Chapter Nine

Evil Cannot Sleep


"Do you agree to the terms of a contract, Cressida Carlisle?" The sultry voice asked, passing my ears like silk.

"Olivia... Olivia..."

I felt the air cool abruptly, and shivered as a cold hand pressed against my face.

"Without my assistance, you will not be able to save your daughter. The Demon Mafia has captured her." Said the voice.

Pain struck my insides, which felt so open and vulnerable. This feeling of loss had returned again, this time more overwhelming then ever before. "I could save her..." I couldn't hide the sob in my tone.

"The demons overwhelmed me, and you died." He responded coolly.

I suddenly realized why I felt so torn apart. Blood seeped through the towel drapped over my lower half. When I went to remove it, a blackened hand with black talons stopped me.

"We haven't time." The voice said. "Shall you damn yourself for eternity in turn for your child?"

My eyes began to blur, not with tears. The rapidly passing cinematic record began to pull me away.

"Cres, do you love me?" He asked.

"John," I realized upon seeing the tall, black haired man in one of the memories. "Yes."


Cressida woke up with a start. The nightmare left her heart drumming in her chest, to the point the bed vibrated below her.

She immediately brought her hand to her swollen forehead. She winced at the pain both from the lump and her attempts to sit up. Her attention was immediately brought to something else.

"Where the Hell are we? And what am I wearing?" She growled in the direction of the demon lounging in a chair.

His red eyes flicked to her, eyeing her attractive bodice in the revealing red silk nightie. He brought his eyes back to his book.

"The human police arrived a mere hour after you lost consciousness. Your garments were too filthy for further use." He responded pointedly.

"You hit me on the head, you dirty creature!" Cressida hissed, opening the curtains. The sunlight shone in, blinding her for a moment. She turned away, and caught hold of the single bed in the room. Her eyes widened. "Where is Ciel?"

Sebastian shut his book with a heavy sigh. "I am no longer contracted to the little heathen. My contract gave way at exactly midnight, due to his comatose state." He replied, coolly.

His collar suddenly tightened around his throat, and his slim body rose into the air. He let out a gagged sound.

Cressida using magic slammed him against the wall, like a rag doll, leaving an imprint of his body desecrated into the surface.

"Where is he?" She spat.

Sebastian smirked. "During a bout of brief consciousness, you agreed to the circumstances of a contract. I serve you now. Whatever end you choose, I obey; for all the time of your life, until death do I part from you, will I remain by your side... Milady." The last word lingered on his lips.

"I agreed to no such thing!" Cressida shouted, but her memory quickly returned to her. The nightmare she had. It hadn't been a dream. It was very real. It took her a moment to digest all of the information, before it finally sunk in.

Her face became white, as though she had seen a ghost (which she more or less had). Her chest felt heavy from all the tears she held in.

Cressida slowly reached for her forehead, where she felt the demons' mark burning against her skin. Sebastian landed gracefully back on the ground.

He tidied his suit and readjusted his tie. "Even I was quite upset upon seeing it. Though it will heal, it takes away from the beauty of your face." Sebastian sighed, disappointedly.

When she didn't respond, he moved one of her velvety black curls away from her forehead, admiring his handiwork. It glowed a slight red, due to the natural heat radiating off her body. She trembled under his touch.

"I see that is not what worries you, Milady. Perhaps you should sleep on it." He roughly grasped her chin, forcing her eyes to his face.

Upon digesting the hateful look in her expression, did he instictively pull away. Nothing had ever looked at him that way. She shoved him backwards, and he stumbled back into the chair.

"An evil person cannot sleep till they do evil; they are robbed of slumber till they make someone fall." Cressida muttered. Her glare was vicious, still grasping that hatred for him in her eyes.

She turned her back to him, but hesitated. Her hand suddenly whipped across his face.

Sebastian, stunned by the pain on his cheek, gingerly touched the area she had hit him. It hurt. How was that possible?

"Unless you have a death wish, you filthy, disgusting snake, you will not withhold any useful information you know. Your previous master may not have had the ability to kill you, but I do!" She yelled, preventing her tempered hand from hitting him again. She lowered her clenched hands to her sides. "Damn you, bastard! If not your previous master have you betrayed, but my blood as well! What sort of demon allows such thing to occur?"

