Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It felt like the whole manor was waiting for Bard to wake up. Finnie and Mey-Rin were tiptoeing around his sick room, babbling some stupid excuses when inevitably caught. Tanaka took to sitting close by and pretending he was just drinking his tea. Even Pluto seemed to sense something because he kept peering into the windows, letting out pathetic whines.

Life in the manor froze — Sebastian still delivered what was expected of him, but a strange quietness entered every room. Ciel, himself, had little to no desire to wander around when things were like this, so he focused on translating the book Sebastian had gifted to him.

Surrounded by five different dictionaries, he went back to the beginning and began to analyse every single word. At first, he wrote down their separate translations; then he looked at them in the context of a sentence and started to make corrections, looking for all the alternative meanings.

Comprehending even the first ten pages took him over two days, but the result was well worth it. There were still annoying gaps: at least 20% remained a mystery, but the remaining 80% confirmed what Ciel had already suspected.

This book was dedicated to demons. The first pages were describing how they came to be, and as soon as Ciel realised it, he threw all of himself into translation, suddenly burning with the need to know more.

The most powerful demons were apparently angels once. They held the titles of the Kings of Hell, and they were strong enough to survive without making contracts and consuming souls. What they did instead was unclear — Ciel supposed, if this book was real, the author was either wary of sharing this information or they didn’t know the answer themselves.

There were only 8 of these Kings, and it looked like they preferred to keep their existence private from everyone else, including their fellow Hell residents. Every once in a while, they decided to create more demons — this was where the most serious gaps popped up, so Ciel couldn’t fully understand how it happened.

Apparently, other demons weren’t simply born. The Kings called their names and they were spat out by the Darkness — Ciel had no idea what it meant, and all his attempts at translation ended up garbled.

What he did understand was that the demons summoned by the Kings took the second-highest rank. The book referred to them as the Dukes, and there were 23 of them, meaning that over millennia — or however long Hell existed, the Kings called only 23 demons into existence. 

A strange sign followed these passages. It resembled a reprise, so maybe it meant that the process was repeated with other demons? The Dukes could summon the next generation, this generation could summon whoever came after them, and so on?

Ciel was just about to start fighting the text on the next page when there was a knock on his door.

“My lord,” Sebastian’s voice announced. “You asked me to inform you when Bard wakes up. He just did.”

Ciel’s first feeling was a deep, sharp cut of disappointment. He stared at the book mournfully, his fingers twitching with frustrated greed.

He wanted to keep translating and hoarding new knowledge about demons. Couldn’t Bard have stayed unconscious for at least several more hours?

Reluctantly, Ciel hid his dictionaries, then his translation notes. He doubted Sebastian would snoop, but he still wanted to minimise the chances of him seeing his work. If this book turned out to be a joke, he would hate to reveal how much time and effort he’d put into translating it.

Sebastian was waiting near the door, not daring to enter without permission. Now he was thinking about being respectful? Please.

Ignoring him, Ciel proceeded to walk downstairs, heading towards Bard’s current room. Sebastian followed him like a shadow.

At the door, he hesitated.

What was he even going to say? He just wanted to make sure that Bard stayed his servant and that he wouldn’t leave over Sebastian’s punishment. Should he act compassionate and regretful, then?

But this would be a lie. Maybe Sebastian had overdone it, but Bard made a mistake that had to be rectified. Just how regretful would Ciel need to appear for it to be both realistic to Bard and acceptable to Ciel himself — and, by association, to Sebastian? 

“Are you intimidated by the thought of talking to your own servant?” Sebastian asked. He sounded snide, and Ciel flushed, torn between embarrassment and anger.

“I’m not,” he said shortly. Then he grabbed the door handle and entered the room.

Bard was lying under two blankets. He looked much healthier now, and when he saw Ciel, he tried to jump out of bed — probably to bow.

“Stay down,” Ciel told him gruffly. All of a sudden, he had no idea what to do with his hands, so he hid them behind his back. He should have planned more carefully and taken his cane with him — at least then, he’d have something to distract himself with.

He didn’t know what to say, and Bard probably didn’t either, so for a while, they froze in oppressive, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Ciel seated himself on the only available chair and cleared his throat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Bard jumped again, and Ciel finally managed to read the expression on his face.

Guilt.

Good. He could work with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Young Master,” Bard said sincerely. His hands clutched his blanket. “You gave me so much, and I put you in danger. If I knew you’d get so sick, I’d have rather cut my own hand off. I swear.”

“I know,” Ciel muttered. The feeling of awkwardness intensified, and he shifted uneasily. “But you were already punished by it, so I expect that we’ll be able to leave this incident behind.”     

As soon as the words were out, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally. He’d said what he wanted to say — now he didn’t owe Bard anything.

“I doubt Sebastian will agree,” Bard noted dryly. He looked somewhat chagrined by this, so Ciel snorted.

“Sebastian has already executed your punishment. As long as you are fine with it…”

“Oh!” Bard straightened in surprise. “That— of course. Sebastian was right to punish me. He would be right to kill me, and I think that’s what he was going to do until you changed his mind. You are the only one who can do that, you know. Make him change his decisions.”

For some reason, this startled Ciel.

“What?”

“He listens to you like he never listens to anyone,” Bard stared at him, so earnest that Ciel almost felt uncomfortable. “You have a great deal of influence over him. That’s why I hope you’ll remind him how old you actually are. He was right to punish me, but he was wrong to make you watch.”

This again.

Annoyed, Ciel stood up, grimly satisfied now that he was towering over Bard.

“Sebastian knows how old I am,” he said coldly. “However, I think you are forgetting who I am. I’m not a stupid child who hasn’t gotten a clue about what life is like. I’m Ciel Phantomhive, the Watchdog of Her Majesty who has been serving her for years. I maintain connections with very dangerous people, and I’ve gotten more of them killed than you can possibly comprehend. Violence doesn’t scare me. If Sebastian had tried to punish you without inviting me to watch, he would be the next one standing on that ice — and I guarantee that, unlike you, he would see no mercy from me.”

For a moment, Bard gaped at him, but then reluctant acceptance spread over his face. He lowered his head, like he was thinking hard about something, before finally nodding and looking up again.  

“I understand,” he murmured. “I won’t lie, Young Master, some things… I just don’t agree with some things. But that’s my business. I will never undermine your orders again, and I definitely won’t put you in danger — this I can promise.”

“Good,” Ciel allowed himself one stilted smile. “Then I consider this matter over. Get better and go back to your duties.”

To his horror, Bard suddenly looked like he was about to cry. Fighting the urge to break into a run, Ciel nodded awkwardly, waved his hand before immediately scolding himself, and hastened to walk out the door.

Sebastian was still waiting there, his face stony. Anxiety twisted Ciel’s insides into a knot.

“Are you done eavesdropping?” he snapped. Sebastian’s face tightened unpleasantly.

“I don’t know,” he drawled. “Are you done embarrassing yourself? My lord?”

Only Sebastian could manage to say the honorifics while meaning something the opposite of respect. Ciel clenched his hands into fists, glaring.

“Watch your tone,” he warned. “How I deal with my other servants is none of your business. Bard made a misstep and he was punished for it. The end. I expect you to make sure that he’s back to performing his duties and that this household operates as it should within one week. Understood?”

Sebastian nodded, although Ciel could clearly see a grimace of distaste on his face.

“If you don’t like something, go make another contract,” he spat. “Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.”

Sebastian startled, but before he could say something, Ciel stormed out of the hall, his heart pounding furiously.

Was he weak for helping Bard? And weak again for visiting him? He just wanted things to resume as normal. Was it too much to ask for? Maybe Sebastian was right, but if so, it was too late to change things. Ciel had made his decisions, and now he was going to live with them.

Slamming the door to his office shut loudly enough for the entire manor to hear, he walked to his table, dragged out the buried translations, and tried to concentrate on them. When it didn’t work, he switched to accounting reports submitted to him by Sebastian. They were already checked, and he doubted he would find something strange, but working with numbers was such a boring and high-precision task — exactly what he needed right now.

No more demons, not today. It was time to take a break.

***

For the next two mornings, he found more stones waiting for him on his breakfast tray. One was almost entirely translucent; the other one had the most intense shade of black Ciel had ever seen.

He would have loved to destroy both stones out of principle, but something about them stayed his hand. They were interesting — more interesting than all the other gems Sebastian had brought, so after some debates with himself, Ciel decided to keep them.

On the third morning, he took his breakfast in the dining room. Bard was standing there among the others, and when Ciel’s eyes lingered on him, he winked.

After a scathing glance from Sebastian, Bard hastened to drop his gaze, but Ciel had seen it, and it finally lifted some heaviness off his chest.

The breakfast was absolutely perfect, which meant that Sebastian had prepared it on his own. It would probably take a while before he let Bard close to working on Ciel’s meals again.

Well, Ciel didn’t mind. He felt magnanimous towards Bard, but his magnanimity only stretched this far.

“Sebastian,” he said, stabbing his egg soufflé with a spoon. “Come to my office after breakfast. There is something about the accounting reports that I wish to discuss.”

Sebastian bowed.

“Certainly,” he replied.

As Ciel ate, he kept watching Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finnie from the corner of his eye. They fidgeted and whispered to each other occasionally, growing silent only under Sebastian’s curt stares.

Things seemed a bit tense, but much better than Ciel had expected. A few more days, and perhaps these three would revert to their usual antics.

Pleased with this conclusion, he left the table and went straight to his office. Sebastian joined him a few minutes later.

“Is there something wrong with the reports?” he wondered curiously. “Or maybe Young Master wishes to learn more about one of his businesses?”

Ciel sniffed in disdain.

“I know enough,” he responded. “I do have questions about Cavendish. In the past five months, he reported the profits of £700, £500, £700, £600, and £500 accordingly. Do you not see anything odd about these numbers?”

Sebastian tilted his head, a curious gleam entering his eyes.

Hmm. Either he had genuinely missed the problem or he let it through on purpose, waiting to see if Ciel would catch it himself. With a demon like him, it was impossible to tell.

“Are you implying that the numbers are odd because they are rounded down? My, my. Are you truly lamenting the potential loss of several pounds?”

Ciel rolled his eyes so hard, it almost hurt.

“Firstly, it’s my money. If my percentage is £702, then I want to receive £702 and not a shilling less.”

“I see. You are the example of avarice in its most scrupulous form, my lord. However, I assure you that there is no need to worry: even if your considerable wealth were to suddenly vanish, I would not leave you without funds. What kind of butler would I be otherwise?”

“A butler from hell who feeds on misery?” Ciel pointed out snidely. A grin stretched on Sebastian’s lips. “Regardless, I don’t need your money. I have my own, and I want to receive it in full. But the fact that Cavendish rounds it down is not the biggest problem. The problem is the margin. He’s smuggling antiques to different countries, sometimes within Britain. There is no way he generates a similar amount of profit every month.”              

Sebastian frowned slightly, and triumph lit up Ciel from inside.

He was right, after all. Sebastian had truly missed this discrepancy. 

“The margin is £200,” Sebastian said slowly. “This is a lot of money by humans’ current standards. Why do you consider it suspicious?”

“Because a business like that is wildly unpredictable and should vary in scope. One month, Cavendish can get his hands on a masterpiece worth thousands, something smugglers might have been hunting for years; the next month, he might get nothing of substance. He cannot be earning a set amount of money every month, that’s impossible. Which makes me think he’s trying to trick me.”

Sebastian’s frown deepened.

“You receive substantial profit from his operations,” he murmured. “If, as you say, some months might turn no profit at all, then Cavendish is trying to curry favour with you by paying you more than expected.”

“Which just makes things odder,” Ciel finished for him. “He must be hoping that this substantial profit will stop me from looking deeper into what he’s really doing. He doesn’t calculate the actual amount of my percentage; he writes down the same sums, varying them a little from month to month. Do we have reports from Morisson? He’s supposed to watch Cavendish and report if anything is amiss.”

Sebastian approached the pile of untouched papers on Ciel’s table and pulled one of them out, skimming through it quickly.

“No discrepancies,” he announced. “Morisson confirms the numbers provided by Cavendish.”

“Interesting,” Ciel stared at the numbers again, anticipation running hot in his veins. “Cavendish is not supposed to even know of Morisson’s existence, yet it looks like they are working together to cover something up. Prepare my things, Sebastian. We’re going on a trip today.”

As far as their cases went, this one was promising to be as dull as the Frost Fair one, but Ciel spent so much time locked in lately that he still appreciated any opportunity to get out. Sebastian must have been feeling the same because he bowed lower than usual, his face still alight with scepticism but also the same intrigue Ciel was feeling.

“Right away, my lord,” he promised.

***

While Sebastian was busy getting them ready, Ciel decided to translate another chunk of his new book.

After the Kings and the Dukes came the Princes. There were only 5 of them, and one in particular was referred to as High Prince. They were followed by 15 Marquises — and that was as much as Ciel managed to comprehend before Sebastian knocked on his door, announcing that they could depart.

Feeling put out, Ciel hid his translation notes. Then he hid the book itself.

Investigating a potential fraud was interesting, but making sense of this Sebastian’s gift was even more so.

It was a pity he had to set priorities and that Sebastian was so untrustworthy and fickle that asking him for help with translation was absolutely not an option. Even letting him see that Ciel was working on something he provided was a terrible idea.

On the other hand…

“Young Master?” Sebastian called. Coming to a decision, Ciel pulled the book and his notes back out and tucked them under his arm.

He would take them along on this trip. To hell with what Sebastian thought about it.

***

Getting to Liverpool took them seven hours by train. Ciel spent this time working on his translations: Sebastian, as a servant, was travelling in the third-class compartment, so Ciel had all the space and freedom he needed.

Marquises summoned 8 Earls, and the Earls summoned just 2 Knights. There were other, lower-ranked categories with bigger numbers of demons, but Ciel couldn’t make sense of their titles, so he came up with his own names for them. He labelled the seventh generation of demons as ‘Insignificant 7,’ the eighth as ‘Insignificant 8,’ and so on. It was clear that only the first groups of properly titled demons held actual power; the rest were their subordinates scrambling for scraps.

Ciel couldn’t help wondering which group Sebastian belonged to. He was pretty certain he hadn’t summoned an insignificant demon — Sebastian had said as much once. He claimed to hold the respect of the majority and mentioned that his status was sufficiently high to allow him to have a house that aggravated every other demon with its stupid design. So not a Knight, then, and probably not an Earl.

Considering how many Marquises existed compared to other groups, they were unlikely to be particularly respected either. Which left Kings, Dukes, or Princes.

Ciel doubted that Sebastian took the highest place in the demon hierarchy: the Kings were so rare and powerful, they must be revered by everyone, not just ‘the majority.’ Dukes or Princes it was, then.

Unfortunately, there was no way to narrow this choice down further. With a sigh, Ciel put his work aside and stared out of the window, watching the bare trees fly by.

Why had Sebastian given this book to him? If it was real — and it certainly looked and sounded real — then it held secrets that regular humans were not supposed to know.

On second thought, it was a perfect apology gift. Ciel loved hoarding rare knowledge, and he was marked for death by Sebastian’s hand. By translating this book, he may learn some secrets, but they would die with him. It was a win-win scenario for a demon, wasn’t it?

There was a knock on the door to his compartment. Only one creature would be bold enough to disturb him here.

“What do you want?” Ciel asked. Sebastian peered inside, holding a small tray with a steaming cup.

“I thought you might appreciate some tea,” he said, smiling pleasantly. Maybe someone who didn’t know him would buy into his performance, but Ciel saw right through that sharp smile and focused gaze. A beast was a beast, no matter how well he was pretending to be a human.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning back to the window. “I could drink something warm.”

Sebastian joined him, putting the tray before him carefully and then just watching him. Technically, he could leave for his own compartment now that he delivered tea, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush, and Ciel chose against telling him to get out. Lately, Sebastian developed a habit of joining him during their train rides at some point — maybe he didn’t like travelling in the third class. If so, Ciel could relate.

They didn’t speak again until their arrival. It was already dark at that time, and Ciel yawned as he followed Sebastian to the small guesthouse and an even smaller room.

“I apologise for failing to find the dwelling that would meet your standards,” Sebastian told him. “At this time of the year and at such short notice, every respectable place has already been rented out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ciel grumbled, shivering as he watched Sebastian shield the windows with thin curtains. “Cavendish has been following a similar schedule through the months. His next ship with the goods should depart in a week. He should already be preparing for this departure, so we’ll get a chance to observe him. If everything goes well, we won’t have to stay here for long.”

