Sebastian never expected the ball to go smoothly; Ciel's dancing would make sure of that. But he hadn't expected the falling chandelier. Or the vampire attack . . .

"This nonsense again?" Ciel snaps. "Sebastian, destroy them all."

"I hate to disappoint," Sebastian sighs, "but even I cannot take them on alone . . ."

"Can you take them on with help?" Francis Midford strides in, golden hair mussed, ball gown ripped, a sword glimmering in each hand. Sebastian realizes the blades are of magical make— she must have pried them from vampiric corpses.

He grins at the sight. "But of course, my lady."