A/N Hello my people, how are all you this fine day? Me, I am well. Thank you for asking. Anyways few announcements, first I now have a beta!! *Do a happy dance* That means I will be phasing the old chapters out for beta'd versions when I get the time. Second, this chapter took another left turn and I don't know how I am going to deal with the fall out so I don't know how long it will take to update again. I want to thank all my reviewers and people who blow my email up with favs and follows, you guys really keep me going. I hope you guys like it, please review and I hope you all have a pleasent day.

~Storm

Chapter 6

November 1, 1879

Vincent had never felt such fury. It coursed through his veins like molten iron and scorched his very soul. It ate at him like a many mouthed hell beast, and he feared that it would devour him whole if he did not release the darkness that it festered inside. His whole body trembled with it; his mind besieged by images of sweet An's bruised and bloody body as the doctor stripped away her clothes, propriety be damned.

She had clung to him in her unconsciousness and Vincent had wondered if it would have been different if he had married her instead of Rachel, if she would have been spared the cruel harshness of reality. Even hours later, after he had left the sick room where An had been placed to recover, he felt nothing but that dark hunger for retribution.

The brown eyed man sighed heavily where he sat in his townhouse study. On the desk was a pile of reports from every corner of the kingdom, but he had pushed them all aside, not daring to do more than that in his current state for fear of making a mistake that would come back to haunt him or his children later. He wished he could do something, anything, to release the growing inferno that surfaced in him but he dared not even breathe too heavily for he knew that he could fly into a rage the likes of which London had not seen in an age.

Vincent slowly raised a nearly empty tumbler to his lips; liquor was probably the last thing he needed and with each sip the covers and masks faded until all that was left was the devil in men's clothing that was the Earl Phantomhive. He was cruel and uncaring; willing to do anything to achieve his goals, to see the world burn in the darkness of its own sins.

For a brief moment rationality left him and the crystal tumbler exploded as it impacted the bricks of the fireplace, which roared loudly as crystal shards and aged brandy rained down on the November fire. Vincent hung his head, harsh laughter echoed in the study and shook his whole body with the force of it. Slowly the laughter stopped until only the creakle of the fire and his heavy breathing broke the ringing silence. A knock on his study door startled him and Vincent nearly jumped from his chair for the fright of it.

"Enter." Vincent demanded sharply, his heart thundered in his chest. The door swung open to reveal Marcus; his face was as white as a sheet and Vincent, with drunken eyes, spied a letter clutched in a shaking hand.

"My Lord," the nondescript butler started before he stopped and took a deep fortifying breath. "Something has happened at the country manor."

"What?" Vincent felt the fury starting to slip from his hold as blood drained from his face.

"Master Hadrian has not woken since yesterday morning." The butler's quiet voice rang in the study and Vincent was sure that if had not already been seated he would have fallen to his knees. The last of his righteous anger faded, leaving behind not Lord Phantomhive but Vincent, a concerned father whose child's life might hang in the balance.

~0~

November 3, 1879

It had been four days since Rachel's perfect world had been shaken violently. Her oldest son, Hadrian, had gone to sleep on the 30th just fine, but when his nurse had gone to wake him the next morning he had refused to be roused. She had immediately sent for the doctor and penned a missive to Vincent. The doctor had spent half an hour with the child but had been unable to discover why he still slept. Vincent had arrived in the wee hours of November 1st, looking disheveled and unshaven as she had never seen him.

The blue-black haired man had not done more than greet her before he had raced to their son's room, taking the stairs two at a time. Rachel had followed at a more sedate pace, in no hurry to see the near lifeless form of her precious child. Vincent was on his knees by the bed when she had finally made it to the room and she had not been sure if he had been praying or not.

Rachel looked over at her son; Hadrian was still sleeping, his body slowly wasting away even as his chest rose and fell. The doctors had been unable to give them any answer except that he might never wake again. She had been distraught for the first day and the second, but she's woken on the third from a dream like none she had had before.

In the dream she was faced with a man, only he was not always a man, whose face changed with each breath. Only his bright green eyes remained the same, eyes that bored into her soul with a hint of familiarity and darkness. The man had turned from her and started down a path that was never ending; his each step taking him further from her and something in her heart broke.

The man of a thousand faces turned back to her; his green eyes rested in the shadowy face of her son. Then she blinked and it was another face that turned from her. Rachel had woken in tears, her heart beating too quick in her chest. She had dressed in her red dressing gown and walked the two halls to Hadrian's room. Vincent had barely looked in her direction but she knew that if she had presented a threat he would have protected their boy easily.

That had been the last time either of them had left the room, bar their basic needs, and it was wearing on both of them. Rachel knew that something was going to give, the entire manor was treading on thin ice, and something had to cave. She was going to return to her book when a flash of emerald eyes caught her attention.

"Hadrian?" The strawberry-blonde whispered, not wanting to wake Vincent. She reached out and took a warm but limp hand in her own.

"Mother," the boy's voice cracked and trembled with the dryness of his throat, but he forced out, "I am sorry. I got lost."

~0~

November 30, 1879

Magic was a wonderful thing; it was life, love and freedom with a touch of craziness and the flavor of the wind. At least, that was how Hadrian had always seen it. Then he had spent four days drifting through the clouds sowing seeds of vengeance across London. During that immeasurable time when he was one with the wind and stars he found out a disturbing thing about Magic. It was possessive; he realized that Magic had never been his but that he had always been, always would be Magic's.

