Those Gentle Slopes that Lead to Hell

by Severus divides into H

Proud. Unique. Determined. From the second Sebastian sensed Ciel Phantomhive's soul, he realized their contract would be different. He was ready for it. And so he waits. He hungers. He is getting obsessed. He will do anything to devour this soul, and the fragile attachment to the boy that has begun to spread its icy fingers in him will not stop him. He thinks. [SebaCiel].

22. Chapter 22: Sebastian: Evolving Part 4

The final chapter from Sebastian's POV)) It got a long… or very, very long :D Hope you enjoy it. Replies are at the end.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Sebastian. Evolving. Part 4

It took Sebastian a day to conclude that attachment was the most degrading feeling a demon could experience. It took another one to decide that he needed to rip it out of his chest or to risk losing his sanity.

The consistent malfunctioning of his body. The illogical thoughts that plagued his mind. The reactions and instincts that he couldn't begin to comprehend — all of these were the symptoms of his malady, and he wanted to be rid of it.

To begin with, he had to understand what was causing it. What aspect of Ciel Phantomhive's existence had placed this simmering sensation inside him? Why did it happen now yet never before? Sebastian had served thousands of humans. What made this one different? The soul, yes, but it was to become his meal. Liking the soul did not mean being attached to a person, so there had to be something else at play.

The feelings stirred up when he looked at the boy, so perhaps it was beauty that posed a problem. His current lord stood out from the rest in terms of physical appearance, this was undeniable. It was curious that Sebastian hadn't realised it from the start — when they first made their contract, he considered the boy a scrawny, unimpressive little thing, formidable only due to how proudly he held himself despite the pain and because of the unique, contradictory brilliance of his soul.

His earlier inobservance appalled him. He was always drawn to beauty, whether it was displayed through art, architecture, or appearance, so how he could have missed the delicate features, the bluest eyes, and all that inviting hair was beyond him.

The clothing he'd been choosing for his Master didn't help matters, so this was what Sebastian chose to change first. He spent an hour selecting the most boring, bland, and unappealing pieces from the boy's wardrobe. Then he stared at the results critically.

The combination of grey and brown dulled the sharpness of Ciel Phantomhive's looks, but only to an extent. He remained startling, and Sebastian still felt that disturbing jolt of emotions when he watched him.

Perhaps the key lied in making him look ridiculous, but this plan was complicated by his lord himself. He might have been indifferent to clothes, but even he suspected something was wrong when Sebastian found a pompous yellow suit and tried to put it on him.

"Where did you find this atrocity?" the boy stared at it warily. He didn't make a move to let Sebastian put the shirt on him, so Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh.

"This is a current trend in Victorian society," he explained. "The suit will emphasise your status."

The words sounded convincing to him. He wasn't going to let his lord enter any public places like this, but maybe seeing him walk around the manor in such clothes would be enough to kill whatever weed of fondness developed in him.

Unfortunately, Young Master only frowned, crossing his arms against his chest.

"I don't recall seeing people dressed like clowns," he said darkly. "A purple shirt and a yellow suit? This is ridiculous. I'm not wearing it."

"Since when did you start paying attention to clothes?" Sebastian snapped in annoyance, and his lord's eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

"Watch your tone," he warned. "And I don't need to pay attention to clothes to know that this suit is an abomination. I think I'd remember London society adopting the looks of exotic parrots!"

They glared at one another. Despite the irritation and disappointment hissing in Sebastian, he decided against arguing any longer. With a sour expression, he put the suit away and brought out a more typical blue-and-black combination.

It was irrelevant, he soothed himself. The whole plan was imperfect from the start — making his lord look stupid could work only if he managed to secure his success by making it constant, and there was no way to achieve this. Even someone as indifferent to fashion as Ciel Phantomhive would protest, just as he had now, and showing himself as an incompetent butler verged into the territory Sebastian wasn't comfortable with.

He needed something more permanent. The clothes were merely an attribute, so perhaps disfiguring the Young Master could bring him the results he wanted.

Sebastian spent the rest of the day wondering about it. His entire being rebelled against the idea, but wasn't it evidence that this was precisely what he needed? He was certain that the reluctance came from the attached side of him that he was trying to destroy. It was natural for it to fight something that would bring about its end.

At night, he stood at his lord's bedside, staring at the way he slept, the claws slowly tracing the contours of his face without truly touching it. His skin was so soft — it would take the slightest pressure of the sharp nail to puncture it, to let that intoxicating blood flow. It would slide down the boy's cheek, shaping a crimson necklace around his neck, or perhaps reaching his hair, making it slick with redness.

The image was so tempting that Sebastian nearly did it. He pressed his nail more strongly, shuddering when the pulse of blood echoed through his fingertips, but the moment was ruined when his lord frowned.

"Quit it," he ordered sleepily. Sebastian blinked, snatching his hand back as the sizzle of sudden worry pierced him. However, nothing else followed. Ciel Phantomhive continued to sleep, his frown gradually smoothening into flawless evenness.

Letting out a breath of relief, Sebastian reached closer again. He stroked the boy's face absentmindedly, marvelling at the dissonance between his mind and… which part was responsible for attachment? Humans would likely blame it on a heart or soul, but these were silly metaphors that Sebastian never understood. He'd held and consumed human hearts during his lifetime; he had a human heart himself often, and it was merely an organ like the rest of them. It certainly wasn't responsible for all the frustrating short circuits he'd been suffering from.

Maybe humans hadn't discovered the source of the problem yet. As a demon, Sebastian wasn't particularly invested in human science, although he tracked some of the developments with interest. He'd have to pay more attention now.

His claw slid up his lord's face, lingering at the vulnerable skin right under his eye, then rising further, brushing against the soft eyelashes.

He could push here, and then the injury would be far more serious than the innocent fantasy of a blood necklace. One small curvy jerk, and Ciel Phantomhive would lose his unmarked eye, which would essentially leave him blind in addition to disfigured. This would be a worthy compensation for the hell he'd put Sebastian through during their latest game.

But all of this would go against the basics of their contract, so no matter how intriguing the possibility was, Sebastian had to reject it. He tried to ignore the part of him that loosened in relief at the realisation.

It mattered not. He could always stage an accident to guarantee his innocence. For instance, he could get Mey-Rin to throw a pot with boiling water right into the boy's face. His pretty features would blend into a swollen, scarred mess, and maybe looking at him would no longer make Sebastian's heart flop around ridiculously.

The same hateful part of him protested, but he was learning to ignore it with increasing efficiency. With some reluctance, he pulled away and left the room, his thoughts whirling in an attempt to pinpoint the best tactic.

The idea with boiling water certainly had its merit, but he supposed it was too early to apply such drastic measures. After all, he couldn't even be certain that it would work and that his attachment would shatter. It was better to start with something smaller to test his theory.

There was a soft, pitiful sound coming from the outside, and Sebastian stopped. A satisfied smile twisted his lips.

Ah. One of the most wonderful creatures the human world created was here for her late supper.

She could help him with his plan.

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The cat was beautiful: all black, with a small white spot on her chest and the most captivating yellow eyes that held both contempt and graceful acceptance. Sebastian cradled her and carried her straight into his lord's bedroom.

"You will help me, won't you?" he cooed, scratching her behind her ear with his free hand. "I promise that it won't take long. You will get a comfortable bed and a big fresh breakfast in repayment. How does that sound?"

The cat stared at him silently. She didn't seem to protest, so Sebastian rubbed his cheek against her fur and carefully put her onto his Master's bed, right next to his face. She watched him in disapproval before curling in her new spot indulgently.

Satisfied, Sebastian stepped aside.

This was the first time he had a chance to watch how his lord's allergy developed. Soon enough, his face began to fill with sickly redness. His breathing grew laboured. He frowned, murmuring something unintelligible, and rubbed his eyes, managing to look irritated even in his sleep.

Sebastian hoped the effects would intensify by morning, but they did only to an extent. His Master's head was tilted in a way that made snot run straight into his mouth; he looked a little bloated, and while this was supposed to be repellent, for some inexplicable reason, Sebastian found it… Endearing? He wasn't certain what word he was searching for, but one thing was clear: Ciel Phantomhive still looked beautiful. His plan had failed.

He didn't let this failure sour his mood. There were always other ideas to consider.

Organising an accident with a pot of boiling water would be hasty. What if his attached part succeeded in changing his mind at the last second and forced him to protect the boy? This would lead to a wasted opportunity and new bouts of frustration. No, he had to prepare his mind first: he had to check his reaction to an incident that would be similar yet smaller in scale.

Burns came in different shapes and degrees, so, for example, why not draw an overheated bath and watch the boy slip inside? It would be a valuable pre-test. The burns Young Master would sustain would likely be limited to his legs — he wouldn't dive into the water all at once, after all. Sebastian would watch, and he would adjust his reactions accordingly, readying himself for a more serious staged accident that was to come afterwards.

This would make for a logical first step on the way to destroy all this attachment.

In the evening, he filled the tub with nothing but hot water. The boy was deep in thought: he raised his hands in a silent command to disrobe him, and Sebastian did. He handled every piece of clothing meticulously, putting them away and tracking his lord's movements.

As soon as the last piece was gone, Ciel Phantomhive stepped towards the tub. Sebastian's seal sizzled in warning, but he ignored it.

His stumbling heartbeat was harder to ignore, yet he succeeded anyway even as his body continued its wordless struggle. His stomach began to churn, his hands went clammy, and even his feet tried to shift without his explicit permission, eager to reach the boy in time to stop him.

In any other situation, the range of reactions his human body was undergoing might have been fascinating to witness, but not now. Not when it served as another proof of how unstable he got under the influence of a meagre human emotion.

If he couldn't watch his Master come even under the slightest harm, he'd never be able to tolerate the idea of disfiguring him permanently. If he was right and attachment had formed based on beauty, then, going like this, he would be cursed to experience it up until the end of their contract.

The thought made an uncomfortable knot of emotions swell right inside him. Clenching his jaw, Sebastian forced himself to keep still and watch.

Ciel Phantomhive didn't wait for his hand — he chose to enter the bathtub by himself. His movements were fairly quick, so he managed to fully put one foot inside and to half-submerge the other one.

At that very second, a pained cry tore from his lips, and a jolt of irrational panic made Sebastian twitch. His body pulled him towards Young Master automatically, burning with unwanted worry and the urgent need to protect. He jerked again when the boy slipped and nearly collapsed on the wet floor. His feet had an angry red colour — it reached one of his knees, and Sebastian's hands itched with the desire to apply a soothing balm to it.

How tiresome. He'd always been curious about humanity, willing to experience it in any way accessible to him, but now that he was subjected to its horrors, he regretted his previous interest. What was the point if it only made him feel unsettled and guilty?

"What is the meaning of this?" his lord shouted. He turned to face him, his blue eyes wild in outrage. "Are you out of your mind? You're supposed to check the water!"

Sebastian instantly wiped any expression from his face. Clasping his hands, he allowed himself a thin smile.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he said. He hoped his genuine, frustrating feeling of guilt didn't make it into his voice. "I'm afraid you rushed inside too early. I haven't told you that it's ready, have I?"

The boy narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Sebastian tried to subdue the uncharacteristic desire to squirm under his gaze.

He did nothing wrong. This contract would pass and eventually fade from his memory as many other contracts had before, regardless of how many centuries would have to pass. But the very concept of attachment… if it got to him once, who was to say it wouldn't happen again at some point in the future? He had to learn how to oppose and subdue it. His long-term self-preservation was more important than the fleeting guilt over sabotaging his duty.

A heavy set of footsteps sounded outside the door: based on the panting, it was Mey-Rin. She probably reacted to Young Master's cry and was running to check what was happening.

Several seconds later, the door was thrust open.

"Is everything all right?" Mey-Rin exclaimed, squinting from behind her thick glasses in an attempt to see something. "I've heard screaming!"

Her anxiety wasn't interesting, especially when contrasted with Ciel Phantomhive's reaction. As soon as Mey-Rin stepped inside, he hastened to hide the brand seared into his skin from view. His movements were jerky and instinctive, betraying his obvious weakness, and a slow smile twisted Sebastian's lips.

This was just what he needed to return his sense of control. The guilt over his deliberate mistake of letting his lord burn himself retreated now that the boy's own transgression was staring them in the face.

And his lord understood this, too. He stiffened instantly, dismissing Mey-Rin with a curt order and staring at Sebastian warily. He didn't seem willing to break the tense silence, so after a pause, Sebastian chose to do it for him.

"I understand why you find your mark embarrassing, Young Master," he murmured with fake sympathy. His lips moved with glee. "But you have nothing to worry about. It's on your back, Mey-Rin couldn't have possibly seen it. Though it's a force of habit, I suppose. Humans depend on trivialities like this to a laughable extent."

His words hit their mark. Young Master might have tried to preserve his mask of indifference, but it didn't work entirely: Sebastian managed to catch a flash of emotion. To his annoyance, though, he couldn't identify it.

"Mind the water," the boy said. The words were perfectly icy, and Sebastian couldn't do anything but obey them.

He added some cold water into the tub. His entire being prickled, reacting to his lord even when he couldn't see him directly.

He was plotting something. Sebastian didn't know where this knowledge came from, but he was as certain of it as he was of his own thought processes. Perhaps it depended on how the boy was acting: his breathing slowed, became quieter; his heartbeat began to take longer pauses, too. At the same time, he practically emanated a buzzing kind of energy, and Sebastian wanted to drink it to the last drop.

"It probably bothers you, too," his lord said at last. Sebastian finally had a reason to look at him, so he did, a little cautious. His back stiffened when he saw the malicious glint in blue eyes — he might not understand the cause behind it yet, but such an expression never resulted in anything good.

"The brand," Ciel Phantomhive clarified. Despite the sweetness of his tone, it was exuding poison. "The cult marked me first, your seal came second. I wouldn't have called for you if it weren't for them, so in a way, their claim over me is more important."

It took Sebastian a moment to comprehend all implications. When he did, the rage that exploded in him was so profound that it filled him with nothing but suffocating heat, scorching even the backs of his eyelids. A ring of redness shaped itself around the edges of his vision, the tunnel becoming so narrow that he could no longer see a thing.

Why had he never considered this before? The boy was right. This brand that Sebastian used to mock him for was a mark of ownership — a mark belonging to someone else. Perhaps the majority of those cult members were dead, but their seal lived on. Worse, their seal preceded Sebastian's. Did it make their ownership stronger?

Even the possibility of it breathed more fire into his lungs. A low growl slipped past his lips, too low for the boy to hear.

This was unbearable. Why had he not taken care of this mark back when they made their contract? He let his Master walk around with a brand marking him as someone else's for years, without giving it much thought. He couldn't think of a worse transgression.

It was almost a guarantee that the brand had been left on behalf of Queen Victoria. Considering Young Master's admiration towards her, this signified that her hold over him was not merely mental, but also physical.

Sebastian despised her even without knowing this. Now, his fingers twitched, desperately wanting to turn into claws and to rip someone or something apart.

There would be a reckoning one day. One day, Ciel Phantomhive would have to accept the truth behind the identity of a person responsible for the demise of his family, and then Sebastian would have his fun. He'd never had a chance to kill a king or a queen before. Victoria would be the first, and he would gladly make an example out of her for the world to see and remember.

The scenarios of the possible revenge smoothened his roughest parts. Slowly, his hungry fury began to settle down, but then his lord had to speak again.

"And this creature dared to call me laughable," he commented derisively. Somehow, he'd gotten into the tub already — Sebastian must have missed this moment. "Honestly, it's like he's never looked in the mirror."

The insult wasn't all that inventive, and yet it still stabbed at the core of the anger that had only just begun to cool down. It flared a bright, infuriated red again, and Sebastian snarled before he could stop himself.

He realised it was yet another mistake when a triumphant smirk slid over his lord's lips.

"Good pet," he drawled, so smug and self-satisfied that Sebastian nearly growled again. "I hope you learned your lesson. You can go now, I'll call you when I need you to fetch my towel."

For this single second, all his thoughts, all his wrath concentrated on one small figure lounging in the water. Darkness whispered something, but despite everything, he didn't feel a real urge to inflict harm. On the contrary, something in him shied away from the thought, too disturbed by the recent experience when he thought Ciel Phantomhive was about to die.

Still, rage required an outlet. He couldn't find it here, which meant that he had to leave and focus it on someone else.

Without saying a word, Sebastian stormed out of the bathroom. Transforming halfway, he slipped from the nearest open window, crossed the forest, and descended upon an abandoned cemetery in a cascade of destruction. Stone and dirt exploded under his onslaught, and the sight brought him a primitive sort of satisfaction.

Some moments later, he calmed down enough to take on his human shape again. Nonetheless, his heart kept beating madly — it was uncomfortable, so Sebastian sighed, deeply annoyed.

At least now he could instantly pinpoint the reason for his simmering fury. It wasn't his lord's cheekiness — this part was to be expected. Every time Sebastian acted against him, whether by action or by word, he knew he should expect retaliation. Perhaps he even anticipated it, no matter how much he hated it at times.

But the brand. The brand was a problem. Even now, a mile from the manor, Sebastian ached with hatred towards it. He never wanted to see it again — he'd never be able to look at it like he had before, without thinking of what it meant. It was the catalyser: everything else, like his lord's insults, was just an annoying addition.