Sebastian's hand wrapped around her delicate neck, clenching it so tight he could feel her last breath traveling into her lungs before being trapped by his grip.

Cressida stared, fearfully, into his angry, glowing red eyes.

It was odd how much lovelier the witch was when she was scared. In fact, it made Sebastian rather lustful. The desire to ravish the vivacious little body of hers until she cried out in both agony and pleasure came to him. Realizing this, he quickly released her

Not yet. He decided, placing his hand to his chest. The black mark on his hand glowed a bloodred. An honorable butler doesn't rape his master, though I suppose I am not a butler anymore.

"Yes, Milady."


1888

~The day before~

It had become a regular habit for Olive to talk to herself, Sebastian noticed. The demon possessing her obviously entertained her, and though he found her mindless conversations rather endearing, the Young Master in particular felt rather unnerved by it.

"She's as mad as a hatter!" Ciel commented as he devoured his blueberry scones.

He had already gone through three, which Sebastian would normally forbid. That is if Olive wasn't there. He did, in fact, have to be on his best behavior to keep his little... prize.

"While she was cleaning out the fireplace," Ciel continued, "she kept chattering on about some sort of comittee and fairies! I couldn't get any paperwork done at all!" Specks of food flew from the boys' mouth and onto the table, causing the butlers' eye to twitch.

Ciel usually ate heavily when he was agitated or nervous, leaving Sebastian wondering where exactly all the dessert items he shoveled into his mouth went. In the back of the demons' head he hoped that the little bastard would become round and plump, like the poor, fat Professor Hughes.

"I quite apologize for my daughter, Young Master. Her mother dropped her repeatedly on the head as an infant." Sebastian responded, forcing himself to ignore the speck of food.

Ciel forced a large amount of scone down his throat with a gulp of tea, dabbed at his lips with his napkin, then resigned to huffing (a tad indignantly). This behavior only lasted a moment before he wondered, "Has all been prepared for the arrival of Mr. Damian, the Italian fool, tomorrow evening?"

Sebastian nodded his head, once. "The other servants have been working religiously since the early hours of this morning. I was quite impressed by their efforts, in fact."

"You? Impressed?" Ciel stifled a snicker. "Shall the pigs be taking flight later this evening?" He added, sarcastically.

Sebastian smiled, calmly. "Will Mr. Damian suffice?"

Ciel smirked. "Be sure to give him the best Phantomhive treatment, Sebastian."

The butler came upon a letter on his tray, addressed to the head of the house. Another party invitation, which his Young Master would surely decline.

Sebastian dutifully (albeit with a roll of his eyes) held the letter out in front of Ciel's face.

"Speaking of pigs, this letter came in through the mail earlier. It is from the highly respectable Professor Hughes.."

"What in God's name for?" Ciel grumbled, snatching the ivory-colored envelope from his butler. He took his letter-opening knife, and tore through it. The writing was very lovely, and at the bottom was the de Berg stamp. Two swords crossing in front of a door.

"Another letter was addressed to the servants earlier this morning. In approximately three nights from now, Duchess de Berg is hosting a party at her estate. I presume the letter is an invitation, though her invite gives little time for preparation." Sebastian responded.

"It susprises me little. She is an abrupt, ignorant woman. Though my absence would bring reproach to the Phantomhive name-," Ciel threw the letter aside, into a large stack of other party invitations. "-I do not care for societal get-togethers. Especially ones hosted by that gossip, no matter her title."

"You do not care for the Duchess de Berg?" Sebastian wondered, taking the empty plate off Ciel's desk and placing it onto the tray.

"I suppose you should be aware of this. My grandmother was nearly swindled of the Phantomhive estate by Margaret de Berg." Ciel explained with a roll of his eyes.

"I was unaware your grandmother is alive. You have not visited her once in my time here." Sebastian mused.

"Hardly alive. Grandmother resides in a facility in London. After her sons' death, she was diagnosed clinically insane."

"I see." The butler murmured. "I would very much like to meet her. Perhaps..."

"I have no intention of visiting that useless woman." The boy snarled, turning his chair to face Sebastian. "I grow weary of your delay. Prepare for Mr. Damian's arrival. Now."

"Yes, Milord." He exited the room, leaving the boy alone to his brooding.

Ciel tried to twist the ring around his pinky finger, but let out a yelp when it tightened.

