A/N: Is anyone even interested in this anymore? Judging by the sparse reviews I got for the last chapter, it doesn't seem like there's an interest. If so, I'm thinking of just abandoning this. Also, I got so distracted by NaNoWriMo, then the holidays, that this story has been pushed to the wayside. However, if there are people who are still interested in this, message me and I'll continue. Hope everyone had a happy holiday season! :-)

Confusion

If there was one thing Lucifer hated, it was complaints.

If said complaints came from himself, that was one thing. But, having his hall filled to almost bursting with demons of all shapes, sizes, and ranks, each one fighting to be heard over one another as their annoying voices bounced off the walls, that was quite an entirely different thing.

The Hell King sat upon his throne, annoyance marring his sharp face. The crowd that shouted at him started at the bottom step of his dais, and extended back and on both sides. There were demons in their true form, some in human form, others in a form he couldn't begin to describe, but overall, they were yelling at him.

He despised yelling.

A high-pitched squeal had now joined the fray of voices, and Lucifer saw that it belonged to a small, hunched over hag with brown horns curling from her head. Partially annoyed by her voice, but mainly by all the shouting, Lucifer struck his hand out at the hag. Her voice was suddenly squelched as unseen hands lifted her into the air, closing around her neck.

"SILENCE!" Lucifer bellowed, his eyes flashing fire as he suddenly towered over them all. The reaction was immediate: any and all noise ceased in the hall, even from the choking hag, creating a ringing silence in the hall. All eyes were now on the king, bodies trembling with fear.

Lucifer flicked his hand to the side, throwing the hag across the room and painfully into a wall. She slid, unconscious, to the floor. "Much better," he hissed, glaring at them all. He suddenly snapped his fingers, bringing forth a slender and tall demon to his side. The other demon bowed low to the Hell King.

"Yes, Your Highness?" the bowed demon asked.

"Why are these people here, Marcus?" Lucifer demanded. "And, why so many of them?"

Marcus straightened from his bow. "From what I can gather, milord," he answered, "they are missing some people."

"What do you mean 'missing'?" Lucifer repeated, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.

The servant turned, his eyes falling on a tall, broad-shouldered demon near the front of the crow. "That man there," he said, pointing, "has reported his son has not returned from feeding over three nights ago." His eyes scanned again, then added, "That woman's daughter and son went out nearly a week ago and have not returned."

"And, where were they last seen?" Lucifer demanded before Marcus could continue with his list.

"London, milord."

Lucifer grunted. "That place again?" he muttered, remembering his conversation with Shadow.

"The sentinels that we placed there have not reported in as well," Marcus added.

"Wolfsbane?" Lucifer asked.

Marcus shook his head.

Lucifer leaned back into his seat, his eyes thoughtful. All eyes were on him, nervous energy filling the room. Footsteps suddenly sounded from the main entrance, a messenger coming forward. He pushed his way through the crowd, a fairly large chest in his hands. When he reached the bottom of the platform, he sunk into a kneel. "Your Highness," he greeted.

Lucifer nodded at him to stand. "What news?" he asked.

"A message for you, sire."

"From whom?"

The messenger shook his head. "I do not know, milord," he answered. "We found it at the portal."

Intrigued, Lucifer motioned him forward, then took the chest that was presented to him. He quickly opened it, his eyes widening at the single object inside. The chest fell to the floor as he lifted the object, a shiny helmet in the shape of a wolf's head, for all to see.

Wolfsbane's helmet.

There was heat to the metal, and black scorch marks inside, and Lucifer felt his anger bubbling to the surface. The energy that had filled this helmet was beginning to fade, but there was another's source, a familiar one that made the Hell King tremble with fury.

Wolfsbane was dead.

He threw the helmet aside, bending over to retrieve the fallen box. He frantically searched the square, but found nothing.

Marcus watched him with concern. "Milord-?" he questioned, but gasped when fingers clutched him and pulled him forward.

"Gather the First Battalion," Lucifer snarled at him, their faces just inches apart. "Tell them their commander is dead." He scowled when the other demon jerked in surprise. "Tell them their king is sending them to avenge him!" he continued, his anger growing further. "Tell them!" He harshly pushed him away, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his rage.

Marcus nodded and immediately rushed out of the hall. Lucifer turned back to the crowd, his eyes fire once more, his form darkening to shadow.