He wanted it gone. Surely he could manipulate the situation accordingly? What was the point of helping people to reach their goals when he couldn't realise his own wish?

Sebastian brushed his finger against his lips thoughtfully. An idea glimmered, and he straightened, the dark cloud finally dissipating.

His lord hated this brand as much as Sebastian did. Perhaps no manipulations were necessary — perhaps they could be partners in this.

This idea was worth testing eventually. He would try it in a few days.

Twenty minutes later, he was back, ready to help his Master to walk out of the bathroom. The boy hissed when his feet touched the floor, and Sebastian was instantly by his side, lifting him into his arms. Predictably, all he got for his concern was a glower.

"It's your fault," his lord spat peevishly. Since he didn't try to fight his way back, Sebastian cradled him closer.

"The fault is mutual at best," he retorted calmly. "I might have been negligent, but you haven't bothered to check the water or to clarify if your bath was ready either. Haste is a dangerous thing. Would you like to know how many of my masters ended up dead because of it?"

He regretted his question as soon as he asked it. After Tamerlane, he wasn't keen on sharing any more stories from his past. Once had been more than sufficient.

However, the boy didn't appear irritated. He threw his head back, looking at Sebastian curiously. Something about this — the way he looked, the way he was looking, knocked all the breath out of Sebastian's chest. He blinked, confused, and tightened his grip instinctively.

This was a new sensation. What was it this time? What caused it?

"Do tell," Young Master allowed. His permission shook Sebastian out of his strange daze, and he began walking towards the bedroom.

"At least twenty," he said. "As soon as we made a contract, they gave me orders to complete it. For example, there was a man who wanted to create the most beautiful painting in the world. I answered his summons because I was curious about his plans. I thought he might ask me to help him to become the greatest artist, but he only demanded that I complete the painting by myself. So I did. I was done within an hour, and—"

"And you ate him without bothering to show him his painting," the boy finished. He looked amused, his lips folding in a surprisingly fond smile.

Surprise blossomed. Sebastian stared, amazed, having no time to veil his astonishment.

"How did you know?" he wondered. He didn't consider the ending of this contract predictable, so he couldn't imagine how on earth his lord could have guessed it.

The boy rolled his eyes, his smirk widening.

"Please," he snorted. "This is typical you. You were disappointed and let down by his wish, so you decided to punish him in any way available to you. You love using loopholes, so I have no doubts you did it here, too. He asked for the most beautiful painting but he didn't specify he wanted to see it. So he died without witnessing the results of his wish."

Every word was true. Sebastian couldn't help smiling. He felt strangely charmed, and though he wasn't sure he liked this feeling, it was too interesting and pleasant to push it down right away.

"He did," he confirmed as he put his lord on the bed carefully. "It was a waste of a contract. His soul wasn't particularly delicious either."

Ciel Phantomhive attempted to stand up only to hiss in pain. Dropping back onto the side of the bed, he glared at Sebastian heatedly.

"This is still your fault," he complained. "I can't stand for long, my feet hurt! And don't tell me it's because I was hasty. What does haste have to do with a story about one of your dumb masters anyway?"

"He was hasty as well," Sebastian said, although his attention focused on his lord's legs. He knelt and raised one of his feet, examining the vivid redness that seemed to engulf it. No visible burns, but there were a couple of angry blisters that made concern swell and fold itself into a ball with pointed sides right in Sebastian's chest. He knew by now that poking at his breastbone would not help to alleviate the sensation, so he dismissed it.

He needed to treat these injuries. His plan had turned out to be a huge, utter failure — even if he could squash the unease at the sight of his lord being injured and force himself to go through with the second stage, it wouldn't change the negative outcomes. Because he'd forgotten to consider one critical thing: if Ciel Phantomhive was disfigured, it wouldn't affect his looks alone. He would become useless and inefficient, just like that idiot with the painting.

An overly hot bath, and the boy couldn't walk properly. For how long would he be recovering after having some boiling water thrown into his face? It might take months, perhaps even years. There would be no investigations and no interesting challenges because his failing body would take precedence.

How relieving it was to realise this early. Even the process of breathing became easier, and Sebastian relaxed, enjoying the loosening of electrical tension that had kept him hostage for the last several days.

No pots with boiling water and no disfigurement. He'd have to come up with another plan entirely.

But first, he had to treat his Master's feet.

Ten minutes later, he monitored the boy as he soaked his feet in a bowl with cold water. The look of relief on his face was so deep that Sebastian stared, unable to look away yet also incapable of comprehending the satisfaction that echoed through him at the sight.

His lord was beautiful in his pain, there was no denying it. But watching him in this more relaxed state was also strangely fulfilling, and Sebastian basked in this sensation.

"Is it better now?" he wondered.

"Yes. No thanks to you."

This remark was so petty that Sebastian snorted.

"It is in fact thanks to me," he pointed out. "It was my idea and I was the one to bring you this bowl."

"After you burned my feet. You are trying to correct your own mistake now, so you cannot attribute any positive outcomes to yourself. If it wasn't for you, I would not need to be soaking in cold water to begin with."

This kind of logic was flawed, but somehow it made sense, too. Sebastian snorted again, even more amused.

"Fine," he allowed. "Your feet were in a bad state and now they are better, all no thanks to me."

He lowered his head to hide a smile when the boy spluttered, offended.

"What do you mean, 'all no thanks to you'?" he demanded, splashing the water aggressively. "My feet being in a bad state is in fact thanks to you, so don't try to downplay it!"

"I thought we agreed that your own haste led you here?"

"No, we didn't agree. You are confusing me with your brainless master who couldn't be bothered to come up with a smarter wish or do something on his own. By the way, what happened to the painting?"

The question was unexpected but welcome. Sebastian's lips formed a smile.

"The most beautiful one?" he clarified. His lord scrunched his nose up, eyeing him warily.

"Well, I don't know about that," he drawled. "I've never seen you paint before and I don't know what kind of image your perverted demon brain would deem beautiful. But yes, that painting."

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure." Sebastian checked the temperature inside the bowl to make certain it remained appropriate. His fingers brushed against his lord's foot accidentally, and a second later, there was a squeak and a kick aimed at his direction.

"Don't tickle me!" his lord complained shrilly. "You know I don't like it."

What a brat. It was barely a touch.

For a moment, Sebastian was gripped by the oddest urge to hold the boy down and to tickle him for real, but as quickly as it appeared, the impulse passed. He wiped his hand and put his glove back on.

"I might have brought that painting back to my place of dwelling," he said distractedly. "It's probably still lying there somewhere."

Ciel Phantomhive's mouth fell open. Arrogance vanished from his face, unveiling a sparkling kind of fascination.

"Your place of dwelling," he repeated, the same kind of intrigue etched into every word. "Do you mean a permanent one? Where is it situated? In hell?"

For someone who kept proclaiming he was not interested in knowing anything about Sebastian's past, his Master certainly asked a lot of questions. Not that Sebastian minded. On the contrary, a warm glow of pleasure lit up inside his chest, making his lips curl in yet another smile.

"Yes," he said. "Even demons have to live somewhere."

His lord leaned forwards in his curiosity. It seemed he forgot about his burned feet, and it was in Sebastian's best interests to prolong this moment of temporary obliviousness.

"You wouldn't like it," he added when the boy refused to ask more questions despite his obvious desire to do so. "It's very large and entirely white, with crooked angles that would make anyone want to tear their eyes out."

A startled laughter rolled from Young Master's lips, his blue eyes shining in amusement. It was bizarre how whenever Sebastian allowed himself to stare for too long, he no longer wanted to look away. He was certain it was yet another symptom of attachment. What a deplorable feeling.

"Why did you make it look like that?" the boy asked, brushing his hair off his forehead distractedly. Sebastian tracked the movement.

"For this very purpose," he replied, his voice a little hoarse. "A demon is supposed to have a dwelling that befits their status and underlines their position in our society. I wanted to make a statement."

His lord's gaze widened further, excitement lightening even the purple eye to a bluer shade.

"Are you a rebel, then?" he exclaimed in delight. "A local deviant with a penchant for outraging others?"

Technically, this was true, but the way Ciel Phantomhive said it made it sound like Sebastian was a lowly outcast who served as entertainment for other demons. Indignation rushed through his blood, followed by an insistent need to dismantle this misconception.

"If you must know, I hold the respect of most demons," he uttered, miffed. "So while you could say that I do enjoy aggravating them on occasion, this doesn't make me a 'deviant,' as you put it. My status is high enough to warrant me the things I want, and I happen to want a huge white house made of nothing but angles."

The boy laughed again. Then he did the strangest thing: with a smile still decorating his mouth, he reached out and touched Sebastian's shoulder. His touch was heavy with insistent possessiveness, as if he was making a claim of some sort. Sebastian couldn't imagine what kind of claim this was, but he didn't mind.

"So you are an important demon," his lord concluded. "It's good to know. I wouldn't want to be saddled with the most useless representative of hell. Is this where you'll go once you eat my soul? To your white nightmare of a house?"

The question was as bewildering as the touch that was still warming his skin. Sebastian could feel the sensation even through his shirt and jacket — it sent shivers down his arm, following it up with a deep, rumbling satisfaction.

"Perhaps," he said belatedly. Most parts of his mind seemed to focus on the touch and the distraction it brought, so thinking became more difficult. "I haven't thought of it yet. It's unclear when our contract is going to end, so I see no point in making future plans."

The boy smiled at him, and somehow, the smile felt like a reward.

"Good," he announced.

Sebastian didn't know what he found good about his answer, but he wasn't planning to argue. Their truce was fleeting — his lord would remember why he had to soak his feet in cold water in a moment while the attachment would resume its stubborn attempts to set its poisonous roots in Sebastian. He would start plotting again, but for this remaining minute, he would enjoy their semblance of peace.

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The next day, Ciel Phantomhive's feet were almost back to normal. He still winced when he walked, but other than this, everything seemed to be in order. Sebastian would have felt pleased if it wasn't a glaring proof of his weakness.

The worst thing was that he was temporarily out of efficient plans. There wasn't much left to do until he figured something out, so Sebastian concentrated on altering the food he was preparing for Young Master for now, putting his battle with attachment on hold in favour of being petty.

If he had to suffer, the boy would suffer with him, even if in a different way.

Sebastian knew his preferences and dislikes better than he did his own. To prepare a meal that would look and smell perfect yet which his lord would not like wasn't a simple trick — it was art, and he delved into it with all the dedication this task deserved.

The boy wasn't fond of most kinds of fish. The smell was enough to turn his stomach, so Sebastian began to use sea salt instead of the standard type in every dish. For desserts, he picked the darkest and the bitterest chocolate he managed to find, but before applying it, he mixed it with cocoa butter and some vanilla. This lessened the bitterness but turned the taste of the chocolate dull, and Sebastian proceeded to add a pinch of sea salt to the flouras a cherry on top.

The process of cooking gained new sides, becoming more exciting. Even more interesting were the results.

Ciel Phantomhive was utterly confused. He began to drop his meals halfway, staring at his plate with a lost and bewildered look on his face. It was clear that he had no idea what was wrong, just that he didn't appreciate the taste for whatever reason.

Sebastian had more ideas he wanted to try, but it all came to a halt when Young Master had enough. Pushing the plate away, he measured him with a calculating stare.

"I'm dissatisfied with your performance," he said unhurriedly. There was something in his voice that made Sebastian straighten almost instinctively. "The things you cooked for me today are subpar, and this isn't something I will stand for. You need guidance — I'm sure Bard will be happy to help you."

Everything in him shrivelled at the suggestion. Maybe he'd heard it wrong. This was too offensive and too despicable to be real — surely Young Master was joking?

His weak hope was ruthlessly strangled when he saw what kind of smirk was aimed at him. It was the nastiest smirk Ciel Phantomhive possessed. He was infuriated, and this meant that Sebastian was in for a punishment equal to having to stay silent as he'd been serving the fake teachers.

"You will spend a week under his command in the kitchen," the boy elaborated. He managed to make every new word sound more gleeful than the one preceding it. "Go inform him about it. I expect better results from you by the end of it — if you cook something I dislike again, we will extend the term of training."

If only murder was still on the table, Sebastian thought forlornly as he began to make his way to the kitchen. Alas, he'd invested too much into this contract to let it end so disgracefully. He also had to admit that perhaps he deserved this. He did ruin the boy's meals, even if his reasons were justified.

Bard was sitting on a stool, smoking one of his disgusting cigars. At the sight of Sebastian, he stood up, but he didn't cease his activities. This moron was supposed to command him for a week? Every meal he prepared tasted like ash — and this was a compliment.

"You wanted something?" Bard asked warily. Sebastian cleared his throat.

"Young Master suggested that we collaborate on meal preparation for the duration of the week," he said. It sounded perfectly vague, but he knew it wouldn't save him. Even if he managed to keep Bard clueless for a while, the boy would quickly interfere and make his exact order known.

"Collaborate?" Bard perked up, forgetting all about his cigar. "So you are going to teach me?"

Here went his potential reprieve.

Sebastian nearly swallowed his tongue in his refusal to say the words, but in the end, this fight was lost, too.

"Not exactly," he gritted out. "Rather, it's the other way around."

Bard was particularly slow today. He kept looking at Sebastian, palpably mulling over what he'd heard and trying to make sense of it. When he finally grasped the meaning, Sebastian was ready to fire him for the crime of being an idiot.

"You mean I will be teaching you?" Bard exclaimed. A wide cheeky grin split his face from ear to ear. "Boy! You must have really pissed him off. What did you do this time?"

Sebastian glowered. The redness brushed against the insides of his eyes, and he let it spread, giving Bard an intimidating glare.

Bard blanched and rushed to look away, but his lips continued to twitch madly. For a second, Sebastian entertained the thought of snapping his neck — this could be a satisfying alternative to murdering his impossible lord, but he brushed it away quickly.

If he killed Bard, he would soon want to kill Mey-Rin, Finnie, and probably even Tanaka. And then they'd have to look for more servants who could happen to be more useless than these four.

Sadly, murder wasn't an option. Which meant that Sebastian would have to obey the offensive order for the whole week.

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He obeyed. He stayed silent — mostly. He lasted three days without chopping Bard's clumsy hands into minced meat and serving them to Young Master. In his book, it was a resounding success.

Granted, Bard wasn't trying to abuse his new and temporary position as much as Sebastian expected. He gave occasional stupid orders and snickered as he watched Sebastian follow them, but he didn't insist and he even asked for advice himself sometimes.

By the fifth day, it occurred to Sebastian that he'd spent all this time trying to solve a human problem by relying on his demon mind. Attachment like the one he'd been suffering from was strictly a human feeling, wasn't it? Bard was a human. Perhaps he could produce a solution.

It was worth noting that his previous recommendations had been rubbish, but at this point, Sebastian was desperate enough to clutch at anything remotely feasible.

"May I ask you a question?" he said. He was rinsing the vegetables, removing all traces of dust and dirt from them.

"Sure thing," Bard replied cheerfully. "Is it about the boiling? We just have to—"

"No, it's not about the boiling," Sebastian growled. He clenched the tomato so tightly that it burst right in his hand, splattering it with red juice. "How many times do I have to tell you, we are not going to boil these vegetables. You do not boil the tomatoes. Unless you want Young Master to punish us both this time by assigning Mey-Rin as our next superior?"

"Gods no!" Bard shuddered dramatically. "Fine. Keep rinsing them, though, and replace that tomato. You cannot serve our lord something like this."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He contemplated forcing the ruined tomato into Bard's mouth and making him eat it, but his question was more urgent, so he subdued the impulse, at least for the time being.

"It's about attachment," he said carefully. "I assume you have experienced it?"

"Attachment?" Bard scratched his head in confusion. "Well, yeah, of course I did. How do you go through life without liking anyone?"

Sebastian assumed the question was rhetorical, so he didn't grace it with a response.

"This feeling is fairly new to me," he uttered, "and I find that I don't appreciate it. I would like to get rid of it if possible, but I'm not sure how to do it. Perhaps you have some advice?"

Bard stared at him, his hand still glued to the back of his head. He was emanating astonishment, and Sebastian quickly began to feel self-conscious.

It might have been a mistake to ask. Bard wasn't the brightest representative of humanity, so expecting a worthy reply from him was naïve. He wouldn't be able to say anything that Sebastian himself hadn't tried already.

To his surprise, Bard took several steps in his direction. Amusement and surprise faded from his face: they were replaced with seriousness.

"Why'd you want you to get rid of it?" he asked. "Attachment's supposed to be a nice feeling. People like it."

"I don't see why," Sebastian retorted coldly. "It's distracting me from my duties and forcing me to act in a way I never have before. It makes me physically unwell and fills me with the most ridiculous thoughts and impulses. I'm not in control of my body because of it, which gets progressively unnerving, and I'd like this nonsense to stop."

Bard gaped, and then his seriousness turned into wariness. It was his turn to clear his throat, as if he wasn't sure how to say what he wanted.