"That which defines you shall end you."

It was then that a sharp pain clawed its way through Ciel's head, causing him to buckle in pain.


Angelina had arrived the very next morning, concerned when she got word of her nephew's condition.

The migraine had been persistent since yesterday, aching over his eye where the contract was. The pain was so bad, he could not even bring his body out of bed let alone his head off the pillows.

Much of Ciel's face had lost its color, even his hair seemed duller. It was almost as though the boy was fading away.

"I've never seen anything like this." Angelina Durless said, lightly touching Ciel's oily forhead but quickly withdrawing when he groaned.

A permanent, sad frown remained on her face. The moment she heard of her nephew's ailment, she had rushed over with her own butler, Grell Sutcliff. Sebastian was unsure how she unearthed this information on Ciel's health, but he presumed it had something to do with the overly dramatic grim reaper standing sheepishly outside the the room.

"It feels like a fever of the brain, and the only way to alieviate the symptoms would be to bleed him." She said, glancing up at Sebastian. "What exactly has he been in contact with?"

"I presume you are referring to 'whom'." The dutiful butler defined, eyeing her. "There has been a new addition to the staff here, though I doubt she could invoke such a sickness."

Angelina breathed, sharply, in through her nose. Ciel was the only family God left behind for her. She may not have been a sinless woman. She may have despised her own sister and hated Rachel's good fortune and beautiful child. But she could not allow the boy to die under such circumstances. It would ruin all of her plans if the position of Queen's Dog transferred to the despicable Trancy family. They had more societal resources than the Phantomhive's, and Angelina's thirst for vengeance had not quite been satiated yet.

"I am unaware how Ciel acquired such a strange group of servants. For his sake, I will not delve into the matter. However," Her eyes narrowed. "If you are somehow responsible for his worsening condition, I will have Grell throw you back into the gutter you crawled out of."

Sebastian smiled. "You may rest assured that it would not benefit me to have my Young Master die so early in the game." He mused, causing Angelina's calm composure to sour and her chin to jutt out. She wasn't sure which game he was referring to. Hers or his own.

Whatever she wanted to say, she managed to bite back with her teeth. Angelina resigned herself to walking away. Though she rarely listed to her father's advice, she learned that being a pacifist in such situations resulted in the other party feeling (for lack of better words) stupid. Additionally, Angelina desperately wanted to wash herself of Sebastian's wickedness, which felt like a heavy, dirty cloak on her small frame.

"I will be occupying the guest room until Ciel shows improvement. While I am here, perhaps Grell could give you some lessons. You seem a tad disheveled." With a small smile and an irritated look from the handsome butler, Madame Red shut the door.

"You should not provoke a demon." Grell snickered, having heard the entire conversation.

In response, she rolled her eyes. "I want you to find out who the new servant is. Or what she is." She hesitated a moment, unsure whether to ask this of her butler. It wouldn't hurt to. "Do you know the illness?"

Grell's Cheshire grin vanished.

"I'm afraid I do not. You may find comfort in his death not being recorded. The T.K.O. is very particular about narrowing deaths down to the last second." The grim reaper muttered.

He did not like seeing his Red Lady reflect such emotions. Sadness simply did not suit the color red at all.

"Well, I suppose there is nothing else I can do." Angelina murmured, rubbing at her swollen, calloused fingers. It was not an easy task to kill another person. It took a toll on her body, and her vanity.


Where we left off...

"You seem to have the brain fever as well. You're hot to the touch." The red-haired angel, Angelina, said while withdrawing her hand from my forehead. She ignored the puke which sullied her dress, and Sebastian who, half-heartedly, stood in the corner of the room. He seemed in a terrible mood.

A normal person would have apologized for creating such a mess. Not me. "That green color looks good on you."

She blinked, oddly, at me. "Are you experiencing any strange symptoms?"

El was on a rampage, and I cleaned out my ear with my pinky. "My head hurts a little." I grumbled, staring at the earwax.

Angelina glared over at Sebastian.

"It seems it is in fact contagious." She said, bringing her creamy caramel eyes back to face me. "I will have to bleed Ciel, who has the worse symptoms. I will do the same for you."

I felt my heart drop. "That isn't it at all!" I cried, jumping off the chair. There was a brief pause in time as I thought of the results of whatever I said:

One) I could suffer through being sliced open. The upside would be I could retain whatever fragments of dignity I had left.

