A/N:thank you for the review, promocat! ;) you are my inspiration.

Chapter 10: Intrigue and Parties

(Sebastian)

Dresses swirl and hard soled shoes clack a slow counter rhythm to the expertly played chamber music. Human women paw and clutch at their partners, while human men leer at the pretty, youthful guests. Most of the females look hardly out of secondary school, while the men are old enough to be fathers or even grandfathers.

The distinct odor of wine, cider, and beer fill the air, mingling with the scent of autumn decay. A revealing image of humanity, certainly.

Now, what brings my anti-social underworld go-between to such a party? A few steps more and I have a flower of my own to twirl about as cover.

As I close the distance between us, I realize Ciel has abandoned his previous partner for the refreshment table. What's more, he's just in sight of Aleister Chambers, the Viscount of Druitt. So the nobleman is his target.

It was a split second's glance, and now I smile at the young woman in my arms. She flutters her eyelashes most delicately.

"I don't recognize you, pretty. Do you come to these events often?" I ask slowly.

She titters and opens her eyes a little wider, pursing her lips into an attractive pout. "I've been once before." She bats at my sleeve. "But I think I'd recognize you from that night." Her knees bend rather obviously, allowing her to lean into me.

I close one arm around her and pat her with the other. "Careful."

I find my eyes locked on the pathetic display of green fringe. It's a plastic potted hedge, painted green with clever technologies, but it is obviously fake. On the other side of these ornamental bushes, Ciel looks up in an artful display of surprise. He meets Druitt's gaze for but an instant, and then looks back to his punch, feigning a startle.

The viscount is as obvious and overwhelming as I'd imagined after seeing the sparkling metallic angels decorating the hall. It seems he has a flair for dramatics, and Ciel tastes the brunt of it with the first excited exclamation. I wouldn't be surprised if he swooned...

"Ah, but what a charming little robin I've found. Let us dance and talk away all your simple worries," Druitt exclaims, his voice booming loud enough so that even my dance partner hears. She frowns and rests her chin on my shoulder.

Instead of replying, Ciel casts his eyes down. The picture of a demure, sweet lady.

"Do you know the viscount well, miss…?"

"Priscella."She straightens her shoulder and lifts her chin. "Druitt and I are quite close," she claims, her voice both lofty and brittle.

"Oh, did I sweep away the viscount's lady. My, my." I chuckle. But it seems that Druitt has barely noticed the young lady this night…I wonder how close they are, considering that she only mentioned one other meeting.

Ciel touches his lips to a glass of punch. His mouth trembles as he takes a dainty sip, and his disguised eyes and figure seems all the more delicate. Now, he walks on tip-toes, barely competent in his heels. He catches quite a few eyes, and at last, his intended touches his shoulder.

I can see the tiny smile. But his host cannot.

The viscount must instead ask again, as Ciel surely knew he would. "Would you do me the honor of this dance?" His voice is full of charity, personal satisfaction, and kindness. He sounds exactly like the arrogant noble that he is.

Ciel wavers. That's all it takes. Now he is less a member of the underworld than he is the victim of that time.

His bones would snap at the barest of touches. His chest heaved, trapping his fluttering heart between his throat and his gut. Yet still he

looked at me, seeing through the darkness and into my core.

Time stands still.

Nonetheless, Ciel gathers his wits, and nods. "It would be my pleasure."

"Excellent." Druitt puts his wine glass down, and Ciel follows suit.

"The ball is very nice." Ciel murmurs. "I heard you have quite a few events, viscount. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh yes, but I am always in need of beautiful dancers! So few ladies these days know how to dance properly…"Ciel nods ever so slightly. They dance in silence, and move out of even my range of hearing.

I look at my lovely human shield, brushing my lips against her soft, flower-fragrant hair. Warm, inviting, and completely accustomed to relying on others….she's the perfect excuse. My eyes are on the other pair. By the time they circle back, Ciel looks decidedly more guileful.

"— private get-togethers. I never did learn the names of the female guests, or hear exactly what you get up to. It's enough to make a girl curious," Ciel fingers the fabric of Druitt's suit, and casts his eyes down again. "Are you having another one soon?"

Ah. So that's what he's after. Quite a few women have disappeared… Could it be the viscount is Ciel's suspect for the missing persons cases? Or does he simply think the private gatherings are connected to some other suspect?

Finally, Priscilla notices me watching the other pair, and looks over her shoulder. She frowns, less prettily this time. "They certainly are dancing a while," she huffs.

"No longer than we have, Priscilla." I gently turn her chin back to me. "Don't let some fresh face bother you. You know the viscount much better." I gently run a finger against her bare skin, exciting gooseflesh from the single touch. "Did you go to his last private party?"

"I did, actually." Instead of being properly impressed, the girl flashes me such a look of suspicion that I wonder if I said too much. "And I won't tell you anything about it," she sulks.

I can't help but smile at this. "Oh, so there's something to hide, little lady? Surely any number of people would tell me about it if it were simply exclusive. Secretive, I'm afraid, is rather suspicious."