"Now, look here, Sebastian," he muttered. "I understand, really, I do. Mey-Rin's a beauty and all that. But she already fancies you, and things could get very ugly very fast if you encourage her. Unless you are planning to marry her—"

Sebastian listened, blank-faced and dimly exasperated.

Just like he'd thought, asking Bard was a stupid decision. He always said things that made Sebastian believe they were speaking different languages. He couldn't begin to imagine what Mey-Rin had to do with his question and what possessed Bard to arrive at this conclusion.

He kept mumbling something about the marriage, and finally, Sebastian's patience snapped.

"I'm not talking about Mey-Rin," he spat with derision. "Are you attributing your own desires to me? Why would you bring her into this discussion?"

Tension left Bard's shoulders, and he gave a startled laugh.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his face heating in embarrassment. "Sorry, sorry. It's the Young Master, then? Just, you said… the way you said it, I thought you mean romantic attachment. Or, you know. Attraction."

Sebastian shook his head in disbelief at the sheer hopelessness of this creature standing before him. Bard held his hands up defensively.

"Hey, you were the one complaining about not controlling your body! What was I supposed to think?"

"This conversation is pointless," Sebastian concluded. Disappointment stirred in him, killing off the remaining sparks of hope and optimism. "I don't understand a word from your babbling."

"Okay, don't get all hissy," Bard approached and slapped him on the back. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him, displeased. "I get what you mean now. Young Master — of course it's him. Does it have anything to do with the last time we talked about him? When he was gone reminiscing with Tanaka and you were sitting in his office?"

Sebastian's brow twitched, but he stopped himself from saying anything. His silence must have been revealing enough because Bard nodded gravely.

"It's a good thing that you want to start distancing yourself," he praised him. "Better late than never, heh? Young Master is going to walk his own path, he'll have his own family — if Lady Elisabeth has it her way, they'll be married just in a couple of years. Of course we'll all be here to take care of them and their children, but having other priorities is important too. You are too focused on him. Honestly, though, I'm not sure how to help you. I don't think there is some universal method."

…Had he just listened to all this rubbish about Ciel Phantomhive's marriage, which would never happen, and his children, which would never exist, for no reason? Killing Bard regardless of the consequences suddenly seemed like the best idea. At the very least, he could force-feed him all the vegetables he had rinsed — this would be enough to shut him up.

Sebastian was contemplating how to start when Bard jumped.

"I know!" he cried out. "Listen, it might not work, I used it when I was trying to get over one very nasty but very lovely lady, but it sure won't hurt to try."

"Yes?" Sebastian asked slowly. Dealing with Bard required an inhuman amount of patience, and by now, he was facing an overdose. As soon as this conversation was over, he'd come up with some task to send him far away. Bard might be his current superior in the kitchen, but Sebastian remained a butler, meaning that he could give him an order elsewhere and demand that he follow it.

"You need to concentrate on his qualities that you dislike," Bard said. He threw a guilty look at the door, as if worrying that they could be overheard. "Like heavily dislike. Is there something about him that annoys you? There has to be, you practically spend your lives together. So, pick the worst quality and focus on it for some time. Remind yourself about it as often as you need. This can make your positive feelings fade a bit, and that's what we want, right?"

"Right," Sebastian said, but his mind was already springing forwards.

This was a surprisingly sound idea. He'd have never come up with it on his own because it was so very… human. To fight emotions with emotions? An interesting approach. If it helped Bard, it might be effective for him, too.

All he had to do was to decide which quality of Ciel Phantomhive he hated.

The answer came quickly. He despised the boy's loyalty to the Queen and his naïve, childish, eager devotion to her. In her presence, whether physical or verbal, he really became a dog: brainless in his excitement, desperate for her praise, resistant to logic. Considering her obvious participation in the murders of the Phantomhives, the boy's adoration of her was even more offensive and degrading.

Sebastian had spent much time trying to poke at it. He wasn't certain what was causing it — in the end, it looked like love for the Queen was one of those inherited things his lord embraced. This devotion was instilled in him from birth, and his intelligence couldn't take over when habit kicked into play.

If he focused on this quality, cultivated it, then it was entirely possible that the attachment would shatter.

The possibility was enough to make Sebastian brighten. He went back to the vegetables, cutting them now, while his mind rejoiced.

He could start practising immediately.

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It seemed like for once, the universe was favouring him. Queen Victoria sent another letter to her loyal little puppy, ordering him to investigate a village full of dogs, and Sebastian marvelled at the irony of this. This was a perfect opportunity to push down every disturbing feeling and linger on what he despised.

The best thing was that he didn't even have to try hard. Young Master was excited about their trip, eager to fulfil the wish of his Queen, and the more Sebastian concentrated on his resentment, the less attached he felt.

Houndsworth greeted them with a tree bearing the weight of numerous collars. It was such a fitting sight that Sebastian felt his mood soar. He smirked when Bard, Mey-Rin, Finnie and Tanaka let out the sounds of distress, but then he found himself automatically looking at his lord, exchanging amused glances with him. His joy dimmed.

Some habits were too tough to break. He'd have to try harder.

They rode deeper into the territory of the village, and the closer they got, the odder Sebastian began to feel.

There was something in the air. It smelled like death, which wasn't surprising, considering the rates of disappearances and murders, but there was more to it. Some subtle, extremely rare scent. It smelled like purity with just a slight tint of rot. He'd encountered a similar scent once, but it happened centuries ago, and only when he deliberately went looking for it. For it to be here, in some depraved village of England? It was impossible.

"Oh!" Finnie shouted suddenly. "The first villager sighted! Tanaka, please stop here!"

It was an old woman with a baby carriage. Her soul was a broken pile of pain and suffering, and Sebastian stared at her curiously. He could practically taste the madness. While anything could have led to this result, it was telling that she was the first person they met here. This case was promising to be more interesting than he'd thought.

Maybe this was why his Master had been in a good mood? Not because of the chance to do the Queen's bidding, but because he wanted to find out what happened here?

Scowling, Sebastian chased these thoughts away. He didn't need them when he was on his way to curing himself, truth be damned.

Finnie made a fool of himself, as always. In his attempt to be helpful, he managed to overturn the carriage, but instead of a baby, all they saw was a bundled skull.

Sebastian didn't see this one coming. Once again, he exchanged looks with his Master before he caught himself.

How often did he do it? He never noticed it before, but for such a deep instinct to develop, a lot of time had to pass. What was even the point, to check the boy's reaction? To share mutual emotions, whatever they were?

There was a silent question in the blue stare, and Sebastian shrugged. Even if he wanted, he would be unable to tell what was happening. He didn't understand it himself.

"There is no baby," the woman murmured. She looked vacant, like she was hardly aware of what was going on around her. "There is no baby anymore. The baby was eaten by it."

She turned away from them, the soft words of some song slipping past her lips. Sebastian was about to dismiss her when the rhythm reached his ears. He froze, all thoughts promptly vanishing from his mind.

This rhythm. The way the words flowed into one another. Their sound, with ethereal notes that no human would be able to detect.

He hadn't been mistaken about the nature of the smell here. It was angelic. And this disturbing, seemingly plain song was infused with angelic energy — it was composed and influenced by an angel, remade into a hymn aimed at praising its maker and forsaking someone else. It called to Sebastian and warned him off simultaneously, a feat only another powerful creature could accomplish.

For the first time, Sebastian focused on the human meaning of the words.

"The white dog is a good dog, the best dog. The black dog is a bad dog, the worst dog. He'll eat your flesh down to the bone. He'll gobble you up until you're gone."

The woman sang and sang. No matter how far she walked, Sebastian could hear her, and chill poured down his spine.

It could be a coincidence… couldn't it? It was illogical to believe that an angel would structure such a scheme around him and his lord.

But it was unthinkable for an angel and a demon to meet in a human world randomly, so to believe it was a mere accident was to show a pathetic degree of optimism.

The 'white' dog was certainly an angel, whoever they were. The 'black' dog was Sebastian. The song, predictably, elevated the angel as a higher and more superior being, and it warned Sebastian away because the angel knew he was coming.

They knew it for a long time, months before Ciel Phantomhive received the Queen's order to visit Houndsworth, because it would take time to drill a song into the head of an insane woman. Perhaps into the heads of other villagers, too, since the entire dwelling seemed to have been constructed as an echo of this song. The collars, the skull of a dog, even the name of the village had one dog-centred theme, and now the Queen's Watchdog was invited to make his judgement. Could it all be planned in advance? Or were Sebastian's own issues interfering with his logic and seeing patterns where none existed?

And that second part of the song… The black dog will eat your flesh down to the bone; he'll gobble you up until you're gone. This was… what, a direct appeal to his Master? A warning that Sebastian would consume him? As if the boy didn't know it already.

If he was right, then it could be that he wasn't the primary target of an angel. Ciel Phantomhive was, and the thought made Sebastian tense, his darkness rushing to the surface, insisting to be freed.

What could an angel want from a mortal boy? To harm him? The thought was absurd. Angels didn't go around harming humans, this was the job of Sebastian and his kind. To purify him? This was unlikely — there were thousands of people making contracts and none of them drew angels' attention. Those who sold their souls were considered lost causes, and while Ciel Phantomhive was exceptional, he wasn't that unique. At least not to the beings that didn't even know him.

They began to ride towards the village again, and Sebastian used this time to rein his agitation and wariness in.

So there was an angel here. This was fascinating, and while yes, it could be dangerous, there was no reason to believe his lord was under any threat. Not yet. His conclusions were solid, but it was presumptuous to make them without verifying them first.

They would reach Houndsworth and study it, and if Sebastian didn't like something, he would take Ciel Phantomhive out of here. He would find a fitting explanation later if he had to.

With this new resolution, he relaxed. His fingers stopped stinging in their violent impulse to transform into claws, and he managed to relax enough to evaluate their surroundings.

This village was a dreary place. As expected, it was overrun by dogs of all breeds — equally mindless, equally obedient dogs. This was just what he needed to remember what he was trying to do.

"By manipulating the dog with treats and punishments, its owner receives its perfect obedience," he commented. His lord didn't respond, content to ignore him, so he pressed on. "It's an effective tactic. But the dog isn't blameless either — it follows the orders and welcomes the chain around its neck. I don't understand it."

The best thing was that everything he said was honest. He didn't have to force himself to do something he didn't want, like drowning the boy in hot water or tearing his eyes out to disfigure him completely. He meant every word, and perhaps his Master sensed it because he snapped, "If you're trying to say something, then do it clearly!"

Despite the demand, he already sounded offended. The truth was always unpleasant. Sebastian knew it from personal experience and he would be glad to welcome Ciel Phantomhive in this same boat.

"If you insist," he agreed. "I like cats. I'm not comfortable with dogs. To be completely frank—" he turned slightly, giving an indulgent smile. "I hate them."

This hatred towards mindlessness and obedience would surely help him to eliminate the attachment. When Ciel Phantomhive belonged to himself — or to Sebastian, but it meant the same thing, — he represented a powerful force that blinded him with its radiance. He was smart, cunning, and breathtakingly sharp. His mind caught the slightest clues, came up with the wildest, most amazing ideas that Sebastian admired, even when they went against his own interests.

But when his lord devolved to a dog on the leash of the Queen, this spark, this intelligence disappeared. Only this could explain the fact that he still couldn't tell who ordered the deaths of his family and his abduction. A murder of such a notable pair as the Phantomhives was supposed to be a huge, grave matter. Queen Victoria had to show intense interest in the investigation instead of ignoring it and then eagerly letting it fade from the public's memory.

The armies of assassins that came to kill the boy after he returned from the captivity, when only several people knew of his survival; the attacks stopping only for the royal letter to arrive, demanding that he start fulfilling the duties of his predecessor despite his age and lack of experience. This would certainly have been a death sentence if it wasn't for Sebastian's assistance.

The clues were all there, glaringly obvious to anyone who bothered to look, yet Ciel Phantomhive remained oblivious. He was more than a Watchdog, his value stretched much further, but as long as he failed to see it, his weakness was fair game. It was luck that there was a part of him that Sebastian honestly disliked and which he could use as a focus point in his battle against himself.

The boy's face fell at his words. Sebastian tilted his head in response, curious. For the insult to harm, it had to be comprehended, and he was certain that his lord hadn't understood a thing. What upset him, then?

The boy's lips twitched, but he didn't utter a word.

"Woof," he barked instead.

It was so unexpected and startling that Sebastian's mouth fell open. Then he laughed, without any hope of stopping himself. Mirth and amusement warmed his chest and softened his throat, with even more sounds of joy slipping right through it.

This one syllable had been so oddly charming, he felt consumed with it. Contempt and his determination to cling to it shattered, leaving piles and piles of attachment behind. It tingled, filled him with bubbling fondness that was impossible to fight, and Sebastian couldn't even summon the energy to scoff at his own weakness.

He basked in it up until they stopped near the unimpressive-looking manor. Its doors flung open and a silver-haired young woman rushed outside to greet them. One look at her, and Sebastian had to glance away to compose himself.

The light flowing out of her was blinding, and not in the pleasant way of his lord's. This light hurt: it made his essence shrivel and cringe away in an instinctive rejection. It took several seconds for Sebastian to overpower the instinct and to gather his own powers, fuelling them into shaping a shield. It cloaked him in several hardened layers of security, so when the angel spoke, he found it within himself to turn and face her.

She was quite plain for a celestial being. Even the violet of her eyes looked dim, the same shade as her over-washed uniform. It especially paled in comparison to the mark Sebastian had carved on his Master's eye, so he hummed to himself, smug with the knowledge.

"Welcome to Barymore castle," the angel spoke. "My master is waiting for you."

Her voice consisted of soft bells and melodies only her own kind could decipher, but once again, Sebastian sensed something odd underneath. The same stink of rot he'd smelled back when they were just entering the village.

Interesting.

He helped his lord to step off the carriage, but his gaze remained trained on the angel. Any other day, he would have been delighted at the opportunity to meet someone like this. First the reapers, now the angel — the contract with Ciel Phantomhive continued to bless him with excitement he hadn't felt in his lifetime. But there were too many unknowns for him to feel at ease. He had a human to protect, meaning that every obscure figure on a chessboard was an automatic threat.

"I'm Angela," the same voice sang to him. "Angela Blanc."

How predictably boring. Combining the name his lord had given him with 'Michaelis' was an invention Sebastian took great pride in. This, though — this was simply in bad taste.

"Yes, I can see that," he said shortly. His lord's grip on him tightened, and Sebastian squeezed his hand back immediately.

It seemed like even the boy sensed something was happening. He had no reason to worry, Sebastian would always ensure his protection, but it'd be good to understand what he needed to protect him from. Surely not from the angel? This notion was insane.

He half-watched the unfolding performance with Barymore, his attention focused on dissecting every move and word of Angela. His lord would be able to snap a man of Barymore's calibre in half with his poisonous bite, so this wasn't important. He had to understand what an angel was doing here and what they wanted.

A touch could help. It could establish a brief link between them, and depending on the amounts of power each of them carried, Sebastian could get a glimpse into Angela's head.

This was a dangerous plan with unpredictable results. He had no idea how his body would react and if it'd be able to withstand the direct touch of something this pure. However, if the rot he kept sensing was what he thought it was… if this particular creature had even a trace of darkness in her… then Sebastian would easily manage to tolerate the touch and to force a contact between them.

His opportunity came when Angela tried to serve them tea. Her hands were shaking, and Sebastian leaned in to whisper, "Please, allow me to do this."

Angela flashed him a surprised but intrigued grin. It was so rapid that Sebastian barely caught it, and the next thing he knew, she touched his hand first.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I appreciate it."

Their skin sizzled at the contact. Before Angela finished speaking, the sliver of Sebastian's darkness detached itself from him and lunged at her. He didn't waste his time on being subtle — he forced himself into her head, cringing from the merciless whiteness but determined to steal at least one image.

Angela caught on quickly, and to his astonishment, she volunteered a thought herself. It planted itself into his mind, and Sebastian recoiled with a low hiss.

The image was of his Master. Naked, with a chain around his neck, his hair pulled tight by a cloaked figure. Other figures surrounded him, touching him.

Rage that exploded in Sebastian's chest was so powerful that it stole his thoughts and breath away. If he could move, he would have attacked the angel right here — the only thing that stopped him was the strange numbness in his limbs. They felt heavy, as if they weren't his; they felt chained just like Ciel Phantomhive had been.

He witnessed these images personally. They were ingrained in his memory and he could access them any time he wanted — he'd watched his Master being tortured before he deemed him worthy of making a contract with. He'd enjoyed it then, but he stayed away from those memories for years. They were resting at the very background, present yet lacking the details or vividness.

That was why seeing the fresh picture from Angela became a shock. He felt like he'd been plunged into the icy waters of Hell: his fury and hatred were the only lively things that warmed him from inside.

He needed to retreat mentally. Attacking the angel like this would be suicide. He wasn't ready, he still didn't know too many things — and he would ruin the investigation he and his lord had.

His lord.

Sebastian's mind latched onto the concept, desperately summoning other images from his mind. His lord laughing; his lord scrunching his nose in disgust; his lord giving him those mysterious smiles that always meant mischief. The ridiculous 'woof' he'd made just fifteen minutes ago; the way he clang to Sebastian's hand, as if asking for reassurance of his protection.