“Understood.” Sebastian approached him, pressing two fingers to his cheek and frowning. “You are cold. I will start the fire and bring you something to drink.”

“No need,” Ciel allowed the touch to linger for a moment longer before stepping away. Sebastian lowered his hand, looking perturbed. “Smugglers like Cavendish operate at night. Now is the best time to go look at what he is up to.”

Sebastian smiled at him, then, a wide, blinding smile that was so artificial, Ciel almost cringed.

“Why don’t you rest for this evening and let me take the watch?” Sebastian offered.

He must think Ciel a total idiot if he believed his fake offer would be in any way tempting.

“As if I could rely on you,” Ciel snapped, rubbing his hands together and breathing on them. It didn’t help much, but he did feel a little warmer. “You missed the problems with the reports. Who knows what else you might miss if I’m not there to supervise you?”

Based on the pleased glow Sebastian radiated, Ciel had given the correct answer.

This time, at least. Sooner or later, he might fail one of such tests, and who knew what Sebastian would do then.

He’d gone out looking for a second contract on purpose. If he were seeking something Ciel couldn’t give him again, who else would he look for?

***

They found Cavendish in another inn, drinking heavily with none other than Morisson by his side.

“This is a disaster,” Ciel said grimly, crossing his arms against his chest. “You were supposed to vet him as an independent auditor not connected to Cavendish in any way. How did this happen?”

“I will find out,” Sebastian promised. When Ciel shivered for the twentieth time, he pressed his palm against his back. A surge of unnatural warmth trickled through, and Ciel relaxed, leaning into the touch instinctively.

“Good,” he murmured. Sebastian might be an untrustworthy bastard, but being warm right now felt like another gift. “Look into what connects them and how long they’ve known each other. Starting tomorrow, we’ll also be monitoring Cavendish’s ship and what they are loading there. He can’t be trading just antiques; there has to be more to it to explain the perpetually high profit he keeps sending to me.”

Sebastian nodded, still holding his hand pressed to Ciel’s back.

“Let’s get you back to warmth,” he murmured. This time, his offer sounded more genuine than when he suggested that Ciel stay inside for the night, so Ciel nodded silently.

They’d seen what they needed to see and confirmed what he suspected. Tomorrow, they’d start working on dismantling this unexpected nest of lies. The man was already allowed to smuggle goods — did he have to come with a crime scheme within a crime scheme? Honestly…

In their pathetic little room, Ciel readily climbed into bed and wrinkled his nose. The sheets were cheap and smelled of something unclean — and the blanket was so thin, how could anyone expect to get warm in here?

Sebastian was watching him with a disapproving frown.

“I truly didn’t expect things to be this dire,” he muttered. “Will you give me five minutes, my lord? Please try not to fall asleep.”      

Ciel barely had time to nod before Sebastian vanished from the room.

Sleep was pressing heavier and heavier against his eyelids. He had to find something to do — otherwise, he would drift off right in this pit, and wouldn’t it be embarrassing?

Gathering all his remaining energy, Ciel climbed out of the unworthy bed, took out the book and his translations, and stumbled closer to the fireplace. Sitting down on a ratty coach, he blinked a couple of times, trying to concentrate on the pages.

Demons. Dukes or Princes… he couldn’t tell which group Sebastian belonged to, but maybe he could learn more about them, and this would help him to narrow his options down. Maybe one of these groups liked showing off and making the same dumb joke a thousand times. This would immediately reveal everything he needed to know.

It took him a while to understand that the next section pertained to the Kings alone. This was interesting, no doubt, but his mind was fully focused on finding more about Sebastian in particular, not demons in general. So, after some hesitation, Ciel abandoned what he was reading and started searching for the next category of demons.

He must have dozed off despite his best effort because when he opened his eyes again, he was already lying in bed, on fresh, completely new purple linens. A thick woollen blanket was wrapped around him, and Ciel buried deeper into this warmth. 

Just for a moment, though. A more collected part of his mind alerted him to the fact of Sebastian’s presence nearby, so he raised his head, instantly meeting a pair of burning red eyes.

“I hope this arrangement is more to your satisfaction,” Sebastian drawled, amused. Ciel grumbled, refusing to voice his appreciation for something he was entitled to anyway, no matter how good he felt right now. “While you slept, I also discovered the connection between Cavendish and Morisson. They are old childhood friends. This information was not present in any public records; Morisson was referred to us by Lau, so the check wasn’t as thorough as it should have been. I apologise, my lord. This is my oversight.”

“It’s okay,” Ciel murmured. His eyes were already closing again, his remaining thoughts scattering in a distant direction. “Stay with me. Don’t go.”

He heard a chuckle, and then warm breath washed over his face.

“Don’t worry, my lord,” a whisper tickled his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

The last part of Ciel that remained awake found this promise comforting, so it succumbed to the darkness, too.

Ciel fell asleep.

***

Sebastian radiated smugness all morning. Ciel wasn’t certain what caused it, and he didn’t care — he had other priorities now, instead of catering to his stupid demon’s vanity.

Soon enough, the picture became clear. Morisson came to Liverpool with his little daughter, presumably to let her reunite with her mother, but it was just a surface-level excuse for anyone who might bother to ask what he was doing here. In reality, he spent most of his time helping Cavendish organise everything for the upcoming smuggling operation.

Luckily, there was a huge, tall tree overlooking the Albert Dock. Ciel and Sebastian took their position on the upper branches: they were bare, but with early winter nights, it was too dark for people below to see anything.

Withstanding the bitter coldness was worth it: from here, they could see Cavendish’s ship and all the activities unfolding around it in close detail.

The antiques were already packed; now Cavendish was using the nights and the fact that customs control looked the other way to smuggle people inside. All of them were women, mostly very young girls; the vast majority seemed heavily drugged. 

“Could this be related to the case the Yard is investigating?” Ciel wondered. It was annoying to realise that a part of his profit from Cavendish had been coming from this atrocity. Would he have to check all his contacts now? “The one about the missing girls.”

“I doubt Cavendish was using the Hope Diamond to lure these women in,” Sebastian replied. He was crouching right behind Ciel, reaching out to steady him whenever particularly strong gusts of wind attempted to throw him off the branch. “Scotland Yard’s cases happened around London; Liverpool is located too far away for there to be a link.”

Grudgingly, Ciel had to admit that it made sense.

It was their third night keeping watch. At this point, they knew what was happening; they just lacked facts and details, such as, where was Cavendish transporting all these women? Who were the buyers? What routes were they taking?

Sebastian voted for paying a personal visit to both Cavendish and Morisson, but Ciel shot that idea down for now. Torture would only deliver them some answers; he wanted to know everything.        

His legs began to grow numb. Ciel moved on his branch gingerly, not minding it when Sebastian’s arms settled on his hips, helping him to preserve his balance.

“How is your translation going?” Sebastian murmured. His nose brushed against the back of Ciel’s neck, and Ciel closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the tickling warmth that instantly spread through his body.

Apparently, Sebastian’s curiosity prevailed if he decided to ask about it so boldly. At this point, Ciel had to assume that the book was real — if it was a joke, then Sebastian was taking it so far that he himself would end up looking like a fool.

“It’s going as it should be going,” he murmured belatedly. “How is that any of your business?”

“You are skipping some sections.”

“And you’re snooping.” He knew it. Annoyed, Ciel slapped Sebastian’s hands away — he regained his balance, so he wasn’t in any danger of falling.

“I merely thought that perhaps you need additional lessons in Latin if the entire sections are giving you trouble,” Sebastian said, so innocently that only an idiot would believe it. Ciel huffed, risking letting go of the branch to cross his arms against his chest.

“They are not giving me trouble, although some Latin in that book is absolutely untranslatable. I’m just prioritising what I want to read first.”

“Oh?” Sebastian leaned closer again, his proximity suddenly so electrifying that Ciel shivered. At least he didn’t feel all that cold anymore. “May I ask what your reading priority is?”

All right, that was enough. If Sebastian wanted a transparent conversation about his gifts, he would get it.

Ciel turned around, shifting carefully across the branch until he was facing Sebastian. Sebastian didn’t react to this change in position — he kept watching him closely, his eyes alight with curiosity and some strange, focused anticipation.        

“You have given me keys to your identity,” Ciel pointed out coldly. Sebastian didn’t even blink. “I’m not so stupid that I would ignore these keys now that I hold them. What I don’t understand is why. Are you that reckless that you’d rather show off than keep your name a secret? You seem obsessed with the idea of giving it up to me.”

A small, private smile blossomed on Sebastian’s lips. It was too strange and otherworldly to attribute any human meaning to it, so Ciel didn’t even begin to try.

“It is intriguing,” Sebastian acknowledged quietly, “to give what many consider an ultimate source of power to a human and watch what they do with it.”

Well, that aligned well with what Ciel had expected. Between him and Sebastian, he truly didn’t know which of them loved gambling more. 

“You don’t consider it an ultimate source of power, then?” Ciel wondered sceptically. “You think that if I were to have your true name and use it against you, you would find a way to circumvent it?”

Sebastian’s strange smile transformed into a grin.

“We shall see,” he uttered mysteriously. Ciel felt torn: he found it irritating, yes, as always, but there was something deeply relatable about Sebastian’s reckless eagerness to take insane risks like this.

If Ciel were in his place, he wouldn’t believe that a single name could control him, either.

“We might see it sooner rather than later,” he taunted, blood rushing to his face when Sebastian’s full focus on him sharpened further, becoming downright piercing. “I narrowed down the ranks that you might represent to two groups. That’s what I’m reading about first and foremost.”

“Oh?” There was a flare of some unidentifiable emotion in Sebastian’s eyes as he tilted closer, his fingers brushing against Ciel’s chin lightly. “Which ranks might those be?”

“Dukes or Princes. You’re one of those.”

Sebastian didn’t say a word, but Ciel instantly saw an answer on his face.

He was right. He was right!

Excitement bubbled up inside him, and it exploded in thousands of sparks when Sebastian’s gaze went all soft and admiring. He shifted even closer, tilting Ciel’s chin up, looking at him in a way that made the world around him spin and fade into the background.

A boisterous laughter from the ground broke this odd, dream-like moment. Ciel startled, nearly falling off the branch in his haste to look down and see what was happening. He didn’t have time to get worried — Sebastian’s hands wrapped around his middle instantly, holding him in place.

“Morisson has arrived,” Ciel commented, his lips curling in distaste. “I’d say it’s time to move on to the next stage of our plan.”

“I could extract the information out of both of them in less than an hour,” Sebastian suggested.               

“No,” Ciel threw the last glance at Cavendish and Morisson before fixing Sebastian with a grim stare. “I’m not in the mood for it today. Besides, if they are such good friends, torture might not help. They will give us a minimum and not a single thing beyond.”

“Then what are you proposing?”

“It’s simple. We break their friendship; then Morisson will spill the whole truth, and we’ll know everything about his and Cavendish’s dealings, their associates, and their foreign partners. Spite loosens one’s tongue better than any torture ever could.”

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow, managing to look both intrigued and dubious.

“You expect to break a lifelong friendship in less than a day?”  

It was Ciel’s turn to grin at him.

“Easily,” he said, letting smugness colour his tone. “Just do what I say.”

Sebastian stood up only to bend one knee right on the branch, ridiculously theatrical from his bowed head down to his stupid shoes.

“Yes, my lord,” he promised solemnly.

***

They brought Morisson in for questioning three hours later, putting him in an abandoned basement Sebastian had cleaned up just for this occasion.

With this, Ciel promptly went to bed. Sebastian was left to question Morisson through the night and early morning — or rather, to make a show of questioning him. He wasn’t allowed to use force; on the contrary, his task was to be as civil and boring as he could pull off, and to focus on Morisson’s relationship with Cavendish without mentioning anything about human trafficking.

After Ciel woke up, Sebastian rejoined him to make him breakfast and prepare him for the day. They switched their roles after that: Ciel went to talk to Morisson, while Sebastian retreated to fulfil the other part of the plan.

Morisson looked tired after the sleepless night, but there was steel in his eyes that confirmed every suspicion Ciel had. A man like this wouldn’t betray his best friend easily. He would need a little push.

“Earl Phantomhive,” Morisson tilted his head respectfully, and Ciel smiled at him.

“Good morning,” he said seriously. “I apologise for not joining you at night. My servant insisted that I go to sleep. I hope he didn’t offend you in any way?”

“No, not at all,” it was barely noticeable, but Morisson’s posture relaxed a little. What a fool. Four simplistic sentences spoken in an earnest voice, and he already believed that Ciel was no match for him. “I understand why you brought me here, Earl Phantomhive, and I assure you, your servant has been perfectly civil.”

“Good,” Ciel announced happily. He sat on the chair opposite Morisson, dropping his cane in the process and acting embarrassed in his haste to pick it up. “So… you know why you are here. You were supposed to monitor Mr. Cavendish’s activities, but then we found out you know each other, and that you’re actually friends. How did that happen?”

Morisson assumed a regretful expression that was as fake as Sebastian’s occasional displays of respect.

“Like I explained to your servant, when you assigned this job to me, I didn’t realise that John Cavendish you were talking about was the John I know,” he murmured. His voice was weary. “By the time I put two and two together, it was too late, and I felt caught by the circumstances. I didn’t know what to do. I acknowledge now that I should have come to you, but you have to understand, too. He is my friend, always has been.”

Ciel pretended to be moved by this story, nodding and fidgeting in his seat like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“That does sound complicated,” he agreed.

“It is,” Morisson stared at him unblinkingly. “I’m sure you would feel the same if it were one of your friends, Earl Phantomhive. Wouldn’t you agree? Wouldn’t you feel torn between your duty and your friendship?”

“Yes!” Ciel nodded so eagerly that he almost fell off his chair. “I could never betray my friends!”

Morisson relaxed further, leaning against the back of his chair and smiling with a clear condescending tilt.

“Exactly,” he said. “But even then, I can assure you that I have never compromised my duty to you. I did keep watch over John, and he always did exactly what you entrusted him with. He has never wavered, and his reports to you have always been honest.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ciel sighed, hugging his cane to his chest and imperceptibly glancing at his watch. Sebastian was supposed to come back in twelve minutes. “And if it were up to me alone, I would have let you go right here and now, but there is a problem.”

Morisson’s eyes narrowed.

“What kind of problem?”

Ciel worried his lower lip with his teeth, glancing at Morisson and immediately dropping his gaze.

“Her Majesty gave me an order,” he mumbled softly. “I have to arrest either you or your friend. Trust me, I don’t want to, but what can I do? It’s either you or him. If you say that he did nothing wrong, I believe you, but then it leaves me with you alone. You did break the agreement, so with you, at least I have some reason…”

Morisson stayed quiet for a long time after this. Ciel glanced at this watch again. Seven minutes.  

“I’m really sorry about it,” he murmured, staring at his feet gloomily. “You were recommended by Lau, one of my friends, so I always had inherent trust in you. But I can’t go against Her Majesty, I hope you understand. She expects me to make one arrest, so if John Cavendish isn’t guilty of anything…”

“He isn’t,” Morisson squared his shoulders, his expression serene again. Huh. So he did choose to prioritise his friend over his own safety. Ciel anticipated this, but he couldn’t deny the sting of surprise he felt in response. “If you must arrest someone, arrest me. John didn’t do anything wrong, or I would have reported it to you.”

“Okay,” Ciel said meekly. Five minutes. “When Sebastian, my servant, returns, he will take you to... wherever the prisoners of the Crown go. If you want to take anything from your home, I can make sure that we stop by first. Just let me know.”

 Morisson gave him a tired smile.

“It’s very kind of you, Earl Phantomhive,” he said. “I truly appreciate this opportunity.”

Silence fell after this. Ciel didn’t attempt to break it — the more time Morisson had to stew in his upcoming doom, the better.

Sebastian arrived exactly on time. He walked inside the measly basement with a worried expression, immediately making a beeline for Ciel and bending over him.

“My lord, I have some disturbing news,” he whispered, loudly enough for Morisson to hear every word. “Mr. Morisson’s daughter has gone missing. Apparently, it happened in the middle of the night: the servant said that Mr. Cavendish came to retrieve her, and there was no news from them ever since. I found a witness…”

“What?” Morisson jumped to his feet, his eyes wide. Imperceptibly, Sebastian shifted a little, shielding Ciel from any potential backlash. “What happened to my daughter? Where is she?”

Sebastian sent a questioning look to Ciel, and Ciel nodded seriously.

“Tell both of us,” he said. “He’s her father, he deserves to know.”

