Chapter XIIII:
The Young Master, Cordially Invited

It took a long time (and more than a couple soothingly murmured comments from Sebastian) before Ciel was able to calm down enough to tell his butler to escort Ms. Fisher off the estate's grounds. Thankfully, the demoness accepted the order to leave without a fuss, taking her master's corpse with her.

Ciel made his way up to his study alone, intending to get some work done, and only happened to remember he'd been working in bed before the disastrous tea with Ms. Fisher when he'd seated himself in his desk chair. He contemplated the walk between his bedroom and his study and decided he would leave Sebastian to get his papers later. Ciel was several days behind on Funtom business and was late on replying to several queries if the neat stack of paperwork on his desk (half of it addressed to Mr. Tanaka and the rest addressed to himself) was any indication.

Sebastian found him deeply immersed in paperwork there fifteen minutes later. Though he seemed calm enough, Ciel noticed there was a definite edge of tension in the way his butler set his shoulders. Had Ms. Fisher said something to him after they had excited the greenhouse? Or was Sebastian just doing his creepy, overly-protective thing again? Ciel couldn't decide and, instead of inquiring about the situation, had Sebastian bring the papers from his room to him. He was supremely pleased when he was not only brought his papers, but a strong cup of milk tea, as well.

He didn't want to admit it, but a flash of awkward paranoia went through him every time Sebastian either got too close or stood over him and, to distance himself from it, he ordered Sebastian to sit again. This time, his butler did not protest.

"I'm beginning to feel we have a greater problem than we originally believed," Ciel said quietly, signing off on a request to begin designs for Funtom's holiday toys. "If Ms. Fisher's tale is to believed, there's a chance that this illness isn't just targeting demons…it's turning humans into them. I can only imagine what it would do to this country if all of those who died actually did become devils." The ones bound to contracts are horrible enough.

Sebastian didn't answer and, intrigued by his silence, Ciel glanced questioningly up at his butler. The only answer he received was a slow, pointed nod. The Earl mentally frowned. Since when did Sebastian not answer him? Unless….

Thinking quickly, he asked, "How does a human become a demon?"

It was, apparently, a question he was not allowed to ask. His butler remained quiet for a very long time (four sheets of paperwork, to be exact) and Ciel had just begun to accept that he would never get an answer when Sebastian said slowly, "It…differs from human to human. I could not say as there is not, to my knowledge, a single definitive way."

His tone implied that he would not elaborate even if ordered to. Ciel didn't really want that great of detail, however; some stones were just best left unturned. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand.

"So it could be possible that Thomas Porter only became a demon because he spent so much time in the company of one?"

"While not impossible, my lord…it strikes me as highly improbable. Ms. Fisher and Mr. Porter could only have been contracted together for less than a year for him to have the capability to even relate what he wanted from her. By that reasoning, and in that short a time span, you yourself would be eligible to become a devil, young master."

Sebastian's last words were mocking and teasing and, in return, Ciel scowled deeply at him. Was this really the right time to be making such jokes? He didn't think so. Nor did he find it amusing. He'd made it perfectly clear a very long time ago that he had no appreciation for what Sebastian was, only how well he did what he was contracted to do. Or so he frequently told himself.

"Your poor taste in jokes aside," Ciel said coolly, "this adds a fair bit of pressure onto our investigation. Have you really found nothing?"

The faintly belittling edge to Sebastian's smile had never been more noted by Ciel than when his butler smiled next. "If the young master so wishes, perhaps I can continue mapping out each victim's personal information so we may see if I have indeed found 'nothing'?"

Ciel directed a dismissive wave at him as he pulled several more papers toward him. "Just get it done, Sebastian."

They worked in almost complete silence for the next couple hours, Ciel mired in business as he ignored his personal correspondences and Sebastian carefully plotting locations on a copy of a map. The only words to pass between them were Sebastian's as he excused himself to begin dinner preparations when the clock struck six.