"LEAVE!" he bellowed, and the crowd dispersed, fleeing like rodents on a sinking ship.

"Young Master, it is time to wake up."

Ciel stirred at the familiar words, groaning a little as the morning sunlight flooded his bedchambers. "Don't you ever tire of those words?" the young earl asked, groggily sitting up in his bed. He groaned as he stretched his arms high above his head.

"And deprive myself of the bright and cheerful face such words bring each morning?" Sebastian answered, smirking as he finished tying back the curtains and facing the noble.

Ciel scoffed, but said nothing. He glared at his butler as he pushed the bedcovers off him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Sebastian was instantly by his side, reciting the boy's choices for breakfast as he poured a steaming hot cup of tea.

"And, my schedule?" Ciel asked.

Sebastian began unbuttoning his nightshirt. "A messenger came early this morning," he replied, pulling the article of clothing off and replacing it with a crisp, white shirt. "By order of the Queen, Lord Randall requests our presence at Scotland Yard."

The teen hummed thoughtfully. "Did he say why?" he asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Apparently, they have our murderer in custody."

The tea cup smashed to the floor, a brown stain creeping across the rug. "Repeat that!" Ciel demanded, harshly.

Sebastian swooped down to quickly collect the shards of fine china into his palm. "Lord Randall has what he believes to be our murderer in his custody," the butler repeated obediently.

"How did those imbeciles apprehend him?" Ciel almost shouted, hopping off his bed. He stood there, half-dressed, his fists clenched and unclenching.

"I do not know, milord," Sebastian answered, straightening up to his full height and depositing the broken cup onto his silver serving tray. "Perhaps we should go and find out?"

Ciel turned a single eye towards him, its blue seemingly blazing with anger. "Yes," he agreed, his lips slightly curled in disgust. "Let's."

As its name suggested, Scotland Yard was very much an establishment with a yard. As one entered the main gate, it opened up into a courtyard with cobblestone to step on, tall walls of laid brick rising up on either side.

Sebastian followed his master as they were led through the courtyard and to a heavy oak door with a small carved out window inlaid with steel bars. The officer escorting them gave three, quick raps to the wood, and the door swung open, being held by yet another officer.

"This way, please," their escort said, motioning them through the doorway.

Ciel stepped through first, his nose scrunched against the cold and musty smell of the darkened hallway. A few torches were lit along the walls, giving some light, but not much. He continued to follow the officer down the hall, and deeper into the building.

A few turns and a short flight of stairs later, the came upon a hallway with windows. Here, doors occupied the opposite wall, and it was here that the officer stopped. "Lord Randall is waiting for you," the officer said, knocking on the nearest door.

Ciel stood as tall as his fourteen-year old body would allow, silent as he steeled himself for the forthcoming encounter. He knew, as he heard the loud, confident voice of Lord Randall grant them entrance, that the inspector would no doubt, rub this apparent victory in his face.

The room they entered was not an office, but rather a storeroom of sorts. Cabinets lined the walls on one side, while a long counter covered the other. There were four steel tables pushed towards the wall just opposite them as they entered, leaving the entire middle section of the room to be occupied by two other steel tables. These tables were covered by sheets, both covering bulging masses.

"Welcome, Lord Phantomhive!" Lord Randall greeted, and as expected, there was a smugness in his voice. He did not move from his place beside the tables to greet the young arl, nor did he bow. "So glad you could come!" he added, smirking.

Ciel fought the urge to rip the smirk from the older man's face. "Yes, the Queen's summons was most urgent," he said, coolly. "From her letter, I gathered she was a bit surprised at the news that you had apprehended the murderer."

Sebastian inwardly smirked as he saw the inspector's smirk falter just a bit. He did not like the Chief Inspector, found him to be more arrogant and prideful than a human needed to be. He was not a particularly intelligent man, which left the demon to wonder how he had ever gained such a high ranking among the police. To see his master, a nobleman of fourteen, bring the insufferable man down a notch, was most pleasing.

Randall visibly bristled at the dig, but continued to smirk. "We were most pleased to be able to help her Watchdog in this case," he told him. "You will agree that Scotland Yard apprehending this lunatic allows for the young earl to pursue more appropriate endeavors?"

Sebastian could feel his young master's anger spike. If there was one thing Ciel Phantomhive loathed, it was the constant reminder that others thought him too young to serve the queen. But, if the demon knew his master a well as he thought, he also knew the earl would not show such anger to those who mocked him.