“As you wish,” Sebastian lowered his head in a quick bow. “I found a witness who told me he had seen a girl looking like Alice Morisson enter the Albert Dock. However, he doesn’t remember who she was with, and he isn’t sure if—”

“What?” Morisson repeated faintly. All blood drained from his face — he looked almost paler than Sebastian now, and Ciel peered at him curiously. “The... the dock? She was at the dock? John took her there?”

Both Ciel and Sebastian adopted equally bewildered looks.

“Is there a problem with the dock?” Ciel asked carefully. Clenching his jaw, Morisson stayed silent for a moment, but then grim resolution spread over his face.

“Earl Phantomhive, you offered to let me come back home and gather my things,” he uttered quietly. “Could I ask you for another favour instead?”

“I… I suppose so?” From the corner of his eye, Ciel saw Sebastian still gaping at Morisson comically, so he stepped on his foot as subtly as he could manage. What an idiot. “Which favour would that be?”

“I know where my daughter might be. Let me check, and if we find her there, I will share some information that you will undoubtedly find valuable. I give you my word.”

“Well… okay,” it took Ciel some effort to stop himself from throwing a smug grin Sebastian’s way. “Where do you want to go?”

Morisson clenched his fists, his eyes burning wildly.

“To John’s ship,” he said, so darkly righteous that Ciel snorted before he could stop himself. Sebastian sent him a sharp, warning look, and he quickly masked his snort with a cough.

Such dramatics. He could maybe understand if this was coming from a person like Abberline, someone good and just, but Morisson, who was gladly smuggling children and women only he and Cavendish knew where? Hypocrite.

When Morisson wasn’t looking, Ciel touched Sebastian’s hand briefly, drawing quick patterns of the order in their secret language on his palm.

Drive slowly.

Sebastian emanated delight when he squeezed Ciel’s hand in return.

Yes, my lord.

He did well: the ride to the docks took them almost two hours when normally, half an hour would be more than enough. By that time, Morisson was green and sweat-soaked with nerves. He kept asking if they could go any faster, but Ciel just looked at him in confusion.

“It’s Her Majesty’s decree that all carriages used by her official representatives must travel at a speed of 1 kilometre per hour,” he announced gravely. Morisson frowned in palpable irritation.

“What do you mean, 1 kilometre?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t it be in miles? We live in England, for Lord’s sake! Do you even know what a kilometre means?”

Genuine confusion engulfed Ciel’s mind, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

Sebastian had taught him using kilometres as a metric. Did that demon screw up somehow? Weren’t miles used in other countries?

“Her Majesty believes that we should start adapting a more modern type of measurements,” he stated with the confidence he absolutely did not feel. “So 1 kilometre it is.”

“There cannot possibly be a law demanding that people travel at less than a mile an hour!” Morisson shouted. Ciel flinched, clutching at his cane pathetically.

“But there is,” he protested, making his voice quiver. “I know all Her Majesty’s laws by heart, including the ones not for public viewing. I memorised all 1617 of them. Would you like me to recite them to you?”

Morisson jerked away from him in horror.

“No need, thank you,” he spat through gritted teeth. Ciel shrugged.

He felt quite bored himself — Sebastian had really taken his order to heart, but the slowness was worth watching Morisson lose his mind out of his panic and worry over his daughter. He would definitely reveal everything he knew and more once he had her again, no matter how short-lived their reunion was going to be.

When they finally arrived, the part of the docks they needed was nearly empty of people. The remaining workers stared at them in fright, and they didn’t protest even as Morisson stormed inside the ship, with Ciel and Sebastian following closely behind.

“Why would your daughter be on Mr. Cavendish’s ship?” Ciel asked loudly. “Do you think he decided to take her along for this new journey? Teach her his trade, perhaps?”

Using the chance that Morisson wasn’t looking at them, Sebastian rolled his eyes at him. Ciel smirked.

Morisson led them to the lowest row of cabins. There, he began to break into them one after another. Ciel didn’t bother to look inside — he knew what they would see there. The kidnapped women, all kept in less-than-clean conditions. This whole thing was striking a bit too close to home, especially the smell.

He knew this smell intimately. Dirt, sweat, and waste. Hopelessness, and suffocating terror.

Could Sebastian sense it, too, the way Ciel could? Or did something like this smell pleasant to a demon, considering they fed on pain and misery?

Finally, Morisson froze at the threshold of one of the cabins before letting out a devastated cry and throwing himself inside. This time, Ciel followed him.

His daughter was half-lying on top of the other young girls. An unpleasant-looking piece of cloth was stuck in her mouth; her hands and feet were tied with some impressive ropes, and her face was wet with tears and snot.

Sebastian had probably overdone it a little, but Ciel couldn’t rebuke him, not if it would deliver the result he wanted. The girl would be fine, anyway — a couple of hours of fear were nothing in the long term.

“Alice!” Morisson cried out. His shaking hands were trying to undo the ropes and failing. Ciel nodded at Sebastian, so he approached and got the girl free before any of them could blink.

“Alice,” Morisson repeated again. His voice was so odd and broken that Ciel could barely recognise it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have never brought you to this city.”

“What is going on here?” Ciel exclaimed. “Is this… does Mr. Cavendish sell these people? Did he decide to sell your daughter, too, because he thought you were arrested and wouldn’t be able to stop him?”

Morisson was shaking his head, still in disbelief.

“Alice,” he murmured for the third time. “Sweetheart, who brought you here?”

The girl didn’t react to his words at first, but then her lower lip wobbled, and she sniffed.

“Uncle John,” she said plaintively. “It was Uncle John.”

She burst into tears after this, and Morisson hugged her, patting her hair frantically.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Everything will be all right from now on.”

A moment later, he looked up, giving Ciel a long, grim stare.

“Help me to bring her home,” he said. “And then I will tell you everything I know.”

Finally.

***

Another two hours later, when the girl was back safely with her mother, they returned to the docks. It was getting darker already, and Morisson stared at the grey waters for what felt like eternity before speaking.

Names. Routes. The real profit they made at different stops. The ports that accepted them and turned a blind eye to the cargo they were unloading. The people who helped them to kidnap the women no one would miss, and those who helped to sell them. Morisson even knew the names of some clients, something Ciel hadn’t dared to count on.

Their case was solved. All that was left was a clean-up.

“Bring Cavendish in,” Ciel ordered flatly. Morisson whipped his head in their direction so quickly that it was a wonder he hadn’t broken it. Sebastian smiled — a slow, eerie smile that never failed to send a thrill through Ciel’s blood.

Bowing theatrically, he disappeared inside the ship. All the women were already released, so only one person remained a prisoner there.

When Sebastian brought him out and Cavendish saw Morisson, he attempted to shout something through the piece of rug stuck in his mouth. After getting an affirming nod from Ciel, Sebastian pulled it out; he cut the ropes, too, and Cavendish instantly threw himself at Morisson’s feet, looking at him like he was begging for something.

“It wasn’t me!” he gasped. “Do you hear me, it wasn’t me, I would never touch a hair on Alice’s head!”

Morisson went speechless. His confused eyes darted between Cavendish, Ciel, and Sebastian before finally stopping at Ciel and filling with affronted realisation.

“You,” he seethed. His hands clenched into fists. “You tricked me!”

Ciel and Sebastian snorted at the same time.

“Only a fool would think that Her Majesty’s Watchdog is a gullible idiot who will fall for the first pathetic story he hears,” Ciel drawled. These moments never failed to please him — seeing people who underestimated him understand that their mistake was going to cost them their lives. “And only a fool would decide to trick me in the first place. You and your friend Cavendish did both.”

Morisson’s face twisted with loathing. He took a threatening step in Ciel’s direction, and Sebastian materialised before him in an instant, blocking his path.

“Start with Cavendish,” Ciel ordered, touching his covered eye briefly. “Let Morisson see his friend’s death before he joins him. And be quick about it. I’ve wasted enough of my time today.”

Sebastian pressed his hand to his chest.

“Yes, my lord.”

Cavendish didn’t seem to realise what was about to happen. He was still staring at Morisson desperately, trying to shift closer but failing — his legs must have gotten numb after he spent so many hours tied up. With a distant smile, Sebastian approached, tapping him on the shoulder lightly.

“You were so looking forward to your voyage, Mr. Cavendish,” he murmured. “It would only be appropriate if we fulfilled your last wish as a thank you for your one year of service.”

“One and a half,” Ciel pointed out.

“One and a half,” Sebastian agreed. With this, he kicked Cavendish off the pier; the startled shout was quickly swallowed by water.

Morisson screamed, lunging to help, but Sebastian held him like he would one of his wretched cats — effortlessly, with gentleness that was either fake or ridiculous.

At first, Ciel watched it all in bewilderment. The pier was right here — Cavendish could just climb back on. What kind of a death sentence was it?

Ten seconds later, though, he concluded that he was missing something. Cavendish didn’t even attempt to get back on the pier: he went straight to sinking, gasping and throwing his hands up randomly in an awkward attempt to stay afloat. 

“Did you do something to him or is he just an idiot?” Ciel asked. Morisson was shouting so loudly that it was giving him a headache — it was a good thing Sebastian could hear him anyway.

“It is the same drug he had treated his unfortunate guests to,” Sebastian responded courteously. “In bigger doses, it causes partial paralysis.”

There was an edge of something strange in his voice, and Ciel snapped his attention to him, suddenly alert.

Sebastian was watching him closely, his gaze burning with expectant, assessing maliciousness.

A shiver of unease slithered down his spine. Ciel looked at Cavendish again, trying to understand what the problem was.

Sebastian only ever looked at him like this when he thought Ciel had made a misstep and was about to make another one. He was willing to overlook the first one; if the second misstep was made, though? Who knew what he would do. Ciel rarely allowed himself to mess up repeatedly and in a short duration.

His unease intensified. Dark, swirling anxiety twisted in his chest, and Ciel tried to concentrate on the present. 

Think. He had to think quickly. When was the last time he had made a mistake in Sebastian’s eyes?

The answer arrived instantly.

Bard. Ciel saved him from drowning to death, and then—

Drowning. That’s it.

Anxiety retreated. Ciel shook his head, his lips curling in a condescending smile almost against his will.

Stupid demon. He thought Ciel couldn’t handle the first drowning, so he set up the second one to test him? Please. As if he would ever care for a nobody like Cavendish.

Sebastian’s evaluating stare was still glued to him, so Ciel yawned, making it a point to watch Cavendish’s dying struggles without blinking.  

“I told you to make this quick,” he complained. “This is not quick.” 

Sebastian’s answering chuckle soothed him further, scrubbing away the remnants of his worry.

“My apologies. I can accelerate the process if you wish.”

“No need,” Ciel waved the offer away, watching Cavendish suck in another portion of air, his wild, desperate eyes fixed on Morisson. “It’s almost over anyway.” 

Three things happened simultaneously after his words. Cavendish finally disappeared under the dark body of water; Morisson let out a scream of rage and lunged at Ciel, and Sebastian let it happen.

It was so unexpected that Ciel failed to comprehend it at first. Morisson reached him in seconds, his fists flying, his face distorted with black fury. Sebastian just stood there, slack and absent-looking, like someone had turned him off.

Panicking, Ciel tried to step away, but even as his feet moved, he already knew he would fail. There was no time — the attack caught him completely off guard.

Morisson’s fist was a split second away from landing when Sebastian appeared out of thin air, intercepting it and twisting it back with such force that Ciel heard the crack of bones.

He didn’t bother to look closer, not even when Morisson yelled in pain and shock. Ciel stared at Sebastian instead.     

In another situation, he might have assumed that Sebastian was playing a maddening game. It would be just like him to let Morisson land a blow or two to teach Ciel a lesson on something that made sense only to a demon.

But the glimpse he’d caught eliminated this possibility. It was the same thing that happened when they were trying to perform a seal experiment. Briefly, Sebastian was gone from his human vessel. Why and how, Ciel had no idea, and he didn’t want to ask.  

After all, nothing happened, Sebastian protected him despite the initial glitch. It meant that whatever was going on, it wasn’t important, so they could continue as they were.

Sebastian was fine. He had to be.  

“Wait!” Morisson begged, hugging his mutilated hand to his chest. He kept darting glances at them and at the water, probably hoping for Cavendish’s sudden re-emergence. “Wait… you can’t kill me. I… I have a daughter. I have information. I can be useful. I’m ready to testify to Her Majesty about—”

“I am not going to bother Her Majesty with such trifles,” Ciel said shortly. “I will simply replace both you and Cavendish with someone more reliable. The information you gave us is already enough — it will save us the headache of investigating everything on our own. Now that I know how your little scheme worked, I will be able to dismantle it in a matter of days. I don’t need you any longer. Sebastian?”   

Morisson opened his mouth again, but Sebastian’s sharp nail thrust right through it, piercing the underchin, the tongue, and going deeper into the head. Gurgling, Morisson recoiled, took a couple of senseless steps, and collapsed, his wide eyes staring at the water unseeingly.

“Well, this sums it up,” Ciel muttered. It was dark and cold, and he was relatively certain that a snowstorm was starting. “Kick him into the water and let’s go to that miserable inn. I want us to leave first thing in the morning.”

Sebastian tilted his head curiously.

“Don’t you wish to dispose of the bodies more effectively?” he wondered. “These parts of the waters are quite shallow. Both of them might resurface.”

“That’s the idea,” Ciel said, accepting Sebastian’s hand and climbing into the waiting carriage. “For those who don’t know them, their deaths won’t matter. For those who do, it will be a warning. I don’t want to check every other business partner and hired help without need; I have better things to do.”

“Like what?” Sebastian asked. Then he smiled disarmingly, probably hoping it would take the edge off his words. Ciel scoffed.

“Less talking, more driving,” he grumbled moodily.

When they arrived, the room was bitterly cold. It took a while for it to warm from the fire Sebastian had lit, and then Ciel had to debate whether he should risk eating the supper from the inn or wait until they went back home.

Sebastian had solved this problem for him. He disappeared somewhere for almost an hour, and when he came back, it was with a warm plate of thick, steaming soup. It smelled so good and Ciel was so delighted that he didn’t even care that it wasn’t served properly. 

“A turtle soup made of the finest green turtle,” Sebastian announced proudly. “Enriched with Madeira wine, seven types of herbs, and mild spices.”

“A turtle soup?” Ciel echoed. Truthfully, he barely paid attention to what Sebastian was saying: it didn’t matter what was in his meals as long as he liked them.

Sebastian began to explain something — or boast about something, no doubt, so Ciel tuned him out. The soup was rich in flavour, and most importantly, it was wonderfully hot. By the time he finished it, the warmth seemed to have taken a permanent residence in his stomach, so he went closer to the fireplace, hoping to get the same effect externally.

“Don’t you find it interesting how Mr. Morisson was willing to believe the worst of his friend, while Mr. Cavendish didn’t seem to care that his secrets were spilled so thoroughly?” Sebastian wondered. He was lingering next to the door, in the part of the room darkened by the shadows. Ciel could only see the gleam of subtle redness from his spot.

“I don’t find anything about those two idiots interesting,” he replied. “They concocted a stupid scheme and couldn’t even hide it for long. As for their friendship — I leave this shallow nonsense to you. You seem to like trying to make sense out of human drama.”

“You believe friendship is shallow?” Ciel could almost hear the way Sebastian’s lips shaped a smirk. “My, my, what a jaded Young Master I have. And revenge is full of meaning, I suppose?”

For a demon to even ask such a question…

“Of course it is,” Ciel said, frowning. “With friendship, you rely on another person. With revenge, you’re accountable to yourself and no one else.”

He hoped this would put an end to a conversation, but Sebastian seemed to be in a frustratingly talkative mood.

“Don’t you rely on me to help you to fulfill you revenge?” he drawled, fake thoughtfulness making his voice softer. “Does it mean that we share a friendship?”

Ciel spluttered, almost choking on his tongue just from hearing such an insane conclusion.

“Are you bored?” he asked incredulously. “Do I need to busy you with something? Stop saying nonsense.”

A dramatic sigh reached his ears.

“At least friendship has long-term benefits,” Sebastian uttered, leaning against the door. His eyes seemed to be getting redder by the minute. Odd. “How short-lived is your revenge going to be?”

Even though Ciel knew this question was likely meant to be a provocation, he couldn’t help but think about it.

In their first year together, he went to sleep with nothing but violent fantasies of the revenge dancing under his eyelids. Lately, though, he hadn’t given it much thought.  