The anger began to cool. Sebastian relaxed, and by the time he began to pour tea into the cups, he felt almost serene.

An even more profound calmness enveloped him as he concentrated on the exchange his Master was having with Barymore. His witty remarks were soothing and so familiar that Sebastian managed to glance at Angela without fighting the urge to tear her apart.

He would think about her later. He would consider the implications of what she had shown him, but his lord and their investigation came first. They would always be first, and for the first time, Sebastian was grateful for it.

It turned out that even attachment could have its benefits sometimes.

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Anxiety started to prowl in him soon after they were brought to their rooms. It sent his heart pounding violently, and he found himself fussing over the boy with obsessive intensity. He changed his soaked clothing, brushed his hair, wiped his face even though there was no need for it; when he tried to change his clothing again, his lord finally had enough.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, his brows furrowing dangerously. "I'm not here to win the prize for the most impressive outfit. Stop bothering me, I'm tired from the trip and I'd like to rest for a while."

Sebastian had nothing to retort, just his unsettled instincts that were out of control. They buzzed simultaneously inside him, urging him to find any excuse to keep touching his lord and reassure himself of his presence and wellbeing.

In the end, he nodded, watching how Young Master took a seat in one of the armchairs with a newspaper, his attention already on it.

He was safe. And he would remain so. Thankfully, he didn't evict Sebastian from the room, so even if Sebastian couldn't touch him, he could continue to monitor him and interfere the second he suspected something was amiss.

Their contract had taken an astonishing turn — Sebastian didn't know how to react to it yet.

Putting a picture together wasn't difficult. The angel could only show him that haunting image if they had witnessed the event personally. They were there when Ciel Phantomhive was being tortured — earlier than Sebastian or he would have sensed their presence.

Angela had to be serving the Queen; she must have been the executioner of the Phantomhives, and the only reason explaining her presence in this place was the order to finish what she had started. To kill the boy.

More anger spilled over, and Sebastian clenched his hands into fists, grimacing when he heard a crunch. His claws had managed to break through the gloves and the force with which he balled his fists broke them.

Fixing his eyes on the form of his Master, he tried to control his breathing.

He had now identified two key players that he'd been contracted to eliminate. Alas, this was the easiest part. It created more questions than it answered.

Why was an angel serving a human? Was it servitude or rather cooperation? How could an angel be willing to organise murders and sell a child for torture and death?

A cult with unclear purpose was behind the direct suffering of Ciel Phantomhive, and after seeing Houndsworth, Sebastian thought he could recognise the signature. Angela started and cultivated both. She guided a group of mindless people who thirsted for blood and violence yet who needed a righteous excuse to succumb to them.

The people he'd seen on the streets here were devout. He wasn't certain whom they were worshipping exactly, but the undertones of a song made it clear that praising Angela and strengthening her lay at the heart of everything. The cult that took his Master hadn't sung, but they prayed, too.

It was clever — to artificially create an army of followers and mislead them into feeding her power. But why would an angel choose to immerse herself into violence? This was mystifying. It didn't make sense and it went against everything he learned about angels. Unless…

Sebastian unclenched his fists slowly, letting the broken claws heal themselves and grow again.

That hint of a smell he sensed. The rotten sweetness of it could explain everything: Angela was in the state of Falling.

A fallen angel. What were the odds of meeting such a creature?

Excitement stirred for a second, but the flood of distaste drowned it.

It would have been a brilliant twist in any other contract, but not in this one. Sebastian cared too much about seeing this one through to let anything jeopardise it, and it looked like he and the angel were contractually obligated to work against each other.

Was this why the massive attacks on his lord had stopped? Queen Victoria and Angela realised that the boy had obtained his personal supernatural source of protection, and they decided to switch to a long-term game. If he had to guess, he'd say they were hoping that the contract between him and his Master would end soon and that the name of the Phantomhives would disappear from this world forever.

It was ingenious, and perhaps one day Sebastian would be able to appreciate it. Now, however, he felt disturbed. And when he thought of the image he'd been forced to see, he also felt enraged. His vision blackened instantly, the heavy thudding of his pulse becoming the only sound he could hear, and it took all his willpower to stand motionlessly instead of crashing every tangible object he could reach into dust.

Now that he allowed himself to remember what he'd seen, the fury grew. It choked him, clawed at him in a crazed need for revenge — a few more seconds and there would be no reasoning with himself. He would destroy the manor or go to hunt down the angel.

The only other rivalling instinct was the want to be close to his lord. It burned in his lungs and his throat, and without thinking, he slid towards the armchair, twisting so that he could see the boy's face.

"Tell me something," he said. His voice sounded imploring to his ears, but since Young Master looked only somewhat bewildered, it couldn't be too bad.

"Tell you what?" he asked warily. His forefinger tapped against the newspaper — a sign denoting impatience and the wish to return to his reading. It was such a familiar sight that Sebastian found himself relaxing slightly almost against his will.

"Whatever you would like to share."

At first, there was no reaction, but then the boy tilted his head.

"Is this your attempt to appease me after ignoring me?" he wondered. The accusation was so shocking that Sebastian almost gaped in surprise. The desperate fury stilled, too, equally taken aback.

"When did I ignore you?" he asked incredulously. The day he succeeded in ignoring his Master would be the day of personal victory, but he wasn't anywhere near it yet.

"Earlier."

He racked his brains in the hope to pinpoint the moment his lord was talking about, but nothing came to his mind.

"I only recall you telling me to stop bothering you," he said at last. "This happened some ten minutes ago. What in my actions made you think I'm ignoring you?"

The boy's beautiful face gained a disdainful look, as if Sebastian was the one being stupid.

"That was appeasement, too," he replied curtly. "I'm talking about what preceded it."

No memory search could help here, so Sebastian just shook his head. Appeasement? Had he missed doing something that offended his Master? It was odd to contemplate — lately, he went out of his way to achieve this effect. Now he'd apparently accomplished it without noticing.

"Could you be clearer? As a butler, it is my duty to—"

"With that maid," the boy growled. He slammed his newspaper against the table, his eyes blazing. "It was revolting to see you drool all over her. It's one thing when such undignified behaviour comes from Finnie, but I expected better from you."

Sebastian blinked, unsure what to make of it. The angel again? His lord had already asked him about her when they entered the rooms. Now he began to sound obsessed. What was this accusation? For some reason, it reminded Sebastian of how Bard had decided he had an interest in Mey-Rin. Why were humans accusing him of the things he did not feel? Had he been right and they were attributing their personal shameful desires to him?

If so… did it mean that Ciel Phantomhive was interested in Angela? This would be the irony of the highest order. Sebastian was torn between getting amused and pissed off.

But either way, these current feelings were a relief after the fiery storm of violence he'd experienced just some moments ago. Drawing his lord into a conversation, confusing and senseless as it was, was a good decision. It distracted him enough for the stronger emotions to dull.

"I'm not interested in humans," Sebastian said aloud. The boy blanched, as if these words hit him. For a second, Sebastian got an absurd desire to elaborate, to add, 'In this way,' but it wasn't logical, so he stayed silent.

Glowering, Young Master grabbed the newspaper again and hid behind it.

They didn't exchange a word for the next several hours, yet Sebastian felt calmer nonetheless.

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His restlessness began to grow worse again when the evening approached. It was briefly diluted by the murder of another villager, but listening to the joint song of the crowd stirred it anew.

Like he'd expected, they were a cult. Angela had united them in their terror and awe before a creature they called a Demon Hound, instilling rituals aimed at multiplying her might. Why the song was tailored specifically to Sebastian and his lord was a question. Was it just an inside joke to Angela or a real warning?

The Demon Hound poked at Sebastian's sense of curiosity, too. Barymore was an idiot who used a simple dog and unconvincing decorations, but since the angel was involved, Sebastian wouldn't be surprised if the Hound turned out to be real.

He'd love to see it. He had seen two of such creatures in Hell, but a Hound that obeyed an angel? This had to be a sight to behold.

The night brought silence with it. Every part of Barymore's manor appeared to have fallen asleep, so Sebastian could content himself with listening to the steady heartbeat of his Master.

It remained the most fascinating of sounds. Sometimes it seemed like it was living its own life because no matter what emotions his Master was experiencing, his face rarely reflected them. It remained coldly beautiful and indifferent even at the moments of turmoil. His heart, on the other hand… It was telling a different story. A missed beat here; a stumble there. Studying it never felt tiresome.

The night-time held particular significance. Sebastian learned to hear the nightmares before the boy's body began to twitch under their influence — the accelerating heart rate warned about their arrival. Right now, though, the rhythm was steady. Slow-ish. Counting the beats and comparing the difference between them minute by minute was a surprisingly interesting pastime: Sebastian found himself so absorbed that he nearly missed it.

The ringing. Soft and gentle, disgusting in its purity.

A warning that an angel was approaching.

The hair on his body stood on end. Tension and wariness lurched upwards, to his chest, and when the ringing began to turn into a song, still soft but increasingly poisonous, they gave way to a powerful, staggering surge of fear.

Before Sebastian knew what he was doing, he flew to his Master's bed and snatched him from it, wrapping his hands around him tightly enough to leave marks. Hunching in an attempt to mask him further, he stepped away from the moon-lit corner and melded with the darkness.

"What are you doing?" the boy muttered. His voice was hoarse from sleep, and Sebastian nearly shushed him before his mind caught up.

It was senseless. The angel knew where he was. They were encroaching deliberately, all disguise of a human maid gone, with a pure clot of blinding energy remaining. Did they plan to kill the boy tonight, operating under some delusion that Sebastian wouldn't pose a threat?

This was never going to happen. Not a hair would fall from his head. And yet… and yet… Would he be able to defeat an angel?

Sebastian couldn't give a definite answer. Not immediately. And that by itself meant that he had to flee. Take the boy and leave this place, putting as many countries between them and Angela as he could. Perhaps he could bring him to Hell — this would be the safest location until Sebastian figured out how to—

A kick to the ribs startled him. Jerking a little, Sebastian glanced at his Master and was met with a full force of his glare. A strange mix of irritation and fondness brushed against his brain, dulling his senses for a short moment.

Of course he was making things difficult. When wasn't he ever?

But there was no time for explaining anything now. He had to make a decision — even a millisecond could change the outcome completely. Flee or stay?

His Master would be safer the farther away from the angel they got. But running would mean admitting defeat, acknowledging his own uncertainty. This would make them both vulnerable.

No. First and foremost, it would make Sebastian vulnerable. He wouldn't be losing face just in front of an angel, he would be losing it in front of his Master — he would have to admit that he might be unable to protect him the way he'd sworn to. Sebastian delighted in bypassing the conditions set by the contract, but not this one. Never this one. He would protect Ciel Phantomhive with everything he had.

If he could simply hide the boy somewhere and return to deal with the angel… he wouldn't be nearly as incapacitated. If he was here alone, he would have taken the risk — he would have welcomed it because the idea of battling a creature of Heavens was exhilarating.

But his Master was present, too, and even one misstep could mean his death. The stakes were too high to be acceptable.

Sebastian wrapped himself tighter around his fragile burden, burying his face in his hair and breathing in deeply. The familiar scent spread through him in one speedy wave, only this time, it left a trail of fire behind.

The boy was his, and he couldn't take such risks with his life. He couldn't. He had a contract to fulfil and a soul to devour, so he had to do something quickly.

Flee? Or stay?

The door handle twisted, and then several things happened at once. The ringing stopped abruptly, as if forcibly cut off; the door opened to let a familiar demonic figure slither inside, and despite recognising it, Sebastian hissed a warning. He backed away towards the window, his teeth bared.

The figure quickly assumed a human shape. It was Gremory: seeing her here instead of the angel was supposed to be a relief, but Sebastian growled again, issuing a silent demand for her to stay where she was.

Gremory paused, her features creasing in worry.

"It's just me, Sebastian," she said slowly. "I've not come to fight you. You know I wouldn't."

He did know. The problem was that his body refused to cooperate. It vibrated with agitation: his power thrummed under his very skin, coiling and preparing to tackle any threat to the boy who slept in his arms.

"Sebastian?"

"I understand," he gritted out. Rasping even one word was an accomplishment, so he switched to the low hissing that neither humans nor angels were able to decipher. "But I ask you not to come any closer."

Gremory froze like a statue. She dropped the pretence of having to breathe, studying him with her dark gaze and waiting for him to calm down.

It didn't happen. With an effort, Sebastian managed to shake off the immediate violent response, but this was the best he was capable of at the moment. Tension remained, twisting his body and pushing it to assume its true form.

"What are you doing here?" he asked thinly. Gremory came to life again.

"I stumbled upon information that you will find interesting," she said quietly. "When I located you, I sensed the presence of… that thing," her nose quivered, as if she found the stink of the angel unbearable. "I thought perhaps you need assistance. What is going on, Sebastian?"

"I don't know yet," he replied. It was mostly a lie, but he didn't care. He felt no desire to share his conclusions with Gremory. She could be a powerful ally against the angel — however, he would not use her offer to help unless he decided that the danger was too great and Young Master needed more defenders, which was unlikely.

Sebastian had sworn to protect him and he would. He didn't need other demons for it.

Gremory looked even more bemused now.

"If the angels are involved in the life of this boy for whatever reason, perhaps it would be better to retreat?" she suggested. Her voice was careful, like she thought any wrong intonation might make him snap.

She could be right.

"I'm considering my options," Sebastian said. He cradled the boy closer, covering the back of his head with his hand possessively. "If I deem the danger too significant, we might relocate to Hell for some time. Until I figure out what to do."

"'We,'" Gremory repeated. There was incredulity in her voice that Sebastian didn't understand. "You mean you would bring a human to Hell?"

"Is this not what you suggested?"

"When I said 'retreat,' I meant you. Alone, without your Master."

Gremory had never been obtuse, but perhaps something had changed in the time Sebastian hadn't seen her.

"In case you've forgotten, we are responsible for the lives of our contractors until the contract is fulfilled," he reminded her impatiently. "Until it's over, the boy goes where I go and vice versa."

Gremory blinked, a strange expression passing over her face. None of them said anything for several minutes.

"I don't know if you misunderstand me or if this is your way of showing that you refuse to entertain my idea," she replied after the silence grew uncomfortable, "but I'm not going to insist. Do as you wish. But be careful. Angels have never interfered in our contracts before."

"My lord does seem to attract the attention of various supernatural creatures," Sebastian agreed. There was an odd kind of pride in his voice, and Gremory must have caught it because she frowned.

Then she glanced at Ciel Phantomhive, and a snarl escaped Sebastian's throat before he could intercept it. He cursed internally when Gremory's eyes widened.

"All right," she said after another pause. "I can see that you are… agitated. If you don't need my help, I'll leave you be. But first, the information that I wanted to share. It came to my knowledge that a human in London has been attempting to summon a demon for the last two months. Your current contractor is the object of his interest. Naturally, no one dared to respond to his summons, but I thought you might want to know."

The disbelief at such news was so overpowering that Sebastian couldn't bring himself to feel anything else. Even anger didn't come — it froze in equal confusion.

"And what does this person want from my Master?" he asked when he found his voice again. Gremory hesitated before making a quick, vague movement.

"Nothing unusual. The man has some… desires… that he'd like to quell, and your Master is his latest object of interest."

With how carefully she tried to speak, she must have been trying to avoid provoking him further. Sebastian reluctantly appreciated it. He didn't need the specifics, not now, when his blood still ran hot from the expected confrontation with an angel.

"Name?" he snapped. Gremory gave him a startled glance.

"Baron Annesley," she said. "Do you know him?"

Yes. He did. Annesley was the same man who had watched his Master in an offensive manner when they were paying the Queen a visit. Sebastian had tracked him down a day later and collected basic information about him. Unpleasant, with little money yet plenty of connections; a man who coerced young women into sex and salivated over every pretty face he encountered.

He'd assumed his lord was one of many. But if Annesley was trying to make him an object of a contract with a demon, his interest ran deeper.

Sebastian would have to deal with him as soon as they returned home.

The boy murmured something in his sleep, and Sebastian shushed him, stroking his hair soothingly. When he noticed that Gremory continued to stare, he frowned.

"Was there anything else?" he asked, trying to sound less aggravated than he felt. "I appreciate the information, but I will deal with these problems by myself."

There had been too much of Gremory lately. His unexpected appearance in Hell must have surprised her into paying closer attention to him, and when she saw what he'd done to Miss Taylor, her concern intensified.

Sebastian understood her worries, but he preferred to be left alone. He had no time for reassuring demons when he had a Master who might need him to do the same.

Nodding her head politely, Gremory vanished. When her presence faded entirely, Sebastian listened for the ringing, but it didn't come. Everything was quiet.

Nonetheless, he let go of his lord and tucked him back in bed only when the first rays of dawn started fighting their way inside the room.

The night was over. Ideally, their investigation would also come to its end soon, and they would be able to leave.

Sebastian couldn't wait.

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Even in his ignorance, his lord managed to make his life excruciatingly difficult.

"Bring my tea outside," he ordered loftily. "I'm going to spend my morning on the beach."

This was a bad idea for several reasons. The boy's health was fragile and it was too cold for him to sit outside. He would likely send Sebastian away at some point on an errand, and this would leave him open to any attack from the angel.

