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, or Ciel… or especially you, Mr. Sebastian! You were incredible!”

Sebastian bowed and assured Miss Reubin that he had been happy to play, that such lively and spirited girls were always a pleasure to perform for. It was a polished bit of butler’s dialogue he could produce without effort. He was too busy thinking of Ciel, who said next, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask Lyle to leave earlier, even though I promised you I would. I wasn’t feeling very well all of a sudden.”

“Please, don’t apologize!” Jane reassured him. “I’m sorry you’re unwell! And really, I shouldn’t have put you in charge of him, you’re a guest. I was just so frustrated… b-but it ended up being completely fine anyway! I think Sebastian made everyone forget about what happened, and then Lyle started behaving himself after that.” Still, she looked at her little brother across the room, countenance darkening. “Mother and Father will be very disappointed to hear of all the mischief he tried to cause.”

“Don’t… be too hard on him,” Ciel said. “He’s… I think he’s doing the best he can right now.”

“The best he can to be a troublemaker!” Jane insisted. “Honestly, he needs to work on his manners! He cannot be expelled from Weston, he just can’t. It would be such a disgrace. He’d have to be tutored at home, I couldn't bear it if he went to a reformatory… Oh, Elizabeth, I need to be married next summer before he can ruin my reputation too!”

“It’s going to be fine, dear Jane,” Lizzie soothed, touching her arm. “Look at how well your party went today! I think Patricia shall keep you in her highest regards from here on. And you’ll certainly always be in mine. Don’t fret.”

The carriage ride out of the city was longer than the one they took going in. Traffic had picked up: it was seven o’clock, the time when most festivities of the social season began, not finished. Ciel wasn’t supposed to be done for the day either: after Jane’s party, he was meant to join the Midfords for dinner. But now he wasn’t feeling well. According to him, not unwell enough for Lizzie to worry. Just unwell enough that he needed to return home and rest. Lizzie was worrying regardless.

“Is it a fever? Is it your stomach?” she asked from inside the carriage. Sebastian could hear the conversation easily from his position at the reins, once they were back in the countryside especially. “Maybe the sweets were too heavy for you. Maybe you’re just tired. Lie down for a bit in our drawing room and see if it helps. Then we can still have dinner together!”

“No, no. I have to go to bed. I’m not hungry. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I think it’s catching up to me. It’s making me feel dizzy and out of sorts.” The claim of poor sleep was a lie. A few days ago, a summer heatwave had finally broken. Ciel had said to Sebastian just this morning that it was, even days later, still a relief to sleep through an entire night in full, without waking up covered in sweat once or twice. “We’ve seen each other so much lately. If I can’t attend this one dinner, I know we’ll visit again on Saturday.”

Lizzie was still disheartened. “I know, but… I love spending time with you, always! It makes me sad anytime we have to say goodbye.”

“I-I know. I’m sorry.” A pause. “I’m… sorry.”

“Ciel? Oh, you are looking a little pale now… You poor thing. Do you need to close your eyes?”

“Um, maybe… If that’s all right…”

“Of course it’s all right! Oh no, that party must have been so much for you. The girls and I were being so loud. Why didn’t you say something? We could have left early. It would have been fine to do that. Then maybe you could have been well enough to have dinner.”

“I don’t know about that, Lizzie, I’m… going to shut my eyes now…”

“Good. I’ll stop talking then. Oh, I’m just so sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize.” Ciel’s voice was dreary, distant.

“Oh, Ciel… Just rest. Poor thing.”

Sebastian imagined it was difficult but Elizabeth kept her word: she didn’t speak for most of the journey back to her household. When they pulled up to her lantern-lined front drive, Sebastian heard her say, “Please write to me tomorrow so that I know that you’re feeling better. And if you aren’t feeling better, have Sebastian write to me instead. It’s scary when illness comes on so quickly.”

“I really don’t think I’m sick, Lizzie. I just need to sleep. Please, don’t make Uncle Alexis work himself up too. I promise, I’m going to be fine.”

Sebastian opened the cab door. Elizabeth was helped down the step a moment later and said, “You will take good care of him, won’t you, Sebastian?”

“Of course, Lady Elizabeth.” Sebastian took a brief glance inside the compartment, at Ciel slumped against the far side by the window. “Of course I will.” Lizzie was already out of earshot, the front door ushered open for her by the Midford’s most esteemed footman, Hammond. She disappeared into the yellow halo of the entrance hall. Sebastian clicked the horses off into the night.

An hour later, they were home. Sebastian put down the step and opened the door for his lord. Ciel nearly stormed out of the carriage and ascended the front stairs with the long, purposeful strides of a person who has been soundly humiliated and does not wish to meet the eyes of another. Sebastian let him go — but only for now, he assured himself. Only until the clarence had been returned to the carriage house, the cobs returned to their stalls, dinner prepared, the milk tea off the stove, and the bath drawn and drained again. Then, Sebastian would speak.

It was Lyle’s unwillingness to share his secret that had rattled Ciel this time. It was Lyle’s insistence that the secret, once shared, could separate him further from the ones who were supposed to love him. Ciel had many secrets like that. There was one secret in particular that he clutched more tightly in his fist than any other. It was the secret of that horrible month, and what happened then, and the ways in which Ciel was hurt, and the things that were taken from him — things that could not be reclaimed. Sebastian knew what happened without being told outright. He had always known. He knew a great deal about what humans could lust for and what some humans were capable of when they lusted. They were capable of being demons.

Sebastian thought about waiting for Ciel to bring up the matter himself. But Ciel didn’t bring it up when Sebastian delivered a light supper of consommé aux quenelles frites to his study, and he didn’t when it was time for bedtime milk tea, and he didn’t before the bath. And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. This was different from the outburst when Ciel’s clothing didn’t fit him. That topic wasn’t an easy one, but it was ultimately innocent, inconsequential, if Ciel decided he wasn’t ready to share all his feelings until another day. This was different. This was something that couldn’t fall to the wayside. It needed to be talked about. Now.

“Young master.”

It was after the bath. Ciel was laying in bed on his stomach with an open book beside him, a forgotten distraction. His expression was thoughtful, perturbed. His eyes had been fixed on the corner of his pillow, but he blinked his focus back when Sebastian spoke to him. “What is it?” he sort of mumbled out. He cleared his throat. “What?”

Sebastian took a breath. His shoulders fell somewhat. No turning back. “I wanted to commend you for speaking to young Lyle earlier, sir. I know it wasn’t easy to do. But I think it was very helpful for him to hear that someone noticed and understood his plight.”

Ciel looked at Sebastian oddly. “Why do you care about that?” Then, with bite, “And who gave you permission to eavesdrop? You must have been putting real effort into it, considering you were busy playing that ridiculously annoying song.”

“Yes, I did put effort into listening,” Sebastian said. “And I’m glad that I did. I think it ended up being rather important.”

“… I don’t know about important,” Ciel huffed. He thumbed at the pages of the book as he talked. “I mean, I… definitely confirmed that the ‘danger’ that happened to Lyle was real. Someone frightened him, he wasn’t making it up. But I still don’t know what it was specifically that occurred. And I don’t think I really changed Lyle’s mind on what to do about it. I’m not sure if there is anything more I can do. His parents already know something is going on, and Lyle refuses to be completely honest with them. And I’m not convinced he’s in danger any more. It’s… It should be out of our hands.”

“I don’t know what the best thing for Lyle is either,” Sebastian said. “At the moment, I’m more concerned with you, my lord.”

Ciel’s posture hunched slightly. “What about me?”

“It seemed to me that that was not an easy conversation for you to have, sir. For the rest of the party after that, you were subdued. You even told Lady Elizabeth that you felt too unwell to have dinner with her family.”

“Well, sorry if I wasn’t in much of a festive mood after talking with a young boy about an occurrence that deeply terrified him,” Ciel growled.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be, young master,” Sebastian said. He was doing his best to stay collected in the face of Ciel’s spines, which he felt were all pointed at him right now. He had to persevere, even if Ciel was determined to label him a foe. He had to. “But I don’t want to dismiss that something more serious and personal is happening for you, too. I think you understood Lyle Reubin very well. I think you could relate to the feelings that come with keeping a dark secret.”

“So what?” Ciel sat back on his heels. Making himself look bigger. A cornered animal.

Sebastian lowered his chin. “If you could, then I imagine it must speak to an inner turmoil you are facing on your own right now. Feelings regarding a time when you too were in terrible danger.”

The boy’s face flinched with disgust. “Why does that matter? Why do you even want to talk about that? W-Why… Why do you always want to talk about these things lately?! Is it some new, sick demon pleasure to, to make me think about unpleasant things instead of just letting me move past them? You couldn’t let me forget about the last mission, and now you’re… now you’re bringing that horrible month into this?! Who was even talking about it?! What makes you think I was thinking about that at all?!” Ciel was breathing heavily, his eyes wide and enraged.

This had escalated quickly. Sebastian realized that meant he had been exactly right. Ciel was defending himself from the very edge, because he was scared that he had been found out so easily. “This reaction certainly gives me cause to believe you were thinking about it, sir,” he explained softly. “I don’t mention it because I want you to feel distress. But I simply… I could not let it go unspoken.”

“Why not?!” Ciel yelled. “Why can’t you?! I was going to! I wasn’t going to mention it at all, because it’s better that way!”

“I don’t think it is, sir. I think it is better that we speak about this than for you to have to be alone with your sadness and grief.”

“Go away!” Ciel’s look was wildly affronted. “That’s an order!”

Sebastian didn’t go away. He could feel the pressure of their contract pushing him to, but for now, he was able to fight the command. Staying here was better for Ciel’s well-being. It had to be. It was. He had to make the boy see that. “Young master, please. Don’t turn me away. This is not the time for you to be alone. I know, you feel very upset, and that you hate to make yourself vulnerable. But the way to move on from your pain… It isn’t to ignore it.”

“What the hell would you know about that?!” Ciel snapped. “And why aren’t you leaving?! I said to go! ”

With great effort, Sebastian sank to one knee. It was the only way he could keep his legs from carrying him out of the room then and there. “I don’t… want to… defy your orders,” he said in a strained voice. “But I’m… I’m not going to leave yet. Please.” Sebastian fought to keep his eyes on Ciel’s. “Take back your command.”

“Why?!” Ciel leapt out of bed and pointed sharply at the door. “Get out of this room! Get away from me! I said it’s an order, and I meant it! Go already!”

It was like being bludgeoned by the waves of a hurricane right against the top of his skull. Such words from his contracted soul had the power to sweep Sebastian away. Ciel knew that well. The only reason the command hadn’t fully worked its magic was because Sebastian was clinging desperately to the small possibility that this was the right thing to do.

But at the same time, Ciel looked so terribly frightened.

“If it has to be so… I will leave,” said Sebastian, voice returning with the acceptance of the demand. “But… I believe you should consider your own advice. That you aren’t in danger anymore. That keeping secrets is only making you miserable. And that sharing them may bring you more peace than you can imagine. I know that Lyle refuted that. I know you saw his point. That to share a secret with others is very scary; that it may not make you feel any better, in the end. I would like you to challenge that. For if you don’t, this cycle of terror you’ve locked yourself in may only continue.”

Turning his back to go relaxed the pressure that disobeying the order had built up. But there was a secondary, deeper relief that came from hearing the boy say, “Wait.”

Pausing his exit was the easiest command to obey.

“Don’t… Don’t pretend like my situation isn’t… different from Lyle’s,” Ciel said, words stilted with the difficulty of speaking them. “Everything about it is different. My family would be… devastated if I told them. It isn’t just about me. It isn’t just about my happiness or misery. It’s about theirs. It’s about protecting them.”

“Perhaps it is, in part,” said Sebastian, “but I think that isn’t entirely true. I think you are trying to protect yourself — from the possibility that they might hate you.”

Sebastian thought he heard a small intake of breath.

“Frankly, I think the possibility that they might hate anyone other than those who hurt you,” Sebastian continued, “is none at all, sir.”

The room was silent with the sound of contained emotion.

“I cannot tell you what to do. But I can tell you that what I feel when I consider your predicament is… sympathy.”

And so it had been said. So it had to be said. For how could Sebastian continue to preach on the goodness of sharing secrets when he kept one of his own? And how strange, that the world did not fall apart at the mere mention of a demon’s sympathy. It did not even pause a moment to recognize the gravity of those words for the demon who spoke them. And wasn’t that, on its own, an incredible relief?

“You do?” said Ciel in the lightest voice.

“Yes,” said Sebastian.

“Oh,” said Ciel.

It was very, very quiet for a moment.

“So, I guess I’ve tricked you, too,” the boy finally said.

Those words… Sebastian furrowed his brow. His initial, primal instinct was to panic. It was the thing he had feared all these months, and it was no new predicament. He had had masters try to trick him in the past into somehow escaping the contract with their souls untouched. None had succeeded, or even come close. But still, his thoughts followed the old grooves and assumed, for a moment, that Ciel was saying he had planned this after all. That a human had finally conned a demon into caring for him and was about to give his victory speech.

But no, that wasn’t right. ‘I’ve tricked you, too,’ Ciel had said. And not happily, either. And… in response to being told that someone felt sadness for him.

‘I’ve tricked you, too.’ Was the boy admitting that he believed the only way anyone could care about him was if they had been fooled into doing so?

Sebastian turned around abruptly to face Ciel. Ciel startled and raised a hand to his face as if afraid it bore some emotion he did not want to be seen. Sebastian closed the distance between them, went to one knee. He put his hands on his charge’s arms and made his expression firm. “Young master, you cannot accidentally manipulate people into feeling sorry for you. That isn’t possible.”

Ciel looked down at Sebastian with that same uncertainty and worry. He didn’t say anything yet. He seemed to be letting Sebastian decide where the conversation would go; perhaps realizing how defenseless he felt and knowing that to open his mouth could mean revealing another secret fear.

That was all right. Sebastian could manage the discussion from here. “I am sorry for not leaving when you asked me to just now,” he said, hands still steady on those young but strengthening arms. “It wasn’t my intention to defy you or act domineering. I did it because I need you to understand that I won’t go away just because things are hard. You are accustomed to being alone with your anger and sadness. I understand why. It is what life has taught you is best. But I think it is time for you to learn a different lesson. There is no need for us to repeat the events of February and March just to come to the same conclusion. Instead, I want you to try and tell me when you are upset. I know it won’t be easy. So I give you my promise that I won’t mock you. I won’t endeavor to make you uncomfortable. And I wouldn’t suggest it, unless I thought it might ease your burden. But I know if you continue to keep everything to yourself, it will only result in another explosion. Why not avoid that, if we can?”

Sebastian knew that if he’d delivered this speech when Ciel was feeling confident or cross, it would have gone badly. In this moment of vulnerability, there was an unexpected bravery. Ciel, while still afraid, hadn’t interrupted Sebastian. He was reciprocating what he was saying. And though it was with notable reluctance, Ciel responded with a small nod.

Sebastian responded in kind with a small smile. “I’m glad to see you feel that way, sir. Thank you for listening to me.” He let Ciel’s arms go now. It wouldn’t be right, to keep holding his master like that without a clear reason. But he did not stand or drop his gaze. “How are you feeling now?”

Ciel coughed. He turned away and draped an arm over his stomach. “Um… I’m feeling as though… I want to be alone.”

So, it was still too much. Sebastian knew it was best to accept that their dialogue would end here. Truth be told, he had asked a lot of the boy. “That makes sense. It has been a very emotional day. I understand, if you need your space. But… I’m glad that you want to change the way we communicate, going forward.”

“I guess.” Ciel shrugged. He chewed on his lip. “Er… Sebastian?”

Maybe the dialogue wouldn’t end here. “Yes, sir?”

The boy couldn’t look anywhere but at the carpet. “I know I’ll regret asking this later, but…” Ciel’s eyes tightened. “Everything that… happened. Up to summoning you. That horrible month. You think that would be considered… forgivable?”

The answer came to Sebastian easily, as though he had rehearsed it many times. “It is not a thing that requires forgiveness. It was not your fault. Rather, I would say it is something I have no doubt would be met with acceptance.”

Ciel’s eyelids squeezed shut, and he spun away. He stood there, shoulders tightening, fists clenching and unclenching for half a minute. Finally, he said, “Better that it’s you, to… to see me like this.” He swallowed hard against his trembling voice. “Better that it’s you. The one who can’t leave me or lie to me. If the others… If anyone else… said what you said just now… I wouldn’t believe them. Not a bit. I’m still not even fully convinced I should believe you. But then I remember the rules of our contract, and I know I can count on those. Sometimes it feels like the only thing that I can count on.”

It was such a brilliant and telling speech, right from the boy’s core. Sebastian opened his mouth to respond to it, but Ciel interrupted him intentionally. “I don’t want to hear your thoughts. No more on this right now. I meant what I said, I want to be alone. You can come back at eight a.m. Until then, unless I call for you, leave me be. And, please… for goodness sake, actually go this time.”

Sebastian’s ears perked. How interesting… That last sentence was spoken with the same light exhaustion the young master might award the other servants, when they had done something wrong but Ciel knew they only meant well. Sebastian had never had that voice used towards himself. But maybe that was not a bad thing.

He bowed his head, features softening. “Yes, sir. I will take my leave then. And do rest well.”

The door shut with the smallest click, enough to still be noticeable. And then, that was that. He had done it. He had spoken to the young master about sympathy and anger and sadness and hurt without it ending in complete disaster. There were so many chances for things to go wrong. But somehow, he had driven the rickety cart along its path and ended at the station without losing any cargo along the way.

Once, months ago in this very hallway, Sebastian had marveled at the notion of a demon guiding a human child through adolescence. How curious it was, then, that that human child would say to him now, in not so few words, “You are the only one who can be my guide.” And it wasn’t the first time, was it? When Sebastian reached to take that little hand nearly five years ago, he had not thought of it that way. Had not seen himself as the boy’s savior. Had not seen the boy’s request as one for a guardian.

But it had never been anything else. Then, now, across that span of seconds and years. And so Sebastian finally spoke his acceptance aloud for the walls and floors and the night to know.

“Yes, it is I. I am the one who will be your guide. Now, I am here.”

Chapter Text

“Just what are you playing at, damn demon?”

It was eight o’clock, the morning after Jane Reubin’s party. As Sebastian expected, Ciel had been restored to his state of natural skepticism and thus had more than a few questions about yesterday evening.

“What am I playing at, young master? I suppose this is your way of informing me that you would like to speak more on our last conversation, in which I rather brazenly brought up your emotional state.”

And, emboldened by the admission of his growing sympathy, Sebastian felt ready to supply answers.

“... Yes.” Ciel’s eyes narrowed; he didn’t like an emboldened Sebastian. He sat up higher in bed. “You’re acting strange lately. Too… attentive. It makes me suspicious.”

“Is there something in particular you’re suspicious of?” Sebastian asked simply.

“... I don’t know yet.” Ciel paused. He wouldn’t look at Sebastian straight-on, only out of his periphery, sidelong. He was naturally guarding his own throat and, with a verbal dagger, clearly hoping to have a stab at Sebastian’s own. “I just can’t help but wonder why you’re going soft on me all of a sudden. I mean, for goodness’ sake. Promises that you won’t mock me? Endeavoring not to make me uncomfortable? Tell me, where does all that fit into your plan to eat my soul? It hardly seems demonic at all.”

Sebastian chuckled. “It isn’t ‘demonic.’ It’s an olive branch. And it’s a recognition that you are going through a difficult time. Speaking factually, it is common and very important for people your age to have at least one adult to lead the way for them in life. Parents, professors, employers, whomever. You are not exempt from that need. Do you disagree?”

The boy lifted his chin slightly. “Well, yes, actually, I do. Er, I mean, mostly.” Ciel’s proud expression had quickly dissolved into uncertainty. He tried to rally his confidence by adding, “But… I have that anyway. I have my aunt and uncle, should I need them, and most of the time I don’t.”

“Based on your own opinion, that is,” Sebastian wanted to make clear. Ciel folded his arms and fixed his butler with an impatient glare. Sebastian smiled, lowering his eyebrows. “I know what you want me to say. It is true that you are exceptionally competent for your age. Your reputation, your estate, your company, and your role as the Queen’s Watchdog… you manage all of them with an adult finesse. But again, speaking factually, that does not mean you are an adult. Whether or not you see it that way, your body and brain understand this truth very well: you are still growing. Do you agree?”

“O-Obviously!” Ciel was blushing, annoyed. Adolescence appeared to be a subject prime for embarrassment, no matter the angle it was attacked from.

Sebastian pressed on. “And with growing up comes increased wisdom and understanding. Things that once seemed very true at the age of ten may not seem so true at the age of fourteen, for instance. Perhaps an argument you may have engaged in when a young child is now water over a duck’s back; perhaps memories you struggled to forget are now fighting to be remembered. I don’t suppose that sounds unfamiliar?”

“What are you trying to say already?” Ciel spat.

Sebastian put a hand to his waist and bowed. “I’m saying, young master, that I would like to be a ready resource to you. For advice, for support, even for comfort. These are necessities I think you are sorely lacking from an adult figure. Over these past few months, I believe I have proven myself able to supply them. And, if I may be so bold, I think you have proven yourself in need of them.”

“You can’t just decide what I need, bastard,” Ciel growled. He drummed his fingers on his opposite arm in irritation. “And do you truly see yourself as some kind of model adult? I know what you really are, don’t try to preach that to me.”

Sebastian’s smile was weathered. His exasperation was trumped only by his fondness for this fire-eyed colt who refused to be broken. “I have no intention of deciding things on my own. I want to decide on them together. So, for what I have in mind, I ask for you to grant me a trial period.”

Ciel’s tone was flat. “A trial period.”

“That’s right. For a length of time we’ll both agree to, perhaps a month, each evening when you have your milk tea, we will talk about anything you wish to talk about. Things that are causing you stress or anxiety — even things that make you happy. Anything at all. Or nothing at all, though it means we will sit in silence instead. If, after that agreed-upon length of time has passed, you still don’t believe that I make a worthy mentor, then I will no longer act as anything but your butler or second-in-command… Essentially, I shall never broach the subject of your emotional state without due cause again. But for at least the next month, I would like permission to be frank with you when I notice something is wrong.”

The boy was unsold. “And if I disagree?”

“If you disagree, then I would like it if you were in closer communication with your aunt and uncle. I would at the very least like reassurance that if your emotional state deteriorates, you have a resource that may be turned to. For if you do again choose me in a time of desperation, then you are granting me permission to be this mentor anyway. And I would prefer to be commended rather than antagonized for my efforts once you are mentally recovered… as I am being right now.”

Ciel’s eyes widened before his gaze ducked sharply away. After a moment’s pause, he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This wouldn’t be an appropriate way for me to treat anyone else. Even if it’s just you, it doesn’t make it a good practice. I need to be more honest with myself about… what I’m feeling. It’s cowardly to keep relying on you and then berating you for your concern just because I’d rather not face the truth.”

An apology from the young master? Now that was a rare thing, worthy of acknowledgment. Thus far in this dialogue, Sebastian had been intentionally clinical in his speech, wanting to make it clear that he wouldn’t back down so easily. Now that Ciel had lost his edge, he’d soften too. “Thank you for saying that, sir. That is a very wise way of looking at our situation. And I appreciate that you can see my perspective. It is often confusing to know what is best to do when I see you are distraught. I think we can come to an answer together, especially if we give this trial period its due.”

“Fine.” Ciel still didn’t sound happy about it, but he did sound accepting. “A trial period. Starting now. And ending in… At least a month, you said? That seems awfully long.”

“I wonder if it may be long enough,” Sebastian admitted. “Why not even have it last until the Funtom event? Though you will be keeping quite busy, that may mean it will be all the more necessary to have a chance to vent your frustrations.”

“I’m not yet sure these ‘meetings’ won’t just be another frustration to add to the pile,” Ciel grumbled. “But… fine. Even if you’re just trying to gather intel on how to make me more miserable when I least expect it… it’s still better than talking to my aunt or uncle. I can’t yell at them if they’re being too nosy, after all.”

Make him miserable when he least expects it…? Sebastian opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. It was better not to focus on the negatives, nor get carried away with long explanations. He would prove himself when the time came, tonight. Actions meant more than words to his young lord, after all.

“Anyway.” Ciel glowered at Sebastian. “Are you going to serve the tea or not? I have far too much to do today, and I refuse to start it off with cold Darjeeling.”

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This was a victory.

How long had he only been able to stand by and wonder at everything going through the young master’s mind? A mind that was in constant flux no less, barely understood by the one who possessed it. Now Sebastian had a direct window to those fickle thoughts, and the relief that brought was immeasurable. Talking! What a simple thing — and yet Sebastian felt like a genius for drawing up his proposal. A proposal that Ciel had agreed to! Yes, he’d chosen his words and manners just right for his particular audience. Sebastian smiled to himself all while he chopped, sautéed, plated, served, delivered the day’s three meals and snack. Consider the headaches he’d save, with the floor open for questions at the end of every day. Consider the relief of knowledge!

And though this victory made him dart between his chores with all the effortless maneuvering of a swallow, Sebastian was not entirely naïve. He knew quite well at this point that beneath the unflinching stoicism of his master’s outward persona lived the ten-year-old boy who had had every definition of innocence stolen from him in one fell swoop. Sebastian had seen this boy emerge after the Shrove Tuesday party; the day Ciel had locked himself in his room; the night they had rescued the orphans from beneath the hospital. Yesterday evening.

There was a young part of Ciel in desperate need of nurturing. No matter how much Ciel matured, this young part refused to be forgotten. Ciel had been dismissing it for years, just like Jane had tried to dismiss her brother when he clung to her tightly. But Lyle had only calmed down when he was allowed to stay at the party. So, what if the living spirit of the ten-year-old Ciel was just the same? What if, like Lyle, he needed to be held close and convinced to speak freely about the secrets he kept locked away?

Ciel had failed to convince Lyle to speak freely. Sebastian didn’t think the task in front of him would be easy either, but he had more opportunities to try. And he needed to at least try. Ciel would grow up no matter what, but the boy could do it much more gracefully if the wrinkles of his childhood had been smoothed first.

Eight o’clock came, and with it the cup of royal milk tea and a knock to the study door.

“... Come in, I guess.”

Sebastian came in. Ciel sat at a desk utterly heaped in paperwork. He hadn’t left this room for most of the day, even at Sebastian’s mild insistence of taking a walk to clear his head or at least enjoying the sun streaming through the glass dome of the conservatory. “Too much to do,” Ciel had insisted, and continued to give his best impression of a vulture as he hunched over yet another document.

The area beneath Ciel’s eyes was somewhat dark as Sebastian approached with the tray, and the boy was twisting his neck back and forth to do away with a crick in it. It did seem like a bleak scenario for their first nightly meeting. Sebastian steeled himself for the worst and said, “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, sir?”

“Mmm.” That was one benefit to the monotony of office fare: Ciel didn’t have much bite in him at the moment. He may be apathetic, but that was more workable than anger.

Ciel grabbed the teacup as soon as it was offered. He took a long sip before slouching into his armchair with a sigh. “There were a lot of letters from land surveyors and engineers that needed my attention. It wasn’t really anything I want to talk about. I don’t know what you expect our conversation to be, because I don’t really have anything I want to say.”

Sebastian had anticipated pushback. He parried, “We need not talk about exactly what happened today, sir. No doubt there’s plenty more to discuss regarding yesterday evening.”

And, again, as he expected, Ciel didn’t like that answer. “Then maybe I would rather talk about my day after all…” he mumbled, slouching down farther.

Sebastian smiled with his eyes closed. “Please speak on whatever you like. I am here to give advice and direction, but I need not interrupt you.”

Chin nearly resting on his chest, Ciel glared half-heartedly and then took another sip of tea. Even if his mood wasn’t yet relaxed, Ciel’s body was becoming it, arms and legs slumping wherever the chair and his failing posture dictated. “Today, I had a lot to do regarding the estate’s upkeep… I’m lucky my predecessor put his focus into building aqueducts. The farmers are struggling with the lack of groundwater regardless. Even with the dam finished last summer, I’m going to need to invest more in irrigation efficiency.” Ciel nestled into the corner of the chair by the left armrest and studied the transferware garden scene on his teacup. “Another drought is the last thing England’s farmers need; Eighty-Seven’s was bad enough. This agricultural depression has been going on since before I was even born, and reports don’t indicate that it’s going to end anytime soon.” He sighed. “But it is what it is.”

Sebastian dipped his head. “That does sound like rather trying work.”

“Trying but necessary.” Ciel reached out long to gesture loosely at a piece of paper amid the masses. “Remember the old Durnin tobacco farm? Those abandoned, dead fields where you made the track for Sysonby to sprint on? Some of the local farmers want to rent it together and convert it into communal grazing land, so they can maximize their own land’s profits while water is scarce. I’m not convinced it’s ready for growing anything yet, but the farmers think if they use superphosphates, they can nurture it back to health — at least, healthy enough for rye-grass to come in. I’ll probably take them up on it. Even if I’m hesitant, I’m certain they know better than I do how to manage the earth.”

“Yes, I would imagine so.”

“...” Ciel’s lids lowered even more. “This is boring. I don’t want to talk about my day and I don’t want to talk about yesterday. Just what were you expecting this to be good for again?”

What indeed… At this rate, it isn’t good for much of anything. “Why do you wish to avoid the subject of last night so badly, sir?”

Sebastian found himself graced with the sourest expression of the judgmental adolescent. “Because it’s unpleasant, obviously. Do you think after a long day of work I want to talk about unpleasant things?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Apologies, sir. I did not think you fancied discussions of the pleasant.”

Though that actually managed to wrest a half-smile from Ciel, he stung back with, “Hey, bastard, you’re supposed to be selling me on this idea of yours, so make the conversation worth my time or shut the hell up.”

“Why didn’t you want to take a break today, other than to eat?” Sebastian asked lightly, trying to put the reins back in his own hands. “I know you to be rather diligent, but that much pushing is still unlike you. Rather, I know you hate to work when your mind doesn’t feel near its peak performance.”

Ciel sipped at his tea again. “I’ve always been capable of doing things I hate when circumstances demand it.”

“Circumstances demanded it today, sir?”

The boy scowled at him over the top of the cup he kept close to his face. “Stop being so bloody vague. You’re obviously trying to get me to reveal something on my own. Why don’t you just say what you mean instead of fighting to have the upper hand every second? As if you can manage to sound trustworthy when you’re being so ridiculously slippery about your intentions.”

Sebastian blinked, surprised, but only momentarily. That was a fair assessment. And though Ciel was no doubt a guarded person too, Sebastian knew he should lead by example. “You’re right, sir. That isn’t fair of me. I apologize.”

Ciel didn’t say anything, just waited with that same eyeful of tail-flicking agitation.

“More directly then,” Sebastian said, “is it possible you strained yourself today with the express purpose of wanting to have less to talk about here and less to think about tonight when you are trying to sleep?”

This time it was Ciel’s turn to blink in surprise. Maybe that was too direct: now the boy was compelled to go on the defensive. “No.”

Sebastian looked down at him frankly. “You have a very clever mind, young master. It wouldn’t surprise me if that had been a benefit you were seeking today, even if it was somewhat unintentional.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to make me uncomfortable.” Ciel sat up; his hair was in mild disarray from being stuffed into the armchair’s tightest nook. “Now you’re trying to put me on the spot and blame me for things. That certainly isn’t going to make me comfortable.”

Sebastian put his fingertips together. “I said I would try to keep you from feeling uncomfortable, but… it would be foolish to say that these meetings would come without any discomfort whatsoever, sir. That is the nature of emotional subjects.”

Ciel put his lips to the cup and downed the rest of the caramel-colored liquid in one long gulp. “All right, I’ve finished my tea. That means we’re all out of time. Too bad. My, what a peculiar conversation. You’re really not very good at this, are you?”

Sebastian smirked wryly as Ciel pushed back the heavy chair and prepared to leave. “Now, now. I’ve scarcely been given a fighting chance.”

“Yes, but I’ve heard enough. Try harder in the future.” Ciel was already halfway across the room, stretching his arms over his head as he walked. “I’m going to go start the bathwater myself. I expect you to be up there shortly, and I don’t want to hear any more about this while you’re washing my hair. That would be cheating.”

Even the way the door clicked shut behind Ciel felt somehow like a taunt.

Try harder in the future … As if that wasn’t the most exasperating evaluation the boy could have provided. Sebastian placed the empty cup and its saucer back on the silver platter he’d used to deliver them to the study and set off for the kitchen. What did try harder even mean here? He couldn’t be too bold, or Ciel would balk. He couldn’t be too passive, or Ciel would criticize. And if there were some sweet-spot in between boldness and passivity, Ciel didn’t seem keen on Sebastian finding it.

But then there was that other phrase: That would be cheating. Sebastian felt the corners of his mouth tip up in spite of himself. Did the young master even see this as a game to be won? Well… maybe Sebastian had unintentionally set that idea into motion. He had said he’d never broach Ciel’s emotional state unprompted again if, just before the Funtom event, six weeks away, Ciel still found Sebastian to be a terrible guide. But Sebastian had never had any notion that he might lose.

No… That wasn’t right. Sebastian snorted a breath, disappointed in himself. Even he had gotten caught up in the mindset that this was a game. A game needed opponents, and Ciel was not his opponent here. They were fighting for the same side. They were a team. Couldn’t he make the boy see that?

Five days later, Sebastian would get his chance.

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Monday, the 30th of June, was the opening day of the Wimbledon Championships. Sebastian had not seen a minute of it. He had spent the entire morning cleaning and the entire afternoon cooking, preparing to show the Midfords the full nine yards of sparkling sanitation and culinary brilliance one could expect to witness at the Phantomhive manor. This meant warning Bard to stay away from the kitchen, to perhaps even keep his thoughts and imagination away from the kitchen, hinting so sharply at scrub work and pay-docking should he see hide or hair of the ‘chef’ that Bard finally interrupted, “Okay, geez, I get it! I’ll spend the rest of the day with the horses until someone lets me back in the house like a bloody dog.” Finny was equally warned away, and Mey-Rin told only to come at teatime and not a second sooner (Tanaka, of course, as always, was welcome to do as he pleased). Now, space free from all literal and figurative fire-starters, Sebastian got to work.

The menu was one he had been meticulously sculpting for the past week. Some of the food had already been started over the past week, too, such as the dough for the sourdough bread that was sure to be the perfect accompaniment for a cream-based matelote de poisson. For that, Sebastian had arranged for the delivery of trout, tench, and shrimp to arrive early in the morning, before warmer weather could cause the ice that the seafood was kept on to melt. The English were staunch admirers of flesh, and this summer meal aimed to showcase several members of the countryside’s fauna. Thus, tonight’s meal would also consist of stag, duck, and wheatear, accompanied by the plumpest vegetables the Phantomhive gardens had nourished.

Soup à la jardinière would exhibit these vegetables fantastically: the rainbow of the carrots, parsnips, radishes, onions, and fava beans could be best observed in a shimmering clear broth. The vibrancy of the vegetables’ coloration would be matched by the vibrancy of flavors that venison tenderloin wrapped in guanciale would deliver. Together, the two appetizers would serve as the prelude to four more courses: breaded wheatear with lemon and mint butter; the matelote; roasted duck and parboiled new potatoes; and finally for dessert, Savarin cake with Chantilly cream and a cold compote of cherries and currants.

The Midfords liked to eat early. The marquis and marchioness had been the parents of two early-birds for long enough now that their schedules had shifted towards it, and so Sebastian told Mey-Rin to announce dinner’s readiness at half past six. Afternoon tea had not been taken but two hours prior; Sebastian had arranged only a mixed tray of ladyfingers and biscotte for it, both dusted in powdered sugar to dress them up but not, in fact, meant to be too appealing. He didn’t want to see any of the guests dropping off before they could make it to his final course, a victim of their own overindulgence.

As the family entered the dining room and took their places, Edward’s body language was distinctly ruffled. It became all the clearer that some argument had been had when Edward hissed at Ciel across the table, “We will continue this in a second! ” Ciel was distinctly not ruffled, and even looked amused, which said he had this argument’s victory in hand. It had probably been an interesting subject, too, for there were few things Ciel detested more than a petty argument and few things he enjoyed more than a purposeful one.

Once everyone had been seated, the ladies assisted in having their chairs pushed forward, Sebastian introduced the garden soup, already presented in bowls on the table, and the guanciale-wrapped venison, which he then distributed to all five humans before standing behind his lord’s chair as the diners began to eat. It was not Sebastian’s usual viewpoint: Ciel had offered his place at the head of the table to the marquis out of politeness; his uncle in turn insisted that it belonged to Ciel; and Lizzie had merrily forbidden Ciel from taking it, because she wanted to sit right beside him. Alexis had no trouble with this. Francis, in her usual way, saw it as an opportunity for a lesson.

“I hope the two of you understand that that will not do once you are married,” she lectured. “It says to your fellow party-goers that you are not interested in getting to know anyone new. Unless your host has a seating arrangement, you must take care to divide yourselves at opposite ends of the table.”

“We know that!” Elizabeth said, voice somewhere between her typical cheerfulness and a rarer inflection of indignation. “But we aren’t married yet, Mother, and it’s only a family dinner, so please don’t be too hard on us.”

Edward had already half-finished his soup, ignited from the previous conversation and needing to do something with his mouth until he got the chance to talk again. He grasped the silence at once. “I can’t let this go,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m the only one here who doesn’t think the Starlight Four is a disgrace. Maybe it’s because it’s personal for me. I mean, I knew the members as the Prefect Four back when I was in school! I even looked up to them — and now they’re doing this, this… I don’t even know what it is, but it’s corrupting girls all over London! Even poor Lizzie has been hypnotized by their music!”

“I haven’t been hypnotized at all! They’re good! ” Lizzie puffed out her cheeks. “Edward, you sound like a crabby old lady!”

“And I never said I liked their music,” Ciel said coolly. “I said I think their band is a great idea. And it is. It’s a new, unique sound and it’s attracting attention from everyone. They’re making money by the boatload just from their concerts. But they’re letting even more money fall right through their fingers by not expanding into merchandise. Someone could easily copy their concept and then soar right past them by taking the marketing more seriously. Honestly, someone should. I’d even think about it if I didn’t already have my hands so full with other projects.”

Edward pointed across the table with his fork. “You! You’re evil!”

Ciel grinned his Watchdog’s grin. “Welcome to the fundamentals of big business.”

“Oh, but that would be amazing, actually!” Lizzie said, pressing her hands together. “Imagine if the Starlight Four had a rivalry! Like Ms. Rice and Mrs. Bingley were supposed to!^[※] Don’t you think that would add some excitement? Everyone would benefit from it, too!”

Ciel slowed his chewing in thought. He swallowed. “A rivalry is… a surprisingly good idea.”

“No, it’s not! We don’t need any more Starlight Fours!” Edward roared, carving through his venison so vigorously that his knife made a loud clink when it reached the plate. “Don’t you go making that happen!”

“I’m not going to. But it wouldn’t even be very difficult,” Ciel mused. “It’s not like you’d need people who can really sing. The Starlight Four didn’t graduate from the Royal Academy of Music — or drop out of it, rather. Really all you’d need was a handful of young men with charismatic appearances and personalities that can work a crowd. With a little practice, I’m sure even you could do it.”

Edward’s countenance then wiped clear of emotion. “Me? You… You think I could do it?”

“I think you could do it!” Lizzie piped up. “But you are wrong, Ciel, the Starlight Four are incredibly talented and work very hard.”

Edward turned to his right to face the marchioness. “Mother, do you think I could be a rival to the Starlight Four too?”

“I have no interest in entertaining such a notion. I’m taking it upon myself to change the subject,” was Francis Midford’s taut remark. “Ciel. How is the planning for the Funtom event of yours going?”

“Just fine.” Ciel separated a small triangle of pork-jowl from the venison and ate the cured meat by itself. “We have a venue now that may surprise you: Sedgemore House.”

“Sedgemore House!” Alexis smiled excitedly. “Well, isn’t that a grand location! Does that mean Lord Sedgemore himself has an interest in Funtom products?”

Ciel shrugged with an elegance only mastered by the consistently nonchalant. “I can’t say I know what Lord Sedgemore’s opinion on my corporation is. But he does appear to be companions with a Mr. Fairclough, who you may remember.”

Francis had been lifting her soup spoon to her mouth, but these words gave her pause. She lowered her hand. “Yes, of course I remember him,” she said. “The improvident gentleman at Edward’s cricket match. Yes. You are still in communication with him?”

Ciel raised an eyebrow at her stiff tone. “Yes? Mr. Fairclough has been instrumental in helping to plan this event.”

Aunt Francis stared at her nephew, then shook her head to herself. “I find him very strange. After this is said and done, I don’t want to hear of you engaging with him anymore.”

Ciel continued to stare back at his aunt even after she returned her attention to her meal. Finally he said, almost petulantly, “You can’t really expect that of me.”

Francis, Edward, and Alexis all turned their full attention to Ciel at that. Alexis looked moderately intrigued. Edward was shocked. Francis’s face bore growing concern. “I can, and I do,” she said evenly. “Why should I not?”

“Because that isn’t your decision to make,” Ciel said, with a short laughing quality to his words that bore more irritation than playfulness.

“Oh, it very much is,” Francis asserted. She turned her chin briefly towards Alexis. “Your uncle and I are your acting guardians, and if we ask something of you, it is only fair that we should have our expectations met.”

Ciel’s tone was one of disbelief. “But that’s never mattered before!”

“He’s right, Francis.” Alexis looked to his wife with a small smile. “I too am surprised by your interference. We’ve always let Ciel decide for himself who to associate with, and I think we should continue to. He hasn’t failed us before.”

Francis looked between Ciel and her husband with slight affrontedness. “Alexis, I don’t think…” She trailed off. There was a short, unspoken conversation between the couple as they locked eyes. Alexis raised his brows gently. Eventually, Francis sighed out her nose, conceding defeat. “No… You are right. That… never mattered before.”

There was a grim set to her jaw when she returned her nephew’s gaze. “Very well. I won’t tell you what to do, Ciel. But I will not spare my opinion. I think Mr. Fairclough has proven himself to be a little bit careless with his money, and I would hate to see your acquaintanceship with him bring you misfortune.”

“It would never come to that,” Ciel said. His tone was strained. “I spoke at length with Mr. Fairclough at that very cricket match. He told me all about his job, and I understand how he makes his living. That day, he never donated more to Weston than what he was comfortably able. Your judgment of his character is misplaced.”

“... I only hope that it is,” Francis said merely.

Throughout the conversation, Edward’s expression had slowly calmed to one of confusion. “I’m missing something important, aren’t I?” he said.

“Never mind it.” Francis turned her attention to her son. “Maybe you’re the one I really need to worry about. Now you’re thinking you could join some sort of… band of boys? Preposterous.”

“I-Is it really preposterous, Mother?”

Alexis beamed. “I think you can be whatever you set your mind to, Edward!”

Edward’s cheeks flushed happily. “Oh? So both you and Lizzie think so? Well… gee…”

“Alexis, for goodness’ sake. Stop filling our eldest’s head with fluff. His only job is to learn how to manage the estate.”

“It doesn’t have to be! He could sing too!” Lizzie said brightly, and turned to Ciel to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look back at her, but whatever she saw made her happiness falter slightly. As her family continued bickering in the background, Lizzie nudged Ciel’s elbow to get his attention. When she had it, she held out her hand to him well below the tabletop where no one else could see but Sebastian. Ciel accepted, though only with pinky and ring finger, and only until he had finished his soup. Whether it was out of kindness to his future wife or out of a true want for her touch, Sebastian couldn’t be sure.

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The remainder of dinner was a less dramatic affair. Sebastian was minutely distracted by pride as the sway of conversation turned more towards the quality of the food, acknowledgments that Sebastian had “done it again” and the visual proof that he had allotted the meal portions with perfect precision as everyone made it to dessert (though no one was able to polish off their cake entirely). When the last plates were cleared away, it was eight-thirty, and all the guests were ready to go home after a long day of tennis and talking.

Ciel bid his guests farewell at the front door. Lizzie gave him her typical enormous hug, a thing the marchioness did not comment on. Instead, after the rest of her family had started to move outdoors, Francis lingered just inside the doorway. She seemed hesitant to say something.

Usually so resolute with her words, Ciel picked up on her indecision quickly, and offered with similar reluctance, “Is… there something you needed, Aunt Francis?”

“...” Francis blinked, as if shaken back into the moment, and faced the outdoors. “No. I was just… lost in thought. Goodnight, Ciel. We’ll see you Monday next for the Regatta?”

“Uh, yes... Until then. Goodnight,” Ciel returned.

He and Sebastian watched the marchioness begin to enter her carriage. Only then did Sebastian close the front door and turn to assess his master.

It was impossible for Ciel to hide the perturbation in his exposed eye, as quickly as he spun towards the stairwell. He barked over his shoulder, “I’m tired, so I’m going straight to my room. I’m too full for milk tea. Make something lighter just for tonight.”

Make…? Make something, still? He was certain Ciel would have declared it too late by now. “Of course, sir.” Sebastian bowed appropriately, and tried not to be too hasty as he moved back to the kitchen. But it could not be helped: his long paces carried him from the entranceway to the stove in only a minute… because Ciel had asked him to make tea. Not wordlessly expected it or dismissed it. He had asked for it.

This was not to be taken lightly. It meant that Ciel wanted to talk to him.

Sebastian picked up the kettle of boiling milk that Bard had already prepared, poured it into one of Finny’s sturdy tin cups, and handed it to the gardener, who was sitting at the table keeping Bard and Mey-Rin company as they cleaned all of the dinner dishes (“This milk won’t be needed anymore, so you may drink it.” “Ooohhh? Wow, thanks, Mr. Sebastian! It’ll go perfectly with some of that pretty cake you made!” “Remember, only one slice for each of you.”). Sebastian swiftly refilled the kettle with water and felt the speed at which it boiled was taking far too long. He had to hurry back to Ciel, before this rare willing mood could pass like a summer storm.

The previous four of their nightly meetings had yielded little success in the way of emotional revelations. Ciel was stubborn. He would pick apart the day’s events in extraneous detail: the annoyances of writing so many letters; of accidental burns from hot wax and paper-cuts from thin parchment; the loss of a favored nib; ink dried to the heel of his hand. So clearly skirting around anything that might be taken with an increment of seriousness, and yet, when Sebastian pointed this out, Ciel had slugged back the rest of his beverage as if it were a dram and his office a tavern.

“I’m all out of tea,” he had said. “Which means it’s time for me to leave. Do better next time.”

“Young master,” Sebastian had sighed, “you promised me that you would grant me this trial period. You know well that you aren’t giving our time its due.”

“I’m staying for as long as the conversation does not make me uncomfortable,” Ciel had responded. “Is it my fault if I’m uncomfortable any time you ask me a question? You’re a demon. I think it’s only natural. Goodbye.”

It had taken Sebastian a (pathetically long) moment to realize he was being given direction. Ciel was telling him not to ask questions, to just let him speak, even if what he was speaking about came across as innocuous. To let him be in charge. So Sebastian obliged the next time and the time after. Even if all Ciel spoke on was the tedium of penmanship or the minute differences between Bitter Rabbit textiles, Sebastian would only supply a passive comment or two to compel the boy to keep talking. He wouldn’t try to change the subject towards something more substantial. That was up to Ciel and Ciel alone. Even if it lasted for weeks more.

But it wasn’t lasting for weeks more. Right now Ciel wanted to talk to him, and Sebastian could not keep his apocryphal heart out of his throat.

After the water had finally boiled, it took another five minutes for the peppermint tea to steep. In that five minutes, Sebastian made his irritability known to the staff around him. Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin had grown used to spending the last honey-slow bits of their evening in the kitchen together, chatting and relaxing before drifting off to their rooms in dozy reverie. The fact that Sebastian was hyper-analyzing them right now, grabbing pots and pans out of their hands because he could scrub them better, organizing a row of spices that already appeared to be in perfect order, reaching right in front of Finny to scoot cake crumbs off the table into his waiting palm, was clearly unnerving them. Bard was the only one bold enough to say, “Jesus, calm down. What could have you on the warpath at a quarter till nine?” Sebastian pretended not to hear him, poured the tea into the cup he had set down on the countertop four minutes and fifty seconds ago, and set off for the master bedroom at a clip.

His eventual knock was heeded with simply an, “In.”

Sebastian was not a hair out of place when he entered. The same could not be said of Ciel. He had shed his jacket and vest onto the floor — the way in which they lay implied they’d been dashed upon it with some force, and his shoes had surely been kicked off to their haphazard resting places. Now Ciel was slumped in bed, eyepatch removed, arms crossed (their favored position these days), one leg slung atop the other and stocking toe stabbing at the air in an endless up-and-down rhythm. His brow was furrowed.

Sebastian placed the saucer on the bedside table. “I selected Twinings’ peppermint tea, sir, to aid in digestion.”

Ciel grabbed the cup’s handle without tearing his gaze from the far wall. “Why the hell does she think she has the right to say that?!” he started at once. “Why does she think she has the right to dictate any of what I do? ‘Your uncle and I are your acting guardians,’ oh, is that so? What a lovely thing to have on paper to flaunt whenever it suits you! As soon as your dear nephew does something you don’t like, you can shove his father’s will under his nose and tell him, ‘do as I say, the paper commands it!’ But only do it once he’s fourteen, only after he’s well accustomed to your standing out of his way! Not a moment before that! Because why criticize anything he did before then? The work he does for the Queen with the Aristocrats of Evil is all well and good, but no, then he befriends a gent who likes to donate money and that deserves a warning! Oh, heaven forbid!”

Ciel took a long, enthusiastic sip of tea. “She says Fairclough is the trouble! Fairclough! It’s not my demon butler I need to worry about, or the opium dealer, or the undertaker, or the other aunt who tried to bloody kill me, it’s the man who supports colleges for a living! Honestly! Did Aunt Francis take up Sunday church or something?! It’s as if she thinks she has this sudden moral obligation to me, even though it’s far too late for that! She can have her silly little hang-ups about my haircut or my amateur servants, I know when I’m being unorthodox, but trying to actually dictate who I associate with? What a joke! If you ask me, she lost that privilege when I became titled! If she has no faith in my ability to govern myself, then she’s technically saying she doesn’t believe in my ability to govern my land! She’s insulting me! And for all she talks about manners, she won’t possibly acknowledge that that’s the case!”

There was a pause, in which Sebastian inserted, “Your uncle appears to be on your side, at least.”

“Hah!” Ciel grinned with fury. “He’s not ‘on my side!’ Didn’t you hear him? ‘We’ve always let Ciel decide who to associate with.’ Let! As in, they believe this to be an active decision on their part! Something they’ve permissed! So I guess that means everything I’ve been doing has gone in-line with what my aunt and uncle want for me? But as soon as I do something they don’t like, they’re going to jump in and stop letting me. Do they stake a claim on everything that I am, too? Do they think this manor, my company, my Watchdog position, all the things I’ve gone and done, comes back to their letting me? They haven’t done anything! Everything I have is strictly because I sought it, and I did it without any of their help!”

The boy ended his tirade with a rough snarl and another deep gulp of tea.

Sebastian stood tall-backed four feet from the bed, absorbing this rant. Ciel’s anger wasn’t entirely unanticipated, but it was clear he was taking the dinner conversation very personally. And very critically, too. In the moment, Sebastian had simply viewed Francis’s warning about Fairclough as protective. And he understood where she was coming from: he too had misgivings about the man. It was somewhat relieving to hear another human felt the same way he did — not that bringing that up right now would be any useful.

Indeed, Francis had taken a more authoritative role when around Ciel lately. This had all started at Mr. Goode’s party just before Easter weekend, when Ciel joined the Midfords in Oxford to visit Edward. An exhausted Ciel had lost his temper at Mr. Goode’s great aunt, and Francis had been looking at Ciel differently ever since. It was perhaps understandable that that childish outburst had reminded Francis that her nephew was still growing up, and she had half-heartedly gone about making up for lost parenting.

Sebastian supposed he shouldn’t criticize her so harshly. Was he really any different? He too was trying to be a guardian after years of letting Ciel raise himself.

But… no. That wasn’t completely true either.

It was somewhat an exaggeration to say that the Midfords had left Ciel entirely to his own devices. They had taught Ciel how to manage his finances; helped him establish meaningful connections with the nobles in their circle; introduced him to the contractors and businessmen who could get his toy company off the ground. But had they soothed him after he’d suffered a nightmare? Reminded him to eat his green vegetables and not rely solely on biscuits to fill his stomach? Congratulated him on sticking with his dance lessons, even when he said he’d rather jump off the roof than suffer through another waltz? No; that was Sebastian’s role, not that the Midford parents even knew this much.

“You are disappointed in them,” said Sebastian simply.

“‘Disappointed’ is too kind a word,” Ciel snapped. “I’m furious with them. They’re the impertinent ones, not me. They don’t know what they’re really implying when they say they consider me a product of their instruction!”

“But… maybe you wouldn’t mind being a product of their instruction?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel finally looked at him. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean that you seem to be entertaining the idea that your life would be very different if your aunt and uncle had acted as proper guardians to you since the day they became those guardians by law.”

“Why would I entertain it when it was never an option?” Ciel scoffed. “You would have killed me over a breach of contract if I didn’t immediately make it my goal to reclaim what was rightfully the Phantomhive heir’s.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not so. You even asked me this very question when the matter of your living arrangement was unfolding, four and half years ago. Your only job, as always, has been to stay focused on your revenge. If your aunt and uncle had convinced you to live with them, as long as your intentions and efforts were still put into finding your parents’ murderers, I would have had no reason to take your soul. But when you turned down their offer only once, they let you go back to your manor with me. That is how I remember it.”

“... Oh, okay. I see what you’re getting at.” Ciel chuckled darkly. “No, I’m not saying I wish my aunt and uncle had decided to raise me from the age of ten onward. I didn’t want that then, and I don’t look back and think they should have done more. All I’m saying is that they’re being presumptive to think they played a role in my accomplishments, and it pisses me off that they’d pretend they have just to ease their own consciences.”

Sebastian wondered if Ciel were lying to himself about not wanting to be parented by the Midfords at all, but… it definitely wouldn’t help to voice that right now. Instead, he said only, “I agree. I think that’s disrespectful to you.”

“It’s, I mean…” Ciel let out a frustrated sniff, ran his fingers through his bangs. “It’s just stupid. Bloody stupid. I wish I could tell them all this so they could see how stupid they’re being but… ugh. It wouldn’t make any difference. They’d just tell me I was being rude to them and leave it at that.”

“It’s no wonder this is causing you so much frustration,” Sebastian said. “They’ve left you a lot to contemplate on your own.”

“...” Ciel’s pupils curved over to Sebastian. “I’m on my own, am I?”

“Ah, excuse me; I misspoke. I meant, a lot to contemplate without them to respond to.” Sebastian smiled, hoping the candor he felt was present in his eyes. “Earlier, I thought the marchioness’s comment was not one of audacity, but you’ve changed my mind. I think she’s shown a clear disregard for your feelings and situation. There is an almost deliberate ignorance of just how much you’ve accomplished without your aunt and uncle’s aid. I truly am… disappointed.”

Ciel tilted his head toward his butler. “Well, no wonder… They don’t know what you took on either.” He flashed Sebastian a sudden devious look. “The ten-year-old me would’ve given them a run for their money. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?”

Sebastian blinked in surprise at being so addressed; then he gave a single laugh. “Yes… Yes, I know that well.”

“They’d regret it,” Ciel sneered proudly. “I would make them regret it, if they forced me to stay with them. I wouldn’t have sat patiently and let them boss me. I needed to be the Watchdog or I would have been too bored. I wanted blood on my hands, in my eyes… Oh, they’d regret it. Hah!”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, knuckle to his chin. “Hmm. Do you really think that’s so, sir?”

Ciel’s face cast into shadow with the subtlety of a moon shifting phases. Presently, he drank the last drops of his drink. “They would regret it,” he said. He put his cup down. “And my tea is finished. Which means we’re through for the evening.”

“We certainly don’t have to be,” Sebastian said, as Ciel swung his legs over the side of the bed. “These discussions end when you want them to.”

“I want it to,” said Ciel. “Today was long, and I’m tired. I’ll fall asleep in the bath if I don’t take one now.”

“All right. I understand,” said Sebastian as Ciel started moving towards the bathroom. “Then, I will only briefly comment that I appreciate and thank you for being so honest with me tonight. It was brave of you to share as much as you did.”

And again, Sebastian was graced with the ‘judgmental adolescent’ face. “It wasn’t brave,” Ciel hissed over his shoulder in a voice dripping with vinegar. “I said exactly what I wanted to say!”

“Indeed,” said Sebastian. “And yet, that can be surprisingly difficult for you at times, can’t it? So, going forward, I hope you can remember how it feels to say exactly what you want to say. I think you will find that these nightly discussions of ours will be much more useful to you if you are completely honest with me — and with yourself.”

Ciel fixed him with one disapproving eye before he closed it, huffing a breath. “Whatever. Damn demon.”

Having exhausted all his words, and quite possibly himself, Ciel was very quiet for the entirety of the bath. Sebastian massaged at the boy’s soapy hair as if trying to wash the painful thoughts out of that head. He felt pensive and deeply serious. For tonight was surely a success, and yet… yet it seemed he was suddenly realizing the task at hand.

Sebastian knew he’d been foolish to think the challenge was getting Ciel Phantomhive to reveal his feelings when asked. That was only the first step of the journey, a step they were certainly still on. What Sebastian had seen tonight were only the thoughts Ciel was willing to share. Beneath that frozen layer was a whole host of darker feelings the boy was hesitant towards revealing, and farther beneath that were the things that Ciel did not even allow himself to be aware of.

Would they ever reach that depth, Sebastian wondered? And if so, what would he do when they arrived there?

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“I want to help Bard with the horses after breakfast, so pick a sturdy outfit that I can wear outside today.”

Half a week had passed since the Midford dinner. The nightly talks between butler and lord, demon and human, had continued.

“I apologize, sir, but I’m afraid that Bard is taking his day off. He won’t be back until tomorrow at noon.”

The conversation’s quality had improved. Ciel was not stalling for time anymore, no longer rambling about this pen and that inkwell. Though the boy still clearly did not feel comfortable doing more than elaborating on the little annoyances of his daily life, about having to spend more time with the Midford parents when he still harbored resentment for them. 

“Today? Bard’s day off is the fifth. He’s early by one.”

“Seeing as it is currently America’s Day of Independence, he put in a request last month to take the 4th of July for himself instead.”

“... Oh. Well. Drat. I guess I’ll have to find some other recreation then.”

Ciel took a sip of his morning tea, Keemun Mao Feng, an expensive black tea favored for being lighter and sweeter than others of the Qimen variety. On a benign summer morning like this, Sebastian thought the gentler flavor would suit his lord who almost always preferred to take his tea hot, no matter the temperature outdoors.

“You sound as if you were quite looking forward to it,” Sebastian observed. “Remind me, you know how Bard’s drills for Avalon go, correct?”

Ciel nodded. “Yes. There isn’t much to them. It’s just that I can’t manage the horse entirely on my own.”

“But I can,” Sebastian reminded him, “so why don’t we do it together? I’ll be sure to follow your every instruction.”

There was a kind of snicker. “... Are you sure you aren’t going to panic and pull me away the moment you think Avalon is going to attack me?” Ah, yes; the day Ciel had ridden Avalon and Sebastian had seized him off the horse’s back in a moment of uncharacteristic fear. Ciel would surely never let him live that down.

Sebastian felt less irked by the reminder than he thought he would. Even with the taunting edge, there was a familiarity in the jab that Ciel didn’t supply just anyone. And… there was something oddly pleasant, in the knowledge that a tense moment between them was now a memory they could look back on with some humor. Sebastian placed a hand to his chest. “I promise I shall keep myself composed this time, sir.”

Ciel regarded Sebastian over a sip of tea. Finally, he said, “All right. I’ll take you on.”

So, once Ciel was dressed in a thin cotton shirt, a tattersall plaid vest, knickerbockers, and leather riding boots, and breakfast was eaten, the two gathered Avalon’s rope-halter and lead from the tack room and set off to meet with the horses.

