.
.: Chapter VII :.
Sebastian Michaelis
"From The Demon's Eyes" pt. 2
. . .
He sped across the dead plains, treading violently on the dry grass in a fevered hunt for that no good, conniving, back-stabbing, greedy little thief. No one made a fool out of him, no one that would survive more than a day after deceiving him.
He should have been more cautious around Damian. He should have fed that weak, little vermin to the reapers when they had the both of them surrounded. Why didn't he? He shouldn't have taken sympathy on the kid. Just because he was new...he shouldn't have-!
Now he was starving and quickly losing the trail. Even if he'd completely lost it, he'd have to keep running. Those deranged reapers weren't going to stop until they've had their fair share of demon blood, but he had no fear of those self-appointed pests. The urge to murder the little bastard that betrayed him was what powered every harsh footfall pushing against the earth.
Then the scent hit him. The scent of her blood, his meal.
"Found you." He griped, and darted toward the source.
The fresh smell lead him to an old, crippled hut. It was a worthy tomb for a debauched little miscreant like Damian.
But he didn't find Damian there, devouring the precious soul. He didn't even find the soul. All he discovered beyond the rickety old door was the corpse of a young girl, face down, with an axe lunged half-way into her neck.
'What a waste.'
. . .
Shapeless ghosts crept along the skies of London, casting a gloom over the Phantomhive manor. The sun had probably risen just hours ago, yet Sebastian already had a candlestick to maneuver through the dim halls toward the young master's study. He took his time, listening to the soft echo of his own footsteps bounce off the walls, despite knowing that his master was not in a very patient mood.
Perhaps it was last night's soirée. It must have been a tiring night for everyone, because even Spring took a hiatus today. But Sebastian knew that the source of the young master's aggravation was most likely the audacious little lady that dared to break the barrier of his tolerance. Sebastian had to admit, there was something about Miss Kingsley that was itching the back of his mind as well. He had no interest in the girl, she may have been considered quite the gem but he thought her as nothing more than over-polished coal. There was just an aura of familiarity that he drew from her, but he was sure that he'd never met her before.
Sebastian stood straightly before the door of his master's study, a platter holding a formally sealed envelope in his hand. He gave two knocks before waiting for the low "come in" and entered.
Ciel Phantomhive, now that he's aged some years since their contract, was resembling his father more and more. The two could be considered identical, if not for the younger's midnight-hazed eyes and the dismissive attitude. He had his form sunk into the back of his plush, leather chair while he faced the gray scene out the window. "What is it?"
"Young master, Sir Phipps just dropped off this request from her Majesty."
The reaction was just a second late of Ciel's usually immediate response to one of the queen's letters. "Phipps was here? Did you invite him in?" He grabbed the letter opener nearby and reached over the various papers: research documents, identity profiles, lists with several names circled and crossed out, strewn about his desk when Sebastian moved the platter closer.
"No, Sir Phipps was worried about the weather and decided to return to the palace immediately."
Only the ticking of the clock spoke as Ciel's eyes darted across the black ink, skimming past her majesty's off-topic ramblings and onto the main point of the message, which was usually near the bottom. A small grin quickly upturned the moodiness on his face.
"Sebastian, separate these files so that there are two even stacks. When you're done, have a carriage prepared."
"Has an opportunity come up, young master?"
"Yes, we'll be heading to the Kingsley manor today to deliver her assignments."
"What of the weather?"
"What of it? Just make sure we get there before the roads become too wet."
"Very well." A cunning smiled creased Sebastian's lips and was received with an identical grin from Ciel, who shared his thoughts. " And would you like to give Miss Kingsley the most difficult cases?"
There was a hesitation in Ciel's response, even a devious glint in his eye before he chuckled and shook his head. "No, I want this challenge to be fair, so be sure to split the minor and major cases equally...but place the hardest case in her stack on top. Just to slow her down."
. . .
They were able to make it there in less than half the time ordinary people could, because of course, Sebastian was simply one hell of a butler. He stepped away from his place in front of the carriage, where the horse would normally be, and opened the side door to reveal his distressed master still clinging onto the windowsill for dear life.
"Did you have to make the ride so rough!?"
"My apologies, young master, but you did say to get you here before the streets became wet."
