"It's been a while, Earl." The voice of Charles Grey coasted smoothly across the lawn as the white-clad man inclined his head toward Ciel. "And you, milady…." He glanced up at Lydia, and she thought of how little he had changed over the years. Still the quintessential gentleman, impeccably dressed and well-mannered. Still with the mischievous smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eye that she couldn't quite trust. "It's been a very long time indeed, Lydia Phantomhive."
"Grey," she nodded, hoping Ciel would take over and steer the conversation away from her. "Phipps. Good to see you again."
"Have you come to see to the closing of our investigation here?" Ciel asked tersely. "I'm afraid this time there is little good news to report to Her Majesty."
"We received your report." Phipps replied, folding his arms. "We have come to take the guilty students into custody, and to assume control of this school until further notice. With the headmaster missing, the vice headmaster dead, and the prefects removed, there is currently no one in charge at Weston. This could lead to an unstable situation which we wish to prevent."
Ciel straightened his shoulders and brushed the ash off of them. "Very well. In that case, what do you require of us?"
"Come with us to the main hall, you and your sister and the butler. We have secured the prefects there and we have a few questions for them which Her Majesty would like answers to. After that, you are free to leave this institution."
"That sounds agreeable." Ciel beckoned to Sebastian and they all began to stride across the lawn, away from the smoldering debris of the gardens. Edward lingered uncertainly behind them, and Lydia wished she could think of something reassuring to say, but her thoughts still felt like they were floating above the chaotic world without shape or form. She kept seeing flashes of Undertaker's chartreuse eyes, and the leering grin of his skeleton scythe as it lunged toward her. The events of the past few months were far deeper, darker, and more disturbing than she could have ever imagined.
The smell of blood permeated the air as the group reached the main hall, making Lydia's flesh prickle with goosebumps. As they entered the antechamber, her eyes were drawn to four figures huddled against the far wall. Royal guards were stationed on either side of them, and she could see iron shackles locked around their wrists. As her group approached, Lydia spotted Greenhill lying on the floor, barely conscious as he was tended to by a pair of nurses. The gash in his arm was still oozing blood, and his face was as white as the bandages covering his wound. The other three had been separated from each other and forced to kneel at the base of Weston's gigantic chapel doors. She looked for Violet and found him crumpled against the wall, practically buried in his long robes. Beside her, Ciel folded his arms, staring them down impassively. Charles Grey struck his hand against a table as he passed, creating an echo that resounded across the hall. "Early morning, you four. We've only time to do this once, so pay attention."
The prefects lifted their heads and Violet gave a tiny gasp as he noticed Lydia hovering behind the royal attendants. He tried to stand up, but there seemed to be something wrong with his right leg, and he slid back to the ground with a soft whimper of pain. Bluewer and Redmond shrank back, seeming threatened by her presence. She remembered that to them, she was not exactly human….
"We've already established your roles in the deaths of Derrick Arden, Vice Headmaster Agares, Richard Greenson, Hans Hardy, Robert Isaac, and Ewan Thewlis." Charles Grey continued briskly, spinning a large set of keys around on his finger. "All of that is straightforward- murder, accessory to murder, collaboration against the interests of the Crown, so on, so forth. What we'd like to know more about-" Grey tossed the keys high in the air and caught them smoothly in his other hand, "is how you four managed to defy the laws of nature and reanimate your victims."
Violet buried his face in his hands and Greenhill gave a long, agonized moan as the nurses shifted his body. It was Bluewer who answered in a fading voice. "It wasn't us. We had nothing to do with the reanimation process- how could we have done something like that? We don't have that kind of power. We only made a deal for it to be done."
"With whom did you make this deal?" Grey asked, raising a pale eyebrow. Lydia noticed that Charles Phipps had taken out a notebook and begun to scribble speedily across its pages.
"Two men. One of them was named Ryan Stoker and he was associated with an organization called the Aurora Society."
"Aurora….?" Ciel mused softly, glancing between Lydia and Sebastian. " 'Dawn'….in a sense."