The Phantomhive manor was understaffed, but nowhere was it felt more than in the stables. Sebastian did not care for living creatures that were neither cat nor human, and so he left the horses alone whenever possible. That did not mean he wouldn’t look after for them in a pinch (in fact, almost any job became preferable to Sebastian when it was in a pinch), but for the most part the horses were left to Bard.

Every day, Bard made sure the horses had clean hay and oats to eat, led them to pasture to graze if the weather was nice, and brought them back inside in the late afternoon. Thrice a week he spent his entire day with them, seeing to their condition, cleaning their stalls, and keeping them in good form. The young lord did not leave the house as often as other masters might, so the three Welsh cobs that pulled the carriage needed a lot of attention in order to maintain their shapely physiques. In the coldest parts of winter when Finny had less to do, he was happy to help Bard with this. More often than not, everyone was too busy to give the cobs the exercise they deserved. Everyone, that was, except another horse.

Ciel’s high-stepping hackney stallion Sysonby was the alpha of the manor’s little herd. This position was not hard-won so much as it was uncontested. Sysonby was the lightest and leanest of the bunch, a fact he knew and used to his advantage, for the muscled cobs could beat him soundly if only they could catch him. Of course, the cobs would have been just as happy to accept their place in the echelons and plod around eating all day, but Syson said this simply wouldn’t do. He wanted his princehood to feel earned. He wanted to be chased and never be caught.

So it would go each day: the horses would all be peacefully clipping the pasture with their teeth when Sysonby’s posture would suddenly stiffen. He’d raise his neck and get a glint in his dark eyes. Then he would sneak right beside Merrylegs or Gilbert or Yankee with an innocent gait before suddenly reaching out and nipping them on the flank. The bitten cob would swing its huge head around to identify the nuisance, and Sysonby would pull back his lips in a challenge before darting off.

The cob had a choice. He could either give pursuit now or he could wait until Sysonby came back for another nip, then catch the oversized mosquito off-guard. But Sysonby would never be caught off-guard. Eventually he would have convinced all three cobs to trail him around the paddock, their plate-sized hooves rumbling like thunder as they attempted to corner the local nuisance. The three worked together at draft, but they were not hunting dogs, and running in perfect tandem did little to trap their prey against the paddock fence. And Syson was an endless fount of energy. So the fleet-footed sprite of a horse kept them going until the cobs’ ribs were bellowing and their sides sparkled with sweat and they had to concede defeat. Syson would then trot a victory lap around them, his raven-black tail streaming behind him like the plume of a knight’s helm.

But a new addition to the herd had led the prince’s confidence to falter. Avalon the racehorse had never been let into the same area of the pasture as Sysonby, and so Sysonby had never had the chance to prove his authority. Instead, he had to settle for nickering insults at the stranger from across a fence. Avalon was terrified of the other horse; what had he ever done to hurt him? But Syson understood this quarter-horse was fast, could perhaps even catch him, and that was not something to be borne. And what was worse, the manor’s human prince was taken with the newcomer! And so Sysonby had been in quite a jealous state ever since Avalon’s arrival.

For Irish, it had been entirely the opposite. Ciel’s gentle red thoroughbred had put up with Sysonby’s posturing for years without complaint. But now that there was another horse his size in the field, Irish saw a chance for real friendship and seized it. Bard had introduced the two horses carefully, but there had been no need to worry. Irish had immediately begun to groom Avalon, and Avalon did so back, and now the two were inseparable. While Avalon did his walking exercises on the lead rope, Irish watched from a close distance or walked with him. At night, Irish leaned his head into Avalon’s stall and nibbled gently at the racehorse’s neck.

And that was why they came to find the horses divided as they were: Sysonby and the three cobs in one subsection of the quartered field, Avalon and Irish in the next. 

“First I have to greet the idiot,” Ciel said, approaching Sysonby, who had been stationed at the fence since the fence was in their sights. ‘The idiot’ was indeed a fitting nickname, as Sysonby strained against the confines of his enclosure, whuffing and reaching out with his neck as a girl might reach out to the stage at a Starlight Four concert, hoping to touch the hand or clothes of her favorite idol. When they arrived, Ciel rubbed all over the outstretched muzzle, muttering in a low, dreary voice, “Yes, hello, hello. I missed you, too. Hello, Syson. What a foolish creature you are.” Sysonby couldn’t have been more excited if it had started raining apples and carrots. He had been chosen as superior to his peers; that was all that mattered in the small mind of this horse.

Ciel didn’t think Sysonby was superior to his peers. He was only trying to maintain a healthy status quo amongst his herd, as Bard had taught him, the boy explained. “Syson will try to fight the others if I don’t approach him first and prove that he’s the leader. Horses are nothing like children. You can’t take turns or be ‘fair’ with animals, you have to follow their pecking order, their rules.” Ciel cupped the end of his black horse’s white-and-pink blazed nose and shook the huge head side to side with lenient admonition. “You rotten little schoolyard bully.” Sysonby’s back shivered with sheer joy.

After another minute or so of attending to his neediest beast, Ciel turned to enter the adjacent section of the paddock. “There, that’ll do. Now we can see to the others.” Sysonby gave a porcine squeal of disapproval, as if to say that would most certainly not do, and was forced to watch as Ciel opened the gate to an area that was not his. After another disbelieving snort, Sysonby took off and began to run the perimeter of his fence.

“He’s such a brat,” Ciel mumbled under his breath as he walked forward into Irish and Avalon’s pen, followed by Sebastian, who redid the latch behind them. “He’s trying to show off for me right now, to remind me how fast he is, hoping that I’ll want to spend all my time with him. He’s just awful, isn’t he?”

Sebastian recognized the rhetorical nature of the question, as well as the subtle adoration lurking beneath it. Despite the tantrum, Sysonby was incredibly loyal to Ciel, a trait that would never go unnoticed by this particular human.

But Irish’s loyalty was pure, too, and his display of it was much less bombastic. He trotted over to his boy now with a loving rumble emanating in his enormous chest. Avalon followed shyly behind until he was ten feet away, where he stopped short. He watched every one of Ciel’s movements, his head swaying pendulously, warily, as he tried to analyze the situation with his weak prey-eyes. Irish chirped at his friend to encourage him; Avalon only pawed at the grass and hung his head.

“Hey there, Avalon.” Ciel made his voice soft and clucked his tongue. “Hello, you. I’ve got something nice for you here. Don’t you want to see?” Ciel dug into his vest pocket and extracted an item which he then popped into his own mouth. “It’s good. Even I can eat it. Come on, come have one.”

Sugar cubes! Sebastian hadn’t even noticed. “Just when did you grab those, young master…?”

“I’m not telling you that.” There was no small smugness in that response! With another cluck of his tongue, Ciel held out a flat palm with a little white box like a tiny present right in its center. Irish showed interest, and Ciel gave it to him. “Hurry over, then, or Irish will eat them all.” The red horse nuzzled at Ciel’s waistcoat in search of more, and Ciel prodded Irish back by his forehead. “I was joking when I said that, but it’s becoming a serious threat. Here, now, Avalon.”

Ciel extended the sugar far out from his body. Avalon finally accepted. He took the offering gingerly with his lips, chewed with startling volume, and then shed the worst of his trepidation. He stood beside Irish, munching more confections and allowing Ciel to stroke his mane.

What a difference there was, between the traumatized horse that screamed and shook and took opium to quiet down and this cautious spirit that only needed a bit of coaxing before it gave itself over to kindness. Sebastian didn’t know what Avalon’s temperament was like before the day it was extracted from Algernon Northcott’s stables, but this was surely a massive improvement. And to think, it had only taken Bard’s simple methods to transform it… Well, that and—

“Okay, your turn. You can’t put the halter on him until he trusts you, so hold out your palm.”

Sebastian blinked down at his gloved hand, which Ciel had suddenly grabbed and deposited a sugar cube into.

“And don’t just shove your hand at him,” Ciel chided prematurely, before Sebastian could even begin to make a move. “Do it nice and slow.”

Feeling curiously out of his depth, Sebastian held out his palm to the brown horse’s snout-level. The temptation of food won out against fear, and Avalon accepted the treat with only a slight grunt of nervous expression. It nosed about his fingers, hoping to find something else, and Ciel put another sugar cube just under its searching mouth. Satisfied, the boy said, “Okay, you can go ahead and put the halter on now.”

The homemade bridle of braided rope slipped over the head with ease. “It doesn’t look like this would offer much in the way of control,” Sebastian noted.

“It doesn’t need to.” Ciel grasped the square-knot hanging a few inches under Avalon’s chin where the lead was fastened to the halter. “After doing this for a few months, Avalon understands that we’re just going to be walking in a circle, and I’ll be guiding him from here anyway. All you have to do is hold onto the lead in case he gets an idea about running away. I doubt that will happen, though.”

With another one of those tongue-noises that humans favored around horses, Ciel tugged Avalon to a starting position some eight feet from Sebastian and began to walk him around counter-clockwise. Irish joined in on Avalon’s right, appearing to delight in keeping abreast of his friend, as if they were playing at the draft horse’s job.

“I didn’t realize how much you’d been wanting a companion, Irish,” Ciel mused, talking to the horses similarly to the way Sebastian talked to cats. (Well… there was a notable absence of crooning.) “If I’d understood, perhaps I would have introduced another horse to the stable sooner. I know Syson can be a bit much for you at times.” Indeed, Syson was still charging about, froth flying down his neck and across his back. “Bloody idiot’s going to run himself ragged… I was thinking I might exercise him today, but not if that’s how he’s behaving. Finny’s going to have to give him a rub-down.” Ciel sighed and thumped Avalon on the neck. “And what about you? When should we give riding you another chance? I promise it won’t go like last time.”

These words were spoken to the horse, but Sebastian wondered if he was meant to interpret them, too. Ciel hadn’t ridden Avalon since the day Ciel entered Avalon’s stall and was minorly kicked in the leg by the horse. Sebastian recognized he had harbored a small disdain for Avalon ever since. Even if Avalon was just a frightened animal that Ciel had been careless around, Sebastian would rather that animal be sent away.

But he knew, too, that Ciel felt a kinship with the horse he’d rescued from butchery. So Sebastian tried to put aside his own bias and appreciate the way Ciel acted around Avalon. Here, surrounded by creatures that jostled for his attention, a very genuine satisfaction emanated from Ciel; not the kind that came from chasing down enemies of the crown or winning an argument against his cousin or even nabbing sugar cubes out from under a demon’s nose, but something with far more innocence, something like light, an emotion that seemed to glow and expand around them.

Love?

Suddenly, Sysonby craned his head over the fence and released a shrill roar seven feet from his master’s face.

Everything erupted into chaos. Avalon buckled. His ears flicked back. Ciel kept his grip on the rope. “Whoa, whoa, steady—” The frightened horse didn’t listen. Avalon kicked out his front legs, starting to raise himself from the earth. Ciel tried to tug down his head. “Av— Avalon, hey—” Rearing up on his hind legs now, his hooves clawing at open air. No. If Sebastian didn’t do something, Ciel, he’d be hurt again, he’d—

“Don’t do anything, Sebastian!” 

Ciel had let go of Avalon’s rope. He’d thrust out a hand to ward Sebastian back. Avalon was currently pounding his hooves into the earth, again and again, as if trying to stamp out a ghost. His eyes were wild and rolling. Ciel had backed up and was standing by, his body tense. Waiting. Sebastian found himself doing the same.

The episode only lasted five seconds more. Avalon started to calm on his own. He stopped stamping. His breathing came heavy and loud. He shuffled his long legs, as if not knowing what to do with them. Irish, who had scattered slightly, returned to his friend’s side and started nuzzling him, smelling him. He seemed frightened, too, and it was as if by calming Avalon he was calming himself.

Ciel turned his head to look at the culprit who’d caused this to happen.

“Syson, you damn brute!” he snapped with a breathless exhaustion that comes from being badly surprised. “You made me jump out of my skin! Agh… Get lost, then! Go!” Ciel shooed at him with his arms, and Sysonby ducked and tossed his head, blowing out with his lips before trotting away like a beaten dog.

“Shit,” Ciel hissed. He put a hand to his head, sighing hard, and then seemed to remember Sebastian was there with him. He forced himself not to look harried anymore and pointed at Avalon with a trembling hand. “Um… So what just happened was kind of interesting, actually… When Syson screamed at us like a bloody banshee, the sound reminded Avalon of when he was trapped with Northcott’s body… because Avalon was screaming when it happened… and so he started stamping like that, because he imagined he was back in his old stall again, trying to get rid of the thing that smelled like death…” Ciel trailed off. Finally, he sort of laughed. “What the hell. You’re a demon, aren’t you? You made me forget for a second because you actually look quite shaken right now. You were about to come grab me away again, weren’t you?”

Sebastian swallowed. “... Yes, I think I was.”

“Well, good thing you didn’t,” Ciel said. “If you had broken your promise, I would have been furious. Besides, you saw, it wasn’t so bad. He’s already recovering.” The boy nodded over at the horses, who were still composing each other with touches and whickering. 

“That did strike me as being rather ‘bad,’” Sebastian said.

“... Maybe. I guess it was.” Ciel shrugged, still with a slight tremble of leftover shock. “Maybe it’s just that I’ve seen him worse.”

So, this was an improvement. “I didn’t realize that Avalon still suffered from bouts of confusion, sir.”

Ciel glared at Sebastian. “‘Still?’ What do you mean ‘still’? How could I get over being locked up with a corpse that easily?!”

The two held a gaze for a long moment, Ciel’s face one of disapproval, Sebastian’s minutely somber, until Ciel appeared to realize that he’d just revealed something. His eyes darted to the side and there was a rush to correct himself. “‘He.’ I meant… I meant ‘he.’” Another long silence. “Don’t mention this later at our nightly meeting, all right? It was just a slip of the tongue.” A third span of silence. Ciel spun around. “I’ll… see to Avalon and decide if we should keep going for today.” He stole briskly over to his horse and awarded him a sugar cube before touching carefully down the long neck and shoulder, gauging Avalon’s reaction.

Sebastian clutched the lead rope, quiet as he waited for the walking to begin again or for Ciel to call off the exercise. Don’t ask questions, he’d been taught. Wait for the boy to bring it up on his own. But Sebastian knew right now he had again glimpsed beneath the frozen layer of his master’s emotions, at the darker thoughts below, and given another estimate at just how far the bottom was. It forced him to evaluate again: Would they ever reach that depth…? And if so, what would he do when they arrived there…?

He would do his best.

Chapter Text

“Hey, hey, Ciel, you’ve gotten a bit taller, haven’t you?”

Ciel had just stood up from behind his desk when Soma entered the office, and his wide blink said that he hadn’t been prepared for that opening question. This off-guard expression quickly morphed into one of minor exasperation. “Um… yes…”

“I knew it!” Soma put his hands on his hips and laughed proudly. “As your best friend, you can count on me to notice! But why do you look so upset about it? You should be excited! How tall are you now, anyway?”

Ciel’s response was like a long sigh. “I think I’ve managed to reach five feet…”

He was, in fact, just a bit more than five feet tall. And it was an understatement to say that Ciel lacked excitement: with an increase in height came a decrease in coordination. Sebastian was not unfamiliar with this in the least. At the very beginning of the year, weeks before the Shrove Tuesday party, Ciel had grown an entire inch in a matter of a month. He’d stumbled often, tripping over his own feet or the slightest indentation in a rug or nothing discernible at all, trying to learn how to navigate the world from a slightly higher vantage point. Once the boy was finally comfortable being four-foot-eleven, his body had decided it was time for yet another boost in height. Thus, the dreaded stumbling had returned.

Ciel yipped in annoyance as Soma yanked him out from behind the desk and spun him around so that they could stand back to back. The prince strained to peer behind himself. “You’re about up to my chin now! Wow! I wonder if you’ll ever get bigger than me! Well, you probably won’t. I am pretty tall. But that just means the universe is as it should be! You are my little brother, after all!” Soma gave another ringing laugh.

“... All right,” Ciel said wearily.  “Now, can we ple—”

“Saaaay, why aren’t you more excited?” Soma puffed out his cheeks, jabbing Ciel in the arm with an accusing finger. “You’ve been so small for so long! You’re finally growing! Ah, but could it be that I’m the first one to congratulate you? Is that why you seem so indifferent?”

“... I don’t want congratulations for something that’s outside of my control,” Ciel growled, pulling his arm away. Then, with a thought, he grinned mockingly. “And I’ve been growing steadily for a while now. That’s old news. Maybe it just seems like a big change to you because you haven’t been by in almost a month.”

“Heyyyy! So mean! Ciel is the meanest!” Soma’s hands were on his hips again, this time out of insult. “You were the one who told me that I couldn’t come back to the manor until I was invited! You made me wait a month! And it was such a sad month for me, not seeing my best friend all that time!” Soma began to wither before them like the world’s most dramatic flower, posture crumpling as he gripped at the front of his tunic and began to weep his crocodile tears. “And here you are, getting taller without me to see it! Who knows what else will change between this meeting and our next? Why, when you finally come to stay with me in London next month, maybe the dear sweet Ciel voice I know and love will be gone forever, never to be heard again!”

Ciel had been letting this monologue unravel, eyebrows ticking and mouth a mirthless smile. At that final sentence, he looked mildly curious. “What do you mean by that? Are… Are you talking about my voice getting deeper?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Soma cried. His theatrical descent had taken him all the way to his knees, and he grabbed at Ciel’s hands now. “So stop spending so much time away from me! I don’t like missing so much of my best friend’s life that he could be a different person next time I see him!”

Ciel ignored the latter part of Soma’s answer. “What made you mention that now? Is there something about me that makes you think my voice is going to change soon?”

“Hmmmmmm…” Soma considered that as he forced Ciel into helping him stand up again. “Oh! I suppose it’s because right before my voice changed, I had grown about two inches in just a few months… I remember it happened very quickly. One day, I spoke no differently from my sisters, and the next I sounded like I do now!”

“It… It didn’t really only take a day for your voice to get deeper, did it?” Ciel stammered.

“It did!” Soma snapped his fingers. “I went to bed and I woke up just like this!”

“Erm… let’s not mislead, my prince,” Agni felt the need to interject, from his assumed position next to Sebastian up against the wall. “I am certain it must have required at least a few weeks for such a change to take place…”

“I guess it probably took a few weeks,” Soma agreed with a decisive nod. He patted Ciel on the head. “But maybe now that you’ve grown a bit more, you will start to sound like a man, too, like me! Isn’t that exciting?!”

Ciel removed the hand from his hair. “Hmph. Your voice could drop an octave and you still wouldn’t sound like a man. Everything you say is childish.” He gazed at Soma for another second, debating momentarily before deciding to venture, “How old were you when your voice changed anyway…?”

“Hmmmm!” Soma put a hand to his chin and rocked on his heels. “I might have been fifteen or I might have been twelve. I don’t really remember.”

Ciel flinched. “Fifteen or twelve?! Th-That’s a huge difference! Does it really feel the same to you?!” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter… I should have known you wouldn’t be able to give me a solid answer.”

“You’ll have to write me if your voice starts getting squeaky!” said Soma. “Then we’ll know for sure that it’s changing.”

Ciel’s brows drew together. “Squeaky? That… That’s really what happens?”

Soma nodded, nodded, nodded. “Yeah! Sometimes you’ll be talking and you’ll make a noise like… BaaaAAAaaa!” After granting them what seemed to be the deathsong of a deranged ram, Soma laughed brightly. “Because your voice doesn’t know what’s right anymore, so it becomes strange and crackly. It’s funny!”

Ciel had unconsciously brought a hand up to the base of his throat. He looked revolted. “That’s not funny, it’s horrific. If that happens to me, I’m not going to speak to anybody until it’s all done with.”

“It’s not a matter of if! ” Soma wagged his finger in the younger boy’s face. “It’s a matter of when! ”

Ciel gave a slight shudder, perturbed. “Great. There’s something I didn’t know I had to look forward to. But that’s enough dallying. There’s work to be done.”

“Ah, yes!” Soma clapped his hands together as Ciel rounded his desk once more. “There’s work to be done! We are business partners, after all.”

“Right. Business partners.” Ciel reached for something in a lower drawer. “And I’m sure you’ll have nothing but professional criticism for this, ‘business partner.’”

Thus, the Maharaja Bitter Rabbit prototype was unceremoniously placed atop the desk. Whatever fanfare Ciel would not deign to supply, Soma made up for with an enormous gasp and cry of delight, for the little gray rabbit he’d been presented was dressed head to toe in an imitation of royal Indian garb. The doll’s long ears poked through the top of a cream-colored muslin turban, and a turquoise glass jewel in the shape of an oval studded the front of the headpiece. The kurta beneath matched the jewel perfectly. Its Egyptian cotton surface was embroidered with gold thread around the collar. The embroidery’s delicate yet simple design of ensnaring leaves plunged halfway down the tunic to loosely form the shape of a penknife. Finally, the dhoti was made of a burnished yellow sateen, and a plump round tail stuck out from the back of them, like a cute reminder that animals were not born to wear human clothing.

Soma seized the doll under its armpits and stared at it in awe. When he found his voice, the prince breathed, “It’s perfect.”

“It had better not be,” said Ciel. “It’s only the first iteration, and I want there to be at least two more stages of development before we settle on a finished product. Of course, that means my design team is going to have to work extra hard over the next few— ACK! ”

Suddenly, Soma began awarding Ciel much the same treatment he had given Bitter Rabbit: pulling the boy, again, out from behind his desk and squeezing him as tightly as if he were full of soft stuffing. “Oh, Ciel! This is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given in my entire life, except for maybe my elephants! You are truly the best friend I will ever find in all of England!”

“Let… go of me…” Ciel coughed, and after a great bit of twisting, he finally managed to slither his way out of the hug, like a mongoose from a constrictor. He glowered beneath his struggle-fluffed hair. “Can’t you ever control yourself?! If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, don’t touch me so easily!”

Soma paid him no mind. His capricious attention was back on the toy. “I do appreciate that this fellow has trousers on,” he laughed. “A lot of the time, you don’t give your poor dolls any! I always thought they must be so embarrassed.”

Ciel sighed, accepting begrudgingly that he was being ignored. “May I interest you in the fact that modesty is lost on toy animals? The clothing is just to give them a bit of personality and to make them visually appealing. Now be more serious, if you’re actually capable. Do you see anything that looks inaccurate? For instance, the embroidery at the neckline?”

“Oh, it’s quite bad,” Soma said as jovially as ever. “But there’s nothing to be done about that, is there? Seeing as these dolls are meant for poor children.”

“For poor children, he says… They are meant to be appreciated by anyone,” Ciel explained carefully. “And they are intended to be affordable for the majority of the population, which is why the clothing is made entirely of cotton fabrics. But I’m not about to sacrifice the overall quality or craftsmanship, even when I’m catering to an average citizen. So, we do what we can to keep our prices lower on the scale while presenting something appealing. Anyway, the embroidery pattern you see here is just a placeholder. I would love for it to look more grand. But we also need to pick a pattern that can be easily replicated time and again by the seamstress department, as well as something that won’t rack up expenses. Do you have any suggestions for how we might change the embroidery?”

“Well… other than the color, what you’ve done looks nothing like zardozi,” Soma explained. “The stitches are too far apart. If they were closer together, then it would look more elegant, don’t you think?”

Ciel squinted in thought. “It’s hard for me to tell without seeing it firsthand. But you’re more familiar with it, so I imagine you’re right.” Ciel had been half-sitting on the edge of his desk, and he turned around now to reach into a top drawer for a spare piece of paper. “I’m going to give you the address for my lead manager, Mr. Cavendish. If it isn’t too much trouble, please send him a piece from your wardrobe with the, the zardozi? That embroidery, as an example. I’ll be sure to cover the delivery and any added costs to keep your clothing safe. And of course it would be returned to you after the Funtom event. Is that fine?”

“Of course it’s fine!” Soma had the rabbit by its ears and was swinging it back and forth in the air.

Ciel’s hand slowed until it stopped writing. “You didn’t hear anything I said just now, did you?”

“Sure I did!” Soma’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “You said you needed something with zardozi embroidery, so I’m going to send it to someone, and then they’ll do something about it.”

“...” Ciel went back to writing. “Close enough, but I’m certain you aren’t going to remember, so at least I know I can count on Agni to have the task accomplished.”

“Oh! Um, of course, Lord Phantomhive!” Agni piped up, flustered.

But Soma was abruptly offended. “Agni doesn’t have to do anything! I’m fully capable of remembering!” He puffed out his cheeks. “I’ll prove it! I have a trick! Hold up your hand!”

Ciel’s eyelids lowered. “You have a trick and you want me to hold up my hand... I can’t think of any reason why those two things should go together, but I am certainly not interested in being ‘tricked.’”

Soma shook his head, his thick hair bouncing in its tie. “I’m not tricking you! It’s not like that! Now hold up your hand!”

Begrudgingly, Ciel put down his pen and held up his right hand.

Soma held up his right hand, too. Then he extended his pointer finger. “Now hold out one finger!”

After a brief hesitation, during which the young master perhaps considered the finger he’d rather hold out, Ciel offered his pointer in return. Soma pressed their fingertips together and said, as if reciting it, “By the power of our friendship, I, Prince Soma, hereby promise to remember what my dearest companion in all of England, Ciel Phantomhive, has asked of me, and swear on my heart to enact it to the very best of my ability.”

Then Soma took his hand back and smiled primly, like a schoolboy who had arrived home with full marks.

Ciel blinked tiredly back at this happy face. “And the purpose of all that was…?”

“It’s a memory charm!” Soma said. “I came up with it myself! If I do the finger trick, the words I say stick in my mind and keep me from forgetting! So now I’ll be sure to send zardozi embroidery to your friend and I won’t need Agni to remind me!”

“… Right.” Ciel finished with the address and pushed the piece of paper towards Soma before taking his weight off the edge of the desk. “Well, there you have it. There’s the first step towards a finished product. Now, I have a lot of work to return to, so I’ll see you by again in a week for another evaluation of the doll’s progress. I trust you know the way out.”

Bewildered, Soma shook his head, then stomped his foot after the words sunk in. “Hey! Are you dismissing us already?! I didn’t travel here for two whole hours just to be sent off after only another fifteen minutes have gone by!”

Ciel had plopped down in his armchair. “That’s the nature of my business meetings: they’re short and to the point. No need for how-do-you-dos and all the silly frills they bring with them.” But Soma must have had a look to him that said he was ready to pitch a tantrum, and so Ciel turned his attention to the butlers in the corner. “All right, fine, it is only fair. Why don’t the two of you make yourselves useful and fix us something for lunch? But then I have to get back to work no matter what.”

❧┅┅┅┅┅┅♙┅┅┅┅┅┅♖┅┅┅┅┅┅♘┅┅┅┅┅┅♔┅┅┅┅┅┅♛┅┅┅┅┅┅♞┅┅┅┅┅┅♜┅┅┅┅┅┅♟┅┅┅┅┅┅❧

Night whispered with thunder somewhere far beyond the Phantomhive territory. It was pitch black but for the occasional rustle of lightning from behind cushioning clouds. The rain spilled down the window in streams that crossed and separated and crossed again and turned the dry earth to mud — but the ground could suck these storm clouds dry and still not heal all the damage of a parched winter.

Inside the office was a cozier story. The room was incandescent with a golden fire Sebastian had fixed up an hour ago. Accompanied by the snapping of the logs and the sounds of the water beyond the glass, the scene could make one feel they were living inside a lantern. The storybook warmth likely had that effect on even Ciel, who looked nestled and calm when Sebastian arrived to serve tea at eight o’clock.

“What a day,” the boy said, holding the hot drink under his chin to feel the steam rising off of it. “That princeling is always a handful. I wonder if he’ll ever act his age… not that it matters. He doesn’t have any real responsibilities or people he needs to impress.”

With the silver platter tucked under his thumbs, Sebastian stood with his back against the wall beside the desk, so that he and Ciel were both facing the door. They could still turn to look at each other easily when needed this way, and Sebastian imagined Ciel prefered his butler to stand here, rather than in front of the desk, so that their eyes didn’t necessarily have to meet. Sebastian said, “And yet despite Prince Soma’s inexperience, you have given him a fair bit of responsibility, haven’t you?”

“For better or worse,” Ciel grumbled. He sipped the tea. “Maybe he’ll learn something useful from it all. Not that he understands any bit of how to conduct himself in a businesslike manner. Grabbing at me like that the whole time! Ugh. Did he learn truly nothing of etiquette from his life in a palace?”

“He does not seem to have much to show for it,” Sebastian conceded. “You endure his embraces quite well.”

Ciel scowled into his mug. “Only because I don’t have any choice. It doesn’t matter if I tell him to stop touching me. He never listens.”

Hm. That was true.

“Do you think if you asked him quite seriously, he would listen to you?” Sebastian said.

Ciel snorted. “No. He’s an awful listener. Even with his… ridiculous finger trick. You can’t really count on Soma for anything, except to do whatever he likes.”

“That isn’t a typical way people speak about their friends, sir.”

A pause. “He isn’t my friend.”

“Ah, I see,” Sebastian said easily. “Well, regardless of how you see him, I do believe Prince Soma sees you as a friend. And I assume he would appreciate knowing how to treat you like one — perhaps to the same degree that you would like to be treated as one. At the very least, my lord might continue to find him a useful resource when it comes to the confusions of adolescence. Our prince didn’t emerge from it so very long ago himself, after all.”

Ciel colored slightly. “I don’t need Soma for anything. It’s just that if he’s going to keep insisting on seeing me, he should be given something to do. At least if he’s busy thinking about stuffed rabbits and desserts and what have you, he can’t get into too much mischief.”

“He does still get into a fair bit of mischief, though, wouldn’t you agree?” Sebastian mused. “What I mean to say is, you are rather protective of him.”

“I’m not anything of the sort!” Ciel raised his lip. “I’m scarcely tolerant of him! I yell at him about something every single time he visits me!”

“So you do. Then, if you are so dedicated to the cause of Prince Soma hearing you, sir, I’m curious as to why you won’t try to sit him down and explain to him that you don’t want to be touched so much.”

A palm smacked against the armrest. “Because he won’t listen. And neither will you apparently! Have to bloody say it twice…” Ciel began guzzling down his tea, his way of communicating that he was planning to bring their conversation to a close.

Sebastian decided to appeal to the boy’s oppositional nature. “You have the perfect chance to prove me wrong. If Prince Soma is truly incapable of hearing you, take the opportunity next time he visits to tell him that he needs to be more conscientious of your needs.”

Ciel shifted around in his chair. He seemed incredibly frustrated. “It’s not that easy,” he hissed. “I want him to hear me, but… I don’t want him to… I mean… What if he…” Ciel trailed off. He squeezed at his cup with both hands.

“What if he asked you why?” Sebastian filled in. Ciel looked at him with wide eyes of shock. “You don’t have to tell him that. You don’t need a reason to have your boundaries respected, young master.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Ciel snapped. The shock had been replaced by anger. “That isn’t what I was going to say! Not that you believe me. You probably think I’m lying to you all the time because I’m ‘too frightened of the truth,’ don’t you!”

Sebastian recognized he’d pushed too far yet again. Drat; his assertive nature could still get the better of him. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have tried to guess what you were going to say. But I would be very gratified to know what your real answer would have been.”

“Yes, you would be very gratified to know,” Ciel said tersely. The pleasure of denying Sebastian information had eased the edge off his hostility. “Well, too bad. You don’t get to hear it now. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you tried to con me into doing things your way. With that little challenge of yours to talk to Soma… You’re as manipulative as ever, damn demon. Seems a tiger truly can’t change its stripes.” Ciel stood and tossed the empty bone china teacup in Sebastian’s direction as uncaringly as he would toss a ball for a lapdog. “The Funtom event is still a month away. Do you want to change my mind about our nightly meetings or not? Any time you open your mouth, nothing but your usual bile comes spilling out. Anyway, I’m only going to be around the manor tomorrow, so I’d rather skip the bath tonight. I’m sick of looking at you. Goodbye.”

Head held high, Ciel walked briskly out of the room while mumbling not quite under his breath, “Only he could manage to turn a perfectly temperate fire into a stifling one using only his voice…”

Well. And that was that was that.

After tidying the room here and there, Sebastian went down to the kitchen to clean up the tea items. He tried to be reflective as he washed the kettle. But was he really doing a poor job at this? Or was Ciel’s incredible obstinance keeping him from giving Sebastian a fair go at it? Sebastian imagined it had to be some mix of both. Ciel had hinted (or, really, spelled out) yet again that Sebastian was talking too much. But if Sebastian didn’t speak, didn’t offer some direction or advice, was he really doing anything for the boy but listening?

“You and the young master have been meeting every evening lately, haven’t you, Mr. Sebastian?”

He had noticed Tanaka’s subtle presence enter the kitchen in the back of his consciousness, but Sebastian hadn’t expected to be addressed at all. He turned his head to see the elderly man standing right beside him at the sink. Tanaka’s eyes were alight and crinkled from the gentle smile beneath his mustache.

Sebastian shifted his gaze to his task, aiming to appear casual since he couldn’t outright lie. “We have.”

“I thought so.” In his periphery, Sebastian saw Tanaka’s smile widen without looking anything but soft. “I thought I heard the two of you speaking when I passed by the office just a few nights ago, and then again tonight when I was planning to bring some tax forms by. I did not stay to listen to what was being said, but I did notice the tone of voice from the young master seemed perhaps impassioned.”

Tanaka stopped speaking there but still smiled, as if he expected Sebastian to have something to comment on. Sebastian wondered what his comment was meant to be. Eventually, he tried, “My lord is very busy these days. There is a lot on his mind.”

“Of course, of course,” Tanaka agreed. “But I imagine there is a lot on yours, too. Having to manage all of the young master’s emotional needs on your own… Well. It must be confusing at times. You did profess, in the past, to feeling somewhat unaccustomed to such personal conversations. I only thought I would check with you and see if all is well.”

Ah. So he wants me to confide in him.

Sebastian continued to wash the kettle. He wasn’t sure how much Ciel wanted him to talk about their nightly meetings with the other staff; probably not at all. The content of the conversations was undoubtedly off-limits. That alone should give Sebastian cause to brush Tanaka off.

But… Sebastian did wonder if he should be seeking advice. Human adults were nearly always the caretakers of human children. Aside from a few rare cases throughout history where a child managed to survive among canids or ungulates, Sebastian could think of no situation as unique as his own. He’d heard legends of non-human immortals that had allowed a human into their hearts, but never a firsthand case. Though really it wasn’t so unusual that he should be clueless of what other immortals did. Greater demons like himself did not like to engage with other immortals of any kind. They did not tend to make partnerships, not even for the sake of gathering information. If Sebastian’s growing sympathy was not a unique case amongst demonkind, he had no supernatural outlets for finding out — other than that despicable Undertaker, and interacting with him was bad enough.

Humans were not like demons, though. And as greedy as the humans who summoned Sebastian could be, the majority were rather like herd animals, preferring to work together to achieve goals that could not be met on one’s own. Some were even eager to help others at no obvious benefit to themselves. Tanaka was such a human. Sebastian didn’t doubt this man only wanted the best for Ciel; Tanaka had never betrayed even a glimpse of an ulterior motive. It was part of why Sebastian had more than an ounce of respect for him.

But that didn’t mean that Sebastian felt like his and Ciel’s business was any of Tanaka’s.

“I shall be certain to inform you, if it is ever the case that things are not well,” Sebastian decided to say.

Tanaka was as wise as his years. He only gave a singular nod, as if he had known that was exactly what Sebastian was going to say all along. “I do hope you will. Everyone here only wants the best for the young master. And if it means we must put our heads together to think of a solution to a problem he confronts, then I am of the mind that we must do it. That is how it was even when the house had forty more of us here to help. We are all on the same team, even if one of us is in the garden and another in the scullery. We all have a pair of hands to offer in a time of need.” He thumped Sebastian on the arm twice before turning to go. “Apologies, but it is rather late for me now. I bid you goodnight, then, and only the best of luck.”

“... Yes. Thank you. Goodnight, Mr. Tanaka.”

Now, wasn’t that conversation similar to the one Sebastian had had with Bard just last month? There, Sebastian had concluded that sometimes the manor staff must occasionally go against their servant positions in order to keep Ciel from acting on a dangerous impulse. Tanaka was effectively saying the same thing: that if Ciel were to be in an emotionally precarious situation, Sebastian should not keep it to himself, especially if he felt unequipped to help the boy through.

Well. He supposed it didn’t hurt to have the option.

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Thursday, the 10th of July, required a visit to the venue of the Funtom event to plan the decorations and layout, so it was off to London for a noon appointment. Fairclough was not there to open the door to Sedgemore House for lord and butler this time. Instead, more appropriately, the summons was heeded by a footman who bowed them indoors and took them in the direction of the study. But before they could get very far at all, boisterous laughter came from behind the main stairwell, and all of a sudden Fairclough and a familiar male guest strolled into the entrance hall to join Sebastian and Ciel.

“... at least for me, I find getting an answer out of them is about as easy as pulling teeth,” Mr. Goode finished with a hearty laugh before he spotted the newcomers. “Oh, beg pardon! It seems your other company has arrived.”

“Lord Phantomhive!” Mr. Fairclough smiled blindingly. He picked up his pace to hurry and shake Ciel’s hand in that ridiculously excessive way of his. He gestured behind him when he was through. “Mr. Goode was just about to take leave. You remember him, of course?”

Ciel nodded quickly. “O-Oh, of course! Good day, Mr. Goode,” he said, holding his gaze steady and most likely trying not to appear shy. The last time Ciel had spoken to Mr. Goode, it was to apologize for yelling at the man’s great aunt. Ah, how awkward this unexpected meeting had to be for the boy… Sebastian found himself with the sudden wish to make the conversation easier, somehow, but his position would in no way allow for that.

Fortunately, Mr. Goode had presented himself as a very understanding man in the past, and today it seemed it was no different. He made it over slightly after his friend, less hasty in his approach, and shook Ciel’s hand much more normally. “Good to see you again again, Lord Phantomhive! I truly hope you are well,” he greeted with all the chipper warmth of a potbelly stove. “Fairclough told me a little bit about this event you have coming up next month! It sounds very elaborate.”

“I hope it will be exciting,” Ciel agreed. He masked his trepidation well, though Sebastian could tell the boy was still feeling a tad uncomfortable. “Are you staying in London for the summer? If I’d known you were leaving Oxford, I would have been sure to send you an invitation for the Funtom event, too. Th-That isn’t to say I should have been informed on your whereabouts, but the guest list is still being finalized, and you and Mrs. Goode are more than welcome to attend.”

Mr. Goode opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Fairclough cut him off with another loud laugh. “And were we not just discussing the verbosity of young people? Or rather, the lack of it! Of course you can count on Lord Phantomhive to be a cut above.”

“Oh now come off it, you old codger, let’s not embarrass your guest by making an example of him,” Mr. Goode scolded amicably. He offered Ciel an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse us, we both deal in education. We may have been blowing off steam by jesting about the social shortcomings of junior students right as you arrived. Even our most convivial Fairclough finds them tricky.”

“It is true, regrettably,” Fairclough admitted. “I tend to engage with second, third, and fourth years most often, too. But there’s nothing I can do about it. My clientele prefer to speak to younger students who have not been swayed by years of loyalty. They find them more honest.”

“That’s a small shame, I think,” Mr. Goode added. “There is something so rewarding about talking with a student in their final year, when you’re about to see them off into the world! So sharp-sighted and ready to take on anything, no longer held back by boyish insecurity. Your cousin, Lord Phantomhive, he’s just what I mean. He was a prime example of what we look for in our prefects. Perfect attendance, perfect marks, perfect sportsmanship — an all-around good man. Always looking out for the younger boys. And I couldn’t have been more proud to see the way he played for Weston at the Easter weekend cricket match. It will surely go down in school history as the day he bowled a hole in Fairclough’s wallet!”

“My wallet is perfectly sound,” Fairclough said, more to Ciel than to Mr. Goode. “The whole point was for it to be a competitive game. If my donation could convince the boys to play their hardest, I’m only happy to provide.”

“You’re too kind, my friend,” Mr. Goode beamed. “Your donation put you in good standing with the rest of the school board, that’s for certain! It’s going to be great fun to work with you this year. We’ve been in the same field for so long now; it’s about time our careers overlapped.” He reached into his jacket and took out a smooth, unembellished pocket watch. “But I’m afraid now I must be going if I want to catch my train! And I know you both have an appointment to keep, so please don’t let me delay you any further. As for that invitation, Lord Phantomhive, feel free to have one sent to my Oxford address, and if my wife and I will be in London then, I’ll be sure to répondez vite, as they say in Fairclough’s land. Au reservoir!”

Fairclough chuckled lightly and waved at Mr. Goode’s departing back. “Farewell, my friend. I hope to see you again soon.”

“G-Goodbye,” Ciel offered too, then turned to Fairclough as the footman shut the door. “Au reservoir…?” he repeated with faint amusement.

Fairclough’s mouth tilted up knowingly. “Dear Goode’s French lacks some polish.” He put a hand to his chin. “Perhaps I should have bid him ‘welfare.’”

Ciel laughed slightly at that. Was it purely a polite laugh or had he actually enjoyed the quip? Sebastian couldn’t see the boy’s face to know entirely for sure.

Their host then greeted Ciel properly. “Well, it’s very good to have you back at Sedgemore House, Lord Phantomhive! I’ve been looking forward to this visit immensely.” With a glance, Fairclough finally gave Sebastian his first acknowledgment. “I see you’ve brought your secretary with you again, too.”

Secretary, hm? Sebastian forced himself to bow. “Yes. Do excuse me, sir, but I’ll be joining again this time. Though I assure you, I am no secretary. I am simply one hell of a butler.”

“This is your butler?” Fairclough said, surprised. “He wears quite a few hats, I take it.”

Without a look behind, Ciel reached a hand over his shoulder, and Sebastian passed the young master his pocket ledger and pencil. “And beneath all those hats he fancies himself a comedian. But he does have a few convenient little tricks that make him worth the nuisance. For instance, he can catalog the dimensions of any room simply by looking upon it once. I suppose you can see why that would be very useful to me today.”

“Oh, incredibly useful,” Mr. Fairclough agreed, twisting his body to continuously face his guest as Ciel strode forward into the enormous room’s center and began to jot things down on the first spare page. “Erm, but I was thinking that before we got started with, well… whatever you need to record, perhaps we could take some lunch in the garden? I’ve just received a delivery of andouille de Vire from a friend in Normandy. You couldn’t find a better black sausage if you scoured France from the English Channel to the Mediterranean Sea.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time today.” After a brief realization, Ciel paused his hand and turned over his shoulder. His eyes brightened and he smiled politely, clearly shifting his thoughts from the practicality of business and measurements to the tedium of social niceties. “My apologies, Mr. Fairclough. I’m afraid that planning for this Funtom event has fully occupied my schedule for nearly the rest of the month. Sharing lunch is the least of what you deserve for accommodating me today. But when it comes to my work, I have what one might refer to as a one-track mind; I scarcely even remember to keep up with my family once a week these days. After everything to do with the function is over, I promise to make it up to you with a proper visit.”

Fairclough laughed boomingly. “A cut above indeed! But I understand your thought process all too well, Lord Phantomhive. I myself rarely mix business and pleasure. No matter, then; I’ll make use of our hiatus to order a Maroilles mignon and a bottle of Gewürztraminer. Much as I’d love to tout another French wine to you, I can’t deny the Germans have crafted an agreeable companion for this odd orange cheese.”

Another wine. Could this man be more determined to know my ire firsthand…?

Ciel responded before turning back to his notebook, “It sounds like a treat. I look forward to it immensely.”

Mr. Fairclough took a few steps closer to look over Ciel’s shoulder. Sebastian decided he would take a few steps closer too. “What notes are you taking, if I may ask?” Fairclough ventured, his eyes flicking to Sebastian only for a second.

“I’m planning out how best to use the room,” Ciel explained. He gestured with the end of his pencil at the two branching stairwells up to the second story. “I think it would be best to keep everything consolidated to the first floor, so I’m going to block those off strategically. On one side, I’m going to have a table where the Maharaja Bitter Rabbits are distributed. There, guests can have their invitations exchanged for one of the dolls. Actually, it might be quite eye-catching to have all three hundred of the dolls sitting on the steps, so that’s another bonus…” Ciel scratched a quick note in the ledger. “As for the second stairwell, I plan to block it with a backdrop of the Taj Mahal, courtesy of my photographer friend, Mr. Pitt. Guests will be able to take pictures there alongside a display window–sized Maharaja rabbit and, if they like, with another friend of mine who just so happens to be an Indian prince.”

“Really!” Mr. Fairclough enthused. “You’re friends with a true Indian prince? How exciting that he’ll be here!”

Ciel’s entire body stiffened like it had been starched. “Eh, well, ‘friend’ may actually be a… very… strong term… for him… But he’ll be here and no doubt be… enthusiastic. Anyway.” Ciel coughed into his fist and turned around to face the front entrance. “Th-This room is very large, so we’ll need at least two or three greeters to direct traffic. Maybe also someone in a mascot costume, so long as it won’t cause crowding in the foyer. As for how to direct traffic…” Ciel strode over to a door along the east wall. “You told me in your letter that just off of this room are a small parlor, a ballroom with multiple entrances, and a drawing room. I think I want to take a look at those rooms before I make any more decisions about how to prepare the entrance hall.”

Over the course of the next hour, each aforementioned room had been assigned an important role. Those roles fell into one of two camps: entertaining the toy-collecting crowd or entertaining all the noble acquaintances Ciel had not seen this summer.

The ballroom would be for the nobles. The space wouldn’t be for dancing, however; this Funtom event was really more of a convention than a party. Even though Ciel planned for a string quartet to perform there, that was for the sake of creating a refreshing atmosphere and encouraging conversation. The open floor would be half-filled with tables and chairs for people to sit at while they ate Funtom’s signature chocolate-curry buns, delivered freshly-made from the Sedgemore kitchens. The other half would be for people to mingle and listen to the music and regroup or locate their friends before deciding what they’d like to do next.

Ideally, some of these nobles might decide they wanted to learn about the auction, Ciel explained, but most of them would probably be more interested in seeing other parts of the manor. Lord Sedgemore had a sizable art collection, for instance. He was fond of the naturalism movement and had obtained a fair number of paintings from the Barbizon and Hudson River schools in particular — which Fairclough could appreciate, as he believed France was the pinnacle of all things high culture. The library was also very impressive, with two stories of literature from over twenty countries and a fireplace large enough to stand inside upright without bumping one’s head.

The garden wasn’t the massive, sprawling expanse of a countryside manor, but it did have a four-tiered cascading fountain and several statues and something called a pagoda tree that Lord Sedgemore had informed Fairclough tended to bloom in August. There was a terraced area, plus a lawn, that could be arranged to have more tables and catering for elevenses. Accompanying appetizers could include some of the Indian desserts Funtom one day hoped to produce, Ciel decided, though they would be freshly-made like the curry buns and not factory-produced. And another string quartet should be stationed out here too.

Then there was the real main event: the auction.

The drawing room was nearly the size of the ballroom, many-windowed with cream-colored walls and filled with plush furniture. The furniture would need to be moved elsewhere, Ciel explained, and replaced with numerous tables, stands, and easels that Funtom would provide for showcasing all the items to be auctioned. For the first hour, collectors would be directed to move around the room’s perimeter in a clockwise formation to make decisions about what they’d like to bet on. The room would first feature design documents, perhaps, and move on to pieces from scrapped projects, prototypes of finished ones, ending the tour of goods with a display case in the room’s center containing the four stages of the Maharaja rabbits. At every table, there would be an attendant recording the latest bids for each item on a chalkboard. The silent auctioning would start at noon and last for two hours, at the end of which the money would be collected by auction monitors and prizes would be distributed.

“I hear the auctions aren’t usually too lively,” Ciel mused, once they were back at their starting point, “but what do you think? Is there bound to be any fighting?”

“I think not,” Fairclough chuckled, “though I don’t doubt that animosity will be steep. Some collectors are as selfish as dragons when it comes to building their hoards, Lord Phantomhive, and rivalries can grow intense. You may want to stay away from the drawing room as the bidding winds to a close. Some desperate individual may try to persuade you to sell to him over another.”

“You needn’t say any more.” Final observations made, Ciel tucked his pencil into a little sleeve attached to the leather binding of the notebook. “I’ve been warned by my team to be wary of those whose social graces may be diminished by overexcitement, as well as…” Ciel grimaced. “... the usual crop of people who find my age to be something of an anomaly.”

Fairclough raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I wasn’t aware such comments bothered you. Apologies if I ever made that more of a subject than it needed to be.”

“I-I know that nobody means any harm by pointing it out,” Ciel said, as if he felt he should assuage his host, “but at the same time, I have yet to understand what response is expected from me. I mean…” Ciel sighed. “I’m… I don’t see myself as a child, so… I don’t want to discourage anybody, but I’m not interested in agreeing with them either.”

“That makes sense to me,” said Fairclough. “Perhaps other boys would manage to still be a child at your age — but look at you. You run a company, for goodness sake! That is hardly something a child would be capable of.”

“See, now that’s exactly it!” Ciel said, pointing at Fairclough as if to emphasize what he’d said was just right. “You understand how it is. It’s a shame no one else seems to be able to.”

That isn’t at all ‘how it is,’ Sebastian thought as loudly as he could in Fairclough’s direction, and as a so-called adult yourself, I don’t appreciate you entertaining this fantasy of the young master’s.

“It is a shame,” Fairclough agreed, “and a shame that you won’t be able to stay for lunch. You’re sure you have to be going then?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Now Ciel held out his hand, with a look on his face that Sebastian recognized as genuine appreciation. “But it’s not forever. Once this event is done with, I’ll have a clean calendar to fill as I see fit. Then you can guarantee I’ll be back, and we’ll finally have ourselves a proper tête-à-tête.”

Fairclough ensnared the small hand in his own larger one. “I look forward to it immensely.”

“Until then.”

Fairclough let the boy move towards the front door before starting after him. Sebastian caught Fairclough’s gaze on the man’s way. There was an initial look of confusion shot Sebastian’s direction, followed by unease, and at last perturbation, before Fairclough broke eye contact. Of course, it was completely inappropriate for a butler to ever stare down his lord’s friends like that, let alone anybody, and was probably so awkward that Fairclough couldn’t even bring himself to mention the glare he’d just received. But Sebastian did not regret his actions for an instant. Fairclough needed to think of him as an enemy. Of that Sebastian was very certain.

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Sebastian wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his opinions at bay if Fairclough were to come up in conversation that night. But fortunately the man was never mentioned.

When Sebastian arrived at the office at eight-thirty, Ciel had the Maharaja prototype sitting on the desk in front of him, and there was an odd half-smile on his face. Sebastian mirrored it as he handed over the tea and asked, “Whatever do you have that look for?”

“I was just thinking about something sort of funny,” Ciel said with the slightest huff of a laugh. He reached out to accept the tea but he kept his eyes on the toy. “I don’t think I’ve eaten rabbit hardly at all since I started the Funtom company.”

“I know you haven’t for a fact,” said Sebastian. Ciel turned to him and Sebastian added, “Do you not recall asking me never to purchase it for your table?”

Ciel shook his head, moderately surprised. “No, I don’t. Did I really do that? That had to have been at the very start of our contract.”

Sebastian nodded in remembrance. “Yes, you were still only ten years. You said that it wouldn’t do for you to disrespect the animal you relied on to make a living by having it on your plate.”

Ciel’s gaze trailed off with an attempt to recall the memory. “I completely forgot about that.” He laughed again, short and sharp. Took a drink. “And here I thought maybe you had just decided on your own not to buy it. Or maybe you’d picked up on the fact that I don’t like to eat rabbit. Even though I don’t remember feeling that way when I was only ten, it isn’t any different now. It still wouldn’t seem fair to eat one.” He smoothed back one of the toy’s long ears. “There’s something sorry about killing a rabbit anyway. They’re such gentle creatures. The Midfords used to keep a hutch of them, so Lizzie and I would sometimes hold the younger ones, even though we weren’t supposed to. The rabbits fidgeted sometimes, but they never bit us. And they were so soft. There isn’t any pride in killing something like that.”

Another memory came to Ciel with a flash across his eye. “I remember during an afternoon visit, I was holding one of the rabbits and it slipped out of my arms… The Midfords kept their hutch in the stable, and the doors were open to the outdoors, so the rabbit escaped into the countryside. Lizzie and I couldn’t even try to catch it, it was off like a hound… and Aunt Francis was sure to scold me for it. Despite that, I felt a bit excited, because I thought that the rabbit would join a warren and become like the wild ones. I thought I had given it an adventure.” Ciel closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair with a comfortable grin, and took another sip from his cup. “But Edward explained to me that a domestic rabbit is nothing like a feral one. That it would die from starvation, alone in the dark woods, or be picked off by a hawk. And I felt so sorry then.”

Ciel opened his eyes; the smile lost some of its mirth. “Even though it would have eventually been eaten by the Midfords, I felt like I had delivered the rabbit to its doom. So when I was deciding what sort of creature to make Funtom’s mascot, maybe that’s why I chose Bitter Rabbit. Maybe I still felt guilty, like I owed something to rabbitkind. As odd as that is to say out loud.”

“Very interesting,” Sebastian said when Ciel paused to drink once more. “At the time, your word on the matter was that you chose the animal that you imagined would make the least frightening companion for a young child.”

“I think I remember saying that,” Ciel admitted. “I think I chose a rabbit instead of a dog, too, because I imagined a rabbit wouldn’t mind spending all day inside. And children who have to spend all day inside already feel sorry enough for whoever else has to stay inside with them.” He tucked his lip over the rim of the cup and tipped his head back before realizing there was nothing left in the cup to tip back. “Oh... That went by so fast.”

“You were talking more than usual, so I suppose you drank faster than usual, too.” Sebastian smiled. “If our nightly meetings could always go so easily, perhaps we would both find the peace in them they are meant to provide.”

“...” Ciel looked forward thoughtfully. “That did go pretty easily, huh…”

That was the meeting that completely transformed the rest of their nightly meetings for the next three weeks. Now, instead of talking about his day or his immediate feelings, as was Sebastian’s initial proposal, Ciel chose to monologue about some small memory or thought that had happened to touch his brain. The boy always made sure that there was little space for an interlude, so that Sebastian had no choice but to listen.

Ciel talked about how this was the first year since the fire that his father’s birthday had passed him by without a thought, at least not for a few days. He wanted to think that was a good thing. His father was dead, after all. There was no reason to commemorate it. Birthdays were sort of unimportant anyway. The only reason Ciel even cared to know his own date of birth was so that he could document exactly how long he’d been alive. But other people found it disturbing if you didn’t care about your birthday, for whatever reason. Ciel didn’t really see the logic in it. He didn’t think his father would either, frankly.

He talked about how he didn’t think there was a peaceful way to introduce Sysonby and Avalon; that Syson was sure to start picking on Avalon, but that Avalon didn’t have the patience of Irish nor the strength of the cobs to withstand it. Would it be all right to let the horses fight, as long as no blood was drawn? To establish some pecking order, so that Syson’s rage could finally be tempered? Ciel could still hear Syson screaming from time to time all the way in his office. It was as if the ebony horse were saying that if he couldn’t have peace, nobody could. But Avalon least of all.

He talked about how Lizzie was so very energetic, that he struggled to keep up with her, and that it was a wonder she didn’t find him incredibly boring. He wondered, blushingly, if she wasn’t projecting her own ideas onto him of what she wanted in a husband. But maybe false appreciation was better than true disdain — a rule that applied chiefly to Lizzie, Ciel made sure to clarify, because only she had no choice but to be around him. With everyone else, he’d rather they cast off their delusions of him. It made it easier for him to trust them.

He talked about how he’d smelled the alcohol-and-lemon solution Sebastian had been cleaning the copper painting frames with and it reminded him of the bergamot perfume his mother had used to wear. The scent had apparently been the height of popularity when his mother was young, and she had always been somewhat anachronistic in her beauty standards, mainly because old things were familiar and she didn’t see the need to constantly keep up with the more complex perfumes preferred by modern women of noble standing. Bergamot was perfectly good, his mother had claimed, and she was happy to be the last one left who wore it. At the very least, Ciel said, it did mean he immediately associated the citrus smell with her.

He talked about how he heard an owl outside his window last night, and how the sound used to frighten him when he was barely five years old, but now he wasn’t really sure why it had. What had he anticipated an owl doing to him, especially beyond windows and walls? But then again, he’d been afraid of all sorts of things that didn’t make any sense when he was little. He’d been afraid of a snail he’d found smashed and smeared on a paving stone by a gardener’s boot. Perhaps he’d felt afraid because it was the first time he’d been confronted with death? But then somehow that had carried over into a fear of all paving stones. His parents began scooping him up anytime they encountered a stone walkway, because the four-year-old Ciel would step so slowly and deliberately on each one and would start to cry if rushed. Thank goodness he had gotten over it in another year, but how very embarrassing, wasn’t it?

He talked about how he would like to have a dog again, but he felt that it would surely be shot if there were a home invasion and he wasn’t about to put one in harm’s way so easily. He talked about how he was really enjoying the writing of a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, how he’d never read any other fiction that was so distinctly clever. He talked about how he quite liked rainy weather, actually, but only if he was able to stay inside all day and only if it didn’t get too humid, because humidity made his hair unruly. He talked about outgrowing favored clothes, and a fascinating article he read about the uniqueness of fingerprints, and the way he used to hide in the dry-larder when the manor became this hot and wasn’t it tempting to go do that right now.

In short, it seemed the young master did not mind discussions of the pleasant. He had just never had so many opportunities to engage in them.

At first, Sebastian had just let Ciel talk to his heart’s content because it meant they weren’t arguing and it meant Sebastian wasn’t being criticized. But he began to understand, over time, that these ramble sessions were not without their merit.

Ciel enjoyed them. It was clear in his face. It was like a light beneath his skin, illuminating every inch of him, making him come alive in a way Sebastian had rarely seen before. Ciel wasn’t talking to appease anyone but himself. He was losing his inhibitions. He was being coaxed into the clearing and feeling the sun on his back for the first time in quite a while.

And Sebastian? He scarcely said anything, other than an encouragement here or there to keep the boy speaking. He didn’t want to say anything else. He wasn’t sure he could. He was like a hunter finally looking at the fox he had thoughtlessly aimed a gun at for so long: at last recognizing that this little creature was really so full of life and joy and playfulness and wonder, but Sebastian had never known it, had never bothered to know it, because he had been so busy trying to plug its fleeing form with bullets…

But these were not discussions born entirely from innocence. Ciel was talking at length about all these little inconsequential things to avoid speaking on the delicacies of his deeper feelings, and Sebastian knew it. But Sebastian let it happen, because these ramble sessions had to be good for something. He could feel that they were. That was enough, wasn’t it?

That was the point, wasn’t it.

If their brief nightly meetings were carefree, the rest of the days were regimented and brimming full. Eventually, Ciel even had to tell a grumpy Lizzie that they would have to halt their weekly meetings for a while; all his spare time needed to be dedicated to Funtom’s promotional exhibition. Every single aspect of the event needed Ciel’s approval: the decorators, the caterers, the musicians, auction team, furniture, menus, advertising materials, invitation design, final guest list, each item that would be sold that day, and, of course, the Maharaja Bitter Rabbits’ designs. But Ciel kept atop it without fail. His team was reliable, the boy claimed, and so everything would be seen to. Still, Sebastian knew that Ciel was apprehensive for all his efforts to finally come together so he could move on to less time-dependent projects.

Now it was the evening of the 31st. Instead of his usual upkeep of the manor, Sebastian had spent the day packing the young master’s suitcases and preparing the staff for temporary independence. Tomorrow, he and Ciel were traveling to the London house so that Ciel could more easily spend his days directing all the various planning crews at Lord Sedgemore’s manor. The event itself would take place on the 8th of August. The days leading up to it could be counted down to the single digits now.

They’d leave first thing in the morning and dive right into work. But for now, the day was winding to its end, and all that was left to do was have milk tea and get ready for bed. Sebastian was heading to the office now. He took the steps two at a time and trotted his way down the darkening hall. His feet stopped on their own when the stray words touched his ear.

“Oh... I see… I thought these nightly meetings were all your idea, sir. Clearly I misunderstood what was happening.”