Priscilla stamps on my foot. "You wouldn't need to ask if you were somebody." She sniffs. "And it's nothing like that. Viscount Druitt is an exemplary citizen."

Beyond the plastic shrubbery, Ciel takes a small risk. Presumably he's having a hard time ferreting out information. He makes some quiet remark that the viscount laughs at. Ciel presses on, turning faintly pink.

"You seem gifted in that way. Have you ever seen a ghost?" Ciel widens his eyes, emitting ignorance in waves.

"My, my, but aren't you a sweet faced witch."

The viscount's laughter catches Priscilla's ear again. She begins to stiffen, to lean away, but I stop her with a firm hand on her waist. I bend down, speaking against her elegantly done up hair.

"Stay. He's found a little toy to play with for a dance or two. But that little girl hasn't been trusted with his secrets, now has she? But you have." I lift her chin, looking into her eyes.

"I…" she begins, but her gaze is quick to return to Druitt.

I shake my head and smile. "How long before she is taken in his confidence?" I run a gloved hand down the soft skin of her neck. "Or even in his bed? I imagine he led on a half dozen pretty girls before you. And yet still you want to protect his secrets." I chuckle. "Such simple, jealous loyalty."

"What do you know!" The girl pulls away from me, her face twisted into pain and embarrassment. She looks at the other dancers, as though suddenly aware of how loud her voice was. "Leave me alone."

"Hush, now, Priscilla. If there's one thing I know," my voice is low and melodic, quiet enough so that only she can hear. "it's how to help you forget you pain and rejection…if only for a little while."

Priscilla looks at the other dancers, uncertain of how to respond in a way that will not mark her as rude and disruptive.

"Poor, poor little girl." I don't give her room or time to think. She stiffens, confused by the sudden sympathy. "Already forgotten. You're better off moving on. Won't you dance with me a bit longer? You can have the last word and indulge in pleasure. Just for one night." The words fall off my tongue as sweet as honey.

The girl quivers, her eyes wide and moist, her lips slightly parted. She is still in my arms, but receptive and completely enthralled in my promises and temptation.

"The truth is bitter, isn't it. Enjoy the night. Let me take care," I whisper in her ear. "of you."

Priscilla swallows Her eyes are markedly wider than they ought be, and her heart thumps enthrallingly. Beautiful. "Mystery…he's always going on about séances and mystery..." I can almost taste the fear on her…the excitement.

Such soft, damning words. Ah, yes. I have her now…a little longer, a little time in private, and I'll know everything that she does.

"He says young people like me can help…he needs special girls to help him."

Ah, so he is involved with the missing girls. And here's another, just begging to be taken back in his confidence. She'll be missing too, not long from now.

Behind us, the Viscount and Ciel move away from the other dancers, towards a private room. Priscilla catches some sight of them, and turns to watch them go.

Her jaw quivers, and her eyes are moist. She pulls away from me, her gaze locked on the door. Heedless to the men and women watching her (they would fall upon her if she falters now, like wolves on a lamb.), she flees the room, her face a mask of all the anger and grief of a woman scorned.

What to do now? I suppose I'll have to wait for Ciel…

I walk out to do just that.

(Ciel)

Ordinarily, I don't have to prance around in girl's clothing to get good information on someone. Sure, sometimes I do dress to fit the area so I can listen in from an inconspicuous corner, especially if it leads to a good inside perspective (or if it sounds fun to witness), but this is a little more extreme than a messenger boy's garb or a dealer's airs. What's more, I've already completed the deal I was hired for, so this isn't strictly necessary.

When Donnerson called about Druitt, I expected Donnerson'd been snubbed. That the-great-blond git-Druitt had said the wrong thing or that he'd sent the wrong flowers. But initial investigation turned up a few tantalizing tidbits. Could it be that this child-snatching ponce is the link I've been looking for?

Druitt's hands have found the small of my back, and the last of my nerves send my body trembling out of his grasp.

"Poor little Robin…please, allow me to soothe your ruffled crown." So saying, the bejeweled prince smiles and gestures to the side. "Let us retreat."

Hiding my natural response is a thing of delicacy. Too stiff is just as bad as insolence when you're playing this kind of game,I chide myself. So we move into the private room, and I try and act like I don't desperately prefer the gardens. The season is wrong for it, so that request would fall through.

"There." He pushes the door closed, and without the one hand leaving my body, turns the lights down. I think of all the possibilities a darkened room might signify. But nothing will come of it….

…right?

My emotions can't get the better of me now. Not when this idiot might get the best of me if I don't get my shit together. Otherwise, what would I have for today?

The viscount's smile is sweet, almost. It's as though he's tasted candy floss for the first time since childhood. His hand glides through my hair—really a finely styled wig—and his eyes light up. "Séances and other mysteries, you know, are very specific things. Decided by star alignment and seasonal days…so I can't always tell you when the next one would be." He says smugly, and I immediately doubt him.