“Imagine it,” Sebastian murmured silkily. “Imagine that your revenge is complete. The bodies of your enemies are lying at your feet; none of those who harmed you are breathing any longer. What will you do next?”

Ciel tried to concentrate on these visions, detaching himself from the present as much as he could to feel whatever that future version of him would be feeling one day.

To have his revenge complete? Just… over and done with?

His heart rate spiked; in anxiety or excitement, he couldn’t tell. Then deep, violent satisfaction tore through him, and he shuddered, his eyes fluttering close.

He hoped their ending wouldn’t be quick. That he and Sebastian would take their time, paying back blow by blow, humiliation after humiliation. That whoever those yet-unidentified bastards were, they would drown in their excrements, blood, and fear — maybe Ciel would keep them in one of their manor’s basements for months, years, letting them waste away before nursing them back to health and breaking them again. And when it would finally be done, and they would be dead…

Ciel smiled, his body relaxing gradually. Without opening his eyes, he took an unseeing step towards the table and hopped up on it, swinging his feet and just basking in the increasingly vivid images his mind conjured up.

“Why are you holding your eyes closed?” Sebastian asked suddenly.  He sounded displeased for some reason, and Ciel frowned in his direction.

“Because I want to re-live my revenge,” he uttered. “Over and over and over again. What’s it to you?”

Sebastian didn’t respond this time, so Ciel focused back on his visions and the sensations they stirred, his delight intensifying with every new imagined scene.

Finally, he took a deep breath, lowered his head, and looked at Sebastian.

Sebastian was watching him attentively, standing closer than he had been previously. He seemed mesmerised, and Ciel’s brows furrowed.

“What?” he asked. “I recreated my part. Now it’s your turn.”

Because his revenge could only have one outcome. If Ciel was fantasising about having his wish fulfilled, Sebastian was bound to do the same. 

His words seemed to shake Sebastian out of his strange daze. He straightened, and though he didn’t change shape, something about his pose seemed to shift, turning distinctly predatory.

“Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to do?” he purred. There was an underlying threat in his voice, and Ciel narrowed his eyes in response. “To request a last dessert, perhaps? To play hide and seek?” 

Affronted fury shot up, demanding a violent release, but after a brief struggle, Ciel managed to keep it collared.

Sebastian wanted to provoke him — he couldn’t spend a single day without finding a way to insult him. It was all right, though. Ciel could play, too.

“No need for distractions,” he said, smiling benignly. “Come and take my soul.”         

Sebastian drew in a startled breath. His eyes widened, his pupils practically melting in the sudden flare of redness.

For a moment, their small room plunged into complete darkness. Only one of the braver candles continued to burn, and its dim light was enough for Ciel to see how Sebastian’s hands spasmed into fists, as if he was applying tremendous effort to keep himself still.

“You do realise your words give me the permission to kill you without fulfilling my part of the contract?” he asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were still blazing fervently. Ciel’s smile widened, even as his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes,” he confirmed. That was the whole point. “However, I’d think that after the years of cultivating my soul, you will want to receive a complete meal, and not an undercooked atrocity. Am I wrong?”

Sebastian’s eyes were still inhumanly dark. He actually licked his lips, his gaze sliding across Ciel with strange, unsettling greed.

“You are not,” he replied at last. His voice was so hoarse, it was barely audible.

Softer satisfaction spilt inside his chest, and Ciel allowed himself to absorb it for a moment. A tension he hadn’t noticed slipped away, with new confidence taking its place instead.

“Good,” he said aloud, trying to mimic Sebastian’s purr. “Then how will you go about taking my soul?”

Just as he spoke these words, his pulse sped up frantically. Sebastian’s old words — through a kiss — flooded his senses, echoing through his mind.

He didn’t know what to expect, but the moment Sebastian stalked up to him, anxious heat engulfed his body. His heart was beating somewhere in his throat now, and it jumped when he got a better look at the stare Sebastian was giving him.  

It was sharp. Hungry. For the strangest reason, it made Ciel’s stomach flutter, and he bit his lip, watching Sebastian’s approach.

“I do not have a set vision of how I am going to take your soul,” Sebastian said. He stopped a centimeter away, his knees brushing against Ciel’s. “The scenarios and possibilities change constantly. I’ve seen myself do it a thousand times, and each time was different.”

Ciel had no idea why he found any of this exciting. He raised his head higher, trying to breathe carefully through his nose and not betray himself by gasping.

Sebastian was so close. It was suddenly easy to imagine that these were to be some of their last moments, that their contract was about to end, and all Ciel wanted with unexpected, needy fierceness was to become even closer. To immortalise the sight of Sebastian looking at him like this, belonging to him, thinking about him.

“How would you do it now?” he wondered quietly. Sebastian’s fingers — no gloves — touched his neck, sliding down it in a slow caress.

“I would slit your throat,” he murmured, almost hypnotically. Ciel shivered. “Not deeply enough to kill you, but to let your blood flow. Everything would feel stronger then. Your emotions, your essence… your soul.” Sebastian’s nail dug into Ciel’s skin, on the verge of breaking it, and against all logic, Ciel arched into the touch.

“Do it,” he said almost mindlessly. Sebastian hesitated, but only for a second. A moment later, Ciel felt a sting of a cut. It barely hurt, and the subtle twitch of pain was more than worth it when he saw how Sebastian all but trembled in response, his pupils blowing wide.

“What now?” Ciel whispered. He didn’t recognise his own voice.

“I would taste it,” Sebastian leaned over him, almost nuzzling his throat. “First your blood — it would make for an excellent appetiser. Your soul, next.” 

How would human blood affect Sebastian? Was it just a meal, a temporary source of strength for demons, or did it have some properties that could evoke the same strong reaction Ciel had felt when he tried Sebastian’s blood?

Suddenly, all he wanted was to test it. Noting down the intense stare Sebastian fixed his wounded throat with, Ciel tilted his head further up, inviting touch.

“Do it,” he said again. “Since we are reenacting the end of the contract…”

This time, Sebastian hesitated for longer. Ciel could feel the odd, scorching heat emanating from him, could almost sense the internal fight raging inside his human bones, melting them into something far more real and demonic.

Sebastian’s body began to radiate ethereal greenish light, and the next second, a tongue that certainly didn’t belong to a human slid across Ciel’s wound, licking the blood off it.

He didn’t know which of them shivered most. Goosebumps broke across his back, electrifying every pore and every cell of his body, but Sebastian jolted like he was shot. Green light intensified, blurring his shape a little, and he closed his eyes in palpable bliss, his tongue darting out again to lick his lips, as if chasing the ghost of a taste.

Something about it was making Ciel lightheaded. He swallowed with difficulty, almost frightened by how odd and out of control he was feeling.

He needed to regroup. To refocus himself. 

“What is the worst scenario of taking my soul you have ever imagined?” he blurted out. Sebastian seemed distracted — he was staring at Ciel’s bleeding neck with a wild, burning gaze, and the hunger in it was so vivid that Ciel could swear he felt the pangs of it in his own stomach.

“Helping you to complete your revenge and giving you to another cult,” Sebastian said. He sounded completely calm — so calm that it took Ciel a moment to comprehend the meaning of these ugly words. “Watching your soul change under the influence of the same trauma that led you to make a contract with me, only knowing that this time, no help is coming. Then ripping this soul out of your body as it still quivers with anguish and bitterness.”           

The haze left. Ciel stared at Sebastian wide-eyed, horrified far more than he thought himself capable of. Nausea gripped him, and the electricity evaporated like it had never been present in the first place. 

This… this… this demon…  

Exactly. A rotten, filthy demon. What the hell was Ciel doing with him — playing in his own future murder? Was he insane?

Disgusted, he kicked Sebastian away and jumped off the table, taking several large, furious steps away. His rage must have finally sobered Sebastian up because a vacant expression left his face. He froze briefly; Ciel saw a brush of something resembling regret in his gaze before it cooled, growing cold and indifferent.

Honestly, what else could he expect?

“Charming,” Ciel spat. His body was shaking uncontrollably, and he tried to draw in several careful but deep breaths, hoping it would help him to calm down at least a little.

“I have discarded this idea some time ago,” Sebastian said. He sounded distant, like he didn’t even care about explaining himself. “This is no longer a scenario I entertain.”

Ciel let out an ugly, disbelieving laugh.

“As if I would believe a single word your rotten mouth says,” he hissed. A more detached part of him marvelled at how sharply this newest betrayal cut him. He genuinely thought that nothing Sebastian did could bring him down any longer, but once again, he was mistaken.

The soup he had just eaten suddenly felt like a foreign, heavy object. Nausea twisted his stomach, and Ciel shook his head, a piece of honesty spilling out before he found a way to stop it. 

“I’d rather kill myself than allow you the satisfaction of doing that,” he said flatly.

A ripple seemed to go through Sebastian in response to his words. The shadows lengthened; the remaining candle gave its last weak flicker before dying. The room was plunged into complete and final darkness. 

“Your life is mine,” Sebastian uttered icily. The feathers of his true form didn’t fall, but they did whisper. Ciel paid them no mind. “I will not let anyone cut it short, including you.”

“Is that what you think?” Ciel bared his teeth in a snarl. “Then give me to the cult and let’s see which of us is faster.”

“I told you, I’m not going to—”

“…I’d love to see you try to get me to breathe when I simply refuse to do so.”

The first outlines of feathers came into view, swirling in slow, lazy circles. Sebastian hadn’t regained his human shape fully from the moment of their reenactment, so right now, he looked like a half-aborted, glowing abomination.

“Humans cannot stop breathing at a whim,” he said. Even his voice sounded strange — too low to be fully recognisable. “The most stubborn of them lose consciousness, and that is when their bodies start functioning as normal again.”

Ciel snorted, putting all his condescension and fury into this one sound.

“Want to bet?” he asked.

Sebastian hesitated. His uncertainty was telling, just like his silence, so Ciel took it for the capitulation it was.

Without saying another word, he turned away, walked to his bed, and climbed into it without undressing. He had no desire to let Sebastian touch him right now, not even for something as basic as changing his clothes.

Dark, tense silence flooded the room. Ciel was lying facing the curtains, so he had no idea what Sebastian was doing. His hurt was breathing inside him, fuelling the black, bitter, hopeless rage. 

For a while, he just focused on breathing. It was soothing — in a poor, pathetic way. As long as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, no thoughts could enter his mind; no feelings had the power to overwhelm him again.

When nausea subsided, breathing became even easier, but that’s when Ciel began to register that something was wrong.

The room felt… odd. Tense, like it was a living object on the verge of snapping. Something malicious and powerful was lurking inside, outside, everywhere — and it didn’t take a genius mind to understand that this something could only be Sebastian.

Normally, he would have regained his human shape by now and gone to do whatever it was he did at night. But he was still in the room, and probably still in his demon form. What else could be emanating such a disturbing, violent, unnatural energy?

Ciel opened his eyes, but he might just as well have kept them closed because he couldn’t see anything at all. It wasn’t a normal kind of darkness.

This… had this happened before? He wasn’t sure. But he could sense Sebastian’s presence with every cell of his body. It seemed enormous, all-encompassing, and so threatening that Ciel’s hair stood on end. His heart nearly overturned in its panicked galloping, and whatever calmness he’d managed to cultivate by his slow and measured breathing shattered.

Run, his mind urged him. Run, right now, hide, hide, hide.

It was tempting — his entire being screamed from irrational, primal terror, but somehow, Ciel forced himself to lie still.

Running was pointless. If Sebastian decided to kill him, then he would kill him. There was nowhere Ciel could hide from him, the mark on his eye ensured it. Besides, he would never give this revolting, treacherous creature the satisfaction of chasing him. He wanted to end it? Let him end it. Ciel only hoped that Sebastian would choke on his soul — and this was a real possibility, considering that their contract remained unfulfilled.

Stubborn resolve pushed the panic back a little. Despite the strange, heavy blackness that the air had turned into, Ciel found a way to resume breathing.

In. Out. It wasn’t as hard as he initially thought. Or maybe he was simply getting used to it?

But then something shifted again. The vibrating coil of volatile energy seemed to zero in on him. A weight seemed to drop on his chest, pinning him down to the bed, and Ciel had to make a conscious effort not to jerk away in fear.

“Say my name,” a voice whispered. It barely resembled the deep, soft notes of Sebastian’s usual tone, but Ciel still recognised it almost instinctively.

It was him. A demon, nothing resembling a human left in him — but a demon that belonged to him. This piece of probably useless knowledge was comforting.

He must have stayed silent for too long. The weight on his chest grew heavier, constricting his lungs and mercilessly pushing all the air out of them.

“Say my name,” Sebastian demanded again. Ciel’s body trembled from this harsh, almost hypnotic command, as a new wave of stupid terror tore into it. Goosebumps formed all over his skin, not leaving a single patch untouched. His heart thumped wildly, like it was fighting against dying.

Ciel had no idea what was going on. Something about their disaster of a reenactment must have gotten to Sebastian to the extent that he lost grip of his human identity. The part he was familiar with was unreachable, so Ciel hesitated. He didn’t know what would be worse: to obey him or to provoke him further. 

The option to send Sebastian, or whatever he was at the moment, to hell, was extremely tempting. The words were rolling on the tip of his tongue already, dripping with bitter poison. But his body was still drowning in panic, and its desperate struggles pulled at his mind, begging it to reconsider.

If he were to die now… it’s not that the thought horrified him, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant either. He wanted to complete his revenge, and for that, he needed to live. So he couldn’t risk provoking Sebastian in this unhinged state.

The pressure, already impossible, intensified. Ciel had exactly one last breath to respond, so on a whim, he decided to choose something in between his options.

“I will say your name if you earn it,” he wheezed out.

Everything froze. Slowly, the pressure began to shift. It didn’t let go of him, not exactly, but it spread elsewhere, finally allowing him to breathe.

Something hot and strange pressed against his throat, and thoughtlessly, Ciel arched into this sensation. The panic vanished, replaced by a flare of bliss so intense that for a second, he forgot about it all — the terrible words, the unprompted attack, everything.

When he came to his senses, the unnatural wall of blackness was gone. The room was dark, but he could see the shapes of the things in it. His heart was already slowing down, and nothing was stopping him from breathing any longer.

The pressure vanished.

Sebastian did, too.

***

Unsurprisingly, that night, the nightmares found him. They were startlingly detailed, replaying the worst of the scenes over and over again, with a vague shape of Sebastian lurking somewhere in the background. When Ciel woke up, he felt like hadn’t slept at all. His heart continued to beat unsteadily, skipping random beats as if it was still terrified.  

When Sebastian came in to prepare him for their departure, Ciel barely looked at him. Even having him in his periphery made his throat tighten — Ciel couldn’t imagine how meeting Sebastian’s eyes would make him feel.

It seemed like Sebastian readily accepted this distance because he didn’t attempt to start the usual morning conversation. His touch felt impersonal; to Ciel’s relief, it was barely present at all.

They left the cursed room in silence, and this same silence stayed with them until they arrived at the station.

“I will be travelling in the third class,” Sebastian said as they boarded the train. “If you need anything—”

“I won’t,” Ciel interrupted coldly. Still refusing to give Sebastian a single look, he shut the door in his face and dropped down on his seat, staring from the window thoughtlessly.

The book and his translations were with him, but right now, trying to find anything about Sebastian felt like a revolting idea. Who needed his real name in the first place? It’s not like Ciel could sell it to the highest bidder, although it would be just what Sebastian deserved.

He tried to sleep instead, but every jerky movement of the train made him jerk back up again. By the time they got to London, Ciel felt like he was about to keel over.

“I want to drink some tea,” he said curtly. “Stop at the nearest café.”   

Sebastian didn’t deign to give him a verbal answer, and for some reason, this sent a fresh rush of anger through Ciel’s veins.

What was Sebastian playing at? He’d been so ridiculously apologetic with all his gift-giving, and now, after saying that, after losing control and nearly killing him at night, silence was all he could offer?

It was Ciel who had every reason to be furious. What right did Sebastian have to be upset with him in return?

More anger was the last thing he needed, but at the same time, it sent a thrum of renewed energy through him. Ciel waited for the carriage to stop, and then he left it without waiting for Sebastian to open his door and offer him a hand.

He barely paid attention to what kind of establishment they entered, but strong smells instantly drew his focus. This café looked… strange. Odd furniture that appeared to have been made of many straws thrown together; bright prints and lamps that were out of place.

“What is this establishment?” Ciel asked. He didn’t think he had ever visited it before.

“It’s Harold West’s coffeehouse,” Sebastian responded evenly. “Indian culture is its speciality.”