"The other one was supposedly Ryan Stoker's research partner. He had no name, as far as we were concerned. But he was the one who conducted the experiments which led to the actual reanimation of the corpses. He played the role of Weston's Headmaster and used that position to stay out of sight."
"How did he do it?" Charles Grey demanded, his eyes narrowing sharply.
Bluewer shook his head. "I don't know. I swear, we never witnessed his experiments. We weren't privy to his methods. All we knew was that the ones we had killed would be alive again- would move and speak as though nothing had happened to them. It was the only way to erase our sins. They weren't…." Bluewer glanced over at the bloody figure of Greenhill and shuddered. "They weren't supposed to be monsters."
"How could a reanimated corpse be anything but a monster?" Ciel interjected bluntly.
"By the time we realized what they were like, it was too late," Redmond spoke up from the corner, his usually immaculate hair sprawled about his shoulders like a tangled web. "We were trapped in our own deceit. We couldn't do anything but carry on, or we'd be found out."
"Tch." Charles Grey leaned against the wall and turned to Violet. "You. Artist boy. You're the son of Duke Clarington, am I correct? I've heard of your talents with a brush."
The dark-haired prefect looked even more terrified, sinking low to the ground and hiding his face in his hood. Grey scoffed irritably and strode over to him. "Hey. Look at me when I'm talking to you." He roughly yanked the hood off Violet's head and grabbed him by the throat, forcing his chin upward. As lamplight flooded his face, Lydia saw near-black bruises forming a thick band around his neck, the relics of Undertaker's hands. "After causing this much trouble for the Crown, you still think you can hide like a child? Not a chance. I wonder what your father will do when he finds out how you've disgraced him….?"
Violet gave a tremulous little wail and shrank back against the wall, his breathing caught in shallow gasps. "No, sir….please, I'm sorry, please sir…."
"Don't do that to him." Lydia was over there before she even realized she had crossed the room, forcibly prying Grey's gloved hand from Violet's throat. "Can't you see he's been damaged enough already?"
"So what?" Grey snapped, fixing Violet with a withering glare. "He's lucky he's a noble, otherwise he wouldn't even keep his head after a crime of this magnitude."
Violet grasped at the hem of Lydia's jacket and held on as though his life depended on it. His eyes were gigantic pools of writhing terror. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
"Hush," the white-haired man commanded. "I'm not interesting in your babbling. You've seen the faces of the men who orchestrated this incident, right?"
"Yes, sir…." Violet whispered hoarsely.
"Then you could create accurate drawings of them, yes?"
The prefect nodded, and Grey seemed satisfied. "Good. That'll give you something to do while awaiting Her Majesty's judgement in prison."
Violet bit his lip and shivered. Grey turned away, and Lydia placed herself solidly in between them. "Even with an accurate depiction of him, you won't be able to apprehend the man who was impersonating the Headmaster."
"And why is that?" Phipps spoke up, still scribbling in his notebook.
Ciel cleared his throat suddenly, and all the eyes in the room turned toward him. "We will discuss that information with Her Majesty at a later time. There are things we have learned during this investigation which should not become common knowledge amongst the public."
"Very well." Grey nodded and brushed some imaginary dust off his tasseled shoulders. "We shall receive you at the palace within the week. Then, I suppose all that's left to do is escort these four to our carriage and be done with it. Guards." With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the silent men in royal uniforms stepped forward. "Those two boys can walk. The other two need to be carried. Mr. Butler, if you could please help transport that one…." Grey pointed at Greenhill and Sebastian nodded, moving into position and lifting the blonde prefect by his shoulders. One of the guards seized his ankles and together they cantilevered the barely conscious boy out the doors of the main hall.
Redmond and Bluewer were pulled forward by the chains attached to their wrists. They allowed themselves to be led out without protest, heads hung low in defeat. As she watched them go, Lydia could not help but think there was something profoundly unsatisfying about this ending. Even though they had resolved the case, destroyed the ghouls, and brought the culprits to justice, in the end this victory was so….hollow. She hadn't wanted to hurt the prefects, even though there was no way she could ignore what they had done. The next moment, Lydia became aware of Violet's shaking hands clinging desperately to her waistcoat as the remaining guard advanced on him. She moved abruptly to block his way, scooping the thin prefect into her arms like a fragile doll. "Give him to me. I'll do it."