Once again, Sebastian had to take measures.

"Bard, Finnie, Mey-Rin," he called. They all ran up to him quickly, as if waiting for his command. "We'll be accompanying Young Master to the beach. Be sure to invite Miss Angela, perhaps she'll want to go, too. Considering the events of yesterday, I trust I don't need to remind you of your primary responsibilities?"

"No, sir!" they cried out in unison. Finnie clapped his hands in excitement.

"We'll keep an eye on Young Master," he promised. "We won't look away for a second!"

"I'll be surprised if you look at Young Master even once with Miss Angela around," Bard muttered. Finnie scoffed at him. He started to respond, but Sebastian interrupted him.

"I don't care what you look at, but you must keep him safe. Is that understood?"

A chorus of "yes" answered him, and he turned away, satisfied.

It was better to keep the angel where he could see them. Angela would unlikely attack in the middle of the day in front of everyone — she was playing a game of some kind, and she didn't seem ready to give up on it yet.

They would eliminate Barymore today. If Young Master abandoned his vindictive plan to turn this village into a resort, they could be on their way home tomorrow.

Unless the angel decided to stop them.

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During their brief interactions, Barymore had managed to annoy Sebastian surprisingly a lot. He didn't appreciate the disrespect aimed at his lord; the constant references to dogs might have been amusing at first, but now they were grating on his nerves; most importantly, Barymore had a terrible taste that offended Sebastian on an aesthetical level.

Making his demise into a performance could serve as a compensation.

First, he slipped into Barymore's presence invisibly. The moron was stuffing himself with food, and Sebastian pursed his lips contemptuously. This was what the servants in this house served for breakfast? It was a good thing that he chose to prepare his Master's meals by himself. This inappropriate mix would insult his palate for certain.

Sebastian cut a piece of fabric from Barymore's pants rather carelessly, confident that it would remain undetected until the right moment. Then he seeped through the floor to the basement. Like he'd thought, there were some useful things there, including a vial with phosphorus dust and what he was certain had been a murder weapon. In the end, he decided to take a skull. He could bet that Barymore used it to imitate the dog bites on his victims, and it would add some sufficient drama to the show.

Another step entailed gathering all the villagers in one place, and what better way could be there other than staging the execution? Centuries passed, but humans did not change. Blood and violence inflicted on someone else fascinated and drew them in, made them drunk on the allure of free perversion.

Residents of Houndsworth were punished by the fake Demon Hound; in return, they had a chance to punish simple dogs whom they blamed for their misfortunes.

Finding the dog of a man murdered yesterday was ridiculously easy. It didn't go anywhere — it dug itself a hole under the porch and hid there, trembling in its fear and grief. Sebastian watched it dispassionately.

What a simple-minded creature. James, its owner, was dead, but it stuck around anyway, clinging to the illusion of life it had enjoyed up until yesterday.

It reminded Sebastian of Ciel Phantomhive. But worse, for an unexplainable reason, it made him think of himself.

The thought of their contract ending excited him. He trembled even at the imagined taste of his lord's soul, craving it with every part that was capable of craving. But the time that would come after bothered him.

Once he consumed the boy's soul, what would be left? He would have to leave their manor and stop involving himself in criminal investigations. London would forget his face eventually. He would take on new roles, new appearances, and he would never be known as the butler of the Phantomhives again.

This was a natural part of his life — contracts came and went while he stayed the same. But imagining it happening now was strangely unsettling. It made his lungs constrict painfully; it made him feel like the world would never be as interesting again. Like something would be ripped from him, torn right out of his gut, leaving him disembowelled and empty.

It wasn't merely concerning, it was frightening. And Sebastian knew what was to blame.

Attachment. It was a virus that had to be studied by human doctors like the deadly disease it was. It poisoned him, twisted him, and now he couldn't say which of his feelings were even real.

Sebastian let out a frustrated hiss, and the dog looked up, staring at him imploringly.

He had to continue to fight it. The attachment would clearly haunt him until the boy's death finally severed it, and since years could pass until it happened, he had to do anything to alleviate its impacts.

Focusing on his Master's insipid qualities. Cultivating resentment.

This stupid dog under the porch had nothing to do with him. It represented Ciel Phantomhive and him alone. He was abandoned by his family, too, yet he continued to stick around, ready to run after the Queen just like his predecessor because it was ingrained in him. He ignored the signs and the hints of danger, just like this dog; he might try to claim that his service was the result of him not wanting to lose his hard-earned position, but Sebastian didn't buy it.

He believed that the boy enjoyed controlling the underworld. He believed that preserving the Queen's favour was essential for staying on top in this society. But it wasn't everything, and his lord was a liar for trying to pretend otherwise.

The only times he cared about his clothing was when they were visiting the palace. He flushed more easily when the Queen was speaking with him; he looked like an eager, naïve servant, and Sebastian hated it.

"Here, take this," he said loudly, thrusting a piece from Barymore's pants into the dog's mouth. It whined miserably, but he glared it down.

"Go," he ordered. "Make sure you are seen. Do not let go of the fabric until I tell you, no matter what happens. This will help you to avenge James, your master."

He could have infused his words with power to instil a command into the dog's tiny brain, but something told him that it wasn't necessary.

He was right. The dog let out a mournful sound, but its eyes flashed with determination. It strode outside the gates, grim but wanting its revenge above all.

Sebastian waited for the shouts to start before vanishing.

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Everything began well enough. He dismissed his inner protests successfully, waiting until his Master was nearly mauled, and appeared in the last moment only. He mocked the dogs who were growling at him mindlessly at the order of their owner; he held the attention of the crowd and exposed Barymore.

Predictably, things started falling apart after this, all because of his own stupid parallels.

James' dog was dead. Finnie was hugging it to his chest, sobbing with such grief that Sebastian's stomach seized in discomfort. An echo of dark premonition whispered through him, and his brows furrowed. Unwanted thoughts, once they came in, refused to leave his mind: they infused it with revelations he'd rather not have.

Dogs, for all their annoying qualities, were often endearing. Their absolute loyalty might have been misguided and senseless, but it pushed them to become formidable beings. They were fighters; they were survivors. They could be intimidating and resourceful, determined to reach their objective no matter what obstacles and pain they were facing.

The worst thing, though, was their essence. Interesting and worthy of attachment as they might be, they were just dogs. Simple. Lesser.

Mortal.

He hated them all the more for it.

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Finnie insisted on burying the body of the dog in James' grave. Nobody minded — Sebastian even retrieved a shovel for him. His mood was dark, and it darkened further when he faced Angela in the kitchen.

"Sebastian," she drawled. She was drying her silvery hair, and there was nothing from the image of a timid maid about her now. Her voice was playful. "Have you come to check up on me?"

"I came to prepare tea for my Master. He's about to retire for the night," he replied evenly. Angela nodded.

"The child must be tired," she cooed. "And so must you. Running all these errands for him… does it not get tiresome?"

"I imagine it's less tiresome than running the errands for the Queen of England."

Angela paused, and then a huge brilliant smile blossomed on her face.

"Well done," she praised gently. "You realised it sooner than I expected."

"Then you must have a supremely low opinion on the demons' mental capabilities," Sebastian picked the tea and put some of it into the delicate cup. He didn't look at Angela again, but he was attuned to every shift and movement she made. If she were to lunge for his lord, he would be able to stop her on time.

She watched him without speaking.

"And yet our positions differ as night and day," she said at last, when Sebastian poured hot water into a teapot. "You are a nanny, a lapdog, and a servant all at once. The Queen and I contribute equally to our union."

"Your union?" Sebastian repeated. His tone was mild, but his heart began to beat faster.

He was right. Angels did not enter contracts with humans, it was the job of demons. But apparently, they could interfere in their own ways. What was the price of such a cooperation? What were both parties getting out of it? He doubted that killing the Phantomhives and selling their heir to a cult had been Angela's major task. The Queen could have done it by relying on humans. What held them together, then?

"Of course it's a union," Angela stood up, stretching, showing off the slender curves of her body. Sebastian raised an eyebrow curiously. That angels were vain was not a surprise, but the attempt to appeal to a demon? This was new. From what he knew of this bunch, they considered themselves holy and too good for the likes of him. "Or did you think an angel would lower themselves to making a contract with a person, even if that person is a queen? We share the same goals. We want to make the world a better place, in the name of Prince Albert and humanity at large, and we started with this country."

Sebastian made a disinterested sound, adding sugar to the cup and stirring it.

"Selling a child for torture makes the world a better place?" he asked mildly. He doubted Angela believed what she was saying. On the other hand, she wasn't an ordinary angel, was she? The rotten sweetness surrounded her, so perhaps she was going mad.

At the same time, she might simply have an unorthodox kind of thinking. Sebastian wasn't considered the embodiment of sanity in Hell either, even though most of his choices made more sense than other demons' satisfaction with a bland routine.

If this was the case with Angela, they might be more similar than he thought.

She scoffed now, her face falling.

"The soul of Ciel Phantomhive became tainted soon after his birth," she said mournfully. Her eyes filled with tears, and Sebastian stared at this, unsure what to think. "How could it not, with a dark family like the Phantomhives raising him? All I wanted was to give him a chance at redemption. The cult was supposed to kill him, and the suffering he experienced would have opened the gates of paradise to him. But he lost this opportunity. He lost his chance at getting peace because of you."

This sounded like something a deranged human priest might say. Coming from an angel, it was disturbing.

"His soul is not tainted in the way that would warrant this kind of torture even now," Sebastian said instead. Distaste began to lick at the angry flames simmering in him, making them flare brighter. "It certainly wasn't tainted back then. Come up with another excuse."

The tears vanished like they were never there. Angela grinned instead, and something about it made shivers run up his spine.

"I'm not surprised that you think so," she said. Her voice was cheerful now — such a rapid change was grating. "You are a demon and demons are blind. But worry not, Sebastian Michaelis. My plans are already set in motion. I will strike tonight, just once. I will take one human life because the loose ends have to be tied permanently. After this, we will part, and if we meet again, it will be in a new world."

"Don't think so highly of yourself," Sebastian warned her. He grabbed a tray and walked towards the door, trying to look more relaxed than he felt. "You are not the only being that writes the rules here. If you attempt to harm my Master, you will find that I can be a much worthier opponent than you imagine."

Angela's eyelashes fluttered, like she was delighted by his words.

"We shall see," she murmured enigmatically.

Sebastian returned to their rooms, watched how his Master drank his tea, and put him to bed. He couldn't concentrate — his breathing was irregular, just like his heartbeat.

If only this contract was less significant and he could afford the excitement to overtake him… fighting an angel was a dream he never thought he could have because of how unattainable it seemed. Now it was suddenly real, just within his grasp, and yet he couldn't be happy. Somehow, danger to the boy overweighed the desire to try his powers against an unfamiliar enemy.

Sebastian stopped in front of the bed, on guard.

Perhaps he could call Gremory… but no. He wouldn't do this unless he absolutely had to. He would handle everything on his own. Moreover, he wouldn't be able to trust her with Ciel Phantomhive's life, not entirely, which meant that the risks were unacceptable.

Two and a half hours later, the angel stirred. Their blinding energy flooded the house, setting Sebastian's teeth on edge. When this energy moved, he snatched his lord from his bed and wrapped his arms around him protectively, glowering in the darkness.

Let the thing try it. They wouldn't know what hit them.

"Is this going to be our new nightly ritual?" his Master complained. "Do you enjoy disturbing my sleep and holding me hostage?"

His voice was rough from sleep, but there was no time to enjoy it. All Sebastian's focus was on the opposite wall and the mass of whiteness that kept moving behind it.

Would the angel dare? Was this why he and his lord had been summoned here — in the hope that up close, it would be easier to finish what Queen Victoria had started?

Young Master murmured something before throwing his arms around Sebastian's neck and burrowing his nose into it. For several moments, everything was quiet, but then someone pushed the door handle. The angel seemed to be farther away — was this some trick?

He gripped his lord so hard that it must have woken him up — he raised his head sleepily, staring in the direction of the door with alarm.

So he heard it, too. It wasn't something Sebastian's overstimulated brain came up with.

The door began to open, and Sebastian rapidly let a half of his human layers melt off him, revealing a raw mass of burning demonic energy. He felt safer this way — it'd be easier to protect his Master and to assume his complete true form if the need arose.

Everything in him quivered in violent anticipation. His blood roared in his ears, cancelling out all other sounds, so the moment he detected a dark silhouette starting to enter the room, he attacked. He went for the head, not bothering to spend his time on less secure options: grabbing it, he twisted it with all the strength he possessed. It readily separated from the body, and Sebastian threw it away, his eyes fervently inspecting his victim and their identity.

He was so certain that he was about to see an angel that it took some time for his brain to comprehend the reality.

Yes, there was a dead body on the floor, but it wasn't Angela. It wasn't anything supernatural at all.

Just a human.

"Did you just decapitate an intruder?" the incredulous voice of his lord made him flinch. Guiltily, Sebastian looked at him and found himself instantly caught in the trap of an amazed stare. "Without even putting me down? Are you completely demented?"

It was a miracle that Ciel Phantomhive hadn't started yelling at him already, considering… well, everything. Especially the part where he was now covered in the blood of a person who had posed no real threat and wasn't supposed to die.

This had been a miscalculation — a very bad one. The angel was still moving around, Sebastian could feel their presence: he must have been so focused on it that he failed to detect human footsteps. They'd never learn what this headless man had wanted, but Sebastian doubted that he'd come here just to talk. His death was probably justified.

Not this kind of death, however. Not the death that got his Master, with his aversion to blood, soaked from head to toe.

Sebastian expected the yelling to start. The shock had to pass soon, and when it did, his lord would surely attribute every curse name he could think of to him.

Strangely, it looked like his attentions lay elsewhere. He was staring at Sebastian's arm, and then he carefully reached for it, watching his fingers pass through the hissing layer of energy.

With a jolt, Sebastian realised what could have and should have happened. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest in wild panic, and only the curious touching of his lord helped to restore his focus a little.

His demonic form. Its current shape was too hot for a human to withstand. By all logic, it had to burn the boy to his bones as soon as Sebastian had stupidly transformed while holding him. No person could survive it, it wasn't possible — his temperature was absolutely incompatible with a human body.

He'd nearly lost him. He'd nearly lost his soul because of a stupid, reckless mistake.

Sebastian's mind fixated on this fact with horrified obsession, not letting him think of anything else. He stood frozen as Ciel Phantomhive touched him again, more boldly this time. His hands slid up Sebastian's shoulders curiously, with no signs of burns or discomfort. He was acting like there was nothing unusual about his explorations, like he wasn't turning Sebastian's world upside down by breaking one of the set rules that every demon knew.

They could take on a demonic form that wouldn't instantly harm a human, but it worked only when they shook off one or two layers. Three layers closer to the true form was usually acceptable, too — this was the form Sebastian preferred to hold. But he'd shed many more. By all accounts, it must have burnt his lord to a crisp, leaving nothing but blackened bones behind.

There was no mistake here. His lord should be dead. But he wasn't.

Furthermore, Sebastian's energy seemed strangely enamoured with him. Every spot he touched came to life, and not in the way it did when dealing with an enemy. The darkness hissed and clung to him, trying to drag him closer.

He couldn't begin to imagine what this had to feel like for a human who continued to live against all odds, but he got his answer in the next second. When another flicker of energy wrapped around the boy's fingers greedily, he giggled.

Sebastian's heart stopped at the sound. Some new feeling swirled in him, stealing his breath yet making him feel like he consisted of air alone. He shivered, and his energy reacted to it, stretching forwards to get the boy into its grasp again.

Ciel Phantomhive's fingers stroked his shoulder blades, and all of a sudden he pulled at one of the feathers there.

A human stood no chances of tearing it out, yet the feather eagerly succumbed. It jumped into the boy's hand willingly, and when he laughed in delight, waving it like a trophy, a hum of pleasure went through Sebastian's body, echoed in its every part.

It was like… it was like nothing he had ever experienced. His essence didn't act like this with anyone, including Sebastian himself. It obeyed him, it was his strongest ally, yet it was never playful or mischievous, not like it was with Young Master.

His lips must have parted in his astonishment because the boy suddenly pressed his finger to one of Sebastian's fangs, his face alight with excitement. A moment later, he made a surprised sound. A light scent of blood reached Sebastian's nostrils, and before he could stop himself, his tongue licked the tiny precious drop off his tooth.

A shudder of bliss absorbed him. Hunger growled, and he had to push the boy away in a desperate need to create some distance between them and regain control.

His lord's mouth moved — he said something, but Sebastian couldn't hear it. The want that twisted in him was unbearable: he could howl with how starved he suddenly felt.

The next thing he knew, Ciel Phantomhive was approaching again, going straight for his fangs. Having witnessed how atypical his body was acting, Sebastian wouldn't be surprised if his teeth gladly left him, too, in favour of the boy's company, so he did the only thing that occurred to him: he released his grip, letting his lord drop to the floor.

The shock and instinctive guilt had an effect of icy waters. Gasping as if after a lengthy battle, Sebastian turned away and shut his eyes.