Ciel blinked.

“Indian?” he repeated uncertainly. “What kind of tea can I drink here?”

Sebastian’s lips curled briefly, like Ciel said something entertaining.

“Please take a seat,” he said, his voice smooth and coldly polite. “I will select the drink to your liking.”

Hesitating only briefly, Ciel went to the first empty table he spotted and sat down on the weird chair, poking at it curiously. He still wasn’t sure what it was made of. Some kind of Indian tree?    

Had Sebastian said this coffeehouse belonged to Harold West?

Right. West was a trader who made a fortune building a business with India. Ciel met him before: the man somehow managed to simper and be full of himself at the same time. Promoting his establishment by paying it a visit wasn’t something Ciel was eager to do, but he supposed it was too late already. If someone from his circles noticed him here, they would talk about it either way.

Sebastian returned a moment later, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of him. He didn’t introduce it, and though Ciel wanted to ask, it required more effort than he was currently willing to extend to a filthy demon.

Said filthy demon hovered close as Ciel took a sip. The tea was good — sweet enough, with a spice Ciel recognised as cardamom, so he relaxed a little and continued to drink.

This time, there was an odd ring to the silence between them. It didn’t come from him, so it could only mean that Sebastian was on the verge of speaking.

Something in Ciel clenched in trepidation at the thought. He stared at his tea, studying its milk-diluted surface and hoping he was emanating enough coldness to freeze Sebastian’s unborn attempts at striking a conversation.

Apparently, he was not because less than a minute later, Sebastian cleared his throat.

“Regarding yesterday,” he began. “My lapse in—”

“No,” Ciel interrupted him. Sebastian fell silent.

“I merely intended to—”

“No,” Ciel repeated. This time, he had to do it, so he raised his head, giving Sebastian a long, warning look. “Do not speak unless it is necessary.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. With an indifferent shrug, he reverted to a silent statue, and Ciel went back to drinking his tea.

Even a short non-conversation like this managed to turn it tasteless. With a grimace, Ciel pushed the cup away and stood up.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly. “I want to go home.”

***

His terrible mood lightened slightly when they were greeted by Bard, Finnie, and Mey-Rin. All three of the servants seemed to be their usual idiotic selves, and while Bard threw covert, tense glances at Sebastian, the overall atmosphere was cheerful enough to put Ciel at ease.

At least this problem was solved. He would hate to feel like his manor was a part of the battlefield.

“Are my letters in my office?” he asked.

“They are, they are,” Mey-Rin hastened to respond. “Tanaka made sure to bring everything to your table just like you’ve asked.”

Ciel nodded at her and moved up the stairs. What he wanted most of all in the world right now was to take a long, hot bath, but this would require an interaction with Sebastian he wasn’t ready for.

He could always ask Bard for help, but things had been tense enough as it was. Maybe he should call for Tanaka?

Still, letters first. He had to check what he missed and if the Queen contacted him while he was unavailable.

There was a pile of fifteen letters on his desk. None of them carried the royal seal, so Ciel relaxed a little, starting to sort through them more lazily.

Before he could open the first one, someone knocked on his door.

Sebastian, who else.

“What?” Ciel snapped; his body, which had only just begun to relax, coiled again defensively. 

Sebastian entered with a tray. Despite Ciel’s freezing stare, he approached his table nonchalantly and put a plate with pinkish porridge on it.

“You’ve missed breakfast,” he uttered, his voice calm. “If you plan to go back to work immediately, you have to—”

All of a sudden, Sebastian stopped talking. Ciel frowned, but as he looked up again, he saw several drops of blood sliding down Sebastian’s chin.

An unpleasant feeling churned in him, putting all other emotions on pause.                  

“What’s wrong with you?” Ciel asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, my lord,” Sebastian gave him a slight bow, but as he did, more blood dripped onto the floor, staining it.

A nosebleed. Sebastian was having a nosebleed.

Ciel stared at him. Then he stared at the carpet.

“I’m not sure what I should find more concerning, that you’re bleeding or that you’re doing it on a thing worth three hundred pounds,” he mused. His intonations were flawless — as cold and detached as he wanted them to be, but his heart wasn’t planning to submit to his mind just as easily. It kept racing uncontrollably, making his lungs spasm at the most inconvenient intervals.

Something was very, very wrong. He could somewhat explain Sebastian’s recent clumsiness, maybe even his episodes of spacing out — but a nosebleed for no reason? This wasn’t normal. They had lived together long enough for Ciel to understand what a demon’s body should and shouldn’t do.

Sebastian blinked, like he was finding it difficult to focus on him. More coldness spilt inside Ciel’s chest, wrapping around his heart and squeezing it in its frozen fist. The burst of panic was more vivid now; his breathing stumbled.

“Sebastian!” he barked. This time, he sounded sharper, and this worked — Sebastian’s attention snapped to him automatically, his eyes gaining their usual intensity.

“Apologies,” he said. Somehow, he sounded completely unconcerned. “I will clean everything momentarily.”

“Forget the idiotic carpet!” Enough. Enough of this. Ciel stood up, crossing the distance between them and jabbing Sebastian in his nose. “Why is it bleeding? And why have you been acting like a lunatic lately?”

Sebastian had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“It’s nothing, Young Master,” he uttered. The confidence he was exuding was contagious, and all Ciel wanted was to fall into it, to let it fill all the anxious spaces in his mind. “There are temporary complications that I will address when the time is right.”

This didn’t really make sense, but… but surely Sebastian knew what he was doing? Maybe some special demon season was underway — maybe Sebastian was moulting or something, so his human body was temporarily weakened.  

Ciel would be more than happy to leave this nonsense behind. However…

“You nearly killed me yesterday,” he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Is this something you would call ‘temporary complications’?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched in a half-smile.

“I didn’t, though, did I?” he asked. Somehow, his voice sounded even more soothing this time, and Ciel shivered, almost feeling cocooned by it. “I stopped. I would never let you die prematurely.”

More calmness seeped into his blood. After some hesitation, Ciel nodded and turned away, hoping his relief wasn’t too palpable.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Because what am I supposed to do with a servant who cannot even—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his phrase because Sebastian suddenly doubled over. A hoarse, coughing sound tore out from his throat, and then he dropped to his knees as if his legs gave out.

Ciel froze, pinned to a spot by the weight of his horror. The next thing he knew, he was leaping back to Sebastian’s side and crashing to his knees, clutching at Sebastian’s shoulders with fierce, helpless desperation. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening. Sebastian couldn’t be losing himself like this again. What would Ciel do? Was there anything he could do?

He didn’t think he said anything, but Sebastian looked up as if he heard his name called. Ciel had no idea what his face was doing. Whatever it was, it made Sebastian smirk. Not derisively — almost fondly.

“I will protect you,” he said solemnly, still hoarse, but no longer coughing. “This is a temporary inconvenience that will have no bearing on our contract. You will be safe.” 

Ciel wanted to reply but found himself incapable of uttering a single word. His teeth were chattering, his chest heaving with dread.

He would have almost preferred to have Sebastian indifferent and poisonous towards him again than this. Anything but this. He knew how to deal with a demon, rotten as he was, but a sick demon? He had no idea — he didn’t want to even begin to imagine it.

Sebastian was supposed to be all-powerful. He couldn’t just fall ill. It was unthinkable. Laughable.

Horrifying.

“What should I do?” Ciel asked. He hated how his voice all but trembled.

Sebastian leaned against his shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, his nose burrowing into Ciel’s neck. The sight was so new and peculiar that Ciel froze, unable to fully process it.

Sebastian never sought comfort from him like this. It was almost unnatural; not unpleasant, but deeply disturbing. Ciel had no idea how to react to it, so in the end, he did nothing, just sitting there stiffly, allowing Sebastian to cling to him.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but finally, at some point, Sebastian shifted. His nosebleed stopped, and when he gazed at Ciel, he looked much more alert and coherent.

“My apologies,” he said, lowering his head in — fake? real? — penance. “My behaviour as of late has been unfit for a butler of the Phantomhives.”

“Quit with this nonsense,” Ciel snapped at him. Upon seeing Sebastian feeling well enough to be his annoying self, his heart calmed, even though occasional tremors continued running through his body. “What is happening to you? Are you so old that you are dying? Can’t you wait until we complete our contract?”

“Old?” an affronted look on Sebastian’s face would have been hilarious in any other situation. Now, Ciel just glared at him in a warning, and Sebastian sighed.

“I’m not dying,” he assured him, sounding far gentler than Ciel had heard from him in ages. “This is merely a small curse that I can handle in a matter of minutes. However, to do that, I need to pay a visit to the demon who created it, and I’m not willing to leave you outside my protection yet. I cannot be certain that it’s not an attempt to distract me.”

Ciel blinked, trying to comprehend what he’d just heard. A curse from hell?

From Gremory, most likely. As a payback for Sebastian sharing her name with him? But then…

“If taking care of it will require only a couple of minutes, why don’t you do it?” Ciel asked suspiciously. “I doubt anything would happen to me the second you left. Or you are incapable of staying undetected, so the moment another demon senses your absence, they will assume you have left?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m more than capable of remaining undetected,” he replied coolly.

“Then why are you still here? What use are you to me in a condition like this?”

Sebastian hesitated. Several complicated emotions flickered across his face, with Ciel failing to recognise any.

What he did recognise was the typical stalling attempt.

Sebastian was hiding something from him. Something about what motivated him to stay here, by Ciel’s side, even when his human body was falling apart.    

On the one hand, it wasn’t really his business. On the other hand… whose else’s business could this be?

“If you are not going to be truthful despite your abysmal conduct, go check how Bard is doing,” he ordered.

Sebastian jerked in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. I want my servants to get along well enough for my manor to function properly. Bard has been fully pardoned; he served his punishment with dignity, and I don’t wish for you to keep making him feel wary of being here. I don’t care what you do, but go fix it. Or tell me why you are really determined to stay here instead of dealing with your curse.”

Sebastian seemed extraordinary annoyed by these terms. His eyes narrowed in clear displeasure, and the waves of reluctance and affront he was emanating gained an almost physical shape that seemed to itch to wrap around Ciel’s neck.

Finally, with a brief nod, Sebastian left the room, slamming the door not hard enough for Ciel to yell after him, but hard enough to express his dissatisfaction.

Now that he was left alone, Ciel let himself take a deep, calming breath.

Maybe Sebastian hadn’t told him the entire truth, but he hadn’t lied, either. The problem was in that stupid curse. He wasn’t dying, and he wasn’t in any real danger.

Their contract would continue as it was supposed to. It was good.

The fact that Sebastian would remain fine outside of contract, too… it was also good. Probably.

After all, hating someone pitiful and on the verge of collapse wasn’t entertaining in the slightest.

***

The next morning, everyone, including Sebastian, kept giving him strange, lingering gazes. At first, Ciel assumed there was some problem among the servants and that they wanted to either hide it from him or draw his attention to it, but the more time passed, the less likely it seemed to be the case.

Finally, after an excruciating breakfast where all five of his servants kept staring at him unblinkingly, Ciel got up and went in the direction of his office. Sebastian followed him. He seemed perfectly fine today, so Ciel struggled to define what he was currently feeling. Hurt and fury were still there, but their edges got blunted, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to accept this fact and go back to how things used to be.

What was lost once couldn’t be retrieved. He knew it better than anyone, and he was going to rely on his bitter knowledge rather than listen to his stupid, inconsistent emotions.

“How do you feel about having visitors, my lord?” Sebastian wondered. Ciel turned to glare at him.

“How do you feel about planting one thousand strawberries amidst all that snow in a human way?” he asked. “Because this will give you an idea of how I feel about visitors.”

A baffled look on Sebastian’s face quickly grew amused. He opened his mouth to say something, but the next moment, the front door was slammed open. Ciel barely had time to blink before Elisabeth threw herself on him, crying out his name like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Here!” she exclaimed, pushing a small red box into his hands and smiling her huge, happy smile. “Hurry up and open it!”

Dropping up unannounced and assaulting him with the gifts he didn’t ask for. This was typical of Elisabeth — so typical that Ciel couldn’t even summon his usual frustration. An old, half-irritating fondness twitched in his chest.

Confused and urging himself to be patient, he began to unwrap the box; however, he only had time to loosen the string when Elisabeth gasped and grabbed his hand, jerking it closer to her eyes.

“But I broke it!” she uttered, staring at his ring, her eyes widening with the shock Ciel didn’t understand. “How…”

Was she still feeling guilty? Was that what this gift was about?

“Oh, Sebastian repaired it,” Ciel replied. He hoped this would alleviate Elisabeth’s worries and send her on her way sooner, but to his surprise, she only grew more dismayed.

“What? But it was chipped! And I don’t see any cracks…”

“Indeed,” Sebastian responded. Just one smug word, and Ciel could already predict what he was going to say next. “A Phantomhive butler who can’t do this much…”

“…wouldn’t be my butler at all,” Ciel interrupted coldly. A pause followed.   

“Quite, my lord,” Sebastian agreed.  

Elisabeth took a step back, her eyes glistening with dismay.

“I see,” she murmured quietly, as if to herself. “Sebastian fixed it…”

She didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, and Ciel swallowed a sigh of exasperation.

“What do you have in that box, Lady Elisabeth?” Sebastian asked. Normally, Ciel would scold him for sticking his nose in something that wasn’t his business, but this time, he welcomed the fact that he wouldn’t have to be the one to keep this deeply unwelcome conversation going.

“Oh, er, it’s a secret!” Elisabeth exclaimed. Before Ciel could blink, she snatched the box right out of his hands and pressed it back to her chest.

Honestly, it was impossible to understand girls.

“Didn’t you just say you were giving it to me?”

“That was a feint!”

Ciel stared, speechless.

“A feint?” he repeated slowly.  

“No proper lady would try to win her gentleman with material things,” Elisabeth told him. The absolute conviction in her voice just made the whole situation even more confusing. “That would be disgraceful. Paula… ring the bells.”

Elisabeth’s maid hastened to obey her, and then, with some hurried words of farewell, the both of them were gone. Ciel shook his head, increasingly bewildered.

“Why did Lizzie come here in the first place?” he wondered aloud. He doubted Sebastian would know the answer, but the next words made him freeze.

“Tomorrow is your birthday. I imagine that’s the reason.”

His…

His birthday.

Ciel’s heart sank, taking the remains of his non-negative emotions down with it. For a second, he was stunned into complete speechlessness.

Right. It was tomorrow. How could he forget? This day… he never thought the significance of this day would slip from his memory like this. Last year, it kept him up at night; Sebastian’s idiotic attempt at celebrating it only served to darken his already black mood. And now, if he hadn’t been reminded of it…

“Well, Young Master?” Sebastian asked. His voice was a note softer than usual; more uncertain. More careful. “Why not hold a birthday party?”

Unbelievable. Did last year teach him nothing?

Ciel was about to snap when Sebastian continued, “After all, it seems there are others who wish to celebrate you, too.”

As if in response to his words, there was a shuffle downstairs. When Ciel glanced here, he saw Bard, Finnie, Tanaka, and Mey-Rin hiding behind one of the columns, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.

His chest tightened, a funny feeling settling inside.

The balance in their household was still relatively fragile. Would these idiots recover completely if they were allowed to celebrate his birthday? Why did they want something like this in the first place, though? Ciel had no interest in their birthdays, or those of anyone else. Except maybe Sebastian’s because the way the demons were born sounded fascinating — if the book was to be believed.

“Young Master?” Sebastian asked. Still soft, almost anxious — maybe that’s why Ciel failed to summon all the wrath he was supposed to feel at such a blatant dismissal of his wishes.

“This is nonsense,” he grumbled. “Bring tea to my room.”

The servants tried to pretend like they were invisible, but they shouldn’t have bothered — Ciel wasn’t planning to look at them anyway.

Sebastian brought tea along with a piece of a freshly baked cake. It looked good enough to compel Ciel to try it, despite his newly sour mood, but he barely took a bite when Sebastian murmured, “A birthday celebration would warrant a kind of dessert you have never tried before.”

What? Ciel almost choked on the cake in his disbelief.   

“This— is this a bribe?” he spluttered, incredulous. Sebastian shrugged, but his mischievous expression told Ciel everything he wanted to know.

Unbelievable.

“What is your interest in celebrating my birthday?” he demanded. “I can maybe see the appeal for the others — the servants are bored, they haven’t had to kill anyone in ages and are probably looking for excitement, however dull it might be. Lizzie always loved all kinds of parties. But you? Why would you want me to celebrate it?”

