Author's Note: This publication is dedicated to my wife and true love, St. Ciel. Without her, I would have probably abandoned this story ages ago.
My butler was anything but tardy with his tasks. I never had to ask more than once, if I had to ask at all, but I had been waiting more than half an hour for the evening post when Sebastian finally returned to the study, letters offered on a silver tray.
"You're late," I spat.
"Apologies, Young Master. The delay could not be helped," Sebastian explained. "It seems that the post-boy was robbed again. These letters are what managed to get through." He bent stiffly at the waist to offer me the letters from the tray, each one artfully fanned against the ornate silver.
"What a nuisance."
"Indeed, My Lord," Sebastian said. He straightened to his full height,
I picked up the letter opener with the Phantomhive crest carved into the ivory handle and selected the top letter.
"Nothing from Her Majesty?" I asked.
"No, Sir."
"Hmmm…" That worried me. A robber might target correspondence bearing the royal seal.
"Shall I bring you some tea, My Lord?" Sebastian asked.
"No. Leave me," I said, sitting back into the leather chair and looking into the warm, bright glow of the fireplace and let the darkly paneled walls of my study fade into the shadows again.
It had been over a month since the queen had sent her last correspondence and I feared that a message may have been intercepted. Was this the work of common street thugs riffling through the post for valuables, or was there something more sinister going on?
I have been the queen's watchdog since my father's death eight years ago, picking up the Phantomhive duties where he left off. As it happens, those duties also provide a perfect vehicle for me to seek my revenge against my parent's killers. Both tasks keep me mired in the stinking filth of London's underworld, but really, would I have it any other way?
This issue with the post-boy concerned me. If it wasn't a random attack, the problem would have to be dealt with swiftly and any clandestine information that had been stolen en route to Phantomhive Manor would have to be recovered. Messes would have to be cleaned up.
"Sebastian," I called. But he was already at the door, my overcoat and walking stick in hand. I wasn't entirely sure if he had read my thoughts or if he was just that adept at anticipating my actions after being in my service these eight years. I'm not sure which would be more disturbing, but the truth is it's his ability to predict my needs that make him the ideal servant.
I got up from my chair and turned my back to Sebastian so he could help me on with my coat.
We took the Hansom cab for the sake of speed and discretion. It was just after 10 o'clock and the streets were in a lull between the dinner crowd and the post-theatre crowd that would swarm upon the cafes of London like the insipid and mindless locusts that they were. Our cab would pass through the night unseen.
"The post-boy was accosted on Brewer Street while making a delivery," Sebastian said through the hatch that connects his seat upon the back of the cab to mine on the interior. I didn't wonder where he got his information. For all I knew or cared, there may have been a network of invisible imps in his employ that did his spying for him. When I entered into our covenant, I demanded that he never lie to me, so I trusted that he was providing good information now.
He turned the cab abruptly around a corner, tossing me around my seat and slowed the horse to a stop. We were in an alleyway between a tea shop and a rundown looking theatre. It was suitably dark for the cab to blend into the murk. Sebastian silently hopped down from the driver's seat to open the cab door. He offered his slender, gloved hand as I exited, which I pointedly avoided. I thought I saw the briefest flicker of a smirk across his pale lips, but I ignored it. After years of being the obedient butler, being the caretaker and the protector, I sensed that Sebastian was beginning to test his bounds. I pushed the thought away, but it had soured my stomach already.
Back to that task at hand. I walked out of the alleyway and onto the street. The crowd was beginning to pick up and we were soon lost in the flow; just another gentleman and his butler. Only our destination would be a different sort of social call that most of the glassy-eyed idiots on the street couldn't even fathom existed mere feet from their cups of wine and sweet deserts.
I pushed open a narrow unmarked door set deep into the brick alcove of the building. A warm burst of air enveloped us as we pressed inside. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, looking around until I saw what I was looking for.