It was Tanaka’s voice, gentle, slow, a bit sad, that Sebastian heard on the other side of the office door. When the elderly man spoke next, his locution was as crisp as ever. “In that case, I must say that I agree with Mr. Sebastian, sir. I think he has made a bold but necessary decision in approaching you.”

Ciel gave a disparaging laugh. “Listen… You don’t know what you’re really saying.”

“I know what I mean to say,” Tanaka continued calmly, “which is that I believe you need this. You are still very young…”

“I don’t ‘need’ anything. Other than for everyone in this house to do their jobs and leave me well alone.”

Tanaka’s responding sympathy was nothing like a beast. “Sir, that simply isn’t true. You have many needs, as do we all… And I worry that some of yours aren’t being met. I haven’t spoken up in all this time because… I did not think it was my place. But I feel lately that I am considering a new perspective on duty. A house steward should never meddle in his master’s personal life, it is true. But shouldn’t an adult worry about a child they care for? Is that not my duty as a person on this earth? That is what I have been wondering, sir, and that is the conclusion I believe Mr. Sebastian has reached.”

“You couldn’t be farther from it,” Ciel growled. “Sebastian’s motivations are… nothing like what you imagine. And I prefer it that way. I’m not interested in being treated like a child. I’m not a child. I’ll forgive it, because you’ve told me before that at your age, anyone younger than thirty years is like a child to you, but I simply don’t see myself as one, nor do I act like one. You are a house steward. You have no duty to me beyond that. And I certainly don’t want you to feel compelled to have any beyond that.” Ciel paused for a moment. “It was… different, when I really was a child, and… don’t think I’m not grateful, for all the time you spent keeping me company and playing with me; that was far outside what your position should have entailed… But I don’t need you to be anything other than my steward any more. Obviously. I haven’t needed it since I became Earl.”

“If that is so, sir, then why do you not dismiss Sebastian, since you are so opposed to speaking with him about personal matters?” Tanaka’s voice remained an untouched pond, calm, serene, its surface marred by not even a single ripple of malice. “Do you feel incapable or frightened of doing so on your own?”

“Of course not! I’m not… No!” Ciel’s pond was alive with the thrashing of the creatures that lived in its depths. He took a deep breath; the creatures settled, or at least settled enough. “It’s too complicated, I… won’t ask you to understand. I have my reasons for everything that I do. Those reasons go far beyond what they appear to be. Maybe it seems that I’m speaking with Sebastian because I’m looking for support from… someone… older than myself. But I promise you: there is nothing I want less than that.”

“... As you say, sir.” There was a wordless moment where perhaps Tanaka had bowed. “I know Sebastian will be coming soon to serve your tea… So I will take my leave. But… should you ever decide that you no longer wish to speak with Sebastian about that which troubles you… please remember that I am always available to be that person. It was an enormous breach of etiquette for me to say all that I have… and perhaps I am taking advantage of our storied history, which I must apologize for… but there are times in life when I believe we must say uncouth things for the sake of being able to live with ourselves.”

Ciel made an annoyed hiss from between his teeth. “Yes, I know that. I know what you’re saying, about duty and not duty, and… all that, even if you think I don’t, and… it’s very… kind of you to care about me, right, but it’s really not my job to want to be cared for or especially to be someone who can be cared for. Is that understood? So don’t talk about this with me ever again. You’re entirely correct that this conversation is an enormous breach of etiquette, and I would really hate to have to speak to you like an earl should speak to an out-of-line servant.”

Tanaka didn’t miss a beat. “And I would so hate to put you in that position, sir. Thank you for listening to all that I had to say. I bid you a pleasant evening.”

Sebastian was still rooted to the spot when Tanaka closed the office door quietly behind him. He smiled at Sebastian as he passed by, seeming not at all surprised that the butler was already there. He walked down the stairwell Sebastian had just tread. Several distant chimes for half past the hour went off throughout the manor.

Sebastian knocked on the office door. There was no answer from the other side. Sebastian entered.

The boy was slumped slightly in the large plush armchair that was meant to be a replica of his father’s. In this moment, the back of the chair seemed to dwarf the boy even more so than usual, reminding Sebastian of the ten-year-old he’d just begun to serve all those years ago. This expression, too, was reminiscent of the younger Ciel: it was the face he’d used to make when Sebastian brought him another stack of papers at what was supposed to be the end of a long work day. Ciel would stare at Sebastian with wary, angry, pleading eyes that seemed to say Not more. Not now. And Sebastian would raise his brows and plop the papers in front of the child. Yes, more. Yes, now, he’d imply back, and then display his fangs when he grinned, delighting at a human who’d perhaps bitten off more than he could chew.

The demon that was summoned and the Sebastian of today were hardly even of the same blood.

From far across the room, Ciel stared briefly at Sebastian with basset hound eyes before shifting his gaze. “I didn’t say you could come in,” he mumbled powerlessly.

Sebastian didn’t respond to that. Instead, he lifted the tea cup off its saucer, placed it elsewhere on the tray, and then used the saucer to cover the top of the cup to trap the heat inside. “Since it seems my lord has already had his nightly meeting,” Sebastian began, “I thought I might propose taking your tea in the bath instead. It might just be the sort of relaxing activity you need after working so hard this month.”

“... Mm. Sure.” As Sebastian expected, Ciel didn’t have any fight left in him. He was worn out, physically and emotionally. He stood up and walked past Sebastian out of the office without looking at him. Sebastian followed dutifully behind until they made it to the bedroom.

The bathroom was cold tile and colder marble, no invitation to bare skin. Sebastian went about changing that. He let the water gush into the tub from the golden faucet, a pipe-shaking geyser burst, so white-hot it nearly matched the porcelain walls of the basin. By the time Ciel stepped into the room, Sebastian had adjusted the water to a withstandable temperature, but the air still swirled with steam. Ciel glanced around at it dully as he was undressed. Then he sat in the half-filled tub. He pulled his legs in close.

Sebastian lowered the cup of milk tea to him along with a small towel. “Dry your hands and be careful not to drop the glass now,” he said. Ciel accepted wordlessly and drank.

The boy was so tired. Not sleepy (Sebastian wouldn’t have given Ciel the cup then), but simply tired. So much on his mind, so much he pushed down as deep as he could. Sebastian hoped that the comfort of heat and water might lift some of those abused thoughts to the surface. But Ciel didn’t say anything yet. He only finished his tea as Sebastian dissolved castile soap shavings and sweet almond oil in a bowl of warm water.

There were so many things they had yet to fully unearth: Ciel’s panic at the end of the last mission; the anxiety he suffered after speaking with Lyle Reubin most recently; the truth behind what Ciel wanted to say to Soma about his sensitivity to touch. And the practical parts, the demon parts, of Sebastian told him that that was wrong, that he should be trying harder to nudge this elusive information into the light where it could be properly dissected. But another part of Sebastian said to wait. To be patient. To listen. So he had. And so Ciel seemed to speak much more readily these days.

That result had been unexpected. And yet, Sebastian knew he finally understood. Human emotions were perhaps not things meant to be torn out of hearts, stretched across sterile trays, and peeled apart layer by layer with scalpels. Perhaps they were things eased like shy foxes from dens.

“I have to apologize to him,” Ciel said quietly as Sebastian drizzled the newly-made shampoo over his head.

Sebastian rubbed the lather into the scalp. “You will,” he said simply. “You will.”

Ciel only hunched his arms deeper into his stomach. “It used to be so easy for me not to think about anything I didn’t want to think about. Or at least to keep it to myself. But everything’s heightened lately. I can’t just use my work to distract the feelings away. And then everyone notices how angry I am, you, and Tanaka, maybe even my aunt and uncle, and… and I don’t want to be treated any differently than before, but maybe this is what I deserve for being so obvious.” He put a hand to his forehead. “Maybe so much is wrong with me and I don’t even realize it because I don’t want to. But everyone else sees it immediately, and it makes me feel like something on display. I hate it so much.”

Sebastian scratched his fingers through slate-colored strands. “It’s all right to hate it when others wish to help you.” He smirked. “I, too, hate to be ‘helped’ at anything. Perhaps we both need to consider changing our thinking.”

“We are changing the way we think. And act. The both of us.” Ciel turned his head just slightly to glare over his shoulder. “And in your case, I don’t really understand why.”

Sebastian didn’t have an answer. So he only stared back. Ciel eventually, finally, turned his gaze away. “Whatever. I don’t have time to worry about that right now. And I’m not about to put up an objection to all of it, considering you’re less annoying than usual. I only know that something’s got to be wrong with you if you’ve finally gotten sick of your own voice.”

Sebastian chuckled. “So, that’s the thing that concerns you the most?”

Ciel looked at him again with his contract eye. “Are there greater concerns I should have?”

“No.” Sebastian was surprised at how quickly he said it — and how reassuringly. Like he knew something he wasn’t even fully aware of knowing. He finished sudsing up the boy’s hair and reached for the sponge to wash his back. “No. There isn’t anything you need to worry about.”

Ciel leaned forward. “If you say it so quickly, people won’t believe you, you know. Even I’m almost inclined not to believe you. Thank God I thought to make it a rule that you can’t lie, it’s given me peace of mind more times than I can count…”

There was nothing for Ciel to worry about, apparently. Was there anything for Sebastian to worry about? He was tired of considering that there was. So he didn’t. He finished washing Ciel’s back and handed Ciel the sponge to wash the rest while he prepared the pitcher to rinse Ciel clean, and the soft, fresh towels to wrap the boy up in, and the clean nightclothes that still smelled like summer’s breath, and the bed with the white sheets that would be pleasantly cool against skin still flushed pink from the bath, even after all the time spent mussing wet hair dry and ascertaining that teeth were brushed to crystal cleanliness.

When Ciel lay down on those sheets, the only light left was from the paraffin lamp at his bedside. If he liked, he could use the light to read a bit before going to sleep, though Sebastian reminded, “Tomorrow, we’ll be leaving for London shortly after breakfast. There will be even more to do after that, so I suggest turning in early so you can be well-rested for a busy day.”

“Mm.” Ciel blinked at him from the pillow. His face was thoughtful but otherwise unreadable. “Sebastian?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your reason for wanting to talk to me each night is different from Tanaka’s, right?” Ciel asked. “I know you intend to be a… resource to me or something, so that we don’t have so many disagreements. But it’s only temporary, the same as being my butler, isn’t it? You’re still interested in eating my soul?”

Sebastian almost laughed and instead gazed at the boy with a sort of strange amusement. Ciel clearly wanted Sebastian to answer in the affirmative, as if that would bring Ciel the ‘peace of mind’ he so desired. Never has there been a more intriguing contract. “Yes, young master. The nature of our arrangement hasn’t changed. I am still quite interested in devouring that soul of yours.”

Ciel smiled and nodded. “Good.” He rolled over so he was facing away. “You can blow out the light then. I’m going straight to sleep.” And, as Sebastian was leaving the room, added, “And don’t forget to pack my favorite pillow tomorrow morning. I’ll be cross if you have to come back for it and someone notices.”

Sebastian smirked in the darkness. “I’ll be sure to, sir. Goodnight.”

It hadn’t been intentional, but Ciel had just gifted Sebastian peace of mind, too. Of course Sebastian could play surrogate and still be a killer; hadn’t he done just that as a butler already? The young master really was so clever. Reminding a demon that he was a demon… just as a fox never forgets a hunter. Sebastian smiled, content in the knowledge that he could become a hunter, a demon, again whenever it suited him. Yes, whenever it suited him… whenever that would be… it would be easy, ever so easy, when the time came to end the boy’s life…

Satisfied, Sebastian went about his nightly duties with the unharried mien of a well-fed cat. This good mood was only spoiled a few hours later when he saw the letter in the servant’s office addressed to him from that awful Undertaker. His lip curled at it. He wanted nothing more to do with this… individual, who may or may not be stronger than Sebastian himself. But Undertaker had made it clear that he wasn’t afraid to blackmail Sebastian and reveal their secret meetings to Ciel. So Sebastian ripped open the envelope as unceremoniously as he could and read:

My dear butler,

It seems we have found ourselves at a crossroads…

The molar of yours has certainly been quite revealing! I felt rather like a dentist examining a deep, painful cavity… But I’m afraid the cause of the rot isn’t so sweet.

You are riddled with foreign magic. That is to say, magic that is not of your own creation. The magic is weak, but there is so much of it inside you that mutation will soon be inevitable.

Mutation into what, you might be wondering? I cannot say for sure. All I can guess is that it will be a creature entirely dedicated to Lord Phantomhive’s survival, given the way you have already begun to change.

Other than the boy and possibly myself, I cannot guess who would benefit from this transformation. It does make me look awfully suspicious, doesn’t it…? Well, I cannot possibly hope to convince you of my innocence, so I won’t even begin to try. But, as I’ve said before, it isn’t me who is inflicting this magic upon you. I can only keep up my research and hope a better answer is available soon.

As for the crossroads I mentioned at the beginning of the letter… I have a hypothesis that I feel will be a very difficult drought for you to swallow.

Remember our discussion of Scheele’s green? As so many were once poisoned by their own wallpaper, I believe you too are being cursed by something of apparent innocence… or someone. The someone you spend more time around than anyone else… that would be Lord Phantomhive, yes? Well, it is only a thought, but I do wonder if a curse has been laid upon him in order to infect you.

Yes, it is only a thought… but it is a frightening one. One that should give you much food for thought. For now, perhaps you should consider only spending time around Lord Phantomhive when it is absolutely necessary. Any additional time could increase the risk of your being irreversibly poisoned.

If it came to it, who would you choose, butler? The boy or yourself?

Hehehe… Good luck! ♡

Chapter Text

Undertaker was wrong.

There was no way any immortal could have laid a curse on the young master without Sebastian noticing — even a curse that was meant to solely harm Sebastian, not Ciel. He simply couldn’t imagine who would be powerful enough to come in between him and the most important contract of his lifetime… No one but Undertaker.

Sebastian ground his teeth, feeling them grit against each other. Was Undertaker truly the one orchestrating all this? And if so, why make himself look suspicious at all? Why help Sebastian, even just to pretend, considering it was true that Sebastian wouldn’t have suspected Undertaker if he’d only kept quiet? The fiend was clearly strong enough to hide his own magical aura. If it was Undertaker’s master plan to secretly transform Sebastian into a being that could comprehend sympathy and kindness, why let Sebastian in on the plot? To study the demon more closely? To make sure everything was going according to plan?

That would make sense, wouldn’t it?

Maybe. But if anything was painfully clear, it was that Undertaker was too strong for Sebastian to defeat without taking significant damage… and that was only if he were lucky. The small taste Sebastian had gotten of Undertaker’s true power was enough to convince him of that.

Besides, if it was Undertaker’s twisted plan to transform Sebastian into “a creature entirely dedicated to Lord Phantomhive’s survival,” Undertaker hadn’t succeeded anyway. “If it came to it, who would you choose, butler? The boy or yourself?” Undertaker had asked. And the answer was still himself. Of course Sebastian would choose himself.

… Wouldn’t he?

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Ciel was roused at seven forty-five the next morning. It was a clear day, with winds just slight enough to drive off the possibility of lingering heat, perfect for their little journey. Sebastian dressed the boy in his travel clothes before tailing him to the conservatory, where he served him a cup of bohea da chi gon, a tea so red and sweet despite coming from leaves like shriveled seaweed, along with deviled lamb kidneys on buttered toast and baked Prince mushrooms. The bright young master caught on that he was being served Agaricus augustus on the first day of August, as well as the day when he was to engage with a prince, but even Ciel couldn’t complain too terribly much about “another one of your idiotic puns,” for the Prince was arguably England’s most delectable fungi. After that, the two parted ways to finish their final preparations for the trip.

Bardroy reined Gilbert and Merrylegs up the front drive just after nine o’clock. As Sebastian loaded the young master’s trunks and his own scarcely-filled suitcase onto the top of the carriage, Bard sprung down from the driver’s seat and trotted up to the front steps where the other servants stood waiting. “All right, I’m taking the final orders for London!” he called. “Finny, let’s start with you. Did you decide on what book you want?”

Finny nodded with a grin. “Mhm! Black Beauty, please!”

Bard put his hands on his hips. “Come on, now, we talked about this last night. You must have read Black Beauty a hundred times!”

“I know, but I love that story sooo much! A-And you saw the way my old book looks,” Finny said shyly. “Some of the pages are ripped from when I was first practicing being careful with things and the cover’s dented in…”

“But this is your chance to get a brand new story,” Bard said. “What about, eh… Treasure Island? Or, oh, better yet, Huckleberry Finn. He’s even got the same name as you.”

“Wow! Another book about a person with my name!” Finny bubbled. “But does Huckleberry Finn have a horse? Or a dog? Or a donkey? Or a skunk? Because animal books are my favorite kind!”

“A-A skunk? Where do you get ideas like that…?” Finny only blinked back in question. Bard scratched at the nape of his neck. “M-Maybe he has a dog or somethin’? I dunno. But there’s only one way to find out, right?”

Finny rocked from his heels to his toes. “Well… I’m not sure…”

Bard exhaled through his nose. “Okay then. What about both? You’ve still got plenty of your Christmas bonus to spend, you can afford it.”

Finny gasped, putting his hands together. “I forgot about that! Yes, I’d like both, please.”

“Good lad. All right, then, Miss Mey.” Bard came to a stop in front of her on the lower step. “What’ll it be for you?”

Mey-Rin sighed. “I told you, Bard, all I need are some hairpins and a new pair of shoelaces.”

Bard wagged his finger at her playfully. “And I told you, you can just order those from the Fashion Book^[※] anytime. What about something you can only get in London? Something special? Like…” He snapped his fingers, thinking. “I’ve got it. What about a new record? You like classical music, don’t you? And opera?”

Mey-Rin clenched her fists at her sides, blushing slightly. “Bard,” she hissed from between her teeth, “you know I am always perpetually in debt for breaking something, I can’t just go and buy frivolous things like that!”

“Mey, you, me, and Finny are all in perpetual debt for breaking things,” Bard said laughingly. “But I know you haven’t used your Christmas bonus either. Get yourself something nice for once, won’t you? Now, do you have any suggestions, or am I going to have to pick a record for ya?”

She glared a second more, but then conceded with another sigh. “If you really have to insist… anything by Johan Strauss II would be lovely.”

“Brilliant. You won’t regret it. You’ve gotta live a little while you’re still young, y’know!” Mey-Rin shook her head at him, but couldn’t help smiling slightly. Bard beamed back, then walked three more paces until he stood before the last of the staff. “And for Mr. Tanaka, you said you have yours written down?”

“That’s right.” Tanaka put a slim piece of paper into Bard’s hand. “The cups I need are pronounced ‘yunomi’ and the green tea is ‘gyokuro.’ I’m sorry that I do not know precisely where to find them at all times of the year, but the last time we were in London, there did seem to be considerably more Japanese imports in the curio shops. Hopefully we’ll have a stroke of good luck. If not, I can always have some specially ordered, as usual. But it would be very convenient if they were stocked in London somewhere.”

Bard repeated carefully, “Yunomi and… gyokuro. Got it. I’ll do my best at least, I’ll ask around.” He glanced up to the top of the stairway when some movement caught his eye. “Oh, perfect timing. Here comes the young master now.”

The other servants hastened slightly to the side so Ciel could pass between them, grinning as they did. “Goodbye, young master! Have fun in London!” Finny bid him.

Mey-Rin nodded. “Oh yes, do have a wonderful time! We hope your company’s event goes well, we do!”

“We’ll look forward to hearing all about it when you return in a few weeks,” Tanaka said, smiling.

Ciel threw up a hand to wave at them passively. He looked only briefly at Tanaka before offering to them all as he finished descending, “Right, then. Goodbye. Be sure to keep the house standing while we’re away.”

“Yes, sir!” chorused the small quartet, each member in their own pitch, each slightly off beat, but not one lacking in enthusiasm.

Sebastian lowered the step and opened the carriage door, and Ciel nestled beneath the far window of the cab, no doubt getting comfortable. It was still early enough in the morning that Sebastian knew the boy would be drifting off on their ride; if Ciel was any bit sleepy, the jostling always had him dozing in minutes. But that was for the best, as they had a long day ahead of them, and being as rested as possible could only serve to make it a little less trying.

Bard climbed back up to his place at the reins. “I’ll be back in five hours or so!” he called to the others. “Don’t miss me too much now, alright?”

Sebastian sat on the driver’s bench beside Bard and called out his own final orders. “Mr. Tanaka is in charge while I’m away, as always. We expect no visitors. Keep track of everything you break.”

“Okaaaay~!”

“W-We’ll try not to break anything at all, though, yes we will!”

“We’ll only break things that are easily replaceable~!”

“H-Have a little faith, Finny, please!”

“Oh ho ho…”

And off they went at last.

Bard swung the horses wide and then guided them down the path onto the main road before settling against the seat with a loud sigh. “Ahhh, nice to have a little change of scenery every once in a while. Good way to end the week, too. It’s back to work once we get to London, but at least I can rest for now. And I’ve got a whole half a month of vacation to look forward to while you’re away.”

Sebastian gave Bard a sidelong look. “This is not a vacation.”

“Relaaax, I’m just ribbin’ ya a little,” Bard chuckled. “Oh, and b’fore I forget, I’m not sure if it’ll be you or Mr. Tanaka goin’ over the books this month, but make sure you take Mey and Finn’s purchases out of my pay. Thought I’d give the kids a special treat. I’d pay for Mr. Tanaka’s odds n’ ends too, but knowin’ him, he’d just catch it and change it back himself.”

Sebastian stayed rigid in his seat even as the carriage hit an errant pothole. “‘The kids,’ hm?”

Bard grinned. “I can’t help seein’ ’em that way, Finny can’t be more than eighteen and Mey-Rin’s just a handful of years more’n half my age. Well, maybe you’re closer to half my age too, but God knows I’ll never see you as a ‘kid.’ How old are you again?”

“I have never offered such personal information and I certainly never plan to.”

Bard waved him off lazily. “It makes no difference anyway. We’re on the same page about it all, ain’t we?”

Sebastian gave Bard another sidelong look. “And to what ‘same page’ are you referring?”

“Our roles in the house,” Bard said, somewhat loftily. “You, me, and Mr. Tanaka, as the three with the most life experience, have to look out for the three with the least. I keep Mey-Rin and Finny looking sharp, you take care of the young master, and Tanaka fills in whenever the two of us can’t.”

“Oh, you keep Mey-Rin and Finny looking sharp, do you?” Sebastian shot him a biting grin. “I didn’t realize I had any help in that area. It’s been entirely unfelt.”

Bard flinched back from the palpable chill in those words. “I-I mean, sure, you do most of it, b-but they come to me, too, y’know! Who do you think is there to repair their broken tools and keep ’em fed when you’re off in London or on one of the Queen’s missions? I’ve gotten pretty decent at making flapjacks, you should know!”

“I am curious to know what in the world you would consider a ‘decent’ flapjack,” Sebastian derided. “As for myself, I do the job that is expected of me.”

“What!” The horses’ ears twisted backwards at Bard’s outcry. “Uh, I think you do a little bit more than that,” he huffed. “You ain’t human the way you work.”

Sebastian resisted the urge to smirk. “You could certainly say that. What I mean is, I am the young master’s butler. The reason I ‘look after him’ is not related to your perception of duty, nor to the fact that I am older than him. It relates simply to the reasons that I was hired in the first place.”

Now it was Bard’s turn to shoot him a frank expression. “Come on, Sebastian. You’re the closest thing the young master has to a father.”

Sebastian stared straight ahead. “That is far too bold a statement to say aloud. What if the young master heard you?”

Surprisingly, Bard caught the trick. “Nice try. He’s asleep. The young master always falls asleep in the carriage if he has to travel in the morning. But I bet you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Sebastian pretended to be more interested in the passing foliage. “Even so. You shouldn’t say such things.”

Bard shrugged with a huge roll of shoulders. “Hey, I didn’t really think so for a while either! Especially because the young master’s so mature for his age. But the idea’s been on my mind since he called you ‘father’ by mistake once.”

“Did he now?” Feigning disinterest wasn’t too hard, since Sebastian had at least already known about that incident. But did Bard really have to bring it up as a logical point…

Bard gave a nod. “Sure did! Though, well, he himself didn’t notice until I called attention to it. Honestly, it was kind of a funny misunderstandin’, I thought when the young master said ‘father,’ he was referrin’ to… Eh… N-Never mind, you had to be there… But I’ll prove my point,” Bard continued. “I bet you remembered to pack his special pillow.”

An exasperated sigh. “Yes, I did, but with good reason. The young master asked me to.” Sebastian paused. “And how do you know about his special pillow?”

Bard clenched a toothpick between his molars in place of a cigarette. “I’ve worked in the manor for over four years. How could I not know about his special pillow?”

After a brief moment to register his surprise, Sebastian shook his head. “Your knowledge of the young master is deeper than I would have expected. I suppose I can see why you personally consider such knowledge to be… father-like, in nature. But I would more readily apply that descriptor to you. After all, I’m simply following orders by packing it.”

Bard guided the horses down a fork in the road, even though the cobs surely knew the way that was expected of them. “Well, I was a father at one point, y’know. I suppose that mentality always stays with ya.” He shifted slightly. “And it’s… been on my mind lately. Workin’ Avalon with the young master out in the paddocks, y’know… It’s… something I would have done with my own son. When he came of age.” After a brief moment, Bard cleared his throat. “Eh, sorry... The mind wanders.”

Sebastian was unwavering. “It’s fine.”

“But,” Bard continued with renewed gusto, “it takes one to know one, and I’m telling you you’re like a father to him.”

“Very well.”

Bard tilted his chin. “... Very well? Really?”

Sebastian closed his eyes. “I’m not interested in arguing with you.”

Bard stared at him a second more, then propped one of his elbows on the back of the metal bench. “Tch. Too bad… It woulda passed the time.”

“Indeed. May I ask you a personal question instead? If you’d rather not answer, you needn’t do so.”

He got a surprised blink for that. “A personal question? From you? Ehh, sure. Fire away, I guess.”

Sebastian asked plainly, “What sort of person was your son?”

Another surprised blink. Bard adjusted the toothpick in his mouth with his tongue. “Junior?” It was quiet for a minute. Eventually, Bard gave a long sigh out his nose. “He was… well, he was just like I was as a kid.” A smile crept over Bard’s face again. “A little spitfire, always rarin’ to go. He loved his slingshot like most kids would love a doll or a toy soldier. He’d fall asleep in bed at night with it still clutched in his hand. He practiced and practiced with that thing until he could shoot tin cans from twenty feet away with perfect shots every time. If he met Mey-Rin, I know he’d think she was just amazing. He’d probably get a little crush on her, heh heh… Well, maybe he wouldn’t, actually, maybe he’s still too young to love any girl other than his mama. But he would think she was amazing. Junior’s amazed by just about everything. He even looked up to me, if yeh can believe it. Could make me feel like I was the greatest thing in the world. And oh, how he needed to help out with every single thing I did…”

So Bard continued to regale stories about his son and even his wife until they made it to London’s outskirts. Sebastian listened, ears like nets catching for the feeling behind the words. There were brief moments in which Bard unintentionally used the present tense to refer to his deceased family. He didn’t seem to notice he’d done it. Sebastian found he was becoming more and more acquainted with the fact that when people spoke straight from their hearts, they sometimes said words they didn’t mean to say and yet, in that strange way of humans, managed to be all the more honest for it.

In the city’s heart, life bustled, as always, but there was still a distinctive slowness compared to their last visit. Most of the Season’s noble visitors had moved back to their countryside manors by now. In less than two weeks, the social season would officially be over; Ciel had cut the Funtom event close for the sake of having the maximum amount of time to plan it. For the toy collectors who lived outside of the South, it at least meant travel may be slightly less congested.

They turned a corner, and the Phantomhive’s London house was suddenly in sight. Agni and Soma were already waiting outside the front door for them. Sebastian watched the prince gasp and race down the steps with a smile huge on his face. Agni was in his wake. The two of them worked together to open the wrought-iron gates and allow the carriage to pass through.

Bard brought the horses to a stop in front of the house. Sebastian hopped down from his position and bowed an apology before going to the carriage door. “I appreciate your opening the gates for us. I would have been more than happy to assist with that, instead of troubling the both of you.”

“No trouble at all, my friend,” Agni said warmly. Though he didn't express it with the same unbridled enthusiasm as Soma, it was clear in Agni’s eyes that he was just as pleased to have Sebastian visit. “My prince was delighted to welcome Lord Phantomhive here with his own hand.”

“Ciel! Ciel, Ciel, Ciel!” Soma was barking like a gull at the carriage. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here! At last you’re here! I’ve been waiting all summer for this and now it’s finally happening!” He raced over as soon as Ciel had descended the steps and crushed him in an enormous hug. Just as quickly, he thrust Ciel away from him with hands on the boy’s shoulders. He seemed abruptly serious. “Ah, I nearly forgot! Did your voice get deeper? Do you sound totally different now? Well? Have I missed it or not?”

Ciel stared up at the other boy dully for a few seconds, still a bit sleepy, before responding with a long, monotone, “Baaaaa.”

Soma drew back in surprise, then started laughing and hugging his friend again. “Hooray! Ciel is the same! He hasn’t changed after all! Yaaay! This calls for a celebration!”

“It doesn’t call for anything,” Ciel said, muffled against Soma’s chest. “I’m too busy right now. After I get my things to my room and have a change of wardrobe, I’m headed straight to Sedgemore House.”

Soma had started rocking Ciel back and forth. “Oh, but can’t we celebrate your being here just a little? Pleeeaase? A friend of yours is already visiting anyway.”

Sebastian’s ears perked at that as readily as the young master’s. “A friend? What friend?” Ciel asked. He scrambled in Soma’s arms, only managing to turn the other direction so that he was facing outward. “You ought to let me go now, and tell me what friend it is while you’re at it. You didn’t just let a stranger into my house, did you?”

“No, of course not, silly Ciel! Agni and I almost never let in strangers.” Soma rested his chin atop the other boy’s head. “Good idea, this way is better. Now we don’t have to let go of each other if we need to walk around. Isn’t this nice?”

“No,” said Ciel. “What friend is here? A-And why did you leave them all by themself?! What a terrible way to treat a guest!”

“She’s fine! I told her I had to make sure I was outside when you arrived, she didn’t mind!”

“Her? Her who? For goodness’ sake, let go of me and tell me who it is already!”

“Mmmm… One more squeeze first, that’s the fee for information…”

“You’re not a boa constrictor, you don’t need to— Gghhk! Koff… Ack, all right, there’s your damn hug. Now you’d better release me or I swear I won’t let you touch me for the rest of my stay.”

That threat did its job — sort of. “She’s in the parlor! Let’s go together, let’s go!”

“H-Hey! Dragging me by my hand isn’t any better, dammit—!” But Ciel was promptly whisked indoors before anything more could be said on the matter.

During that conversation, Sebastian (and Agni, since he’d insisted) had successfully removed all the luggage from the top of the carriage. Now they stood by to close the gates for Bard after he departed. Before driving off, Bard looked down at Sebastian from the driver’s seat and offered somewhat sheepishly, “Thanks for, eh… the good conversation. It’s been a while since I thought about Junior. Didn’t think it’d be so nice just to prattle on about ’im for a bit... Anyway, see you back at the manor in a few weeks. I’ll take care a’ the kids at home. You take good care a’ the young master, right?”

Against his better judgment, Sebastian half-smirked. “Don’t I always?”

Bard returned the expression. “Yep. Ya sure do.” He clicked the reins. “All right, Gil, Merry, look alive! We’ve got work to do yet.” And off the carriage went.

In the house, Sebastian left the luggage at the base of the stairs, and was just in time to see the young master opening up the doors to the parlor. Soma had immediately raced up to Agni when they entered, teary-eyed and whining about being scolded, so there’d likely been some sort of spat between the boys to slow Ciel down from meeting the ‘guest.’ And now it was time to see who it was…

“Mon lapin! There you are, at ever-loving last! It is so good to see you again! Oh, and you’ve got that old-fashioned butler in tow, of course.”

Ah. So this was the ‘she’ in question.

“N-Nina, what a surprise,” Ciel stuttered as the designer hustled her way around the intricate furniture to inspect one of her dearest clients more closely. “Our appointment isn’t supposed to be for another few days. What are you doing here now?”

“What am I doing here?” Nina repeated his question as if it were minorly preposterous. “Why, I’m here because of a happy accident I made just a few months ago when I stopped by looking for you. Lord Phantomhive, just when were you planning to tell me that you’re renting your abode to the future of men’s fashion?”

Ciel’s shoulders drooped. “The… future of men’s fashion, really. That’s news to me.”

Nina ignored him, clenching a dramatic fist. “For so long now, I believed that a man’s wardrobe was nothing but pitch black suits and starched white collars… The diatonic haberdashery extolled by the likes of our own humdrum Mr. Stiff… But then! On a whim, I decided to pop by the Phantomhive manor in search of my littlest client and who should I meet instead? The serendipitous hand of Fortuna, beckoning me with her slender fingers to in-spi-ra-tion!” Her own slender finger tapped at the air with each enunciated syllable. “Sure enough, who do I espy but two Indian men, clad not in the perpetual mourning dress of the British lord, but in color and in pattern and in jewels! And so, I have been coming here when I have the time for some weeks now and learning what I can of Indian fashion so that I may inject it into this country’s own miserably drab consciousness.”

“Is that so,” Ciel said flatly.

“Oh, it is so.” Nina smartly plucked something from her pocket. “You can see for yourself. I’ve used your and your friend’s likenesses to come up with something fantastically debonair.”

“You… You did… what…?” Nina was then flaunting an image in the boy’s face, a sketch that had been painted with a light wash of watercolor. On one model, there was a lot of blue cloth bordered by gold and periwinkle, heavy silver jewelry around the neck and waist, bangles on the wrists, and some sort of elaborate feathered headpiece with loops swinging around the ears. Next to that was another model, notably taller, decked in the warmest oranges and yellows, with red tassels and golden jewelry like shells and coins studding collar and belt. What on earth… ^[♠]

Ciel stared at the sketch only briefly before choking out, “Nina, what the hell is this?!”

“Something you’re too much of a coward to wear, clearly,” Nina huffed in disappointment. She flapped her fingers in a lackadaisical wave. “Don’t worry, I understood your request. I promise what I made you for your Funtom convention is so blasé, even our most delicate Mr. Stiff won’t be clutching his pearls. But this design looks quite showstopping, ñ’est-ce pas?”

“Oh, it’s showstopping, all right. Don’t ask me if I mean that as a compliment…” Ciel sounded dizzy, perplexed. He shook his head, then turned around to face Soma as he heard him enter the room. “So, it seems my tailor finds you somewhat of an inspiration.”

Soma frowned angrily, sniffling. “Yeah, that’s right! Some people are actually excited to see me! Surprised, aren’t you?!”

Ciel sighed, his eyebrows drawing upward as his lids closed. “Good grief… I’ve only just arrived and it’s already a three-ring cir—”

“Lord Phantomhive, I am not finished.” Ciel’s eyes flinched open again as he heard the sudden snap of quickly unfurling measuring tape a little too close to his ear. Nina loomed behind him. “Just when were you planning on telling me that you’ve grown even more…?” she said, a glint in her eye and simmering disapproval in her smile.

Ciel turned so that he could face both of them now. “Does it really matter? You haven’t stitched the hems, have you? The fabric can still be let out.”

Nina took his arm, began stretching the tape across it. “Of course it really matters — every detail is ve-e-ery important to me! Precision, Lord Phantomhive, is the key to my success, and if you sully the image I’ve designed specifically for your silhouette then you may as well sully my name.”

Ciel eyed her as she went about her measurements. “All right, all right, but don’t you think this can wai—”

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!” Soma shouted petulantly.

Ciel’s head twisted swiftly. “Don’t ignore you?! ”

“Since you’ve arrived, all you’ve done is be mean to me!” Soma continued. He held up an unblemished hand. “You hit me for no reason!”

“It wasn’t for ‘no reason!’ You wouldn’t— aghh! ” Ciel threw out his arms, almost losing his balance when Nina suddenly grabbed one of his legs so she could measure the circumference of his ankle.

“Oh no!” Soma reflexively caught Ciel so that he wouldn’t fall over. After a pause, he seemed to remember he was upset, and added, “S-See?! That’s what a true friend does!”

“Nina, for goodness sake! Now is not the time for this!” Ciel thrust out his leg to shake her off, whisked his arm away from Soma, and glared, eyes shifting back and forth, shrewd. “Honestly, between the two of you, there is far too little respect for my person! You can’t just touch me whenever you please, all right?! And certainly not if I tell you to stop doing it! Are we bloody well clear on this, or should I say it again more slowly?!”

The room was quiet as Ciel stood there seething. Nina sniffed, pushing her glasses up with one finger and blinking behind them in prim resolution. Soma folded his arms and grumbled, “There, see, that’s all you had to say in the first place…”

“I did say that! ” Ciel’s temper flared. His shoulders raised as he became more puffed up. “I said it at least three times, but you continued to ignore me no matter how adamant I was! And I didn’t want to hit you, but you weren’t getting the message otherwise! I’m not interested in being held responsible for your selective hearing! So listen well so I don’t have to blow up at you again later: I don’t have time for visiting right now! I’m going to Sedgemore House! I have work to do! All right? Now excuse me!”

With that, Ciel brushed past him, and past Agni too, who stood blinking by the room’s entranceway.

Sebastian supposed he should follow. “And excuse me as well, everyone.”

Pausing only momentarily to pick up Ciel’s three suitcases from the bottom of the stairwell, Sebastian was fast in the boy’s curt stride. He closed the door behind them after they entered the bedroom on the third floor. Ciel’s back was turned to him, and Sebastian didn’t quite know what to expect, though he was surprised that when Ciel did eventually face him, it was with a half-grin.

“Hm! Well, it certainly feels better to yell at people who actually deserve it,” he said, self-satisfied. He interlocked his fingers and flexed his arms before him, like someone stretching after a job well done. “That brat of a prince was overdue for a lecture, since Agni sure as hell doesn’t discipline him. If Soma wants to get excited for my arrival, then he’d better remember what it really means when I’m around. Not hours of running about and following his every whim, that’s for sure!”

Sebastian said nothing. Ciel plopped on the edge of his bed, slinging one leg over the other. “And I guess you must be pretty pleased with yourself, too,” he continued, “since you told me to be honest with Soma and all that. So, there it is. I made him listen to me about not liking to be touched. Happy?”

He wants me to praise him. The thought was in Sebastian’s head before he could dismiss it, just as he had been working so hard to do all morning. It wasn’t as easy for him to speak his mind as he’d like me to believe. He wants to know that he has my support.

Sebastian busied himself with unpacking Ciel’s wardrobe. He tried very hard to say nothing. What would happen if he opened his mouth? But surely Ciel wouldn’t let him get away with silence after posing a direct question. With effort, Sebastian managed to keep his response neutral. “The young master definitely seized the opportunity.”

“... Maybe I do that too much, though.” Ciel was abruptly subdued. “I… didn’t end up talking to Tanaka about our argument last night. Or, well, he wasn’t arguing, it was just me. I should have approached him before we left this morning, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why. It just felt impossible.”

Probably because you aren’t ready to apologize; probably because there are things you don’t want to apologize for, things that you shouldn’t necessarily have to apologize for either. And probably because you aren’t ready to recognize how right Tanaka is, that you do have many needs, that those needs aren’t being met in full, and that you should be worried over by an adult. And why shouldn’t that adult be—

“You’ll have the opportunity to speak with Tanaka when we return,” Sebastian said, by means of interrupting his own thoughts. “But for now, your top priority is getting to Sedgemore House in good order and seeing to the Funtom event preparations. So, shall we have you out of your travel clothes and properly dressed for the occasion posthaste?”

Ciel looked a little thrown-off by the unintended forcefulness in Sebastian’s tone. But the argument appealed to Ciel’s logical side, so he agreed. “Right, right, yes. There is a lot to do today, and I don’t want to be sitting around anymore. Let’s get ready to go.”

Ten minutes later, they were heading back down the stairs, Ciel dressed smartly in a blue vest and black jacket and gray trousers — an ensemble that Nina would surely decree “diatonic haberdashery.” At the bottom of the stairs near the door stood Soma and Agni, the former with large, regretful eyes and the latter with a reassuring smile directed at his charge’s back.

Ciel stiffened at the sight of them. “Oh, good grief… What is it now?”

Soma lowered his chin. He rubbed at his elbow sheepishly. “Ciel, I… I owe you an apology. I haven’t been a very good friend today.”

Ciel sighed heavily. “Whatever. We can talk about this later. Right now, I need to—”

“Please, I want to do this! I’ll be quick,” Soma promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you properly when you asked me to let go of you earlier. Agni often tells me that I sometimes get distracted during his lessons, too. I’m trying to be better, but when I get excited about something, it can be really hard for me to pay attention. But that’s still not fair to you. I didn’t mean to put you in the position that I did. I promise I’ll listen when you ask me to let go of you and then you won’t have to hit me.”

Ciel shifted his weight to his other foot with impatience or discomfort (or both). “... Fine, fine, that’s all well and good. But you’re just ignoring me now, too, you know. I said I need to get going, and I meant it.”

“I-I know, and I’m really sorry for this too, but I needed you to hear my apology,” Soma sniffled. “I didn’t want the both of us to be thinking about this until you came home later. It would really put a damper on the whole day, don’t you think?”

While unlikely to be a shared sentiment, Ciel responded briskly, “Sure, very well. The air is clear now. Anyway, I’m taking off, so excuse me.” He began to walk past the two of them.

Soma looked like it took all of his willpower not to grab Ciel then and there for an apology embrace, but he managed to contain himself and ask instead, “When you come back tonight, should I ask before I hug you?”

Ciel stopped in his tracks, and his body seized up slightly. He was quiet for a moment. “Look, you, just… just listen when I tell you to let me go, all right? Don’t you think that’s enough of a goal for the time being? You can barely stop yourself right now, after all.”

“Ah, Ciel knows me too well!” Soma was practically shivering from head to toe with anticipation. “So does that mean I can hug you right now?!”

Ciel took another step towards the door. “Well, if you have to ask…”

Soma was crushing the boy in his arms in moments. “I love you, Ciel! I love you so much! I want to be friends with you forever, so I’m going to work really, really hard and listen to you as best as I possibly can! You have my word as a prince!”

“... All right, that’s already enough. You can let go,” Ciel grumbled out from under Soma’s arms. “Seriously, do you have to be so violent about it…”

“Sorry!” Soma released him promptly, but his eyes shimmered with joy. “So I can really still hug Ciel whenever I want?!”

Ciel snickered then. “Well, maybe if you were an adult I’d tell you to watch yourself, but you’re just a child who doesn’t know any better, aren’t you?”

“Whaaaaaaat? So mean! I’m just excitable, that’s all!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say. I’m leaving now, goodbye.”

Sebastian turned to politely wave their ‘hosts’ off. Soma looked immensely pleased that his mission to apologize had been a success. Agni had a noticeably pensive look on his face. When he caught Sebastian’s eye, however, he simply smiled and waved back.

The sun welcomed them as soon as they stepped out the door. So did the sounds of a lively city in summertime. At this hour, London’s streets bustled with cab drivers looking diligently for their next client. Sebastian was able to hail the two of them a clean and well-maintained clarence within minutes of their stroll onto the sidewalk by the thoroughfare. “Sedgemore House,” Sebastian told the driver, and paid him exactly, as Ciel stepped aboard the vehicle. The man looked slightly displeased but didn’t complain; Sedgemore House was not terribly far from the London manor, so the pay had not been great. “There’s more where that came from, if the ride is smooth,” Sebastian suggested before stepping aboard.

Ciel didn’t often keep his own carriage in London, unless the rest of his family were visiting, because he knew his horses were happier together at the estate. Still, one needed to be choosy when relying on public transport: flashy little hansom cabs could be flimsy things, and drivers didn’t usually make enough money to maintain their vehicles to the utmost comfort. Thus, Sebastian and his discerning eyes were always tasked with choosing a proper carriage for their travels — and if Sebastian did a poor job, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Sedgemore House was located in Central London’s Belgravia district, close to the Cadogan Place Gardens. The area was known for housing some of London’s most wealthy individuals, mostly in white stucco terraces that had been built more than half a century ago. It was a clean and bright sector, and felt refreshing due to its high volume of parks with their touches of greenery. Such a fashionable area was surely a ridiculous privilege for someone like Henri Fairclough to find himself…

Sebastian shook off his own bitterness. Who was Fairclough to him? Nothing but a friendly acquaintance of his master’s. No one to peak his suspicion. No one but a man. No more, or less, than that.

After Sebastian took his place on the bench (thinly cushioned, but at least it wasn’t lumpy), the driver closed the door using a lever. Ciel tapped the ceiling with his cane to let the man know they were properly seated, and the carriage tottered off.

Sebastian pushed back the curtain so that Ciel could see outside more easily and then began, “Well, when—”

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about all that right now, so don’t even mention it until our nightly meeting, all right?” Ciel interrupted him quickly.

Sebastian blinked. From the opposite bench, Ciel was staring at him dead-on, though he seemed somewhat abashed. Sebastian tilted his head in question. “You don’t want to talk about… what exactly?”

Ciel glanced to the side. “You know, about… the… N-Never mind. What were you saying?”

He thought I was going to mention the prior scene in the foyer, because for some reason he didn’t tell Soma not to—

“I was only going to say that when we arrive, the preparations should be in full swing already,” Sebastian answered hastily. “I imagine Mr. Cavendish will have a handle on the situation as of this moment, but we still have a short checklist of reviews to complete before the eighth. Not the least of which is making sure the desserts are up to your standards. Though I suppose even the young master may find himself tired of all the sugar by the end of the week?” He smiled, raising an eyebrow.

Ciel smiled daringly back. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“Very good. We can simply cut out the usual teatime confections for a while, then. Ah, how much easier that shall make my job…”

Ciel’s tongue had unknowingly found itself in one corner of his lips. “You don’t need to cut them out every day, just on the days when I’m testing the desserts for the event. What else is there to do?”

Sebastian continued through his mental checklist, “There should be a valuator coming by early next week to help determine starting bids for each auction item. We’ll need to have a meeting with him and the auction team to be certain everyone is on the same page for event day. Over the course of the week, we’ll also need to meet with the rest of the event staff — waiters, musicians, confectioners, anyone ensuring guest satisfaction, and of course Mr. Pitt and Prince Soma — to be sure they know their tasks and where they are supposed to be. That way during Thursday’s trial run, we won’t need to waste time answering basic questions.” Sebastian smiled politely. “I shall deflect to Mr. Cavendish for everything else that needs doing, as he is guaranteed to know the specifics better than I could.”

Ciel nodded, gaze floating to the window. “Sebastian?”

The polite smile remained on his face. “Yes, sir?”

“Are all demons as weird as you?”

Now Sebastian’s expression fell. “Sir, usually when you ask me that question, I’ve at least done something to merit it...”

Ciel picked up the grin that Sebastian had dropped. “You don’t think you have?”

Brief panic. Has he noticed my hesitation today? “Not exactly…”

The boy closed his eyes and lifted his chin proudly. “Hm! Well then.”

That doesn’t seem to be the case; good. “Won’t you enlighten me on the error of my ways, then, young master?”

“You want me to just tell you?” Ciel folded his arms, still smirking. “Not going to bully it out of me, or use some underhanded demon trick? Aren’t you boring. All the other demons would surely point and jeer if they could see how positively undemon-like you’re being.”

Sebastian stared at the boy across from him, who stared back with an eyeful of mischief. Is he… being playful with me? “And just where has this rare mood sprung from?”

“Rare? It’s not rare for me to mess with you,” Ciel sneered.

“No,” said Sebastian, feeling the spirit overtake him despite himself, “but it is rare for you to be so…” He pretended to think for a moment. “... silly.”

It was just as he’d hoped. Ciel was immediately flustered. “Wh—? I’m not being silly!”

“Oh, I’m afraid you are,” Sebastian responded, to Ciel’s continued mortification. “As someone who has occasionally been known to be ‘silly’ himself, I can recognize all the signs in a heartbeat.”

“I’m making fun of you!” Ciel shouted back desperately.

Sebastian tsked. “Well, if making fun is the game, you have chosen your sport poorly, for the simple accusation of your silliness seems to have dealt quite a blow.”

“I’m not being anything!” There was a whine to the boy’s voice that gave away he’d been pushed far enough.

Sebastian relented at last. He’d wanted to tease, not scare off the positive atmosphere. “You know that any opportunity to spar verbally with the young master is an opportunity I shall seize. Though I wonder if I may suffer the wounds of being called boring for some time yet…”

“Suffer them for a lifetime! You’re better when you’re boring after all!” Ciel didn’t speak more after that, but that final jab at his demon seemed to return him to a state of haughty pride.

Sebastian chuckled to himself before being filled with dread. Oh, drat. He’d lost himself in the moment. He straightened his back. Now, now; he wasn’t supposed to be encouraging that kind of conversation. He was simply one hell of a butler, and nothing more. Nothing more…

They arrived in short order outside Sedgemore House’s elaborate iron gates and stepped out of the cab. The gates themselves were permanently thrown wide to permit the numerous carriers that would be coming by today. Guards stationed at those gates confirmed each crew’s purpose for being there before allowing them to proceed around back to the tradesmen entrance. The guards easily recognized Ciel as an ‘esteemed guest,’ however, and after Sebastian tipped the driver extra as promised, they were nodded through without need for any formal corroboration.

The front door of Sedgemore House was wide open as well, so Ciel did not bother to knock before walking inside. The entrance hall was a storm of activity. Furniture laborers passed by carrying chairs and tables, display cases and easels, mainly into the ballroom and drawing room, but some to the main hallway too. Chefs in white coats tagged after kitchen assistants and day men carrying boxes of ingredients and cookware, as if worried their specialty items may be ruined without constant supervision. Men with Funtom badges pinned to their chests talked with auctioneers and their upholders as items were unloaded from padded containers by men wearing kidskin gloves. Yet more hired hands were setting up ladders, hanging banners, rolling up carpets, and barking orders at lorry boys, who hurried to pick up scraps and rubbish left over from everyone’s else’s hard work. A constable stood just inside or outside most of the doors, monitoring that nothing of Lord Sedgemore’s was absconded with in the midst of this constant human activity.^[♣]

In the direct center of it all was Funtom’s lead manager, Mr. Cavendish. A mere glance at Mr. Cavendish betrayed a balding fellow in his early fifties with a thin appearance and soft skin. But anyone who watched Mr. Cavendish in his element would soon realize that this man was an anomaly. He moved with the calculated finesse of an ice skater, able to walk with a gliding gait that made his figure eights of the room appear to be effortless, artistic things. A person had only to stand in his path and Cavendish would eventually sweep over to them, prophesy their need simply by looking at their dress or the items they bore, and respond without hurry, “You’re to report to the garden,” “That should be brought to the parlor,” “Put in a request for another ice delivery,” “Place that down gently, please; do not scuff the floors.”

An impressive human, to be sure, and one that had been working for Funtom nearly since its inception. Ciel had been very specific with Sebastian about the humans he would interview for the superintendent position even years ago. He wanted a conductor, someone who could manage any and all things with aplomb, who would not be lost to the pressures of managing hundreds. But Ciel had meant this as literally as he did figuratively — when he asked at the man’s interview, “Which instrument do you believe is of the least importance to an orchestra?” Cavendish’s immediate answer of “Why, none of them” had undoubtedly curried favor from the start.

Mr. Cavendish was finally brought to a standstill when he noted Ciel was in attendance. He finished his perfect loop before arriving before them, slowing not like a train rolling into a station, but suddenly, succinctly. “Lord Phantomhive, very good to see you by.”

“Cavendish. Apologies for my delay. There was a roadblock along the journey, so to speak.” Ciel’s eyes swept the room as he smiled. “Though, as expected, everything here seems to be running like clockwork.”

“I do what I can,” Cavendish assured. He took no time to bask in the compliment. “I should inform you, however, that Lord Sedgemore’s current guest wanted me to pass along that he has a friend of his he’d like to introduce you to.”

Ciel made a noise of recognition. “Oh, Mr. Fairclough? Well, if it can be done in brief, I’ll meet with him; I’m sure there is plenty that needs my signature yet, hm? Though I have faith in your judgment when it comes to these matters.”

Cavendish gave his head a short dip. “Thank you, sir. In any case, I believe Mr. Fairclough said he would be in the libr—”

“Lord Phantomhive, bonjour! Just in time for us to come and check for your arrival!”

Fairclough entered then through the hallway between the staircases. He waved overhead, as if he was approaching them from far away, and smiled. The friend with him today was nothing like Mr. Goode, however, or like Fairclough, for that matter. This man was stringy, with blond hair that managed to look limp even though it was slicked back with too much pomade. He wore a sour expression, not helped by his shrewd gray eyes. He stopped short behind his host and bowed with a twitch of his waist as he was introduced as, “Mr. Frank Erickson, my colleague. He will be staying with me for a few weeks as we wait for Weston’s first semester to begin.”

“How do you do, Lord Phantomhive.” Erickson offered his hand out politely, but Sebastian could tell by the awkwardness in Ciel’s grip that the shake had been a dead fish. “It seems your preparations are coming along well.” His voice didn’t have much life in it either.

Ciel gave away no sign that their meeting was a bland one. “Indeed they are. Mr. Erickson, this should go without saying, but as a guest of Mr. Fairclough’s, I do hope you know you’re invited to Funtom’s convention in a week’s time. I’d be happy to see you there.”

“My thanks. I would be delighted,” said Erickson, in the least delighted tone Sebastian could imagine.

Fairclough picked up on this, too. He shoved Erickson’s shoulder in mock disappointment. “Give it a little enthusiasm, won’t you? Ah, no need to mind this one, Lord Phantomhive. There’s no accounting for a lack of élan! Though it may shock you to hear that Erickson is known as a bit of a troublemaker among the rest of our team.”

“Let’s not mention that now.” Like a hedgehog disturbed, Erickson’s voice curled up tight and grew spines of displeasure for just that moment.

Ciel sensed the tension and changed the subject. “I have quite a few desserts and recipes that I need to taste-test today. I don’t suppose the two of you would be interested in joining me around noon to help? Funtom’s own Chef Toussaint came to us highly recommended by the Société des Cuisiniers français for his particular knowledge of Eastern cuisine. He’s in the Sedgemore kitchens today preparing four types of Indian desserts, recipes which I hope to offer at Funtom’s restaurants in the future, as well as have adapted for mass production to be sold alongside the rest of our confections.”

“Sounds wonderful!” Fairclough cheered, at the same time Erickson said, “Apologies, but we don’t have the time.”

The men faced each other. “Clough, we’re swamped,” Erickson scolded in that same hollow way of his. “I wouldn’t be visiting otherwise. The Funtom event will be enough of a holiday next week. For now, we need to keep busy.”

Fairclough sighed. “I suppose you’re right… Our team doesn’t need two resident troublemakers, after all.”

Erickson glared at Fairclough from the corner of his eye, tacking on under his breath, “Why else do you think I’m here?”

The jab went ignored. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to join you after all, Lord Phantomhive,” Fairclough said. “My colleague does have a point. But I wanted to at least say bonjour! I wish you the best of luck with the rest of your preparations. Do let me know if there’s anything I can help with.”

“And the same to you,” Ciel said with a cordial smile. “Best of luck.”

The two men wandered off to the hallway they’d just emerged from. Ciel turned to his superintendent once more. “Right, then, Cavendish. Where do we begin?”

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It was around 4:30 when butler and master returned to the London house in time for afternoon tea, Ciel massaging at his shoulder as they ascended the front steps. Work had been a rather tiresome affair for Ciel. Other than testing the desserts, most of the day’s tasks had been purely administrative: adding his signature to documents authenticating each individual auction item; confirming that every piece of furniture they’d purchased had been delivered without damage; going through cost analyses with Cavendish; that sort of thing. It had been tedious and intellectually exhausting — and now Sebastian heard Ciel give a sigh as he stood before his home’s front doors, no doubt remembering the whirlwind that awaited him on the other side.

“Ciiiiiieellll! You’re hoooome!” Soma burst out of the parlor and raced over to the duo at once. He planted his hands on his hips. “You were gone for so long, it must have been a lot of work! Ah, how tired you look. You probably just want me to hug you gently, right?”

Ciel’s posture drooped. “What? I have a choice now?”

Soma clenched his fists enthusiastically. “Yes! It’s part of my respect-my-best-friend-Ciel plan! I try to pay more attention to what type of hug you can handle! And right now, you seem like you need a calm hug!”

Ciel scratched at the back of his head. “Oh, for goodness sake… Don’t make me make decisions like this.”

“Okaaay!” Soma flung open his arms, then wrapped them around Ciel with almost maternal care, and he leaned his cheek against the top of Ciel’s head. “Welcome back! I’m so glad you’re home safe!”

“Of course I’m home safe,” Ciel grumbled. He stood there stiffly for a few moments before saying, “You aren’t just going to wait for me to tell you when to let go from here out, are you? I don’t like that.”

Soma released him and pouted. “Ehhh? But I thought that was what you wanted. I’m confused.”

Ciel put a hand to his forehead. “No, I don’t want… Look. Just count to three silently to yourself and then let go. All right? Three seconds should be long enough for you and short enough for me.” A pause. Then Ciel’s neck slowly turned red with discomfort. “W-Why are we even having this conversation in the first place? How ridiculous! Talking about hugs this much — honestly! What the hell has my life become?!”

“Ah, Ciel, you look like a strawberry!” Soma said.

“Shut up! Stop talking!” Ciel snapped back.

“Oh my. It seems wherever the Earl goes, things become lively,” Lau observed from the parlor entrance.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Soma agreed.

“Lau?! What the hell are you doing here?!” Ciel sputtered.

“Well, that’s one way to greet an old friend,” Lau said simply. “I prefer ‘good day’ myself.”

“You didn’t tell me we had another guest!” Ciel shouted in Soma’s face.

“I was getting to that!” Soma laughed, as if oblivious to rage being directed at him.

“Welcome home, Lord Ciel, Sebastian! I have some tea for everyone to enjoy. Isn’t it just wonderful to all be together again?” greeted Agni, as he entered the door opposite the parlor’s and wheeled in a cart with the tea and its accompaniments stacked atop.

Ciel looked around at the three faces beaming back at him in his entrance hall. Eventually his gaze fell on Sebastian behind him, and the glazed look in his blue eye seemed to say, Are you seeing what I’m expected to put up with? Finally, Ciel faced forward again and gave a long sigh. “All right, then… Let’s all have a seat in the parlor and settle down before I lose my wits completely.”

Within a minute, the group had relocated to the sitting area. Agni poured masala chai the color of freshly ground cinnamon into three teacups from a Dresden Donath & Co. Meissen set. The tea was accompanied by shortbread biscuits and steamed semolina cakes called rava dohkla, which sat on a tiered tray within easy reach. As well, everyone received their own plate of perfectly round, flaky fried crackers alongside tiny silver cups filled with chutneys, a plummy one made from tamarinds, another from bright green mint.

Ciel picked up his tea and saucer but didn’t go for the snacks. “So, Lau, what are you doing here unannounced?”

Lau tilted his head minutely. “Hmm? Why, I thought that would be obvious, Earl. I’m here because you are. Because you are at last, I should say — it is awfully late in the Season for a nobleman of your status to be first arriving.”

“I’m doing things differently this year,” Ciel said simply. “But surely you didn’t keep your finger on the pulse of my whereabouts just so you could ask about my summer plans. Out with it.”

“My goodness, how bossy,” Lau tutted. “And here I was, imagining that my invitation to the Earl’s upcoming party was just lost in the mail. Now I’m beginning to think you don’t want me there at all.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re actually curious?”

“Well, it is the talk of the town. Why wouldn’t I be curious?” Lau smiled slyly, the only way he ever seemed to smile. “And we are partners, aren’t we? Surely you aren’t trying to send a message by excluding me.”

Ciel laughed darkly. “I would never send a message so passively.” His face changed to one of inquisitiveness. “I simply didn’t think you’d be interested. You want to come? Fine. You’re invited. Just so long as you aren’t attending merely to intimidate some sorry old gent who owes you money.”