His question, expected as it should have been, seemed to have taken Sebastian aback. They both stared at each other — Ciel in anticipation, Sebastian at an obvious loss for words.

Every part of Ciel quietened as he waited for Sebastian’s answer. Even his heart seemed to pause, but seconds kept ticking away, and there was nothing but silence.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said at last. Ciel opened his mouth to protest, but then snapped it shut before any words could escape.

He didn’t think Sebastian lied to him. He must genuinely have no idea why he wanted Ciel to agree to this stupid birthday celebration.

It was surprising, in a way — Ciel would think Sebastian delighted in the knowledge of what a twisted joke any birthday of his was, a perpetual reminder of what was lost to him forever. But ‘I don’t know’? Interesting, especially for a demon.

“I will consider it,” Ciel said coolly, focusing on his cake with more attention than it deserved. “Now leave. I have things to do.”

He didn’t look up to see Sebastian’s bow, but he did hear how he tripped at the door. Unease squeezed his heart.

Stupid curse. Stupid demons. How much longer was Sebastian going to ignore the problem until Ciel was forced to interfere and give him a direct order to go deal with it?

The answer came to him before he had time to think his own questions through.

Until tomorrow. Tomorrow was his birthday, and if Sebastian wanted him to celebrate it, then he would have to do something for him in return.

This seemed like a good exchange. Ciel would indulge the servants, Sebastian included, while Sebastian would shake off the curse and return to his side with his power — and ability to walk straight — restored.

A shadow of anxiety that kept clawing at his insides all this time finally relented. Soothed by his own plan, Ciel stabbed a piece of cake with a fork.

Getting an additional special dessert on his birthday would be a good bonus, too. Maybe even worth the effort it would take to sit through the celebratory supper. And he would make up for missing Elisabeth’s birthday without having to find ways to appease her and her brother any longer.

The more he thought about his decision, the more he liked it.   

***

Evening came before Ciel realised it, and just as he wanted to stretch and go to his bedroom, Sebastian came in, bringing two pieces of news simultaneously.

Elisabeth had never made it home after her visit today, and Her Majesty chose this moment to assign him to a new case. The same one they’d brushed across at the Frost Fair, with the Hope Diamond and the missing girls.   

Scotland Yard must be entirely useless — how could they fail to make any progress still?

“What now, my lord?” Sebastian wondered. Ciel hesitated, but only for a moment.

Elisabeth was probably throwing a tantrum for whatever reason. The chances of something happening to her were slim, whereas if Her Majesty decided to contact him at night, the case had to be truly urgent.

“We are going to dispel Her Majesty's worries,” he said slowly. “That's our first priority, regardless of the circumstances.”

Sebastian didn’t respond right away — he just looked at him, and Ciel bristled, his walls going up in automatic defence.

“What?” he snapped.

“You would prioritise the Queen over your fiancé?” Sebastian clarified. His tone was mild, so Ciel wasn’t certain if it held any accusing notes. Somehow, he heard them anyway,

“Duty overrides emotions,” he replied tersely, his hands clenching into fists. “This is something I would expect Elisabeth to understand.”

Sebastian continued to stare at him unblinkingly. His gaze was a strange mix of mockery and fascination, and Ciel was honestly not sure what to do with it.

“Interesting,” Sebastian said at last. Ciel’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not here to entertain you,” he responded, ignoring anxiety brewing at the bottom of his stomach. “Prepare the carriage. We will start investigating those girls’ disappearances right away.” 

Sebastian bowed, but not before throwing another strange glance at him.

This irritating behaviour continued even after they departed. As they moved away from the manor, anxiety continued to twist Ciel’s insides into an increasingly tighter knot.

It was too late and too cold for Elisabeth to be outside. Even someone as whimsical as her wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum for this long. She should have been back by now.

What if something happened to her? Did the lives of the kidnapped girls matter more than Elisabeth’s, just because Her Majesty ordered him to care about them?

If he could split himself into two halves…

Oh. But he could, couldn’t he?

“Sebastian, leave the carriage,” Ciel commanded. As he expected, his order was met with confused silence.

“My lord?”

“Question those who knew the victims and come up with a suspect list. Names, addresses. Then raid the scenes of the crime. I’m sure three hours will be sufficient. While you're doing that, I'll take care of some… trifling business.”

Another long pause from Sebastian.

“I see,” he said at last. There was so much judgment in that short phrase that embarrassed anger spilt in Ciel’s blood.

“Well, then get on with it,” he grumbled. Only when Sebastian left the carriage with a dramatic flourish had he finally allowed himself to relax a little. His anxiety faded, replaced by solemn satisfaction and quiet, distant relief.

Doing both things at once was the right decision. By sending Sebastian to start an investigation, he was honouring his duty to Her Majesty, and by going to Islington to look for Elisabeth, he was honouring his duty as her fiancé. No one, neither Sebastian nor Her Majestynor Ciel himself would be able to rebuke him for failing.

The carriage screeched to a halt all of a sudden. Ciel nearly fell over, his adrenaline spiking. Bemused and wary, he reached for his gun, something he rarely had to do, but the door opened before he had a chance to touch it.

Sebastian was standing on the other side, smiling his ridiculous innocent smile.

“Please take it with you,” he said, pushing excited Pluto into the cabin. Ciel gaped. “It should be of some use."

“How so?!”

"If necessary, throw it at the enemy and run away."

Was Sebastian mocking him? To think that he had broken his order to return to the manor, grab this useless dog, and chase his carriage to drop it with him!

“Who told you to do any of it?” Ciel demanded, torn between annoyance and suspicion. “And if you think I might be in danger — although I doubt it — why not send one of the servants? What would I do with this demented dog?”

Sebastian smirked.

“I’m certain you will figure it out,” he drawled. “And now excuse me, I have an order to follow.”

“You…”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his phrase — Sebastian slammed the door shut, did whatever it was he did to the horses to get them to move, and vanished. Ciel shook his head, grimacing when Pluto let out a mournful whine.

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be back,” he grumbled, jerking his hand away when the stupid dog tried to sniffle it. “Now be quiet. I need to think.”

Elisabeth’s disappearance. The sudden letter from the Queen. Sebastian’s strange behaviour and his insistence on Ciel taking Pluto along. Could there be a connection, one he was simply too blind or clueless to see?

***

He thought he got his answer when a flash of red crossed his path, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

Grell.

But then, arming him with Pluto against Grell seemed like a very odd choice. Maybe he was missing something.   

“I was demoted after the Madam Red incident,” the disgusting creature complained, studying his nails mournfully, and Ciel drew in a sharp breath. “Now I’m just a lowly assistant.”

Grell continued speaking, but Ciel tuned him out. Something strange was happening inside him, a dissonance so stark that he didn’t know how to handle it.

His emotions whirled in chaotic turmoil, cringing away at the mere thought of Madam Red and the stink of blood that was firmly attached to it. The scar on his arm flared in phantom pain.

His mind, on the other hand, stayed eerily cold. It didn’t give a damn about Madam Red and her foolish end — it only cared about the opportunity Grell’s sudden appearance had brought to him.

Ciel wasn’t sure what his face was doing as he stood there, gripping Pluto’s leash, torn between two opposing impulses, but Grell seemed to take note: he perked up, his eyes gaining an intrigued gleam.   

“Dear me,” he drawled, his voice growing deep. “Are you planning to avenge your beloved aunt?”

Ciel bristled.

“Shut up,” he spat — for a moment, anger pushed every other emotion back, and he embraced it readily.

Grell scowled, unimpressed.

“Well, I don't see Sebastian here,” he pointed out. “And what can a little brat like you do?”

Of course. Because without Sebastian, he was nothing. Who did this wretched reaper think he was? 

“Shut up!” Ciel growled again. Pluto, as if in response to his mounting fury, let out a threatening snarl, and Grell almost jumped in excitement.

“Oh!” he cried out. “Is he your knight tonight? But why does a kid get all the good-looking men?”

Ciel didn’t have time to spit in disgust — Pluto took off running, and since he passed Grell without paying him any mind, there could only be one explanation.

He smelled Elisabeth. She had to be somewhere nearby.

All thoughts about Grell forgotten, Ciel hastened to follow the dog, hoping that wherever it led him would have Lizzy inside. Maybe she fell down and hurt her leg, and was now waiting in some corner. An unlikely theory, but much better than…

Ciel didn’t get a chance to finish his thought. Pluto stopped near a small shop with a ridiculous name, Angel’s Wing. The storefront had various cheap things on display, but one of them made him stop in his tracks, his mind baulking in disbelief.   

A doll. A big, odd-looking doll in a pink dress and with golden hair, a masterful copy of Elisabeth.

This… this was…

“To-Die list, number 493,” Grell announced, and Ciel jolted. When did this thing get here? “A butler and puppeteer to the house of Mandalay, Drossel Keinz.”

Before Ciel could ask who the hell Grell was talking about, there was a crash from the shop, followed by Pluto’s yapping. His heart plummeting down, Ciel rushed inside.

Pluto had already taken the strange doll from its assigned spot, so Ciel grabbed it from him, studying her closely.

His blood ran cold.

The ribbon, the one Lizzy was wearing earlier today, was now tied around the doll’s wrist. And fine, Ciel wasn’t an expert in girls’ ribbons in the slightest, but this couldn’t be a coincidence. Either this doll was Elisabeth somehow or someone made a copy of her on purpose.

Both options seemed insane. Both made no sense whatsoever.   

Drossel Keinz. A puppeteer, Grell said, and one who was supposed to die? Or already be dead?

Gritting his teeth, Ciel stood up and walked across the shop. The narrow pathway led him to the street, opening a view of a large, unlit manor.

“Goodness!” Grell commented, stopping right next to him. “What a delightful estate!”

A pathetic, revolting creature. But a creature nonetheless — the only one Ciel currently had in his vicinity. Something strange was happening here, and Sebastian was wrong, Pluto wouldn’t help him. Grell, on the other hand…

He might have killed Madam Red, but he was the only chance at finding out what happened to Lizzy and getting out of here alive.

Ciel supposed he could just call for Sebastian, but…

No. Sebastian was out there, investigating what Her Majesty had ordered them to. Lizzy was Ciel’s problem; she was the only innocent part left of him, and he wasn’t willing to let it go. There was a readily available tool nearby. Why not use it?

His mind made up, Ciel straightened.

“Grell,” he said coolly. “Protect me.”

Grell’s shock seemed to bewilder him into silence. He made a confused sound, and Ciel sniffed in disdain.

 “I’ll grant you any request,” he added.

“Don’t insult me!” Grell scoffed. “I’m not the sort of cheap girl you can just buy.”

Maybe so. But based on their past encounter, there was something Grell wanted — and suddenly the thought of giving it to him gained the allure Ciel had never expected to see.

“If you help me,” he said, “I’ll give you leave to do whatever you wish with Sebastian. For a day.”

He would have never considered doing it before, not even if he needed help that only Grell was able to provide. But after what happened? After what Sebastian said to him?

He’d thought of giving Ciel to a cult to be violated anew? Fine. They would see how he’d feel when their roles were reversed. Sebastian had shivered in disgust when this pervert made a couple of strange, lowly comments to him; now he’d have to spend a day as his toy.

An odd mix of nausea and glee burned in Ciel’s stomach.

“I can even kiss him?” Grell cried out, excited.

The nausea got stronger.

“Do as you like,” Ciel responded stiffly.

“With tongue?”

This time, he had to swallow before speaking.

“Whatever you order him to do.”

Just speaking these words felt awful. Ciel didn’t know why. Wasn’t it well deserved? It seemed like a great idea when it first came to his mind, but now that he voiced it and Grell accepted it…

His stomach roiled in protest. A strange sensation buzzed under his skin, and he tried to ignore it.

Sebastian deserved it. He had probably done worse in the past. Who knew, this might not turn out to be a punishment at all — maybe he’d enjoy it.

Somehow, this thought was even worse.

Lizzy. That’s what he should focus on. Lizzy was the priority, and now that he had armed himself with a reaper, he could start doing something to save her.

The manor greeted them with a dark hall and a huge doll standing right in its center. Ciel paused, gazing at her warily.

She was much larger than the doll that looked like Lizzy; now this could be an actual girl. The height certainly matched. And on her finger...

The Hope diamond. The ring Ciel wanted to claim back at the Frost Fair.

This ring is the key evidence in the serial kidnappings of young girls, the echo of Abberline’s voice spilt in his mind. Each new owner of the ring goes missing.

No. Could it be that Elisabeth’s disappearance and the case Her Majesty wanted solved were the work of one culprit? What were the odds of this happening? How had Elisabeth managed to get herself connected to the…

Ciel’s ring. She thought she’d broken it, so she must have found a perfect replacement. But where? At the Frost Fair? What was she doing there?

The doll moved, her eyes glassy and soulless. Grell, to his credit, managed to get rid of her quickly, but even he paused in uncertainty when a red-haired man stepped out from the shadows, with a small army of other dolls following his every step.

“This doll was a failure,” he said vacantly, staring at the thing Grell had cut into pieces. “So I thought to myself... I must make them much, much stronger.”

Ciel’s head began to hurt. So much nonsense — this started to feel like a crafty nightmare, not reality. Were these dolls humans once or were they just a copy? Who was this man, the puppeteer — he certainly didn’t feel human. And Lizzy was somehow involved in the middle of this tasteless performance? How?

“Grell,” Ciel snapped. “This is an order: you and Pluto will play with the dolls here. Forever.”

“Huh?” Grell turned to him, his face going slack with astonishment. Clenching the ring he had taken off the fallen doll, Ciel ran towards the stairs. If all the dolls were here, Elisabeth had to be here, too. Dead or alive, he would find her.  

“You’re going to leave me behind?!” Grell wailed, somehow managing to sound like he was in real distress. “You’re inhuman!”

“A reaper is calling me that?”

He managed to make it to another floor before realising that he wasn’t alone.

The puppeteer followed him. Of course he did — Ciel had the ring now, so the abomination must believe he was to be its next victim. A future doll.

As if.

“You are very beautiful,” the thing said, in the same dead, emotionless voice that sent chills down Ciel’s back. “I must make you into a worthy doll.”

“Where is Elisabeth?”

He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. The puppeteer tilted his head, resembling something of a doll himself.

“Now,” he said flatly. “What shall I make you out of? Clay will wash away. Yet iron is far too crude. So I thought to myself... Build it up with silver and gold. Silver and gold. Silver and gold.”

The words turned into a song, and Ciel backed away. His pulse was thundering, his hair slowly standing on end. Something was very, very wrong here — and somehow painfully familiar.

For some reason, he thought of the Houndsworth and the song the local villagers were singing. Then, out of nowhere, he thought of the cult. Of his own kidnapping.

Panic crashed into him with full force. The need to find Elisabeth faded, replaced by a strong, almost unbearable urge to run. So Ciel did.

He ran up the stairs, not caring where he was going, only caring about getting away from that song. A strange, maddening song; so familiar, but how could it be familiar? No one ever wanted to make him into a doll before; no one ever sang this nonsense about gold and silver.

Finally, his feet brought him to a door, and he burst inside, breathing heavily, almost heaving with it.

The room was dark, but moonlight washed it with a soft glow. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough for Ciel to see the large violet symbol on the floor.

The world tilted on its axis. His own distant screams filled his head, deafening him.

He was…

He was going to be sick.

The sign. The mark. The same one burned into his skin.

His birthday. Was it his birthday already? Was it after midnight?

A midnight now or three years ago? Was this still a reality?

Ciel tried to breathe, but it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working, it wasn’t working, it wasn’t—

“Truly, nothing good ever happens on your birthday, does it?” a familiar voice said. It all but echoed his thoughts, so for a second, Ciel wondered if he was hallucinating it.

But no. The curtains moved under the force of the wind, revealing Sebastian perched on the windowsill.

“You lost your mansion,” he drawled thoughtfully, “you lost your parents. And this time, you will lose Lady Elisabeth?”

Despite the ugly words, the voice that said them was grounding. Ciel’s mind cleared, and he managed to take a deep breath.

“Sebastian?” he murmured. Then, the meaning of what he’d just heard gained firmer shape, and anger warmed him from inside. Ciel clenched his hands into fists.

“Take that back,” he spat.

“Take what back?”

“That jeer of yours.” As if he didn’t have enough on his plate already; as if he didn’t feel like his sanity was about to slip.

The dolls. Elisabeth. The ritual sign on the floor. How were they connected? What did it have to do with him?