I walked to the table in the back of the room, passed the gamblers tossing dice, passed the men with rotten teeth groping the strained and broken looking women at the bar, and sat down in front of a man no older than myself. He wore all black, dusty and worn around the edges. His face was lost in shadow except when he drew upon the cigarette between his lips, casting his visage into a ghastly light.
"Alden," I said, tilting my head slightly in greeting. Sebastian stood behind me, my ever-present shadow.
"Earl Phantomhive. Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Harrison Alden leaned forward onto his elbows and assessed me with amusement.
"I'm looking for information."
"Is that so? What makes you think that a lowly smuggler such as meself can help someone as noble and important as you?" He grinned, taking the cigarette from his mouth and regarding it thoughtfully before taking a long contemplative drag.
"Don't be coy, Alden. I won't insult either of us by offering threats. You know who I am."
"That I do. So, you might as well get on with it then. What do you want?"
"There's been a string of post robberies. The most recent was just this evening of Brewer Street." I watched his expression carefully. Alden was a moderate smuggler, bringing opium in from China for that drug addled idiot Lau, but he was also very observant. Just the kind of cockroach that can cling to a wall and overhear a conversation. His eye flicked from my face to somewhere behind me in the room. I felt Sebastian shift before I heard the gun go off.
"Really, must you all live up to the stereotypes that society has placed upon you?" I said as I stood to look for the man who had just attempted to shoot me in the back of the head.
"Murderers and villains, I'm afraid, My Lord." Sebastian held the man up off the floor by his throat. The gun was crushed and scattered on the floor. The room around us grew silent.
I walked a few steps closer so I could stand before the man. He was unfortunately higher than eye level to my short stature but I let my cold gaze dig into him nonetheless. My size always caused others to underestimate me.
"You and that whore queen," the man gasped, his face red, flecks of spittle on his lips. "You'll never get away with it."
"What exactly won't I get away with?" I asked. I nodded to Sebastian to relax his grip so the man could speak.
"Bringing all them China whores and the China dope here to London," the man spat.
"Whores and dope? Not really my area." But my mind returned to the missing correspondence. "Sebastian, search him."
Sebastian's hands deftly flew over the man's grubby suit, turning out his pockets and depositing their contents on the nearby tabletop: some coins, a set of weighted dice. And there, a packet of letters. I picked up the bundle and turned them over in my hands. I immediately recognized the royal seal, set in dark red wax. I nodded to Sebastian and turned away just after I heard the satisfying snap of the man's neck. His body slid to the floor at Sebastian's feet.
"Take care of that would you, Alden?" I tossed some coins on the bar. "For Alden's tab and a round for the house," I told the white-faced barkeeper.
Inside the Hansom cab as it bounced and creaked its way home, I clutched at the pile of letters in my lap. I felt ill thinking of the man's brittle bones breaking in Sebastian's hands.
But he meant to kill me.
Anger flared up in the pit of my stomach and soon consumed my mind. It was hardly the first time I had been shot at, but it was never any less unnerving with frequency. If Sebastian hadn't been there I would certainly be dead. Although, without my demon butler I would hardly take the risks I was so comfortable taking.
My avenging angel.
I could feel the heavy silence of his presence perched behind me in the driver seat like some great, dark crow. I wondered what he thought of this. Did he enjoy this evening's outing? Was he at all concerned for my safety? Or were his thoughts only for my soul? I know how he starved himself. Surely the waiting was torturous. But what was time to a demon?
I hadn't realized that the cab had stopped until the door sprung open and a white-gloved hand extended toward me. I found myself reaching for it and clasping it tightly, but not moving from my seat. I sat frozen for several moments holding his warm hand.
Sebastian's face came into view. "My Lord? Is something wrong?" he asked.
I let go of his hand and got out of the cab unaided. Walking up the stone steps to the townhouse, I threw open the door and went inside leaving Sebastian behind me. The foyer was lit but my study was dark, the fire had burned down to pale embers while we were gone. I walked inside, wishing I were home at the Phantomhive manor and not at the townhouse in London. I longed for quiet and solitude to soothe the ache I felt growing inside my chest.