The guard protested, but she ignored him and strode out the doors of the main hall, following the retreating backs of the other men. She was aware this might be her last chance to speak with Violet, and there were still things left to say. "I'm sorry for what happened in the gardens," she whispered, doing her best to support his bruised neck as she walked. "Does it hurt very badly?"
The dark-eyed boy nodded and flinched in pain. "It hurts. But I deserve it, anyway. And yet, you….you saved my life. Again. I'm so glad you're okay." Lydia slowed her walk as Violet buried his face into her shoulder, his voice cracking in agony. "I thought I was going to be responsible for your death, too."
"Oh, Violet…." After a night full of fighting and destruction, Lydia allowed her maternal side to take over as the frightened prefect wept in her arms. There was a part of her, stronger than she'd anticipated, that wanted to shield Violet from the consequences of the crimes he'd committed at Weston. That part didn't seem to care whether it was right or wrong to do so. Oddly enough, it was the same stubborn determination she felt when it came to helping Ciel fix something damaging he had said or done. No matter what it was, it was never enough to make her consider abandoning him. But Violet was not her brother, and Lydia had other battles to fight in the weeks and months ahead. This was not her prerogative, and yet….and yet, this ending was just so….unacceptable. Unfinished. But what if….?
"Violet," she whispered, scanning the darkness ahead to see how close they were to the carriage. "Hey Violet, listen to me. Are you listening?"
The prefect's breathing slowed and he peered up at her with those sleepless, ringed eyes. He nodded.
"I don't know what's going to happen to you while you're in the Queen's custody. But I'm sure she won't kill any of you. Executing the sons of public figures would mean making your crimes public as well, and that's something she won't want. Not once she understands what really happened here." Lydia shook her head, keeping her voice at its barest whisper. "You might be imprisoned for a while, but you'll eventually be returned to the custody of your family. After that, if anything happens and you need help….do you know how to get to the Lent Theatre in London?"
Violet nodded again, fidgeting anxiously with the shackles on his wrists. "When I was a child, my governess used to take us there every Easter."
"Good. Go there on a Sunday at noon, and walk to the lot where the cabbies bring their carriages to pick up theater-goers. Look for a carriage marked '55' in bronze letters. It ought to have a chestnut mare hitched to it, and a large man with a Yorkshire accent in the driver's seat. Ask him to take you to the Aberlaine residence, in Camden Town. He won't charge you once he hears that name. He'll drop you off in front of a small house; you're to knock on the door and ask for Lydia Aberlaine. If no one's home, just wait around until they get back."
"Who is Lydia Aberlaine?" Violet whispered.
Lydia blinked, remembering she had been undercover this whole time and he wouldn't know her from Adam. "I am," she said softly. "That's my real name. If you get into trouble, I want you to know where to find me."
Violet stared up at her, barely breathing. "I….I don't….I…."
"You'll have to remember the directions on your own. Repeat them back to me," Lydia urged lowly. They had almost reached the carriage, and she was moving at a glacial pace to give Violet time to process her instructions.
The slender prefect closed his eyes. "Lent Theatre….Sunday at noon….carriage marked 55….chestnut mare….Yorkshire accent….Aberlaine residence….Camden Town….Lydia Aberlaine. Lydia." He shuddered and curled up fearfully against her shoulder. "I'm sorry I've been such a thorn in your side."
"For god's sake, woman! We haven't got all night to wait for you! There's more than one fire to put out after this disaster," Grey barked impatiently. Lydia could see his white silhouette in front of the dark shape of the carriage, illuminated by a single torch. The bars on the windows left no doubt as to where it was headed. Inside the metal door she could see the forlorn faces of the other three prefects, Greenhill appearing to have lost consciousness completely. She felt Violet's hands tighten convulsively around her arms. He had accepted his fate, but he was still terrified of it.