As soon as his butler was gone, it was as though some invisible weight had been lifted from Ciel's shoulders. He felt his body relax from the defensive, ready-to-flee posture he hadn't even realized he'd adopted and leaned his head back against his chair. He felt so…tired. So tired. His body was beginning to ache again and, relenting, he pushed his paper back to rest his head on his desk. It was far from a comfortable position, but it was suitable for a short rest.

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the smooth wood grain of his desk as he tried to banish the memory of the gaping cavity in Thomas Porter's chest where his heart had been. Was that what would happen to him if he died from this illness? He would become a nightmarish creature, only to be killed by a different nightmare either in an act of fear or implied kindness? Say it didn't happen, then what about when Sebastian got tired of waiting for him to make up his mind? What would his own personal demon do then? Would he continue to wait it out until Ciel died—most likely prematurely from paranoia over this entire ordeal or his work in the underworld—or would Sebastian begin acting out, tearing down all of Ciel's support until the Earl was practically begging him to end him? He didn't know, and that was the worst part. His well-being was entirely in the hands of the one person who actually had something to gain from his death…how could he possibly let his guard down in his presence, knowing that?

Ciel didn't realize he had dozed off until he felt someone's hand gently stroking his hair. It was a strangely warm and comforting gesture, like a mother's touch, and so Ciel didn't question it until he heard the singing.

"Gay go up and gay go down, to ring the bells of London town. Oranges and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clements. Bull's eyes and targets, say the bells of Saint Margret's. Brickbats and tiles, say the bells of Saint Giles'. Halfpence and farthings, say the bells of Saint Martin's," a young male voice sang teasingly. Ciel flung himself out of Alois' reach, mildly unnerved as he pushed his chair back, but it didn't stop the blond from continuing on: "Pancakes and fritters, say the bells of Saint Peter's. Two sticks and an apple, say the bells of Whitechapel. Pokers and tongs, say the bells of Saint John's. Kettles and pans, say the bells of Saint Ann's. Old Father Baldpate, say the slow bells of Aldgate. You owe me ten shillings, say the bells of Saint Helen's." Alois broke off and, frowning as he stopped the song, said, "Actually, considering how much damage you and your butler did to my house and staff, you owe me far more than ten shillings, Ciel. How would you like to repay me?"

Ciel scoffed, using it to hide his unease both at having been touched in such a…familiar manner and at the look Alois fixed him with. "I don't owe you anything, Trancy. Everything that happened to you, you brought upon yourself."

Alois hopped down from where he'd been perched on the desk, stroking the map Sebastian had been filling out with obviously fake affection, and seated himself on Ciel's lap, caging him in before he could try to escape. "I'm not the only one, Ciel. Don't you know how the song ends?" He leaned in and, lips nearly brushing against Ciel's ear, finished: "When will you payme? Say the bells of Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch. Pray, when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell of Bow.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Chop chop, chop chop! The last man's dead!"

Ciel jolted awake with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. He quickly raised his head from the desktop, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and tried to straighten up. Idiot, he thought dryly, not sure who he was referring to. He straightened his jacket, brushed his hair out of his eye and pulled his paperwork back toward him, content to pretend nothing had happened.

He froze as the Sebastian's map caught his attention, remembering the way Alois had stroked it in his dream, and realized—

"Sebastian, come here immediately," Ciel ordered, hand at his contract-scarred eye. He was going to murder Alois. Again. Bring him back to life just to shoot him.

Ciel had barely lowered his hands before Sebastian was opening the study door. The butler looked distinctly disheveled, his tailcoat over one shoulder as he unrolled his shirtsleeves with faintly flour-smeared hands.

"Is there something the matter, young master?" Sebastian inquired, clearly expecting something awful as he shrugged on his coat and replaced his gloves.

Ciel traced a ring of plotted dots on the map, all an equal distance from a single central dot. "What are all these locations?"

His butler moved to stand beside him, smelling faintly of chocolate and wine, and leaned closer to the map. He thought hard a moment, apparently going through whatever mental index Ciel had decided only Sebastian possessed, before replying, "I believe those are all the last locations each victim visited before falling ill, sir."