It was just in the nick of time. Sebastian could feel the first drops of a raging storm slide down his cheek. He looked behind him and surveyed the towering mansion which stood like a ghostly fortress under the dark clouds. The heavy front doors began to open, a warm light welcoming them inside as if they had been expected. It was Miss Kingsley herself who emerged from between the doors to greet them. He narrowed his eyes, zooming in on her face.
Now that he's had another careful look, he was sure he'd met this girl before.
"You greet visitors yourself?" Ciel raised a brow at Riliane, who was perched at the top of the marble steps with her hands folded perfectly over her egg-coloured dress.
"The servants are busy preparing."
"You were expecting us?"
"I was expecting my business associates."
Ciel clicked his cane against the pale surface to guide him as he ascended each step, not daring to break the eye-contact they've already made. "You shouldn't mind me then."
"What is it, Ciel?"
"It's been requested by her majesty that I leave half of my cases to you." As he spoke, he gestured toward a black suitcase which Sebastian presented. "I also seek that private audience I requested from you."
Riliane turned around and withdrew back inside before Ciel could reach the top. "Very well, come inside. It would be rude of me to send you away before offering some tea."
She lead them gracefully through the scattering servants, who were hurriedly towing cleaning supplies to-and-fro various place through the wide halls. One of the servants they happened to pass, much to Sebastian's displeasure, was Damian.
"Princess, did you answer the door yourself?" He gave a lacking bow to both Ciel and Sebastian, and took the lead himself.
"These dresses aren't so crippling that I can't manage simple tasks. Now, to my brother's study Damian."
The shortness Riliane had with his age-old frenemy reminded Sebastian of Ciel, especially when something as ambiguous as Riliane rattled him some. Sebastian thought it was almost funny that he and Damian ended up under similar circumstances.
Wynn Kingsley's study was no different than the young master's, with one very shocking exception. Rather than shelves cradling brick-heavy books or walls donning calm paintings of scenery, Wynn's study had weaponry lining almost every crevice of the room. The bookshelves were misused as display cases for varying models of guns and intricately crafted daggers. The larger artillery and blades, such as an ivory painted assault rifle or several gold-plated rapiers, served as wall decor.
Sebastian had done a bit of homework and found that the Kingsley family did own a company famous for it's production in weaponry, it should have been expected. However, the terrifying collection seems to have put Ciel at unease.
"None of these are loaded," Riliane said over her shoulder. She moved behind the large mahogany desk and pulled the curtains together for privacy, rendering the desk lamp as the only light source.
"Why are we in your brother's study?"
"The other rooms are being prepped up."
Ciel curiously plucked the ivory frame from beside the lamp and squinted at the faces in the picture. A warm-looking, black-haired man with a big smile had one arm slung around the waist of a serene young woman with dark locks and familiar eyes. The other arm was cradling what appeared to be a young Riliane, and in the middle was probably the current Earl Kingsley in his early youth.
'That might tuck away the doubts the young master has on miss Riliane's pedigree', Sebastian thought, observing the picture over Ciel's shoulder.
Riliane came out from behind the desk and sat herself in one of the lavish seats that Damian had moved for them, Ciel followed and retired to the other.
Sebastian kept at his master's side, posture erect and professional even in this privacy, unlike Damian who leaned on the arm of Riliane's chair, crossing his arms in a smug manner as he sent dark looks their way.
There was a certain protectiveness that Damian had over this girl, Sebastian could tell, and he certainly didn't seem like any other demon that just wanted a soul.
"So what did you want to discuss, Ciel?"
There was no beating around the bush, no game in his tone. Ciel just got right to the point. "I want to start off with the scar on the back of your neck."
Their were some amusement perking the corner's of Sebastian's lips. It seems that Ciel wanted answers just as much as he did. He caught the small hints of surprise on Riliane's expression before it went flat again, only this time her brow rose to feign ignorance.
"Scar?" She replied coyly.
"Those chokers you wear don't do as good a job of hiding it as you think they do."
She and Damian exchanged quick glances before she sighed and began to turn slightly, enough so that her back was visible to Ciel and Sebastian, and moved her swirling hair out of the way. One by one her fingers moved to undo the fastenings on her choker, the fabric slipping away and slowly unveiling the shapeless pattern, until nothing was left but her bare neck.