I threw my coat, hat and gloves down into my chair and then tossed the bundle of letters on top with a pang of irritation. I reached for a crystal glass from the sideboard, only in the dark, managed to knock it to the floor.
"Blast!" I bent down to pick up the pieces by reflex, not thinking, only to slice my hand on the broken glass. I stared at my hand in the dark, feeling the sting of the cut and the wetness of the blood as it began to flow.
"Young Master, please. Allow me to clean the glass," Sebastian spoke softly from the doorway. He came to me with a clean white cloth to wrap around my bleeding hand.
"I'm not your 'young master' anymore," I whispered.
"Pardon, My Lord?" The slightest crease of confusion appeared between his brows.
"I'm nearly nineteen years old." I pulled my hand back and looked at the cut, pressing it, making the blood flow more freely. Drops began to fall to the cold stone floor. As I looked back up at Sebastian's face I thought I saw his tongue flick quickly to moisten his lips. The blood was tormenting him. I took a step closer to the butler, my body felt numb as I watched his eyes. Even in the dark I could see the change. His control was faltering.
"Please, allow me to bandage your hand, Sir." His voice held just the slightest edge. The barest bit of huskiness that I could detect only because I was so accustomed to its sound.
I held my hand out, but as he went to wrap the cloth around the wound I pressed the blood to his lips. He immediately froze, but then I saw it. I saw his control as it failed him. His eyes were red as they rolled back, his mouth opened and his hands encircled my wrists. I gasped at their strength as he pulled me closer, all humanity and reason gone.
The numbness suddenly fled as my brain finally caught on to the situation I had gotten myself into. Heat rushed to my face and a steady fear began to grow in my gut. But there was something else too. As Sebastian's tongue found the wound on my palm and worked it open, exploring its depths as his mouth drew in my blood, I felt my knees grow weak and an unexpected moan escaped my lips.
The sound seemed to bring Sebastian back to himself, or back to his human self. He released my hand and turned his back to me for a moment, apparently seeking to compose himself. Whatever impulse it was that compelled me to torment him made me reach out and touch his shoulder to turn him back to face me. I was completely unprepared for the look of absolute bliss that still possessed his face. The stony composure was gone. His eyes were red with reptilian pupils, his lips were slack but turned up ever so slightly. He blinked slowly.
"Oh, Ciel…" he breathed.
I took another step closer to lessen the distance between us and looked up into that strangely familiar yet completely inhuman face.
"My blood?"
"Your blood. Your blood is like nothing I have ever known. In all of my days. In all of the souls I have tasted…" His eyes suddenly focused and gazed down at me. His lips pressed together into a wicked grin. "That was a dangerous thing you did, Young Master."
"Shut up," I said. I fought something that made my body twitch with the need to act, wanting to reach up to touch him. I felt the pull in my stomach again and realized that the fear was connected to another feeling that I hadn't allowed myself to feel before. Not alone, not with anyone. Not even when I had been alone with Elizabeth the one time she insisted we kiss. And certainly not with Sebastian.
He watched me with predatory interest, his resolve already dangerously weakened by the taste my blood. What was it that he wanted? Was he considering taking my soul in that moment? Did he want to bite into my flesh and consume me whole?
Was he thinking of something else?
I watched his mouth, the way his tongue darted out to taste the remnants of my blood, and I wanted to feel his lips with my own. I was shocked by the thought, but how often had I actually imagined it, not allowing myself to indulge fully in the fantasy but still feeling the wicked desire late at night as I lie in bed?
I stepped away. Sebastian stood still where I left him, his arms limp arms at his sides, eyes closed, lips slightly parted and still tinted red with my blood.
"I'm going to bed," I said and turned to leave the study for the dark staircase beyond.