The blood he'd tasted wasn't that irresistible. It wasn't. He could control himself. When he looked at his Master again, he wouldn't ache from the urge to tear into him and consume him. His time would come — for now, he had to play his role. He had to be a protector. The angel hadn't come for them yet, but it didn't mean the peace would last until morning.

The mantra worked badly, so Sebastian bit his lip, letting his own blood flow and chase away the taste of his Master.

It helped. Gradually, the howling ceased. The demonic energy calmed, too, and Sebastian was finally ready to face his lord again.

He prepared a fresh bath for him, washing all traces of blood off. The hair was the most difficult area, and the boy didn't make it easier with his complaints.

"Too much water, I can't breathe. That's too hot. And now it's too cold! Sebastian!"

"I've been a terrible servant tonight," he agreed, warming the water anew with his touch. "I'm truly sorry, my lord. I will do my best to make amends."

This seemed to appease Young Master. He stopped complaining, although he kept throwing looks of displeasure at him.

He could have lost all of this tonight. Not because of the angel — because of himself, of his own stupidity. How could he have transformed and forgotten that he was holding his Master? This had never happened before. This should never happen again, despite the boy somehow managing to survive and make friends with his demonic essence.

Distantly, Sebastian noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. Even the threat of the angel didn't seem too big in comparison to what he'd almost done.

After the bath, he wrapped the boy in a warm towel, dried his hair, and put a nightshirt on him. His eyes lingered on the ugly brand left by the cult on behalf of the angel.

Now that he knew who was responsible for it, he despised it with a more personal kind of passion. It felt like the mark of his rival now, a creature with the powers equal to his. He couldn't stomach the idea that his lord was carrying something an angel had devised.

They had to get rid of it.

"I have an idea regarding your brand," Sebastian uttered. To illustrate his point, he brushed his hand against the boy's waist, pressing to his skin through his nightshirt, caressing the place where he knew the mark was lightly. A shiver of pleasure shot through him, and it intensified when he saw how his lord's face flushed.

"I..." his Master murmured. He didn't finish his sentence, his voice was too hoarse. Clearing his throat and fidgeting, he tried again. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I know it bothers you," Sebastian said. There was no point in continuing to hold the boy like he was, but it felt nice and he met no resistance, so he didn't let go. Tonight, he needed this reassurance. "It is my job as a butler to remove the burdens off your shoulders. I would not hesitate to do the same with this one should you ask."

"How selfless of you," his lord snapped. His face still had an enticing red shade, the enhanced scent of his blood enveloping Sebastian in another cloud of pleasure, but assertiveness returned. He slapped Sebastian's hand away and narrowed his stare in a warning. "I don't suppose you have any personal interest in it? Such as not wanting to see someone else's brand on me? It's all entirely altruistic."

The words of agreement dropped on the tip of his tongue automatically, but with some hesitation, Sebastian swallowed them back.

It would be pointless to deny the truth, especially since he was certain that his lord was already aware of it. If he wanted the brand gone, he had to be honest.

"I would say it's both," he said carefully. The boy raised his eyebrow, so he was forced to continue. "I'm willing to fulfil any commands of yours since I'm your faithful servant. But I also don't appreciate seeing a mark such as this on your skin. While I have to obey your orders contractually, honouring this one would be my pleasure."

The boy's eyes got wide. He stared at him in open shock, like he hadn't expected this admission. A more thoughtful expression overtook him then, and a good minute passed before he spoke.

"I think it should stay," he concluded. His answer was phrased oddly — it had to be a deliberate choice, so Sebastian leaned closer in interest. From this angle, he could almost breathe his lord's air.

The boy didn't mind such a proximity. He poked at his brand with his fingers, distaste colouring his face briefly.

"This brand is important," he murmured. "It's the best reminder of what I have to do and why I have to do it. It makes me remember what I lived through even when I'd rather forget."

"Doesn't my seal serve the same purpose?" Sebastian asked. His words came out more forcefully than he'd intended.

Young Master gave him a smile, sliding his finger under his marked eye distantly.

"The problem is that I like your seal."

The confession took him aback. When it finally sank in, a warm sensation washed over Sebastian's body. Its fluttery essence filled him to the brim, and immediately, heat flooded his veins, causing a shiver of delight to travel up his back.

His lord liked his seal. This had to be the first time any of the humans he served felt this way. People tended to view a mark left by a demon as the evidence of their damnation — many begged him to leave it somewhere they wouldn't see because they didn't want constant reminders. As always, Ciel Phantomhive went against the norm, and for some reason, Sebastian felt ridiculously happy about it.

As if sensing his mood, the boy snorted.

"Don't look so smug," he admonished, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. Sebastian reached to adjust it. "You half-blinded me, and in case you don't know it, having someone cut a complex symbol on your eye is not exactly a pleasure."

Despite the criticism, a little smile stuck to Young Master's lips. Sebastian had the absurd wish to brush his fingers against it to feel its shape and absorb its warmth. With difficulty, he forced himself to look up.

"Then why do you like it?" he wondered. The boy still looked cold, so Sebastian dashed to his room, fetched a blanket from it, and wrapped his lord in an additional layer of warmth. It all took three seconds — the boy blinked, surprised, but didn't comment.

"I like it because it reminds me of what it stands for," he explained hoarsely, snuggling tighter into the fabric. "It gave me strength and power to obliterate my enemies and set me on the path of accomplishing my revenge. But as years go by…" Young Master hesitated, as if he wasn't sure he should say what he wanted. Sebastian waited patiently. "Sometimes my wish loses its urgency. Sometimes I spend days without thinking of my end goal at all — I'm concerned with new cases, immediate problems, but not revenge."

A strange feeling crawled into Sebastian's ribcage. He was almost tempted to say, Me too, but he caught himself on time.

"That's why the brand has to stay," Ciel Phantomhive concluded grimly. He should have looked pitiful — a tiny figure buried under two thick layers of blankets, trying to speak, but the determination on his face made him look so beautiful that Sebastian didn't feel amused in the slightest. "Your seal makes me think of power, but the cult's? I hate it. It humiliates me and reminds me of the most shameful moments of my life. Every time I see it, I remember why I need revenge, so in the end, it makes me stronger. I can't allow myself to get rid of it and risk losing what defines me."

Sebastian nodded slowly. This made sense to him. He still despised the brand because it was nothing but a challenge to his own claim, but the heated dislike quietened.

"Will your seal disappear once you eat my soul?" the boy asked suddenly. Sebastian straightened as the sudden alarm gripped him.

"Yes," he said, reluctance heavy in his voice. Another thing he'd never considered in depth. "Once the contract is over, the seal and the mark will dissipate."

"Oh."

It was just one sound, but it held so much disappointment that Sebastian almost jumped from the intense need to offer reassurance.

"I could carve it on your body anew," he suggested. "After your death. Would it be something you'd want?"

The boy perked up, his face brightening.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Then he flushed, probably embarrassed by his enthusiasm. "Yes," he repeated more evenly. "I would like that. I arranged the end of my life by entering a contract with you. My death should reflect my choices."

Sebastian couldn't disagree. Following an impulse, he stroked his lord's cheek, studying his marked eye.

"Should the seal be at the same place?" he asked. "Or would you prefer for me to leave it elsewhere?"

His lord looked like he was about to shake his touch off, so Sebastian channelled some of the energy into his hand, warming it. The boy gasped, but then he closed his eyes in pleasure and pressed tighter to Sebastian, clearly enjoying the reprieve from the cold he provided.

"Leave it on my eye again," he murmured. "I don't want it to change. I want things… to stay the same. Forever."

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian whispered. The boy's head lolled to the side, and he jerked it back abruptly, his eyes heavy with sleep.

"I want to go to bed," he murmured.

"You need to drink something hot first, Master. This manor is cold and you've just taken a bath. A hot drink will help you to preserve the warmth."

"Fine."

Sebastian pulled his hand away reluctantly and stood up. He was almost at the door when a loud scream rolled through the floors. He stopped warily, but then a hope bloomed inside him.

Could it be that someone else had become Angela's target? That he and his lord had nothing to worry about, at least in the nearest future?

The hope kept building, and minutes later, when Sebastian saw Barymore's mutilated form, it reached the top. The dismay that had been accumulating in him finally dissolved, and he inhaled with his full chest for the first time in two days.

Angela wasn't planning on killing Ciel Phantomhive. The loose end she mentioned was Barymore — they shared an odd relationship and he must have known enough about her to become a burden now that he played his role.

Sebastian still didn't know why he and his lord had been invited here, but it no longer mattered. Angela had said that she would take only one life — and she had. She also stated that they would part after this, and their next meeting would happen in the distant future, if at all.

Of course, she might have lied with the intention to catch him off guard, but Sebastian doubted this was the case. Lying wasn't among the habits of angels: while Angela was toeing the line separating her from the Fall, he was confident that he would have sensed her lies. Every transgression pushed her closer to the edge — if she lied, he would have immediately noticed it through the change in her smell and the greying of the light she was carrying.

She'd been truthful. At least for the time being, she posed no threat to Ciel Phantomhive.

Sebastian never thought that such a simple thing could fill him with such joy.

He felt like he could float by accident from the blissful combination of relief and happiness. Everything paled next to this unexpectedly wonderful feeling, including his qualms about attachment.

So what if he was attached to his current Master? It was a human feeling, and thus it was fleeting. It would pass sooner or later. Even if it disappeared only after the boy's death, it wasn't that critical — Sebastian had millennia stretching ahead of him. He would wait it out.

In addition, there was a Demon Hound here. If he knew his lord well enough — and he did, they wouldn't leave until they caught it, meaning that Sebastian would have a chance to get a glimpse without constantly worrying about his Master's safety.

The optimism and elevated mood carried him through the rest of the night, up until the moment his lord chuckled.

"Usually, you're boring," he drawled. While his tone was playful, something about it instantly had Sebastian on edge. "But this case seems to have you rattled. I'm interested in you when you are tangled up with the dogs."

Sebastian froze. The lightness that had been dancing in him came to a sudden halt, and it took him a moment to comprehend this latest revelation.

In all these days he spent worrying about attachment, he never considered one of its worst consequences. Namely, his Master learning about it.

It shouldn't have been possible, he couldn't have been that transparent… however, what else could those words mean?

Carefully, Sebastian closed the wardrobe and turned to face the boy, trying to keep the bland smile on his face.

His lord was smiling, too — in a slow, double-edged way. His eyes were disturbingly shrewd, and Sebastian swallowed.

Yes. He knew. Or at the very least suspected.

"You learn faster every day," he replied mildly, hoping that his voice came out strong and calm, even though calmness was the last thing he was feeling.

He couldn't let this happen. Wasn't it bad enough that he was afflicted with attachment? Now Young Master had to learn of it? He would never let him live this down. If he managed to mock Sebastian for perfectly reasonable stories from his past, knowing that he fell victim to a human emotion would be a thousand times worse. He had to dissuade him by any means necessary.

Embarrassment and shame weighed him down. He barely managed to force himself to move after his lord, who climbed into his bed with a contented sigh.

"Here's what we're going to do tomorrow," he said decisively. "You'll catch me this Demon Hound. I want to see it personally before making any solid conclusions. In turn, I will focus on the villagers. We'll see how quickly they'll change their allegiance."

"You don't want to be involved in the capture of the Hound?" Sebastian asked. He adjusted his lord's pillow automatically, trying not to look at him and failing.

The boy grinned, as if he knew exactly how he was struggling.

"Given the complexity of your interactions with dogs, I'd rather watch," he uttered.

Sebastian froze again as another blow landed. He managed to maintain the façade of blankness, yet everything in him shrivelled at the force of such humiliation.

It couldn't go on. He had to do something.

"There is nothing complex about it," he said coldly. His heart beat somewhere in his throat — talking was difficult. "In the end, even the Demon Hound is nothing more than a dog, regardless of the uniqueness of its breed. If you know how to handle it, eventually, it's going to assume its inferior place, and the interest towards it will wane."

Thankfully, the smile vanished from the boy's face. He looked wounded, and Sebastian rejoiced at the sight.

Yes. Everything was not lost yet. There was a chance to preserve his lord's respect and to save himself from an even deeper embarrassment. Whatever suspicions the boy had, they weren't entirely solid yet, which meant that Sebastian could find a way to scatter them.

"We will see," Ciel Phantomhive promised darkly. Sebastian bowed his head.

Indeed they would.

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The Demon Hound turned out to be a huge white mass of disappointment. It acted in an even more annoying manner than the hounds Sebastian had seen in Hell: it was just as overeager and loud, but it also managed to be disgustingly cheerful. The hounds he'd seen were grim and violent — this one resembled an overgrown human puppy. Perhaps this was to be expected, considering that it was raised by an angel.

Luckily, Sebastian excelled at deriving benefits even from the disappointing moments. Breaking the stupid dog in front of his lord was a perfect demonstration of his biggest flaw and a reminder that attachment or not, Sebastian was not going to stop ridiculing his weaknesses when it was due. He himself needed this reminder for preventing the attachment from going further; moreover, if he was being mocked, he would stage an equally humiliating performance in a blink.

This entire trip happened because his lord, bright and captivating in his wilfulness, had humbly offered this will to the Queen. She was treating him exactly like a dog: she relied on him to do her bidding, gave him treats in the form of fake friendliness, subjected him to increasingly daunting tasks, and then whipped him for the slightest failure by withdrawing her favour. It didn't happen often — Sebastian was there to ensure that most of their investigations passed without a hitch, but when it did, it made his lord dejected. He moped around for days until the new letter deigned to arrive. And yet, he not only went along with it, he took pride in his status of a Watchdog. Could there be a more humiliating name for a position?

He glanced at the boy to verify that he was watching. He was, and based on the look on his face, he found the performance deeply repelling. He was frozen in his disapproval, and Sebastian smiled condescendingly.

It might have been presumptuous to think that one flaw of his Master would cure him of attachment, but at the same time, it made him despise it more. His lord was a King on this chessboard. Until he recognised what it meant and who his opponent was, they would never finish this game — it would go on for eternity.

Soon enough, the Demon Hound was properly tamed, Young Master was observing it with a stony expression, and Angela was smiling at them benignly.

"I beg you, Earl Ciel, could you take him with you to your manor?" she asked suddenly.

Sebastian felt his heart stop. One of the missing pieces clicked into its place, and coldness spread through him in a swift icy wave.

So this was what Angela's plan was. After observing them, she decided against attacking Ciel Phantomhive outright. Perhaps she was as wary of Sebastian as he was of her, or she simply had another idea from the beginning. Either way, she didn't want the boy's death yet. She wanted to plant a spy in their manor.

Demon Hounds obeyed their owners. They were united by a unique kind of magic that couldn't be breached: even if the dog were to hate Angela, he would still be compelled to obey her. He could spend years by Ciel Phantomhive's side and still tear his throat out the second he got an order.

The worst thing for Sebastian and the best thing for the angel was that he was unable to kill it.

Hell had its rules, which included honouring the contracts with humans. Not harming Demon Hounds was among them. Breaking a rule meant sacrificing a part of one's power, and this was something even Sebastian wanted to avoid.

"He needs a firm hand!" Angela had the nerve to stare at him imploringly. He narrowed his eyes in a glare. "I think if Sebastian were to train him, Pluto could become an obedient dog."

"No," he said lowly. The word dripped with darkness. "I'm simply one hell of a butler."

He hoped this would remind his Master of his main purpose. He was supposed to eliminate threats, not nourish them. But as soon as the words left his mouth, a sinking feeling overtook him.

He'd made a mistake. This was the worst thing he could have possibly said because Ciel Phantomhive existed to be contrary and make Sebastian's life hell.

"Why not?" the boy drawled, giving him a gleeful look.

Now was not the time for this! Why couldn't the foolish child understand that this was no longer a game?

"Master, are you serious?" he hissed. His lord smirked.

"Indeed. I think I'll find it amusing… in several ways."

Sebastian nearly growled in frustration. Exhaling, he looked away, trying to compose himself but knowing it was a lost cause.

To have a spy in their manor… of course, he could always tell Young Master the truth of who Angela was, but this idea was as unpalatable as taking a Demon Hound in. The boy might not believe him, considering that his beloved Queen would lie at the centre of accusation. Worse, this would be such an underwhelming end to their contract. For Sebastian to reveal all cards and to do all the work…

No. He would wait, for better or for worse.

There was still hope. A hope that his lord would change his mind and order him to kill the Hound.

Contracts held a unique kind of power. With a command from his Master, Sebastian would be able to bypass the law and to get rid of the thing. The boy might have agreed to take the Hound back to the manor, but he had likely done it solely to annoy Sebastian. This creature was dangerous and it was potentially responsible for countless deaths — executing it was the only way to truly close this case.

The crowd of crazed villagers rushed towards one of the hot springs he had uncovered. Sebastian was briefly distracted by them, but his lord's resolute voice snapped his attention back to him.

"At any rate, our work here is done," he announced.

So this was it. He considered the case closed, seeing nothing wrong or suspicious in being asked to shelter a murderous beast. Ignoring all the discrepancies, such as Angela expressing stark terror at the mentions of the Hound despite being so friendly with it in reality; serving Barymore with true-looking dedication and now promptly dismissing the fact that he was murdered, snuggling up with his killer.