Lau put a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Earl. I don’t offer my presence to just anyone. I have others to take care of that nasty business for me. Otherwise, I’d never have time to get out and play.”

“Right,” Ciel sniffed, “as if I’m not surely the only noble who invites you to their parties. But maybe that can change, granted you aren’t there to cause trouble. I don’t need my convention remaining the ‘talk of the town’ after the fact for any unsavory reasons.”

“Another blow to my ego,” Lau said without remorse. “Lord Ridley invites me to visit him in Brighton every winter, for your information. We’ve been business partners for well over a decade now.”

Ciel sipped at his tea. “That sounds like something you just made up, but I don’t really care what you do in your spare time. Just mind yourself at this party or else.”

“I’m shivering in my shoes,” was Lau’s casual remark. “So, anyway, what sort of party is it? Will I be lucky enough to again witness the Earl’s superior dancing abilities?”

Ciel glowered at him. “You hear gossip, but you don’t really listen to it, do you? It’s not a ball.”

Up until this point, Soma had been paying attention to the conversation about as well as a child: occasionally looking up when a voice shifted pitch, but otherwise more focused on the treats before him. Now he chimed in, after swallowing a huge bite of biscuit, “It’s to celebrate a toy based on me!”

“That’s not what it is at all,” Ciel sighed, giving the prince a sidelong look. “I’ve had about enough of explaining things to people today, Lau, so you can just find out for yourself when you arrive at Sedgemore House on the eighth. Show up around noon. Anyway, since you’re already here, you may as well be of some use to me. Once we’re finished with the tea, let’s move over to the card table and play poker until Sebastian has dinner ready for us.”

Lau put his palms together. “Poker and a free dinner, hm? What luck.”

“Agni’s already taking care of dinner, Ciel,” Soma explained. “He’s been working on it since you left! It’s going to be an amazing feast of all the best Indian dishes!”

“Oh, really…” Ciel frowned, looking down at his untouched plate of crackers and sauces. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I was sort of hoping for something a little bit more… familiar tonight. I spent my afternoon eating curry buns and all types of Indian desserts. I’m not used to so many spices, it’s making my stomach feel sensitive…”

Soma frowned too. “But Ciiieeel! It’s all my favorite foods, and Agni has been working so hard to make it just right! I promise you’ll really like it!”

“Now, now, Prince Soma, it’s important to be an understanding host,” Agni said with a smile. He bowed forward slightly while looking at Ciel. “Lord Phantomhive, my cooking knowledge extends beyond the dishes of my own country. If there is something else I could prepare especially for you, you need only say the word. You deserve to eat the foods that make you feel comfortable, especially after you’ve worked so hard today.”

“Er, yeah…” said Ciel, looking somewhat embarrassed to be reassured this way. It was quite obviously Ciel’s right to ask for something else to eat in his own home, but Agni’s words seemed to have been helpful anyhow, because Ciel’s brow unfurrowed.

Sebastian was impressed with Agni’s ability to understand. The young master will never admit it, but he does so hate to inconvenience those who really care about him. He never feels deserving of the place in their hearts he occupies. Does he know that he is entitled to being cared about and accommodated? Someone should be making him aware of that, and that someone should be—

“If I may make a suggestion, my lord, roast pigeon is ideal this time of year,” Sebastian said, with such abruptness that all heads turned. He pretended not to notice. “Smithfield may be selling pouter or plover nicely trussed that I can go and fetch, even at this hour.^[♦] Bread-sauce is the perfect accompaniment, so if you have any loaves going stale right now, Agni, that should be a good use for them. If not, a simple egg-sauce works just as well. It will be very quick and easy for me to make, so it should be finished on-time alongside the rest of the meal.”

“O-Oh! Yes, I think we do have some brown bread that has been sitting for a while,” Agni said. “But you’ve already done plenty today, Mr. Sebastian, and you’re a guest to us, too! You needn’t worry about letting me take care of this. Squab is somewhat popular in Assamese cuisine, so I have a little experience preparing it.”

“Pigeon should be basted with butter consistently over a nice, bright fire to taste its best,” Sebastian reminded him, “and while I don’t doubt you would find a way to manage it, you have your hands full with other dishes. I shall happily take care of it.”

Agni flustered. “Ah, uh, i-if you insist! Fortunately, I have made plenty of food for everyone, so you will be able to eat more than your fair share, too! That’s how I’ll pay you back for your help.”

Sebastian tried not to grimace. Suddenly, I know just how the young master felt… “Ah. Isn’t that… kind.”

Ciel stood and cleared his throat. “How wonderful that we could all be privy to the debate around what I’m having for supper. The two of you can get back to work, then. Lau, Soma, whenever you’re finished eating, let’s get straight to poker. I’ve been itching for some decent recreation all summer. And I want a clean game, all right, Lau? No cheating by hiding cards in your sleeves like last time.”

Lau stood, too, and threw out his arms in a shrug. “I would never cheat to win, Earl, I was only testing your cunning! Someone has to keep you sharp when you aren’t on a mission for our dear Queen Victoria, right?”

“Mhm. A likely story.” Ciel stepped out between the coffee table and sofa to walk over to the card table by the window, but Lau did the same and suddenly stood blocking his path. Ciel halted before him. “What? What is it?” he said warily.

Lau held out a flat hand up to his chest. “Last time I saw you, Earl, you were only this tall. But now…” He hovered the hand over the top of Ciel’s head, making the boy flinch with surprise, and guided it back towards himself. “Now you’re all the way up to here! So, it’s just as the prince said, you really are growing at last. Isn’t that nice.”

Ciel smacked at Lau’s hand, even though it was no longer near him. “Knock it off! This is the third time I’ll say it to someone today, don’t touch me without asking! And you! Don’t talk about me when I’m not around!” The last two sentences were aimed at Soma.

Soma ate a final piece of rava dohkla before standing up with a stretch. “Ehh? But it is exciting! I just wanted to brag about you a little since you’re my best friend!”

“I don’t care if it’s on my behalf, I’m telling you not to talk about me, and that’s that.”

“Ciiieellll, you’re being too hard on me! It’s normal to want to talk about your friends!”

“I don’t care if it’s ‘normal.’ I don’t like it.”

Seeing Ciel distracted, Lau smirked before reaching out toward the boy again to ruffle at his hair, like he might to a little nephew. But lighthearted as the intention may have been, Ciel had just asked the man not to touch him. Sebastian opened his mouth to correct—

“Ah, Mr. Lau, please refrain from doing that.”

—but it was Agni who spoke up first.

When the room’s attention lighted upon him, Agni’s expression remained pleasant but firm. Ciel blinked, processing Agni’s uncharacteristic directness, then looked back at Lau and saw the outstretched hand frozen in place. “Hey!” Ciel snapped, taking a step backwards. “What the hell are you trying to pull?! That wasn’t a joke, I mean what I say! I don’t care if you think you’re being funny, you’d better listen to me when I tell you not to do something!”

Lau took back his hand in response, though his gaze remained on Agni. “Oh, my. It appears I was about to make a big mistake.”

“Yes, you were,” Ciel growled. He stomped around the man. “Don’t mess with me right now; I don’t have the patience for being toyed with. And Agni just spared you from some trouble, so be grateful to him.”

Lau’s eyebrows raised surreptitiously. “Yes, I suppose I will be.”

Agni said nothing. He caught Sebastian’s eye for only a moment before returning his resolute expression to Lau.

“Now, if everyone else is ready to behave themselves like bloody civilized adults,” Ciel said, opening a drawer in the card table and taking out a crisp new deck, “I’m ready to play poker.”

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Dinner was over. Lau had said his goodbyes, and Ciel and Soma were upstairs relaxing in the library by the fire. Sebastian and Agni were left to clean up the dinner dishes in the scullery — though Agni had, again, insisted that Sebastian eat while he do the work. Sebastian prodded carefully at his plate of egg thokku, coconut rice, a red salmon curry, and another creamy yellow curry brimming with summer vegetables. He could smell the happy marriage of ingredients, each lovingly handpicked from yesterday’s market or delivered all the way from India. The food had cooled by now, and thus didn’t shimmer and steam as it had when it was served to Soma and Lau, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had. To Sebastian, choosing between the dishes on his plate was no different than choosing which swamp grass he’d like to try first.

“How does it taste, Sebastian? Is it to your liking?” Agni was, unfortunately, very inquisitive to know. And Sebastian knew he couldn’t tell him the truth: Agni’s cooking was undeniably top-class — he’d proven that in their competition over eighteen months ago. To call it unpalatable would reflect poorly on the gourmand, not the chef.

“It is the best Indian cuisine I have ever tasted,” Sebastian said with forced cheer. It is the only Indian cuisine I have ever tasted. He ate with more calculated precision than he usually had to award a task. It was rare that Sebastian was saddled with eating human food, and even rarer was that reason for leisure, so he wasn’t entirely sure how to pretend to enjoy it. In the dining room earlier, he’d counted how many times on average Lau and Soma chewed their food before swallowing. At a median of seven to twenty-five chews per bite, Sebastian hoped that averaging around ten personally would not look too fast. The process of mastication was an unpleasant one, but it was at least fortunate that humans had no need for the truly horrific cud-chewing of ruminant beasts. How he’d hate to mimic that…

Agni placed a huge cookpot he’d finished scrubbing onto a bed of white towels to dry. “Is it enough to eat? Do you need another helping?”

“I do not require more,” Sebastian said, smiling but unable to mask the stiffness in his voice. “It does not take very much sustenance for me to function suitably. The quality, rather than the quantity, is what I find particularly useful in my meals.”

“O-Oh! Well, very good!” Maybe his cover story had been worded too strangely after all, but Agni seemed to take it in stride. “The house has been ever so lively today,” the man continued. “I can see how happy it is making Prince Soma to have Lord Ciel in his company. Of course, you are aware that my prince is a merry person by nature, so perhaps nothing seems different to you, but I know the prince’s subtleties well. He was starting to develop a bit of ennui, I think, but this has surely cured him.” Agni’s expression saddened then. “Oh, but he was so concerned when Lord Ciel scolded him earlier. Fortunately, we were able to come up with an apology together, and Prince Soma recovered shortly after that.”

While Agni spoke freely, Sebastian had taken the opportunity to finish his plate. Here, however, Sebastian caught his chance to ask Agni the important question he’d been meaning to address. “Prince Soma has gained much from your tutelage. You are quite fatherly to him, are you not?”

Agni balked at the accusation, just as Sebastian had hoped he might. “F-Fatherly?! I-I-I would never insinuate to have such a… a lofty role in the prince’s life!” he cried, nearly losing the wooden spoon he was washing to the suds of the sink. “O-Of course, you only mean it kindly, but… But the prince’s father is a king... So, to elevate myself to such a level…”

Oh, so that’s the problem he has with it. Disappointment began to creep in. “Well, how exactly would you define your relation to the prince, then?”

“Ah…” Agni seemed to feel uneasy to have to talk about himself. “A teacher, I suppose… But not only a teacher. Someone who looks after Prince Soma, to make sure he isn’t led astray or taken advantage of, because he is so very big-hearted… And someone who wants to see him find happiness on his own terms. A mentor maybe? Ah, but more than that, too… Because I think Prince Soma is a better expert on his own life than I could ever be. I’m just here to help him keep on the path he chooses. And to remind him that he isn’t alone in the world…” Agni paused and didn’t speak for a little while. Slowly, he turned toward Sebastian. “I suppose,” he said at last, “that a parent would feel very much this way, wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Sebastian repeated softly, with a sinking feeling in his chest.

Agni smiled modestly, but that smile slowly faded as if he suddenly remembered something. He turned off the faucet. “I… I have a question for you, too, before I forget. Regarding Lord Ciel.”

“Oh?”

Agni dried his hands with a dishrag and stared at the floor as if uncertain how to proceed. “Prince Soma wasn’t the only one to feel concerned by Lord Ciel’s outburst earlier today… Something about it has been bothering me, too. It was only reaffirmed this afternoon during Mr. Lau’s visit.” He paused. “Lord Ciel made it quite clear that he does not like to be touched without permission, but… that rule holds especially firm with adults, doesn’t it? With you being an exception, of course.”

So, he’s picked up on it. “Why do you mention it?”

“Well… I just find myself wondering if his fear might point to something very serious,” Agni replied carefully. “Your young master has a difficult job, especially for someone so young. Because of this, I’m sure he has learned a lot of painful truths… And well, I don’t know if it’s my place to insinuate, but… it just occurred to me for the first time today that something terrible might have happened to him at some point…” Agni looked uncomfortable, sad. “I won’t pretend to know exactly what, but I’m worried that—”

“Agni? Agniii? Are you in here? Agniiiiiii?”

Agni stopped talking as soon Soma’s voice came echoing through the rooms of the servant’s area. He cleared his throat. “Yes, we’re in the scullery, my prince!”

Soma strolled in a moment later. He registered Sebastian with his usual barely-contained trepidation. “Oh good, you’re here, too!” he yipped, scurrying over and standing slightly behind his butler as if for protection. “Uhm, I-I was looking for you because Ciel kept falling asleep in the middle of his sentences while we were talking in the library! I think he must be really tired, so maybe you should take him to bed, mhm!”

Sebastian nodded, placing his empty plate on the kitchen worktable. “Yes, it sounds as if he must be. Thank you, Prince Soma. I shall attend to him at once.”

As he left the area, he could hear Agni start up his usual mother henning. “Prince Soma, you weren’t ringing for me, were you? I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear! I should have been listening for the servant’s bells just in case!”

“No, no, I always forget about those silly things! I can walk just fine, you know. Say, is there any rassomalai left over? It was sooo good, I want more!”

“But my prince, you already had two servings for dessert…”

“It’s all right, I’m hungry again!”

Within a few moments, Sebastian was at the second story’s library door. It had been left partially open by Soma, so he entered into the subtle orange glow without knocking. Right away, he saw Ciel had settled himself in one of the plump rolled armchairs by the fire, with his head slumped to the left and a copy of London Society sprawled across his lap. The day had finally caught up to him.

“My, my…” Sebastian closed the magazine and placed it on a side table before scooping the boy up: one arm tucked under the backs of legs, the other below his shoulders. They had done this a hundred times, and yet Sebastian felt a slight unbalance in the action. He really is getting bigger. He shifted his charge slightly to account for a more comfortable hold; Ciel didn’t even stir. Truly, he was out like a light.

It wasn’t until they made it to the bedroom that Ciel was forced to rouse just slightly. Sebastian lowered the boy onto the edge of the bed in a sitting position and crouched down to remove his shoes. He spoke gently, “Young master, I’ve brought you to your bedroom. It is time to get you ready for sleep.”

“... Hnnmmmnn…?” Ciel made a groggy noise from the back of his throat. His face cinched up briefly before he opened his eyes to half-lid. “... s’bedtime already…?”

Sebastian finished unlacing Ciel’s shoes and pushed the legs of his trousers up to unhook the stockings from their garters. “Bedtime is whenever you are tired, young master. Right now, it is nine o’clock, if that is what you are wondering. But I do believe your body is telling you that it wants to rest.”

“But we…” Ciel blinked like he was puzzled, then rubbed his hands all over his face and shook his head. “We didn’t have our nightly meeting,” he finished.

The stockings were rolled up together as a pair and put aside. Sebastian stood, chuckled. “There’s no need to force it, sir. It’s all right to play truant in cases like this. You can barely stay awake, after all.”

Sebastian went over to the closet to fetch Ciel’s nightclothes. He heard behind him, “I’m not going to ‘play truant.’ You had me agree to talk with you every night up until the Funtom Event, and I haven’t backed down once. A deal’s a deal, damn demon, or did you forget?”

Sebastian couldn’t resist smiling wryly at the closet’s interior. My own words coming back to bite me; what a surprise. He draped the long shirt over his forearm and turned around again. “All right, young master. We will keep our usual appointment, as you wish. You’ve already had your nightly tea, however, and I’ve been told that you’ve been drifting off in the middle of sentences, so your ability to remain awake shall be our timer, I think. But let’s get you into your pajamas and have you brush your teeth first. Then perhaps you will have changed your mind about this.”

Of course, he should have known that the boy’s stubborn resolve would exert itself. Ten minutes later, Sebastian was pulling back the covers and Ciel was explaining, “I’m not going to lie down yet because then I will fall asleep. And I’m sure as hell not going to let you win that easily.” He sat back against the pillows and failed to suppress a yawn. “Damn it… Take me seriously, all right?”

Sebastian smirked. “All right.”

Ciel glared at him for a moment, then pointed to the foot of the bed. “Sit there.”

Sebastian sat there.

“Don’t stare at me so closely.”

Sebastian faced forward.

“Don’t interrupt me.”

Sebastian didn’t speak.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Ciel reach out to the side of the bed and toy with a corner of his favored pillow. He did this for a minute, as if deliberating, before he started talking. “This morning, when we first showed up, something I didn’t expect happened,” he said. “And I don’t mean Nina showing up… and I don’t mean getting cross with her and Soma about touching me either. It was later.” He paused. “When Soma apologized to me before we left for Sedgemore House, he… he asked if he should… request permission before hugging me in the future. And that made me feel annoyed, naturally. I mean, I don’t want to be asked that all the time. It would be far too awkward.” Ciel paused again.

Despite Ciel’s recent warning, Sebastian intrinsically understood his input was wanted here. “Yes, I can see why you would feel that way. Surely the prince would ask you very frequently, and it may be cumbersome to answer every time.”

“Right,” said Ciel. He brought the pillow up against his chest, tucking the lower half of his face in it. “I mean, it’s cumbersome, but it’s mostly embarrassing. Because I wouldn’t ever want to give Soma the satisfaction of a ‘yes’ to his stupid hug question. I’m always going to say no.”

The pieces were falling into place. “And,” said Sebastian, “you would rather the answer wasn’t always ‘no.’”

Ciel glanced away. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I feel like… like the things I want are completely contradictory, that they don’t make any sense. I don’t make any sense.” He tucked his whole face in the pillow now. “Ugh. If I weren’t so tired, I wouldn’t be saying all this. I at least know that much. But I also don’t really know what I’m saying.”

“I think I do.” Sebastian couldn’t help it; he faced him now. “Young master, wanting to be hugged by people you trust isn’t unusual or shameful. It is very human, in fact. And considering how much of our contract you’ve gone without wanting this very human thing — for understandable reasons — I believe it is something worth being proud of, too.”

“... Something worth being proud of?” Ciel studied him over the top of the pillow, then scoffed. “No it isn’t,” he said, with the ghost of a snarl.

“And why not, sir?”

Ciel glared at Sebastian again. “You just said it yourself. It’s normal and human. Not anything incredible at all. You sound just like Soma, trying to get me to celebrate something as ordinary as growing taller. What’s the point? It’s not remarkable in the least.”

“But ‘remarkable’ is in the eye of the beholder, yes?” Sebastian tried. “It will be remarkable for Prince Soma if he is able to listen attentively whenever he is being spoken to, wouldn’t you agree? Though that would not be remarkable for you or for many others, for the prince it is something that he must put great practice towards. That is what makes it remarkable.”

Ciel had been slowly making a face of discomfort as Sebastian talked. “I still don’t feel any bit proud. I feel stupid.”

“Well,” said Sebastian, “I hope that your ‘feeling stupid’ can exist alongside the idea that your growing desire for physical contact is both human and worthy of pride.”

Ciel sighed out his nose and rolled onto his side as a dismissal. “And you’d know all about being human, would you? Damn demon and your smug responses. I wish we hadn’t talked after all.”

With a small laugh, Sebastian stood and tugged the thin summer blankets up to the boy’s shoulders. “And I am very glad that we did. It seems that you had a lot that needed to be said.” Then, before he could hope to keep the words inside his head where they belonged, Sebastian told the boy, “Even if you don’t feel it yourself, young master, I am very proud of you today.”

Ciel lay still. He didn’t respond.

“Goodnight, then, sir. I’ll see you in the morning. I wish you only pleasant dreams.”

With not even a blink of movement, Sebastian had snuffed out every light in the room at once. Then he opened and closed the door behind him with a gentle click and stood in the light of the hallway by himself.

Oh, this could not possibly be any worse.

All day… All day long he had struggled but that only made it harder. The more he’d tried to repress his thoughts, the more they’d come surging forth, desperate to make him consider it, desperate to make him think it. But it was no use anymore. This contract had forced him to speak only truths for years and now he couldn’t even lie to himself.

Sebastian had thought maybe he would hear some nuance in the way Bard and Agni spoke; something to separate himself from their lot. That was the reason he had prodded them to talk about their own experiences with parenthood, in its different forms. And yet—

“The young master always falls asleep in the carriage if he has to travel in the morning. But I bet you already knew that, didn’t you?”

—even though he thought it would be the opposite—

“Lord Ciel made it quite clear that he does not like to be touched without permission, but… that rule holds especially firm with adults, doesn't it? With you being an exception, of course.”

—all it had taught him was—

“Even if you don’t feel it yourself, young master, I am very proud of you today.”

—that he was definitely turning into one of their kind!

Sebastian hissed and ran a hand through his hair. What could it mean, a demon becoming not just a guide but an actual caring parent to a human, against his better judgment? Did it mean he was losing his power? Transforming into something like a mortal? About to squander this precious soul to a stronger creature? All of the above?

… None of the above?

But the foreign magic inside of him…

Sebastian closed his eyes. For the second time that day, he felt he understood Ciel very well: to self-reflect was exhausting work. So he’d take a page from Ciel’s book, too, and not think about it anymore for the moment. It was high time he had his chance at a little recreation of his own. It was time to look for cats.

Chapter Text

What was the definition of a child?

No two Englishmen of this era seemed to agree on the answer. The long-held belief was that a child was a tiny adult who had simply yet to learn the rights and wrongs of the world, but was to be held just as accountable for their actions. Much more recently, some had adopted the mindset that children were innocent creatures meant to be shielded from the truths of reality and treasured for their playful natures. The poor had no such luxury with their progeny: a third, fourth, fifth pair of hands meant a family had that many ways to bring home money for food — though even that wasn’t so true anymore, as new laws and advocacy groups had pushed for education for all the nation’s youngest. The devout could not collectively decide if children were the closest to their lord’s angels or born sinners who needed strict regimens to be sculpted into model adults. And then there were the newfound Darwinists, who theorized that infants had more in common with neanderthals than they did with the parents who raised them.

Before this contract, Sebastian had scarcely had an opinion on the matter. There hadn’t seemed to be very many differences between human adults and their offspring to his uncaring eyes; children were stupider and weaker and lacking in fine motor skills, but adults were stupid and weak and clumsy in their own right. When Ciel first offered his soul to him, Sebastian had been mildly curious about what having a charge this young might mean. A faster contract? A simpler one? Perhaps (and this he’d thought with a ripple of hunger) a soul he could mold into the exact type of meal he’d like to devour? It was worth trying just to know.

It was not faster. It was not more simple. But Sebastian had caught on quickly that a child was far more malleable than an adult. He’d learned that simply from talking to Tanaka, when the elderly man first returned to the manor after his hospital stay. The Ciel before the fire had been shy but cheerful. The Ciel before the fire had been trusting and gentle. Those qualities had been burned away with the old house. They had been replaced with a colder, darker outlook. The ten-year-old Ciel was, indeed, a bit like a tiny adult: he had felt more than a lifetime’s worth of cruelty in the span of just a short month. He could not walk away from that experience unscathed. Could a true adult? No; but that wasn’t the last shift in personality that Sebastian would bear witness to either.

A few remaining qualities of Ciel’s past life had hung on at first, for there was nothing yet to replace them. At ten, the boy was quick to please, easily frustrated yet feverishly determined if he didn’t immediately get something right, and all too trusting that Sebastian knew what “right” was simply because he was older, even while the boy openly despised his demon. The younger Ciel had also been accustomed to feeling helpless and to being taken care of, initially expecting Sebastian to manage most everything to do with the Queen’s missions and his shire so that he could be free to focus on his studies and on starting a business. That bubble had immediately been burst.

By the summer of 1886, however, Ciel had developed an air of pride and unflappability. He delighted in proving adults wrong, in subverting their expectations. During the day, his past could not hope to reach him, and so he played at being indestructible, siccing his demon on those who would wish harm upon him and laughing at their plight. He hired three new soldiers to protect him, and he easily won their loyalty with small kindnesses. His toy company was becoming a toy empire, and it made the name Phantomhive one known throughout the world. Ciel seemed to want to cry out to his parents’ assassins, “Come and hunt me, the one you couldn’t kill. Come and see what it is to be the hunted.”

By his twelfth birthday, the assassins had not taken the live bait. Ciel had become calmer, the fires of his revenge settling but never extinguishing altogether. Sebastian did not rush things; he continued to cultivate the soul. Under his ministrations, he watched the boy’s arrogant nature temper into something stoic and self-assured. Ciel was most content when accomplishing a mission for the Queen or completing a major business deal, and he had a near obsession with facts over feelings. No longer did he enjoy when adults questioned his age; he wanted to be respected as one of them. He kept up appearances and threw or attended parties without any serious complaint. He accepted what it meant to be a part of the aristocracy, even if he sometimes ignored the status quo. He did not really care if people thought he was strange, dangerous, or even cursed, but perish the thought of laziness. He worked harder than anybody else around him. He couldn’t stop moving forward; he didn’t seem to know how. Sebastian did not let him know how.

And then the Shrove Tuesday party happened and the boy metamorphosed a fourth time.

On that February evening, Sebastian watched Ciel transform before his eyes into a much more reactive person. Things that Ciel would have once brushed off were now things that pierced him to his heart. He was fickle, behaving as a contrarian for the mere sport of it. Sometimes he became melancholy or angry out of nowhere. Other times he’d scream at Sebastian, indirectly beg for forgiveness, and become obedient again all in the same day, just to restart the cycle over tomorrow.

Sebastian had spent well over four years with this child. Nearly every year, that child had been a different person. Ciel was trying to grow up, had no choice but to grow up, but the resources for growing up happily and healthily hadn’t been provided, and now the already tumultuous process of adolescence was threatening to tear apart all the boy’s hard work — not to mention all the demon’s. In response, Ciel had cried out in the only way his pride would let him. He’d stayed up half the night. He’d drunk a bottle of wine and left out the evidence. He’d smashed a teacup on the floor. He was changing; it was scary; he didn’t know what else to do. Help.

And for some reason, with this latest change in Ciel, Sebastian had changed too. Instead of delighting in the boy’s misery, he had tried to ease it. Instead of stirring the mists of this confusion, he had sought to guide the boy out of it. It was as if adolescence was not a stage of life but an illness to be spread, and even a demon with as many centuries behind him as Sebastian had caught it and begun to transition into something entirely new too.

“I am changing,” Sebastian admitted tiredly. “It is scary. I don’t know what else to do. Help.”

“Myaaa,” said the cat that lay cradled in his arms, pressing a paw against his mouth as if to shut him up.

Sebastian lowered his eyebrows, put off by the levity that this otherwise lovely feline insisted on. It wasn’t as if he expected an answer from a cat, but somehow unleashing a plea into the universe and hoping for an answer seemed like the sort of thing one did when they were truly desperate.

And Sebastian was feeling desperate.

“Tomorrow is the big day,” he had said to his charge just half an hour ago in the bedroom. He’d sat down on the opposite end of the bed, his designated place during their nightly meetings in the London house, and smiled widely. “You’ve worked very, very hard these past two months. Do you feel nervous?”

Ciel had been playing with his eye patch in his hands as he lounged against his pillows. He shrugged, not looking up from the little distraction. “No.”

Sebastian blinked in the silence that followed that monosyllabic answer. “Well. That’s good to hear. Are you excited, then?”

Ciel sighed. “Maybe. I’m ready to do something else, really. I’ve had enough of planning this stupid thing; if it goes well, then I’ll be satisfied, but right now I’d rather just have it over with.”

“Hmm. Yes, I understand.” Sebastian nodded. “But you do seem somewhat preoccupied, my lord. Are you sure nothing is on your mind?”

Another sigh, this time more aggressive. Ciel fixed Sebastian squarely with that familiar look of judgment. “Are you an idiot? We finally made it to the last meeting you prescribed for me. Did you forget about that or are you just pretending it doesn’t matter?”

“Ah.” To be honest, Sebastian had partially forgotten. It seemed so clear that they were going to keep the meetings going after the proposed time limit — Sebastian had begun to hope it would be glossed over. “It is only the last of the meetings that we initially agreed to,” Sebastian reminded him. “It isn’t the last of all the nightly meetings we shall ever have.”

Ciel was still glaring at him. “Are you just deciding that without me?” he said. He folded his arms, sitting up taller. “I believe I’m the one who gets to say that, not you. You already forced me to do this in the first place. Now it’s my turn to choose for us both.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to sound like I’d chosen for us collectively,” said Sebastian — or had he? He tried again. “I’m sorry that I spoke so conclusively to you just now, sir. You’re right; you are the one who gets to decide what happens next.”

“And,” Ciel added, as if Sebastian hadn’t even spoken, “I believe you told me back in June that if we met until the 7th of August and then I decided I didn’t want to have nightly meetings with you anymore, you would never ‘broach the subject of my emotional state without a reason again.’ Did you or did you not say that?”

Sebastian paused. “Those were… nearly the words I said, yes.”

“So,” said Ciel, a fiendish smirk slowly lifting up one corner of his cheek, “you offered me that deal and you really thought that I wouldn’t choose for you to leave me alone?”

A stinging feeling spread through Sebastian’s chest at those words. He… hadn’t been expecting them. And he hoped the surprise at hearing them hadn’t shown in his expression for more than an instant. “I didn’t know what you were going to choose,” he replied steadily. “But it sounds as if you feel that you’d like to stop.”

Ciel only continued to stare. “Yes. Why? Are you ‘disappointed in me’ or something?” The last bit was spoken somewhat mockingly.

The sting in his chest deepened. Sebastian felt the truth rise to his lips. He did not try to suppress it this time. “Not in you, sir, but… I am somewhat disappointed, yes. We have spent quite a number of evenings in this fashion now. It was admittedly fascinating, getting to know you in ways I hadn’t before. But what really disappoints me is the feeling that so much went unspoken. I think there is a lot you have left to say, if you would give yourself the opportunity to say it.”

Throughout that explanation, Ciel’s calculating expression twitched with various emotions that he kept from winning out: amusement, puzzlement, a minute flash of fear. When Sebastian finished talking, Ciel shook his head. “No, I don’t have anything left that I need to say. Sometimes it was kind of enjoyable to force you to listen to my silly childhood stories, but other times you were too pushy, you know. If we kept going, it would just be about what you wanted, wouldn’t it?” Ciel snickered humorlessly. “Well, I’m glad you had fun. I don’t think you always cared if it was fun for me.”

Sebastian leaned towards Ciel, smiling frankly. “You might recall that the conversations weren’t really about ‘having fun,’ sir. They were about your honest feelings. And I don’t think you really wanted to be honest with me most of the time. You’re right that it wasn’t your job to be; that was for you to decide, ultimately. But if you weren’t happy with how things were going, I wish we had talked about it before this moment.”

“I wasn’t interested in talking about how things were going with the meetings,” Ciel said. He sounded very businesslike now. “I just wanted to get them over with. You were the one who told me that the meetings were for me to say whatever I wanted to say. That’s exactly what I did. Whether I avoided talking about my feelings or not, that isn’t important. I used the time as I saw fit. If that wasn’t good enough for you, that’s your problem.”

Sebastian kept his voice light and unassuming so that Ciel would know he wasn’t angry, just candid. “It isn’t about it not being good enough for me, young master — quite the opposite. Do you think you could tell me why you didn’t request for something to change?”

Ciel glowered. “I just told you: because I didn’t need anything to change. Because I just needed to see your so-called trial period through to get my prize. Now the trial period’s over, you lost, and you don’t get to bring up how I’m feeling without a good reason anymore. We’ll discuss what those ‘good reasons’ are some other time; like hell I’m going to let you decide that on your own too.” Ciel scooted his body down in bed until his head rested against the pillows. “But now I’m tired, so go lick your wounds somewhere where I can’t see you. You can come back in the morning. Goodbye.”

And so, with that, their weeks of nightly meetings came to a very unceremonious conclusion.

“How could this happen to me,” Sebastian growled in frustration.

“Myerrrow! ” the cat growled back, and rolled out of his arms to strut off down the alley with her tail swishing above her.

Sebastian sighed as he watched her leave. He straightened out of the squatting pose he’d been in and glanced at the rooftops, hoping another cat might appear for him to hold instead. His aggravation felt like it needed alleviating right now… and it bothered him to recognize it. Shouldn’t he be glad that the young master had called off their sessions? Shouldn’t he be pleased that he was being awarded more distance from the boy that was exacerbating these dangerous feelings of sympathy? But instead what he felt was loss.

This past half year had been as complicated for Ciel as it had been for Sebastian. And these individual complications of human and demon, when Sebastian thought about it, were nearly one and the same. There was a struggle to accept new feelings, a desire for things to remain as they had, and an anger, a fear, as it became creepingly more obvious that things could not remain as they had. Oh, how Sebastian had tried to fight it… reason with it… contextualize it… and fight it again… but in the end, it was fruitless. It only led to exhaustion, and Sebastian was quite sick of living sans confidence.

And Ciel knew what it was to struggle with confidence. In March, Sebastian had begun to feel sympathy for that struggle. He had tried to fight off sympathy for so long now — and through that fight, the sympathy had not been scared away. Instead, it had developed into empathy.

The internal wars one could wage inside their own mind were frightening and exhausting. Sebastian had been fighting one for only six months; how had Ciel dealt with nearly five years of this? Even thinking of it made Sebastian laugh bitterly to himself. No wonder the young master felt like he was falling apart.

All right, then. Sebastian clapped his hands twice, as if to rally himself. It was time to stop getting by so meekly, in earnest. Yes, he was frightened of the foreign magic, he was frightened of feeling sympathy, he was frightened of being frightened. But it was all right to be. It helped him understand the boy who meant more to him than anything. And… it helped him be understood by that boy, too.

“I won’t leave him,” Sebastian said aloud, softly. “Even if all he wants is to be alone in the world, I won’t go away.”

Surprisingly, Sebastian felt the odd sting blossom in his chest again as he said that. But why? He wasn’t feeling at all like he did in the bedroom when Ciel dismissed him. He placed his hand to his collarbone, puzzling at himself. What was the reason for this?

“Myaahhh.”

That brief confusion evaporated as a most fantastic sound lit the air. From the alley she’d disappeared down, the mottled beauty came scampering back, her tail cane-hooked with friendly inquisition. It seemed that she had changed her mind about Sebastian after all; she scampered over to rub against his legs, purring emphatically, and then begged up at him with wide golden eyes.

“Oh, honestly…” With an adoring sigh, Sebastian scooped her up at once, rubbing his cheek against hers with immediate forgiveness. “Welcome back, you capricious waif… I’m sorry about before. If I promise not to speak so rashly anymore, I hope you will promise not to go running off again in turn…”

“Mrrrrrp!” the cat promised, and began kneading at the breast of his uniform.

Sebastian chuckled as her claws punctured straight through the fine threads of the tailcoat. He rubbed a bare finger against the velvet fur at the base of her ear. “Yes, yes… I forgive you… I forgive you…”

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Morning was a spangle of sunlight beyond the skyline’s brick chimneys, which billowed breakfast smoke straight upward through the blue. Sebastian opened the curtains wide to let in the scene, while greeting, “Good morning, young master, Prince Soma — it’s time to wake up. And what a beautiful day it is, too; perfect weather for the convention’s guests to enjoy Sedgemore House’s garden. How fortunate we are.”

Ciel didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he opened and closed his long-lashed eyes like butterfly wings against the light that threatened his sleep. “Sebas…tian…? Did you… just call me Young Master Prince Soma…?”

Sebastian was already back at the trolley, pouring tea and assembling it on a saucer. “Not at all, sir. I think you’ll find the proper Prince Soma curled up at the foot of your bed.”

“Whaaa?!” That reveal was a better alarm than any other. Ciel jolted awake now, slapping a protective hand over his contract eye. “You! What are you doing here?!”

Soma was blinking tiredly now too. Then, deciding he’d seen enough, he nuzzled his face into the top of the comforter. “Nn… Five more minutes…”

“No more minutes!” Ciel threw a pillow at the other boy so that it hit him on the back of the head. Soma uttered a little “Owwww…” and finally began to rise. “What the hell are you doing in here?!” Ciel cried. “I have a right to my privacy, you know!”

“Nngh, what a mean way to wake-up…” Soma rubbed at his scalp, pouting. “You were the one who said I could, you know…”

“As if I would ever allow this!” But then Ciel paused, thinking. “Wait… You came in here last night when I was sleeping and started prattling on about a bad dream, didn’t you…”

“I had a nightmare that Bitter Rabbit was a hundred feet tall and he was carrying you away!” Tears budded in Soma’s eyes as he recounted it. “He was stomping on all the buildings in London too! He even stepped on Big Ben! And that one’s my favorite!”

“I keep a gun under my pillow, you idiot!” Ciel shouted, rather boldly revealing the Baby Browning he favored for protection. “You’re lucky my first reaction wasn’t to bloody shoot you! Then giant stuffed rabbits would be the least of your problems!”

Soma folded his arms, surprisingly unfazed by the weapon. “Well, I didn’t just walk in, I knocked first! And you told me I could enter! I mean, you also said you only let me in because you thought I was Sebastian, but then when I tried to tell you about how terribly awful my dream was, you said I could stay if I promised to shut up.”

Sebastian helped Ciel tie on his eye patch while Soma recounted this; beneath his hands, he registered Ciel freeze up slightly at Sebastian’s name. After the prince stopped speaking, Ciel cleared his throat. “Right, well, you should count your lucky stars anyway, because it seems that I decided I was too tired to deal with you properly. But don’t do that ever again! Learn to sleep in your own bed like a nineteen-year-old ought to! What a silly dream to make you scared anyway… Your imagination is as wild as they come.”

“It didn’t make me scared!” Soma explained, clenching his fists with determination. “It made me feel like I needed to check on you and make sure you were safe! And I was going to go back to my room, but then when you said I could stay, I felt like maybe you wanted me to.”

Ciel was about to take the teacup Sebastian offered out to him, but that comment made his shoulders bunch up with rage. “Absolutely not! What an insinuation! I don’t even remember that conversation, so it’s clear I was so tired that I would have done anything to make you stop talking! A-Anyway, that’s enough about this, Agni must be wondering where you are. Or are you so keen on giving everyone in this house a fright first thing in the morning?!”

But Soma’s eyes had glazed over in the middle of Ciel’s words. Suddenly he became very alert. “Ciel! It’s… today! Today is your Funtom Convention!”

Ciel stared at him hard. “Yes, obviously!”

“It’s today!” Soma’s eyes grew huge and a smile split over his face. “It’s today!” He stood up on the bed. “It’s to-day!” With a merry cackle, the prince sprung away and raced over to the door, throwing it open and calling down the hallway, “Agni! Agni! Today is the Funtom Convention! It’s here! ”

Sebastian thought he heard a distant, desperately relieved, “Oh, my prince, there you are!” but it was swiftly interrupted by Soma’s continued chanting of, “It’s today! It’s the convention! It’s today, it’s today, it’s today, it’s today, it’s today! Don’t just stand there crying, Agni, there’s no time to slack! We have to get ready! Hurry up, hurry, hurry, let’s go, go, go!”

Then finally, finally, silence reigned.

With a weary hand, Ciel accepted the teacup from Sebastian and helped himself to a long, remedial sip. “Why must he constantly be like this…?” he groaned. “How can he constantly be like this?”

“Prince Soma indeed has energy to spare,” Sebastian noted. He smiled. “I prepared you a second flush Darjeeling to assist with waking up, since it’s slightly earlier than you’re used to, but I think that animated conversation was just as useful.”

“Yet entirely less relaxing,” Ciel snarled lightly. Another sip, then a glare. “I’m not interested in any more of your thoughts on what just transpired. I want to take a bath before breakfast, so go get the tub ready while I finish this tea. We’ve got a long day ahead of us, I may as well be as prepared for it as I possibly can…”

Sebastian couldn’t agree more. And he’d do his best to show it. Even if Ciel insisted on ending their nightly meetings, he’d find ways to prove he was just as much an ally to the boy as before.

There was a bath with a rinse of rosemary tea and apple cider vinegar to add extra shine to the young master’s hair. Afterwards, there was a breakfast of potted chicken and toasty triangles of potato bread and haricot beans baked in tomato catsup. It was a meal made chiefly from the previous night’s leftovers, and it was sure to keep Ciel’s appetite satiated for the next few hours at least. Soma was apparently still busy getting ready, and breakfast was able to be a quieter affair without the prince’s company. Then it was Ciel’s turn to get dressed.

If the outfit Nina had designed was blasé by her own standards, to the rest of the world it was as striking as a signal lamp. The single-breasted waistcoat was a black silk brocade. The marigold designs across it resembled the flowers of the pagoda tree in Sedgemore’s garden, overlapping and crisscrossing around the waistcoat’s buttoned hems. The jacket bore a similar brocade, though the pattern was consolidated to the left shoulder, sleeve hems, lapels, and collar against a rich black scape. The design’s physical appearance was meant to mimic the look of the vibrant gold zardozi embroidery that would be worn by Prince Soma and the Maharaja Bitter Rabbits.

After making sure all the minor details were in place — tying the bow tie into a diamond-point, securing the custom eye patch (with a single pagoda flower adorned on its center), lacing the black oxfords so they were comfortably snug — Ciel put on his bowler hat with the matching marigold ribbon and the two of them went off downstairs.

Sebastian’s own waistcoat was identical to the young master’s, as was the waistcoat of every Funtom employee at the convention today. This way guests would be able to recognize who to ask for direction or instruction on-sight. Nina and her team had made all of the waistcoats according to the rough measurements of each staff member. Sebastian was the only one who had refused to participate in a measuring session.

“I don’t care what you think your own measurements are,” Nina had growled at him when he’d tried to hand her the slip of paper with all of his dimensions written upon it, back when she and Ciel first met to design the outfits. “I only trust what I see for myself.”

Sebastian had given her his usual wry smile in response. “Well I have no desire to ‘go under the knife,’ so to speak, and I know you’re just as eager to be rid of me, so think no more of it. I believe you’ll find these numbers are as perfect as you could ever hope to gauge with your tapes and strings.”

Nina had flared her nostrils at that response, but swiped the paper from his grip without further argument. In the end, avoiding time spent with Sebastian was reward enough for her too. And, naturally, the waistcoat did fit him perfectly. Butler and designer could think what they liked about each other’s professionality; at the end of the day, they recognized the opposing as a master of his or her craft.

The only one to be dressed unlike the rest was, of course, Prince Soma. He stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs with his Bitter Rabbit counterpart in hand, swinging it, as he loved to, by its lengthy ears. The doll had seen quite a few changes along its way to a finished product, and now it was a stunning piece of work. Instead of being colored the light gray of a standard Bitter Rabbit, the Maharaja was one of the specially colored varieties and came in pale plum. The clothing was more or less the same, but the colors and patterns had changed: the turban was now in the same burnished yellow as the dhoti and its glass gem in emerald. The matching green kurta had an updated design of pagoda blossom embroidery too, sewn with the long gold beads and metal filaments that zardozi derived its Persian name from.

“Ciel, Ciel, look at me and Bitter Rabbit! Aren’t we just adorable?” Soma cheered. Then he got a proper look at his friend and a smile split across his face. “And you! You’re so adorable too, Ciel! The two of us are really going to catch everyone’s attention, I think!”

“Right,” Ciel said, half-ignoring him as he finished descending, “I suppose we ought to get going. Even if the convention doesn’t start for another two hours, we’ve got to make sure the preparations are coming along smoothly. Let’s go hail a cab, then.”

“Oh, goodbye Prince Soma, Lord Phantomhive, Mr. Sebastian!” Agni bid them as the trio departed. “I’ll take good care of the house while you’re away! I can’t wait to hear all about the event when you come home! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Agni! We’ll see you later in the afternoon!” Soma called over his shoulder.

“Do your best!” Agni’s voice followed them onto the thoroughfare. “Make sure to take breaks to eat and drink water! Don’t forget that there’s a napkin of til chikki in your pocket in case you’re too busy to leave your station! You can share some with Lord Phantomhive and Sebastian if they can’t leave either! And remember to bend your knees to keep your circulation going! Ah, and do try not to play with the beads on your kurta if you get bored, they can be very fragile! Ohh, goodbye, Prince!”

“God’s sake,” Ciel huffed, once Sebastian had them all loaded into a clarence and on their way to Sedgemore House, “you’d think he was the one tied to your apron strings and not the other way around.”

“Hmm?” Soma had already been absentmindedly tapping at Bitter Rabbit’s hard black eyes and squeezing his ears; carriage rides seemed to have the immediate effect of making him lose focus. “Did Agni do something wrong?”

Ciel leaned his elbow against the carriage’s thin windowsill and propped his cheek on his hand. “Well, I’m sure you don’t think so. If it were me, I’d go crazy from being smothered, having someone harp after me to eat and drink and stand correctly and all that. How insulting.”

Soma blinked at him. His eyebrows lowered. “Ciiieeel, are you being mean to Agni?”

Ciel blinked back. “Uh, I only meant that I would find it overbearing…”

Soma shook his head. “Agni only says those things because he loves me, so I don’t mind. He doesn’t mean any harm in it. What should I be annoyed with? The fact that he cares?”

“He makes it sound like you’re an infant,” Ciel grunted. “I mean surely you at least know to eat when you’re hungry and all that…”

Now Soma grinned. “Ciel, you’re so silly! I thought you were usually much better at picking up on these things. Agni isn’t sending me off with reminders because he thinks I’ll forget. He’s saying it to emphasize that I should take extra good care of myself when he isn’t there to see after me. It doesn’t matter how old you are; it feels good to have someone worry after you. Don’t you ever feel that way? Or should I start worrying after you more too?”

“Absolutely not. Didn’t I just say I’d find it overbearing?” Ciel growled, and promptly changed the subject.

As Ciel tried to keep Soma focused on today’s job, Sebastian’s thoughts dwindled off. How much had he himself worried about Ciel in just these past few months? Had he made the boy aware of his worry? Ciel had professed in the past that he hated to be troubled over, too, but… maybe that was something that could start to change.

Maybe, even, it already had been.

They arrived at Sedgemore House to a scanty crowd already assembling outside the gates. Some were eager guests lining up to enter. Others were beat reporters hoping to find a good story during the brief period when almost all of London’s nobility were finished traveling for the Season but autumn’s hunting period had yet to truly begin. This was another reason that Ciel preferred to travel using unmarked carriages when he was in London: he didn’t like the idea of being recognized wherever he went. It was just as useful in his day-to-day life as it was on the Queen’s missions. Still, when their clarence was allowed passage, Sebastian felt his sensitive ears picking up on the click-click of the camera shutters, desperate to capture something (anything) that may be of importance. Human desperation came in so many, many forms…

The scene inside Lord Sedgemore’s mansion was not terribly different from the one they faced eight days ago when Sebastian and Ciel first arrived in London. Mr. Cavendish was supervising chefs and greeters and waiters and musicians and auctioneers as effortlessly as before. Decorations were being double-checked and straightened and primped. Rows upon rows of Bitter Rabbits were being arranged on the leftmost stairwell; Pitt was setting up his miniature photography studio on the right. And cutting straight through the chaos was—

“Good morning, Lord Phantomhive!” Sebastian’s stomach curdled at his voice. “Nice to see you bright and early!”

“Good morning, Mr. Fairclough, Mr. Erickson,” Ciel greeted the two sorry excuses for… erm, gentlemen. “At last, the moment is upon us. Tell me, did you get the chance to meet Prince Soma the other day during rehearsal, or shall I make the introduction?”

However, as to be expected of their affable prince, Soma was perfectly keen on making his own introductions. “Good morning, who are you? Do you work for Ciel? What are your names? You can call me Prince Soma! Nice to meet you!”

Sebastian couldn’t see his young master’s face from behind, but he could guess that the mask of public politeness had slipped a fraction at that. Fairclough and Erickson were clearly baffled, in any case. Ciel stepped back in. “Right, well, it seems that I should have made the introduction while I still had the chance… As you can see, Soma is the lively sort with no regard for basic manners. It’s better to just go along with it and be as casual as he is. It’ll save you the trouble of trying to keep up, anyway.”

That seemed to encourage Erickson not at all, but Fairclough gave a loud laugh of approval. “Truly, I respect a man who so easily befriends others and gives no care that a fellow’s station may be below his own! I’m Henri Fairclough, current resident of Sedgemore House and guest of Lord Sedgemore, and this is my coworker, Mr. Frank Erickson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Prince Soma. Of course Lord Phantomhive would keep companions of all sorts.”

“Trust me, you don’t know the half of it,” Ciel said with a twist of irony in his words. His tone was back to geniality then. “I do hope the two of you stop by my booth sometime during the event to let me know how you’re enjoying yourselves. I had better go check in with Mr. Cavendish now, though, and make sure all is according to plan. Until later, gentlemen.”

“Nice to meet you!” Soma bubbled and practically skipped after Ciel.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Fairclough added, before he noticed Sebastian’s presence. Fairclough then tried to catch Sebastian’s eye, perhaps to see if Sebastian would insist on glaring again. This time, however, Sebastian simply refused to acknowledge the man. He walked past him without so much as a glance.

Fortunately and as anticipated, Cavendish confirmed that he had everything under control: the final auction items had been delivered as of that morning, there were runners on standby to race to the markets in case an ingredient ran out, and, thanks to yesterday’s rehearsal, everyone seemed to know where to go and what to do. Cavendish suggested that, if they liked, Ciel and Sebastian could wander around and familiarize themselves with the gardens and the estate, if they hadn’t already, so that if guests had a question about where something was located, Ciel would be able to answer it.

“That shouldn’t be an issue,” Ciel said, knowing full well that Sebastian had the entire layout mapped in his head so perfectly that he could paint portraits of it. “Though I might go and see to everything for myself. Well done keeping heads above water, as I knew you would, Cavendish.”

“Of course, sir.”

Meanwhile, Soma was studying the backdrop of the Taj Mahal he was to pose in front of alongside a four-foot Bitter Rabbit mannequin. He laughed at the imagery. “So, this building is still what comes to mind first when the British think of India? It was lovely in the past, but it’s falling apart now, you know.”

“I’ve heard rumors that an Englishman plans to have it refurbished,” said Ciel, “but you’re right that that doesn’t matter to the crowd coming here today. They know the Taj Mahal from postcards, that’s all they’ll care about.”

“Good chance to give it a turn, anyway,” Pitt commented, springing up from under his black-clothed table, beneath which he was keeping chests of glass plates. “Not one a’ my most popular scenes at Lark’s.” His eyes lighted on Ciel, and he grinned cheekily with a wink. “’ello, Earl, hasn’ it been a while! You’re lookin’ jus’ like a miniature Mr. Vin these days, ain’t you? Yes indeed, I wager you’ll be the spittin’ image a’ him b’fore long. Just with dear Lady Rachel’s eyes, rest ’er soul. You’ll be wantin’ a picture today, won’tcha? Wouldja like tah be m’ first subject, then?” Pitt hopped behind his camera and grabbed for the shutter release as he said it.

“Uh, n-no, that’s all right,” Ciel responded after a blink, looking a little spellbound at the photographer’s way of speaking — the boy often forgot how familiar Pitt had been with his parents. But Ciel was too warmed by honesty to go about correcting this informality, Sebastian knew. “Do you have everything you need, then?”

“Aye, think so!” Pitt knuckled the brim of his plaid newsboy cap higher on his forehead. “Lookin’ forward to a day a’ working with Princey! You’re a right fun subject, aren’t you?”

Soma jumped in the air and landed with his legs and arms spread wide. “Give me a pose! I’ll try anything!”

Pitt used one hand to fiddle with the aperture of his Pony Premo and with the other rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmm, anything, mate? I like your style. I’ll have to be gettin’ creative, then, won’t I?”

“I don’t know how I didn’t see sooner that the two of you would get along,” Ciel said dryly. He turned to enter the hallway as Pitt watched in sheer amusement as Soma posed in any ridiculous way he was instructed. “I’ll happily leave the both of you to your tasks… whatever it is those tasks happen to be.”

The kitchens, the garden, the gallery, library, drawing room, ballroom, and atrium — Ciel saw to all of them firsthand with Sebastian behind him all the way. There were scarce little adjustments that needed to be made, leaves to sweep off of walkways, tablecloths to straighten, nothing that couldn’t be solved in minutes or even seconds. By the time Ciel and Sebastian finished their patrol, it was twenty minutes until the convention’s start. Guests had been allowed to assemble beyond the front gate by now; their chattering hummed from behind the front door. Mr. Cavendish was also gathering all the staff in the entrance hall for final reminders before the inauguration was upon them.

There were three greeters and a mascot for the front room; fifteen auctioneers and upholders for the drawing room; the head chef, sous, and ten assistants for the kitchen; ten waiters for the outdoor tea area and ballroom, and another ten bussers; five more guides to patrol the area in case any guests had questions; eight musicians; and Pitt, Prince Soma, Cavendish, and Sebastian standing behind Ciel. Ciel surveyed his crew briefly before he spoke.

“Good morning,” he greeted, before launching right into business. “All of you are here today representing Funtom because you are considered some of the best at what you do. Many of your paths won’t cross at your independent stations, but each one of you counts on each other to pull this event off successfully. Help your fellow teammates as you would want to be helped. If you see someone struggling or confused, see if you can ease their burden. As long as this is possible, nothing should be insurmountable.” Ciel squared his shoulders. “However, I am assured of your capabilities, and I believe today will be an abundant success. Above all, it is me who is counting on you. I thank you for your certainty that Funtom’s good name will not be tarnished. That’s all.”

It was somewhat an uplifting speech, but close beneath it lurked the warning: don’t mess up. The men seemed to feel it, as they applauded politely but still shot each other wary expressions. They certainly would have to count on one another if trouble came their way — Ciel Phantomhive only had so much sympathy for careless mistakes. (No doubt he used most of it on the three servants at home.)

The employees disbanded to assume their positions. Ciel went and sat on the bentwood chair behind the table that cut off the left stairwell from the masses. Sebastian readjusted the knot of the boy’s eye patch and straightened his bow tie as Ciel looked over the notes in his ledger. He was going to be giving another speech in just a moment, this time to the public he’d invited here today. His lips moved as he went over the words, somewhat subconscious. As Sebastian finished tugging at every cuff and smearing away garden dirt from the toes of the boy’s shoes, Ciel snapped the little book shut.

“Soma,” he called out to the prince; Soma had been busy balancing his little Bitter Rabbit on top of the mannequin Bitter Rabbit’s head, “you’re coming outside with me and Mr. Cavendish when I give the speech. Don’t say anything the entire time and do your best to keep still.”

“Huh? Really? I’m coming too?!” Soma’s eyes went wide. “Oh, lucky me! Should I bring Bitter Rabbit?”

“Yes, do that. Mr. Cavendish, are we right on schedule? Very good. Let’s go outside, then.”

As the three of them made to face the visitors, Sebastian watched the boy’s retreating back, tall with determination, and felt a smile overcome him. The smile only grew as the doors closed and Ciel’s appearance was met with muffled excitement. There was a sense of pride growing in Sebastian. How many long hours of effort had Ciel put towards this day? And all from a conversation they’d had burning letters in a furnace. It really was remarkable that a person of only fourteen had brought this event into existence. Ciel had seemed very distinctly unimpressed with himself at their meeting last night though… The stinging entered Sebastian’s chest again. If Ciel couldn’t feel proud of himself for this, then that still meant they had a lot of work to do. But how to do it without their nightly meetings? Sebastian knew he’d have to find a way to make it possible.

But it did no good to fret over it this second. Right now, the long-awaited Funtom convention was about to begin.

“Good morning, everyone,” Ciel had called out to the crowd. There was a pause as the boy waited for everyone to settle down, before continuing, “For those of you who I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting, I am Ciel Phantomhive, founder of Funtom Company and your host today. I’m happy to personally welcome you to what I hope is the first of many summer conventions to come. Thank you for being a part of this groundbreaking moment in Funtom’s history.”

Polite but enthusiastic applause followed. Ciel waited for it to quiet again. “I am humbled by this impressive turnout for what was a relatively impromptu event, and I want to thank all of you for making it today. Especially those of you who have traveled down from northern climates just to be here — if not for this late-Season event, you might well be sitting at home, polishing your rifles and counting down the final days till the Glorious Twelfth. Or perhaps not; I imagine those of you here for Funtom’s auction are interested in a very different kind of ‘stuffed animal’ than taxidermy.”

A smattering of laughter. “To my friends and acquaintances whose presence I have sorely missed this Season, I thank you for your patience with my austerity and hope that today’s convention provides you with ample entertainment to make up for my lack of presence at your own gatherings. We are fortunate to have the access of Lord Sedgemore’s manor today; I could not be more grateful for his goodwill. Within these walls, you’ll find a two-story library, a beautiful gallery, and a sprawling garden to keep you well occupied. And though Lord Sedgemore’s glorious estate has enough to impress you all on its own, in addition the terrace is outfitted for tea and pastries, and the ballroom will be serving Funtom’s acclaimed chocolate-curry buns.

“There is much to do, so please consider exploring beyond the foyer with immediacy, as I would like to avoid crowding and allow everyone to enter in good order. However, after you have done a bit of exploring, I hope you will return to the entrance hall so I can meet with you and exchange your invitation for this commemorative Maharaja Bitter Rabbit.” Presumably, Ciel gestured to Soma holding up the latest doll. There was a small ripple of interest from the crowd. “This is a special gift unique to attendants of this convention — this particular iteration of Bitter Rabbit shall never be released in stores. Once you’ve received your gift, I hope you’ll consider taking a photograph to commemorate the event at our makeshift studio just a few steps away.

“Now, I’ve said enough. In mere minutes, the doors will open and everyone will be invited to come enjoy the convention. If you are in need of direction, please speak to any gentleman wearing a waistcoat that resembles mine. We’ve worked very hard to ensure your satisfaction today, so thank you again, and I wish you a most enjoyable afternoon.”

There was a final spirited round of applause. Half a minute later, Ciel came back inside with Mr. Cavendish and a jubilant Soma. In stark contrast, Ciel was already taking a break from smiling, hurrying back behind their table with a look of seriousness. “Only four hours to go,” he said under his breath when he reached Sebastian, and squared his shoulders.

Sebastian muttered down to him, “I thought your speech went very well.”

Ciel eyed his butler with a quizzical look that was difficult to decipher before forcing his gaze back on the door. “Obviously. As if I’m going to stand up there and give a poor speech.”

Sebastian smiled lightly. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.” Ciel seemed to pretend not to hear him.

And then the attendees poured in through the double front doors. Most of them were men of every age, but women and children joined them too, and they fanned out to the parlor, ballroom, gallery, and through the hallway between the stairs, not all swarming to Ciel’s station at once thanks to the employees directing traffic. But a line formed before the Maharaja booth anyway, as many were eager to retrieve their prize — and just as eager to meet the young man behind the company they had so much appreciation for. Ciel matched this eagerness with serenity.

“Mr. Hendry, is it? It’s very nice to meet you. You’ve been following Funtom since the beginning, is that right? Well, I can’t thank you enough for your years of loyalty. How fortunate that I should get the chance to give you this token of my appreciation in-person.”

“You’ve only just started collecting this year, yet you already have that much? My, that’s very impressive. Your donations have done wonderful things for the less fortunate of our country, Mr. MacEachern. Funtom is so fortunate to have your patronage.”

“Yes, I don’t usually show up in-person for Funtom events, so it’s a rare treat for me to be shaking hands with so many of our most devoted clientele today. I’m glad you could make it, Mr. Scarlett. This is your daughter, then? Good morning, it’s very nice to meet you, too. Miss… Miss Charlotte? So your name is… Er, oh, of course, here you are! Your very own Maharaja Bitter Rabbit. Isn’t it endearing that you and your father could share the same interest in toy collecting.”

“Correct, I started Funtom in 1886. E-Eight years? Er, no, I was ten years old, actually… Y-Yes, you could say it was impressive, but I’m the ambitious sort, so I only did what made the most sense to me. When I was young, I spent a lot of time indoors, so I— Hmm? Ah, well, I-I am still young, that is true…”

“Whitburn? No, I’m sorry, I can’t say I’ve heard of it before. Near Sunderland, is it? That is quite far, you’ve had a real trek here. Should I holiday in Whitburn sometime, do you think? No? Oh dear, well, I do appreciate your honesty, Mr. Remington.”