"Is that the lunatic?" Ciel asked, using his cane to point to the cluster of tables. With admiration, Sebastian noticed the young teen had fixed his features into an emotionless mask.

Randall frowned, disappointed at the lack of reaction. "Yes," he answered, stepping closer. He pulled the sheet down on the nearest table, revealing the filthy, bloodied form of a young man. There were deep gashes in his face and bruising around his left eye.

"And, the other?" Ciel continued, glancing momentarily at the file that was given to him. He quickly handed the file to Sebastian, who immediately began to read the official report.

"The latest victim," Randall answered. "Apparently, he put up a good fight before killing his attacker." The sheet fell away, revealing a similarly battered body.

Sebastian felt his eyes widen at the sight of the blonde that lay dead on the table, his fingers letting the file go ever so slightly. It was the smallest of infractions, but Ciel caught it out of the corner of his eyes.

What is it? the boy's eyes seemed to ask.

Sebastian merely gave a slight shake of his head.

"This man's name?" Ciel asked, turning back to the inspector.

"Unknown. No one we've questioned seems to know him."

Ciel stepped closer, taking a moment to study the victim's face and upper body. The man's right shoulder was torn, revealing muscle and bone, while his neck was covered in deep gashes and bruised bite marks. "How did the murderer die?" he finally asked.

Randall glanced down at the other body and pulled the sheet down further. A gaping hole had punctured the man's chest. "Run through by a pole," he answered, grimly. "Straight through the heart."

Ciel hummed thoughtfully. "And, how do you know this is the murderer?" he asked.

At this, the inspector smirked. "Apparently, he liked to keep items from his victims," he answered. "A souvenir if you will. We found items from the previous victims inside his clothes pockets."

"And, do you know his name?"

"Jasper Smith," came the answer. "His friends identified him this morning. Lost his parents when he was young and was sent to an orphanage. He'd been staying at one of the local boarding houses since he turned sixteen. His friends said he disappeared about a week ago."

"It seems you've done a fine job, Lord Randall," Ciel told him. "The Queen will be most pleased." He noticed the older man's smirk grow before adding, "But, you never did tell me how he was apprehended." He fixed what one would call a curious smile upon his lips, almost encouraging the other to boast.

The inspector did not disappoint. "One of my men found the two in an alleyway," he reported, proudly.

At this, Sebastian cleared his throat; with a small wave of his hand, Ciel gave him permission to speak. "It says here that they were already dead when they were found," the butler pointed out.

Randall's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he reluctantly agreed, "but it was Scotland Yard who found them."

"This further reports that it was Howard Yeardley that found the bodies as he left for work," Sebastian continued, his eyes consulting the file once more.

The inspector's jaw began to clench. "He reported it to us," he ground out.

"Ah, but his recorded testimony says when he phoned the police," the butler said, glancing up, his red eyes amused, "he was hung up on twice. And when he called a third time, called a 'bloody idiot' and ordered to stop with his prank."

"As of late, we'd been given a lot of false leads," Randall hastily explained, now openly scowling. "Prank calls and the lot."

Ciel bit back a chuckle. "It seems I should include the efforts of Mister Yeardley in my report to the Queen," he said, exaggeratingly pleasant. "I'm sure Her Majesty would love to hear of the help London's finest received from a mere citizen." He smirked then, his eye gaze piercing through the older man's.

Randall flushed an unsightly shade of red, but before he could say anything, Ciel tossed the file onto the counter, bid him farewell, and stalked out of the room.

Sebastian smiled at the inspector as he bowed, his smirk deep and his eyes crinkled in amusement. "Good day, sir," he told him, then quickly exited the room to leave the inspector fuming.

Mey-Rin would readily admit that with her cracked glasses, she was hopeless. Of course, objects near to her where sharp and clear, but far away? She often couldn't tell the difference between a coatrack and a potted plant. It was unnerving sometimes because she couldn't tell when someone entered the room.

Which was the case now. She had been in the kitchen, alone, gathering the newly washed dishes from lunch to be put away, when she finally noticed him. His sudden appearance in her line of vision made her cry out in surprise, and she nearly dropped the stack of plates she held.