Everything was too fast now. She set Violet down in the doorway, but there was no one behind him to support him and he crumpled to the ground, right leg spasming in pain. Lydia tried to help him stand, but there were strong fingers tangling themselves in her hair, needles racing down her scalp, her body plunging backward, the sound of ripping fabric, and Violet's face contorting in despair as the guard heaved the carriage door shut. She hit the ground hard and heard someone shout in outrage. Once the world stopped winking, Lydia scrambled upright and beheld Ciel brandishing his pistol inches from Grey's face. "What the bloody hell was that for, you uncouth bastard?! You have no idea what she's been through tonight!"
"That was for getting this business over and done with, Phantomhive. I've no intention of hanging around here with a bunch of scared schoolchildren. Where's the fun in that?" Grey tossed his head arrogantly and glanced down at her as if she were an insect beneath his feet. "You're as predictable as ever, Lydia Phantomhive. I hope you know you would have made a terrible watchdog."
Something dark and violent heaved itself awake inside her heart, and Lydia had to struggle enormously to keep it from overthrowing her body. Her right hand grasped at the earth beneath her until she had torn it apart. Grey snickered and pushed Ciel's pistol aside. "However, I see that even this little pup has become disobedient lately…. You must be a bad influence on him."
"Charles Grey, you have three seconds to get into this seat before I drive off without you," Phipps called down from the driver's bench sternly. The white-haired man scowled and clambered up beside him, and Phipps nodded down to the two siblings. "Apologies for all the trouble. We look forward to hosting your audience with Her Majesty."
"Why do you always have to apologize for everything I do?" Grey complained as the carriage started off toward the gates of Weston. Phipp's reply, if he gave one, was lost in the jarring sound of wheels on gravel. Lydia and Ciel stared numbly after the carriage, an unbroken silence that stretched on until its silhouette disappeared into the night. Lydia wondered if this ending felt as hollow to Ciel as it did to her.
Finally the young heir sighed and offered her his hand. "We ought to make our way to the stables and take the first available carriage back to the townhouse. Sebastian packed our luggage yesterday."
Lydia accepted his hand and stood up shakily, wondering how many times she had been slammed into the ground tonight. Her aching limbs told her it was too many. "Hold on…." she muttered, glancing around the darkened field. "Where is Sebastian?"
"That's what I've been wondering as well. I suppose he's found something better to do." Ciel harrumphed and began to lead the way back up the hill. "Blast him, anyway. He might have had the decency to stop Grey from manhandling you. What was that about, anyway?"
"Oh, we…." Lydia shook her head roughly. "Charles Grey and I have never really gotten along. Annoying little twerp of a kid, he was. I used to knock him flat myself when he'd go on flapping his gums about my family. I'm on better terms with Phipps, though we rarely spoke."
"Are you?" Ciel tilted his head quizzically. "I wasn't aware you knew them at all."
"Not recently, that's for sure. Although they haven't changed."
"Master!" A voice called up ahead, and the siblings rounded the crest of the hill to find Sebastian holding the reins of a horse hitched to a borrowed carriage. "We ought to set out for London immediately, before anyone else takes notice of us. Our business at Weston College is finished."
"Finally," Ciel sighed, following Lydia into the carriage. "I've had more than enough of this wretched place. I want to go home and sleep in my own bed and wear my own clothes and eat my own damn sweets." He collapsed onto the cushioned seat, yanking the Blue House tie free of his throat. "Goodbye, Sapphire Owl. Goodbye, troublesome fag duties. Goodbye, bloody ghouls."
Lydia eyed Sebastian carefully as he bowed and shut the carriage door. It wasn't like the demon to go missing in the middle of the action, but right now was hardly the time for questions. The back of her head blazed from its latest impact with the ground. Her legs ached. Her throat hurt. Her arm hurt. But her thoughts had come back down to earth at last. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as one massive sore, bruised and bloodied from the battle, nowhere near finished with the war.