“Er, around my age, is that so? N-No, I’m nearly fifteen, actually. Don’t worry about it. It’s possible your son could get a job for Funtom when he graduates, even if it’s not for five more years. We’re always expanding our business, so if he’s anywhere near as successful as you’ve been at banking, Mr. Paddon, I’m sure we’d be very happy to have him in our financial department.”

“Mr. Ansel, yes, I do recognize your name. You’re sort of infamous in the community for purchasing all the displays we made for the Grimm Brothers line, correct? I have great appreciation for your dedication. My favorite? Ah, I really don’t think I could choose; which one did you like the best? Hansel and Gretel? Well, they were meant to be the most elaborate of the Grimm dolls, if I recall properly…”

It took nearly an entire hour for the line to their table to cease replenishing. As Ciel waved farewell to their last visitor, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. “About time… that felt like ages. Is it really only noon? God’s sake.” Ciel’s exhausted expression was forced to shift back into a grin as a couple waved at him on their way to the library or garden.

“Yes, I think we’ve cleared out nearly half our stock of toys,” Sebastian said with a glance at the stairwell. He blinked back over as he noticed Ciel rubbing at his forehead. “Are you feeling well, young master?”

Ciel nodded. “Mhm, I’m fine. Just not used to smiling so often.” Right after he said so, though, a much rarer look than his false smile appeared: the hint of a real smile. “When it becomes especially grueling to look so happy, I think about when Mr. Scarlett came up to the table and introduced his daughter,” he said, quietly enough for only Sebastian to hear him. “Charlotte… For God’s sake, the man named his poor child Charlotte Scarlett! She’ll be begging to marry the instant she turns sixteen so she can finally rid herself of that old hallmark.”

Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “Or, she could embrace it and become a famous actress…” When Ciel stared at him in confusion, Sebastian added, “Just imagine the headlines, my lord.”

Ciel cocked an eyebrow, still not understanding; then it dawned on him. “Starlet Charlotte Scarlett… For the love of—” He shoved Sebastian’s arm. “You’re not funny.”

“Oh? Is that why you’re still smiling?”

“Not a chance. If it looks like I’m smiling, it’s because my face is stuck like this from now on.”

“So, this is Lord Ciel Phantomhive, founder of Funtom Company, is it?”

A cheerful yet booming voice with a notable brogue suddenly interrupted their small banter. A burly man with a thick, dark beard stood before them, grinning broadly and staring piercingly with… some sort of intent. With only the smallest snap to attention, Ciel was back to playing host. “Yes, indeed. I am Ciel Phantomhive. Welcome. And who do I have the honor of greeting this afternoon?”

The man bowed deeply, almost comically, at his waist, then laughed loudly. “Why, I think you’ll find I’m Lord Wallace Filbert, Marquis of Kirrieken, in the flesh!”

“Ah, Lord Filbert — yes, I know you. It truly is an honor.” Ciel reached his hand forward to shake. If he found the man’s previous behavior strange, he didn’t show it; he’d already exchanged pleasantries with a few eccentrics just today. This greeting required a pinch of deference anyway, seeing as Lord Filbert had a higher status than Ciel’s own. “I was exceptionally flattered when I saw you would be in attendance this afternoon. Traveling from Scotland certainly makes you one of my most far-flung guests. I’m privileged that you would take the journey, my lord.”

Filbert still had that curiously wide-eyed look on his face. He almost seemed like he wasn’t listening to what Ciel was saying at all. His strange grin grew. “Lord Phantomhive,” he repeated. “Founder of Funtom Company… Ha!” He gave a sharp laugh. “You know, I’ve always been impressed by Funtom’s work, but this… this is an entirely new scale of impressive.”

“Erm, thank you, sir,” Ciel tried. He seemed to be feeling he was missing the joke for the second time in as many minutes, though now Sebastian felt he was missing it too.

Filbert laughed again at his own oddball humor. “No need to thank me, lad,” he chortled, wiping at his eye. “No, no… Thank the Funtom Company!” More laughter.

Ciel stood there awkwardly, having no idea what to say. Sebastian felt himself getting irritated at Filbert for putting his young master on the spot. Time to get rid of this idiot… He tread up the stairs and grabbed another doll and walked back down, just as Ciel was saying, “Of course, this was far from my own effort. My team did work very hard to ensure this event would go off without a hitch.”

“Your team,” Filbert said. “Yes I’m sure your team did a lot! Yes, yes, yes, yes… Ah, here we are. Look at this little fellow. A rake in his own right! Yes, I’m quite smitten with him… What craftsmanship. Lovely little gem he’s sporting. Such a brilliant shade of smaragdine. He’ll look spiffing next to his brothers on their shelf. Now, Lord Phantomhive, do tell your team that they did a wonderful job. Would you please?” Filbert leaned down as he said it, as if deliberately making it known that he was taller than Ciel.

Ciel was clearly trying not to pull an irritated face, just as Sebastian was trying not to punch Filbert in the jaw. “Certainly. I will make your commendations known… Lord Filbert.”

“Good lad, good lad… Ah, really, really, what could they be thinking…” Filbert walked off then, still chuckling under his breath.

Only after he was gone and likely out of earshot did Ciel put a hand on his hip, unable to hide his perturbation any longer. “What the hell? What was all that about? Was he making fun of me?”

Sebastian gave a disdainful huff. “I really couldn’t say, young master, but I was not overly fond of his behavior.”

“Neither was I… Oh.” Ciel’s eyes suddenly caught movement rapidly approaching, and he stiffened slightly, saying under his breath, “It’s just going to be one after the other today, isn’t it…”

“Ciiieeel!” Lizzie was racing over to him now from the direction of the ballroom. Her yellow-blonde hair was pulled back in a low coiffure beneath a straw sailor hat beribboned in apple-green. The ribbon perfectly matched her candy-striped day dress with its chic Italian sleeves, though Lizzie could only lament when she made it over, “Oh, Ciel, why didn’t you tell me you’d be wearing marigold? We could have matched then!”

“Er, good to see you, Lizzie,” Ciel managed to stammer to her disapproving face. “I-I thought that, eh… you’d prefer the surprise. What you’re wearing looks lovely anyway, don’t you think?”

“Oh, thank you!” Lizzie beamed, all sadness evaporating at once. She plucked at an edge of her skirt and turned in a half circle to show it off. “It’s perfect for the final days of summer, don’t you think? Such a bright and happy color! I’m so glad you like it!” Then she clasped her hands and brought them under her chin with a delighted gasp. “Ahh, but your outfit is sooo dashing! You look amazing, Ciel, isn’t Nina so talented! Truly she can do anything if she can even find a way to make me like black clothing! Oh, I’m so glad I finally get to see you up close! I’ve been waiting an hour for that horrible line to clear so I could at last come see you!”

Ciel sighed. “Well, I did tell you it would be better to show up at noon, didn’t I? Then you wouldn’t have had to deal with the initial crowds.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “And miss your opening words? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“And neither would we!” Alexis Midford’s voice chimed in from behind her. The rest of the Midford family was in tow, Francis linked to her husband’s arm and Edward just behind his parents. As they finished approaching, the Marquis of Scotney continued, “You’ve certainly outdone yourself today, nephew! The food, the decor, the atmosphere — everything is simply sparking with excitement!”

“Uncle Alexis, Aunt Francis, good to see you,” Ciel nodded at them politely. “I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time so far.”

Aunt Francis lowered an eyebrow. “Yes, as usual when it comes to anything with your company’s name on it, not a hair is out of place… except for on your own head. Must you always insist on letting your fringe hang into your face like that? I really should have thought to bring a comb, of course you w—”

“Oh, Mother, please! Can’t you just be nice to Ciel today?” Elizabeth interrupted unexpectedly, seizing one of the marchioness’s gloved hands in her own as she said so. “Isn’t it clear how hard he’s worked? Let’s just be happy and celebrate!”

Francis looked surprised at this interruption. Even more surprisingly, she took her daughter’s words to heart. “Yes... You have a point. Ciel did work very hard.” She gave her nephew a warmer expression now. “You should be content with yourself, Ciel. It’s a good job you’ve done.”

Ciel seemed quietly disbelieving at her compliment. He wasn’t used to receiving them from her. “Well, it was above all a group effort. I certainly can’t heap most of the praise onto my own shoulders.”

“But you can take your fair share~!” Soma suddenly bounded over, nudging past Edward and leaning around the table to sling an arm across Ciel’s shoulders. Then, just as quickly, he released Ciel and thrusted his arms out in front of him. “Well, if it isn’t Lady Elizabeth! I’m so, so delighted to see you again! And oh! You all must be the rest of Ciel’s family! What a joy it is to meet you today!”

“Ahh! Prince Soma!” Elizabeth squeezed past her parents to hug him. Soma, of course, had no aversion to public displays of affection, and he hugged her back tightly. “I’ve missed you so much! What a long time it’s been!”

Soma held her away at arms’ length to get a proper look at her. “So it has! You are so beautiful today, Lady Elizabeth, just as you were the last I saw you! You are practically glowing with radiance!”

Elizabeth giggled. “Oh, thank you, Prince Soma! You look beautiful today, too!”

Edward was not going to have another second of this. “Hey, hold on! Just who do you think you are?!” he barked, clenching a fist.

“I am Prince Soma Asman Kadar,” Soma announced his full title jovially. “And you must be… Lady Elizabeth’s older brother!”

Edward puffed out his chest. “Well… Yes. I am. Erm, what is your relation to my sister exactly, Mr. Prince Soma?”

Soma’s laughter chimed around them. “Mr. Prince Soma! Oh, he’s as funny as you told me, Ciel. Well, seeing as I am Ciel’s brother, and Ciel is betrothed to Lady Elizabeth, that means I am your brother-in-law!”

“In law? They aren’t married yet! ” Edward roared.

“And you aren’t my brother!” Ciel roared too.

“Being an older brother is very hard work, isn’t it,” Soma said with a meaningful sigh in his ‘younger brother’s’ direction (making said ‘younger brother’ clench his teeth in exasperation). Soma smiled brightly at Edward. “Well, just as I will always be there to protect Ciel, I am very grateful that you are there to keep dear Lady Elizabeth safe. A big brother’s job is never done, after all!”

Edward’s face went blank at first. Then he began blushing and rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Ah, well, I do keep Elizabeth safe, that is true, ahahaha…”

“I’ve never once seen you outduel her,” Ciel hissed flatly.

“It’s all right, Ciel, we can let Edward have this,” Lizzie whispered to him behind a raised hand.

Francis and Alexis seemed at a loss for words about this exuberant prince, who was now crooning at them, “Oh, Ciel’s adorable family, you should come take a picture with me and your new matching Bitter Rabbits! We’ll all look so good together!” Soma gestured over to the backdrop area, then noticed the guests’ empty hands. “Eh, Ciel, didn’t you give them their Bitter Rabbits yet? Aren’t you supposed to be a good host?”

“I was getting to that…!” Ciel’s words were spoken behind the same clenched teeth as before.

“Here we are, Lord Midford and Lady Elizabeth.” Sebastian offered the prizes out now. “One doll per invitation, I do believe.”

“Thank you, Sebastian!” Lizzie cooed, hugging the doll tight but seeming more interested in her dear fiancé. “Ciel, let’s take a picture with Prince Soma! Can you remember the last time we were photographed? It had to have been over a year ago, we’re well overdue for another.”

“This Prince Soma is your friend, Ciel? He’s very funny,” Alexis chuckled.

“Uh, yeah, he’s… funny, sure… Agh!” Ciel was then yanked out from behind the table by both Soma and Lizzie pulling on his hands and dragging him over to the photo area. There wasn’t enough space for the whole family to assemble at once, especially not with the life-size Bitter Rabbit taking up a third of the shot, so first Ciel took one with just Lizzie and Soma, and then the four Midfords took one together. Alexis and Lizzie held their dolls aloft happily as Pitt snapped the shutter.

“Haven’t seen you by the studio in a while either, Lady Midford!” Pitt exclaimed at Francis as they finished up. “Come by and create some memories sometime, won’t ya?”

Francis stared at the photographer coolly. As Sebastian expected, she did not seem to share in her late brother’s affections for the pluckiest Aristocrat of Evil. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt. Yes, it has been some time. I’m not particularly keen on taking photographs, if you recall. This picture today is enough for me.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, then, but what about the young ones?” Pitt extended index, middle, and ring fingers to point at Ciel, Lizzie, and Edward simultaneously. “Growin’ up fast, ain’t they? They won’t look like this forever, y’know! Might want to preserve it for ol’ time’s sake!”

Francis looked over at the children chatting amongst themselves, and fondness crossed her expression. But it was gone with a blink. “They’re old enough now to decide if they’d like to do that on their own. I’ll leave it to them.”

“Ah, well, suit yourself, milady!”

Meanwhile, Ciel was saying, “It really is good to see you, Lizzie, but Soma and I need to get back to our stations now to take care of the other guests. There’s still several hours to go.”

“Oh, very well,” Lizzie had just finished bemoaning when suddenly someone attached themselves to her arm. “Eh? Who—”

“Lizzie, dearest, I have missed you so ardently,” Elizabeth’s friend Jane Reubin said by way of greeting and promptly absorbed Lizzie in full a hug. She looked harried. “I’ve been cooped up like a parrot these past few weeks, and I’ve been dying to spread my wings! Thank goodness for your invitation, Lord Phantomhive, or the Season might have ended for me in utter boredom!”

“M-Miss Reubin, er, welcome,” said Ciel, referring to Jane more formally than he usually did as they were in a public setting. “I-I’m glad that today could be a treat for you.”

“Oh, Jane! Why haven’t you gotten out, darling?” Lizzie asked. More quietly, she added, “Is it because of Lyle?”

Jane nodded, biting her lip. “He won’t go anywhere in London anymore, it’s just awful, and he won’t stay home by himself unless one of us is there with him. Mother and Father are at their wit’s end. You won’t notice they are, though, they’re trying to keep it a secret as best they can. Family business, you know. But I can’t stay quiet like them, I’m at the age where I’m supposed to be having fun and meeting people! That’s why I’m so grateful to you, Lord Phantomhive. Lyle only agreed to come today because he knew you’d be here.”

Ciel was noticeably shocked. “What? He did?”

“Lady Francis, Lord Alexis, how we’ve missed you,” the Reubin parents were greeting the Midford parents now, and struck up a conversation. Lyle was sandwiched between mother and father. He looked glum and even a little pale, but when he noticed Ciel, he walked right over and stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” he said merely.

“Er, good afternoon, Lyle,” Ciel responded, looking about as awkward as Sebastian had ever seen him. “I’m, I’m glad you could make it today.”

“Be polite,” Jane instructed her brother in an audible whisper, “if you even remember your manners after letting them rust from lack of use.”

“What are those things?” Lyle asked, pointing at the stairwell.

Soma happily jumped in to answer. “Those are Bitter Rabbits!” he explained, gesturing to his own doll as he said it. “Look, I’m dressed just like him! And you can have one all to yourself, too! Isn’t that the best?”

Lyle only stared. “I’m too old for dolls. Aren’t you too old for dolls, too? Aren’t you an adult?”

Jane looked like she wanted to disappear into thin air. Ciel actually looked moderately amused. And Soma merely wagged his finger. “No one is too old for the things that make them happy! This convention is full of adults who collect stuffed toys for fun. So you see? Anybody can enjoy them!”

“Just because an adult enjoys something for children doesn’t mean that he’s supposed to,” said Lyle.

Jane’s face turned bright red at that. “Lyle, how could you say such a thing! You’re so rotten! Mother, please help, Lyle is being rude to Lord Phantomhive.”

“Listen, it’s fine, really, it doesn’t bother me,” said Ciel, waving a hand to show no harm was done. Then he took the Bitter Rabbit that Sebastian passed to him and handed it to Jane. “Here you are, please take this. And I hate to be so brash, but Lizzie, if you and your family could clear out the area with the Reubins? It’s starting to get crowded and other guests need to get by.”

“Aww, very well… We’ll move on.” Lizzie took his hands first. “But will you come to our London house afterwards with Prince Soma, though, or maybe this evening? Then we can have dinner together and talk about the convention properly!”

“Uh, sure, maybe, if I’m not too tired,” Ciel hastened. “I have to get back to work now, all right?”

After another few moments, the Reubins and the Midfords had gathered themselves up and moved on for the garden. Soma returned to taking pictures with guests, and Ciel went back behind the table with Sebastian. That conversation appeared to have taken some of the wind out of his sails. “In all the bedlam of planning this thing, I completely forgot the Reubins were coming…” Ciel sighed. “So Lyle is still causing mischief wherever he goes. Or doesn’t go.”

Sebastian would not soon forget Ciel’s penultimate conversation with Lyle at Jane’s party, and the distress that followed it. As different as his young master and the Reubin boy were, Ciel continued to relate to the little Heathcliff’s struggle, and so Sebastian knew he should always pay attention whenever the two interacted. Sebastian offered, “It does look to be a sorry state of affairs. I wonder if sending Lyle away to college really is the best thing for him right now.”

Ciel put up a wall between himself and this conversation immediately. “Well, it’s not any of my business, and it especially isn’t yours. It’s better if we don’t give it any more thought.”

At least for the moment, that was probably true. Today was difficult enough for Ciel without yet again taking on the responsibility of Lyle’s emotional state. As short as the boys’ interaction had been just now, it was clear Ciel had wanted to squirm his way out of it as fast as he possibly could. So Sebastian didn’t push the subject.

Fortunately, the next ninety minutes were a calmer blur. More noble guests came to greet Ciel, as opposed to his customers, at this time. Some guests were more familiar to Sebastian than others. As expected, there was Lau.

“Hiiii, Earl,” he’d called out, strolling up to the table as if he owned the place, Ran-Mao an ornament on his arm. “What a bustle of activity all around, yet I don’t hear any music for dancing! Just what kind of a ball is this?”

“Always full of jokes, aren’t you,” Ciel snarled. “As always, I’m not in the mood for your absurd sense of humor. Surely you won’t inflict it on my peaceful guests either?”

“Hmm, well, that depends on if you’ll make any introductions for me?”

“Make them yourself.”

“Still churlish, today of all days.” Lau shook his head mournfully. “The poor Earl just can’t learn to lighten up, can he, Ran-Mao? Even during his own company’s convention.”

“See, I knew you knew what this party was for, dammit!”

Ran-Mao wasn’t listening to them bicker. Her eyes were hyper-focused on the doll Sebastian was holding out to her now.

“A gift, from the Funtom Company.” Sebastian smiled primly. “Won’t you have it, my lady?”

Ran-Mao’s hands plucked it up gingerly, her eyes never leaving her new prize. Her pupils dilated.

Lau cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Do you like it, then, Ran-Mao?”

Ran-Mao nodded. “Warm. Soft.” Her voice was as toneless as ever but the infatuation was clear.

“At least one of you knows how to show a little appreciation,” Ciel said, pleased. Regardless, he shooed at them immediately after. “Now run along. If another guest shows up, I don’t want to hear what horrible nonsense you’ll say to them. And when I tell you to mind yourself, I mean it, by the way. You can have fun, but not at my expense.”

“Oh? If the fun isn’t at your expense, then whose expense is it, Earl? I should thank whoever is paying for this party.”

“God’s sake… Just leave, Lau.”

And another ten minutes later, a pair that had most certainly not been on the guest list passed by their booth.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Randall and subordinate,” Ciel called out slyly as he noted the two walking past his table. “I don’t remember sending either of you an invitation.”

Randall stopped to give Ciel his narrowest expression. “I didn’t ask to be here, Lord Phantomhive, and I won’t have you thinking otherwise for more than an instant. I simply go where my keen eyes are needed most. Today, that happens to be here.”

“‘Subordinate?’” Abberline echoed in disdain.

Ciel sniffed a laugh. “Now, now, if you want me to remember your name, you should become a memorable person, don’t you think? Ah, but let’s test my retention for the fun of it. You’re Inspector…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Eberly?”

“Abberline!”

“Ah, so close,” Ciel chuckled remorselessly to the remorseful man. “Well then, you can work on becoming more memorable, and I’ll work on caring about useless detectives. Just keep in mind now, Randall, the curry buns are for my guests first, and all leftovers are to be delivered to the Sacred Heart Orphanage after the event ends, so I’d hate to see you eating on the job. It would be very unbecoming for two members of Scotland Yard to be stealing from stray children, hmm?”

“As unbecoming as it would be for the head of a toy company to be heard openly mocking the police,” Randall returned. He began to traipse away, and Abberline hustled after. “Mind your manners, Earl. There are journalists present, and I know from experience that their ears are bigger than a pitcher’s.”

“Tuh. I have no need for your warnings,” Ciel said, though the response was notably less loud than before.

Another twenty minutes later, there came a visitor even more far-flung than that loathsome Lord Filbert.

“Diedrich.” Ciel’s grin was pearly white when he sighted his father’s old schoolmate approaching. “I was shocked to see you RSVP. What could possibly have convinced you to honor my invitation?”

Diedrich’s frown twitched beneath his wide mustache. “What indeed. A few things, as a matter of fact, not the least of which is the need for a vacation.”

Ciel put a hand to his chin and nodded understandingly. “Ah yes, I suppose the walls of your quaint German villa have begun closing in?”

Diedrich was distinctly unfazed. “My skin isn’t so easily gotten under, junior. I’ve heard it all before; your father made sure of that. And if you really must know, I’ve been putting up with some particularly overzealous company for the past few months. She’s taken over half the castle with her… hobbies. She is the main reason for my departure. I only hope my home is still standing when I return to it…”

Ciel raised his eyebrows. “She? Is there some family I don’t know about? Or perhaps you neglected to send me a wedding invitation?”

Again, Diedrich only fixed the boy with a narrow gaze. “‘She’ happens to be twelve years old.”

“Ah, then this will be the perfect souvenir for her,” Ciel said, plucking up the doll Sebastian had just retrieved and waving it in Diedrich’s face. “A cute little friend to keep her out of your hair. Hmm?”

Diedrich stared at Bitter Rabbit’s gently wobbling ears. “She’s not the type of girl who likes to play with toys,” he eventually answered gruffly.

“Then it’s a souvenir for you.” Without giving him a say, Ciel grabbed Diedrich’s hand and plopped the doll’s plump bottom into it. “Who knows, it may just be worth something someday. Then you can finally claw your way out of squalor, hm?”

“I must be mad to have thought that visiting England would be a holiday,” Diedrich growled, nearly to himself. “Even if it’s better than a close-call with poison or shrapnel, you and your father are always sure to wear me down. The fumes from her experiments must be getting to my brain…”

Ciel looked at Diedrich funny. “What did you say this girl’s hobby was again?”

“I didn't. But maybe you’ll get the chance to meet her at my… ‘quaint German villa’ someday and find out for yourself.” Diedrich tucked Bitter Rabbit under his arm and made to wander off between the staircases. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to this acclaimed garden where I hope I may have my first moment of peace since summer began.”

“Come visit me next week at the London house before you head back, or I should be very disappointed!” Ciel shouted after him in mock-enthusiasm, sounding to all the world like a nephew eager to spend quality time with his uncle, but sounding to Diedrich, Sebastian assumed, like the cheeky threat that it was. Ciel faced forward again with a self-satisfied glint in his eye, which may or may not have been amplified by Diedrich’s half-muttered ramblings about “insolence in the bloodline” trailing off over his shoulder.

They were well into the third hour of the convention when one of the more interesting and anticipated encounters occurred. Most of the dolls were gone at this point, and Ciel had admitted in a low voice to forgetting who else was supposed to show up, if it was even anyone he cared about. But Sebastian remembered well the ‘guest of honor’ they were still waiting on, and he’d looked forward to seeing Ciel’s response to meeting this guest. Sebastian didn’t know what the guest looked like and neither did Ciel, but Sebastian knew enough about the man to correctly guess his identity on-sight.

The shy-looking younger gentleman with somewhat mussy brown hair and a tweedy brown suit entered the front doors at 1:30. He was immediately cowed by all the noble company milling around him. Once enough of the sea had parted, the man approached their table quickly and with an air of terror. He then thrust out his invitation and said in a wobbling voice, “Er, good afternoon… Pardon me. I was told I could find my kind host here…?” He looked at Sebastian as he said it.

“That would be me,” said Ciel, keeping the disdain from his voice and smiling as charmingly as he could. “I apologize, I don’t believe we’ve met before? I’m Lord Ciel Phantomhive. And you are…?”

“U-U-Um! Mr. Arthur Doyle at your service!” the man stuttered, bowing forward and sticking his hand nearly in Ciel’s face. “P-Pleasure to meet you, Lord Phantomhive! Er, I mean, the pleasure is all mine!”

At that, Ciel’s smile turned from fabricated to genuine, and even adopted a hint of slyness on the way. “Actually, the pleasure isn’t all yours, seeing as you’re the wordsmith behind my favorite stories. I couldn’t be more delighted to see you here, Mr. Doyle. You are younger than I expected.”

“I-I-I-I-I’m younger than you expected, is that so?!” the man nearly bleated.

Ciel laughed in earnest. “Looks can be deceiving — I thought you knew all about that, judging by your stories. But I suppose literature and reality are different worlds. In any case, I’m so very glad you could make it. You’ve only just arrived, yes?”

“Ahm, yes!” Doyle’s fingers shuffled awkwardly at the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I-I must admit, I doubt I’ll know anyone else, so I’m… I’m not really sure I belong here…”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Doyle. You belong here as well as anyone,” Ciel said kindly. “I’d even show you around myself, if only I could leave my station.”

Doyle startled. “Y-Y-Y-Y-You would?!”

“Why don’t you, my lord?” Sebastian offered then. “We’ve nearly cleared out the whole stairwell of Bitter Rabbits, and you’ve been standing here for a few hours without a chance for a break. It seems only right that you enjoy your own party for at least some of it.”

Ciel turned his head sharply and blinked up at him. “I can really go?”

Sebastian blinked back, mildly astonished. He had not expected those words, nor their accompanying expression of wonderment. Neither had Ciel expected to make that expression, it seemed, for the boy immediately smoothed out his features and corrected, “That is, you think you can manage the table by yourself?”

“Yes, I think I can manage, my lord.” They both knew this conversation was a bit of fluff for Doyle’s sake. Obviously Sebastian could manage fine. The reality of what neither of them had been prepared for was that split-second where Ciel had felt like he needed permission to do something and had unthinkingly turned to Sebastian to grant it. Sebastian wasn’t sure if his own face had given away that he was affected, but Ciel’s did: only, rather than touched, he looked distinctly uneasy about the whole exchange.

“Very good, then. Mr Doyle, right this way.” Ciel slipped out the narrow gap between the table and the banister, and he beckoned Doyle to follow him to the ballroom, smiling pristinely now. “Let me show you around the manor, and then we can have a spot of tea in the garden. I don’t suppose you had lunch before you arrived? No? Very good, then let’s make sure you try a curry bun as well. And there’s no need to look so panic-stricken about everything. This isn’t one of your tales; no one’s waiting in the shadows to bite you like a snake.”

“A-ah, snakes and shadows would hardly bother me right now, I think, my lord…”

Doyle nearly scampered after his host into the ballroom, dodging and weaving around people he wasn’t even close to bumping into. Five minutes after that, Sebastian picked up on Ciel leading Doyle through the hallway behind the stairwells to the garden, talking about chocolate curry as they went. All politeness, meant to ease the author’s cowardice, Sebastian thought to himself with a small smirk. Once the two were at a table together and Doyle had been pacified, Ciel would undoubtedly use the opportunity to get the man talking about his writing. The boy was a fan of very few talents, and Sebastian knew that this introduction was the only one that mattered to Ciel today. It had been such a tedious afternoon; it was nice that something would go right, that Ciel should have a reward for his efforts…

For the next forty minutes, everything was as expected. The crowds flowed in and out of the hall like river fish, never lingering for more than a minute or two before reentering the currents. Fewer groups were coming to have their photograph taken, so Soma wandered off somewhere to mingle and eat. No one came to collect their doll either, though at this point only eight toys remained. It was likely at least a few people would entirely forget to collect too, or that the dolls’ prospective owners hadn’t showed up in the first place; it wasn’t anything unusual.

What was unusual was the sight of Fairclough and Erickson departing hurriedly from the ballroom, across the entrance hall, and behind the door to the drawing room where the auction was being held, throwing slight glances over their shoulders all the way.

Now what was that about? How incredibly suspicious. Sebastian felt the flame of his hatred flicker. He didn’t always understand why he despised Fairclough so strongly, why the sight of that man made the very human thing that was a hunch crawl spider-like up his spine. But a good reason to hate him might just be appearing right now. Sebastian definitely needed to know what was going on.

So, Sebastian pushed back the table and walked out behind it into the throng of gentlemen and ladies that had learned to ignore the working man. He moved over to the closed door of the auction room and stood beside it with his back to the wall and strained his ears. It was supposed to be quiet in the auction room, but as bidding wound to a close, Sebastian could make out the familiar murmurings of men stricken with the same ailment that had always befallen their kind: the need for some material thing that could not follow them into the grave. There, if he listened extra carefully, he could also make out the dialogue of Fairclough and Erickson, who had not strayed too far into the room. As Sebastian had suspected, they were not interested in the auction. They were only interested in hiding from someone.

“... have checked the guest list myself. I’m an idiot. I’m a bloody idiot.” It was Erickson, in a harsh whisper.

Fairclough’s lowered voice was at its heels. “No, I’m the idiot. It would have been so easy for me to ask.”

“You’re right. Dammit, Clough. He can not see me.”

“You’ve changed your hair since then, haven’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll know me. It isn’t worth risking it, anyway. I have to get upstairs, but the steps are blocked. Tell me that isn’t the only way.”

“There’s the servant’s staircase. It’s on the other side of the house. Let me think… The gallery entrance is blocked off in here, so we can only leave the way we came in. And the only way to get to the dining room at the moment is through the ballroom, so that’s out. We’ll have to go back through the foyer and along the hall until I can get you to the kitchens.”

“But what if he’s moved into the foyer now? Clough, I mean it. He cannot see me, he cannot even think he has. I’ll be done for.”

“I know, I know. Don’t panic. I’ll lead the way. I’ll go out first and look around. I’ll come back at once if he’s out there. If I don’t come to fetch you in ten seconds, you follow. Then I’ll lead the way through the hall as a lookout. Try not to be odd about it, either. That Phantomhive butler abhors me for reasons I still don’t understand. I don’t need to seek out more of his ire.”

Sebastian had marched swiftly but calmly back to his station the second he heard his name mentioned. Fairclough was clearly about to leave the sanctum of the drawing room, and Sebastian had to pretend as if the men’s frantic behavior hadn’t caught his attention at all, that he hadn’t been eavesdropping. It suddenly seemed a very unfortunate thing that Sebastian had wanted to make Fairclough aware of his hatred in the past. If he’d pretended to be an ally, maybe Fairclough would even have been willing enough to divulge a secret or two. There was no telling now.

As it was, Sebastian would have to try and investigate for himself, to get to the ballroom and analyze its population as soon as Fairclough and Erickson were out of sight. Who was it that had frightened Erickson so? Lau was the only guest that came to mind. But was Lau in the ballroom right now? Sebastian was thrumming with impatience to find out. Just who was Erickson intimidated by and what was the reason?

Sebastian was at the table with his hands tucked inconspicuously behind his back a mere second before Fairclough departed the drawing room. Sebastian pretended to be distracted by Pitt explaining to a couple that they could come pick up their new cabinet cards at his studio or have them mailed if they lived outside London. In his periphery, Sebastian observed Fairclough give the entrance hall a thorough scan. Unfortunately, it ended in an all-clear, as Fairclough did not go back to the auction room to warn his friend. Soon Erickson was in the hall as well, unnerved as a hare in the open. The two men tried to look distinctly composed as they passed by Sebastian’s booth. Sebastian gave them only a cursory glance, simply to look more natural. He too was waiting for his chance to bolt.

The hallway swallowed Fairclough and Erickson. Sebastian counted down from five, enough time for them to turn the first corner. Then he would go to the ballroom posthaste. Only three seconds… two… one…

Zero. Sebastian was back out from behind the table, moving as quickly as he could without attracting attention, into that same hall between the stairways but turning right instead of left, towards the open door that lead to the ballroom—

“Lord Phantomhive! Are you quite all right? Whatever is the matter?”

—when Fairclough’s voice just barely touched his senses.

Sebastian spun around. The voice was coming from behind that first bend in the hallway, the one that Sebastian had been waiting for Fairclough and Erickson to turn. Ciel must have finished his tea with Doyle and was heading back to their table. But why had Fairclough stopped him? And why did Fairclough sound so concerned?

Ciel’s response was thick with uncertainty. “Um, it’s, it’s fine, I’m… I’m fine, but I, I need to ask Sebastian something now, sorry—”

“Wait, please! Isn’t there anything I can do to help? You look as shaken as you did the night of Goode’s party.”

What?

Sebastian was frozen in place. Something was wrong with Ciel. But he needed to investigate the ballroom before it was too late. If he waited another minute, he could miss his chance to identify the object of Erickson’s fear.

Ciel was talking again. “Eh, no I don’t think… Sorry, I’ve got to tell, er, I need to ask Sebastian something.”

“Lord Phantomhive, please, let me help you. I’ve been able to in the past, I’ve proven myself. Maybe there’s something I can do today, too. Surely I can at least do more than your butler?”

Surely not, I think you’ll find—!

“Young master, there you are,” Sebastian said warmly as he rounded upon them. “I thought I heard you from the booth. Did you say you had something you needed to talk to me about?”

Fairclough’s mouth tightened at the corners at Sebastian’s arrival. It was immediately evident that Fairclough knew he’d been overheard, and any hope for future civility was immediately severed. Good. If I have no choice now, then let him hate me. Sebastian scarcely minded Fairclough’s discomfort. Ciel’s discomfort was the more important one. And Ciel did have a distressed atmosphere clinging to him. His eye stared straight into Sebastian’s with a silent plea for help. If Sebastian had even an inkling of regret about dashing to his master’s side instead of exploring the ballroom, it evaporated in that instant.

Ciel was hesitating, so Sebastian didn’t wait for an answer. “Mr. Fairclough, is there some place that my lord and I might speak in private? The study, perhaps?”

Fairclough looked at his strange new rival coldly, but knew better than to argue it in front of Ciel. “The study is locked right now, and I don’t have the key on my person. There is a guest room upstairs you can use, if that will suffice. It’s the first door to the left at the top of the western stairwell.”

“Yes, I think it will do. Young master?” Sebastian gestured for Ciel to precede him, and the boy did so almost blindly. As he followed, Sebastian thought about flashing Fairclough one of his dark-eyed, meaningful looks, but called it off at the last second. He didn’t want it to be interpreted that he knew about what had just transpired with Erickson. He only needed Fairclough to understand who was in charge here.

They ventured for the second story together. Fairclough was out of sight, out of mind. Sebastian’s thoughts shifted to the current task, and worry was a sudden heartbeat in his chest. What had happened to Ciel to make his posture go rigid, his shoulders tense yet head ducked? It seemed his young master’s luck with parties lately was miserable. When people were together in one place, they talked, and Ciel was so sensitive to the talk of people nowadays. They crested the stairwell; Sebastian felt every inch of himself buzzing with anticipation.

The guest room was carpeted in deep green, the same as the rest of the upstairs hall. A four-poster bed with fluffy white summer sheets sat tucked in the corner. An aspen chifferobe occupied the west wall, and at the far end was a horizontal dresser topped with a few old knicknacks: a porcelain wedding vase, a pair of crystal candle holders, a music box with a little crank on the side. There was a homely coziness to it, as if from a decade past, that Sebastian found himself appreciating unexpectedly. It seemed only right that whatever discussion they were about to have took place somewhere relaxed and familiar in nature.

Ciel had strolled briskly forward until he stopped in the middle of the room and spun around, hands balled up by his sides. Sebastian shut the door and approached to crouch down on one knee before the boy so they were closer in height. “Tell me what happened, young master,” he said softly.

Ciel was glaring at the wall with the chifferobe, then at the wall with the bed, then somewhere behind Sebastian, then at the floor. Anywhere but in his demon’s direction. “That damn Lord Filbert!” he snapped at last. Sebastian felt his eyes tighten. So, that brute showed up to bully the young master once more. “He wouldn’t… Ugh! He wouldn’t listen to me, just because he thought I was a child! There wasn’t anything I could do about it!”

“Lord Filbert addressed you again when you were outside with Mr. Doyle, sir?” Sebastian said, trying to get the facts straight in this moment where it may be hard for the boy to be factual.

Ciel nodded vehemently. “Yes! I guess he thought there was some further joke he could make out of me! Because, I mean, it didn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen to me until someone else told him that I really was Funtom’s founder! He thought it was supposed to be some kind of… publicity stunt, saying a ‘child’ did all this! But then when a ‘real adult’ tells him it’s true, then it’s fine! But he wouldn’t possibly believe me! There wasn’t anything I could do to change his mind, it was so…” Ciel ran a hand through his hair, blinking quickly. “I hate that they all think this about me! They all look at me and see a child, and there’s nothing I can do about it! It didn’t matter what I said, I couldn’t change his mind! I was… I couldn’t…”

Ciel stood there seething for a few seconds, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sebastian didn’t speak, letting him find his words again. “If I could threaten him, then he’d know,” he spat after a moment. “Then he’d know that I’m stronger than him… Agh, but it doesn’t even matter! I can’t do that, Lord Filbert’s status is higher than mine, and it’s not like he’s a criminal. I’d only get myself into trouble. So he wins! He gets to walk away unscathed, because I’m smart enough to know that if I yelled at him, I’d be the one who was gossiped about and then everyone would be scrutinizing my age! So I had no choice but to keep calm in front of him, even when he was accusing me of being a lying child! And I wish I could keep calm now! But I’m so angry, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get! Ugh!”

“Can you try and take a deep breath?” Sebastian offered. That suggestion only made Ciel look more frenzied, so Sebastian added, “If you do, you might find it easier to settle your nerves.”

Ciel shook his head. “It won’t settle my nerves, I swear it won’t. Don’t you dare say it again, it won’t work.”

“All right, not now then,” said Sebastian evenly. The boy was clearly feeling oppositional, so Sebastian hoped his own patience would help soothe instead. “Let me try and make sense of what happened. Lord Filbert told you he didn’t believe you were really Funtom’s creator. You told him you were; he still didn’t believe you, and then an older person told him that what you said was the truth. Lord Filbert believed that person in place of you.”

“And then Lord Filbert apologized for talking to me that way and his friend told him to mind himself, but I don’t even care!” Ciel snarled. “I was helpless, he made me helpless, and— and it just wasn’t fair! None of it is fair! I’ve done so much work planning this event for my company, I’m the Queen’s Watchdog, I’m the lord of an estate — and all of them only see a stupid bloody child when they look at me!” He propped up his forehead with a hand. “But I’m not, I’m just the same as them! I’m anything but a child, I’m…” Ciel bit his lip and stopped speaking. His blue eye was round and lost and filled with more anguish than Sebastian had witnessed from him in a long time.

Something important was unfolding inside of Ciel. Sebastian could see it, and he was very curious about it, but he knew he needed to be especially careful right now. Ciel was a sensitive person, but he put great effort into keeping the world from knowing it. If this much sadness was coming through in the boy’s features, something raw and tender had to be lurking just below the surface; something to be eased like a shy fox from a den.

“I think it was very wrong for Lord Filbert to talk to you the way that he did,” Sebastian began. Ciel gave a harsh snort of a laugh in response. “But the simple observations behind his words weren’t wrong. You are fourteen, and you are still growing. You are not a young child anymore, but you are, in fact, still a child. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Ciel was wide-eyed, bewildered. “No, no, that’s wrong! I’m not a child, because I can’t be one!” he shouted. He shook his head wildly. “It’s not about being fourteen! It’s not about growing! It’s about everything else! It’s about my accomplishments and—!” Ciel’s voice seemed to stop short right in his throat. He stood there with his mouth open for only a second, then finished, “It’s about everything else!”

“What do you mean by ‘everything else?’” Sebastian asked slowly.

Ciel looked at Sebastian like he was an idiot. “Everything! You know, to do with… with the manor fire and you showing up and when I came back and, and everything between those things!”

The boy’s words were rushed and losing some of their clarity as his emotions heightened. His rational side wasn’t engaged at all. But that was all right; Sebastian wondered if it would make the answer to his next question all the more honest. “Young master, if it isn’t related to age, tell me: how would you define a child?”

Ciel’s head was turned directly to the wall, so that only the exposed eye faced Sebastian. “A child is a… a weak and helpless person.”

Sebastian waited, then asked, “Is that all the criteria?”

Apparently not, because then, with great frustration, Ciel suddenly began rambling, “A child is a weak and helpless person who has to answer to somebody else about everything, who doesn’t know anything about the world yet and doesn’t have to know anything either because someone else knows, who, who doesn’t even want to know anything anyway, and a child is someone who has no control over their own life, who can’t do anything about it when they, when… When.” A hard, scrunching blink. “When.” Another hard blink. It was like Ciel was trying to exit a trance. His tongue moved subtly in his open mouth, struggling to get itself to respond.

Sebastian waited patiently for the words that finally came out greatly stilted. “It’s… when… someone… can’t… do… anything… about… it.”

Ciel had twisted his head so far away now that he was practically looking behind himself.

“Lord Filbert called you a child, which you define as someone weak and helpless,” said Sebastian. He wasn’t stating this to spell out the facts or to force Ciel to look at them, but to show that he understood the boy’s hurt.

A nod.

“Then he proceeded to make you feel weak and helpless, which in turn made you feel like the child he was naming you as.”

A smaller nod.

“And being made to feel so weak and helpless and childlike brings you back to ‘that horrible month,’ doesn’t it?”

No movement at all.

“Young master,” Sebastian murmured, “do you think you could try taking a deep breath now?”

Ciel turned his shoulder away. He breathed in through his mouth, audible, ragged. The exhale was cut short by a sudden, sharp inhale. He coughed. His body was starting to tremble. “D-Dammit.” His voice sounded waterlogged. He sniffed and showed Sebastian his back. “N-No one should be allowed to d-do this to me…”

“Oh,” said Sebastian.

Ciel had not cried openly in front of Sebastian in several years, but now it was happening, and it made an astounding feeling wash over Sebastian like a spring rain. As Ciel swiped shamefully at his face, trying to keep the tears from falling too far, the feeling spread across Sebastian’s chest, not unlike the stinging ache he’d felt there last night. It was giving him the overwhelming urge to seize the boy and hold him tight in the safety of his arms.

Sebastian knew this feeling. He’d felt it the day Ciel rode Avalon without permission, when Sebastian had imagined the danger Ciel was in and grabbed the boy off of the horse’s back without a thought in his head. He’d felt it again seeing Ciel frozen with fear at the top of Gwilym Hastings’s stairwell during their last mission; and again on the night they’d thrown the letters into the fireplace; and then again after Ciel spoke with Lyle Reubin at Jane’s party, and again at their first successful nightly meeting, and at every nightly meeting after that, and again after Ciel’s argument with Tanaka, and again last week after Ciel admitted to wanting to be hugged sometimes, even though it was hard, nearly impossible, to feel good about it, and again when Ciel had called him father, and…

Now.

The feeling had staggered Sebastian every time with its power. He had been terrified of it, because he feared nothing more than that which was stronger than himself. He was so terrified of its incredible strength that he hadn’t been able to name it. At least not until this moment, seeing the fear and guilt and shame emanating off this boy, his boy, and knowing that this powerful feeling armed him with the ability to send that shame away.

It was love. It was love.

It was love that made Sebastian want to seize Ciel and hold him tight in the safety of his arms, a place where surely nothing could ever harm him again, a place he deserved to know, as all children did. But it was also love that made Sebastian understand that it was too soon for that, too unusual for this boy who lived in perpetual fear of being loved. Ciel was crying now because love had been wrenched away from him years ago, and because touch had lost much of its association with love, and because Ciel knew that love and touch were weapons that could be used against him at any time. And Sebastian knew in this vulnerable moment that to offer an embrace could only serve to confuse and terrify the boy who still would not say ‘yes’ even to the hugs that a small part of him desperately yearned for.

So instead Sebastian stood up, reaching inside the folds of his jacket as he did so and taking out a handkerchief that was really just for show — or for this moment. He rounded the boy and crouched back down in front of him again. “There now, it’s all right. Have this.”

Ciel flinched at Sebastian’s closeness and took a few steps backward, still pawing at his wet face with his knuckles. “L-Leave me alone, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” Sebastian hushed. He held out the handkerchief where it could be seen; after a brief hesitation, Ciel snatched it away. “There you are. This is nothing to be ashamed of. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re all right.”

Ciel scrubbed at his face with the cloth, lifting up the eye patch to rub underneath it, but the self-loathing grimace didn’t disappear. “I’m not all right, I’m pathetic! There’s something wrong with me! I can’t control my feelings anymore, I’m so angry and sad all the time! I’m ridiculous!” His jaw trembled, and he busied himself with the handkerchief once more.

“You have a lot to be angry and sad about,” Sebastian reminded him. “But you never talked about that anger and sadness at our nightly meetings. And when you keep your feelings inside for a long time, eventually they find their way out. So, here they are.” Ciel scowled and coughed. Sebastian smiled, feeling the sympathy in it. “It’s all right, young master. This is a good thing. This is what you need to do right now.”

Ciel tried to glare at him, but the look was just too miserable to be angry. He seemed to realize it, too, because he glanced away after only a second and groaned, “Why, though? When am I just going to get over it already? It was so long ago, and I’m still…” His words got stuck at the end, and Ciel coughed again as he tried not to outright sob.

Sebastian hummed an understanding tone in the back of his throat. “They say time heals all wounds, but a wound certainly can’t heal if it isn’t treated properly — or allowed to breathe. And I would say you’ve neglected to give this wound the care it really needs, young master.” A pause. “I would say that we both have.”

Ciel still wouldn’t give himself a break. “But a year ago, I was fine in moments like these! All I had to do was tell myself to stop thinking and I would, easily, but now I’m so…” He sniffed hard. “Now I only need to be reminded of that horrible month just the slightest bit and then it’s like my thoughts can’t shut up about it. I’m… Ugh!” Ciel wrenched off the eye patch and dashed it to the carpet and rubbed the kerchief into his eyes a little too hard. “And now I’ve got that thing all wet, and my face looks terrible, and I don’t even want to be here anymore, and… and I’m so angry I can’t even think straight! I hate this!”

“Then let me think for both of us, just for now,” Sebastian said. He balanced an arm atop his knee and tried to get the boy to look him in the eyes. “Young master, there’s no law saying you need to stay until the end of the event. I can always tell Mr. Cavendish that you weren’t feeling well and he can give the closing remarks in your place. Would that bring you some relief?”

“No!” Ciel nearly shouted. “No, because then Lord Filbert might know that what he said affected me, and surely my family will be wondering after me… No, that would be the worst! What a stupid idea!”

“Very well, then we won’t do that,” Sebastian replied gently. “In that case, I think for now the best thing is to let your feelings run their course. After all, what you were reminded of is very sad. Keeping it inside at this moment would be too painful. It’s already been too painful.”

“Shut up!” Ciel glared at him with red-rimmed eyes and gritted teeth. “Just shut up! You don’t know what’s too painful for me! You don’t know what’s best! Anybody who says they know me is wrong! Everyone, including Lizzie and Soma and especially you! All of you are wrong! ”

“All right,” said Sebastian to the very face of fear. “All right.”

Sebastian went quiet. With no words to attach his anger to, Ciel was left unmoored. His furious expression gave way to anguish. He twisted away from Sebastian yet again. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. And though it was crushing to wait, Sebastian left the boy to his own thoughts — it was what he had asked for.

Eventually, Ciel lowered his hands, kneading the handkerchief in his fingers. He was looking at the floor. “Something is really wrong with me. I don’t know what to do about it. I feel so out of control. I can’t trust how I’ll react anymore. It’s so confusing.”

Sebastian allowed a smile to enter his voice. “Ah, young master… I believe that if you could see outside your own experiences right now, you would realize that there is nothing wrong with you at all.”

Ciel huffed at that but lacked any more energy for yelling. “That isn’t true. I can’t keep doing this, I’m completely overreacting. This isn’t an acceptable way to behave, and I don’t like doing it either.”

“I don’t disagree with you completely,” Sebastian said. “What I mean, at least, is that I think something needs to change, too. Considering the way you treat yourself and your own emotions, it isn’t surprising to me that you have no choice but to explode like this. I think if anybody experienced what you had and then insisted on keeping it to themself, they would act just the same. But most people wouldn’t keep all the experiences you’ve had to themself, not entirely. It’s time you didn’t either.”

“...” Slowly, Ciel faced Sebastian again. He was looking at him quizzically, still sniffling. “W-Why are you acting like this? Why are you trying to be kind to me?”

Sebastian knew he needed to be careful with his answer. “Because my job is to help you. And this is what helping you means right now, young master.”

Ciel was too smart to let that pass. “Then why isn’t this what ‘helping me’ looked like four years ago? Which isn’t me saying I wish you’d done this, by the way. I’m just asking.”

“I wasn’t a very good cook at first either, was I?” Sebastian reminded him. “There are some lessons that take much longer to learn than others.”

Ciel’s eyes were downcast. “I don’t know if that’s really the full story, but… whatever. I’m in no position to argue.” He bit his lip again. “I don’t know… if you hadn’t… I don’t… I don’t know if I’d be able to face anyone downstairs.” With a slight flush of embarrassment, Ciel forced himself to lift his chin. “How bad does it look? Is it noticeable?”

After a moment, Sebastian realized Ciel was talking about his appearance. The boy’s eyes were somewhat swollen and he seemed to have to breathe through his mouth now, but that was the worst of it. “It is somewhat noticeable, but you don’t need to go downstairs right away if you don’t want to. And that door in the corner is likely a connecting bathroom, so you can look in the mirror and wash your face if you like.”

Ciel nodded, slowly hanging his head again. “Er, yeah, I’ll… do that… I’m sure Mr. Doyle will be wondering about me, too. I tried not to leave the table too abruptly after Lord Filbert interrupted but I’m sure it was still a small scene… ugh. Mr. Doyle tried to stand up for me, too, and I had to interrupt him before he said something damning. That author would only get himself into trouble talking back to a marquis…” Ciel rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. Then, with a little shake of his head, he straightened up. “You should go back downstairs. It’s bad enough that the table has been unmanned all this time. Someone should really be there making sure all the guests are able to collect their gift before they leave.”

“Would you prefer it if I waited for you, though, young master?” Sebastian offered.

Ciel scowled lightly. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine now.” He took a deep breath, controlled. “I’m fine now. I don’t know what came over me.”

Sebastian chuckled, not unkindly; not a bit. The boy was so used to dismissing his own feelings that he managed to say something uncharacteristically erroneous. “Young master, you mustn’t forget so easily… We have just talked at length about what it is that ‘came over you.’ But I’ll remind you again that it isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

“Fine, fine, yes, you’re right, I do know what came over me,” Ciel huffed, face pinkening as he brushed past Sebastian and walked over to the door at the far end of the room. “But I’ll decide what I get to be ashamed about, not you. All right? Now just… go downstairs. I’ll join you again soon, once I… once I make sure I look normal.”

“Ah, wait a moment.” Sebastian retrieved the discarded eye patch from the floor. “It may make it more cumbersome to see yourself, but would you like help tying this on before I leave?”

Ciel paused. “Oh, right… um, yes.”

The boy stood there quietly and held the patch comfortably in place while Sebastian tied the looping bow with care. Then Sebastian freed the bangs that had been trapped by the string and smoothed the hair on the back of the young master’s head. Perhaps Sebastian could not hold Ciel in this vulnerable moment, but he was glad for the chance to give the boy some form of coddling, of tactual gentleness. “There you are, young master. That should do.”

“Mn.” Ciel walked over to the door then without another word. Sebastian remained crouched on the ground until he was certain he was dismissed. And though they spoke no more, Ciel did look back at him briefly with fresh injury still in his gaze — but there may have been a sheen of curiosity there too.

Once the door closed, Sebastian reluctantly left the guest room, with a sense in his core that things were going to be very different from here on.

Before moving back downstairs, Sebastian looked out at the second floor’s view. The foyer had evolved somewhat even in that short time. The auction had ended, as evidenced by the number of visitors gathering there and milling about the open space. Gentleman and even a scattering of ladies shook hands, chatted, gloated. Filbert’s distinct laugh sounded off from the middle of the pack somewhere. Sebastian would have liked very much to level that Scottish lord with a glare, as he’d done with Fairclough, but knew better than to try it. Fairclough was a nobody in this country and his own, but insulting the Marquis of Kirrieken would likely come around and have social consequences for his young master. Sebastian wasn’t going to risk that for anything.

It was only when he was back at the table that Sebastian remembered Mr. Erickson’s flight. The ballroom — he hadn’t checked it in time. He had lost his senses the second he heard Fairclough declare to Ciel that Sebastian was no match when it came to consolation. But still, there was no regret. Even if looking around the ballroom had only taken ten or twenty seconds, it would’ve been too late by Sebastian’s own high standards. As far as he was concerned, when it came to Fairclough, it was war.

Two people did wander over to claim their dolls at the last second, but otherwise no one came by during the fifteen minutes it took Ciel to collect himself and return. He showed up at Sebastian’s side like a ghost, silent and subdued. His jaw was set with the recognizable firmness of a person trying their best to be strong when all they want is to hide. Seeing this, Sebastian wanted very much for three o’clock to chime so all the partygoers would leave. Of course, even afterwards Ciel might think he should see to it personally that Lord Sedgemore’s manor was properly cleaned up and put back into place.

Sebastian sought to grant him an out. He leaned down slightly and said quietly, “Perhaps, once the event is over, we should make certain that Prince Soma returns to the London house as soon as possible.” He nodded over in the direction of the photography area, and Ciel followed his gaze. Indeed, Soma had folded his arms atop the mannequin rabbit’s head and was using them as a pillow for a nap.

Fortunately, Ciel agreed with a soft, “Mm. All right.” And then suddenly their table was being accosted again, with people who wanted to thank Lord Phantomhive one last time for the party, for the auction, for the collectible, for inventing Funtom Company. Sebastian had learned long before this moment that it was actually quite acceptable in this current era to leave a party without saying anything to the host at all, and many of the day’s guests had departed over an hour ago. The ones who remained were mostly the collectors, waiting for their auction prizes or simply talking with other hobbyists — or talking with Ciel. Sebastian could see the boy was reaching the threshold of what he could tolerate: his handshakes were getting weaker, his smiles no longer reaching his eyes.

“Ciel! Ciel!” Lizzie appeared to the boy’s left suddenly with her family behind her. “Mother says we have to leave before traffic picks up,” she explained sadly. “So I’m afraid we’ll be taking off before your closing words. Oh, but goodness, Ciel! You look so tired! Please say you’ll still come to dinner?”

Ciel cleared his throat. “Um, I think maybe I shouldn’t after all, Lizzie. I’m sorry.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, as if to protest, but Francis put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder to stop her. “That’s just as well,” she said to her nephew. “Come by tomorrow instead, after you’re fully rested. Anytime past noon is fine; we have nothing planned. Bring a book or a game, if you like. We can spend time relaxing in the drawing room as a family.”

Ciel nodded, somewhat mollified by his aunt’s mercy. “All right. Sure. That sounds nice. Um, thank all of you for coming today.” The Midfords gave their farewells then, and not long after Mr. Cavendish arrived to tell Ciel it was time to bring the ceremony to a close.

Sebastian watched the two of them climb the stairs to the balcony to address the crowd. The sense of pride was still with him, but it was not striking the same chord as this morning: Ciel was no longer here because he wanted to be, but because circumstances dictated he had to be. That gave his pride an angry glint. Why should circumstances dictate it? Especially for someone so young, who still had little choice but to follow the rules written by older humans. But even Sebastian had played right into the hands of the gentry. He had encouraged the boy to throw this enormous party, because the social season enforced that Ciel attend the whims of others at his own detriment, keep up appearances, act like an adult. Sebastian had not thought to tell the child to forget it all and simply be a child.

Applause resounded. Ciel had finished speaking. With that, the Funtom event was at last over.

As people milled toward the exit or to receive their auction prize, Sebastian noted, through lip movements, that Ciel told Mr. Cavendish to have the unclaimed Maharaja rabbits mailed to the London house. Ciel also apologized that he could not stay any longer, but that he had better make sure Prince Soma made it home in one piece. Cavendish was very understanding. He would see to everything. Think nothing of it. They would meet again on Monday to talk results. Until then.

Ciel waited for the majority of the crowd to move outdoors before he came back down the stairs, most definitely to avoid anyone else trying to thank him for the party. The applause had woken Soma up some while ago, and he was rubbing his eyes and smacking his lips sleepily. “Is it over?” he asked unnecessarily when Ciel finally did come back to the first floor.

“Yes, we’re all finished. Let’s go back to the London house now,” Ciel said simply.

Soma stretched his arms up over his head. “Mm, good! Because I really need a nap.”

The aforementioned nap hadn’t waited so far, and it didn’t wait on the ride back either. Soma had his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open nearly as soon as the carriage tottered off. It didn’t take Ciel long to follow suit. Initially, he had seemed to close his eyes simply to avoid having to make eye contact with Sebastian. Still, in only minutes he too was dozing. He slumped towards Soma, and for the duration of the ride the boys slept with one’s shoulder propping up the other. But home was not so far away to allow for deep rest. It wasn’t long before Sebastian was rousing them with his voice, preceding them out of the cab, putting down the step so they could emerge more easily.

The ever-attentive Agni was opening the door just as Soma slumped up the front steps. “Welcome home, my prince, Lord Ciel, Sebastian!” he cheered. “Oh, don’t you look as if you’ve worked very hard. I prepared Kashmiri kahwa, to celebrate and help you relax, but… it appears as if the both of you would much rather sleep than have tea right this moment. Hm?”

“Yeahhh,” Soma said through his yawn, already on his way to his bedroom. “Definitely gonna nap first… Then tea… Keep it warm or something please…”

“I’ll do what I can,” Agni assured him. “It went well though, yes? Everything was fine?”

But Soma had already trudged up and disappeared down the first corridor, his mind on one thing only.

“How rude of him,” Ciel surprised both Agni and Sebastian by speaking up suddenly, voice managing to resound in the high ceiling of the hall even though its quality was growing hoarse. “I think he plans on keeping you in suspense. But don’t worry. I promise you he ate and drank and bent his knees and did all the other things that you nagged after him to do.”

Agni was stunned for a moment. Then he laughed brightly. “Ah, Lord Ciel! Thank you for your reassurance, even though I know you are joking with me. That is kind of you.”

“... Mm. Well, now I think I’ll follow Soma’s lead and take a nap as well. If that tea keeps on a low flame, we’ll enjoy it after we wake up.”

“Certainly, sir! I hope your sleep is restful.”

It seemed a promising thing that Ciel had been lighthearted with Agni. Ciel was not one to jest unless he was in good spirits — or he wanted to be in them. When they arrived in the bedroom, his fragility returned when there was no longer a need to pretend. He was very quiet as Sebastian unburdened him of the event’s layered clothing and put him into his softest, oldest nightshirt, a thing that was thread-worn and stretched oddly in places from Mey-Rin’s sorry work at the washboard; a thing Sebastian would have thrown away months ago if he didn’t recognize how its familiarity brought Ciel peace. Ciel bunched the sleeves in his fists and rubbed his fingers over the material without seeming to notice he was soothing himself. He sat on his bed and looked at the floor. After a moment, Sebastian sat on the bed too, by the footboard.

For a while, nobody spoke. Then Ciel said, “Maybe I was too hasty when I called off our nightly meetings.” He’d admitted it hastily as well. He looked cautious. “But the thing is, I hated them sometimes too. I didn’t always want to have them. But I didn’t have a choice in it, really. And sometimes actually I think it felt better that I didn’t have a choice, but other times I hated you for it. So. I don’t know. I don’t know what else to say.” He stared sidelong at Sebastian as if for direction.