The man, a handsome blonde with startlingly blue eyes, quickly rushed forward, and caught her hands in his. The plates clattered against one another as they were secured in their combined grasps, and Mey-Rin heaved a huge sigh of relief.

"Grateful, yes I am," she murmured, allowing him to take the dishes from her. She watched as he set them gently on top of the counter. Her senses suddenly returned to her. "And, who are you again?" she asked.

The man smiled, a smile so dazzlingly similar to Sebastian's, that Mey-Rin felt her knees wobble. "My name is Michael," he introduced, taking her hand into his and kissing her knuckles. "I am pleased to meet your acquaintence, Miss-?"

Mey-Rin didn't hear him. The blush that flushed her entire face a dark shade of red indicated she was so enamored by the guest, she wasn't listening.

"Mey-Rin!" a voice barked, snapping her out of her daze with a squeal. Both she and Michael turned and saw a very angry Sebastian Michaelis standing near the kitchen door that led out into the hallway.

"Hello again, Sebastian," Michael greeted, cheerfully.

The butler ignored him. "Mey-Rin," he said, once more. "Why haven't you taken down today's wash yet?"

"I'll get to it right now!" the maid stammered, rushing towards the door and nearly stumbling as she did so. Both men watched her leave, and it wasn't until the door swung closed did Sebastian speak.

"Honestly," he muttered, darkly.

Michael softly chuckled. "She's another interesting one," he said.

Sebastian shook his head. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I thought a friendly visit was in order," the angel replied.

The demon scoffed. "And, what gave you that idea?" he demanded, setting his silver serving tray on top of the nearest counter.

"You looked as if you wanted answers when I saw you at Scotland Yard earlier today," Michael answered.

"Your performance as a corpse was very convincing," Sebastian said. "For the humans."

"Humans are humans," Michael said, shrugging. "They see what they want to. Demons, on the other hand…" He trailed off.

"It wasn't hard for me to recognize an angel pretending to be dead," Sebastian finished for him, smirking. He crossed his arms across his chest before asking, "Who exactly was Jasper Smith?"

"The reports were true," Michael answered. "The body you saw belonged to Jasper Smith, an orphan. He had been possessed by a demon."

"I assume you rid him of said demon?"

"Of course. It is my job after all."

"Is it also your job to kill humans who had been possessed?"

Michael chuckled. "He isn't dead," he answered. "In fact, I would say he's probably the happiest he's ever been right now."

"Your doing, I suppose?"

"Yes. I've been charged with keeping things in order, you know."

"Where is he?"

At this, the angel casually shrugged. "It seems," he announced, most pleasantly, "that in between Inspector Randall's horrid gloating in the evidence room and the trip to the mortuary, the bodies of Jasper Smith and the unknown victim have...vanished." His hands made a slight waving motion.

"Vanished?" The answer surprised the demon.

Michael hummed in answer, nodding. "Of course," he added, quickly, "the entirety of Scotland Yard has been convinced that the bodies have already been laid to rest in a private ceremony, so no inquiry will be forthcoming."

Sebastian openly rolled his eyes. "Another of your duties?" he asked.

"Naturally." The angel flashed him a toothy grin.

The butler scoffed. "And, where is Mister Smith now?" he asked.

"Can you not think of somewhere safe for someone such as he?" Michael answered, his voice light and almost teasing.

It took him a second, but when the idea clicked, Sebastian frowned.

The angel laughed at his reaction. "Have you told your master about me?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I do not see the need," the butler answered. "The case, as you have pointed out, was solved."

"Ah, but it is far from over, my friend," Michael told him.

Sebastian frowned at the use of title, but did not acknowledge it. "Isn't it?" he inquired, coolly.

"You know as well as I that what I've done is to only delay the onslaught that is coming."

"Perhaps." A small shrug of the shoulders. "But, for now, Vanessa is safe."

"She won't be for long," Michael countered. "I know what you did with Mister Von Leigh; that ring obviously didn't work."

"No, it did not," Sebastian admitted, sighing. "Vanessa's scent is stronger than I anticipated."

"Has she regained all of her memories of Heaven?"

"No." Although more and more is recalled, he thought, silently.

"That ring you gave her won't mask her much longer, the more she remembers." The angel paused for a moment, then asked, "Wherever did you get such a ring?"

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at him. "I did not lie about the ring I gave my fiancee," he told him. "It is made from items both my mother and grandmother received from their husbands."