For one second, a wall of crushing rage blocked Sebastian's ability to think. Hundreds of frustrated accusations and implorations whirled in him, too hectic to be coherent, but then just as suddenly, they all disappeared. He breathed out and sensed how the heat in him retreated.

Well. If his lord wanted to make a fool out of himself, why would he stop him? Like the boy had said so many times, Sebastian was but a pawn. He was not an actual player, and so he would watch how everything unfolded quietly, acting only when he had to.

It was even interesting to see how soon his Master would realise who was behind his abduction and what damage the creature he agreed to let into their house would do.

"Young Master, you have tried to make a declaration like this earlier," Sebastian said aloud, mocking. "Yet you have fallen short of it. Would you like to try saying it again?"

The boy threw a confused glance at him.

"You say it," he snapped.

Sebastian was happy to oblige.

"The case is solved!" he announced theatrically, throwing one of his arms into the air in a triumphant gesture. Annoyance and bitterness still simmered in him, but it was subtle now. He could ignore them.

He didn't want to see a Master he'd invested so much effort into fail at bringing their contract to a closure independently. However, he couldn't help him either. If Ciel Phantomhive wanted to believe this case was closed, so be it.

So be it.

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It took a week for Young Master to organise everything for turning this dreary village into a resort. They had a bet about it, but Sebastian found himself uninterested. What surprised him was that his lord didn't insist on it either, even though technically, he had won — the villagers quickly grew to adore his fake smiles and his domineering personality. He seemed distracted and moody, and Sebastian vindictively hoped that it was because of his ignorance. Maybe the boy sensed that he had missed something and he was trying to understand what it could be.

He certainly seemed to dislike Angela. One evening, when Sebastian was putting the finishing touches on a dessert, Angela decided to approach him. It was their first personal meeting after Barymore's death, and Sebastian couldn't say he was happy.

"Why all the effort?" she asked, her voice flowing like unpleasant music. "Humans cannot tell the difference between conjured and real meals."

"My Master can," Sebastian replied curtly. Angela hummed, circling him and stopping an inch from his body. Her breath touched his face, and Sebastian glanced at her blandly.

"Would you mind stepping away? If my lord finds your hair in his dish, I will have to remake it, and I would rather spend this time differently."

"Differently how?" Angela grinned, her fingers following the outlines of his suit without touching it. "If you are open to suggestions, I have several to make."

Sebastian didn't know what to think. An angel seducing a demon was unheard of — Angela must be playing some game. Or did she consider him that mindless that she thought he would jump at the chance to break one of the biggest taboos that existed between their kinds? What was the goal here? To entice him into giving his Master up without a fight? As if this would ever happen.

He opened his mouth to say it when a familiar heartbeat caught his attention. He turned in that direction sharply, and the next second, his lord marched into the kitchen. Sebastian blinked, startled by his appearance. Since when did the boy deign to visit a place for servants? In someone else's manor, no less?

"My lord?" he called carefully. The boy stopped, giving Angela such a vicious glare that Sebastian could almost taste her surprise. With a shallow bow, she stepped away, smiled, and left, turning only once to send him a playful gaze.

How unpleasant.

Sebastian watched her go, and when he faced his Master again, he was treated to a furious stare, too.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. He wasn't that late with the dessert, was he? Surely not enough to make the boy venture down here to yell at him?

"Yes," Young Master curled his lips, his anger animating his features and somehow making them even lovelier. "Everything is wrong. Especially with you."

Now, this was even more mystifying. Sebastian took a step closer.

"Oh?" he inquired. He was genuinely curious about the answer, but all he got was another dark glare. His lord turned on his heel and walked back out of the kitchen.

"Throw that thing you cooked away," he called. "It's tainted. I won't eat it."

Tainted? Sebastian squinted at the plate but saw nothing amiss. It was a perfectly made dessert — not a single flaw present.

Perhaps the boy despised Angela so much that her mere proximity ruined his appetite? This could be reassuring, only his anger was also directed at Sebastian. Which meant that whatever thoughts haunted his odd head, this had nothing to do with the incomplete investigation.

Exasperation began to mount again. Sebastian tried to discard it along with the dessert he'd prepared.

He shouldn't hold his breath about his Master changing his mind and realising something. If it hadn't happened by now, it was unlikely to happen at all.

He was right. By the end of the week, his lord announced that they were leaving, and he still showed no intention of doing anything except taking the Demon Hound with them.

Fool.

Sebastian felt so frustrated that when Angela drawled, "Maybe one day, I'll come to visit Pluto at your manor," he nearly snarled at her. His anger shot up, reaching a critical mark, and he had no idea how he managed to hold himself back.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he said coldly, a warning clear in his voice. "You managed to tame a Demon Hound. That's a task not many people could do. You seem to have a talent for wrapping lesser beings around your finger."

His message was clear, and by the darkening of Angela's eyes, he knew she received it.

She might have been successful in bypassing the defences of a Hound and tricking Ciel Phantomhive, but in the end of the day, they weren't on the same level. Overcoming a dog and a human wasn't impressive — even if they both were exceptional, the angel was a superior being. Sebastian, on the other hand… he would not be dismissed, distracted, or misled just as easily.

He was not a Hound. He was not a human. He was a demon, and if she risked stepping a foot into their manor, he would destroy her.

His Master called him, and with the last dark look, Sebastian climbed into the carriage. He wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Yet still, even forty minutes into their trip, he thought he could feel Angela watching them.

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Young Master cheered up briefly when they finally reached the manor, but in an hour already, his mood plummeted. He turned as resentful and grim as he had been for the majority of their stay at Houndsworth, snapping increasingly aggravating orders and brooding in silence.

Sebastian had no idea what could be causing it, but by the end of the day, he felt like strangling his lord. It was a relief when the darkness descended — the boy fell asleep, which meant that there was a window for doing what Sebastian had planned.

Checking the perimeter to make certain there were no masked threats anywhere, he transformed and dashed in the direction of London. Locating a human he didn't have a contract with was a mildly difficult task, but luckily, he had sufficient power for solving it.

He found Baron Annesley in a mediocre-looking manor. He was enjoying himself in a bedroom with a young, shorthaired woman, and based on the distress and shame Sebastian could sense from her, she was not a particularly willing partner.

He stayed close for a while, studying the manor and the people it hosted. An elderly servant was sleeping in a tiny room; at the opposite end of the house, another woman was reading a book. Sebastian recognised her as Annesley's wife — he'd seen her at the palace with him, when they'd been discussing his lord. It seemed like she made a deliberate choice to take the room that was as far from her husband's as possible.

The most interesting finding was in an empty guestroom. It was full of candles, drawn pentagrams, and occult books, and Sebastian's lips twitched in derision.

A foolish human desperate to summon forces he clearly knew nothing about. And he dared to drag his Master into it?

Sebastian should kill him right here, witnesses be damned. He doubted a woman Annesley was taking advantage of would mind. He could also wait until she left or kill her, too, but this seemed wasteful.

He'd prefer for the house to be empty because when he did get to Annesley, he would take his time. He'd need some extended privacy for it.

Throwing one last look at this latest hindrance, Sebastian departed, plans and ideas swirling darkly in his mind.

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The morning greeted him with a fresh scent of blood. Normally, this wouldn't be surprising — they had the clumsiest servants in the entire universe and the occasional idiots who wanted to try their luck by attacking the manor, but the heady scent belonged to Young Master. It was he who was bleeding, and something in Sebastian twinged in concern. What could have happened?

The boy was sitting on his bed, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. Blood had already soaked his nightshirt, and Sebastian materialised next to him in a flash, surprised and displeased.

"What's wrong with your arm?" he inquired. His lord jumped from his sudden emergence before glowering.

"How many times do I have to tell you to do things the human way!" he barked. "This includes walking. Stop blinking in and out of existence as you please!"

Sebastian ignored the complaints, carefully tugging at the shirt to reveal a wound. What he saw made him frown.

It was the same wound Madam Red had left. It had been healing nicely all this time, so what caused it to re-open?

"Did you manage to hurt yourself in your sleep?" he asked sceptically, even though he knew the answer. Young Master had no nightmares tonight — otherwise, Sebastian would have sensed it.

"No," the boy turned away from him. He looked miserable, and Sebastian swallowed a sigh of frustration. If only he could reach into his mind and grab the thoughts he was interested in from there. Maybe then he'd understand what was going on.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

He snatched bandages, water, and several ointments before swiftly making his way back. His lord hadn't moved an inch, still studying the wall with a dark gaze. He didn't protest when Sebastian pulled the shirt off him and began to clean his wound — he seemed too lost in his mysterious, confounding thoughts.

At some point, he finally faced him, and Sebastian raised his head expectantly. His lord wore a newly determined look, as if he reached some decision.

"You will answer my questions," he ordered. He sounded so stern that Sebastian's eyebrows started to climb up his forehead. Then he chuckled, amused and intrigued despite the pinch of concern. He didn't recall their conversations starting like this before. Usually, if his lord wanted to ask something, he simply did it, without clarifying that it was an order.

"Of course," Sebastian said smoothly. The boy swallowed.

"Did you and Angela…" he began before falling silent. A flush coloured his face.

Hearing this name from his Master's lips made something unpleasant coil in Sebastian's chest. He frowned, waiting for the second part of the question, and the boy cleared his throat.

"Did you and Angela have some sort of relationship in Houndsworth?" he elaborated. "You seemed friendly, but when she asked permission to visit us, you refused her."

Sebastian kept standing motionlessly for several moments, too surprised to speak. In fact, he wasn't sure what to say. Why all the interest towards Angela? He would have been pleased if his lord finally started to suspect her, but he'd already come to terms with the fact that it wasn't going to happen. Ciel Phantomhive missed his chance — he remained clueless and unobservant. This made his persistent curiosity about her all the odder.

"I wouldn't call it a relationship," Sebastian replied slowly. If he could understand where this was going, he might have been able to come up with a better answer. "And I refused her because it would be inappropriate to let her visit."

His reply was as neutral as it could be, but somehow, his lord managed to find it offensive. He stiffened, his determined look changing into a familiar glare.

"Well, I suppose you could always visit her yourself," he spat bitterly, rolling his hands into fists. "Would it be more appropriate than meeting with her at our manor?"

Sebastian stared, helpless and at a loss.

"I have no idea what you are trying to say," he admitted finally. "Why the concern about Angela? I thought you declared that case complete?"

Now it was the boy's turn to give him an incomprehensive stare.

"I'm not talking about the case," he pointed out. "Are you stupid?"

"By your confusing standards? Perhaps."

They glowered at one another. The boy refused to say another word, and Sebastian went back to treating his wound.

"It is my hope that none of us meets Angela again," he said at last. "Does this answer satisfy you?"

Apparently, it didn't, because a new kind of fire entered Young Master's gaze. He leaned forwards, ignoring how his movement shook off the bandage Sebastian had started to apply.

"And why do you hope for something like this?" he asked, his voice so poisonously sweet that Sebastian couldn't help but admire it. "Are you worried that she might take the dog from you? Have you gotten attached to it, after all?"

This horrible word again. This horrible accusation.

A feeling of shame flooded him, washing away any words he might have wanted to say. Sebastian gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to look away and avoid the knowing glint in his lord's eyes.

He knew. The boy knew about his dilemma with attachment, now Sebastian was certain of it. There were no suspicions, no hesitation, no what ifs — his lord knew and now he was trying to cajole Sebastian into admitting it.

He would quite literally prefer to stay locked in Hell for eternity and starve rather than oblige.

"Not at all," he replied coldly. Playing stupid and pretending he had no idea what his Master was talking about was always an efficient solution. Now he could also concentrate on the wound — it was a good excuse to avoid direct eye contact. "In fact, nothing would please me more than Angela taking Pluto back. There is no place for it in this house."

With the corner of his eye, he could see how the boy frowned in displeasure. He didn't say anything else, so Sebastian finished bandaging the wound in silence. When he was done, he bowed and walked out, just as wordlessly.

Ciel Phantomhive had a powerful weapon in his hands. If he won and got Sebastian to confess that he had fallen victim to a human weakness, their dynamic would shift irrevocably. Whatever he did, Sebastian would always be at a disadvantage.

This was unacceptable. This meant that he had to do everything to keep this humiliating secret a secret. As long as he stayed silent and ignored his Master's provocations, they would remain on equal terms. After all, no amount of certainty could rival physical evidence like a confession.

Considering that Sebastian was reluctant to confess even to himself, he doubted that keeping his silence would be a problem.

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Two nights later, Sebastian paid Annesley another visit. As he'd suspected, the wife and the servant were still in the house, so he returned home with nothing. His frustration mounted further when the morning delivered another unpleasant surprise to him.

His lord's arm was bleeding again. It had been noticeably better yesterday evening, yet now it looked angry and raw.

Sebastian found it concerning the last time, but now an even sharper agitation twisted in him.

"I don't understand," he murmured, scrutinizing the wound. "Why won't it heal? The treatment I apply is the same one I've used for years. What makes this wound different?"

Young Master gave him such a disdainful stare that Sebastian automatically felt embarrassed. He scowled at his ridiculous body. If he knew which part generated all these senseless emotions, he'd gladly tear it out.

"I see that your incompetence truly knows no limits," his lord raised his chin, looking down at him. "Do you know anything about humans? Right hands differ from other body parts. They require a unique kind of treatment."

What?

Sebastian stared, trying to understand if this was a joke, but the boy looked serious. Not a line of mirth or mischief was present on his face. Still, the idea was too ludicrous — it couldn't possibly be true. Right hands didn't differ from any other part of the human body. Did they?

"No, they don't," Sebastian insisted. His lord snorted, pointing at the wound with his healthy hand.

"Well, the proof is right here. How long have you been treating it? And yet it still hurts. Does it not tell you anything?"

Either the gaps in his knowledge of human bodies were more serious than he believed or his lord was playing him for a fool. It was aggravating that Sebastian couldn't tell which option was correct.

He was so busy wondering that he almost missed yet another outrageous claim.

"I have a busy schedule," the boy stated. His gaze was fixed on him, as if he was waiting for a reaction. Sebastian squinted.

"Your schedule is free for today," he retorted.

His lord dared to roll his eyes, as if Sebastian was being unbearably slow. As if he was forgetting something and their schedule was in fact full.

But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't — he was the one planning everything. It's not like it could slip his mind.

Once again, the boy looked calm, if a little bored and irritated. He was the embodiment of truthfulness, and Sebastian was very tempted to consider the option that he might be losing his mind.

However… The only person who would benefit from his self-doubts was his insufferable lord. Hence, his lord would have a motive for trying to make him believe that he was crazy.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Tormenting Sebastian perfectly aligned with the lovely disposition he'd been demonstrating lately.

Still, doubts plagued him, so when the boy demanded that he deliver a letter to Lau, Sebastian felt relieved. Perhaps being away from his confounding presence would let him clear his head.

After the disastrous last time, he considered opening and reading the letter. It would benefit him to know what it said in advance in case Young Master decided to waste his time again by making him deliver insults towards himself to the third party.

In the end, he decided against it. He might be paranoid, but he wouldn't be surprised if Ciel Phantomhive learned to mark his letters in a way that would expose anyone who tried to read them without his permission. He'd been working on the ink that appeared only under direct sunlight for Phantom's corporation lately — who knew what else he might have come up with?

He'd watch Lau handle the envelope. If nothing seemed amiss, he would consider opening future letters prematurely.

Lau accepted the message gracefully. Sebastian paid close attention to his movements, but he didn't notice anything beyond the ordinary. The envelope, the letter, and its contents seemed harmless.

He should have opened it when he had a chance. What could Young Master want from Lau? They weren't investigating any case, so what was there to discuss?

It took Lau five minutes to read it. After he was done, he laughed quietly, a flash of excitement crossing his pale features.

"I see," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Please tell Earl Phantomhive that I will help him to find what he's looking for. I'll contact him with the details at a later date."

Curiosity tugged at him, pushing him to clarify, but Sebastian ignored it. It wouldn't be good to show that he and his lord were at odds and that he had no idea what the subject of the letter was.

However, he could ask another question.

"Do you happen to know anything about the treatment of arms?" he wondered. "Particularly right ones."

Lau raised his head slowly. He didn't open his eyes, yet somehow, Sebastian still sensed the weight of his silent incredulity.

"Particularly right ones," Lau repeated. "Because they, apparently, differ from left arms."

This sounded like a statement, so Sebastian perked up.

"They do?"

Lau sighed. Glanced at the letter reluctantly. Cleared his throat, then sighed again.

"I understand," Sebastian snapped. Irritation and humiliation intertwined, poisoning him with their stinky mix. "Consider my question withdrawn."

Lau was an interesting human, but Sebastian had learned to read him by now. It was clear that right hands did not differ from left hands, after all, but Lau found his dilemma so amusing that he was tempted to confirm it just for a laugh. At the same time, he was wary, knowing well that annoying Sebastian was not a good idea.

As if to support his thoughts, Lau snorted.