Sebastian offered it. The North Star was easy for him to pinpoint, now. “Young master, if there’s anything I want you to take away from our nightly meetings, it’s that I will make myself available whenever you need to talk. And when you don’t want to talk, that’s all right too.”

Ciel hesitated again. He stared at his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “You really think talking about it will help?”

“Yes, I really do.”

The boy’s grip tightened on the lip of the mattress. “... I don’t really want to, though. I really don’t know if I… N-No. I don’t want to.” His eyelids crimped as he said it.

Sebastian nodded. “Of course you don’t want to, young master. Of course you don’t… You likely aren’t ready to. You might not be ready for a while yet. And that’s all right. You don’t need to say everything at once.” An idea shone out to him then, like a coin shines in the sun solely for the fortunate person who passes it from just the right angle. “You can practice by noticing when you feel angry or sad or anxious and telling me that you feel that way. You don’t have to say the reason for your feelings, or even to know the reason, for that matter. But acquainting yourself with that honesty and awareness seems like a good place to start. Do you think so?”

Ciel shrugged limply. “I guess. I mean… I don’t want… what happened today… to happen again. If I can keep that from happening, then… it might be worth it.” Ciel nodded shortly a few times, as if to encourage himself that maybe this was the right thing to do.

It made Sebastian soften to see it. “I hope it will be worth it, sir. We’ll only know if we try.” He sighed out his nose. “And what happened today may happen again — it won’t help you to dismiss the possibility. But if it does, we can be all the more prepared for it.”

Ciel glared at him, though it was weak and once more veiled with something like curiosity. Then the boy’s eyes were hidden beneath his lids as he snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to think about it ever happening again. It had better not. If my growth spurts keep up, by the next social season I’ll have grown enough to stop being mistaken for a child. It won’t be much longer now.”

Sebastian wanted to say the opinions of others weren’t the matter here; only the young master’s opinion of himself. Despite Sebastian’s gentle insistence, it was clear Ciel still didn’t see himself as a child after all. That was going to need remedying too. Ah, there was so much to do… but there was plenty of time to do it. Right now, what the boy needed most of all was sleep.

Sebastian stood up and pulled back the covers as Ciel moved to settle onto the pillows. “I’m afraid the rate at which you grow and what other people think are aspects outside of even my control. Instead, let us focus on what we can control, which is the way you and I approach your feelings.”

Ciel rolled onto his side as soon as Sebastian had the covers over his shoulder. “Whatever.”

“Yes, I agree: whatever happens, we shall weather it.” Ciel groaned at his butler’s sorry attempt at positivity. “Now, now, I hope you have a nice nap.” Sebastian closed the curtains, crossed the room, and spoke a final time when he had his hand on the door knob. “Ah, and one last thing, young master?”

“What?” The voice sounded drearily annoyed.

“You did very, very well today. I couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried.”

Silence. Then at last, a small, tired, hesitant, “All right.”

“Call for me when you are ready. Dinner will be waiting for you then.”

Today when Sebastian closed the door behind him, there was no uncertainty about his role in the boy’s life. 

He could have laughed, loud and long, if it weren’t for the concern it would raise. But it all seemed so silly now! Really; this was what he had been afraid of all this time? This incredible power and strength that came in the form of love? Had he really looked down on the concept for so long? It was suddenly no surprise at all, the lengths at which humans would go for the ones they cared about. Love was confidence and bravery and strength all wrapped up into one. How could he have ever guessed? So long Sebastian had only considered the vulnerability that came with love. How unexpected that it would also award him such a rush of capability.

He could never look back. Sebastian had never been more certain in his life of who he needed to be, what he needed to do. Foreign magic be damned: as long as Sebastian was near, the young master’s soul couldn’t be safer from predators. And Sebastian would never leave the boy stranded again. He would rush to his side, without a thought, without fear, just as he did today. He loved Ciel as a parent. He was no longer ashamed to know it. Someday, when he was ready, Ciel would know it too. Sebastian would make sure of it.

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Not to examine the ballroom that day had been a terrific error.

Sebastian stood, heaving with leftover rage, in the moonlit gardens of the man he had just killed. Fairclough’s grotesque visage was like a mask of Melpomene hanging from that bare December branch, and his blood was an aerosol in the back of Sebastian’s throat. I should have done this sooner, Sebastian thought, forgetting it would have been impossible. Then he could have prevented the words that parted those flat purple lips now frozen in perpetual horror. But the man’s demise was no cure-all; it could not erase that which had already been spoken. If only it—

Then, suddenly, with no warning or preamble to speak of, the ground opened up and swallowed Sebastian whole.

Chapter Text

In a place far beyond the detection or comprehension of mortals, creatures reliant on the human soul gather and interpret the words of humanity. The prayers and grievances and cries and even the writing of humans travel across space and time to this very spot as if drawn to it by magnetism. It is a place of living echoes, a cathedral, a cave. It is a place to lie in wait.

The cacophony of knowledge deafens weaker creatures. They cannot linger here for long. But the beings who are powerful enough to sort through the reverberations of a trillion voices stay and listen for the words of the souls that may feed them.

The beings’ reasons for waiting there differ greatly. There is rarely any competition or animosity between them. What one being may consider an important voice another may consider utterly worthless. But within that place of ceaseless knowledge and noise, two creatures slowly begin to eye each other with the understanding that they are there for a similar purpose.

And that purpose is not hunger. It is curiosity.

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What was the definition of a child?

From the horse’s mouth, a child was a weak and helpless person who had to answer to somebody else about everything; someone who didn’t know anything about the world yet and didn’t have to or want to, because someone else knew; someone who had no control over their own life. Someone who couldn't do anything about it when they…

… answer forthcoming.

Or so the answer should be forthcoming, Sebastian felt. Just because the demon had a very good guess as to what Ciel Phantomhive had endured during “that horrible month” didn’t mean it should remain unspoken. Sebastian knew well the repercussions of fear, and shame. He knew the fact that Ciel couldn’t even bring himself to think about the abuse that happened at the hands of the cultists meant that both deep-seated fear and shame had the boy in their grips. And Sebastian had come to understand that inner peace was unreachable until Ciel saw that he had nothing to be ashamed of; until he was able to speak the truth and discover that the world was ready to love him as he was, no more or less.

But Ciel was far from ready to speak the truth. The moment he had even tried to do it, his words had stopped short in his mouth and his thoughts had been unable to complete themselves. So the answer should be forthcoming, and so Sebastian had every intention of assisting Ciel on the way to that answer.

But intention wasn’t enough. Did Sebastian really know how to help him?

He’d been trying to help the boy for half the summer. That had been the real meaning for their nightly meetings: to get Ciel talking about his past. Well, Sebastian supposed Ciel had talked about his past — every part of his past other than the horrible month. So, though the meetings thus far had taught Sebastian a lot about his charge in their own way, the most important bit had yet to be unearthed.

Ciel was almost certainly going to keep struggling his way towards adulthood if he continued to believe that he already was one. This belief was by half a way of shouldering his duties as the noble head of a house and by half a way of reconciling with his trauma. In both regards, Sebastian knew this meant some things would have to change and that he would need to lead the way when it came to making those changes. Above all else, Ciel needed to see that adulthood was something he was allowed to grow into naturally on his own terms.

But Sebastian’s newfound confidence in the power of love was waning fast. He’d been winging it all this time, and often that had been fine, but… now that Sebastian had accepted his role as a parent, it suddenly occurred to him that he was not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. And unlike with chess and cooking and history and language and math… there were no books for raising children Ciel’s age. He could not study his way to success as he had in the past. Trial and error were all he had…

Trial and error and Agni!

Of course! Agni would know where to begin: he had already proven his perceptive nature when it came to Ciel. Just the first night of their stay in the London house, he had shown keen understanding of Ciel’s insecurities around personal space and special accommodations. And Agni had already made it clear that he saw Sebastian as a friend. This was nothing like approaching the Midford parents for help, where making requests needed to be handled with delicacy; he and Agni were of the same status, and Sebastian could speak with him naturally, without holding back questions or worrying about propriety.

Now was the perfect time to confront Agni too. Soma and Ciel would be resting for the next few hours, and it was unlikely there would be any sudden visitors to interrupt. Without another thought, Sebastian found himself hurrying to the kitchen with a haste that was almost graceless (or at least by his own standards).

When he made it, he shoved open the door to the area in a rush. “Agni, I—”

“Ah, Sebastian, there you are! I was quite sure you’d come here next!” Agni interrupted before Sebastian could get in another word. He was standing by the stove but spun around abruptly to reveal a bowl of opaque golden broth he had already ladled out of a huge cookpot. “Our young masters may be resting, but there is plenty of mulligatawny soup for us to partake in, and it’s fresh off the stove! Please help yourself, I’m sure you’re quite hungry!”

Sebastian blinked at the assortment of rice and carrots and cilantro floating cheerily in their warm bath. “Oh.” The idea of sampling human food yet again could not be less appealing. And his already-unpracticed performance of eating was sure to suffer even worse when there were other things on his mind. “Erm, I’m quite alright, actually… There was plenty of food at the event.”

Agni cocked his head to the side with a smile that was only slightly aggrieved. “Ah, what a shame! I was so looking forward to having you try it. But never mind, there will be time later. What did you come for in such a hurry if not a meal, then? Is everything all right?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, leveling his shoulders. “Well. No, not exactly. In truth, Agni, I am very much in need of your help.”

With that admission, Agni’s demeanor took on an immediate shift. His eyes cinched with concern and the corners of his mouth tightened before he turned to the stove and poured the bowl of soup back into its pot. Then he was facing Sebastian again, locking their eyes. “If you of all people are asking me for help, Sebastian, then I know it must be very serious. Let us sit and talk at once.”

Agni took a stool out from underneath the huge wooden worktable between them and waited for Sebastian to sit down across. Sebastian did so, even though it always felt odd for him to sit like this. He preferred standing above all else and could only truly feel comfortable in a reclined position if he was allowed to sprawl wherever he pleased. To sit on a stool was to have some parts of his body engaged and other parts dormant, and it was altogether vastly unappealing. The oddities of human comfort…

But this interaction was revealing to him a point of communication he had never much acknowledged before: that humans sat to show others they were available for conversation, to listen. Sebastian had been sitting or kneeling around Ciel lately, with the thought that young humans were like prey creatures and there was a part of their psyche that must feel like being loomed over was the same as being hunted. He had not realized that the act of sitting had also told the boy I am not going to leave you; I am happy to stay in your company as long as you need. The sudden realization was riveting. He had done something right without even meaning to!

This excitement was short-lived. Agni stared back at him now, waiting patiently yet expectantly for him to begin speaking, and so Sebastian did. “My young master is having a difficult time,” he explained. “He is going through adolescence while trying to come to terms with a traumatizing event of his youth. The old feelings snuck up on him at the convention, and he needed my help to face them. I was all too willing to provide a listening ear, yet all the same I am uncertain if I was helpful in actuality. I’m not at liberty to give details of what my young master experienced four years ago… nor, for that matter, do I have all the details to give. I am certain that he wouldn’t want me to be telling you this, though.”

“I’m glad that you are,” Agni said. “Does anybody else know about this experience Lord Ciel had when he was younger?”

Sebastian hesitated. “Some, including Prince Soma, are familiar with certain details, but none know the full story. I am quite sure that my young master does not speak with anyone else as freely as he speaks with me, but there are still many secrets between us.”

“I see…” Agni gazed down at the table sadly. Seconds later, he looked up again with a nod. “Then it is very important that you are telling me, Sebastian. Even without knowing what Lord Ciel went through, I can promise you this much: it needs attention. No one was meant to endure pain on their own, children especially. And I have a foreboding sense that what he has been through is especially frightful…”

Sebastian tilted an eyebrow. “You insinuated, when we spoke a week ago, that that was a fear you possessed. Is there something in particular that you think may have happened to my young master? And what tipped you off?”

Agni went quiet, eyelids closing as he thought. When he opened them again, there was something about the look that seemed forceful, as if it was difficult to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “I do not often speak of my previous life before Prince Soma,” he began steadily. “But I do not necessarily try to shield myself or others from the truth either, for from humility one is able to grow. So, I must admit that five years ago I was not a person worth being proud of, Sebastian. I gambled away gold that I’d stolen from my own family, and drank to excess, and lay with married women who were just as faithless as me. I was an entirely shameful man.”

Agni recited all this with clear anguish. Sebastian couldn’t quite bring himself to look moved. Really, was that all… it sounded like the typical case of a mortal caving to his kind’s natural, primal desires, but Sebastian supposed some demons would find these simple offenses interesting enough.

“But,” here Agni’s expression turned to stone, “on this dark path I traveled, I met people who were a far different strain of wicked, who lavished not in overindulgence but in causing pain. Especially to those who could not fight back against them.” Agni took a long, deep breath. “All that to say, Sebastian, that I have seen evil, and I have seen the unfortunate victims of evil… and that I am very hopeful that Lord Ciel was not such a victim.”

After a moment, Sebastian realized that Agni was saying all this to grant him a lesson in what the darker side of humanity looked like, because Agni thought Sebastian was unaware. Well… best not to show how amusing that notion was. He had to stay focused on the reason he’d reached out in the first place. He needed to help Ciel.

“What should I say to him?” Sebastian asked. “How can I convince him to talk to me about this? I’ve been trying for well over a month, but he avoids the topic because he’s very afraid.”

Agni shook his head with a gentle look. “Of course he’s afraid. It’s best to respect his fear and simply focus on reassuring him that you will stay by his side no matter what. If and when he’s ready, he will tell you. If you try to force the subject, it will only make him feel that he has no control, or that his feelings are less important than yours.”

That made sense. It felt too easy, but… then again, it had never exactly been easy for Sebastian to sit idly (especially not on a stool). “Then is there anything I can do in the meanwhile?”

“Certainly there is,” was the relieving answer. “For starters, you can show Lord Ciel that you are available to speak anytime he needs. There mustn’t be any doubt in his mind that you are completely approachable — or nearly completely, of course, you are a busy person, and it is not always possible. But he must know your willingness.”

Sebastian found himself perking at that. He’d already gotten started on that step. He was well on the path after all. “What next?” he said, feeling overeager.

Agni folded his hands atop the table and gave him a kind yet frank smile. “You must spend time together, beyond your duties to him as a butler. I understand that in your position that may be very difficult, but you must do the best you can. Perhaps you could tutor Lord Ciel in a subject in place of one of his teachers. If you didn’t have a formal education, you could instead teach him something unique to your skillset that a noble may not typically learn. For example, on top of his other studies I have taught Soma about cooking, and he has enjoyed it very much. I’m not sure entirely of your upbringing, but I know you are very smart and capable! Perhaps there is something you learned along the way that Lord Ciel could benefit from or at least be interested in.”

“I used to be my young master’s tutor in all things,” Sebastian explained. “I only stopped when it became clear that he wanted other professors… Initially, I was the only one he allowed to instruct him.” Come to think of it, was that fear-driven too? How have I never recognized it?

Agni was laughing brightly. “Oh, you are very well learned! I should have guessed from your dignified nature. That works perfectly then.” He nodded. “But, no matter what, it is vital that you help your young master learn about the most important subject in his life: himself.”

Sebastian was confused by that. “I thought I was supposed to wait for him to approach me before I did anything in that direction.”

“You should wait for Lord Ciel to tell you, on his own, about the trauma he’s suffered,” Agni explained. He put a hand over his heart. “That information is personal and precious, and it deserves respect. But there is a lot to do to prepare him for that conversation. For instance… does Lord Ciel even have the knowledge to request your help? How aware is he of his own needs? Does he know how to seek praise, or affection, or comfort? He may need to be taught, and if so he’ll need you to be his teacher.”

Sebastian had to restrain himself from leaning too far across the table. “And how do I teach him these lessons?”

“At first, you may have to be very plain with him,” Agni said. “If you think he is entirely unaware of his emotional needs, you will have to bring them to his attention in very obvious ways. You should tell him you are proud of him often, so that he can begin to recognize his own feelings around your pride and become comfortable with the idea that you are proud. When he seems upset, you should always ask him if he wants to tell you what’s wrong. And even when he doesn’t seem upset, you should become accustomed to asking him how he feels and if he needs anything, but don’t fret if he denies you an answer. In fact, he may find your attention very irritating, but you don’t need to hide from him why you’re doing this, if he asks. You can tell him it’s because it will help him take care of himself — and fortunately, I imagine he’ll vastly prefer not having to request praise or affection of his own volition.”

Again, Sebastian was gratified to hear he’d done the right thing without needing to be told. But the last sentence left him again confused. “Wait, now. I thought I wanted the young master to learn how to ask for these things on his own?”

“Lord Ciel is very smart, and children are perceptive,” Agni said with a smile. “I imagine he’ll learn from your example, the ways that you talk to him. And the more you give him opportunities to share his feelings, and help him understand them, the more he will associate his stronger emotions with sharing.”

That made sense… humans were nothing if not creatures of habit. Sebastian stared at Agni, rather impressed. “How in the world did you learn all this?”

Agni laughed sheepishly. “The years I’ve spent with Soma have given me plenty of time to think… When I first began working for him, I realized how naive my prince was, how easily he could veer down the same miserable path I had tread. I asked myself, what would I have needed at his age that could have stopped me from becoming a blasphemer and delinquent? The answer was simple, when it came down to it. If an adult had listened to me, accepted me, and fought to understand me, I would have grown into a different man.” He paused and laughed to himself suddenly, perhaps thinking of a memory. “That doesn’t mean my younger self wouldn’t have needed to learn some lessons the hard way. Sometimes children have to fall in order to grow. But they should never fall hard… Someone should be there to catch them, yes? In any case, when in doubt, you too should draw on your experiences as a child in order to decide what to do.”

“Ah…” Sebastian felt the awkwardness of this moment. He didn’t have any childhood experiences that could possibly relate to the young master’s. Sebastian’s development had been less like a baby into an adult and more like a piece of dust into a dark star. There was a time when he was basic and brainless, and then one instant it seemed, like the flipping of a switch, he had survived long enough to have mature, intelligent thoughts. There had never been an innate need for care or sensitivity. He was built to rely solely on himself, like a newly hatched turtle scurrying unguarded towards the sea as the gulls circled overhead. The turtle did not lament the absence of a parent; it was never meant to be parented.

Understandably, Agni misinterpreted the hesitation. “There’s nothing to fear, Sebastian,” he tried to encourage. “Lord Ciel already has great faith in you, and that faith is there for a reason. He has seen the truth of who you are, and he knows you’re someone he can rely on.”

Again, Sebastian could hardly keep the bitter irony from tweaking his expression. A demon raising a human child… well, it had always been laughable, but now it was for a new reason. Sebastian had spent countless hours worrying about what was wrong with him for feeling sympathetic. Now it seemed he would spend countless hours worrying whether his sympathy could even be a useful tool. Was he really meant to be a parent? Did he naturally lack the qualities that would allow the young master to heal? He didn’t possess the full scope of human understanding. Would Agni’s teachings be enough to fill in the gaps?

One thing was definitely true: Ciel knew the truth of who Sebastian was. But did the boy really feel that Sebastian was reliable? Did Sebastian? Well, despite it all, by some miracle, Sebastian had been getting a few things right all on his own. With practice, perhaps he could get the rest right too.

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Three hours passed before Sebastian ventured back to the bedroom with a steaming bowl of mulligatawny soup and a fresh pot of Kashmiri kahwa tea arranged atop a trolley. It occurred to him, as he arrived outside the door, that this scene was very similar to one in the midst of the circus mission, when Sebastian came to wake Ciel up after he had rested off the tail end of his asthma exacerbation. Sebastian had just been berated by Agni and Soma for not coddling Ciel enough, which had been a very surprising lesson at the time. He had always thought coddling was reserved for infants. But if they insisted…

Of course, the following scene of cooing and attempted spoon-feeding had rendered the young master utterly stupefied, and the Sebastian of that day had been perfectly accepting of the critique, “I don’t need your fawning. It’s disgusting.” But Sebastian was wiser now. He understood that coddling was a thing that all humans needed to some degree, but its definition was not limited to babying. He intended to try and show that understanding more clearly.

So, he knocked gently on the door, was unsurprised by the lack of response from the other side, and entered the bedroom seconds later with the words, “Pardon my intrusion, sir. I thought I would come to wake you, before the evening grew too late.” He pushed the trolley before him and closed the door.

Sebastian turned to look at the young master and abruptly had to give a sniff of a laugh. Ciel was not much of one for naps these days and his sleep had clearly been a boisterous one. His head had slipped off the pillow, and one of his legs drooped haphazardly over the edge of the mattress, and the white sheets had been kicked around like snow piles. But with another warm suggestion of, “My lord, it’s time to wake up now,” Ciel’s arms quickly shoved his body upwards with a sleepy grunt. He stared wild-eyed at Sebastian before abruptly turning opposite to look at the window, where he saw daylight was fading.

His head whipped back again. “What time is it?!”

Sebastian beamed down at him as he brought the trolley around to the side of the bed. “Seven on the dot, you’ll find. The rest seemed necessary, so I thought it best not to interrupt until now.”

Ciel blinked at Sebastian for a moment, then let out a long sigh. “Ugh, that was such a strange nap… I think I dreamt but I don’t really remember what it was about…” He scrubbed at his eyes and shook his head and ran a hand through his hair as Sebastian poured and prepared the tea. “I almost wish I hadn’t taken a nap at all, but I felt like I couldn’t stay awake for another second either, so I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You had a truly busy day today, sir. And considering Soma came by to tell you about his dream around two or three a.m., perhaps last night’s sleep was not of the highest quality either.” Sebastian stirred a sugar cube into the teacup and then handed it over.

“I don’t know. I barely remembered him coming in, so I’m not sure it was that bad.” Ciel went to take a sip, then jerked his head back from the cup in surprise. “Wha—? Why is this tea bright pink?!”

“Ah, yes. Agni was explaining to me that it has to do with the way Kashmiri kahwa leaves are fermented,” Sebastian said brightly. “What you’re seeing is a chemical reaction caused by boiling the tea with baking soda. The color is then preserved with a shock of cold water. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“You could warn someone before handing them such a strange-looking drink!” Ciel stared into the cup with something like uneasiness, then drank very tentatively, eyeing Sebastian as he did so. He licked his upper lip thoughtfully. “Well, it’s very creamy. I wasn’t expecting a citrus tea… Hmm. I wonder how feasible it might be to serve this at the Funtom restaurant. Children would probably order it just for the color, but they may like the taste too, even though it’s rather complex for a young palate. I’ll have to write it down so I don’t forget.”

Sebastian bowed slightly. “I’m sure Agni will be very pleased to hear you feel that way. Fortunately, you’ll get the chance to tell Mr. Cavendish about this idea when you meet with him on Monday to discuss the convention.”

With that reminder, Ciel tensed slightly, emotion shifting across his eyes as his memory of the earlier day returned in full: the Funtom event, the altercation with Lord Filbert, the conversation in the Sedgemore guest bedroom, the tears and heartache, Sebastian’s comforting… Ciel’s expression gradually became guarded with the recollection. He took a distracted sip of tea and seemed not to want to look at Sebastian. “Um… so…” He grimaced. “Do we have to talk more about what happened at the convention?”

Ah, here it was. His chance to try out Agni’s lessons. Sebastian tucked his hands behind his back. “No, we do not. We don’t have to talk about anything that you’d rather not talk about.”

Ciel looked lightly surprised, then disbelieving. “Really? You aren’t going to find some surreptitious way to force it?”

Sebastian shook his head and smiled. “No, young master. From here on, I shall do my utmost not to spur you into conversations you’d rather not have. However, please don’t mistake my leniency for indifference. If a discussion is what you’d like, I’m more than happy to have it.”

Ciel’s expression remained unchanged. “No more conversations I’d rather not have… Really. So, just how many conversations do you expect to happen from here out?”

Sebastian didn’t take the bait. “I see the young master’s sense of humor has woken up as well.”

Ciel tightened one corner of his mouth, perhaps a bit miffed that his slight had been deflected so effortlessly. “Still. If you expect me to happily tell you everything I’m thinking and feeling, then you’re out of luck. I’m not happy about it. The only reason I’m even entertaining the idea of being more honest with you is because you said it may keep me from… from losing control of my emotions again. And I’ll try almost anything to avoid that.”

Well, it was a start… “Then allow me to better clarify, young master. I will not force you to have any conversation you don’t want to have. But that doesn’t mean I won’t invite them. You have to decide if you’re willing to speak your feelings on your own. And if you do choose to be honest with me about how you feel, I can promise you that I will continue to listen without judgment and with the desire to help you, just as I did earlier today.”

Ciel studied him strangely. “And… remind me why you’re promising this again?”

It was still too soon for total honesty. “Because I’ve come to understand that you, like every young person, cannot be expected to grow up all on your own, without any reassurance or guidance.”

The studying transformed back into glaring. “... So, whether or not I’m an adult is still in question.”

Sebastian shook his head. “On the contrary, sir. There is no question whatsoever that you are not yet an adult.”

Ciel folded the arm that wasn’t holding the teacup against himself. “How can you say that so easily? Do other children kill for a living? Do other children go on missions for the Queen? Not a bit of me is like a child anymore.” When Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, Ciel held up his hand to stop him and rolled his eyes. “All right, yes, I know, I’m still growing, I’m fourteen, fine, I’m not an idiot. But I don’t behave like a child, is what I mean.”

Sebastian tipped his head to the side. “But you do, young master. You behave like a child who’s been given a lot of responsibility and is handling it the best he can: by showing only his mature side to the world and hiding his fears until they can no longer be internalized.” Ciel’s mouth opened with disgust. “Apologies if I sound as though I am repeating the sentiments of Lord Filbert. It wasn’t at all right for him to belittle you simply because you are young. And I know that you’ve mastered many subjects and skills. You’re mature and intelligent, and you know a great deal about making money and running a business. All of these things are true.” Sebastian lowered his chin. “But these are not what make adulthood. Adulthood can only come with time. And you deserve to take that time just as well.”

Ciel’s posture hunched slightly, temporarily stumped. He chewed at his lip, trying for a new angle. “... But it isn’t just that,” he eventually said, hesitant but wanting to win. “I told you before that I couldn’t be a child even if I wanted to be, and I meant it.”

Ah. So he was pushing that point again.

During their conversation so far, Sebastian had been standing up. Given the way the sheets were in complete disarray, sitting on the bed did not currently seem advisable or desirable. But now Sebastian spread his tailcoat beneath him and sat on the least disorderly section he could spot. He leaned towards his charge slightly, who eyed him all the while.

“If you are implying to me that terrible events outside of your control are what make you an adult,” Sebastian said deliberately, “then that is certainly an idea we should have done away with.”

Ciel stared at him hard, somewhere between affronted and staggered. Out of fear or frustration, his breathing picked up speed, his chest rising slightly with it. Then a thought seemed to occur, and Ciel laughed bitterly, back to being in control. “Damn demon. As if you didn’t push for me to act this way. You don’t think I had to grow up fast because of you too? The ways you tried to trap me early on into giving up on my revenge? You’re insulting me as well as yourself when you say I’m a child, you know.”

Again, Sebastian wouldn’t take the bait. “I did what I thought was right at the time. It is no longer what I recognize as right. And I certainly see no reason why ‘child’ should be considered an insult. It was one of the many ways in which Lord Filbert was wrong today.”

Ciel was very quiet. After a few seconds, that strange, studying gaze returned. Sebastian studied him back; he could see the gears turning behind the boy’s mismatched eyes. Finally, Ciel broke it off. “It looks like you brought food, so let me have it before it grows cold. And then what did you make me for dinner? I didn’t end up eating very much at the convention and I slept through afternoon tea, so I hope you have something substantial planned. I’m starving.”

Sebastian felt himself relax. It was fine with him that the young master wanted to end the dialogue there… Ciel could have steered things towards an argument or yelled at Sebastian to mind his business, but he didn’t, and that seemed like a huge victory for the moment. In truth, Sebastian felt very proud of Ciel for being so comparatively receptive to an uncomfortable topic but recognized that saying so right now may come across as mocking.

So instead, he hopped to his feet and resumed his butler duties. “Apologies, sir; I have mulligatawny soup for you to start with, which I hope has cooled palatably while we spoke. And I assumed you may prefer a proper celebratory feast tomorrow when you are with the Midford family, so for tonight I have prepared something more familiar and revitalizing: a mince pie of the remaining roast lamb and potatoes, accompanied by asparagus vinaigrette. And, since I too assumed you’d be quite peckish, I’ve prepared a Sachertorte for dessert.”

Ciel dipped his spoon into the broth as soon as it was presented and took a brimming sip. “Fine, sounds reasonable. The roast last night was good, so I’m perfectly content to cap off the day with leftovers. Though the cake was an even better thought. I was thinking I should have said something to you about making a chocolate dessert before I went to sleep, so at least you got that right on your own.”

Sebastian offered another small bow. “I’m glad to know you are satisfied, sir. I shall prepare a new wardrobe for you while you enjoy the rest of your soup.”

As he darted around preparing the clothing, Sebastian tried not to smile too widely to himself. That hadn’t been so bad! Really, he’d done pretty well! Ciel had put up a few fences for him here and there, but Sebastian had sprung over them with ease. Maybe he was cut out for this parenting thing after all! And maybe, after that scene in the Sedgemore House guest room, Ciel really was prepared to start viewing Sebastian as a source of comfort. The idea made the glimmer of self-satisfaction soften into warmth. That was what Sebastian wanted now, above all else… for Ciel to no longer see his demon as an opportunist who was waiting to feed on his soul the instant he stumbled, but a mentor to right him before he slipped too far.

The confidence surged in him like blood, the power of his newfound love beating in his chest like a heart. But by the end of that week, he’d come to know that he’d have his work cut out for him. Ciel would make sure of that.

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Sebastian wouldn’t come to understand it the next day. The next day was when he and Ciel traveled to the Midford’s terraced home in the Pimlico district along Belgrave Avenue. Despite the area being nearly as opulent as the one around Sedgemore House, the most noble of Pimlico’s residents were of the mind that the area had started to “go downhill” since the construction of more affordable housing began. Francis Midford was among them.

“Another Peabody estate is being constructed by the St. Katharine Docks,” was the first thing she said after greeting her nephew. She sat tall on the plush drawing-room sofa without leaning back against it and stirred gently at her cup of smoky Earl Gray. “Alexis’s father purchased this residence forty years ago so that he could be near the Houses of Parliament, back when development was new. The four of us haven’t needed to spend very much time here as a family before, so the local population was never an issue for us, nor something we made note of. But now that Edward is out of college and will be learning firsthand what makes a marquis, he may be visiting the city more often. I think Alexis ought to find us different lodgings in Mayfair.”

Ciel accepted his own teacup after Sebastian offered it. “The Gosvenor family owns most of the buildings there, don’t they? The rental fees are bound to be ridiculous.”

Francis squared her shoulders. “Yes, well, we can afford it. It will certainly be worth our while if it keeps Edward from getting involved with dandies and ne’er-do-wells looking for other young men to join their slovenly way of life.”

“Uh, somehow I don’t see that being an issue with Edward…” Ciel glanced to the side as if trying to imagine his obedient and chivalrous-to-a-fault cousin attempting to be any bit rebellious against the mother he idolized like anything. “Speaking of Edward, where is he? And Uncle Alexis and Elizabeth?”

Indeed, Francis Midford had been the only one in the huge drawing room when they arrived, not even with a maid or footman available to serve the tea, hence why Sebastian had taken over the duty. “Ah, yes,” Francis began, and cleared her throat. “In typical Midford fashion, everyone had a bit of excess energy pent up after spending the last evening in and decided they had better put it to use before you arrived. Thus, a sparring match erupted that lasted well over the course of an hour as the three of them chased each other all around the house… So, I imagine they are currently making themselves presentable for your company.”

“I-I see…” Ciel said. That did explain the scuffing on the hall carpets and portraits knocked askew and the maid carrying away the Bristol vase in seven neat pieces that they saw on their way in. But Sebastian knew it also meant that Ciel felt slightly awkward being in the room with only his aunt to talk to. “So… you didn’t partake, then? I know you enjoy sparring, too. Even if it seemed to have gotten rather out of hand.”

“Of course. Someone needed to be ready to receive you if you came by just after noon,” Francis said simply. “I’m sure the three of them will come downstairs soon enough. But this is just as well. There is something that I wanted to tell you privately.”

Ciel stiffened at that, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him — if this was another conversation about burgeoning adulthood, it was sure to be especially harrowing without Elizabeth’s presence to soften the blow. “Oh, uh, w-what is it, Aunt Francis?” Ciel said, expression and tone equally unsure.

Aunt Francis seemed to be stealing herself for the upcoming conversation as well. She sat even taller, an impressive feat really, and fixed Ciel with a serious look. “I am glad,” she told him, “that you did not join us for dinner last night.”

Ciel had been about to take a drink but here lowered his teacup with inquisition. “Oh? Did something unexpected happen at dinner?”

“No, dinner was fine,” said Aunt Francis. “Your attendance is the thing that may not have been fine.”

A silence followed in which even a human could have heard a pin drop.

Ciel blinked largely once, twice, confused and careful. “Oh… um… That’s… what you wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“Yes,” said Francis. She was resolute for a moment more, then seemed to realize that that statement was rather confusing and chased it with, “Don’t misunderstand. I say this because you would have been too tired and your company would have been lacking.”

… Well.

It was the responsibility of servants to keep themselves composed and disinterested when in a room where their lords and ladies may be holding conversation, and Sebastian tended to consider his own show of indifference on the level of a marble bust: motionless, passive, not a blink or breath to derive an opinion from. Just then, he was sure he looked like he’d tasted sour milk, and Ciel himself was understandably wilting. “Erm, yeah, I… probably wouldn’t have been very much fun…” he said, with the twitching grimace of one who was being insulted by his own family and simply had to endure it.

Francis glared subtly. “No, no, that isn’t what I mean either. Listen to me. It isn’t about whether or not you would have been enjoyable to be around. It’s about whether or not you wanted to be here, and if you didn’t want to be here, then we would not have wanted you here.”

Sebastian’s eyes had grown huge. Ciel’s one visible eye matched. Yet Francis appeared to stare at him with strange and pointed expectation, so Ciel lowered his chin and struggled his way through a response. “I-I’m sorry, I, uh… Didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t want to be here, er—”

“I don’t want you to apologize either!” said Francis.

“A-All right!” chirped Ciel.

“I want you to be honest with me!” said Francis.

“H-Huh?!” said Ciel.

“Do you want to be here right now?” she demanded.

Ciel paused, mouth hanging open. “I… Do you want me to be here right now?” he finally asked.

Aunt Francis’s eyebrows were drawn. “Of course I do! Do you actually suppose I would want otherwise?!”

Ciel shook his head. “I couldn’t begin to tell you what you want! I don’t even know what we’re talking about at this point!” he nearly yelped.

Sebastian had been frantically wondering if there was any possible way he could intervene in this conversation and spare Ciel any more of this inane rebuking, but Francis seemed to at last take in her nephew’s bewilderment. She sighed heavily and contemplated her tea. “I see I’ve once again been far too aggressive in what I was meaning to say… Forgive me, Ciel. I’m not accustomed to being forthright with my worries. I’m rather… unpracticed, and unsure of myself.”

Ciel stared, still trying to understand what was happening. “Aunt Francis, is everything all right…?”

“Really I ought to be asking you that.” She met Ciel’s gaze again, and her expression took on a somber quality. “Yesterday at the end of the Funtom convention, when Elizabeth and I approached you, I noticed you looked distraught and perhaps overwhelmed.”

Ciel was mortified. He hunched forward slightly. “D-Did I?”

“Yes. That was why I reassured you that it would be fine if you came by today instead of last night,” Francis said. “I imagine that when you aren’t right as rain, you prefer solitude… I know that is how I tend to feel, and we are alike in many respects. Was I correct to assume that?”

Ciel was still hung up on the previous statement. “Did I really look so poorly? Do you think the other guests noticed? I mean, I had just finished looking at myself in the mirror for ages to make sure I—” He broke off, stole a glance at his aunt, then cleared his throat. “I… Had eaten some food that was making my stomach hurt, so I… wasn’t at my best. I’d be very embarrassed if it seemed as though I wasn’t enjoying myself. It would make for a negative impression on anyone who was kind enough to attend. And I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Francis looked at her nephew with a keen eye. She had behaved very strangely up until now, but Sebastian wondered if she was seeing straight through Ciel’s story at this moment. Eventually, she took a sip of tea. “... I see. I’m sorry to hear that you felt unwell. I hope if you feel unwell today, and in the future, you will not be afraid to say so.”

Ciel gave an awkward half-laugh, likely inspired by tension. “Uh, sure.”

Francis’s gaze jolted sharply to him. “I am being quite serious right now, Ciel. I… Well, I…” She became uncharacteristically stilted. She closed her eyes. “I would like it if… we could… be more honest. With each other.”

Ciel’s upper lip began to raise, but he smoothed his features quickly. “You believe there’s something we ought to be more honest about?”

She dipped her chin in a single nod. “Yes. I think there are many subjects we should be more honest about. You hardly tell us anything.”

That irritated Ciel immediately. Sebastian could see it in the way his grip and posture tightened. “If there is something you really want to know about my life,” he said as evenly as he could, “then you should just try asking me about it.”

Francis gave a light gasp, looking stung by that answer. On the contrary, Sebastian felt a sudden flash of pride surging through him. A marble bust he wasn’t.

“And if you don’t have anything to ask, then don’t.” Ciel took a long gulp of tea, aiming for casual now that his feelings on the subject had been made clear. “I have no desire to engage in forced conversation, and I imagine you don’t either.”

Francis was still too busy looking surprised to add anything else. Her family spared her from trying. Like a pair of foxhounds roused by the hunt, in burst Elizabeth and Alexis, crooning in delight, “Ciel, you’re here, you’re here! Hooray!” “Hello, nephew! It’s so good that you could join us this afternoon!” They finished hustling over, plopped down on either side of Ciel on the sofa, and hugged him simultaneously, rocking him back and forth between them.

With their embraces clamping his arms tightly against his body and their cheeks pressing into his cheeks, Ciel managed to cough out, “Um, good afternoon, Lizzie… Uncle Alexis… I-I see your sparring match earlier did little to deplete your strength reserves…”

“Haha, of course it didn’t! We were only playing, after all!” Lizzie laughed, then pulled away in realization, covering her mouth with both hands. “Eek! Oh, Ciel, I’m so sorry! Are we hugging you too tightly?”

Once Alexis followed suit and released him, Ciel slumped forward and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uhm, it’s fine…”

Lizzie couldn’t be kept back for long. She placed a hand on his arm gently instead. “Oh, but Ciel, I must know, are you still feeling poorly from yesterday?”

Ciel clenched his jaw, hating all this attention, this acknowledgment that yesterday’s pain had been visible enough to betray him. “N-No, I’m all right now…”

The hugging returned with that, this time only from Lizzie, and more gently. “Good, good, I’m so relieved!” Her curls tossed with the turning of her head as she looked around the room. “Oh, but where is Prince Soma? He should know that he was invited too!”

“He’ll join us for dinner, but not before then, I told him. If I have to spend every waking minute with him while I’m in London, he’ll be at risk of getting throttled.”

“Awww, Prince Soma is so wonderful though! Oh, but Sebastian is here, good afternoon, Sebastian! Why did he come today, is he going to bake something for us?”

“I guess he could if you’d like, but really I just needed someone to carry the board games.”

“Hm, the board games—? Ehhh, you brought all those?! Ciel, that’s so many!”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what everyone would want to play, so I just took whatever I had sitting around.”

“Wow! If we’re going to play them all, we had better get started straight away!”

“We’re not going to play them all, Lizzie…”

But Elizabeth had already scampered over to see the selection, and soon Sebastian was busy helping her take Reversi and District Messenger Boy safely out from the enormous stack he’d carried in. His attention was back on Francis Midford as soon as he was able. Despite minutes having passed, she still had a decidedly pensive look on her face, even as her daughter began tittering on about how they could somehow divide five people into fair teams.

Well, hadn’t that prior scene been fascinating? And utterly embarrassing — what a disaster on Francis’s part. So, it appeared there were humans who were even worse than a demon was at discussing emotions. It was such a pathetic attempt that Sebastian almost felt sorry for Francis… but more so did he feel sorry for Ciel. Here, the boy’s own family was struggling to communicate with him about the most basic of emotions. It was just another reminder of why Ciel turned to his butler far more readily than he did his relatives.

“You must be pretty annoyed with how I handled that conversation with my aunt today,” Ciel said later that evening when he was getting ready for the bath.

Sebastian paused only minutely in the midst of helping him remove his morning coat. He had been wondering just how he would try and steer Ciel towards the topic of the day, and there it was on a silver platter. “No, not at all, sir,” he said, draping the jacket over his arm. He bent to undo the silk knot of the string tie at the base of Ciel’s throat. “Actually, I thought you handled things quite well.”

Ciel put a hand on his hip. “But you should agree with her, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who’s always complaining that I’m not being honest enough about how I feel.”

“It’s as I said yesterday, sir. I shall try to refrain from being so assertive.” Sebastian straightened up and brought a hand to his chin. “But, wouldn’t you say you were rather honest about your feelings today anyway?”

“...” Ciel contemplated this with narrowed eyes. “Well, I mean. I suppose. Yes.”

“And,” Sebastian added, “I don’t think being cautious about what you revealed to your aunt was at all strange considering the way she was speaking to you.”

Ciel flopped on the bed with a snarl and kicked off his shoes while lying on his back. “Ugh, no kidding… But she’s always been like that, she’s always had far too much intensity. It’s no wonder I was so frightened of her when I was a child. That’s just how she is, even when she’s trying to be attentive, apparently.”

“It is different for her to express worry about you, though, isn’t it?” Sebastian noted. “It was an abysmal job, to be sure. But it is new.”

Ciel pushed himself up on his elbows but still looked at Sebastian from the tops of his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “It’s just more proof that I’ve changed enough that people have started to notice, and the last thing I want is to be noticed for this. Especially by my family.”

Sebastian finished hanging up each clothing item in their respective places. He came back over to the bed and knelt to remove the stockings and sock garters from the legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. “Does saying that make you feel a bit sad?”

After a brief hesitation, a short laugh cascaded from atop the bed. “Maybe it would be sad for anyone else, but it isn’t for me,” was the almost sneered response. Ciel sat up, looking pleased with himself. “If even a demon wants to know, then it must be a really odd thing to say without feeling any remorse.”

Hmm, maybe that wasn’t the best wording to use. “I apologize for sounding as though there was any one way you ought to feel. I only asked because I remember your disappointment in your aunt last month when she came for dinner and tried to insert her opinion into your life.”

Ciel folded his arms. The pleased look was replaced by one of irritation. “Yes, well, it is annoying,” he huffed. “Trying to pin the responsibility on me too… It’s just as I said, if she wants to know about my life so badly, she can ask. And then I’ll decide how much to tell her, but she can’t just expect me to expound on this and that when I’m not even sure what she cares to hear about.”

Sebastian picked up the shoes to put away. “Yes, that’s absolutely correct. She shouldn’t expect you to feel comfortable talking about your personal life if she never grants it time in conversation or shows interest in the first place. I think your reluctance is very understandable.”

Ciel opened his mouth and closed it again. “I guess.” He looked to the side thoughtfully, then glared across the room at Sebastian standing by. “Why aren’t you going to put those away? Hurry up with it and get the water started, I’ll finish undressing on my own. I want to get into the bath sometime before midnight tonight, after all.”

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On Sunday, Sebastian wouldn’t come to understand what Ciel had in store for him yet either. Sunday was the day that Diedrich came to visit. It too was an appointment held over noon tea, and for it Sebastian made a pot of second flush Darjeeling and a multitude of gourmet finger sandwiches: cold chicken au poivre; anchovy dappled with whorls of lemon zest; pâté de foie gras with slices of bourbon cornichons. Even though Diedrich had only been in the country for a week, he had to catch a boat back to Rotterdam in a few days’ time, and despite his gruff ramblings about the Phantomhive name at Friday’s convention, seeing the son of his late “friend” seemed to place as an actual priority. Of course, that priority may have been motivated by apprehension of what would come to pass if he didn’t heed Ciel’s invitation.

“All right, here I am,” Diedrich said once they’d settled in the drawing room. He flopped back against the couch with a sigh. “Now what is it you want me for? Surely it isn’t just to catch up.”

Ciel took a sip of tea and tipped his palm in a shrug. “Why shouldn’t it be? My life isn’t all business, you know. You live so far from the rest of the Aristocrats, and you travel less often than Chlaus, so it’s rare that the two of us talk outside of a meeting. I thought I ought to take advantage.”

“Hm, did you?” Diedrich remained unconvinced. His large arms had been folded against his stomach tightly, but now he reached forward for his own tea, as if he’d needed to watch Ciel drink to confirm it wasn’t poisoned. “Not the first time I’ve heard that from your lineage.”

“But I am curious about your arrival in England anyway,” Ciel continued, a smirk slowly lifting one cheek. “Surely you didn’t come all this way on holiday — you’ve got the lodges of the Black Forest right outside your front door for that. There’s got to be another reason.”

Diedrich’s mouth twitched irritably beneath his mustache. “As a man dedicated to maintaining the peace between our countries, every now and then I take it upon myself to keep your queen informed of the latest goings-on in Germany. As for what those are specifically…” He trailed off, eying the other ‘guest’ with scrutiny. “Well, I may not be at liberty to say in the present company.”

Soma finished swallowing the last bite of a chicken sandwich and blinked in the silence that followed. “Hmm? Are you talking to me now?” he said, licking cognac cream off the tips of his fingers.

“You don’t need to worry about him, he’s not paying any attention,” Ciel assured Diedrich with a lazy wave of his hand. “Even if it seems like he is, he won’t remember anything you said later on.”

Soma puffed out his cheeks. “That’s not true! I listen really, really well, when it concerns me!”

“And how did you get lumped in with the Phantomhive business…?” Diedrich asked, perhaps thinking he’d found a kindred spirit to empathize with.

“Ciel pardoned my friend of his crimes!” Soma piped up.

“...” Diedrich glanced over at Ciel.

“He’s the result of some Watchdog business more than a year over with,” Ciel translated, shooting Soma a look of his own. “You’re supposed to keep your mouth shut about that, you know… Luckily for you, it’s fine in front of Diedrich, seeing as he’s well aware of the work I do.” He returned his attention to his guest and smiled primly. “It’s just as I said before. Today you’re here not as an Aristocrat of Evil but as a family friend. Let’s simply enjoy each other’s company, hm?”

Diedrich snorted a laugh. “Family friend… Who in your family ever treated me as a friend? Certainly not your father,” he grunted. “And I know the Phantomhive line is all the same… You were such a demure and unassuming little boy, I thought maybe your mother’s Dalles blood had come through, but I should have known… The son of Vincent can only be the son of Vincent, and the Queen’s guard dog must eventually learn how to bite.”

Unfortunately for Ciel, Soma had been paying attention here, and one tidbit in particular had stuck out to him. “Ohhh—! Ciel was demure and unassuming when he was little?!” he gasped, turning to gauge his friend’s reaction.

“No,” Ciel said unconvincingly.

Diedrich understood he had a leg up on his host for once and continued with relish, “Oh, it was surprising to me too, seeing a sly fox like Vincent with a quivering fawn for a boy. Ciel was always trying to hide from me, in the days back when I visited his father. He used to stand behind furniture and think I couldn’t see him.”

Soma leaned over and captured a cringing Ciel in a hug. “Awww! You were just a shy little thing, awwww! That’s so, so adorable!”

Ciel raised his shoulders up to his ears to free himself from the surrounding arms. “Stop it. I never did that.”

Diedrich ignored Ciel. “Adorable, hm… That’s what his father would say too. I once told him, ‘Your boy isn’t cut out for being your successor. He’s too anxious and goodhearted. He’s nothing like you.’ And of course Phantomhive replied, ‘He’s only a puppy yet, Di. Puppies are meant to be cute.’” Diedrich sighed out his nose. “Well, I guess your father was right in the end. You’ve grown yourself a real set of fangs, junior. Though you don’t use yours so liberally.”

“You and Aunt Francis are the only ones who talk about my father that way, though,” Ciel said. He seemed suddenly curious, though perhaps he was simply eager to take the spotlight off of himself. “Most of the time when people tell me about him, their impression was of someone very charismatic and generous.”

“Bah! Of course!” Diedrich stuffed a whole sandwich in his mouth at once and gnashed away, as if using his own fangs liberally on the food would be as good as chewing Vincent out for the decades of grief he’d given him. He swallowed hard and growled. “Of course they do! He manufactured that reputation very carefully, you should know! All he’d ever let the public see was Phantomhive the charmer, Phantomhive the socialite, Phantomhive the benevolent landlord! But anyone who crossed him would soon learn his tongue was forked. Lady Midford and I were the only two who could get close enough to see him for what he really was and live to tell the tale. Don’t let it be lost on you too that your father was a bloody demon.”

So accustomed was Ciel to the literal one, it was clear in his puzzled expression that he momentarily forgot “demon” was merely a figure of speech. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Was it lost on my mother, then?” he asked.

Diedrich chewed methodically on another sandwich and looked to the wall as if wondering how to answer. “No,” he said eventually, simply. He cleared his throat. “At least, I don’t think so. The difference was, she never resented him for his two-faced way of life.” He paused again, eying Ciel beadily. Then he leaned forward, one hand on his knee, the other wagging a gloved finger. “See, now, that’s just it! You ought to resent me. Here I am prattling on about your own father’s faults after he’s long gone and buried. Any other boy your age would be taking a swing at me. Storming out of the room. This is the real proof you’re Phantomhive’s. Of course his son would sit there and encourage more posthumous insults like they’re medals of honor to pin to his own chest! Of course. Bah! I wish I’d brought a flask.”

At that, Ciel grinned glitteringly. But then— “If you’re saying Ciel is proud, I don’t think you’re right,” Soma surprised them all by speaking up. “I know he may seem proud at times, but that’s not what it really is here. It’s more like… hmm…” He tapped his chin. “It’s like… Ciel is the type of person who holds the truth in high esteem.”

“It pains me to say this, but he’s exactly right,” Ciel sighed (though Soma’s jubilant “Really? I’m exactly right?!” went ignored). “I’ve lost my temper over far lesser slights against my father, to be honest, and the reason was not because they were slights but because the nature of those slights was false. So you see, it isn’t your opinion that I find so amusing. It’s your honesty.”

Diedrich stared, scrutinizing. Finally, he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. “Somehow, I can see Phantomhive saying that too… But you do deserve some credit, junior: you’re very different from him in a lot of ways. I don’t think I could stand you if you weren’t.”

“In what ways is Ciel different?” Soma asked. Ciel sipped from his teacup, seeming to put on an air of disinterest that made Sebastian’s mouth tip up at the corners just so.

“Have you got a heart in your chest? There’s one,” Diedrich grunted. More seriously, he continued, “Like I said… you don’t use your fangs so liberally. And you aren’t a show-off, you don’t crave admiration… and you don’t speak in damn riddles all the time. I prefer people who aren’t constantly trying to confuse me. Or meaning to talk me into a trap.”

Ciel raised his eyebrows and grinned a grin that seemed to be invoking the very spirit of Vincent. “Hm. When you put it that way, it sounds like I could have learned a thing or two from him.”

Diedrich’s expression stayed resolute. “Maybe it’s better that you keep your heart.”

Sebastian stood by for this entire conversation, saying nothing, telegraphing little interest. But inside he was whirring with intrigue. Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive were people he knew only through the occasional recounting, for their lives and many of the artifacts that would have defined them had been erased by fire. Ciel had only known them through the lens of childhood, so he wasn’t that much more knowledgeable. Sebastian still did not harbor much interest in the soulless, though. His only interest now came in imagining the boy they’d raised before their premature demise: a boy who’d perhaps been demure and unassuming and anxious and goodhearted. A boy that was buried underneath a month of purposefully repressed memories.

“Good evening, young master. How are you feeling?”

This was the way Sebastian greeted Ciel in his office that night when he brought the milk tea. Diedrich had departed shortly after dinner, but even afterwards Sebastian had been cleaning up dishes and taking care of the house — thus, this was the first chance the two had to speak in private since that morning.

“Fine.” Ciel pushed a letter he was working on to the side and reached out expectantly for the cup. “I can’t wait to get the meeting with Mr. Cavendish over with tomorrow. I’m ready to spend some time out of the host role. I didn’t bother to bring any of my estate work with me either, so all I have to worry about this week is any more loose ends related to the Funtom convention. Should be nice.”

“I certainly hope it is,” Sebastian bid him. He stood in front of the desk and wished there were a place for him to sit down. They hadn’t had their nightly meeting in an office in a while; the casual nature of sitting on the bed had become preferable in all ways. “Was the rest of your conference with Mr. Diedrich enjoyable for you?”

“Mhm, it was decent… Wait, no it wasn’t! Ugh, how could I forget!” Ciel smacked his armrest. “That rotten Soma! It turns out he can speak a bit of German! Nowhere near as well as he can speak English, but enough to be somewhat conversational! He and Diedrich started speaking it together while shooting me these audacious looks because they knew full well that I had no idea what they were talking about! They might’ve been saying all sorts of embarrassing things about me, but I’ll never know! I wish you hadn’t been busy getting dessert ready so you could tell me what they said. To hell with them. I hate being toyed with like that.”

“I wish I could tell you too,” Sebastian said earnestly. “I’m sorry that they made you feel uncomfortable.”

“...” Eventually, Ciel shrugged. “Whatever. To be honest, I’m glad Diedrich decided to visit. I mean, if he hadn’t, I would have gotten the opportunity to send him something horrific in the post… like more chemicals for his strange little guest to experiment with. Or, if I was feeling benevolent, a bouquet of bird’s-foot trefoil. That would have been fun to decide, heh… But maybe it’s better that he did come by. He really is a rather interesting and clever person, if not a bit irritable. But I’m sure my father found that last quality just as amusing as the others.”

Bird’s-foot trefoil… Count on the young master to remember the flower that symbolizes a warning of revenge. “I must admit, even I was very interested in some of Diedrich’s insights on your parents’ lives. But even more interesting to me were the insights he could provide about you. I don’t think you ever told me quite how shy and conscientious you were, though Tanaka has shared that much with me.”

Ciel shrunk in his chair only slightly, but Sebastian would always notice such minute actions. “I wish he wouldn’t mention that. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes, Diedrich did seem to want to paint you in a demeaning light. But I think Prince Soma’s response was more reasonable. I think he found the stories about you endearing, not worthy of ridicule. And I can promise you Tanaka is no different.” Ciel huffed and Sebastian asked, “How do you feel right now?”

“...” Sebastian was sure he’d be told to drop the subject, but Ciel let it slide, for now. “Frustrated. I don’t like it when people talk about me without my permission or control. Especially when it’s about who I was before I became an earl. It doesn’t feel like they’re really talking about me.”

“It doesn’t, sir?”

Ciel lowered his eyelids. “Would you ever describe me as ‘demure’?”

Well, he had him there. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t. But that was Diedrich’s word. Would you have described your younger self that way?”

“Uh… I… Well, maybe, actually…” Ciel grimaced, moved uncomfortably in his chair. “I told you some things about my childhood, how I used to get scared so easily. But it’s fine if it’s me recounting it. When someone else brings things up… especially things I don’t remember… it feels the same as it would if they were telling lies about me. I mean, I haven’t been that person in almost five years. So why mention it at all? I can’t think of any reason other than to embarrass me.”

“To reminisce, perhaps?” Sebastian offered. “Why, I was just thinking to myself a few days ago about how much you’ve changed even since our contract began.”

Ciel looked disturbed. “You were? What the hell for?”

“Now, now, my lord. Even for a demon, the act of reflection can be an engaging pastime.”

“An engaging pastime, hm?” Ciel took a long gulp of tea. “Thinking about the past for pleasure… Never considered it.”

“Certainly you have, sir. You’ve done it during our nightly meetings, as I just mentioned.”

Ciel gave a single, harsh laugh. “Oh, that? That wasn’t for pleasure. I only told those stories to make you regret your decision to talk to me.”

But Sebastian wouldn’t soon forget the look on the boy’s face when he’d recounted his childhood, during those summer evenings not so long ago. “Well, I consider it lucky that you did share with me your memories, regardless of your reasons. I never regretted the time spent listening.”

Ciel made a puzzled face that quickly faded into annoyance. He started draining his glass of tea, seeming well ready to wash his hands of this subject. “Well. Great. Good for you.”

Sebastian would never be sure if that conversation had planted the seed in his young master’s brain that led to the next day’s events. All he came to know was that Ciel had found free time again, and he had one very specific way he wanted to use it: putting his demon to the test.

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Monday started without any warning signs. In fact, at first the only unexpected events were merely pleasant. Their ten o’clock arrival at Sedgemore House and meeting with Mr. Cavendish led to the revelation that Funtom had, rather shockingly, made money from the convention. It was not an event that had been arranged with the anticipation of turning a profit or breaking even: its existence was for the sake of social responsibility for Ciel and publicity for Funtom. And most of the auction items had sold in-line with their estimated value. The exception was the exclusive Bitter Rabbit dolls, which had ended up going for an impressive £3000. For any of the middle-class partygoers, such an amount could take a lifetime to accrue, but certain members of the nobility could spare such enormous sums on their little superfluous whims. Ciel wondered aloud if next year they should put a cap on bidding to keep the playing field even for all collectors, but ultimately decided against it in favor of future donations to orphanages (and, this particular year, on bonus checks for the seamstress department, as thanks for their impressive work imitating zardozi embroidery on three hundred miniature vests).

The second bit of good news was that Fairclough was no longer in London. A Sedgemore footman passed along the message that he and Erickson had left early for Oxford, as there were apparently logistics that needed sorting a few weeks before the school year was to commence. Fairclough added that he would be sure to write whenever his official lodgings were decided. Ciel was understanding, nearly indifferent, but Sebastian was piqued. Had the two gentlemen escaped London to avoid crossing paths with that mysterious unnamed man at the convention? How desperately Sebastian wanted to know, but his suspicions would have to go unspoken and unanswered — for now.

They returned home around half past eleven to an empty house. Soma and Agni would be out until early that evening, having traveled to the Limehouse district to offer curry buns to East India Company sailors and their families, as one of their many exercises in charity. Until then, Sebastian and Ciel had the house to themselves.

Sebastian seized the opportunity to take on some of the maintenance jobs Agni was unable to complete on his own. The garden, for instance, was in need of some taming, and while it was a task that would usually take a competent groundskeeper at least half a day to tackle, with just a touch of diabolical flair Sebastian had it looking rightfully trim and neat by lunchtime. When the midday hour struck, he headed downstairs to the kitchen, and only had just set foot in the area when he stopped in his tracks. Ciel was sitting at the worktable on one of the stools, halfway through what looked to be a substantial slice of last night’s Donauwellen cake and going in for another bite.

Sebastian stared at Ciel. Ciel stared at Sebastian. They both stared at each other, but only Ciel seemed prepared for this moment.

And yet… this scene was not entirely unfamiliar. Sebastian remembered a similar event around four years ago, just a few weeks after Ciel’s decoration ceremony. The ten-year-old boy had been about to enter his first social season as the noble head of a household. Sebastian had still been basking in the glow of his epiphany that this soul was finally going to be a meal worthy of its cultivation. But on that particular day four years ago, it was merely a normal evening in the Phantomhive manor, and he’d ventured into the kitchen to get started on preparing dinner when he heard small sounds coming from the dry-larder.

Sebastian was alert to the presence at once. Hmm? A rat? And yes, a rather large rat, it seemed. When he opened the door, Ciel was standing inside eating from the plate of Viennese whirls left over from afternoon tea. The little sneakthief was already halfway through one of the oyster-shaped biscuits when he whipped his head over to see Sebastian. Ciel did not look exactly surprised at the intrusion, though he did look apprehensive.

Sebastian had fixed him with a dry look. “Young master. Just what do you think you are doing?”

“... I was hungry,” Ciel had replied eventually. He then took another tentative bite of the biscuit, his gaze not leaving Sebastian as he did so. He was watchful, analytical, impertinent.