This peaked the other's interest. "And, how did you come by these items?" he demanded, curiously.

The demon's eyes flashed pink. "I happened to be in the neighborhood, as they say, when that place was first discovered."

"Their energy was still there," Michael said, softly.

Sebastian turned away from him. "Yes," was all he said.

Pompeii had changed.

He had known that with time, change always followed, and nothing was exempt. But, to now see miles of dirt and brush that had once been a bustling core of life and activity, that was hard for him to fathom.

He stood in the shadows, watching as groups of humans, mostly male, walked around the edges of a large, dug out pit. There were makeshift stairs made from wooden boards that led down into the pit, and it was here that several dark-skinned workers came in and out of.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the image of the pit, the scene shifting towards the stairs. His sense of sight projected itself to the bottom of the stairs, giving him the perfect view of what lay below, as if he himself stood there.

There were several archways that still held up, leading into dark rooms that he recognized as buildings. A further look revealed a cobblestone road and for a moment, he marveled at the discovery.

The market square.

He would recognize that street anywhere, despite his long absence. This was, after all, the place he had spent countless hours helping his father sell their bounteous catch as a boy, then later, as a fishmonger himself. He looked to the right, recognizing the dull red of the building that sat there, crumbling.

The money exchange.

Chrissus and his wife Callia had sold fresh fruits and vegetables in front of the money exchange since he had been a baby. To the left of them, had been the stand of Marcus, joyfully describing the deliciousness of his dates, pistachios, and grapes. To the right of Chrissus and Callia, Tiber had hocked the finest wine in all of Pompeii. And, just next to him….

He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting slowly to the area just off to the left of the red-stained building. There was nothing but a small pile of rubble of stone and wood, covered in ash and dirt.

An echo of children's laughter suddenly drifted towards him, making him blink

His stand.

He had sold many a fish there, Damascus and Mordecai by his side, obediently listening to everything he asked of them. It had been hard work, but it had made the end of the day all that more satisfying when he closed shop for the night.

He suddenly appeared at the site of his old stand, time freezing around him. The workers that hauled the dirt were frozen in their actions, the explorers unmoving as the shouts of orders remained in their throats.

He bent down, picking up the largest piece of wood from the pile, his eyes slowly examining it. As he turned it over, the faint etchings of a crudely drawn fish caught his eye. Upon further inspection, he could see two more fish joined the first, the letters A, M, and D carved below them.

He dropped the wood as if it burned. He remembered the day Mordecai had carved that. There had been a break in between the morning rush, and he had found the six-year old happily carving away at his stand. Instead of being angry as the twins had anticipated, he had laughed in delight and helped his son finish his masterpiece. It had stood as a proud reminder of who they were as the boys had grown.

But they were dead now, had been for many, many years. But, as he stood there, feeling the sorrow that he had long pushed away since his rebirth, he felt his fingertips tingling. He glanced at his hands, not seeing anything, but definitely feeling it.

Energy.

After his rebirth as a demon, Azarias had taken him to an older demon. He had come to respect and admire this Elder, and in turn, the Elder had trained him in all things demon. One of the lessons he had learned was that a soul's energy could be transferred. Like a footprint in the soil, a soul could leave its mark on every living and non-living thing it touched.

Mordecai's energy. He felt it. His son had touched that piece of wood, had imprinted his mark on it. He was sure of it.

The thought of his family came rushing back. He had never properly mourned them, had not thought of them after becoming damned. But, a single piece of wood, a crude drawing, now changed that.

A thought entered into his head, and rushed off in a blur of dark smoke, unfreezing time as he did so.

He could remember the moment he had zeroed in on his old homestead, his feet touching the ground that now covered the final resting place of his family. It had taken but a moment to burrow down among the hardened ash and silt, but he had found them.

They had been together when the volcano had sent its crushing blow: his mother, his father, his sons. It had brought a sense of closure to see their bodies, cast in hardened, aged ash, preserving their last moments.

"You created the ring yourself?" Michael asked, bringing him out of his reverie.

Sebastian turned hardened eyes towards him. "I thought you knew exactly what is was that I had done?" he mocked. The emotions that the memory had brought were too close to the surface, which unnerved him.

The angel shrugged. "Just clarifying," he said.

"Yes, I fashioned the ring myself," the butler answered, rolling his eyes. "I had managed to capture the remaining energy from my fa-, from them and injected it into the ring. I was hoping their energy would mask Vanessa."