"Then we have our pattern," the Earl told him smugly. It was hard to see it, but, amidst the multitude of dots was a perfect circle, all of which were an equal radius from a single building: the Trancy Mansion. His pride deflated quickly at the thought of the place and he immediately wished it were anywhere else. "I suppose it's a blessing the mansion is empty now. Investigating it should be easy." And entirely fruitless, but…whatever. We can cross that bridge when we get there.

He decided not to think about the possibility that Claude—whom Ciel was uncertain if he was alive or dead, given his diminished mental state upon their last interaction—might be lurking within the mansion or how…displeased the demon might be to see them.

Sebastian turned a humorless smile on him—the kind that seemed to mockingly say "what a pity" without saying a word—and said, "If only that were the case, young master."

"What are you on about?" Ciel snapped, more than a mite perplexed.

"The Trancy mansion was bought out shortly after…the last earl's death," Sebastian replied delicately. "It was in the Society column about a month ago, my lord."

Ciel paused noticeably, torn between awkwardness and interest. Deciding to ignore it and not look into the reasons behind why Sebastian bothered to read the Society columns of the newspaper, he tried to focus on the matter at hand. This complicates things. "Fine then," he drawled with a sigh of exasperation. "Who bought it out? Perhaps I can manipulate them into sending an invitation—"

"Pardon, but I do not believe that will be necessary," Sebastian interrupted, the same faintly mocking smile on his face. He reached for the stack of correspondences Ciel had intended on ignoring and, leafing through them quickly, pulled a letter from the stack. "This came for you the day you took ill, my lord."

Ciel took it.

"Who—?" His words died in his throat as he read over whom the invitation was from. Something in him wanted to curl up and die of humiliation. Of course it has to be him. Ugh.

"The Viscount of Druitt gets himself involved in our affairs far too often," Ciel grumbled as his carriage rattled along.

"Indeed, my young lord," Sebastian replied succinctly, watching the Earl stare out the window with far too much interest. "Try to look on the bright side, young master: at least this time we are neither on a ship at sea nor are either of us required to wear dresses."

A flush crept up Ciel's cheeks, his face burning in the cool confines of the carriage and he was sure his face near matched his burgundy twill suit. He wordlessly damned his butler for even mentioning dresses in connection with the Viscount. He tried to play it off as though it hadn't bothered him as, forcing his shoulders down, he said dryly, "Yes, but it still raises many questions."

Indeed, it had and still did. They knew the Viscount was related to the Trancy family—though only through the Earl Alois had gotten his title from, not through the boy few people knew was really called Jim Macken—and so the reason for his interest in the mansion was clear. But it didn't change the fact that it seemed strange for him to buy it out so soon. Had someone manipulated him into it? Or was it genuine care for the family? Ciel supposed they would find out tonight, but decided not to be too optimistic about the coming party. All the previous parties he'd attended at the Trancy Mansion had ended in fighting, bloodshed, and torment…perhaps it would be better to 'accidentally' set the building on fire on his way out.

Ciel paused, wondering where that vicious thought had come from. He brushed it off as his dislike of parties and went back to staring balefully out the window. "Well, whatever the reason for this, hopefully tonight will bring some answers," he said quietly and, after a pause, added, "Sebastian, when you can, search the mansion thoroughly. No one should bother to stand in your way this time."

Sebastian made a small huff of amusement and, when the Earl frowned, solemnly placed his hand over his heart and replied, "As you wish, my young lord."

The Earl turned away from him as they pulled up to the mansion, knowing exactly what Sebastian found so amusing and not thinking it was funny at all. It felt too much like the last party they'd been invited to. Ciel steeled himself as the carriage pulled to a halt. It was time to go to work.

AN: Druitt either has the worst luck ever when it comes to getting in Ciel's way or he's doing it on purpose. One or the other. Maybe both. Happy Holidays everyone! ^^
(Note: I wrote this chapter a while back, about midway through the green witch arc, and I know there's new info on how Reapers are made, but I haven't been following along, so if there's new info on demons I haven't seen it. My apologies if it doesn't totally fit into canon.)