And sly — that explanation did not ring to Sebastian as being fully truthful, a thing he was all the more aware of since he had become barred from dishonesty. Sebastian strode forward into the small room. “If hunger was the only trouble, you would have called for me. But you know very well I would have made something healthy to eat, something you may not have been keen on. That is why you are here sneaking biscuits like a miserable foundling, instead of asking for them like a lord who was only recently titled by the Queen.”

Ciel had blushed slightly at that but held his ground. “Don’t treat me like a coward for getting what I want on my own! I knew you wouldn’t bring them to me, so I got them myself!”

“Exactly, I wouldn’t have. And repeat to me why that is,” Sebastian had said, raising his chin.

Instead of reciting the lesson back to him, Ciel tossed out, “Because you think you know what’s best for me, but you’re just a butler and I’m really the one who’s in charge.”

Ah. It’s going to be like that, is it?

Sebastian darkened the room just a tad by pulling at the shadows. “I see. So I’m just a butler.” Ciel’s bravado faltered as he suddenly recognized he was cornered. Sebastian’s grin down at him was a fanged one. “Ah yes, in the face of his noble lord, truly the humble servant is diminished… Is that what you mean to say to me, sir? That I am to remember my place? Well, then, perhaps you should remember yours… because right now, what I see isn’t a newly minted earl but a pompous little brat.”

Ciel did his very best to maintain a scowl — though the shine to his eye was undeniably humiliated and a bit frightened. It made the Sebastian of that day very pleased to see it.

“Now.” The light of the gas bulb returned to its full radiance so suddenly that Ciel’s shoulders jumped. Smiling prettily, Sebastian held out his hand. “Unless the little brat would like to continue showing me his best impression of a nibbling mouse, I suggest he hand over his treat… or else his lowly butler may never believe he is a lord worthy of his estate. Hmm?”

“All right, I get it!” Ciel dropped, nearly thrust, the remaining biscuit into Sebastian’s waiting palm and brushed past him aggressively. “You don’t have to be so pointed! A good butler isn’t a bloody nag either, you know!”

Sebastian followed him out of the larder. “A butler is merely a reflection of his master, sir. If you find my manners to be lacking, I would consider shaping yourself into someone worthy of the level of respect you desire.”

Ciel had spun around. “It’s not like I did this because I wanted a lecture!” he yelled. “All I wanted was a couple stupid biscuits! But I guess nothing is easy with you around, is it, damn demon! Now get started on my dinner and leave me alone!”

Sebastian’s lesson, when driven home by fear and shame, had seemed to work… mostly. Ciel would still occasionally go scouting for dessert, but he had become much craftier in his methods, perfecting them to the point that sometimes Sebastian wouldn’t know what had transpired until much later (the missing head of a certain chocolate statue came to mind…). But there was no subtlety here whatsoever. Ciel was sitting at the table right where the doorway could frame him like a portrait, licking a line of buttercream frosting off the prongs of the fork and leveling Sebastian with a blue eyeful of apathy.

Your move.

“... I see you have decided to switch your lunch with your afternoon snack today, young master,” Sebastian began carefully.

Ciel shook his head. His face had no discernible emotion. “No. I’ve decided I’d like to have cake for lunch and for afternoon tea later too, actually.”

“Surely that can’t be very enjoyable…” Sebastian frowned. “That much cake…”

Ciel snorted. “As if you would know. You don’t like anything that I can eat, and I think it’s a fine idea. But you see, this conversation is making me uncomfortable, so I don’t want you pushing it any further. You can just go ahead and prepare me a smaller lunch to accompany it.”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze. Disappointment pooled in his chest. “Very well, sir.” He walked briskly into the larder and began selecting a couple of yesterday’s leftover finger sandwiches from the shelf.

He didn’t hide totally that he was irked by Ciel’s statement that the conversation ‘made him uncomfortable.’ How could he hide it? That verbal defense was a gift offered as proof that Sebastian valued Ciel’s feelings more than he did answers, and already the boy was treating it like a joke. Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile, he seemed to be saying. It was a lesson that Sebastian was all too used to teaching his contractors. It was not a lesson that was very pleasant to be on the receiving end of, and it was certainly not the first time Ciel had turned that lesson’s teacher into its pupil. But why now, when Sebastian was so sure they had been making progress?

Because this was progress.

Of course. Ciel had wanted Sebastian to catch him eating dessert. He had probably planned all along to tell Sebastian the conversation made him uncomfortable too. And why? For the same reasons he had drunk an entire bottle of wine and left the proof out on the counter. Well, the same general idea — Ciel was not currently in distress. He did it because he wanted to know how Sebastian would handle the problem. He wanted to compare the Sebastian of today to the Sebastian of their early contract and come up with a conclusion about what the differences meant.

The disappointment went away, replaced by admiration. Really, he should have guessed the young master would be so clever… But this was no time to be idle. The all-too important question for Sebastian to ask himself remained unanswered: what conclusion did he want Ciel to come to about him?

Four hours later, it was time for afternoon tea. Sebastian brought the trolley to the library, where Ciel had been working through a short stack of newspapers that had reported on the Funtom convention. On the tea table beside him, Sebastian arranged a cup of Earl Grey and a small bowl filled with something unusual given the hour. Ciel looked at the bowl, looked up, and said plainly, “That cake looks an awful lot like cauliflower and bechamel sauce.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows before returning to the trolley and bringing over the slice of Donauwellen he’d hidden behind the teapot. “Some miracles are beyond even a demon’s capabilities, I’m afraid,” he said as he put the plate down beside the cauliflower.

Now it was Ciel’s turn to consider the playing field. His eye glanced between the two foods. Cauliflower was certainly not his least favorite vegetable, but cake was cake. And then there was that other detail. “This isn’t a food that’s meant to be eaten at afternoon tea.” Ciel picked up the bowl and held it out. “Are you forgetting your basics?”

No, and he wasn’t forgetting Agni’s lessons either: You don’t need to hide from him why you’re doing this, if he asks. “I think you know well I am not,” Sebastian began. “I am offering you what you asked for alongside a healthier option, because you have eaten a lot of sugar today.”

Ciel shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to make you,” said Sebastian. “But you ought to know that I do care about what you eat. So, I have laid out multiple options to enjoy however you please. Who knows, you may be glad for the variety.”

“I don’t think I’ll have enough room for both,” was Ciel’s final, weak argument.

Sebastian dipped his head. “No matter. Shall I leave you to it then, young master?”

After a long stare, Sebastian was granted a tight-lipped, “... Mhm.”

Oh, what an unexpected trial! As a being whose life revolved around eating well, Sebastian had always found himself very concerned with what the young master put into his body. It had taken a lot of willpower to deliver that second slice of cake. And if this dessert argument continued into tomorrow, Sebastian knew he would have to put a stop to it somehow, but right now it was more important to let the intelligent boy interpret exactly what Sebastian wanted him to: that there wasn’t going to be any more reliance on the tricky methods of their early contract, no scaring or forcing Ciel into behaving a certain way. There was going to be choice and discussion and transparency and compromise. They were going to be a team.

To Sebastian’s great relief, the dessert debacle did not continue into tomorrow. The reason was most likely because Ciel knew it was somewhat juvenile and didn’t want Soma or Agni to bear witness (he had even eaten a few pieces of cauliflower after all!). And Sebastian still had plenty yet to help with around the manor, the outsides of windows to scrub and gutters to clean, so that he had nearly put the events of yesterday behind him until the hour of milk tea and talking came along.

The previous night’s meeting had been short. Ciel said he was surprisingly tired ( Perhaps because of all the sugar, hmm? No, no, don’t say that ) and would be ready to turn in after he finished his drink. Tuesday night was the opposite. Sebastian found Ciel in the library once again with what looked to be an older issue of The Cornhill Magazine in his hands.

“Mr. Doyle was kind enough to enlighten me on a story of his I missed that was published at the beginning of the year,” he explained with a half-grin. “He even offered to send me a copy of the January issue it was featured in, and it arrived here just this afternoon. I can’t wait to read it.”

“Now, sir?” Sebastian’s head turned to the mantle underlit by the fireplace. 9:00, as he knew it would be, but he wanted to direct Ciel’s attention to the time. “This is the hour you usually begin getting ready for bed. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until tomorrow?”

Ciel shook the issue open. “No. I’ll just stay up late and sleep in if I’m tired.”

Oh, for goodness’s sake… This had to be another test. Sebastian knew he’d have to approach this carefully. “The story must be rather exciting, then, for you to be unable to wait even though you must be getting sleepy.”

“I’m not ‘getting sleepy,’” Ciel huffed. Then he smiled again. “It is an exciting story. But mostly it's supposed to be rather haunting.”

Here Sebastian stiffened. Another memory stirred… The morning of his thirteenth birthday, Ciel had woken up in such a blind panic that he’d pointed his revolver right in Sebastian’s face. The reason? Nightmares inspired by reading Edgar Allan Poe before bed. So this was the real test… Only it was especially troublesome that Ciel would put himself in the way of fear this time.

“Young master, you know that such stories are likely to affect your dreams,” Sebastian said, putting just a hint of firmness in his delivery.

It didn’t work. “Oh well. It’s worth it to have the chance to read something new from my favorite author.”

“But is it really worth a nightmare?” Sebastian asked.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong question to pose. “I don’t want to talk about my nightmares. That makes me uncomfortable.”

There he was with that again… But, fine. Maybe it was better that Ciel abused the phrase at first, if it meant he might better recognize the instances when he was feeling uncomfortable emotionally. “Very well. I shall return in half an hour to see if you’re ready then.”

“No need. You can just wait till I call you.”

But it wasn’t given as an order, and so Sebastian was not bound to it. Of course, he assumed part of this test was showing Ciel how well he could respect such loose and disagreeable statements, but that didn’t follow what Sebastian wanted to prove: that no matter what passed between them, Ciel would still be cared for. Even if the boy decided to stay up late scaring himself with horror stories, nothing would change this fact.

At 9:30, Sebastian returned — and was promptly vindicated. At the knock, Ciel’s responding “Come in” was distinctly rushed in quality, and his expression looked more than a bit spooked.

“I told you to just come back when I called you,” he said stiffly, not quite angrily.

“My apologies, young master. It wasn’t my intention to cause you alarm.” Sebastian gestured with his head at the magazine still in Ciel’s white-knuckled grip. “Are you finished reading and ready to retire now?”

Ciel didn’t look finished reading, but apparently he was ready to retire. “Mhm.” He put down the magazine and practically scurried out of the room past Sebastian, as if not wanting to be in there another second. The light from the fireplace had grown rather dim and flickering at that point, no doubt adding to the atmosphere. Young master, you didn’t have to force yourself…

It was clear that Ciel knew this particular scheme had backfired. Whatever test he’d wanted to put Sebastian through, his own test was the harder one. He was rather quiet and seemed off in his own head all while Sebastian got him ready for sleep. When it was time to lay down and turn off the lights, there was an air of reluctance to proceed.

“It may be to both our benefit,” Sebastian offered, “if I were to stay here until you fell asleep.”

Ciel stood in front of the bed and glared at him strangely. “Both? Why do you say that?” Again, the tone was far more wary than angry.

Sebastian pulled back the sheets for him to climb beneath. “That story seems to have left you rather shaken. If my presence can help prevent a nightmare, then I think we’ll feel all the better for it.”

“...” Ciel was silent when he first clambered into bed, though the immediate and unconscious reaching for his favored pillow seemed to say all that needed to be said. Finally, he mumbled into it, “You can stay.”

Sebastian couldn’t help it. He smiled. “Very good, sir. Then, I promise I shall be by your side until restful sleep claims you.”

So he stood there in the darkness, waiting patiently for breathing to even out with sleep’s hold. His frustration about the whole event had evaporated the instant Ciel admitted the need for help. Really, what was there to be frustrated about anyway… Ciel had every right to test him. “Damn demon. As if you didn’t push for me to act this way,” the boy had told him, and it was perfectly true. The Sebastian of their early contract was conniving and two-faced and ready to snap his teeth at Ciel’s heels the moment he began to trip. Even Sebastian’s acts of ‘kindness’ during those first months, of bringing Ciel hot milk with honey and waiting in the room after a nightmare, weren’t done from a place of earnest love so much as a place of wanting praise and appreciation from the human he’d someday devour the soul of. And while receiving a bit of praise truly would feel nice after working so very, very hard these past few months… Sebastian knew that wasn’t why he was doing this anymore. He was doing it for Ciel.

The human he’d someday devour the soul of.

…

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Wednesday morning’s Ciel had little comment to make about last night and seemed to want to move on from it very much (“Yes, yes, I slept fine, now I’m starving, what tea did you make me? Is breakfast almost ready?”). Again, Sebastian respected his boundaries. But he was wondering in what ways his own respect and patience would be tried today. Surely Ciel was devising another test for him, and he felt hypervigilant for it, for he wasn’t even entirely certain he had received passing marks on the previous two tests. Just what was it going to be…

He would never come to know the answer. Their plans for the day were changed entirely by a ten o’clock phone call.

Sebastian answered at the third ring. “Phantomhive London residence.”

“Hey, mornin’ Sebastian. Just callin’ to ask how the weather’s like in the city. Wind pickin’ up at all?”

The accent and cadence of speaking were immediately recognizable. “Ah, Bard. Yes, I suppose I have noticed some howling, now that you mention it. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s gettin’ windy here as well, and Tanaka thinks a real bad storm is on its way. Can feel it in his joints, some older folks are like that. Anyway, it might not come on fast, but it also might, so I thought I’d call and see if you want me to pick you up a few days early instead. Or would you rather hole up in London?”

Sebastian couldn’t imagine Ciel wanting to be cooped indoors with Soma for who-knew-how-long. “I shall broach the question, but I am certain the young master would like to return to the main house, yes.”

“Great. Wasn’t gonna say nothin’, but… I’m sure we’ll need your help holdin’ down the fort if it gets real bad.”

There was a sudden jostling sound. “And Mey-Rin and I are getting reeeaallyyy sick of eating pancakes… We miss your cooking, Sebastian, please say you’ll come home now…”

“Hey! Finny! Don’t interrupt when someone’s on the telephone! And I thought you liked my flapjacks!”

Ah, that was a good reminder. “I shall purchase some extra provisions for us at the markets in case we’ll need to stay inside for many days. Bring the carriage around at one o’clock. I should have the young master ready to depart by then.”

“Right, okay. Be seein’ ya.”

As predicted, Ciel had no grievances about the change in plan and agreed it would be best to return home before the storm could progress too far. Soma, however…

“Nooo! It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair!” the prince bawled when Ciel was eventually forced to break the news as Sebastian began carrying their luggage and newly purchased comestibles to the foyer. Soma held a pair of fingers up in Ciel’s face. “Two weeks! You promised me two whole weeks! That means I’m supposed to have until Friday with you!”

“It isn’t my fault if the weather changes,” Ciel said, brushing Soma’s hand aside. “It’s just the way it is. Nothing to be done but keep a stiff upper lip.”

Soma’s lower lip was the one that saw significantly more use, and it was employed here to execute a very pathetic pout. “We don’t know that it’ll storm for sure! Maybe it’ll blow over and then you’ll have left for no reason!”

Ciel glowered. “I’m not risking it, Soma. Pull yourself together; the last twelve days didn’t go anywhere. And it’s not as though I live in Germany like Diedrich. Once you leave town, my shire is only an hour away.”

It wasn’t good enough. The tears spilled over and the sobs began. Before Ciel could say a word, Soma had latched onto him like a tree-dwelling creature. “No, no, no, no, it isn’t fair! I won’t let Ciel leave! He lives here now!”

“Why are you speaking that way?! Calm down, don’t hug me so tightly!”

“S-Sorry… I just don’t want you to goooo…”

Ciel sighed and continued to endure the (slightly looser) hug as Sebastian finished checking the rooms for the last of their possessions. The sobbing calmed to sniveling, but when Bard pulled up to the front drive, the waterworks began anew. Soma attempted to appeal, “Agni can make you whatever desserts you want! And I promise I’ll be really, really quiet whenever you want to read! You just have to promise you’ll stay, please don’t go!”

“Tempting as your offer is, I’m going and that’s that.” Soma’s grip tightened again, and Ciel warned, “Look, if I have to get Sebastian to peel you off of me…”

“You WILL have to! You will!” blubbered Soma.

Perhaps because Ciel knew just how frightened Soma could be of his demon, he finally had to smirk. “Let’s keep that as a last resort,” he mused. “Seriously, I’m leaving no matter what. Now what do I have to do to prevent any more fussing?”

Soma’s tears seemed to halt as he considered this. “You could hug me back for once…?” he tried hopefully.

How Sebastian wanted to turn around from delivering the suitcases to the carriage just to see his young master’s expression. He was sure the effort of the decision would be written all over Ciel’s face. Sebastian did admittedly carry things rather quickly and left them to Bard and Agni to load so he could perhaps glimpse the results of the choice. As he crested the stone steps, he was able to witness Ciel patting Soma’s arm placatingly and saying, “There, there you are. Now will you let go?”

Soma didn’t let go, declaring petulantly, “That was not a hug!” Then a crafty glint came over his eye, an idea forming that could only have come from spending so long in the Watchdog’s company. “But I guess I should have known. You must not be able to hug people who are a lot taller than you, hmm?”

Ciel bristled. “That has nothing to do with it! It doesn’t even make any sense! I-I just don’t like to!”

Soma cuddled his captive’s head closer. “Mhm, suuuure you don’t… Well, then I guess I’ll—”

Suddenly, Ciel threw his own arms around Soma just long enough for his fingertips to meet around Soma’s back. The “hug” ended almost as soon as it began.

“There,” Ciel huffed, two pink circles already appearing on his cheeks, and he managed to duck away. “Now I have to leave, goodbye.”

It was a maneuver that too harkened back to the circus mission: dumbfounding Soma with an act of friendship to create an opening for escape. And Soma was stunned just long enough for Ciel to rush past Sebastian to the waiting carriage, but then the prince took in a huge gasp and darted outside to join Agni on the portico. He started waving furiously, boundless joy replacing the sorrow. “Goodbye, Ciel, goodbyyyyeee! I’ll miss you soooo! Come visit again in the near future, or I’ll have to visit youuuu!”

“Don’t you dare! Not without a letter you won’t!”

“Oh, goodbye all too soon, Sebastian,” Agni bid him as well, somewhat teary himself as he put a hand on Sebastian’s arm. Privately, he added, “I hope when circumstances feel difficult, what we talked about will come in handy. Know that I believe in you, but please do write to me if you are ever in need of a friend.”

After a second to process it, Sebastian granted this unfamiliar reassurance a polite smile. “Thank you, Agni. I shall bear it in mind.”

So, with Agni and Soma bidding them safe travels from the entryway, and the wind to their backs, the carriage tottered out of the drive and onto the thoroughfare, bound for home.

“Those two are always a boisterous pair,” Bard commented as he reined the horses right at the next street. “You have a nice stay, then?”

Sebastian considered the past week and a half. A lot had happened in just that short span: the end of the nightly meetings, the Funtom convention and all that came with it, the renewed nightly meetings, the visits with the Midfords and Diedrich, Ciel’s latest manner of testing his butler, and of course the chores that fell in between it all… Each day, the hour at which the three humans finally fell asleep had been a welcome break. Could one really describe all of those hectic, confusing, busy, spontaneous, and emotional moments during the daylight hours as ‘nice’?

One certainly couldn’t describe them as ‘boring.’

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Yes… I believe we did.”

Chapter Text

Summer had always been generous to the manor grounds. The persistent rains of spring would turn the grass and trees a shade of green that seemed to sing with health — which was sometimes the truth, when the birds freckled the lawn and branches in search of seeds and insects. The air hummed with life, the gardens spilled over with it, and the sun hung ripe in the sky like a globe of nectar. It was an Eden, or so some visitors said, and Sebastian would smirk to himself whenever the compliment touched his ear. Humans of this country considered God their divine creator and yet knew His way was the thorny path while the devil’s was fringed in wildflowers. So who truly understood the cultivation of nature best? Neither God nor demon, in reality — but the divine were always happy to take the credit of humans and of Mother Nature.

Such things mattered not. To the boy in the cab of the carriage Sebastian rode in front of, this demon’s Eden could only ever be one thing: home.

August tended to be one of South England’s fairest months, with less rain than the rest of the year and more agreeable temperatures than July. It was no exception now either: the stirring wind was the only giveaway that something could be on the horizon. But Sebastian knew better than to doubt Tanaka’s foresight. Within twenty-four hours, he was sure the tempest would be upon them.

As they tottered down the path to the front gates, Finny came bounding out from the tree-lined drive with all the graceless charm of a family dog. “Hooray! The young master and Mr. Sebastian are home!” he cried out in greeting. He kept pace with the carriage easily once he made it to their side, practically skipping along. “It’s always best when everybody is home together! Because then I know that everybody is safe.”

Bard put the reins in one hand and leaned far out of the driver’s seat to ruffle Finny’s hair. “Heya, Finn. Did you manage to get the tarps pulled over the herb garden okay?”

“Mhm! And I put burlap over the rose bushes and anchored the citrus trees, too!” Finny reported, and made a sound of delight when that earned him another pat on the head, though he added, “Or did I anchor the roses and put burlap over the trees…? Oh, well! Mr. Sebastian is home now, so he can just correct aaaall my mistakes!”

“Oy, Finny! That isn’t the way to go about things! Have a bit of integrity, y’know?”

“Ehhh, but Bard, didn’t you say when you dripped batter inside the oven that Mr. Sebastian could take care of it too?”

Bard’s shoulders jumped. “Huh! I didn’t—! I didn’t say anything like that! Sebastian, are you hearing this cheek? Psst, hey Finny, what did I tell you about ratting me out so easily…”

Finny simply laughed. “It’s always better to be honest, Bard! You know Sebastian will just find out later, because he always finds out about everything we do wrong!”

As Bard grinned sheepishly under Sebastian’s dry glare, the carriage window opened with a soft clatter. “Finny,” Ciel called out, and the gardener was at his beck in moments. “Run ahead and bring Mey-Rin and Tanaka to the foyer. I have something to give to each of you.”

This was met with bubbling excitement. “Ohh, something to give us! That’s so nice, wow, aren’t we so lucky! I’ll go get them right away!”

Finny made to dash off on his errand, but Bard stopped him with his voice before he could make it very far. “Hey, Finn, hold up. Just get Mey-Rin, okay? Tanaka needs to rest today.”

That alteration was met with a long stare. “But Bard, the young master told me that I should get both of them.”

Bard’s eyes stayed trained on the path ahead. “I know, I heard him. But Tanaka isn’t feelin’ well, so let’s leave him alone for now, right?”

Finny differed from the other servants in quite a few respects. One of those respects was in how seriously he took Ciel’s word. The young master was always in charge, of course, but if Ciel ever gave an uncertain or contradictory order, Mey-Rin and Bard were content to turn to Sebastian for clarification. But when Finny received direct word from Ciel, he wouldn’t accept changes in plan from anyone but Ciel. As the gardener jogged alongside the carriage digesting Bard’s words, Sebastian watched Finny’s large green eyes lose their gentle sheen at the suggestion that he ignore what the young master said. It was the same expression that overcame Finny whenever there was a threat to the manor; whenever he was blindly, almost absently, taking a life with his Herculean strength.

But Bard was of course no real threat, so the haunted look fast faded into doe-eyed curiosity. Finny drifted back to the cab once more. “Young master, Bard says that Tanaka needs to rest right now. Would you like me to fetch him anyway?”

Sebastian heard the carriage window open again. “He’s resting? No, if that’s the case, just get Mey-Rin. I’ll see Tanaka later.”

“Okay~! Sure thing!” With that confirmation, Finny bolted past the horses at top speed, loose turf flying out from under his heels as he went. At this rate, he’ll wear clean through his shoes again…

The carriage itself was at the front drive only a minute later. Sebastian lowered the step and opened the door, but instead of walking straight into the house, Ciel approached Bard as he was removing the luggage from the boot. “What’s the matter with Tanaka? Does he need a doctor?” the boy asked.

Bard put down a particularly heavy suitcase with a thud and a sigh. “No, I don't think he needs a doctor. But the weather is making his rheumatism act up, so I told him he should take it easy.”

That answer made Ciel smile and chuckle gently. “I bet it was difficult to convince him. If it’s just rheumatism, he’s fine, actually. He told me once that it really only bothers him a little. He certainly doesn’t need to be sent to his room like a sick child.”

Bard returned the smile, though behind it was frank gentleness instead of humor. “Well, I’m not sure how long ago he told you that, sir, but these things change with age, and Tanaka ain’t gettin’ any younger. It looked like it was causin’ him some bother, so I let him know we’d be fine if he wanted to lie down. He didn’t seem to need any more convincing than that.” Bard paused. “Rest’ll do him good, young master. You’ll see. He just needs to keep from movin’ his joints too much.”

“I know that,” Ciel mumbled quickly. He turned to the house. “Anyway, I want you to come inside too before you put the carriage away. It’ll only take me a minute or so to give you your gifts, so the horses will be fine to wait.”

“Gifts, huh? Well, that was awfully thoughtful. Thanks, young master.”

Ciel had already started up the front steps, one hand clamping down on the brim of his top hat to keep the persistent winds from immediately carrying it off, the other clutching at the collar of his coat. Even Sebastian, so unaffected by temperature, was as useless in this form as a mortal when it came to wind. By the time he and Bard had unloaded the luggage and box of goods from the marketplace, he was beginning to feel buffeted and rumpled and ready to get inside. He picked up the box and two of the four suitcases, only to notice Bard had the other two in his hands.

Sebastian frowned. “Surely you know I can carry all of these. I don’t require any assistance.”

Bard raised an eyebrow at him, smirking around his unlit cigarette. “C’mon, Sebastian, we all know you’re the resident strongman. But how d’you think I’d look walking in with you carrying all this and me empty-handed? Don’t answer that. Just let me take somethin’ and be done with it.”

Sebastian blinked as Bard started the climb, before giving a smirk of his own, half-exasperated. Really, such pointlessness… It would be easier for the both of them if Sebastian was simply allowed to handle this on his own. But fine, so be it. Let Bard play at feeling useful, if it made him happy. It was sort of… touching, in its own peculiar way. Besides, there was one final parcel Bard didn’t know about, and Sebastian reached into the cab of the carriage to retrieve the hatbox now.

Ciel was standing in the foyer with Bard, waiting, when Sebastian came to join them. Finny and Mey-Rin scampered in only half a minute later, Mey-Rin offering a hasty bow and a cheery, “Oh, welcome home, young master! We’re so glad to have you back, we are!”

“I’m hearing it’s Sebastian that may be the real pleasure to have back,” Ciel said, giving a half-smile as he eyed Bard from his periphery. “You really fixed the household overcooked pancakes every day…?”

Bard hunched, embarrassed. “Th-There were sandwiches too! And I tried to make some scrambled eggs…”

“The sandwiches were built from Mr. Sebastian’s leftovers, though,” Mey-Rin said.

Finny nodded. “And I still don’t understand how you managed to burn the eggs but keep them runny.”

“I-I thought if I added some oil and water, maybe they’d… reconstitute a little bit…” Bard explained when Ciel looked at him as if wondering the same thing. He hung his head. “I really did my best, if you can believe it.”

Ciel had to snicker. “And I wonder what else I’d find, if I went sniffing around for it,” he continued, making Mey-Rin and Finny’s posture stiffen. “Are all the silly little delicate things that live on the tables still intact? Did the bedded flowers grow out to carpet the walkway? There’s only one surprise left in the world when it comes to what you three are capable of, and that would be if nothing had gone wrong at all.”

Finny scratched at the back of his neck. “I did mix up the rosemary and the lavender, so… I harvested the rosemary flowers and lavender leaves instead of the other way around…”

Mey-Rin poked her fingertips together. “A-And I mistook the lampblack for rottenstone powder and polished the mahogany furniture in the library with it…”

Their sins admitted, the two of them became as wilted as Bard. “We’re so sorry, young master…”

That’s all well and good, but what about the apologies for me?! Sebastian could have knocked their heads together in utter exasperation. How were such mistakes even born… He’d be spending hours correcting these grievous errors, he was certain of that!

Ciel didn’t laugh, but Sebastian did notice the boy’s mouth clenching slightly with what might’ve been amusement. Somehow, Sebastian felt that sight taking the edge off of his displeasure. “That’s about in-line with what I expected,” Ciel said. “Anyway, it’s not the end of the world, so enough feeling sorry for yourselves — it’s time to cheer up. I have presents to give you.”

“Oh boy, presents! The young master is the nicest ever, ever, ever~!” Finny clapped his hands.

Mey-Rin couldn’t move past the moment so readily. “A-Are you sure we deserve them now, though, sir…?”

Ciel busied himself opening up the hatbox. “Your moral standing is for you to decide, not me. Anyway, catch.” One of the Maharaja Bitter Rabbits was then extracted from the round box and tossed abruptly in Bard’s direction.

“Whoa!” Though he fumbled it a bit, Bard eventually managed to hold onto the toy by its plump haunch. “Eh, what’ve we here? Which one is this guy?”

“It’s Bitter Rabbit!” Finny gasped when his own toy was volleyed to him. He hugged it tightly enough that the stuffing bulged at the seams, but not so tightly that Funtom’s strong stitching couldn’t hold, fortunately. “Aww, he’s sooo cute! I love his little clothes!”

Ciel had accidentally thrown Mey-Rin’s too high and too much to the left, but she snatched it out of the air with uncalculated ease, then held it gently between her palms. “Oh, my! He’s so soft!” She rubbed a thumb along its plush cheek. “Ohhh, what a dapper fellow he is! Dressed as fine as I’ve ever seen a rabbit, yes indeed!”

“These were never claimed at the Funtom convention,” Ciel explained as each servant reacted in their own way to the dolls. “That means they’re a collector’s item. Only three hundred were ever made and they’ll never be made again. And they may sell for a lot of money someday. In ten or twenty years, you can pawn them off and make a pretty penny.”

“Pawn him off?! I couldn’t possibly do that!” Finny clutched his rabbit all the more closely. “I’m going to keep him for the rest of my life and never sell him no matter what!”

Mey-Rin nodded. “Me too, yes! I would never get rid of something so special, not for any amount of money.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I’d better say that too, then, huh?” Bard chuckled. At Finny and Mey-Rin’s immediate scolding, he cried above them, “I’m joking, it’s a joke, settle down! I don’t want to sell mine either, so there’s no need to yap at me. Anyhow, it’s a real thoughtful thing, givin’ these to us of all people, young master. Thanks.”

Ciel shrugged. “I honestly don’t care what any of you decide to do with them. Keep them, sell them, throw them in the corner to gather dust. They’re yours now, so it’s up to you.”

Sebastian felt a warmth growing in him that he thought was reserved for the young master, though he supposed it was still in relation to the young master. The servants may have damaged the garden and ruined the furniture and wasted food while they were on their own, but those were tests Sebastian had expected them to fail. The test they had passed was the more important one, and that was in the way they showed appreciation for their new gifts and for the boy that had brought them. Ciel claimed he didn’t care what they did, but Sebastian didn’t doubt that the servants’ unbridled joy had been a gift all its own. It was honest, after all.

“Now, on to business,” Ciel said, and the trio stopped fooling around to listen. “The wind picking up and Tanaka’s intuition are sure signs that a storm is on the way. We need to make certain the manor is prepared to endure it. I’m sure Sebastian will have more direct orders for all of you, but I have some of my own regarding the horses. Finny, it sounds like you’ve already gotten far into weatherproofing the garden. When you’re finished, I want you to go and hand-lead Sysonby around the grounds for an hour or two. I’d ride him myself, but I’m feeling stiff from the carriage and I don’t want to deal with the wind. Bard can fit him with a halter and lead rope for you. And don’t be afraid to keep him moving at a good clip, as long as the earth isn’t loose. I want him worn out so that he doesn’t pitch too much of a tantrum when he has to be cooped up for a few days.”

Finny saluted. “O-kay! Sure thing!”

“Bard, I want your opinion on what to do with Avalon,” Ciel said next; Bard blinked in surprise, as usual never expecting to be sought out for his advice. “Do you think it would be better to exhaust him, like Syson, or do you think he should be brought to his stall now and given some sweet feed so he can settle in before the others have to join him? And how do you think he’ll do spending at least a few days in his stall without a break?”

Bard scratched his stubble. “Well… He’s doin’ better and better lately, as you know. Seems like restin’ in his stall has nearly gone back to bein’ routine for him. If the storm takes a while to pass and he starts climbin’ the walls, so to speak, I can always let him hang out in the aisle for a bit. In any case, for today I’ll finish up the usual drills and then just let him graze with the others, so they all get a last bit a’ sunshine, if that sounds fine to you, sir.”

Ciel nodded. “Very good. Then, that’s all I have to say. Sebastian’s in charge when it comes to preparing the rest of the house.”

Sebastian took a step forward and didn’t dally for an instant. “Mey-Rin, please bring the majority of your rifles indoors and cover the rest so that they are protected from the elements. While you do that, I will inspect the state of the house’s chimneys and clean the flues. After I’m finished, I’m counting on you to clean out the ashes and scour the walls of all fifteen of our fireplaces. We’ll be very reliant on them these next few days, so they must be cleaned to the utmost. With that in mind, Finny, before you tend to Sysonby, bring as much dry firewood as you can to the log racks by the tradesmen entrance. Cover the green wood with a tarp so the rain doesn’t spoil it. Bard, after you put away the carriage but before you tend to Avalon, unload the produce I’ve just purchased and make sure our supply of non-perishables is stocked enough to last us at least ten days. If there is anything we’re in need of, leave a note on the pantry door within the next hour. As for myself, I will be taking care of the chimneys, as I stated, alongside the manor exterior, including the remainder of the gardens. Is everyone certain of their orders?”

“Yes, sir!” the three said in unison.

“Get working, then. You’re dismissed,” Ciel said, and the loyal hounds scattered to their errands. With the crate of foodstuff left for Bard to deal with, Sebastian was able to gather up the five pieces of luggage on his own, hooking the hatbox with its remaining doll in his only free hand before following the young master up the main staircase to his bedroom.

When they arrived only a minute later, Sebastian put the luggage down and knelt to begin unpacking it. Ciel sighed contentedly and stretched his arms above his head and started removing his tweed Ulster coat, but he didn’t say anything. This gave space for Sebastian to ask, “How are you feeling right now, young master?”

Ciel turned around slowly, bearing an aggravated grin. He wrenched his arm free from a gray sleeve and tossed his coat on the bed. “I’m fine. Why are you asking me that again? You already asked me when I woke up, and then earlier when you served lunch, too. Just what changes are you expecting between now and then?”

“I don’t mean to sound expectant, necessarily,” Sebastian answered. He took his attention off the luggage and twisted around to face Ciel, though he kept his kneel. “However, you may recall the goal we decided on together to help you become more aware of your feelings. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me what your feelings are. But it does mean you can count on me to ask you what you’re feeling at regular intervals.”

Ciel folded his arms over his waistcoat. “I can count on you to be as annoying as ever, you mean. Why don’t you just calm down and wait for me to tell you something on my own?”

Sebastian pitted his most patient expression against the very impatient one he was being shot now. Even though Ciel had agreed to try and become more honest about his emotions just under a week ago, it was very easy for the boy to forget that, it seemed. Emotional honesty was new, and it was scary, and so Ciel wanted to worm his way out of it and blame Sebastian all in the same breath. But Sebastian remembered Agni’s lessons, and he kept them as close as a lifeline in these moments when Ciel attempted to wrestle away the control: Bring his emotional needs to his attention in obvious ways; tell him it will help him take care of himself; he will prefer not having to request things of his own volition.

“Consider it this way, young master,” Sebastian began. “If I am asking you how you are feeling at least a few times a day, you will never have to concern yourself with broaching the topic, nor with the responsibility of making time for your own sadness and anger. Instead, I will take on that responsibility. All you would have to do is decide whether or not you want to speak your mind. Does that help you to reconcile with it?”

Sebastian took the frustrated snort and turning-away of Ciel’s chin as a sign of concession. “Fine, fine, all right… But I’m not stupid, you know. You’re being pointed with your timing, I know you are. You’re expecting me to have something to tell you. Why is that?”

No, the young master wasn’t stupid. All the same, Sebastian had imagined he’d be more aware. Was Ciel really so far divorced from his own feelings that he truly couldn’t identify a reason that Sebastian would ask him, or did he want to pretend that he didn’t know why Sebastian would ask? Either way, perhaps some spelling-out was in order. “I can think of several reasons why you might have something to say, my lord. For starters, I know you weren’t expecting to go anywhere today, so traveling home may have brought on some frustration. Next, you had to comfort Soma, and you even hugged him on your own for what I think may be the first time I’ve ever witnessed. And now you’ve just been told Tanaka isn’t feeling well, and that may be a bit scary considering his age. But you may also feel apprehensive to speak with him because of the argument the two of you had before we left for London.”

As Sebastian talked, he watched Ciel’s face slowly lose its surety until it became an uncontested case of bewilderment. His Dalles blood shone in more than just the apples of his cheeks: it was an expression entirely reminiscent of his Aunt Ann’s nearly two years ago, when Sebastian read off to her the list of alibis he’d gathered from Jack the Ripper suspects. Ciel’s high color seemed to come from a place of shock and guilt all the same. “Why the hell are you thinking about all that?” the boy finally asked.

It had been amusing to see Madam Red so disoriented back then, but this wasn’t the response Sebastian wanted today. “Because those recent events are all relevant to how you may be feeling, young master.”

Ciel glared from the side of his eye. He still looked uncertain. “I know that,” he said carefully. “I only think it’s odd that you knew all that.”

So this had been another impromptu test — though it seemed to have been one Ciel had no expectations for Sebastian to pass. He didn’t look happy that Sebastian had passed, either. Sebastian decided he didn’t want to dwell on this aspect. “Well, now that all is out in the open, would you like to tell me how you’re feeling?”

Ciel continued to glare. One of his folded arms dropped. “I feel like I want you to leave me alone,” he huffed.

Oh. Sebastian’s shoulders fell. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he tried hopefully.

That only seemed to bolster Ciel’s resolve. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what I want,” he snapped. “At least after you get something more comfortable for me to wear than my travel clothes. Something I can lay about the house in. And don’t bother me again until it’s time for afternoon tea, all right?”

Sebastian left the room a mere four minutes later, feeling as confused as he ever did these days. He allowed himself a sigh. There would be time for reflection later, when he cleaned the chimneys. But it occurred to him that before he ventured to the rooftop, he should go downstairs to the servants’ quarters and see how Tanaka was faring.

At the first knock, Tanaka granted clear permission to enter, revealing he hadn’t been asleep. He was laying in bed in his uniform, strangely enough, and he pushed himself into a sitting position as the door was opened. “Welcome back, Sebastian,” he said with a smile that lifted his cheeks pleasantly up to his eyes. “It’s good to have you home. I do believe the others will be in need of your direction, especially given my current state.”

“Yes, I think you are right.” Sebastian smiled back, closing the door behind him. “It’s troublesome to hear you aren’t feeling at your best.”

“It isn’t as bad as it seems,” Tanaka assured him. “I don’t doubt I could push through with relative ease if circumstances required it, but if there is anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that it is always better to attend one’s needs at the slightest protest than to wait until there is no choice left but to listen.”

Sebastian bowed his head slightly. “That is sound advice.”

“It is advice that I find few people are happy to take,” Tanaka said. “I think it is a lesson that most have to learn on their own.” His smile turned more knowing. “It is a lesson that I believe our young master is learning right now, in his own way, yes?”

Tanaka’s perceptive ability had always gone far beyond that of interpreting storms. Again, Sebastian reflected the look. “I do believe he is.”

Tanaka nodded with understanding. He gestured out to his desk chair. “Why don’t you take a seat,” he said, “and tell me about how you are doing?”

Sebastian felt his smile slip. He nearly balked. Tell Tanaka about himself? How very… human. What was Tanaka expecting here? For this to be something Sebastian did easily, something he even looked forward to? Sebastian had made it clear early on in their relationship that any variety of personal conversation held no interest to him, and the clairvoyant Tanaka had never pushed such subjects again — at least not until recently, when Sebastian began tending to the young master’s emotions. It made Sebastian feel unpleasant, to be noticed for his potential struggles and not his successes. How he would much rather keep his vulnerabilities to himself…

Ah. And did the young master feel any differently when Sebastian asked him this very same question? A clear case of not-so-divine intervention seemed to be unfolding. You ought to first learn the lessons you’re so eager to impart or be labeled the hypocrite that you are.

So, deciding to put his most curious foot forward, Sebastian crossed the room and sat tall in the chair.

“Well,” he began dubiously, “I am feeling rather unenlightened around the young master nowadays. Sometimes when I speak with him, he only seems more upset afterwards than he did before. He is definitely wary of me. My efforts to change that opinion have seen little progress thus far.”

Tanaka looked entirely unsurprised by this, possibly even pleased. “That must feel very frustrating,” he said gently. “Don’t let yourself become too deterred. The young master’s stubbornness isn’t a sign that you’re failing. If anything, it may be a sign that you’re on the right track.”

“As you say,” Sebastian half-laughed. From that boy, stubbornness could mean just about anything. “Half the time it feels as if I’m on the wrong track, however.”

“Half the time is very impressive, you know!” Tanaka chuckled. “Every time I’ve attempted to convince the young master to be honest with me, I’ve been turned away. But I never take it to heart — and neither should you. The important thing is that you’re trying.”

Trying was the important thing, hmm? That was hard to believe. It was one thing to try and make the perfect curry a hundred times over; the stakes were low, the consequences for failure small. It was another thing to try and teach a very hurt and very vigilant boy to trust the demon who had haunted him for years to be his parent. The smallest mistake could result in a major setback. And Sebastian refused to believe the solution for anything other than Funtom’s curry came in the form of chocolate (much as Ciel might want it to be).

“I know that may sound rather backwards to you,” Tanaka continued, as if he could read his fellow butler’s thoughts. “You are a perfectionist and you are very adept at picking up new skills, so you are accustomed to easily attainable success. But success need not always be measured in terms of a situation going the way you want it to. Some of the most valuable lessons I have learned came from making mistakes — such lessons are why I am choosing to rest today. You might just be surprised at the lessons you’ll gather through error, too.”

Surprised? What an understatement. Sebastian felt he would be downright astonished if making mistakes taught him more than being successful did. But… maybe he shouldn’t be astonished at this point. Sebastian knew he had learned from his mistakes before — he just hadn’t learned that he’d learned from them, apparently. He was pretty accomplished at ignoring life lessons that didn't seem interesting. Mistakes were such mortal things. He didn’t like to consider them.

“Sebastian! Sebaaastian! We collected the green wood like you said but the log pile’s fallen in and all the wood got mixed together!”

And yet, for more than four years he’d had no choice but to consider them.

Sebastian stood, his long legs bringing him back to the height and view he was accustomed to. “I suppose that is my cue to depart.”

Tanaka conceded with a bob of his head. “And do you happen to think I may have another visitor today? It is, admittedly, the only reason I have stayed in my uniform all this time.”

Sebastian opened the door but offered a final raise of his eyebrows to signify his opinion on the matter. “I imagine that you will. I can fortunately say with confidence that my skills in persuasion need no buffing.”

❧┅┅┅┅┅┅♙┅┅┅┅┅┅♖┅┅┅┅┅┅♘┅┅┅┅┅┅♔┅┅┅┅┅┅♛┅┅┅┅┅┅♞┅┅┅┅┅┅♜┅┅┅┅┅┅♟┅┅┅┅┅┅❧

“You know, young master, you were exactly right about Mr. Tanaka.”

Ciel looked up from the latest Johanna Spyri book that he’d been picking his way through. Sebastian had just finished assembling the coffee table with all the fixings for tea: a bergamot blend mixed with lavender-leaf simple syrup, and molasses spice biscuits on the side. He responded to the boy’s attention with an obliging expression. “His rheumatism is not troubling him greatly. He is simply resting because he feels it would only worsen if he were to ignore the pain. You know him quite well.”

After a moment, Ciel dog-eared his page and tossed the slim little children’s book onto a cushion. “I’m glad to hear he’s feeling well enough,” he said carefully. He’d kicked off his button boots sometime before Sebastian had entered (Without even unbuttoning them all the way, really now…), and he curled his stocking feet up on the sofa beside him like a cat wrapping its tail around its body. “He’s game to have visitors, then?”

Sebastian offered him a teacup and saucer, laughing under his breath at the informal language. “I’m sure he is ‘game,’ yes.”

Ciel accepted the drink. “All right. Then I’ll check in on him for myself after tea.” Very good, just as expected; Sebastian was glad to hear it. And he wondered if he was about to hear Ciel ask for advice on how to talk to Tanaka after the argument they’d had, but instead— “Why are you just standing there? Don’t you have a lot of work you need to get back to?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly untrue. “I do indeed, yes. But I’m not in so much of a hurry that I can’t ask if you will be needing anything else?”

Ciel paused to think, then smirked broadly, wickedly. “Will you? ”

Sebastian blinked in surprise. “Pardon, sir?”

Ciel continued to look at him like a fox that had robbed a henhouse. “Don’t you need to ask me how I’m feeling? ”

It was phrased as a joke, Sebastian knew, but he wouldn’t treat it like one, just in case it held even a grain of suppressed need for comfort. He folded his arms behind his back and bowed forward the slightest bit and cocked his chin to the side to look at the boy less directly. “Young master. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“...” Ciel’s glee faded to disillusionment with the slow suddenness of watercolor absorbing into paper. He sipped at his tea, his shrewd gaze considering his butler. “Never mind. Mocking you isn’t any fun when you make it too easy.”

“Ah. What good luck I’ve found.” Then Sebastian frowned, again sighting the button boots lying haphazardly, their gleaming calfskin leather resembling two seal heads coming up for breath — only instead of an ocean they appeared to be surfacing the Isfahan rug. Sebastian scooped them up and deposited the pair next to the sofa. “I don’t suppose I could implore you to take better care of your new footwear for the short while it may fit you? You did say that you were fond of these. The buttonholes could stretch and tear if you don’t undo the buttons before removing them.”

Ciel groaned, letting his head roll backwards. “But it’s hard to redo all the buttons without a hook, it hurts my fingers… I just wanted it to be a bit easier when I put them back on,” he whined.

Sebastian barely restrained himself from chuckling. Ciel was being quite amusing, almost cute. It made all feel forgiven. “Well, they are your shoes. If that’s how it pleases you to treat them, then I shall keep my thoughts to myself.”

Ciel narrowed his eyes. “A good butler is meant to keep his thoughts to himself. Yet that’s the bit you’ve always refused to do.”

Sebastian grinned and opened his mouth, but before he could put forth a quip, there was a tumbling crash from the hallway, followed by Mey-Rin’s distressed cry of, “Oh no! Not all the soot! Oh no! ”

If that really was all the soot, ‘oh no’ has to be an understatement… Sebastian turned his retort into a sigh and began towards the door to assess this latest setback. Ciel was quick to bid him off with jeers of, “So now you’re a good butler who keeps his thoughts to himself! What’s the matter? Singing for your supper isn’t very pleasant when you don’t get to choose the song? And what a pity, I bet this is a song I’d like for once. Does it happen to go, ‘When a demon butler’s duty’s to be done, poor Sebastian’s lot is not a happy one’?”^[※]

Sebastian put his hand on the doorknob but had to turn a final time to look fondly at the boy. “You are quite funny, aren’t you?” he said, as if realizing it for the first time.

Ciel made a face. “Funny how? That’s a joke at your expense, idiot.”

A final chuckle. “Do call me if you need anything more, sir.”

“Whatever, damn demon.”

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The rain’s first drops started to fall at five p.m. When Sebastian finished clearing the drainpipes at six p.m., he was drenched through. The day’s tasks had been as much a figurative slog as they had been literal, not helped by the servants’ constant blunders. There had been so much to do that Sebastian had barely been able to cook dinner for the household and finish all the storm preparations, but by nine o’clock that night he was content that everything was finally as good as it was going to get. Now bone dry and perfectly pristine once more, Sebastian brought the steaming milk tea to Ciel’s room.

“Goodness, what a day,” he sighed after greeting the boy. “I must admit, our chat shall be a fresh breath after everything this storm has wrought. I am quite ready to consider something other than housework. So, do tell me, how was the rest of your afternoon, sir?”

Ciel was already sitting in bed in his pajamas. It reminded Sebastian of that Shrove Tuesday in mid-February when their relationship first began to shift; when Ciel had sought to remove Sebastian from his nighttime routine and would dress himself for sleep but leave his clothes strewn around the floor in disarray, so the articles would need to be washed or at least ironed before they could be worn a second time. Now, Sebastian was pleasantly surprised to see that Ciel had draped today’s clothes over the footboard. Maybe the earlier lesson about taking care of his shoes had sunk in — or maybe he meant to avoid giving Sebastian extra work when there had been so much to do already? Either way, the gesture was poignant.

Ciel didn’t grant it any acknowledgement. He took the cup from Sebastian with one hand and nested it in the palm of the other to feel its warmth. He sipped from it immediately; Sebastian always served it at the ideal temperature, so Ciel never needed to fear scalding his tongue. “I talked to Tanaka,” he began without fanfare. “About the way I scolded him before we left for London.”

Sebastian finally recognized the boy was a little subdued. He sat at the end of the bed to show he was ready to listen. “How did it go, then?” he asked.

“... Fine, I guess.” Ciel looked into his cup like it was a wishing well he’d dropped his last coin into. “I apologized for talking to him the way I did, and he said I didn’t have anything to apologize for. But I do, really. I spoke to him like he was a servant making demands of his master, but he’s always meant more to the Phantomhives than that, and he was just trying to show that he was worried about me. I shouldn’t have snapped at him.” Ciel sighed. “I said as much to him, and then he apologized… He said that I’ve made it clear many times that I don’t like to talk about personal subjects with him and he should have respected my privacy… And you know how Tanaka is, he didn’t say it like he was trying to make me feel guilty. Which of course is the thing that’s making me feel guilty about it all.”

“Why do you think that it’s making you feel guilty?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel considered this briefly. “Why do you think it’s making me feel guilty?” he decided to parry.

Sebastian paused. Another test — a curious one, too. Ciel usually hated when Sebastian put words in his mouth or made any assumptions about his mood. But there was a direct invitation to guess… Sebastian simply had to hope it wasn’t another trap. “I… imagine you might feel guilty because Tanaka has offered his ear without any ulterior motive and you’ve refused him.”

“Just the opposite of you,” Ciel said, haughty. “You want to listen to me because you’re a busybody who can’t stand not knowing absolutely everything.”

Sebastian had to laugh. Ciel’s old hypothesis was that Sebastian was ‘trying to make him miserable when he least expected it.’ Never have I been granted a stranger promotion. “That’s one way of looking at it,” Sebastian said while Ciel glared on. He put a hand to his chin. “Or it could be that we agreed to examine your emotions more closely together.” When that was met with silence, Sebastian added calmly, “You have trouble remembering that at times, don’t you?”

Ciel glanced to the side. “Honestly… sometimes I do.” The boy swirled his drink around in a forced distraction. “I just really hate it when anyone asks me how I’m feeling,” he finally grumbled. “It comes across the same as if you’d told me, ‘What’s the matter with you?’ You ask first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and that’s not so bad in comparison, but then you only seem to ask otherwise when you expect something to be wrong, and it makes me want to throw things at you.”

“Well. Color me grateful that it hasn’t yet come to violence,” Sebastian said with a smirk; Ciel only returned him an irritated blink. “But that’s a very good observation, young master. I didn’t realize I had been doing that. With this in mind… Perhaps it would be better if all emotional discussions were scheduled, instead of being sprung upon you unsuspectingly. You can still tell me how you’re feeling whenever you want, but perhaps I will only pose the question myself at an agreed-upon time, unless I feel you’re in some sort of distress. How does that sound?”

Ciel grimaced and shrugged, looking at the blankets. “I hate it all the same, but I won’t contest it. I mean… I did agree to this. And it’s… better than nothing.” He hesitated. “It’s better than losing control,” he added quickly, like he was trying to clarify.

Sebastian felt something in his chest swell. “Good work bringing yourself around,” he said heartily. He put his hands on his knees. “Now then, when would you like me to ask you how you’re feeling during the day? What about at afternoon tea?”

Ciel shook his head. “No, not at afternoon tea. I just want to relax then. Maybe… maybe at lunchtime.”

“Lunchtime. Excellent. That is what we shall do going forward.”

“Mm.” Ciel held his empty cup for a moment before handing it over. “I’m going to do some reading for a bit, then.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Not more horror stories, is it?”

Ciel froze up briefly, as if just remembering the Arthur Doyle story from last night and not liking what he remembered. “No.” Ciel reached to the bedside table for the same little book from that afternoon. “Uh, I mean, no… just more of this drivel. It may have the same author as Heidi, but I don’t anticipate Ms. Spyri’s latest is going to win over so many hearts. At the very least, I don’t think Funtom’s going to be making any toys based on it. I’ll finish it anyway. It’ll put me to sleep.”

There’s one relief. “Very good. Then, I’ll leave the lamp beside you and continue my vigil over the fires.”

Sebastian gave the room’s own fireplace another log, a gentle prod, and a nod of approval at its cleanliness (his doing, not Mey-Rin’s). Next, he took Ciel’s clothes from the end of the bed, hanging some up and folding the rest over his arm to add to the washing pile, then bid, “Goodnight, young master” quietly, so as not to interrupt the reading, as he moved towards the door.

“Sebastian?”

He’d been noticed anyway. Sebastian paused mid-stride. “Yes, sir?” he turned to ask.

But Ciel was pausing now too. “... Never mind it.”

Ah, too bad. “Very well, sir. I’ll be back in a few hours to look after the fire. I hope by then sleep has found you.”

“Mm.”

Ciel went back to reading, and Sebastian went back into the hallway. What a shame that Ciel hadn’t let him into his thoughts; it would have given him something to ponder while he went about his nightly duties. And there was surely plenty to do, but at least now he had the peace of mind that no servants were awake to ruin it. He might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

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Three hours after Ciel had fallen asleep, the first rumbles of thunder began sounding in the distance. Sebastian heard them in the midst of rhythmically tending to seven of the manor's fifteen fireplaces — when he finished with the last, he had scarcely an hour to spare before the first one would be in need of tending again, and so the Sisyphean cycle continued all through the night.

By dawn’s invisible arrival, the storm was in full swing. It spared them no theatrics. The gutters roared, the wind was a pack of wolves, and the sunless sky writhed like ink spreading through water. Summer was meeting an operatic death before their eyes and at their feet, but the season refused to exit-stage without first conducting its own symphony of riding valkyries.

“Ahhh! Mr. Sebastian! I need help!”

“Oh no! Oh, Mr. Sebastian, oh, it’s terrible! Please hurry!”

“Ah, eh, Sebastian, wouldja come here real quick…”

Funny, he didn’t recall any clowns showing up throughout the entire four parts of Der Ring des Nibelungen, and yet here they were vying for center stage.

Really, the first day of the storm wasn’t so bad. Just little annoyances here and there: muddy footprints from Bard taking his smoke breaks outside the stable, cinders singeing the carpet when Mey-Rin tried to help with the fires, puddles of dirty water from Finny bringing in the logs. Nothing unusual, yet nothing desirable either. More hiccups on a day when things were already naturally out of the usual swing.

Ciel was the least of Sebastian’s worries — well, really Ciel was the most of them lately, but he certainly didn’t make himself a squeaky wheel that day. Checking in with the boy was the one ‘chore’ Sebastian had any interest in, too, yet Ciel mostly kept to himself. Their morning and lunch meetings were uneventful: Ciel had books to read, his own solitude to savor, and so when asked how he felt, there was nothing much to report. It was only when Sebastian fetched Ciel for dinner that a shift in mood was noticeable… and the definition for it was even more clear at bedtime. It was something between aggravation and insatiability, fastidiousness and discontent. Ciel was getting bored.

“The post won’t come till the worst of this weather passes, nor can it be sent out, so I don’t have anything to work on,” Ciel fussed as Sebastian pulled back the covers. “How much longer do you think this storm is supposed to last? I’m already weary of it.”

“As am I, I assure you,” Sebastian sighed. “It’s hard to say when the weather intends to clear up. Perhaps what we both need is a change of pace.”

“And what do you suggest?” Ciel drawled in a way that said he didn’t think Sebastian would have a decent answer.

Sebastian folded his arms behind his back. “Hmm… What would you think if I suggested that we keep each other company?”

Ciel stared at him. “You want me to follow you around and talk to you while you do your chores?”

“If you like, yes.”

“That sounds like the most dull thing I can possibly imagine,” said Ciel.

“Benevolent as ever, you are,” said Sebastian.

Ciel scooted his body down in bed. “I’m not going to sit around and make idle conversation while you bag ashes for three hours,” he huffed. “What good does that possibly do an earl? Next you’re going to tell me I should give cleaning fireplaces a go.”

Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “Now that would certainly be a change of pace.”

“Ugh. Stop playing the comedian for once.”

“Did I sound as if I was joking? I hadn’t meant to.”

He received another stare, then a huge eye roll for that. “Never mind, you’re useless at this. I’ll think of something on my own.” Ciel turned over onto his side. “I’m going to sleep so I can put today behind me already. Don’t bother with waking me in the morning, wait for my call. I want to sleep through as much of the day as I possibly can.”

But Ciel didn’t end up sleeping through much of the day at all. He woke up just after seven o’clock when a monolithic old tree in the surrounding wood was blown down with a crack as loud as any lightning strike. It put him in a foul mood that gave Sebastian a sense of foreboding. This sense only heightened when he returned to the office at noon to deliver lunch and Ciel fixed him with a smiling maw of clenched teeth.

“Sebastian, you’re in luck.” The boy’s tone was thickly facetious. “I know exactly how I’m feeling today.”

The plate of aioli-slathered toasts covered in broad-leaf endive and cold roast chicken was arranged on the desk. “Is that so, sir? Do tell me.”

“I’m feeling,” Ciel began, “as if I’d like to return to my lessons.”

Hmm. “Such an unemotional statement seems like cheating the question, don’t you think?” Sebastian said flatly.

“No, not really,” Ciel said merrily.

But the fact that Ciel wanted to return to his lessons was ultimately a good thing. Other than a bit of dance and violin over the summer, Ciel hadn’t asked about his studies since they’d shelved the practice in March. Now that he wanted to start them again all of his own accord, it seemed as good a time as any to try another one of Agni’s instructions: You must spend time together, beyond your duties to him as a butler. Perhaps you could tutor Lord Ciel in a subject in place of one of his teachers.

So Sebastian continued, “Truthfully, I think that’s a capital idea, young master. Do you have something in particular you’d like to learn?”

“Hm? I don’t know. That doesn’t matter.” Ciel was nonchalant, cutting into the toast with his knife and fork as he spoke. “Just find out what the course work is for Weston’s fourth years at the soonest opportunity and we’ll copy that.”

“Certainly, that’s a good start,” said Sebastian. “But, I wonder, wouldn’t you like to learn something different this time around? Something not usually offered in college?”

Ciel had his mouth open for a bite, but lowered his silverware to scowl. “Something like how to clean a fireplace…?” he deadpanned.

“If that’s what you wanted,” Sebastian said. Ciel’s eyelids only lowered more. “Come now, young master, what does it hurt to try and pick up a unique skill, or study something off the beaten path? There’s a multitude of possibilities. You could try your hand at a craft, like book restoration or photograph tinting, or study a particular subject, like archeology or Egyptology.”

That final statement made Ciel look briefly unnerved, though Sebastian really couldn’t begin to guess why. “I don’t want to learn any of that,” he snapped. “I just want to learn what’s expected of me so that I don’t make a fool of myself at socials. I already have hobbies that I like. I have a business to run and land to manage. And you and I are already doing these… emotion-talks, or whatever you’d call them. What would I need to do anything else for?”

This was starting to look like a lost cause. “For fun, perhaps?”

“I don’t want to do something for fun.”

Again, Sebastian couldn’t help chuckling. “Young master…”

Ciel had an opposite mien. “I’m not saying I don’t like having fun,” he explained. “I’m saying there’s no point in wasting my time doing frivolous things unless they serve a secondary purpose, such as to relax or to amuse guests. You and I both know I’m not going to live very long, so why should I ever mess around? Taking up a difficult hobby, studying extraneously… It’ll just end up being useless, so I don’t even consider it.”