"It was a clever idea," Michael told him. "But, alas. It didn't work."

"I will think of something else," Sebastian assured him.

Michael balked at his confidence. "You know what has to be done," he protested.

"No."

The angel was flabbergasted at the refusal. "It is the only way to keep Vanessa safe!" he argued.

"No," Sebastian repeated, more firmly this time. This angel knew what he had lost, what had been taken from him; how could he ask him to do that?

"Sebastian," Michael began, but the demon shook his head.

Black wisps of smoke drifting from the butler."I think it is time for you to leave," he announced. His eyes had turned into contracted slits and were glowing pink, his fangs elongated and poking through his lips.

Michael opened his mouth to argue, then just as quickly, snapped it shut. "You know what you have to do, Sebastian," he finally said after another brief silence.

"Leave," the demon growled. "My master is calling."

The angel bowed. "This is far from over, Sebastian," he warned him.

The butler made no move to answer, causing the angel to sigh. In a blink of the eye, he disappeared from the Phantomhive kitchen.

Sebastian continued to glare at the spot the angel had occupied, long after his departure.

The angel's visit had put Sebastian in a foul mood, which only added to gloom that the young earl displayed as well. Ciel, despite putting Lord Randall in his place, was still angry over the fact that the smug inspector had solved a case, even if he'd been lucky. This turned the normally almost peaceful atmosphere of the Phantomhive manor into boiling pot of emotions ready to bubble over.

It was easy for Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny to not anger the earl, for the young boy had holed himself up in his room after his return from Scotland yard. Sebastian, on the other hand, was proving to be difficult. The trio tried their best to stay out of the butler's way, but appeared that he was hell bent on catching their every little mistake.

"Cripes! It's like he's following us!" Bard muttered, after Sebastian had caught him (for the third time) trying to light the oven with his flame thrower. This was after the butler had caught him trying to light the furnace with a stick of dynamite, as well as Finny uprooting a tree to use as a rake.

"He seems furious, yes, he does!" Mey-Rin whispered fearfully, as the three of them ducked into the laundry room to hide. The two washing machines chugged merrily away, bubbles beginning to froth under the lids.

"Uh-oh!" Finny whispered, watching the bubbles pour down the machines.

"How much soap did you put in?" Bard hissed at the maid.

She began to fumble with the knobs and buttons on one machine. "I followed the directions, yes I did!" she exclaimed. She squealed when the machine shook violently, sprouting more bubbles.

"What's going on in here?" The door suddenly swung open, revealing an angry Phantomhive butler.

"We're gonna die!" Finny whispered, closing his eyes and hiding behind Bard. Mey-Rin followed his example with a squeak.

"What have you three-" Sebastian began to roar, making them cower.

"Sebastian?"

They all froze, their eyes snapping towards the hallway. Just behind the furious butler, Vanessa stood, curiously surveying the scene before her. For a moment, they all stood there, staring at one another, until the washing machine gave a particularly violent shudder, and exploded with a burst of water and bubbles.

Sebastian moved quickly, grabbing Vanessa and moving her out of the water's path. The bumbling trio, however, were not so lucky; they were immediately drenched and covered with suds.

Vanessa slowly opened her eyes, blinking when she found herself staring at Sebastian's necktie. In his haste, he had pressed her against the wall, his body shielding hers. She peeked around his shoulder and stifled a giggle as she saw three piles of bubbles with eyes standing in the laundry room.

Hearing her, Sebastian followed her line of sight and nearly smirked. That is, until he remembered his anger. "You three will clean this mess up," he barked at them, making them jump. "I have no doubt this is your doing, Mey-Rin."

"Yes, Sebastian," Mey-Rin squeaked, trembling. Beside her, Finny and Bard nodded so heartily, that the bubbles cleared from their faces.

The butler pushed himself away from the kitchen maid and focused his eyes on her. "And, what were you doing down here?" he demanded. "Didn't I tell you to air out the rooms upstairs?"

Vanessa cocked an eyebrow at his tone. "Yes, you did," she answered.

"Well?"

"The earl demanded I stop. Said the noise of opening the windows was too loud."

"Stupid boy!" Sebastian muttered, glaring at a spot behind her.

"Um," was all she could think of to say. She ducked around him, a bit startled that she could feel the waves of anger rolling off of him, and whispered, "Yikes!"

He grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her back towards him. "Did you have something to say, Miss Hammond?" he asked, his voice icily polite. His eyes, on the other hand, were glaring so fiercely, she felt herself step back.

She blinked at his tone, obviously not expecting him to have heard her. She tried to yank her arm free, but he held fast, his fingers digging into her arm. "Sebastian," she told him quietly, well aware that the other servants were watching. "Sebastian, you're hurting me."

There was a slight tremble in her voice, but it was enough to snap the butler from his haze. He immediately dropped her arm and cleared his throat. "I apologize, Miss Hammond," he said, slipping back into the perfect servant once more. He spun on his heel and faced Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny, who jumped at his sudden action. "Please clean this up," he told them, then without another word, quickly stalked away.

The four servants stared after him in surprise. "Is he alright?" Finny whispered, fearful that Sebastian would hear and come charging back.

"I'll go and talk to him," Vanessa volunteered. "You three better hurry and do what he says."

She ran after her betrothed, cursing his long legs for being able to get him from one point to another so quickly. She finally managed to catch up to him before he could enter the kitchen. "Sebastian!" she called, slightly out of breath.

He paused at the door, but did not turn to look at her. "Yes?" was all he said.

"Sebastian," she began, hesitantly stopping just behind him, "are you alright?" She tentatively placed a hand on his arm, her fingers still trembling.

"I do apologize for my earlier behavior," he told her, his voice formal and his posture ramrod straight. "I forgot myself for a moment."

She grabbed him by the shoulders and made him look at her. "You did," she agreed, softly. "But, why? I've never seen you so angry before." Her eyes searched his, but was disappointed by the blank stare that greeted her.

"I apologize for frightening you," he said, his tone so emotionless it sent an unnerving chill down her back.

"Sebastian, please talk to me," she begged, clutching his hands in hers.

Sebastians none to gently removed himself from her grasp. "Now is not the time for theatrics, Miss Hammond," he told her, coldly. "As servants of the Phantomhive family, we are expected to know our place. Thankfully, I've remembered mine, but you are dangerously close to forgetting yours." His red eyes bore down into hers, his gaze so harsh and unyielding, she felt her body begin to tremble from the intensity.

She stared at him for a moment, hurt and disappointment slowing filling her eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip, worrying the skin with her teeth. "Of course, Mister Michaelis," she said, her voice soft and trembling. "Please excuse me." She turned away from him and hurried down the hall.

Sebastian sighed as he watched her go. He could smell the salt from her tears even though she had tried to turn away before he could see her cry.

Curse that angel!

For the Phantomhive manor and its inhabitants, the day ended in a dark and gloomy note. As the sun set, its light disappearing to the corners of the large estate, its servants quietly prepared its master and holdings for night. No one spoke, no one smiled, and no one commented on the stormy face the butler wore as he rushed about the manor.

Vanessa silently finished wiping down the kitchen counters, her nerves on end. The slightest movement, the slightest noise had her nearly jumping out of her skin, but she tried desperately not to show it. Currently, she was alone in the kitchen, but knew that could change in an instant, as Sebastian had just left to serve his master one last cup of tea before bed.

She did not want to be present when he returned, for in truth, his anger frightened her. She supposed she owed Bard an apology for not believing him when he said the butler was downright terrifying when angry; but that would have to wait another day. All she wanted right now was to finish her chores and escape to the safety of her room.

She quickly finished the last counter in the kitchen, then hurriedly rinsed the rag out in the sink. After wringing the cloth a few times, she washed her hands, then wiped them dry on her apron. She all but ran towards the door that led out into the hallway, her fingers removing her apron, then nearly shrieked when she saw the door swing open.

Mey-Rin skidded to a stop, her own shriek lost behind her hands as she clapped them over her mouth. "I thought you were Sebastian!" she told the other maid, her voice breathless.

Vanessa gave a weak laugh. "I did as well," she admitted, clasping one hand to her chest.

Mey-Rin quickly glanced around. "Is he still with the young master?" she asked, quietly.

Vanessa shrugged. "I'm not waiting to find out," she said, hurrying forward and grabbing the redhead by the arm. The two began to giggle nervously as they darted out of the kitchen and down the hall to their shared room.

Neither one noticed the steady gaze of red eyes from the opposite end of the hallway, watching their retreat.