"Essentially," Ciel says once they've escaped to a quiet passageway, skulking back to their dorm, "there are four major forces in our world."
"Good, evil, law, and chaos," Draco recites from books he's read since early childhood. "And they perfectly balance one another out, achieving true neutrality, right?"
"Perfect . . . Is an overstatement."
Loki frowns. "What does that mean?"
"There have been unusually powerful manifestations of one particular quadrant, over the past century," Ciel replies. "Lawful evil."
"How do you know?" asks Draco.
"It's a Phantomhive thing," he mutters. "Or it was, before me. But at any rate, the world is currently afflicted by an extraordinarily high number of self-righteous moralizers who force their views on others at all costs. Case in point— today's invaders. A secret society dedicated to stamping out bacchanalia and other forms of revelry, originally based in the University of Hispania."
"I think I've read about them," Loki remarks. "Aren't they known as Inquisitors?"
"That's them," Ciel answers with a grim nod. "And honestly, I should have expected their interruption. Damn schoolwork, it's distracting me from other goings-on . . ."
"What happens," Draco says, "if lawful evil starts to dominate?"
"All hell breaks loose, unless it gets balanced out by good and chaos."
"And what does that mean in practice?" Loki asks.
"It means the world will likely be saved by one or more bands of benevolent, intelligent rule-breakers," Ciel replies. "People who never take the expected road, who find clarity in causing confusion for everyone else."
"So," Draco says, "the three of us are uniquely well-poised to save the world?"
They wait in silence for a moment, then break into laughter.
When they approach their room, they find a figure waiting outside, standing in a slightly unnatural pool of shadows and cloaked in a long, black coat.
Loki and Draco halt in their tracks. "Who's that?"
"That's my butler," Ciel says with a shrug, walking forward.
"So," Draco gapes, "the fussy old guy who putters around with the cakes . . ."
"Is apparently an angel on earth," Loki finishes.
The closer they get, the more appropriate Loki's description seems— the man looks only a few years older than them, yet there is something ancient, timeless in his mien. He holds himself entirely still, like a statue of Parian marble, and his skin shimmers like moonlight, just as a Veela's does.
Suddenly Loki bursts forward with a new swagger in his step, shaking out his hair, and says, "Greetings, Mister—"
"Sebastian," Ciel supplies, but Loki doesn't even react, just keeps his gaze locked on Sebastian's wine-red eyes.
The butler turns to Ciel and scans his dress, raising an eyebrow. Then his stare skims over Draco and lands on Loki, roving up and down and back up again, and a lopsided grin spreads across his face.
"Marvelous boots," he remarks, his voice rich and low, "and nails."
"Thank you," Loki replies, not breaking eye contact.
"His boots are the same leather as mine," Draco interrupts, but they ignore him. Spluttering, he turns to Ciel and finds him watching the two with a contemplative expression.
"Might I—" says Sebastian.
"Of course," Loki answers, stepping forward and disarming the charm that keeps non-residents out of their room. He enters with Sebastian, and the other two follow.
Draco squints at them both before stuttering, "I . . . I need to go change. Can you start measuring out the alcohol for the potion?"
"Oh—" Sebastian says to Ciel, eyes wide— "did you successfully obtain your Amontillado, young master?"
"Don't look so surprised that I did something on my own," Ciel smirks.
"I never doubted your ability for a moment," Sebastian says, voice thick with sarcasm. "And I'm sure it's only coincidence that I brought a back-up bottle of Amontillado."
Indeed, a brand-new cask of Amontillado materializes in his hands at that moment.
"How could I be a Phantomhive butler if I could not talk my way out of detention early, cross the globe twice in an hour, and obtain this in order to support my master in his time of need?"
Draco scowls at this speech, but Loki's clearly enchanted, pupils darkening, cheeks blushing. Ciel just rolls his eyes and says, "Draco, I'll start on the measuring."
"Good . . . good." Draco dashes into his room, shaking his head in bemusement.
When he sprints back out only minutes later, having refreshed his cologne and donned a new hunter-green robe, he finds Loki pressed against the wall, one leather-clad leg wrapped around Sebastian, hands tangled in the butler's hair, eyes fluttering closed as he loses himself in a kiss.
"What the hell?" Draco breathes.
"Shall we—" says Sebastian.
"Yes," Loki murmurs.
And then Sebastian is scooping Loki up and carrying him bridal-style into his room, kicking the door shut. There's the sound of a lock turning, then a throaty moan cut short as a silencing charm slams down around the room.
"That— that sound was Loki," Draco gasps, then spins to face Ciel. "Does your butler always do this?"
"It's not wholly unexpected, no," Ciel snorts. "I had asked him to try to relieve Loki's malaise, and he's always found seduction one of his more effective tactics. If you're worried that there was any sort of coercion or mind control involved— don't. He doesn't have to resort to anything so crude."
As he hears all this, Draco wilts, for reasons he can't quite identify. "Can I mix the wine in now?"
"Please do. And then after that you can have the new cask of Amontillado for your own purposes— you look like you'd appreciate it more than I would."
Draco grunts in agreement and moves to his cauldron, starting his work. Outside, a light snow begins to fall.
"Young master?" Sebastian says, when he emerges from Loki's bedroom early the next morning, fully dressed without a hair out of place.
"I assume you enjoyed yourself?"
"Of course, I've always enjoyed a creative illusion. If I may be frank, I am mildly surprised you didn't end up with him."
"Bite your tongue!"
Sebastian takes a dramatic chomp and removes the end of his tongue between two fingers, holding the semicircle of flesh up for Ciel to see. "Is this satisfactory, young master?"
"Quite so, provided you don't bleed on the floor," Ciel chuckles. "But now for some serious business. Are you unscathed from the archive incident?"
"I assure you I am. Angela— Ash no longer has any hold on me."
"And what did you learn of your detour with the Cassadines, hm?"
"As you predicted, their new magic is not intended to deal simply in diamonds, but their blasted Afghans would have raised the alarm had I trespassed any further."
"Hmm. I do wonder what dear Mikos has cooked up this time." Ciel considers that for a moment, then sighs. "This potion seems to have settled down from the Amontillado now— the bottle I got worked just fine, for your information."
"Of course, young master. As I said, I never doubted your ability to achieve your goals."
"I completely believe that," he says, voice matching Sebastian's sarcasm. "I'm heading to bed now. Before your license to stay on school grounds expires, I've got one more order for you to carry out."
Sebastian glances around the room. "I believe I already know it. Consider it done."
When Draco and Loki stumble out of their rooms the next afternoon, the cries go up in unison: "What the hell!"
Looking around the central room, stripped of green paint and illusions and entirely redecorated with navy blue, Ciel takes a calm sip of tea. "How could Sebastian be the Phantomhive butler if he did not introduce our colors into my quarters?"
Draco launches into an angry tirade— "Now this looks like some overactive water mage's house!"— while Loki hears Sebastian's name and just starts giggling.