He’d said this all in such a matter-of-fact and businesslike way that it made Sebastian’s heart break. What was worse… Ciel had a bit of a point. And the true worst part: there was no one to blame for Ciel feeling this way but Sebastian.

Sebastian tightened his gaze. It was sooner than he’d hoped, maybe even too soon, but… he needed to tell Ciel the truth about what he’d been feeling lately. I can’t let him go on thinking that his life is pointless. It isn’t right. “Young master… I should—”

“Mr. Sebaaaaastian, I need heee-eeelp! My hand won’t stop bleeding!”

Oh no.

Both heads had jerked in the direction of the door when the outcry came loud and clear. It was Finny, champion of calling out in such a way that his voice traveled echoingly through the house’s numerous corridors. Of course, Sebastian could hear just about anything that went on in the manor, and even pinpoint exactly where it was coming from if he wanted to (most of the time he really didn’t want to). The sound had to be coming from the conservatory.

“... I should… see to that,” he finished lamely.

Ciel was frowning, eye wide. “Uh, right, yes, you’re dismissed… And don’t worry about coming back until afternoon tea either. You’re being strange today.”

With that unpromising review weighing in his thoughts, Sebastian walked briskly in the direction of the trouble. Finny was standing in the middle of the conservatory’s geometric tiled floor upon Sebastian’s arrival, simply watching his hand drip, even though he had surely been taught a hundred times that he was meant to apply pressure and keep the wound closed in these cases. He looked quite relieved to see Sebastian coming over. “Oh, Mr. Sebastian, there you are, I almost went to find you! Because, see, I tried holding the cut closed, but I must have done it wrong because I only made it bleed more, and I figured you’d be angry if it got on the carpets, so I thought I’d better stay h—”

“Let me see it,” Sebastian said simply, and Finny held out his hand to be studied, all the while prattling on at him, “Did I do it wrong? Was I not supposed to hold it shut?” There was a gash in the fatty part of the thumb, at least a centimeter deep and over an inch long, but luckily it wasn’t a jagged cut. Still… “How in the world did you manage this?”

Finny tipped his chin all the way back to look up. “One of the glass panes fell out of its molding. I tried to catch it to keep it from breaking, but it stuck into my hand.”

“What?” Sebastian looked up too. Sure enough, a single square of missing glass was letting in rain and wind like a storm in miniature. Sebastian looked down again. The pane sat on the floor, mostly intact and with red spattering out from a pointed corner. “It fell out of its molding?” he repeated. “Surely it couldn’t just fall out. I secured those panes myself.”

Finny shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, Mr. Sebastian, but that’s how it happened.”

That explanation would have to do for now. “Pinch the cut closed with your other hand to seal it; don’t squeeze. Good. Now raise both hands above your chest level and stay like that until I return with the medical supplies. You’ll need a few sutures.”

“Okaaaay, I won’t move a muscle!”

Five minutes later, Sebastian was cleaning the area with a bit of diluted carbolic acid. Then he began stitching. Finny had a relatively high pain tolerance, which was fortunate given sutures could be unpleasant for the average human. He watched Sebastian work, curiosity making him blessedly quiet, and only talked again once the bandages had been applied.

“That’s all it needs, huh?” Finny said, turning his hand around to examine it from all sides.

“For the time being.” Sebastian closed the medical kit. “You must tell me if it begins to itch or the pain worsens, or if the skin around the area turns red. Any signs of infection must be attended posthaste. I will change the bandages again before you go to sleep tonight.”

“Wow, you’re just amazing, Mr. Sebastian,” Finny marveled. “You can fix anything, can’t you?”

Sebastian blinked down at the beaming face. It wasn’t unusual for Finny to be so generous with his praise, but… well. It had been a while since Sebastian had received praise from anyone. It felt quite deserved. “Anything other than conservatory panels, perhaps.”

Finny laughed. “Well, thanks for patching me up again. I guess I had better get back to work, huh?”

“No, you should not. You’re finished for the day,” Sebastian said. “We can’t risk the sutures being disturbed. I want to be certain that the skin is undoubtedly closing without infection before you do any more work. You’ll have to rest for at least the next twenty-four hours.”

Finny was abruptly discouraged. “Oh… I didn’t realize it was that serious. Oh… I guess I shouldn’t have tried to catch the glass after all… Gee, I really messed up this time, didn’t I?”

Tears were already budding in those large green eyes and Finny’s head slumped forward. Sebastian stared at the fluffy crop of straw-colored hair facing him, bangs secured back with a few red bobby pins but otherwise free to hang wherever strands fell. It had always grown in a shaggy fashion, doing whatever it pleased, for it had never had the chance to grow until its owner was approximately fourteen. There was something about this familiar hair that was unfamiliarly compelling. Yes, it was odd, but… Suddenly, he needed to try something for himself… Just to see what would happen…

Sebastian put his hand on Finny’s head. He moved the hand back and forth.

Finny gasped. His eyes tilted to gaze up through his bangs. “Mr. Sebastian…?”

This doesn’t seem right. Sebastian moved the hand back and forth more quickly. No, not that either. Perhaps if I think of him like a cat... Sebastian tipped his fingertips downward, feeling the way the nails scritched at the scalp even through the gloves. Yes. That must be it.

Finny’s eyes had been slowly widening in understanding. Then his face raised up and split into a huge grin. “Mr. Sebastian, you’re scratching my head the way Bard does!” he exclaimed.

“Yes. It would seem I am doing that,” Sebastian said, still scratching.

“That means you care about me!” Finny said.

“Is that what it means?” Sebastian faltered.

Finny laughed like a bell. “What else would it mean, silly?”

Good point. He took his hand back. “I suppose that’s enough of that.”

Finny hopped so that the crown of his head touched the palm of Sebastian’s leaving hand. “You know, Bard is wrong about you, Mr. Sebastian! You aren’t ‘nothin’ but a highfalutin windbag with a swollen head!’”

“How comforted I am to know it,” said Sebastian.

Finny started rocking on his heels. “So then… if I can’t do any chores, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Hmm…” Sebastian only needed to think briefly. “Why don’t you knock on Mr. Tanaka’s door and see if he needs any companionship? You can read to him, if he wants it and if you promise not to hold the book too tightly. Put all your focus into keeping your wound from reopening, please.”

“Ohh, okay! I can do that! I’d be happy to!” Finny held up his uninjured right hand. “But before I leave, did you want me to pat you on the head, too?”

“No, Finny,” said Sebastian.

The top of the conservatory was about twenty feet in the air. Sebastian could easily reach such heights in a single bound and went outside to do so once Finny left. With the rain hammering his back, he leapt nimbly up to observe the framework where the glass panel had dislodged from the molding. He hadn’t believed Finny’s story about the panel merely falling, because it shouldn’t be possible for the glass to fall in to the conservatory — the panels were meant to fit perfectly in their structure, so the only way this could happen was if the glass had been shattered first and then fallen. But there wasn’t any shattered glass; there was only a near-perfectly intact panel smeared with blood.

So maybe the gardener’s story was true. But how was it possible?

Closer inspection revealed a slight flaw in this exact segment of the molding. The framework had been bent from the exterior and now it couldn’t hold the glass totally in place from underneath. Usually this wouldn’t be a problem, but something like strong wind and strong rain might be enough to push the glass panel out of place until…

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. This was his fault.

The conservatory had only been minutely damaged in the circus troupe’s attack last year and thus had only been given a minor inspection following it. Sebastian imagined this sort of injury to the roof might have happened from someone walking on it and bending the framework, when it was never meant to bear a person’s weight, even an acrobat’s. Standing up here was a feat only a bird or an immortal could manage flawlessly.

It was an error a human would almost certainly not catch, but Sebastian had thought more highly of himself. How disappointing… Well. Nothing to be done now but to patch it up with its own sutures and bandage, which was in this case a precisely measured square of burlap secured with fish glue.

Job well done. And now back to the fires…

“OWWWWW!!!” 

Or not.

It was when he was collecting more firewood from the reserves by the serviceman entrance that Sebastian heard that second cry of pain. This one surely belonged to Bard. A brief pause, and then the barrage began. “Shi- shoot! Dadgum fiddlesticks, dirty rotten consarn son of a b- gun—”

Sebastian went back through the kitchen and followed the cascade of less-than-colorful language through the tack room into the stable, where Bard stood in the aisle gripping his leg and grumbling endlessly. Sebastian clapped a few times to announce his presence.

“I’m very impressed,” he said, still clapping. “You’ve been minding your expletives like I asked you to. Good work.”

Bard leaned against a support beam, still holding his leg. All the horses had their heads craned out over their stall doors, ears twisted towards the loud humans. This was the most entertainment they’d had in a day. “Well I guess it was for a good cause, if at least one person heard it,” Bard managed to hiss through the pain. “Ouch, for cryin’ out loud… I just got kicked, and I mean it when I tell ya it hurts like somethin’ that really ain’t heck.”

Sebastian eyed Avalon suspiciously. “And who happened to be behind the attack?”

“Augh, it was Merrylegs… Really livin’ up to your name, ain’tcha, ya big twit? Some merry legs you got now, we’ll see how merry you are without ’em—”

“And what did you do to cause Merrylegs to kick you?” Sebastian knelt down and had Bard lift up the left hem of his trousers so he could study the calf. Already a welt the size of a lime was forming.

“Wasn’t anything I did!” Bard sucked in on his teeth when Sebastian prodded at the area to feel for breaks in the bone. Fortunately, there weren’t any detectable fractures. “Agh, that smarts… Nn, anyway. Was a mouse that startled him. Gave him a right scare when I was pickin’ his hooves a bit. Next thing you know, he’s stampin’ and wavin’ his big stupid paws around, and I’m gettin’ it in the shin.”

“A mouse?” Sebastian stood up straight. “The mice shouldn’t have any interest in the stalls. We don’t allow food to collect on the floors, and the wood doesn’t have any holes in it.”

“Eh, think again,” Bard grumbled. “I saw that mouse run in myself. There’s a nice sizable hole right in the outside-facin’ wall of Merry’s stall.”

“There can’t be. I checked for myself yesterday.” Sebastian went and peered inside Merryleg’s stall. There was a hole.

“You see it?” said Bard.

“I see it,” said Sebastian.

“Bet it found a weak spot and just wore at it,” Bard said. “Varmint’s were always chewin’ straight through my old house when it rained. American mice, British mice, seems none of ’em got any courtesy. It rains and it’s like they can smell the dry places.”

Yes, there had been a weak spot. Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. Yesterday he had noticed the way the wood there seemed slightly scuffed, but he hadn’t anticipated it posing an issue. There had been far too many more important things to do than care about lightly damaged stable walls for more than a second. And now the two of them were paying the price.

Sebastian returned to Bard’s side and put an arm around his shoulders for support so he could hobble back to the kitchen. “We’ll have to chill that welt as best we can while it’s fresh. Once you’re seated, I’ll bring you something to soak it in.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s all there is to be done… Though a bit of whiskey to take the edge off would be a godsend?” Phrased expectantly, of course.

“A bit,” Sebastian emphasized.

That was granted a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Sebastian assisted Bard to the kitchen table where the servants ate their meals, and helped lower him tensely into one of the ladder-back chairs. “Oh? So I’m not ‘nothing but a highfalutin windbag with a swollen head,’ is that so?”

“What?! ” Bard seemed to earnestly have no idea what Sebastian was referring to for a moment. Then he clapped a hand over his eyes. “Finny…! Agh, I probably said that years ago and he just never forgot it! Wasn’t like I said it yesterday or nothin’! Geez… Eh, uh, s-sorry about that though. No hard feelings?” He cracked a bad grin.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re sorry now.” Sebastian shook his head, then began towards the scullery in search of a basin. “And I’m sure I probably deserved it to some degree, too.”

“Eh, wait, what was that last bit? Didja say somethin’ else?”

They didn’t have any containers deep enough for Bard to soak his calf in, but they made do with a clean metal washing tub filled with frigid water and a dishrag for him to drench and cover the injury with. Then Sebastian left Bard with a whiskey dram (“Wait, this is all? Uh, I mean, th-this is all so nice of you, thanks boss!”), nailed a bit of spare wood over the hole in the stable, gathered up the logs he’d selected prior to the unfolding of the latest incident, and returned to his fireplace maintenance.

The basement and ground floor fires were taken care of in good order. They had nearly gone out, given all the distractions he’d endured, and it had taken more time than usual to build them back to fullness. It was tedious work. Sebastian was quite eager to hand off the chore to Mey-Rin that afternoon, once all the current fires had been nursed back to health and could perhaps be kept lively with just a bit of kindling. Surely even she could manage that much… Surely—

“Whaaaaaaghh! ”

That distinctively pitched cry of alarm had sounded off from the nearest servants’ staircase. It was swiftly followed by a crash and a few rattling noises, and then, “Oww…”

…

I don’t want to know. Whatever it is, I know I don’t want to know about it.

…

Sebastian opened the tucked-away door to the steep uncarpeted stairwell that was meant to allow the domestics to travel through the floors of the manor with all the secrecy of shadows. Meant to yet couldn’t — not when the shadows were so clumsy. The steps were currently littered in maid’s tools: duster, cleaning rags, furniture brush, whisk brush, scrubbing brush, each item having found its own particular level to sit upon. And at the very top of it lay Mey-Rin, as sprawled as her tools and clutching at her right foot.

First Finny, second Bard, third… “Surely we haven’t gone for a hat trick,” said Sebastian.

“No, I’m afraid it’s a sprained ankle,” said Mey-Rin.

“And do tell me,” said Sebastian, “what the storm-related culprit behind this incident is.”

Mey-Rin looked behind her and upwards. “There’s a leak drippin’ at the top of the stairwell y’see, and the puddle it made sent the world flyin’ out from under me.”

“Of course,” Sebastian nodded as he saw the place in the ceiling where water had collected and made a damp spot. “Yes, of course.”

Using the banister, Mey-Rin tried to stand herself to her feet. “I’ll clean all this up straight away—”

“No, you won’t.” Sebastian traveled up the flight to kneel on the steps and assess the situation for himself. First thing was first. “We’ll need to remove your footwear immediately in case the site starts to swell. It would be unfortunate if it grew to the point that we needed to cut you out of it.”

Somehow, this was already enough to fluster Mey-Rin. “Uh, o-of course, if you insist!”

The long laces were undone enough that the foot could be slipped free from the tall combat boots Mey-Rin favored for stability. They hadn’t been enough to keep her from falling today, unfortunately, though they may have protected her from something worse than a minor sprain — but it was definitely at least a sprain. The range of motion had been compromised and Sebastian could feel the ankle starting to grow hot and puffy beneath his hand. “It would be best not to walk on this. I’ll carry you down to the kitchen so we can take a proper look at it.”

“WHAT?!” Mey-Rin bleated.

“Please think nothing of it,” said Sebastian as he hoisted her into the air, precisely because he knew she would.

She immediately covered her flushing cheeks with her palms. “Ahh, this is too much! This is far, far too much! Oh dear, oh dear… I-I’m not too heavy am I? Oh please say I’m not, I think I’d just about die, I would.” Her voice grew smaller and higher-pitched with every word.

Sebastian started down the steps. “I have yet to meet a living creature that is too cumbersome for me to lift.”

“O-Oh, well, erm, good!” Mey-Rin placed her hands in her lap and tugged nervously on her apron as they finished their brisk descent. “Ahm, thank you, f-for doing this… I could probably walk on my own, really, if I took my time… I-I mean, I should probably get used to walking on it as soon as possible! All there is to do for a sprain is to put up with it until it eventually goes away. They’re really just a nuisance.”

“That isn’t true.” They made it to the basement level and Sebastian turned his body so they could walk through the open frame into the hallway without his passenger bumping the walls. “There are a few things that can be done for sprains, the most important being rest. A warm compress should also help.”

“Oh. Oh, I see… I don’t know why I didn’t realize that.” Mey-Rin stopped fidgeting. “I suppose I only ever thought an open wound was the kind that needed care. The invisible ones… well, I always just pretended I couldn’t feel them.”

“It’s better not to pretend.” They were nearly at the kitchen now. “I’m glad you aren’t trying to pretend today.”

“Y-You are, sir?”

But— “Mey! Not you too!” Bard was calling from the servants’ table by the wall. He was wringing out the rag he’d been soaking in cold water and slapped it back over his welt, which had grown darker and larger over the last hour. “Eesh, that’s cold… Aw, Mey, you lucky dog, getting the Cinderella treatment. Suppose it ain’t all bad, then, eh? So tell me, what are you in for?”

“Stop trying to embarrass me, Bard!” Mey-Rin half-howled as Sebastian lowered her into a chair across the table from him. “It’s just a sprained ankle and Sebastian is only doin’ the good n’ decent thing, he is!”

“I’m going to prepare the compress for you now, so please make sure your foot is bare when I return from the sink,” Sebastian said as plainly as he could, though it was still enough to have Mey-Rin’s face heating up anew.

Boiled water was always available on the stove, so it was just a matter of gathering a clean towel. “Ahh, this is so embarrassin’... Please don’t look over while I unhook my stocking,” Sebastian heard Mey-Rin fret.

Bard laid a hand lazily over his eyes but still said, “Aww, come off it, Mey, we’re practically relatives at this point. You should be able to treat your own lameness without worryin’ about propriety or whatever it is that’s got you ’round the twist.”

Sebastian located a clean rag and walked past while Mey-Rin gritted her teeth at Bard, this time turning red with more anger than embarrassment. “Well, do excuse me if the one lady in a house full of gents would like to exercise a bit of modesty for modesty’s sake!”

“Modesty? You’re injured, modesty should be the least of your worries.”

Mey-Rin had the stocking removed and rolled up just as Sebastian finished preparing the compress. “Only a sprained ankle is all it is… Not so poorly off that I’ll stop carin’ to be womanly.”

Bard chuckled. “Right, well you’re on team gimpy now, so I say leave your pride at the door and get comfortable.”

“Oh please, Bard, as if that wasn’t already your philosophy!”

“Hmm. Yeah, I s’pose you’re not wrong about that.”

Sebastian walked over with the compress, along with a weighty sack of flour, which he positioned lengthwise on a spare chair. “Elevate your foot on this so that we can reduce the blood flow. Now, are you going to wrap it in the compress or shall I?”

Mey-Rin gripped the corners of the seat. “Ah! Y-Y-Y-You can do it!”

“Huh, wonder where that modesty went off to…”

“AHH, you—! You can keep your comments to yourself, you can!”

“All right, all right, settle down, I’m only teasin’.”

Sebastian pretended to ignore their banter. The swelling foot was wrapped in the hot cloth and then propped on the flour sack. “There we are. Now there’s nothing to be done but to sit and rest, so at least you can keep each other company.”

Mey-Rin fiddled with her glasses nervously. “Ah yes, I suppose so… Th-Thank you, Mr. Sebastian, for all your help.”

Sebastian put his hands on his hips and stared at the two servants resting at the table, each with a leg propped up, looking like a pair of layabouts, expressions bored and glum. And then there was Finny with his hand bandaged, and Tanaka laid up with his rheumatism…

Four of the household’s five servants were out of commission.

Of course they were.

There was so very, very much to be done, especially now that Sebastian was the only one left standing to do it. But first, he needed to find out what was causing the drip over the staircase; that bit of damage surely needed immediate fixing. How had it even come to pass? If there was anything he’d granted a thorough inspection the other day, it was the roof.

Or apparently not.

The Phantomhive manor did have an attic, though it was not put to use for anything but storage; thus, Sebastian rarely went up there. Even so, he had visited the attic before the storm started, to assure structural soundness. And yet somehow water had collected in the ceiling anyway. How?

Sebastian started his investigation where the water ended: the servants’ staircase. Directly above it, in the attic, there was a puddle forming beneath one particular rafter. Water had run down the beam for long enough that it had left a trail across the wood, dripping a single droplet every half-minute with all the slow inconsistency of a stalactite. Sebastian followed the trail up the rafters and supports to the ceiling, the roof’s interior, where another wet spot had formed. He memorized the section of the house he was in and kept it in his mind’s eye as he went back outside to locate where this minor disaster originated.

The slate shingles were in mint condition. There was not a chip or scratch to their surfaces that Sebastian’s faultless eyes could notice. It was only after a minute of thinking, and getting extraordinarily drenched, that Sebastian thought to touch them and see if any moved. Nine, ten, eleven… The twelfth one shifted just slightly under his fingers. There it was.

“Nail sickness,” he said aloud in displeasure.

While usually easier to sight, the iron nails that held the shingles in place could sometimes become rusted and start to lose their grip. Sebastian had constructed this roof himself and had made certain it was immaculately done… and again, the circus troupe or another invader may have disturbed the shingle enough at one point that a gap was created and the nail was exposed to the elements. The typical rainstorms of England had been enough to wear away at the metal, again and again and again… and now this storm was enough to let the water run strongly enough that it made it into the house.

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose for a third and hopefully final time. The divine were usually happy to take the credit of humans and Mother Nature…

Forget practical solutions. Forget hammers and wood and glue and tarp. Sebastian fixed this issue with the snap of his fingers and a wave of his hand. And immediately after doing so, he felt the drawstring pull in his chest that meant he was being summoned.

There was no time to change clothes, so Sebastian magicked himself dry and off he went to his master’s side in the bright, dry interior of the house. Ciel was stretched out on one of the couches in the upstairs parlor, though he was sitting up off the cushions, rubbing at his arms for warmth. “It’s getting cold in here, the fire turned to cinders ten minutes ago,” he said, looking more surprised than upset about it. “What the hell has got you taking so long?”

The fire sprung to life with a rush of air and a pop that had the boy turning his head in surprise. “Apologies, sir. It’s been a full afternoon,” Sebastian hated to admit.

Ciel turned back, eyebrows lowered. “You can’t just use your demon abilities whenever it’s convenient, I’ve told you that. They’re only supposed to be in emergency situations.”

“... Yes, you have told me that. I’m sorry for making an exception.” Sebastian paused, then offered a slow smile. “The truth is,” he confessed, spotting another opportunity to test his own hypocrisy, “that I myself am feeling a bit… irritated.”

And here Sebastian recounted the full afternoon he’d suffered.

Ciel’s expression had grown increasingly concerned throughout the dissertation. “All three of them are resting?” he said when Sebastian was through.

“Yes, sir.”

“Will they need to rest for the remainder of the day?”

“I should think at least that long. Perhaps two or three days.”

Ciel shook his head. “No. That won’t do.” After a thoughtful moment, he swung his legs over the edge of the cushions. “Go get Finny and tell him to join Mey-Rin and Bard in the kitchen. I’ll come down shortly. I want to speak to them about this.”

Sebastian immediately set to the task, feeling a stir of smugness at the thought that comeuppance was to be exacted. Five minutes later, all but Tanaka were gathered at the scene. Sebastian stood behind Ciel with the three servants gazing back from their spots at the table, already resembling a trio of beaten puppies before the scolding even began.

“This is a disappointing sight,” Ciel said, stern. “You know you’re supposed to be more careful than this. The main reason that I hired you was so that you could defend the manor from intruders, and in this condition none of you can do it adequately. Luckily for you, the weather means it’s unlikely we’re at risk of an attack. But you can’t even do your normal jobs in this state. Do you expect me to pay you to sit around and twiddle your thumbs until you’re better?”

Now the puppies looked more than beaten — they looked like they’d been told to sleep outside in the storm without even a crate to shield them. “We’re so sorry, young master,” they chorused in a whimper.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Ciel said. His stern tone had already changed into a sensible one. “I’m telling you that I’m not going to let you simply lay around. I won’t have you exacerbating your injuries either, but none of you seem too badly off, so there’s no need to waste your time laying in bed. If you want to get paid, I expect you to be doing something.”

“So we’re not being let go?” Finny looked like he was about to cry, and Mey-Rin wasn’t much better.

“How did you come up with such an idea?” Ciel folded his arms. “No, of course you’re not being let go, and you really ought to think better of me than that. I’m here so we can discuss how I intend for you to spend your time until you’re properly healed.”

The two youngest servants then burst out with tearful praises. “Young master…!” “We don’t deserve so much kindness, we don’t!” “After all the things we did wrong…!” “I’m so touched!” “Waaah, young masterrrr!”

Ciel drooped his shoulders, seeming uncomfortable. “God’s sake… That’s enough of that,” he said tiredly. “I’m not being kind, I’m just being practical. Now dry your eyes and listen to me. Either you can come up with a way to keep working without making your injuries any worse or you can hear my idea. Which do you prefer?”

Mey-Rin and Finny were still busy sniffling and hiccuping, so Bard said for all of them, “I think we’d be happy to hear your idea, sir, thank you. What’ve you got?”

“I thought you might say that.” Ciel had a distinctive grin in his voice, Sebastian noted, the very same brand of slyness he used when talking to Diedrich. And now the boy’s thumb was gesturing over his shoulder at Sebastian. Oh no. “This one here seems to have forgotten what subject matter it is that nobles need to study,” Ciel began. “He’s been prattling on about teaching me to clean fireplaces and other whimsies I have no use for. I think something is wrong with him.”

Now Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny were all staring at Sebastian like he was the oddball in the room. It was an embarrassing scene. But what could even be done about it? Everything Ciel said was the truth! “Young master, really…” was the only sore-hearted phrase Sebastian could mutter in defense of himself.

Ciel was positively relishing this moment. “But I’m sure Sebastian feels like he has a point to make,” the boy continued. “So, with this opportunity before us, I say why not put his crock theory to the test? Maybe there is something for me to gain by learning a skill outside the recommended curriculum for a person of my birth. With that in mind: I would like the three of you to become my tutors for a day.”

“Them?” Sebastian groaned.

“Us?! ” the servants cried.

“You,” Ciel simpered. He held out his palm as if to settle them. “Now, now, there’s no need for shock. As I said, I’m not looking for you all to conduct a lesson in Latin or ancient history — though that would probably make for a good laugh. What I’m looking for is for you to teach me something from your individual skill sets. Something separate from the usual subjects I study.”

The three of them exchanged worried looks. “Eh, young master…” Bard shuffled the hair at the nape of his neck. “We aren’t exactly… very good at our jobs, you might’ve noticed. I can’t even cook pancakes the same way every time, and they’re basically all I can cook.”

“It’s true, he can’t even cook pancakes the same way every time,” said Mey-Rin.

“Sometimes he even undercooks them for a change and they’re full of liquid,” said Finny.

“You lot were supposed to sell yourselves out too, but thanks for piling it on me instead,” said Bard.

“Then don’t teach me something from your job,” Ciel said, undaunted. “Teach me something from your lives before you came to work for me. Obviously whatever lesson you decide on, it will have to be something we can do indoors, and ideally it won’t require a lot of space or resources. And, even more ideally, it will be something that I enjoy.” He tucked his arms behind his back. “You have until tomorrow morning to come up with a lesson plan. Prepare yourselves to play tutor by… let’s say, eleven o’clock? I’m sure Sebastian will gladly make himself available to help you with whatever you need in order to make your ideas a reality.”

Sebastian cleared his throat meaningfully. “Young master, please don’t forget that I am now managing all of the household chores on my own, including keeping up the fires… It will be quite difficult for me to make time for this on top of everything else.”

Ciel shot him an unsympathetic grin over his shoulder. “Oh, but don’t you want to prove your own point? And besides, isn’t it technically your fault that their injuries occurred at all?”

There’s the damn comeuppance you were so keen on. “I… suppose…” Sebastian grumbled.

The boy’s grin widened before he faced forward again. “Is the assignment understood?”

Bard scratched his stubble. “Eh… Probably… I think…”

Mey-Rin poked her fingertips together. “M-Maybe, er, for the most part…”

Finny only looked intently at the floor.

Ciel made a humming sound of approval. “Very good. Then, I guess I should say ‘class dismissed.’”

Their young master promptly spun around on his heel, chin lifted high with self-satisfaction, and clacked out of the kitchen.

Sebastian watched the boy leave before turning back to face the servants. They were all staring at him with varying degrees of worry, uncertainty, and helplessness in their eyes. Bard managed a feeble grin. “Eh… don’t suppose you’d be willing to give us a hand with this one, too?” he tried.

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. The graduates from the school of hard knocks had just become the world’s most unwitting professors.

Chapter Text

The confident sound of snapping fingers broke the silence of the kitchen for the third time in thirty minutes. “I’ve got it,” Bard announced. “I can teach him how to roll a smoke.”

Sebastian selected a pot, saucer, and cup from Royal Worcester’s “disheveled bird” set for today’s afternoon tea. “Absolutely not.”

“Eh, I-I could teach him how to… clean a pair of glasses,” Mey-Rin tried.

Hot water was poured over a blend of black tea and dried currants. “That would take less than thirty seconds. Try again.”

“Oh, I know, I know!” Finny sprung out of his chair. “I could teach him how to read!”

That answer was so undeservedly confident, Sebastian nearly flicked too much clotted cream onto the glacé cherry scones he was plating. “Finny… the young master already knows how to read.”

Finny sat back down and laid his chin on the servant’s table, immediately crestfallen. “I know… It’s just… It’s the only thing I could probably teach.” He started tracing the grooves in the wooden surface with his fingertip. “The young master already knows everything. He’s smarter than all of us, probably combined.”

“If that’s not the rightest thing you’ve said all afternoon, I don’t know what is.” Bard folded his hands behind his head. “Well, I give up. I got nothin’.”

Mey-Rin clenched her fists. “You can’t give up! The young master would be rightfully disappointed in you then, he would!”

Bard let out a long groan. “I know, but what can I do, I’m outta ideas! Besides, at least I taught him how to tame that new horse a few months ago. I already did the assignment really.”

“I don’t know how to do anything the young master would care about…” Finny mumbled.

Mey-Rin looked at her lap. “Oh, who are we kidding… I’m not sure I’m much use for anything other than assassin work.”

Bard sighed out his nose. “Ehh, maybe none of us are… Young master said as much himself, really.” After a quiet moment, he smacked his fist gavellike against the table, startling the others. “But that’s no reason to get down on ourselves! It just means we’re extra good at what we were hired for. Right?”

“I’m not sure that’s what it means,” said Mey-Rin.

Finny had gone right back to sulking. “The young master is going to be so mad at me…”

Bard gave another, longer sigh and leaned his head over the back of the chair. “All right, you two can go ahead and mope about it, if that’s what you want. I’m taking a nap. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll dream up somethin’ good.”

“And I’m off to deliver this tea,” Sebastian added as he whisked past them with the tray, “so do please continue to ponder ideas. Much as you might want it to be the case, I can’t do all of the thinking for you.”

Once in the hall, the fullness of his hands was the only thing that kept Sebastian from pinching the bridge of his nose in yet another show of exasperation. This latest “test” of the young master’s felt more like a punishment than any of the others had so far. It was probably meant to be one. Sebastian had suggested teaching him unconventional lessons, and failed to inspect the house properly, and used his otherworldly abilities without a good reason. All of these things had made Ciel unhappy, and so he wanted Sebastian to know it by returning the favor.

Consider it returned. The servants had been struggling for the better part of an hour to come up with their own lesson plans, and Sebastian was too busy to be of much help. It was a losing battle, and that had to be a part of the design.

But Sebastian also felt that this passive way of showing anger wasn’t going to work between them anymore. Demon and human were certainly both guilty of exercising hostility instead of honesty when it came to their anger — but maybe that could change today. Sebastian would confront the boy on this now and discuss the matter with openness instead. It would certainly be better than playing along with this overly complicated charade.

Ciel was back in the library, cozied up in an armchair with another book, which he tucked against the armrest when Sebastian entered. He had taken off his eye patch for a change, knowing there was no chance of receiving unexpected visitors today. Ciel fixed this mismatched gaze, along with a self-satisfied grin, on Sebastian as he approached with the tray. “Well?” Ciel asked with impish cheer. “How is everything coming along?”

Sebastian began placing the delicacies onto the tea table to the boy’s left. “About as well as you expect, I imagine,” he said.

Ciel snickered lightly. “They’ve decided on some quite foolish lessons, then?”

“On the contrary, sir. They haven’t decided on anything.”

“Oh? Really?” Ciel reached for his cup and sipped. “Are they at least trying to come up with something?”

Sebastian held the tray againt his side. “They were,” he said. “Now, I believe they are close to giving up. Finny seems quite discouraged. Bard is taking a nap, and Mey-Rin is barely persevering.”

To his surprise, Ciel’s expression grew furrowed, like this was not what he had been expecting to hear. “They can’t give up, I told them they had to do it,” he said. “If they were worried I was angry before, I really will be if they deliberately don’t follow orders.”

Sebastian put a hand to his chin. “Are you not already angry, though?”

Ciel blinked. “No, I’m not angry. Why do you think that?”

This noble furniture was not meant for a butler’s use, but Sebastian sat down upon the sofa now to show he was serious. Fortunately, Ciel had perhaps grown too accustomed to this sight to criticize him. “I can think of several reasons why you would be angry,” Sebastian began. “I’ve been troublesome for you. I haven’t been keeping up with the fires or the housework amid all the chaos. I made suggestions for how to spend your time that you didn’t approve of. I allowed the manor to be damaged by the storm, which in turn damaged the servants. And of course we’re all trapped in these tight quarters together. I would guess that you are feeling disappointed with all of us, but with me especially. That is why you invented this challenge, isn’t it? You wanted me to understand that my suggestion to study something unconventional was a poor one.”

Ciel’s puzzlement hadn’t faded all throughout the explanation. He paused in the silence, chewing his lip pensively and thinking through what Sebastian had just said. “If you’re having trouble keeping up with the extra housework today, it’s not as though I really care,” he said at last. “I don’t need my house to be perfectly clean every day. Just manage the fires and make sure everyone’s fed, and then you can reserve the rest of your time for helping the servants.”

Now it was Sebastian’s turn to consider his surprise. “Young master, I know I agreed that I wouldn’t ask how you’re feeling outside our scheduled times, but I would like to request some clarity. You are not upset right now?”

“No, I’m not upset,” Ciel grumbled. “Is that what everyone thinks or just you?”

“Well, you did seem somewhat pointed in your evaluation of my idea to branch out in your studies. I assumed this order was for the sake of proving me wrong.”

Ciel shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I mean, fine, maybe I can see why you’d think that, but… I wasn’t trying to… punish anybody. So if that’s what everyone thinks I was trying to do, then we can call it off. I don’t like to be misunderstood.”

Hmm. It seems I’ve been entirely wrong in my assumption. “If it wasn’t a punishment, what were you trying to do, sir?” Sebastian asked softly.

A loose shrug. “I don’t know, something that isn’t boring.” Ciel gestured at the windows, running with so much water that the world beyond was a sloshing blur. “I’m bored, even you’re bored, and now Tanaka, Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny have nothing to do but sit around. We may as well entertain each other, else we’ll just wind up brooding, and what a waste that is. So I thought this would be better than nothing.”

Oh, I’ve really been entirely wrong in my assumption.

“... You came up with a game for everyone to enjoy together,” Sebastian realized aloud.

“If you see it that way.” Ciel shrugged again. “It’s not as though it’s hard. Coming up with games for Funtom is something I’m already used to doing. And I’ve pinned the crux of the brainstorming on you four. I just provided a springboard, really.”

The boy was going to brush this off when what he’d done was really so creative and thoughtful. “How clever you are,” Sebastian said, giving him a smile. Ciel didn’t return it; there was something reluctant in his posture, perhaps even shy. Sebastian didn’t give up. “I’m very impressed. None of the rest of us could have come up with this.”

Another shrug, some of the tension disappearing from Ciel’s features. “It isn’t as if it came out of thin air, you know that. It was inspired by your suggestion that I learn to clean the fireplaces, I already said as much. A pretty pathetic suggestion, by the way — it wasn’t difficult to improve upon it.”

Sebastian dipped his chin. “Yes. It’s almost as if you deserve the credit.”

“I don’t need something as serious as ‘credit’ when I was only fooling around.”

“Hmm, well, what say we call it a joint effort, then?”

One side of Ciel’s mouth tugged down with mock regret. “Or what say we don’t…”

What audacity! And yet Sebastian found he took the slight on the chin, with a smile and a slow shake of his head. “Benevolent as ever, you are,” he eventually chastised, fond.

Ciel seemed grudgingly unable to help half-smiling back in response. He cleared his throat. “All right, all right, enough joking. Are we calling it off or not?”

“Absolutely not.” Sebastian popped to his feet. “On the contrary. I intend to double my efforts.”

“Good. You’d better.” Ciel settled back against the chair with the tea clutched comfortably in his hand. “If you couldn’t do this much, what kind of a butler would you be… isn’t that right?”

The boy was back to brandishing sarcasm at him, but the cut of its edge was dulled. They were on the same team again. They could keep moving forward, together. “Exactly right, young master.”

One quick check on all the manor fires. Back downstairs to the kitchen. A single clap of his hands to gain the room’s attention.

“Everyone, listen now. We’ve got a lot of work to do, so let’s get to it, full steam ahead. Mey-Rin, raise your head. Bard, look alive. Finny— Where is Finny? Never mind, I’ll sort that out later. Have we thought of anything yet? What’ve you got, Mey-Rin?”

Mey-Rin flustered at this change in energy. “E-E-Eh, well! So far all I have is… perhaps I-I could show the young master how I clean my rifles… I know he likes to hunt on occasion, s-so it might interest him, right?”

Sebastian gave her a solid nod. “It might, it’s a start. But let’s keep that in our back pocket. I wonder if we can think of something more pleasant. Were there ever any games you used to play growing up?”

Mey-Rin grimaced. “Ehm… Games, you say… Eh, y’see, I didn’t really have much time for games when I was a girl… Or, if I did have time, never the energy or desire…” Her eyes seemed to lose their sheen.

“It’s all right if none come to mind,” Sebastian reassured. “Just give it a bit of thought. Bard, that’s enough napping. Think of your soldier days and snap to attention.”

Snap to attention he did, with a cut-off snore and a jolt of his head. “Hah, what, what?! What’s burning?”

“It’s time you thought about what you’re going to teach the young master tomorrow,” Sebastian reminded. “Mey-Rin is trying to think of a game. Can you think of any games you could teach?”

Bard smoothed his fingers through his hair. “A game, huh… Dunno if I know any games the master doesn’t know already. Only games in my arsenal are card games, and even then it’s just poker, gin, and war. Little bit a’ pitch, too, but I don’t think I remember how to teach it. Bet the young master knows all those. Oh, in my soldier days, I wasn’t too bad at gambling, though. I could teach him some good strategies.”

Mey-Rin’s posture jumped. “Eh, wait, I might not know any games but I used to watch my boss gamble! Let me have that one instead, Bard, please, I’m desperate.”

“Sorry, Mey, but you can’t have much of an aptitude for gambling if you’re bettin’ that I’ll give you this.”

Sebastian willed away his impatience. “Nobody is going to be teaching gambling to a fourteen-year-old boy. Keep that in your sights and think: what sorts of things did you enjoy at his age?”

Bard made a face as if to say such memories had been long left behind. “Geez, lemme see… At his age, I’d been outta the schoolhouse for at least a year or two. I was needed on the farm. But I didn’t mind learnin’ the family trade. Fourteen’s around when boys don’t want to be treated like boys anymore. And it made me feel more like a man to be counted on with the big jobs, y’know? So I wasn’t really much of one for playin’ at anything except adulthood.”

Playing at adulthood, hm? Sounds like someone I know. Though it was fascinating to learn that Bard had too stopped wanting to be a child at Ciel’s age. Perhaps it was a more universal human experience than Sebastian had realized. “Then, when did work feel most like play?”

Bard massaged at his neck, twisting it. “Hmm… When did it feel most like play…” He closed one eye. “I guess… Sometimes we would turn work into a competition… Who could do something the fastest, or go at it the longest… Sometimes there’d even be some kinda prize. A little bit a’ money, maybe… just a few pennies. Well, you can bet me and my friends and cousins would all go nuts then, because a penny nets you quite a bit of candy from—”

“Ah! That’s it!” Mey-Rin was jolting upright in her chair. Bard and Sebastian stared at her, blinking. “P-Pennies!” she explained, a blush overcoming her with the realization of her own interruption. “I forgot about the pennies!”

“You have something, then?” Sebastian said.

Mey-Rin nodded so fervently, it was a wonder her glasses stayed on. “Yes! I-I think I do!”

“It’s not just her.” Bard had a keen half-grin pulling at his cheek. “I think I’m cooking something up too… Something every teenaged boy ought to know if he wants a little respect in a cow town.”

This would have to be the first impressive thing he’s ever ‘cooked up.’ “Well done, both of you. Let’s hear your ideas.”

It only took about ten minutes for chef and maid to explain and plan their lessons. The concepts were very simple, but that was a part of their charm. They would certainly be relatively easy to pull off indoors. Would they interest the young master? Perhaps… but they would almost definitely challenge his perception of “what a noble ought to learn.” And no doubt give him a little push outside the realm of his expertise to boot.

“Now that we have the both of you sorted,” Sebastian said, “do you happen to know where I could locate Finny?”

With his chin, Bard gestured over his shoulder. “Aww, pretty sure the poor kid slinked off to the barn to have a think. I woulda followed him but I’m all laid up here. This order’s really eatin’ him. I think he’s feelin’ like he’s got nothin’ to offer.” Bard pressed the edge of his hand to the side of his mouth, as if he were sharing a secret. “And t’be honest… I don’t know what he’s gonna do myself. Kid’s no idiot, but he’s at a real disadvantage here.”

Mey-Rin nodded. “It’s true! I was trying to think of something for him to teach, I was, but I couldn’t come up with a single thing,” she whispered. “Poor lamb. And rotten luck but I’m stuck at the table too. Neither of us are much good at the moment, we aren’t.”

“I see.” Sebastian fixed his gaze in the direction of the stable. “I suppose I shall be the one to check in with him then.”

Sebastian strode through the long tack room into the lantern-lit stables. Finny was visible right away. He was standing in the space between Irish and Avalon’s stalls, feeding them chunks of an apple and petting their snouts. Syson wasn’t jealous for once: he only had eyes for Ciel, and he faced the wall and flicked his tail in a blatant show of uncaring. But the two companionable horses were perfectly content with attention from whoever was happy to supply it. They sniffed at Finny’s hands. They lapped apple from his fingers and leaned into his familiar touch. Finny broke off another piece of the hard fruit as easily as if he were tearing paper.

“I hope you are keeping that injury safe, as I requested,” Sebastian said by way of announcing himself.

Finny didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, his eyelids tightened. “Sorry. I sort of forgot. I guess I’m doing that wrong too…” He sniffled and obliged Avalon’s curiosity with more of the apple.

Sebastian walked over to stand beside him. “I assume that you haven’t had any luck thinking of a lesson for the young master.”

Finny’s arms fell to his sides, his head to his chest. The horses nosed at him hopefully, but Finny remained unmoving. His voice was very quiet when he eventually spoke. “Mr. Sebastian, I… I know it’s not unusual for me to make a mistake… I make them every day… but… but I’ve never disobeyed one of the young master’s orders before.” Another sniffle and a swipe at his cheek. “But everything I’ve ever learned was taught to me by someone here… There’s nothing I know that the young master doesn’t already understand. I’m not even so good a gardener that I can teach him my trade. I’ve killed more things than I’ve grown, you know that. So, you see, Mr. Sebastian? I can’t follow this order! I’m going to fail the young master! I’m going to fail him for the first time and then he’ll tell me I have to leave!”

Finny was looking up now, tears streaming down his cheeks, which had grown a few freckles in this year’s summer sun. Ciel’s tears may have been a surprising sight at the Funtom convention, but Finny’s weren’t quite so elusive. He wore his every emotion on his sleeve. And typically Sebastian felt that helping Finny manage his strong emotions was outside his area of expertise. But right now, this expression of grief didn’t feel beyond him. It felt interesting and alive. It felt like a delicate thing to be cupped gently in his hands.

Sebastian crouched to one knee, just as he had learned to do with Ciel. “Do you really believe you’re going to be dismissed from here?” he asked.

Finny rubbed at his upper arm. “I-I don’t know… I mean, I know the young master is the most generous person in the whole world, but… but it would be understandable if this made him so upset that he never wanted to see me again, wouldn’t it?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Sebastian explained. “It would be unkind and unfair. But the young master isn’t going to send you anywhere. You don’t have to fear that.” He paused. “You had to fear that in the facility you grew up in, is that it?”

Finny scrunched his eyes in thought.  “Well, I… I think I did. Sometimes my friends would disappear and I’d never see them again. I never really understood why. I’d have to come up with the reason on my own. Sometimes I think it was because they didn’t take their injections well or because they didn’t eat all their food. But I never really knew. I would just try not to cause any fuss at all and do everything our handlers told us to do.”

Ahh. “Then it would make a lot of sense that you’re putting so much stock into this order,” Sebastian explained. Finny blinked at him tearily. “You’ve never disobeyed the young master before. I know this is mainly because you’re a very loyal person and because the young master does not usually ask things of you that you are incapable of. But it stands to reason that your obedience is inspired by fear of the unknown.”

Finny’s tears had started to lessen. Despite everything he had been through, he was as trusting as a child, and he was listening to what he was being told. “Wow, Mr. Sebastian,” he said after a pause. “That’s so smart… I never thought about it so clearly. I was just so busy thinking about how I was scared and a failure, that I didn’t bother to think about how my fears were all made up! The young master would never ever tell me to leave. I’m so silly.”

Sebastian found himself smiling subtly. If only my lord could come around so easily. “You aren’t being silly, Finny; you arrived at a logical conclusion based on the way you were raised. There was nothing wrong with how you came to believe what you did, but now you have something better to replace the old belief with. As long as you care about the young master, you will always have a home here. You understand, yes?”

Almost too quick for even a demon to acknowledge, Finny flung his arms wide and hugged Sebastian around his head. “Mr. Sebastian, you’re so nice to me! I’m feeling much better now, all thanks to you! I’m so sorry that I ever doubted the young master’s generosity! I won’t do it ever again, not ever!”

“Good to hear,” Sebastian mumbled. “Now, do remember, Finny, that if you hugged a normal person the way you are hugging me now, you would have dented their skull irreparably.”

“Uh-oh! Oopsy!” was the overly relaxed response. Finny freed him from the hold, and Sebastian massaged at his neck but… ah well, it could have been worse. “Sorry about that! Ah, but Mr. Sebastian, I still can’t just give up so easily, can I? What am I going to teach? I really can’t think of anything!”

“Hmm…” Sebastian stood tall again, put a hand on his hip. Yes, this truly was a tough one… and he did have sympathy for Finny’s plight. As they’d just discussed, Mey-Rin and Bard had had lives before coming to the manor. Finny essentially started living the day he met Ciel. And he had been very much like a baby at first. Sebastian had needed to instruct him in everything, not just how to keep his strength in check: how to eat properly, how to care for himself properly, how to dress himself properly, and of course how to hold objects without immediately crushing them in his iron grip. Finny had been a willing pupil. He had begun to grasp all of these lessons during his first few days in the manor, and moved on to speaking and reading English by the next week. He may have lacked a green thumb, but in truth he did not lack overall competence.

Ciel and Finny… both had taught Sebastian something very important: children were naturally designed to be resilient. It was no longer any surprise to this demon that the most tenacious contract he’d ever made in his life was with a ten-year-old boy.

Just as unsurprising, Sebastian supposed, was that growing up was the thing to threaten this resilience for Ciel.

A voice broke into his thoughts. “Mr. Sebastian? You’re really quiet. Does that mean you thought of something?”

Sebastian came back into the present moment. He granted the young man he’d helped to raise a look of aplomb. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

Finny clenched his fists and began bouncing with joy. “Really?! I can’t believe it! I mean, if anyone can do it, it would be you, Mr. Sebastian, because you can do anything, but I’m still really, really surprised! What did you think of?! What is it?!”

Sebastian tapped his chin. “I’ll tell you… but: only after you let the young master know that you couldn’t come up with a lesson on your own.”

That had Finny deflating at once. “Ohhhh, but Mr. Sebaaastian, I’ve already been thinking about it so much! I’m not smart enough to come up with anything. Won’t you please, please, please tell me? I can’t let the young master find out…”

Sebastian placed his hand atop Finny’s head and offered it another reassuring scratch. “Give yourself more credit than that. You have everything you need to figure it out right in here. And come what may, there’s no need to fret. Either you’ll think up the lesson plan on your own or you’ll be given one when you decide to come clean. But I do believe in you all the same. Don’t let yourself become a prisoner to doubt.”

“Aww… mm. Okay…” Finny made a face like he could already see doubt coming at him with the handcuffs. “I’ll keep trying to think… yeah… Because I really, really don’t want to let the young master down… So… Even though I feel like I’m going to throw up every single thing I ate today and yesterday… I’ll keep trying.”

“Very good. I trust you’ll do just fine.”

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Ciel scratched at his arms through his nightshirt like they were itchy. “I’m starting to feel gross,” he whined, irritable. “If the lightning continues into tomorrow, I don’t care what you say. I’m overruling you and demanding a bath.”

“It’s as I told you, sir: you can still take a bath.” Sebastian began preparing the bed for sleep. “It’s just that it would have to be a sponge bath.”

“I refuse. I hate sponge baths. They’re too cumbersome. One was enough during the last mission. You can’t make me do it again.”

Sponge baths were quite a normal way of bathing in this day and age, so Sebastian supposed he had no one to blame but himself for Ciel’s insistence on using the tub each time. “Ten minutes of inconvenience is hardly a price to pay for your own safety…”

“I’d be fine, it’s not like people get electrocuted through their pipes every time it storms. The real price I’m paying is for your peace of mind,” Ciel grumbled, ambling onto the mattress.

Sebastian paused, then smiled. “Well… maybe so.” Ciel finished settling into a sleeping position, waiting silently for Sebastian to pull the covers over him. After doing so, Sebastian held out his palm. “I see you’ve forgotten to take off your rings, sir.”

“Oh, right. Here.” Ciel worked them off his middle finger and thumb; his ring fingers were still too thin for the job of keeping the jewelry secure, but they grew closer every day. He let them tumble into Sebastian’s palm to be placed on the nightstand. “Mn… Sebastian?”

The shadows around Ciel’s eyes danced as the kerosene lamp was picked up to be extinguished. “Yes, young master?”

A second time, the pressing question that only came up before bedtime seemed to dissolve in the boy’s mouth like spun sugar. “... Never mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Still not to be. “As you say… Well, young master, I very much look forward to hearing all about how your lessons go tomorrow at afternoon tea.”

With an almost startled air, Ciel raised his head off his favored pillow. “Wait, what do you mean? Aren’t you going to be helping the servants throughout?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t spare a second.” Sebastian smiled sadly. “There’s far too much to be done around the house, and I’m the only one left who can do it. I will check in from time to time, but those three will hardly need me. You’ll see. And I’ll be very curious to hear if everything went according to plan.”

Ciel glared at him. “It won’t. You know how they are. They need constant guidance or else they fall apart.”

“That is often true,” Sebastian conceded. “But tomorrow is going to be different from the usual. Of course, you can always call for me, and I’ll be there shortly to help. But I think you’ll be surprised at how little assistance they’ll need.”

Ciel rolled his eyes at the same time he rolled onto his side. “If you’re saying that, then I really will be surprised.”

“You certainly aren’t wrong there.” Sebastian snuffed out the lamp. “Goodnight, young master. I’ll see you in the morning for… some sort of bath.”

“I’m not taking a sponge bath and you can’t make me.”

“All right, all right, I can’t make you…”

With the door closed behind him, Sebastian recollected that he too hadn’t shared something with Ciel today: namely, his wavering feelings around what to do with Ciel’s soul. Sebastian closed his eyes. Maybe Finny’s interruption in the conservatory had been a blessing in disguise. Sebastian hadn’t felt entirely ready to divulge that personal information to Ciel yet… and he knew it was unlikely to be faced with acceptance. He needed more time to sort himself out, to get his words in order — to prepare himself for that difficult conversation with a person who was not always easy for him to read.

Did the young master feel this way too, when it came to sharing his trauma?

Sebastian ventured off down the hallway. There was still so much work to be done…

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In the early morning hours, the thunder’s distant stampede finally ceased, and the wind was free to sing its lament with only the rain’s timpani to join in. Thus, the bath could be handled without disagreement. But after being dressed in an ensemble of lightweight brushed cotton, Ciel had to comment on the last item of his wardrobe: “Why are you putting me in tennis shoes? What am I going to be doing that would require these? I thought you said everything necessary for the lessons was set up in the kitchen.”

Sebastian finished tying the laces in a loose single knot. “Even though you’ll be indoors, you may just find athletic footwear to be helpful today, sir.”

“What do you—? Wait. Don’t tell me.” Ciel groaned. “There’s going to be some sort of physical activity? And in the kitchen, of all places? But everyone is injured! They shouldn’t be able to move much!”

Sebastian looked at Ciel sulking and couldn’t help it. He chuckled, raising an eyebrow in mock-surprise. “Surely this isn’t the same boy who spent an entire month training to become a jockey? Come now, I know you can manage this. The servants have created something quite unique for you, and you may find that a bit of calisthenics will do you good after several days of being shut indoors. If I thought anyone was going to injure themselves all over again, I would have put up a stipulation.” Though those three could probably manage it…

Ciel still moped at him bitterly. “I didn’t like the jockey training. I only did it because I had to. If this is designed to make a fool out of me, I’m going to be upset.”

Sebastian adjusted the lapels of the boy’s jacket and offered him a reassuring look. “No one is interested in making a fool of you. They are only interested in teaching you about a part of themselves. I can’t speak to how you will feel in the midst of these lessons, but Bard and Mey-Rin are really very excited to show you what they know, so you must trust that no one is going to laugh at you.”

Ciel made a puzzled face. “Wait a moment, what about Finny?”

“Finny has a lesson to teach you too,” Sebastian explained, “and I think he will be excited to teach it. He simply doesn’t know what his lesson is yet.”

The prior expression only deepened. “Wha…?”

Sebastian stood to his feet. “You’ll soon see, young master. And… do bare in mind what I said. No one is interested in making a fool out of you. That includes myself.”

Ciel glared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to parse something out. Finally, he said, “You told me that you’re too busy to oversee all of the lessons, so at least start your chores in the kitchen. That way you can make certain this gets off the ground properly and step in if it doesn’t.”

He really wants me to be nearby, doesn’t he? Sebastian felt such a sense of endearment; his face surely reflected it. He put a hand to his chest and bowed just so. “Yes, my lord,” he promised.

Everything necessary for the lessons had indeed been set up in the kitchen. Such simple preparations were easily completed that very morning, but still Finny had watched Bard and Mey-Rin go about it with mounting apprehension. “Ohhh, Mr. Sebastian, what am I going to dooo? ” He’d approached wringing his hands. “I still haven’t thought of anything to teach the young master! If you hadn’t given me that definitely-guaranteed-to-fall-asleep potion last night after you switched my bandages, I probably would’ve stayed up until sunrise panicking about it! Please don’t make me tell him the truth. I’m not ready.”

From his periphery, Sebastian had sensed Bard eying him. “This may surprise you, but I also know a thing or two or about not feeling ready to say something,” he’d confessed. Finny cocked his head at him. “But I think it will be good for you to see how readily you are accepted for this struggle. There isn’t anything to fear. I promise.”

Finny rocked on his heels, doubtful. “Mm, okay, if you say so…”

“I know you may be feeling avoidant of the young master,” Sebastian emphasized, “but the key to discovering your lesson may just lie in paying attention to him. Understood?”

“Ehhh? … Oh! A hint! You’re giving me a hint!” Finny saluted, again with his good hand. “U-Understood! I mean, sort of! I have no idea what I’m looking for but I will definitely be looking! I will be looking better than I’ve ever looked in my entire life!”

“Good. Go help Mey-Rin finish setting up her display, then.”

After Finny scampered off, Bard had cleared his throat. “‘Definitely-guaranteed-to-fall-asleep potion,’ huh?”

“It was just warm milk, honey, and a bit of chamomile tea.” Sebastian had smiled at him primly. “His imagination did the rest. You might call it a placebo.”

“I was actually hoping you’d call it whiskey,” Bard admitted.

Sebastian’s smile flopped. “Beg your pardon?”

“Then I’d put in an order tonight myself,” Bard had said hopefully.

“The bar is closed,” Sebastian had said flatly.

Now it was eleven on the dot, and he was arriving back in the kitchen with the young master leading the way. The servants were already gathered and waiting just inside the open door frame as Ciel walked in, all of them grinning with various degrees of nervous apprehension. The young master observed this and made a slight laugh.

“Today should be fun,” he announced, sounding perhaps a little too ominous with his inflection. Then, with a businesslike clip, “I see no reason why we should delay. Who’s going to be my first tutor?”

Bard looked at Mey-Rin. Mey-Rin looked at Finny. Finny looked at Ciel very, very hard.

Ciel looked back. “What’s this about? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Finny flinched. “I’m! Um… It’s… Ahahahaha! Wow, I’m just so excited! Isn’t everybody so excited? I’m actually so excited that I should probably go, um, last.” Finny’s face abruptly became one of dread.

“...” After a long moment, Ciel sighed. “I don’t care who’s going last. Which of you is going first? Someone had better step up or I’ll choose for you.”

Another few seconds of quiet passed. “... All right then, all right. Age before beauty.” Bard was the one to volunteer. He headed towards the work table for the lariat he’d left there last night. “Get ready to move, now, ’cause I’m gonna be teachin’ you all how to lasso.”

“How to lasso?” Sebastian could hear the hint of disappointment in Ciel’s voice already, so reluctant to exercise. “Are you sure you’ll be able to teach that with your leg in its condition?”

Bard waved him off, no doubt to Ciel’s dismay. “The bone and muscles are fine, I can still walk. Just a bit uncomfortable, that’s all. Besides, we won’t be on horseback or nothin’, so this is mostly goin’ to be the work of your arms.”

Ciel wasn’t yet done giving him a hard time. “And you really thought you’d teach a person with one eye an activity that’s entirely based on the ability to aim? That sure was an interesting idea.”

Mey-Rin gasped lightly when Ciel said that, no doubt thinking of her own lesson. The professor’s sense of humor lined up with his pupil’s, though, and Bard knew how to joke back. “Hey now, I’ve seen Sebastian trussing up the very birds you’ve shot down! Your aim is perfectly fine; you’ve got a knack for it if anything. But aim isn’t all you’re gonna need. That’s only one part of the equation. Now, everyone, stand in a row right here.”

At his instruction, Mey-Rin, Finny, and Ciel arranged themselves so they were lined up with the edge of the work table but not behind it, facing instead the open avenue between the table and the wall. Meanwhile, Sebastian traveled over to the knife rack on the other side of the room, and removed the carving knives one at a time for sharpening. Five minutes should be enough to see this maiden voyage off. Then the young master shouldn’t complain if I get on to the fires.

Bard stood before his students at the opposite end of the avenue, with his arms behind his back like a commanding officer. “All right, all right, settle down and pay attention,” Bard announced, with a certain theatrical self-importance that said to Sebastian he was mimicking some prior instructor in his life. Bard stretched the lariat out between his hands. “My name is Professor Bardroy, esquire. For the extent of this lesson, you shall address me thusly.”

Ciel folded his arms. “‘Esquire?’ What are you supposed to be, a professor or a lawyer?”

“I… both,” said Bard. He cleared his throat. “All right, I’m neither. But I can do this.” Bard then raised his arm above his head, swung the lasso in a few calculating circles, and released it to snag a stool he’d positioned between himself and his students. The loop shot out with the hovering precision of a fishing net, landed over the seat-top, and tightened underneath the lip before dragging it to the floor with a clatter.

“There ya have it,” Bard said, smirking with one corner of his mouth. “That’s what you’re gonna learn today.”

“Whoa! That was just amazing! ” Finny sounded somewhere between enthusiastic and nauseated.

Mey-Rin put her hands together. “Oh, yes! Very impressive!”

“As well as destructive and loud,” Ciel grumbled.

Sebastian snickered to himself as he finished soaking the whetstone. It was always cathartic to see someone else be faced with the boy’s bad attitude for a change.

“Eh, sorry!” Bard scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t have to do that last bit where I pulled it down, that was just for show. N’ maybe you aren’t inspired yet, but just wait’ll you see how you feel when you get lassoin’ right for the first time. It’ll send shivers right up your arm! Now.”