“Young Master,” Sebastian purred. His voice was still soft, still pleasant, and yet Ciel suddenly detected a note of brimming tension right beneath the surface.

Intense. Dangerous.

He didn’t realise it at first, but Sebastian was furious. Maybe even beyond that — he kept his head lowered, as if he didn’t want Ciel seeing his eyes and reading the truth in them.

“You told me you would be taking care of some trifling business,” Sebastian uttered. Finally, he looked up, his stare just as cold and piercing as Ciel expected. “Was that ‘business’ endangering yourself? In a misguided effort to re-write the past?”

What was he even saying? That… that Ciel saw himself in Elisabeth, who went missing almost on the anniversary of his own kidnapping, and that’s why he decided to save her? What kind of a demon logic was that?

“Didn’t you say at the Frost Fair that your body and your ring had already been shattered and reborn?” Sebastian’s voice dropped even lower. “And that you were far past being afraid of shattering again?”

He really understood nothing, did he?

“That’s right,” Ciel replied icily. “Don’t recite my words back to me.”

Sebastian’s little smile grew downright poisonous. He was clearly planning to say something else, but the eerie song flowed right inside the room just as the door opened, letting an army of those soulless, human-like creatures enter.

Ciel backed away, his wariness rising once again.   

“Grell was already defeated?” he muttered under his nose. What kind of a reaper was he to fail to take care of some stupid dolls?

Sebastian approached. He appeared calm, but Ciel felt the aggravation coiling under his deceptively smooth surface.

Whatever was happening, Sebastian didn’t like it either. All the more reason to be on guard.

“I see,” Sebastian concluded, his eyes scanning the dolls. “They are controlled through the song. In that case...”

Ciel didn’t know what he expected to happen, but he certainly didn’t expect Sebastian to start singing. And not just singing, but repeating the same strange words of the puppeteer’s song.

“Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow,” each word Sebastian let out was wrapped in the same odd layers of compulsion Ciel heard from the puppeteer, and from the people at the Houndsworth. “Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady.”

The dolls paused. They kept moving their heads, but they weren’t advancing or attacking any longer, not even when Sebastian jumped behind them and began to snap their necks one by one.

The more he sang, the more power seemed to fill the room. The necks of the last couple of dolls broke by themselves, and with that, Sebastian returned to his place and knelt before Ciel, his expression inscrutable.

“Let us depart, Young Master,” he said at last.

Depart? Was he out of his mind?

Ciel was about to tell him that, but the already familiar grating voice of the puppeteer intervened.

“You can’t do that. Ciel Phantomhive is my master's possession now.”

Sebastian bristled; Ciel followed suit.

“Possession?” he growled. “How dare—”

“The proof is the ring on your finger. I know that the Hope piece is a present my master sends to those who will be made into dolls.”  

“Your master?” Sebastian repeated. His face twisted in malicious, hostile arrogance, and Ciel almost sensed the flicker of the dark tendons that separated from Sebastian’s form and lashed out in the direction of the puppeteer. He might be unable to see them, but he could bet he wasn’t wrong — the air got snappy and electrified, the way it did when Sebastian allowed some of his control to slip.

“Ciel Phantomhive will become a doll. A doll made of silver and gold. ”

Another flare of palpable dark energy from Sebastian. He chuckled — a sure sign of his growing rage, and then he sang.

“Silver and gold will be stolen away, stolen away, stolen away.”

Was this some demonic song? Why was it working on these strange creatures?

On second thought, the puppeteer didn’t appear to be affected. He just gaped at Sebastian in surprise, and before Ciel had a chance to comment, Sebastian grabbed him and leapt out of the window.

They were… running? From this one faulty non-human? Grell was obviously a pathetic fool, but was Sebastian also worried that he’d be unable to handle this level of danger?

Maybe it was because of his curse. It had to be. Hadn’t this fool had at least two past hours to go down to Hell and take care of it? And now, because of his stubborn refusal, they were leaving the mystery of the mark and Elisabeth behind. Running away like prey. Like cowards.

Anger simmered, slowly boiling into fury. This fury felt aeons old: fury over Sebastian’s second contract; fury over his indifference the second he stopped sensing Ciel’s soul; fury over his words back in Liverpool, and now his reluctance to get better and start doing his damned job properly.

When Sebastian put him down on a small bridge, away from the puppeteer’s manor, Ciel barely had to think about it. He slapped him with all the force he could muster, taking vicious satisfaction from the sound of his ring connecting with bone.

Sebastian’s shocked face was like a dessert after a delicious meal. It’d been a while since Ciel hit him last — maybe Sebastian believed they were over this kind of punishment.

They could have been — if Sebastian stopped being such a bastard.

“What about Lizzy? She’s still in there!” Ciel snarled. “I thought I ordered you to solve the kidnappings.  Saving Lizzy, who became one of the victims, is a priority—”

Sebastian’s expression got colder the more he listened. He looked offended — as if he had any right to feeling like this after everything he’d done.

“If the order is against the contract, I cannot obey it,” he said at last. Ciel stiffened. “Your first priority is always orders from the Queen. My first priority is your life.”

Ciel knew he had to respond to this, to find a way to twist the situation around and link saving Lizzy to protecting himself. However, a strange sort of pleasure thrummed through him at Sebastian’s words, and for this one moment, it was stronger than his desire to go look for Elisabeth, to think about his duties.

He liked hearing Sebastian say this. He liked being called a priority. He wanted to hear more.

Maybe Sebastian sensed something changing because his voice gained a softer, almost playful edge.

 “I have devoted myself to your service and protection, Young Master,” he uttered. “I cannot allow someone else to steal you away from me after all this time, can I?”

Ciel tilted his head, thinking about it. After another pause, he took out the ring he got from one of the dolls and put it on his finger. As he’d hoped, it suited him perfectly — even better than the ring he was already wearing.

“Apparently, the Hope piece marks the next target of the kidnapper,” he drawled, waving his ringed hand in front of Sebastian. “And I have two of them now. I guess that means I’m a double mark — protecting me will be a difficult task.”

Sebastian seemed to experience the same odd exhilaration because an indulgent smile parted his lips. His posture relaxed, and he pressed his hand to his chest.

“It matters not,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a lower range that had the most confounding ability to send Ciel’s heart racing, “I would never shy away from—”

Pluto’s howling distracted them both from this strange, largely inappropriate moment. It was coming from the direction of the tower — Ciel didn’t pay attention to it at first because it wasn’t located in the immediate vicinity of the puppeteer’s manor.

“I checked every corner of the mansion, but there was no sign of Lady Elisabeth,” Sebastian noted. “The only place left is that sealed-off tower.”

So he had looked for Elisabeth. This was something, at least. If Sebastian had decided to knowingly leave her for dead…

Ciel welcomed their games. He took true joy from the majority of them. But Elisabeth was off limits, and he hoped that even a demon understood this much.

“Let’s go,” he said grimly.

***

Elisabeth was indeed inside the tower. Weak and tied to a number of strings, but alive and sane. Still insisting on throwing him a birthday party even as her consciousness began to fade.

Ciel wasn’t sure how he felt about it, whether he was touched or appalled or both. Who thought of such a stupid, trivial thing when faced with death? Perhaps he ought to find a suitable doctor for Elisabeth. There was something extremely wrong with her priorities and her sense of danger. 

In the end, he didn’t have to dwell on this thought for long. Leaving Elisabeth on the floor, too curious to resist, he followed the dying puppeteer, Sebastian, and Grell into the next room.

Very quickly, his relief changed into wariness, which got sharper when they entered and saw Pluto in his dog’s form, lying next to a chair and waving his huge tail.

Someone was sitting in that chair, with their back to the door. Who was this person? Ciel had never seen Pluto being this affectionate to someone other than Sebastian. It’s not like he was attached to the stupid dog, but what the hell was it thinking?

“Pluto!” he snapped, scandalised. To his utter shock, as if determined to add insult to injury, Pluto leaned forward and licked the hand of whoever was sitting on the chair.

Unbelievable!

“Why is he being so friendly?” he muttered, not bothering to hide his shock.  

Sebastian didn’t respond, but the stranger in the chair did, even if it wasn’t to the question Ciel had asked.

“I apologise. My butler was so incompetent — I failed to offer you the hospitality you deserve.”

“So you're behind this,” Ciel said coldly. At least questioning a suspect was a much more familiar territory than trying to interpret the behaviour of a dumb dog. “Why would you make girls into dolls?”

“Flowers, eras, and people are only beautiful for finite moments,” the disembowelled voice answered. It sounded strange — somewhat breathless, somewhat hysterical. Familiar, although Ciel couldn’t tell why. “Doll-making is noble work, preserving in this world the most beautiful and perfect of people.”

That’s it? This madman only wanted to turn people into perfect, silent copies that would never grow old? How ridiculous.

But that mark on the floor… and the fact that the puppeteer kept telling him he was to be the next victim…

“You've got awful taste!” Grell snorted. “What's so perfect about immature little...”

They really didn’t have time for this.

“Why are you after me?” Ciel asked, ignoring the way Grell hissed in protest at being interrupted. The kidnapper stayed silent. “I’m no one’s doll, and I won’t be a part of your collection!”

Taking off the second ring, Ciel threw it at the back of the chair, watching it collide with it with a dull clanging sound.

Anger filled the room. Foreign, piercing anger — it was nothing like Sebastian’s, yet somehow it felt just as inhuman.   

“Know your place, boy,” the voice growled. Ciel almost growled back in outrage at the sheer audacity of this man. “My butler’s head was made of straw. I imagine he couldn't understand why I wanted you. Ciel Phantomhive, you were fated to die from your very birth. That body you wear is unclean.”

The words hit him so hard that he almost doubled over under their impact. Images flickered under his eyelids, and for a moment, Ciel couldn’t breathe. He… he…

A familiar hand brushed against his back, steadying him.

Sebastian.

Sebastian was here.

But was it a good thing? After what he said—

No matter. This wasn’t important. He would deal with everything later, but right now…

“How… do you know about that?” Ciel pushed out. His heart was pounding like mad, frightened as much as his brain.

To his relief — or disappointment — he got no answer.

“I cannot allow someone like you to exist in this world,” the kidnapper told him, his tone getting darker. “You are disgracing it. Unclean. Unnecessary. Unfruitful. That is why I intend to erase you.”

This… this… how dared he?

Fury slammed into Ciel with a powerful force, bruising his insides. He’d heard a lot of threats, but none of them felt like this one. This was humiliating. Maddening. He wanted…

He wanted to kill whoever was sitting in that chair. And not with Sebastian’s hands, but with his own.

“Snuff out the unclean,” the kidnapper muttered, his words growing unsteady. “Snuff out the unnecessary. Snuff out the unfruitful.”

“Shut up!” Ciel yelled. Sebastian continued to hover behind him, doing nothing, so he broke into a run himself, brimming with wild, unbridled violence.

Maybe, if he were to see the kidnapper’s face... maybe he would recognise it. Maybe everything would slot into its place.

However, the moment he saw who was sitting in the chair, he sucked in a startled breath.

Just a doll. Another one. And an even smaller doll on the strings nesting on its lap.

Sebastian materialised behind his back — too late. Much too late: what if there was a real kidnapper here? What if he were armed? Either Sebastian was enjoying this or the curse continued to work, slowing down his reactions.

The small doll looked up, staring right at Ciel, and when its mouth opened in a wide, terrifying grin. In a blink, it jumped up and dashed outside the room, the strings glistening occasionally in the moonlight.

“Sebastian!” Ciel cried out. “Catch that thing!”

To his outrage, Sebastian didn’t even attempt to move.

“The person who holds the strings is elsewhere, my lord,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t do us any good to give chase. There are invisible strings all over the room. Not a very nice thing, I must say.”

Speechless, Ciel stared at him, unable to believe his ears. Did Sebastian take him for a complete fool? What were some strings against a demon? What, Sebastian was unable to make it out of this tower and catch some doll? Ridiculous!

“Fine,” Ciel growled. Anger made this one word impossibly loud. “Do what you want. I’ll go back to this guy’s manor. I want to take another look at that seal — there have to be some clues there.”

Sebastian watched him apathetically.

“I’m afraid it’s no longer possible, my lord,” he said. “I smell smoke. Someone must have set the manor on fire.”

What.

Ciel slowly moved his gaze towards Grell, who was staring at Sebastian in bewilderment for some reason. Then he jumped, as if kicked by an invisible force, and a stupid grin stretched his lips wide.

“Yes, yes, I can smell it, too!” he confirmed, waving his hands around. “The manor is definitely burning. Good riddance, if you ask me. Those were some ugly dolls!”

Something wasn’t right. The manor was their first major clue. In all these years, Ciel had never seen the mark like the one on his skin. This kidnapper, whoever he was, had an immediate connection with him, probably with the murder of his family, too. How could Sebastian be so indifferent about it when it was a chance to finally bring their contract to the end? Why was he lying?

And if the manor was really burning… Ciel had serious suspicions as to who had set it on fire.

“My lord,” Sebastian stepped towards him, his eyes still hooded. “Lady Elisabeth might panic if she wakes up and we are not there. I suggest that we focus on her and take her home.”

What a hypocrite. Wasn’t he willing to leave Lizzy to die less than an hour ago?

Bitterness dropped like a heavy stone to the bottom of his stomach. Lowering his head, Ciel waited for Grell and Sebastian to clear the path, and once they did, he stalked out of the room, his head aching from all the conflicting thoughts filling it.

The burning manor. The refusal to catch the doll. The curious silence and a complete lack of interest in a kidnapper who clearly posed a direct threat to Ciel. And when Madam Red died, when Grell was bargaining for his life and swearing he knew who killed the Phantomhives… The moment he said it, Sebastian tried to murder him.

What did this mean? At best, Sebastian was purposefully ignoring the chance to complete their contract as they agreed. At worst, he was somehow involved in what happened, in a way Ciel refused to even contemplate.

He was too tired for this. Exhaustion was dragging him down even as he walked.

He needed some time to recover and regroup. And to think about everything from the beginning.

***

Grell escaped as soon as they walked away from the tower, apparently intimidated by the thought of fighting Sebastian without his original Scythe. The relief that slammed into Ciel at the sight of it was absurd, especially with his latest suspicions.

For one thing, he didn’t want to risk Sebastian and Grell clashing when Elisabeth could awaken at any moment. But what he cared about even more was having to honour his part of the deal.

Grell made for an abysmal protector, but he tried, which meant that Ciel had to give him a one-day access to Sebastian. What seemed like a flawless idea back then now only served to fill him with bile.

It was disgusting. What Grell wanted, what Sebastian had threatened him with, what so many people seemed to want. Giving Sebastian to Grell and letting him taste at least a lick of similar humiliation was an empowering thought, but now that he could be pushed to make it a reality, every part of Ciel rebelled against it.

Maybe, in the end, he wasn’t on par with an actual demon when it came to cruelty. He was prepared to subject Sebastian to all kinds of punishments, but to this one?

No. Just… no. If Grell came back with a demand, Ciel would find a way to talk himself out of this corner. Sebastian was his, and he would remain his for as long as their contract lasted.

Unless he had broken it even before it was formed.

But this was a thought for later.

“Not today,” he told Sebastian, who continued to look at him expectantly, waiting for the order to chase after Grell. How did this idiot plan to catch a reaper when he couldn’t catch some little, stupid doll, anyway?

The demeaning words rolled on the tip of his tongue, but in the end, Ciel swallowed them. He touched Elisabeth’s face instead, relieved when she didn’t open her eyes.

“I don’t want the scent of blood to reach Elisabeth any more than it already has,” he said aloud.  

A pause. And then the atmosphere shifted again, growing stiffer, a vague sense of danger blooming around them.

“Such care,” Sebastian drawled. His voice was suddenly caustic. “First you choose Lady Elisabeth over the order from the Queen; then, you insist on staying behind to find her, even knowing that you yourself are in danger. Believing you might shatter if she were to die. You seem positively infatuated, my lord. Shall I start organising your wedding?”

Ciel’s astonishment was quickly suffocated by a re-awakened surge of fury. He jerked away from Elisabeth, staring at Sebastian instead, wondering if he should hit him again.  

This personal attack came absolutely out of nowhere. Had Sebastian lost his mind? How many more missteps was he planning to commit today?

“I didn’t want to save Lizzy because I’m afraid of being ‘shattered’,” Ciel snarled. Everything inside him roared for Sebastian’s blood. “I wanted to save her because it’s my duty and my responsibility. I have saved enough strangers at the request of Her Majesty; Lizzy is someone I know personally. Would you suggest that I leave her to her fate? Why, merely to avoid looking weak in front of you? You’re forgetting yourself, demon!”  