They had expected to see the same iron-burned scar that marked Ciel's back, but what was revealed was equally striking. It was a mess of thick lines crossing over one another in different angles. They varied in shades but many were dark, telling stories of deep cuts that woke crimson rivers in her skin. All those stories whispered that someone may have once tried to hack off Riliane's head with a dull blade, but instead left ugly, gnarled gashes. It would have made sense, horrifying sense, if it wasn't for the fact that her skin was still completely smooth. Scars left more than just a disturbance in pigmentation, they were never that flawless.
"It's not a scar," Riliane began quietly, "but rather...a birthmark, or so my brother claims. But what kind of birthmark looks like this?"
The pained expression that flickered across Damian's face opened doors to Sebastian's suspicions. It was, indeed, a birthmark. A very telling one.
"My, it seems Damian and I have forgotten to fetch the tea." Sebastian excused himself from Ciel's side and lingered at the door, looking back at Damian with a knowing gaze. The other rose a brow in question. Reluctantly, he followed, but only when he received Riliane's permission.
The course through the areas that weren't predominated by frantic servants shared no words between the two. The gears in Sebastian's head have been turning ever since their reunion days ago. He watched the back of Damian's head as he lead, now nit-picking at even the tiniest details of his features. Mostly that blood-red hair of his.
"Tell me, Damian, what do souls taste like to you?"
"Chocolate," he replied flatly. "Why don't you cut the chit chat and ask your real questions."
"Oh, suddenly so cold?" This sour mood could only mean that he was on the right track. All he needed was to push the right buttons. The only problem is that Damian, no matter how carefree, always put out less than he actually had. But the Damian he's seen this past week certainly gave more than the one from long ago.
He maintained the exact appearance from back then and never even took on a new alias, even when Sebastian himself had adopted countless new identities since. It wasn't anything shocking, but wearing a different skin for each contract was more or less an unwritten rule among their kind. Something more narrowed to Damian, personally, was that he chose to be a butler. Every demon had their pride, but there was no denser ego he'd ever seen than that of the one before him. It was part of the reason Damian never involved himself in the master/demon contract in the first place. That being said, the deal he has with the Kingsley boy was probably his first and he didn't even take orders from the Earl. He yielded to the words of a little girl, which Sebastian now knew wasn't just any little girl. Damian was rather attached to to her. The only times he's ever seemed remotely human, which for a demon was very out of the ordinary, was when it concerned Riliane.
"How did you come across this soul?"
Then came the near flawless reply, but Sebastian had never heard so much bullshit come out of someone's mouth.
"I just followed the trail of despair, like all demons do."
"Or perhaps you were already at the end of the trail to begin with."
Damian halted, and Sebastian did the same as if they were just a moment apart from being synced.
'Had I hit something?'
He turned around, facing Sebastian with a sharp stare, daring him to speak further. "What?"
"What have you been doing with this soul all this time?"
"Why does it concern you?"
He must have took Sebastian for an idiot, pretending as if he hadn't already figured it out.
"Her neck, Damian. Birthmarks always imply how the soul perished in it's previous life, if it survives long enough to live more than one." There was a war between their gazes as their eyes began to glimmer that lurid shade of violet. Sebastian's fingers curled around Damian's neck, stopping just enough to send swollen veins webbing across his skin. "Riliane Kingsley is the soul you stole from me all those years ago."
The dying grudge he's kept suddenly rekindled the decades of tearing apart every trail he'd come across, hungrily searching for a way to fair out the wrong that had been done on him, to give the thief what he deserved for stealing from a starving man. Sebastian had the chance, it was right there in his hand, but he didn't feel like ending it all so quickly.
Sebastian blinked in astonishment to suddenly find himself glowering into a wall.
"I was only reclaiming what belonged to me. You had no right to mark a soul that already had scars on it." Damian reappeared behind Sebastian just as fast as he'd disappeared from his grip.
Sebastian scoffed, and turned to face him again. "I didn't sense any of these 'scars', you're talking about." He grinned, examining the solid expression on Damian's face. It was hopelessly useless when pinned to the unsteadiness of his voice. It was a very bitter tone that hit just the right key of...sympathy? No...regret.
'But what has a demon have to regret?'
He sighed. It was ludicrous to be so curious about another demon's upbringings, but Damian was making his reasons for damnation so tantalizing. What has this man done to make his guilt so deep, that it finds a way to poison him now? It was beyond him.
"Don't get so antsy. I don't want anything that's long past its expiration date." Sebastian grinned again, not because he was lying, but because he's found a new way to make Damian suffer.