Even so, many days later, so many days removed from his own dark possessiveness, he felt Magic surrounding him. It hovered over him in a suffocating cloud and touched every part of him as its power grew. It was not exactly the Magic that he had had in his original life; he could not direct it in the same ways, could not control it. He had first noticed it on his birthday when he had fought to wrangle the unruly wind that had escaped him, but he had ignored the implications then. He had ignored it and it had almost cost him his life.

Four days Hadrian had spent trapped in the Magic, and he still had not gained back all the weight he had lost almost a month later. He sighed and shook his head, trying and failing to pay attention to his newest tutor, but in the back of his mind Magic swirled.

~0~

June 13, 1880

Hadrian and Ciel, ages six and four respectively, stood next to their parents in the receiving area of the foray as they waited for the next people to arrive at their father's birthday ball. Not that Vincent Phantomhive, who was male, married and twenty-nine, needed a birthday ball, but his darling wife had insisted. The green-eyed boy knew that neither of them would be allowed to attend the majority of the party, but took the time allotted him to study the cream of the crop of the English Aristocracy.

The Midfords had arrived early, followed by two dukes, their duchesses and a viscount. Hadrian had noticed that all of the men, Alexis Midford included, differed to his father, though the man was only an earl. It made him wonder about just who the Phantomhives were. A man approached them, his grey hair slicked back and his brown eyes white with age, but the green-eyed boy noticed how his father's back stiffened just a touch and how his mother slid slightly in front of him and his brother. Hadrian's eyes narrowed as the man stopped in front of his father.

"Vincent, what a pleasure to see you again." his voice oozed with a foulness that almost caused Hadrian to step back. His cataracted eyes paned over them, "and to meet your lovely family."

"Henry," his father stated with a firmness to his voice as he placed a crushing hand on Hadrian's shoulder. A muscle in his face twitched ever so slightly as he smiled, only the barest hint that showed Hadrian that his father detested the man before them. "It is a pleasure as always to see you."

"Do not worry," The man said as he leaned closer to his father. A smile played at his lips even as his eyes roamed the empty entrance hall. "Your gorgeous sons are safe from my evil clutches for the night. Consider it a birthday present from your dearest uncle."

A suffocating silence filled Hadrian's head, he was sure that more things were exchanged between the two men but he did not hear a word. That foul creature who made his skin crawl was his father's blood. His eyes caught milky white and the world narrowed until it was only the two of them; them and the secrets hidden behind those ghastly eyes.

Hadrian's body went cold, his skin prickled and his breath caught; the dark memories that traveled between them showed a life guided by avarice and lust. Then they were gone and Henry, Duke of Norfolk, entered the ballroom. The green-eyed boy was left trembling beneath his father's hand as his magic swirled around him. His parents were looking at him in a strange way, sort of like fear mixed with wonder.

Hadrian broke free of his father's hold and tore across the hall, wind propelling his feet as he scaled the stairs. His family remained standing in the thankfully empty hall; each of them frozen between social standards and a desire to follow him. He knew that they would remain; his mother would make an excuse for his absence and they would go about the night as if nothing had happened, just like good little English men and women. In the morning however he would have to account for his actions.

~0~

June 14, 1880

Vincent did not sleep at all following his 'party'; not for reasons that had previously haunted him, like memories of his mother's brother, but because of the strange incident with Hadrian. During the brief interaction with Henry he had felt his boy trembling beneath his hand, and then the air around them had shifted. It had thickened and shuddered minutely in the empty hall before Hadrian was pulling from his grasp.

The green-eyed boy was gone in a blink and every fiber of Vincent had wanted to go after him, to find out what was going on but a guest entered the hall and he was forced to put on his mask. Rachel performed fantastically and came up with some tale about their son being ill, even little Ciel kept his silence on the matter despite his young age.

The dawn did not come quickly enough for Vincent. When the sun did dawn, and the last of the guests had departed, he lay in his bed, but in his head he replayed those moments when his perfect boy turned his world upside down. As the Queen's Guard Dog he had had his fair share of dealings with the unknown and fabulous things in the world, but he'd never seen anything like Hadrian's display.

Vincent sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed; behind him Rachel stirred causing him to look in her direction. Her long hair was spread across her pillow and her silk clad body curled in on itself. He looked at her for a long while, just admiring her beautiful form, but eventually he extracted himself from the covers. As much as he wanted to lay back and enjoy the warmth of his wife, he had things to do; the first of which was speak to Hadrian.

~0~

June 14, 1880

Hadrian shook as he sat waiting for his father in the man's office. He was not sure what was going to happen to him; he was in the Victorian era and they were not keen on 'witches' if he remembered correctly. His family had been nothing but kind to him, however he had seen good and god fearing people like them become cruel monsters in their fear of those different from them.

He could have run, could have made it London where the streets would have hidden him, but he had not had the heart to leave. He had grown to care very deeply for his new family despite his original indifference toward them. Vincent and Rachel were fine parents and little Ciel, despite his frail health, was a bundle of joy.

Footsteps could be heard in the hallway and Hadrian felt his mind race. He wondered what Vincent would say, would he send him away, to the tower or the stake? Hadrian stood when the steps stopped at the office door, he would face his temporary father with the same courage and nerve he had faced every other trail in his two lives.

The door opened.

A/N So do you all hate me now? If not please review and dont forget to checkout my tumbler and facebook page, I will try to keep you updated on the process. Thanks for reading.