"Oh…" I let my shoulders slump and my head fall forward, effectively hiding my expression and brushing against the nape of his neck.

"But I can tell you a thing or two about the rituals. Or if you prefer…about magical ordeals. The best way to get your agenda done and all." His eyes shine with the thought of the mystery, and he looks to me completely caught up in the spun spider's web of his own greatness.

He thinks he knows about magic.

But I bite the thought back. I need to learn anything I can—even if it's from my enemy's mouth.

Viscount Druitt smiles at me. "What will it be, darling robin?" He's moved out of the foyer and across the room, settling in front of a loveseat and a window showing off his (admittedly impressive) property. The sickle moon shines, and the lights in the garden are all twinkling. The lack of clarity makes it all rather mysterious.

"Well…" I hesitate. I hate myself for the hesitation, but the choice is too much for me. I don't know which to ask about. The ritual which might be all-too familiar. Cages and blood, starvation and innocent children.

Or some information that might well be a lead to controlling Sebastian.

Druitt only laughs. "I see you have an appetite for knowledge…" he smiles. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

I nod slowly. "Yes. I suppose so…"

"The ceremony is about gathering enough energy, little Robin, to get your goals accomplished. The things they say in the stories, the wand waving, and the collection of materials, it's only half true.…what ritual you choose is only the beginning." His fingers form a steeple, and he looks over to me, gently inclining his chin. "Come here, doll."

I walk towards the window, stepping carefully in my hated heels. It took forever to learn to walk in them. I avoid his gaze, and only sit when he pulls at my hand.

Now that I'm closer, he fingers the side of my cheek, petting me as though I was a cat in his lap. "So, you have a ritual. If you want to do the simplest, least effective thing, you can call on spirits to talk to…with the right instruments, it's not so hard." He leans in, inhaling softly. Just enough to get the fragrance Sebastian oiled into the wig. For a realistic, feminine touch.he said.

"We summon power from precious objects. Our guests bring their preferred minerals, wands, or crystals, arrange them in a circle, and pull the energy from those objects into a single vessel." He smiles at me widely. "It is just beautiful…watching that precious energy move from their hands to…well, to anything. You can even do it with a person at the end channeling point…to give them powers beyond believing." He pulls me against him.

I tumble into him for a moment, but quickly right myself. It wouldn't do for him to notice the padding in my bodice, or the state of my legs. I can feel my cheeks burning.

"Would you like to have such powers, robin?" he asks demurely.

It's a trap. my mind screams at me. He's not helping anyone gain energy, he's only using them. The women who go missing…they're probably dead.

But I only smile back at him. "Tell me about the other one. The magical ordeals."

He stirs, resting his weight on the other hand. "Well. Ceremonies are good for gathering power. But magical ordeals are for personal gain…you need only yourself, your wits, and, well, a challenge."

"What kind of challenge? To what effect?" I ask, perhaps a bit too quickly.

He laughs. "Don't like parties, darling? Why not?"

I shake my head, and the styled curls swing. "I didn't say that."

"Well." He looks at me, and I turn away from him to see the moon shining through the glass.

I lower my chin. "I wanted only to say," look nowhere in particular to perfect the lie. "that the ceremonies sound terribly…structured. What of the ordeals? How much preparation do we need?"

With a finger drumming lazily on the armchair, he shrugs. "It depends. The most basic ordeals are to heighten your concentration. To practice drawing out the magic from within…" his hands roam across my arm, "walking" up my flesh like he's some god-awful toddler. "Other ordeals are to be able to draw them out and use them whenever you want, without further preparation."

I squirm a little bit, and I know my face betrays my discomfort. I'm probably pouting. I wrinkle my nose and look away again. Then back, hoping he'll take me seriously. "What about…knowledge? Getting knowledge of another…person? Or time?" I ask quickly.

He laughs quietly again. Is he always laughing?

With a small sigh and a quiet shush, he leans in to breathe the words in my ear: "Wait."

He picks himself up, pulls a long crystalline stick from nowhere, and taps a small bookshelf. He speaks quietly, and I can't make out what he says. When he returns, a slim volume—magazine? No, too small—in one hand. "Read this later." He recommends, and presses it into my lap.

I tuck it into my handbag. "Thank you for your kindness, Viscount."

He smiles lazily, very much the picture of a wealthy fop. "Not at all, my dear Robin." Then he leans in, pulling my hand to bring me to my feet. The damn shoes make me stumble, and he catches me quite easily.

With me leaning on him, pressed to his hip like a prized whore, he leads me back to the door. The little room dims when he catches the handle.

We walk out of the room, and as if in afterthought, he leans in, catches my chin again.

Leans in for a chaste kiss that holds way too many promises for me to enjoy.

Then, the gun goes off.

A/N: if you're enjoying the story, lemme know! From here on, I don't have anything written in backup…so I'll be writing fresh every chapter. Also getting busy, so the updates will be irregular. If you want to follow, I recommend the "alert" feature, since even I dunno when I'll finish the next bit.

Please do lemme know what you think! Critique is ok too!