A Peace of Heaven
Chapter One: The Secret Door
What was it that made it that made an innocent soul so irreversibly insatiable?
Ciel thought to himself in the blistering summer of 2002. During such excruciating times, Ciel found it useful to distract himself with his voracious hunger. This said hunger was thwarted every year for the past 114 years, by the impossible, dreadful heat. Like most Southern summers, the humans dripped with sweat, blending their scents in a putrid mix, thus making it impossible to hunt.
Digressing, Ciel hated this time of year. He hated the iced teas, the loud, noisy parades, and most of all the Americans and their intolerable accents. Oh, how he hated the United States, and longed to return to his remote castle on the outskirts of Britain, next to the gray, churning ocean. At the very least, he was still the same, brooding young man he had been all those years ago.
Sebastian, however, loved spending every summer here, and he hated England for all it was worth. He enjoyed the blatant fact that humans worshipped him – unknowingly, of course. Though, the true reason behind his love of Mardi Gras was that it irritated his young master to no end. At least Ciel was a decent enough master to allow Sebastian this single time of year as a vacation. Even so, the boy was still a horrible brat following the holiday.
"You should not have come, Ciel." Sebastian sneered, earning him a sharp look from the boy. Honestly, what sort of Hell could Ciel Phantomhive put the demon-butler through that he hadn't already experienced in 114 years?
"This is your last warning, Sebastian, if you call me that again, I shall order you to destroy and rebuild Elizabethan Castle again." Ciel warned lethally, though his tone softened when he spoke of his late-fiancée's name. In his own way, Ciel missed her. Why, he had even shown a spark of jealousy when she was reengaged to some noble from Germany. Oh, how he stalked the Nazi – driving him to near insanity for years – until the demon Earl finally devoured the mad man's soul. Perhaps, if he wasn't so calloused, Ciel might have even cried when Elizabeth and her three children died in a flurry of bombs prior to the end of the First World War. Yet, as was expected from him, Ciel was stoic and aloof.
"Perhaps some of that 'cotton candy' would improve your temperament." Sebastian suggested, noticing his masters' mood taking a turn for the worst. Hormones. The butler thought, rolling his eyes. He had experienced a similar problem: staying the same age forever was difficult to process at times.
So, Sebastian held a small measure of sympathy for the boy, whom he was consequently damned to serve for eternity. The brat was unfortunately turned prior to his fourteenth birthday, though, which made him forever moody… He was a one-hundred year old man trapped in a child's body, in other words.
Ciel huffed, indignantly, which Sebastian took as a 'no' from the previous Earl. Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis had died 114 years ago, and the two wealthy brothers, Ciel and Sebastian Henry, were now what remained in the, technologically advanced but still barbaric, year of 2002. Of course, their names and residences changed at the end of a typical human lifespan. This was, in fact, the first time they had reverted back to their old names, which left Ciel feeling bitter and melancholy.
"Um, excuse me," A deep female voice interrupted the boys' train of thought. Her impending question was voiced in the direction of Sebastian. "You don't look like you're from around here." She noticed, in that painfully stupid Southern accent. Ciel slapped his hand to his forehead, while Sebastian simply grinned. This all went unnoticed by the girl in front of them; the one Ciel already attributed ignorance and flightiness to. Her soul stunk of it, too. "Well, anyway, I'm looking for my pet cat. I was wondering if you saw him at all."
"What makes you think we saw your pet cat in this bustling crowd of people?" Ciel snapped, finally bringing his gaze to the girl. She was a scraggly thing – looking no older than twelve – with a square face. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and tanned capris, her hair was bobbed with (what were they called?) bangs, and her eyes were almond-shaped and gray-colored. In her slim hands was a large stack of flyers with various color assortments.
The girls' lips pursed. "For your information, I was asking your dad." She replied, looking back up to Sebastian. He wasn't sure whether he should laugh at Ciel's miffed expression, or fret over his appearance – he didn't look old, did he? Women had flung themselves at him in the past…! Why this little… witch…
"I'm afraid I haven't." He replied charismatically, and the girl sighed, sadly.