Sebastian’s lips curled as if he smelled something offensive. If he wasn’t holding Elisabeth, Ciel would definitely slap him again, and this time, he wouldn’t stop even as he drew blood.

“I suppose agreeing to celebrate your birthday just because she asked you is also a part of your duties?” Sebastian wondered. He was speaking mildly now, but every word took a vicious shape intended to harm.

Ciel had no idea what his problem was.

“I’m not going to celebrate my birthday,” he said. “I told her that to make her feel better because we had just saved her and she was about to pass out. She will probably fail to remember that conversation, and either way, we should take her to her parents and leave her to recover there.”

Like by magic, the tense lines on Sebastian’s face suddenly smoothed. He smiled — much warmer now, although there was something calculating hiding in the curve of his lips.

“May I ask you to change your mind?”

What?  

“What?” Ciel asked stupidly. This new change was so abrupt, his head was starting to spin.

“It seems like the entire household is hoping for a celebration, and now that you gave Lady Elisabeth a promise, you should honour it.”

This demon had to be insane. Hadn’t he just been prepared to snap Ciel’s neck for thinking he was intending to celebrate his birthday, after all?

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ciel said. Sebastian’s eyes flashed with interest. “I’ll agree to let everyone throw me a birthday dinner today if you agree to go to Hell — literally, and get rid of your curse. It is making you unbearably stupid. I cannot be seen with such a slow and incompetent butler, one who fails to catch a tiny doll and cut some pathetic strings.”

Sebastian frowned, but then another smile bloomed on his lips.

“Fine,” he agreed. He seemed to glow with arrogant satisfaction. “First the celebration, and then I will take care of the curse.”

Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Ciel turned away from him.

Celebrating his birthday.

He supposed there could be worse things than that.

***

By midday, Elisabeth recovered enough to start pestering him with renewed vigour. The servants nearly destroyed both the kitchen and the hall in their over-eagerness to start preparing for the celebration, and even Sebastian seemed absurdly pleased with all this fuss.

Ciel found himself roped into cutting coloured paper and creating tall hats out of it. He was terrible at it, a fact that Sebastian kept mocking him for relentlessly, even as he joined to help him.

“Who would believe that the owner of the Funtom Corporation can’t make a single paper hat?” he drawled.

“Shut up,” Ciel grunted. What an absurd idea to wear hats like these ever, especially in winter. Especially on his birthday. “I work with my head. Let the idiots work with their hands.”  

Sebastian had the nerve to laugh at him.

By evening, their dining room shone with decorations. Elisabeth kept chattering to everyone and no one at once, not a sign of what she’d been through evident in her demeanour. Bard was ridiculously overeager: he looked so stupidly happy that Ciel concluded they could close the chapter of torture once and for all from this point on.

Sebastian seemed to be enjoying himself, too, in his mysterious and detached way. He was everywhere: in the kitchen, preparing the celebratory dinner; in the room, helping Ciel complete the ridiculous tasks Lizzy had saddled him with; with the servants and even with Lizzy herself, commenting on the dresses that had been hurriedly delivered from the Midfords’.

By the time they finally sat down to have that dinner, exhaustion was eating at Ciel’s insides. He sat at the head of the table, propping his chin up on his hand, observing the overly cheerful crowd gloomily.

“Happy birthday, Ciel!” Elisabeth gushed.

“Congratulations, Young Master!” the servants echoed. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy.

It’s not that Ciel hated it. It’s just that he didn’t have time for it.

Happiness and mindless celebrations like these were a luxury that only the most carefree people could afford. He had many, many problems demanding his attention — the identity of the kidnapper, the mark on the floor of the manor, Sebastian’s strange behaviour, Sebastian’s threat, Sebastian’s curse… Sitting here, accepting wishes for longevity that he had already given up — it was a farce. A waste of his and everyone’s time.

“I'll serve the pudding, then,” Sebastian announced, lifting the knife and cutting into a delicious-looking cake.

“Why bother,” Ciel grumbled. “You could have cut it in the kitchen.”

His deteriorating mood lifted a little when he smelled the chocolate cream. The piece Sebastian placed on his plate looked mouth-watering — he had promised him a unique dessert, after all, so Ciel said nothing else, too curious to taste it already.

However, instead of the rich chocolate exploding on his tongue with different flavours, what he got instead was a hard, small something that nearly broke his tooth.

Frowning, Ciel spat it out. His eyes widened when he saw the same old Hope diamond ring he had gotten rid of at the tower. 

“This is...” he paused, completely at a loss.

Sebastian chuckled softly.

“The season is almost upon us,” he pointed out. “I made a traditional Christmas pudding. If your piece contains a ring, you are guaranteed happiness.”

Oh.

…Well, that answered it, at least — Sebastian truly hated him.

Lizzy let out a scream of joy, jumping towards him and clenching his hands in hers. She said something, but Ciel barely listened to her.

A ring that brought misfortune hidden in his piece of cake. Promised to deliver him happiness that would never come.

Sebastian sure had a rotten sense of humour.   

“He said you’ll be able to find happiness, Ciel,” Lizzy whispered, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I don’t—” Ciel tried to say, but his protest drowned in a cacophony of excited yells and laughter. They all…

They all were so stupid. They fell for a cheap trick of a demon, not realising he was mocking them. Mocking Ciel, and whatever was left of his life.

“How ridiculous,” he muttered. He could sense Sebastian staring, but refused to meet his eyes.

Enough. Just enough of that. Let Sebastian mock him as much as he wanted. He was a traitor either way — Ciel should have allowed Grell to have him, after all. Maybe not for a day, but for a few hours. He loathed the thought of experiencing humiliation after humiliation and having no real way to retaliate against it.

The stupid celebration couldn’t end fast enough. When it finally did, he went to his office, ordering Sebastian to bring him a tea he didn’t intend to drink.  This gave him a break of ten minutes to breathe — and to think.

The thought seemed absurd, but he couldn’t explain Sebastian’s behaviour in any other way.

Sebastian was purposefully avoiding bringing their contract to an end. He ignored the clues; he ignored the potential perpetrators.

Why? This was the question Ciel needed to find answers to. What could motivate a hungry demon to delay the moment of repayment? Why would he go as far as hide the evidence — because Ciel truly doubted the manor caught fire by itself?

He had to conduct his own investigation. And he had to do it secretly from Sebastian.

Humming, Ciel stared at the second ring, twirling it in his fingers. That was when the door opened, Sebastian entering with a tray and a content look on his face.  

Ciel’s heart lurched, and he hated himself for it. Hated this abhorrent impulse to give Sebastian yet another chance to explain himself, to fix things. How much more stupid could he get?  

“I cast this ring away,” he uttered calmly. “And yet here it is again.”

Sebastian shrugged, pouring him a steaming cup of tea. Earl Grey. A pity that Ciel wouldn’t drink it.

“Today's events aside, it’s still a present Lady Elisabeth had gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire for you,” Sebastian noted. Then he paused, an intent expression overtaking his face. “Besides... cursed ring or not, I will always protect you.”

As if.

Angry bitterness stirred, pushing Ciel to snort in derision. This was the only sound an obvious lie like that deserved.

But what if…

No. He would not fall for it. What he could do was start implementing his plan.

“What do we know about the manor?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  

“It has been empty for quite a while,” Sebastian gently put the cup before him. “Its owner, the Earl of Mandalay, has been in a sanatorium for long-term convalescents.”

“Oh,” Ciel put on a mask of disappointment. “I suppose he has nothing to do with this, then.”

“It would seem not.”

“That mark, though...” Ciel let his voice trail off, his brows furrowing in a well-designed display of concern.

Sebastian didn’t react. His voice was smooth when he asked, “What’s the matter, my lord?”

As if he couldn’t guess. If Ciel had noticed it, Sebastian must have seen it for sure. It was a large clue that could further their contract, and yet here he was, pretending to be oblivious.

“Nothing,” Ciel said curtly. He got all the confirmation he needed — Sebastian was lying, and he was hiding something from him. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

Sebastian blinked before bowing slightly.

“Yes, my lord. Should I bring your tea to—”

“No,” Ciel interrupted him, harsher than he intended. “I don’t want it any longer.”

Sebastian had the nerve to look dismayed. A small frown creased his forehead as he stared at Ciel, then at the abandoned cup.

“Is it not to your liking?” he wondered, his frown growing even more pronounced when Ciel sneered at him.

“None of your business. Aren’t you forgetting something? What about your part of the deal?”

Sebastian froze for a moment. Then, an expression of petulance overtook his face — as if Ciel wasn’t demanding something that was supposed to benefit him!

“Go take care of your curse right now,” Ciel ordered coldly. “I’m not going to wait for one single minute. I need a proper butler, not one who stumbles over his feet or freezes when his Master is being attacked.”

An affronted huff escaped Sebastian’s throat.

“Even with a curse, I didn’t let anyone harm a single hair on your head,” he pointed out.

“Yet. Besides, a deal is a deal. Leave, now — I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Another annoyed sigh. Finally, Sebastian relented.

“I will go,” he said. “But there is a condition. While I’m gone, you must stay inside my room.”

Ciel was about to protest just for the sake of it, but when the meaning of Sebastian’s demand hit him, he swallowed his words back. It was too bizarre to argue against.

Sebastian’s room? He’d been to it just once, when he was deciding where his new fake butler would live. A lot had changed since then, and now that he thought about it, he couldn’t subdue a glow of curiosity.

Had Sebastian changed something about it? Brought some things of his? What objects could a demon possess?

“Fine,” Ciel answered belatedly. Based on how Sebastian’s eyes widened, he didn’t expect such an easy acceptance of his demand. “I’ll take something from my room, and then I will go downstairs.”

“I will wait.”

Rolling his eyes, Ciel walked out of his office.

In his room, he grabbed the book and the dictionaries. Sebastian’s eyes lingered on them, flashing with something Ciel couldn’t interpret before cooling to their usual redness.

He didn’t say anything, so Ciel stayed silent as well. Sebastian shadowed him up until the moment he entered his room, and then the door slammed shut. Ciel was certain that it wouldn’t open no matter what he tried. Pity that he didn’t have his sheep with him, but of well.

Deciding not to waste a second of time, Ciel began to explore. The room seemed just as bleak and impersonal as when he’d seen it last. Empty walls save for one generic painting — Ciel wouldn’t be surprised if it’d been hanging here for centuries. A bed that didn’t look like anyone ever slept in it. A shelf with some clothes.

He got his first interesting find when he opened one of the table drawers. There were a bunch of gems and stones there, along with something small and white. A tooth?

Morbidly curious, Ciel picked it up and examined it more closely.

He was right, it was a tooth. Whom did it belong to, and why was Sebastian storing it here? Was it important? Maybe it came from one of his previous masters?

An unfamiliar darkness flared beneath his skin at the thought. Narrowing his eyes, Ciel held the tooth in his hand for a while, and then he placed it in his own pocket.

If it was so important, Sebastian would notice it missing. If it wasn’t, then it shouldn’t be here, at the manor that had nothing to do with whatever old contracts this demon might have had.

Calmer now that the offensive thing was out of his sight, Ciel focused on the stones again.

Interesting. Had the gems Sebastian been bringing to him come from this collection? Where was he getting them from? They didn’t look touched by a human hand, so he couldn’t have simply bought them.

Maybe… maybe this could help him to narrow down the list of all the demons’ names to one specific one? Was there a lunatic there who was obsessed with collecting stones? And if so, why had Ciel never known of it until now?

 The wild explosion of curiosity and excitement was much stronger than the need to keep exploring Sebastian’s room. Ignoring the way his heart pounded furiously, Ciel threw the book on the table, put the two dictionaries nearby, and opened the page where he left off.

He knew how the word “stones” was spelt in Latin — Sebastian would be appalled if he didn’t after all their lessons, perhaps to the point where he would decide to beat Ciel with that pointer of his again.

 All he had to do now was look for this specific word in the descriptions of Dukes and Princes. He might be wrong, of course, but it was worth an effort — and it was much better to look for a word instead of translating multiple blocks of text when all he wanted was one name.

A useless page.

Another useless page.

The more he searched, the faster his pulse beat — in excitement, anticipation, or anxiety, he couldn’t tell. Finally, his eyes caught the familiar word, and he almost gasped as adrenaline slammed into him.

His hands shook a little as he grabbed the dictionaries and began to translate the whole passage, fervently hoping that Sebastian wasn’t going to return now and spoil his mission.

Ignoring the name for now, he concentrated on the description.

A Duke of Hell. Has an affinity for precious stones, serpents, and white horses. Is a master at creating astral projections and allowing his contractors to travel that way.

There were other sentences and explanations, but Ciel paused, tapping his finger against the name thoughtfully.

This didn’t sound like Sebastian at all. Stones, yes, but everything else? Serpents? White horses? Astral projections?

What kind of a demon liked white horses, anyway. If this was Sebastian, there had to be “cats” written before, after, and under his name.

Come to think of it, maybe he should have started looking for “cats” instead of  “stones.”

The sting of disappointment smarted, but Ciel refused to give up after one failure. He resumed his search, skipping pages until he stumbled upon another word in a different section.

Princes.

His throat went dry all of a sudden, even as he scolded himself for getting his hopes up again. Taking a deep, calming breath, Ciel clenched the dictionary and focused on deciphering the lines.

A Prince of Hell. Has a passion for stars, precious stones, and plants. Is often linked to a raven. Was one of the three demons to ever be awarded a crown for accomplishments unknown, and the only demon to refuse to wear it, turning it into a door decoration for his place of dwelling instead. Drawn to beauty in all its shapes and forms. Unpredictable.  

There was nothing else written. In fact, this description looked shorter than the entries for other demons — even those with lower ranks had more written about them than this supposed prince.

It didn’t matter, though. The way Ciel’s mind and body reacted, the way his eyes kept getting back to the lines he’d already read obsessively, tracing them over and over again…

This was Sebastian. He was sure of it.

A demon who revelled in shocking others? A demon whose rank wasn’t the highest, yet who managed to get a crown somehow — only to defile it publicly, just to cause outrage and mayhem?

Unpredictable. ‘Whimsical’ was more like it, in Ciel’s opinion. Childish. Annoying.  

He wasn’t that confident about Sebastian’s love for stars and plants, but at least these things didn’t come out of nowhere. Sebastian did ramble about his favourite constellations in the beginning — he shut up only after Ciel ordered him to. He was never interested in astronomy and considered it a waste of time.

Sebastian did seem to enjoy gardening, decorating the manor with different flowers and finding new and new combinations of herbs to please Ciel’s palate.

As for the raven… Ciel didn’t have anything concrete to base his belief on, but there was something familiar about this bird now that he tried to link it to Sebastian. Some vague memories stirred, pushing him years back, to those minutes they spent talking before forming a contract.

Maybe not everything from the description fit, but most things. The important things.

This was indeed Sebastian. His name, like the names of other demons, wasn’t written in pure Latin. It was encrypted with a cypher, but Ciel spent so much time translating already that he had an idea of what some symbols stood for.

Fortunately, there were only 6 letters to deal with. The vowels ‘o’ and ‘a’ remained unchanged; the first and the last symbols were the same, which meant that he had just 3 letters to decipher.

He recognised the first one. It was ‘S,’ no doubt: a lot of familiar words in this book were coded with the identical symbol.

Sebastian’s true name started with the same letter as the name Ciel had given him.

It was meaningless, he knew it, but his body disagreed. Satisfaction bloomed inside it, sending streams of delight of unknown origin through his veins. Rolling his eyes at his own uncontrollable stupidity, Ciel went back to the letters and his past translations.

Whoever came up with this cypher didn’t bother to put real effort into it. It was much too easy to interpret it just by looking for patterns. Either the demons were idiots or they didn’t think the book would get into humans’ hands.

Where was Sebastian? Hadn’t he said taking care of the curse would be quick?

Shaking off the stray thought, Ciel focused on the book again.

‘S.’ Followed by a ‘t’. The vowel ‘o’, then a more complex symbol he couldn’t decipher yet; ‘a’ and ‘s’ as the final two letters.

One symbol; he just had to decode one symbol.

The more he looked, the more eager he felt. His whole body thrummed with excited, primal need to know the answer, and when he finally came across a familiar word — ‘liber’ — the flare of triumph almost blinded him for a moment.

‘L.’ That’s the letter he was looking for, the last one missing.

Stolas. That was the name.

And Sebastian had all but handed it to him.