Two) I could try to explain my wild story to these two, and be shoved into a mental institution. The upside would be getting away from this place.

Three) Lie. Upside: dignity intact and escape plausible.

"This is a spiritual sickness," I said, motioning around me with my thin arms. "I know how to cure myself and the Young Master. No amount of modern medicine will help."

"What do you suggest?" She asked.

"I have a relative in London... I think she knows plants and stuff. She could cure us!" My lie was crumbling as I told it.

I had no idea if my distant aunt Iris was even alive in this time period (I only knew about her 'cause everyone said we could be twins). But it gave a reason why I needed to go to London.

For some reason all the lies I had told to these nice people tallied in my head. Mom always said that if I lied to much, I wouldn't be able to differentiate the truth and the lie. At this point, believing my own lies has made me more efficient in telling them...

I claimed to be a Horse Whisperer, because everyone thought Clove was blind when he and his master are really just stubborn jackasses (and I might have, maybe stolen some sugar cubes from the kitchen).

I lied to Mey-Rin that I had fragile bones so I didn't have to wear a corset.

I lied to Finni that I was allergic to the outdoors (how was I supposed to know he'd believe me and try to destroy everything?! More or less, though, I think he destroyed the rose garden on accident).

I think the worse of my lies was to Bard, though. I said...his food was delicious.

"I think it is worth a try." Angelina suddenly said.

Sebastian's shoulders straightened, automatically. He didn't like the idea, I could tell, but a part of him seemed too tired to complain. Dark circles hid underneath his eyes, and lines creased around his mouth and on his forehead.

"What is this plant specialists' name?" He asked in an uncharacteristically pained tone.

"What if this herbologist isn't even in this timeframe?" El snapped, causing me to jump. He had been quiet for so long. "They will think you are not only a liar, but the reason as to why I'm sick!"

"Her name is Iris Randall." I responded, causing Sebastian's eyes to widen. "Her husbands' name is Arthur Randall... They are my really distant relatives... On my mothers' side."

"Sir Arthur Randall of Scotland Yard?" Angelina mumbled, and I swallowed.

Is that the right person? I don't remember Great Uncle Arthur being a police officer... I wondered.

"I will send for his wife immediately." Sebastian said, suddenly.

"Are you sure she makes house-calls?" She asked.

"We will have to see, now won't we, Madam Red? If you will excuse me," He bowed, and signaled me to follow.

"Are you stupid?" He demanded as we wandered down the hallway. "No witch in her right mind would come here."

My stomach fell. I had forgotten that I was in the Phantomhive Manor. The air here permanently smelled of ash and death. "How else will Ciel get better?" I whispered, kneading my fists into the soft dark blue robe I had been given to cover my "nudity". When I first put it on, it smelled like tea leaves and cinnamon.

Sebastian opened a door, and lead me into it. Next to a small desk was an old-fashioned telephone. He closed the door, and forced me to sit on an old pine chair. He sat down across from me.

"Whatever illness the Young Master has fallen under, I feel it as well." Sebastian admitted, allowing his back to arch downwards. He dug his hands into his head, causing blood to stain his white gloves. When black began to consume his body, and blood gushed from his mouth onto the floor, I panicked.

"What's going on, Sebastian?" I cried, forcing his head up. His face felt soft, like bird's feathers, but in a split second they sliced at my hands like a million paper cuts. I backed away, against the wall.

"Sebastian," El shouted, angrily. I guess he was hoping for some sort of miracle. He let his guard down for that brief second, and I felt all of the frustration he had from not being heard. "Control yourself, damn you!"

"I don't think he can hear you!" I cried. Feathers scratched at my face, and I used the robe to shield me, though they easily sliced through the thin material.

A thin, warm hand grabbed me from the dark room, and tossed me onto the floor.

Grell slammed the door shut. "A bit angry, I see." He grunted when pounding resounded against the door.

His yellow eyes, behind fancy red glasses, glanced to me.

"We don't have time to call for a plant lady, Little Witch." A wild, sharp-toothed grin stretched unnaturally across his face. "I'll hold off the sour-puss."


Author's Note:

I hope you guys liked this chapter, and thank you for reviewing! I'll try to come out with chapters faster from now on. PLEASE REVIEW AGAIN!