"Yeah, Whiskers can really get himself in heaps of trouble sometimes. He's a bad cat." She muttered.
"What sort of unimaginative name is Whiskers?" Ciel grumbled, and the girl glared at him.
"What sort of stupid name is Ciel Phantomhive?" She shot back. She paled when she realized her error. "Um, just forget I asked anything. Bye…" Before Ciel could stop her, the girl had disappeared into the crowd.
"How in the world did she…?" Ciel wondered. Sebastian smirked.
"What a curious child, indeed."
"Did you find Whiskers, dear?" Olive's mother asked that night.
"No. I accidentally read someone's mind, though. They were suspicious people." The bob-haired girl replied, stirring numbly at the pork chops and mashed potatoes on her plate.
"Well, accidents happen, dear."
Olive glanced to where a doll – with black button eyes – sat next to her plate on the table. There were tears in its face and limbs, allowing pieces of cotton to stick out, and burns from where the doll might have caught fire during the preparations of dinner. It meant repairs were in order if Olive wanted to maintain her artificial mother for much longer. Even so, this doll would soon be irreparable just like the last ones, and there was only so much money left over.
Olive could faintly remember her mother. She had left a while ago; she had never said where. Olive's mother was always a quiet, introverted person, which was probably why it made it so difficult for Olive to remember her. Now, Whiskers was gone too!
The home was decorated in 1960s décor, and other items which were yellowed for style, not necessarily out of age. The walls were wood-paneled and the floors were linoleum. The front door had several bronze-colored handles – one for each place it exited to. It was a magical door – one which had survived every war since the beginning of the 20th century. It had been passed down through Olive's family for generations, yet she used it only for practical, non-magical reasons. In other words, it was just a regular door.
Olive looked back to her plate of food, and took a bite. It surprised her when underneath the cheap paper was that old, nearly burnt to a crisp table. Previously, it had been that plastic thing with the blue and green checkered top. Now, it was just burnt, which meant...
Someone's here. She quickly stood up, eyes wide and breath stuck in her throat. How?
"Did you find Whiskers, dear?' Olive's mother reiterated the same response she had used countless times before. "Well, accidents happen, dear. I love you, Olivia. I will always love you, Olll-eevv…" The motherly voice died down into a low mumble, as though someone had yanked the batteries from a toy. Olive tried to convince herself that the spell had finally worn off, returning the home to its actual state. But, instead, there was a gnawing sense of presence. Someone had broken her spell, and they had somehow found and entered her home.
She was reassured of this when she heard footsteps traveling up the stairs: a set of two, so quiet that normal human ears would never pick up on them. Olive doubted they were humans after tuning in to their thoughts. In fact, they sounded more like predators.
What shambles, thought a familiar, aristocratic male voice. How could anyone possibly live like this? I suppose it will only make it easier to dispose of the body…
That surly looking boy from the parade! Olive realized.
Why must the Young Master ruin my vacation with his nonsensical paranoia every year? The other man wondered drearily.
Olive swallowed, and turned her sights to the door. It was the only untouched by flames object in the room, still retaining its old-oak polish. Only a witch could travel through magical doorways, so even if they heard her she could escape to somewhere safe… The sound of Whiskers clawing away at a window upstairs caused Olive's stomach to churn. "Whiskers..." She whispered. He was her only family member. She could never leave him, not that she had much of a chance.
She had wasted too much time simply by standing there. Before the boys' hand even draped over her mouth, she heard his thoughts: there you are.
"Now that you're closer," He began, his breath cold on her neck. "Your soul smells awfully satisfying. And, how fortuitous! It appears that no one will miss you if you were to suddenly disappear." Olive felt his smile, evil and sinister. "Feel free to beg. I can't stand silent kills."