"You put me in a difficult position, butler," he drawled, drumming his fingers on the letter. "I feel torn. Should I be loyal to Earl Phantomhive, who undoubtedly inspired you to ask this wonderful, refreshing question? At the end of the day, you and I are his servants. He's above us. On the other hand…" Lau glanced at him slyly. "You, being you, might just win me over. I have such a deep appreciation for things unknown."

Sebastian let a hint of a smile touch his lips. Having Lau on his side when he and his lord clashed could be beneficial, even if for the chance to know what the letters said. Nevertheless, he knew better than to trust this offer. Lau was driven by his curiosity and need for chaos first and foremost. He would change sides constantly if he saw any personal advantage in it.

This didn't mean Sebastian couldn't use him when needed.

"It's interesting that you mentioned this," he said silkily, "because I need a favour. It's nothing big, but I'd prefer it to stay between us."

Lau straightened, looking almost painfully curious.

"I don't think we'll have a problem here, butler," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"A man named Annesley lives in London. He's a baron. Would you happen to know him?"

A comprehending smirk crossed Lau's mouth. He nodded briefly, and Sebastian smiled back.

"I need to make certain that Baron Annesley spends a night at his house without his wife and his servant," he uttered. Killing the entire family would have been easier, but he had to account for his Master's reaction. The boy wasn't the kindest and the most compassionate human, far from it, yet he would unlikely appreciate Sebastian killing someone innocent.

Granted, Sebastian wasn't planning to tell him he was involved in Annesley's death, but everything was possible. He had to consider each potential scenario.

"The specific date doesn't matter," he added, "although I'd prefer if it happened soon. Can you organise it?"

Lau glanced at the letter. Then he smiled again, and Sebastian tensed.

This smile was different. It was surprisingly similar to the smile his Master wore whenever he was plotting something.

"Sure thing," Lau said amicably. His eyes were half-open now, and Sebastian could see how they shone mischievously. "I'll let you know when I arrange everything. Meanwhile, would you mind waiting until I write a reply to our Lord Phantomhive?"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I thought you were planning to respond to him later?"

Lau shrugged, a picture of innocence and gullibility.

"I just thought he might appreciate hearing from me sooner. Wouldn't you say?"

After a moment, Sebastian nodded his agreement.

Lau was already planning something, but then again, he was always planning something. Let him. It was even interesting to see how he could possibly use the current situation to his benefit.

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"We are going to Lady Jordin's gathering," Young Master said coldly. He didn't grace Sebastian with his look, directing it at a newspaper he was holding. "Tonight. We need to be ready by five o'clock."

"Yes, my lord."

He managed to speak the words as if this piece of information didn't surprise him. Whether he succeeded remained questionable, though, with how the boy's lips curled in a fleeting smile.

A gathering. Since when did Ciel Phantomhive attend gatherings he wasn't obligated to visit? He hated them — in most cases, Sebastian had to apply a variety of tactics to coerce him into going and to stop him from looking like he was about to die from boredom. And now he planned to attend one for no reason? They weren't investigating anything… at least Sebastian thought so.

Uncertainty was quickly gaining points in the competition for the title of the most frustrating human feeling. Soon enough, it might beat even attachment, and it was no easy feat.

He didn't understand anything about his Master at this point.

Brooding, Sebastian returned to the kitchen. Mey-Rin gave him a hopeful smile, and he barely held himself back from snapping at her.

The boy's behaviour was maddening. It'd been weeks, yet he continued to act like Sebastian had greatly offended him, with only occasional reprieves. It couldn't still be over his burned feet, could it?

The worst thing was, it was impossible to tell. All he could do was guess and hope to wait it out.

They arrived at Lady Jordin's manor at six o'clock. The vast room was already crowded, and their arrival instantly drew attention: people stared, whispered, and generally tried to stay away. A smaller number, on the contrary, seemed drawn to them — they approached to greet Young Master and speak with him, throwing curious and wary glances at Sebastian. They didn't address him directly, so he stayed silent.

His lord was looking for someone. Whatever business had brought him here, he wanted to see someone specific, and those who swarmed him were rapidly eating away at his patience.

Fortunately, Sebastian was able to help him.

He stared at everyone else who began to approach like they were prey, letting the barest tinge of redness colour his eyes. It worked — at least four people paled and hastened to turn away, pretending to be interested in someone else.

The hostess, Lady Jordin, was one of the few who weren't deterred.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" she asked, fake hospitality making her voice unpleasantly nasal. "Is there anything I could ask Bartholomew to get for you?"

Sebastian couldn't chase her away, but he knew his lord would take care of her just as effectively.

"I'm here for business, not entertainment," he said with a gentlemanly tilt of his head. He was smiling politely, but the subtle threat in his words knocked the ground from under Lady Jordin's feet. She swallowed, a look of apprehension overtaking her features. Upon glancing quickly at Sebastian, she focused on Young Master again. Her mouth moved, as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure what words to choose, too worried about becoming the reason for the business Ciel Phantomhive had in her house.

Sebastian felt curious himself. He knew better than to ask directly — the boy clearly didn't wish to share information with him, but it didn't mean there wasn't a way to extract it. He had to weaken his vigilance by getting him to talk, regardless of the choice of the topic.

"Is the name Bartholomew a full name for Bard?" Sebastian asked when they resumed moving, leaving Lady Jordin behind. The boy stumbled before catching himself.

"What?"

"Bartholomew," Sebastian repeated patiently. It was the first thing that came to his mind, but now that he thought of it, it made sense. "Perhaps we should call Bard by this name from now on."

This could help them to adjust their house in accordance with Victorian nobility trends. Most modern aristocrats thrived on throwing around their lengthy names lately, Lady Francis being a prominent example. Sebastian thought she'd rather swallow her tongue than refer to her daughter as Lizzy instead of Elisabeth; even the servants were called something rather complex, such as Bartholomew. The dubiousness of this new tradition aside, the Phantomhive household shouldn't fall behind in any way or form.

Unfortunately, Young Master only spluttered.

"Why would you— he's not a Bart, is he? Bard doesn't stand for Bartholomew."

"But he must have a full name. It cannot really comprise only four letters, and if it can, then perhaps it should be changed. Such short names are the embodiment of plain imagination and poor taste."

The barb was deliberate, and he knew it worked when his lord flushed, offended.

"My name has four letters," he protested.

Yes. His name.

Truth to be told, Sebastian was oddly fascinated with it. He got to speak it extremely rarely, only when he had to introduce his Master to someone and make a distinction between him and his predecessor, yet this only deepened his enchantment with it.

It might be a short name, but it sounded complete and self-sufficient. It was composed of so many layers that Sebastian often wished to repeat it aloud five, twenty, a hundred times in an attempt to glean its whole meaning, to taste how it would feel on his tongue, to see what shape it would take.

Alas, the mere idea seemed like blasphemy. He wasn't sure why, and he could only wonder at the associations it evoked in him.

It could be the boy's blue eyes, the bluish hues of his hair, the fact that the human Sebastian had served before him was French, but every time he dared to even think Ciel, his mind linked it to the image of the sky. Limitless, mysterious, temperamental. Permanent — and out of reach.

Strange forlornness brushed somewhere under his ribs. Sebastian exhaled, shaking the daze off and returning to the subject at hand.

He hadn't been supposed to lose himself in the musings about the beauty of his lord's name. The goal was to get a rise out of him in order to receive the information he wanted.

"I see," Sebastian murmured condescendingly, hiding a smile when the boy growled at him.

"Shut up! You don't even have a name, I made one up for you!"

"That doesn't mean I don't have a name. And I can assure you, it's composed of more than four letters."

It was longer by two letters only, but Ciel Phantomhive would never learn it, so there was no harm in teasing him.

Like Sebastian thought, his plan was effective. The frustration on his lord's face became more pronounced. His public persona cracked, and he glared at him with all his mighty viciousness.

"Who cares!" he hissed, incensed. His hands twitched, as if he was contemplating throwing them up in the air. "Unless you are willing to share it, stop talking. I'm busy!"

"Are you looking for someone specific?" Sebastian asked innocently. "I could—"

He didn't get to finish his question because Young Master suddenly straightened. The anger dissipated from his face as if by magic, covered by a cold mask of politeness. Turning away from Sebastian like he didn't exist, the boy began to walk forwards. His little anxious inhale was the only sign of his worry, and Sebastian was instantly on red alert.

Whomever they were about to meet, this was the person his lord had come here for — and this upcoming meeting didn't make him happy.

Sebastian's darkened gaze swept through the small group they were now approaching, and when he noticed a familiar face, he froze. His blood ran cold, producing a chilling sensation that he couldn't get used to no matter how many times he'd experienced it over the last year.

Annesley. This was the target of his lord — he came here for Annesley.

There was a slight chance that he was wrong and the boy would greet someone else, but deep down, Sebastian knew it was too much to hope for.

Whatever was happening here, the fault lied with Lau. He must have arranged it somehow. It couldn't be a coincidence that Sebastian had asked him for help with Annesley and some days later, Young Master decided to seek Annesley out.

Anger descended like a dark cloud. His chest began to feel heavy, but everything paused when his lord swallowed and his head did a subtle tilt to the right.

Sebastian knew all his little tics by heart. This was a cue: an unconvincing, utterly fake smile was about to follow, and Sebastian snorted before he could stop himself.

Ciel Phantomhive was formidable when he remained himself. He was a skilful liar, too, especially when he put on a mask completely different from his real self. Yet the instances where he had to combine the two, pretending to be a nicer, charming version of himself? These were the times when he could still flounder terribly. His skills improved with years, but he still had a long way to go — maybe in a decade or two, his effort would cease making Sebastian tremble with laughter.

Apparently, his snort was audible because the boy turned to him, his gaze promising death and all torments of Earth he could come up with. Sebastian began to grin, but all traces of mirth left him abruptly when a hateful voice interfered.

"Earl Phantomhive!"

Annesley noticed them and took several steps in their direction, a thrilled hunger vivid on his face. Sebastian wished dearly he could tear it off.

"Good evening, baron," his lord drawled. To Sebastian's annoyance, he managed to sound perfectly warm and welcoming. "I hope my company is not disturbing you?"

"Not at all!" Annesley leered. His hand wrapped around the boy's without permission, tight and possessive.

A warning hiss escaped Sebastian's chest, but his lord kicked him without turning, and he instantly fell silent. A frown of confusion twisted his forehead.

What had he done to deserve the kick? It couldn't be over the hiss — it was too low for humans to detect. Did Young Master expect him to take action? One word and he'd gladly rip Annesley's offensive hand out of its socket.

As if reacting to the threat he couldn't possibly sense, the baron let go. The tension lessened, but before it released Sebastian from its hold entirely, Annesley did something worse: he stepped closer to Ciel Phantomhive, towering over him from a distance at which only a select few were allowed to stand.

An echo of darkness reverberated through him. Sebastian stared at Annesley so fixedly that he barely noticed his Master backing away, snapping back to their surroundings only after a sharp jerk pulled him behind a white column.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" his lord whispered. He sounded breathless with incredulous anger. "Are you some untrained beast? You're embarrassing me!"

Sebastian blinked, trying to recreate what had just happened mentally and to find a flaw in his behaviour. What was it that he might have done? It was not his intention to embarrass his Master — not now, at least. He stared down the potential hindrances, but he wasn't overt about it. Other than this, he did nothing — he didn't even speak a word. What on earth had annoyed the boy so much that he decided to abandon Annesley mid-conversation just to shout at Sebastian?

"My lord?" he asked carefully.

"The hissing!" Young Master waved his hand vaguely, still looking aghast. "Or the growling, whatever it was. You wouldn't shut up — what was that? People don't just hiss at others, I thought you understood this much!"

He heard the hissing?

He heard the hissing.

Shock paralyzed him, causing his human body to shut down. The only thing Sebastian could still do was stand motionlessly, staring at the human who had done something no other human was capable of.

Demons possessed a vast range of frequencies. Only some of them were accessible to people, and the low hiss that had shot out of Sebastian's throat was not among them. A human stood no chances of hearing it.

But Ciel Phantomhive had. How?

"Get yourself under control," the boy ordered. He sounded less angry now, as if Sebastian's incomprehension smoothed some of the sharpest edges of his temper. "And you're exiled for an hour. Do what you want but don't come here unless I call you."

Exiled? He had to leave the boy alone with Annesley?

Everything in him rebelled against this order. But his curiosity was stronger than his reluctance, so Sebastian decided to experiment.

"I hardly think this is a good idea," he said quietly, dropping his voice to a demonic range and pressing his hand to his throat to make sure that his human vocal folds didn't vibrate. A human would be unable to pick up on what he said.

His Master frowned.

"I hardly think it's any of your business," he drawled mockingly, and Sebastian nearly jumped from surprise. "Do what I told you."

He could hear him. Ciel Phantomhive could hear the sounds that only demons could perceive.

This revelation was so overwhelming that it turned everything in him upside down. He needed time to recover, to make some sense out of it. But something else required his attention, too — or rather, someone else. Baron Annesley. He was standing where they had left him, staring after them, all but drooling after his lord. And Sebastian had to leave them together?

"Go," Young Master repeated, his voice softening. "If your meal is in trouble, rest assured, it will call you."

"My meal?" Sebastian asked, distracted. An incredulous gasp made him focus on the boy again.

"Me!" he exclaimed. He looked like he wasn't certain whether he should find Sebastian's behaviour amusing or infuriating. "What is wrong with you today? You are even more stupid than you are normally!"

A flush rose up his face. Sebastian cursed internally, but he had no chance to comment and defend himself — his lord shrugged his shoulder.

"I'm not going to repeat myself again," he said dismissively. "Leave and be back in an hour. Not sooner."

Perhaps it was for the better. Annesley could do nothing to Young Master here, in the midst of the crowd, while Sebastian urgently needed time to think.

Despite the hissing possessiveness, he let the boy go. Then he blended with the air, travelling to the farthest corner of the room.

No one would disturb him here, and he'd be close in case his lord changed his mind and called him back.

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Human senses were too dull to catch the sounds made by the demons. It was a fact of existence, there was no overstepping it. What Ciel Phantomhive had done was supposed to be impossible.

Maybe, under certain conditions, Sebastian would have been willing to entertain the idea that his lord was an even more intriguing exception than it seemed at first. The problem was, he had been incapable of such feats before. He had never reacted to the sounds Sebastian made when he didn't intend the boy to hear them. This ability was new, so where did it come from?

His mind latched onto this question with intensity that left Sebastian dead to the outside world. He kept thinking about it for the entire hour he'd been given, but there were no answers he could conjure at will. He couldn't begin to imagine what must have happened to cause something like this to emerge.

If the boy could hear him now, what else might he be able to do?

The seal warmed, warning him of the potential danger, and the fascinated, frustrated thoughts wilted. Sebastian let his energy contort his shape, turning it into a solid human suit, and then he walked towards the spot where he'd seen his Master last.

It took him one look at the table to seethe.

The boy was standing — or rather, wobbling on his feet. His gaze was glassy, his cheeks red in that unappealing way people got when they drank too much. Annesley was still by his side, looking terrified and enticed at once.

Sebastian didn't know how the former came to be, but at this moment, the latter concerned him more. He began to approach, torn between amusement and irritation.

On the one hand, his lord was drunk. It was such a unique sight that he wanted to immortalise it in his memory — Sebastian didn't think he'd ever seen him in such a lost, disconnected state, definitely not publicly.

On the other hand… the brat was drunk. He knew he was in public, he knew he had to keep up the appearances, and yet he still drank himself to unintelligent stupor. And with Annesley of all people. What if Sebastian wasn't here? What if they had no contract and the boy attended this gathering with Madam Red or his other aunt? They would be too distracted with other things to pay sufficient attention to him, giving Annesley a golden opportunity to use his state and lead him away. Would anyone even notice?

Fury bubbled up in him at the thought. People fled from his path as he walked — if he looked as annoyed as he felt, he could understand why.

Annesley didn't see him. When Ciel Phantomhive staggered again, stumbling over his own feet, Annesley jerked closer to grab him by his waist, and Sebastian's vision drowned in red.

He crossed the remaining distance in three steps and slapped the offensive hands away. Annesley recoiled, his eyes growing wide with terror. Sebastian would have loved to prolong it, but he had more important things to consider.

Leaning in, he wrapped his arms around the boy, who instantly relaxed in his hold.

"Thank you, baron," he mumbled. Sebastian wasn't sure he even consciously registered his presence. "Let's consider this conserva… this talk finished for today. Your secret is safe with me. For now."

Colours began to return to Annesley's face. He smiled a little nervously, licking his lips.

He must have drunk an excessive share of alcohol, too, because he had the audacity to reach for the boy again with trembling fingers, seeking his face — to brush that unruly lock of hair away, no doubt.

Bristling, Sebastian tensed in preparation, but despite being half-dead, his lord reacted first. Recoiling and pushing his weight against Sebastian's chest, he managed to swing one of his feet and kick Annesley in the shin with such an impressive force that Sebastian almost heard the bones shift under the impact.

"Don't touch me!" the boy snapped. It was a wonder that he aimed his kick so accurately when he couldn't even find Annesley with his gaze. "Or… or else. Or something. Only Sebastian can…" The fire died down. Young Master went quiet, a cloud of sadness enveloping him.

Sebastian failed to understand half of his thought processes when the boy was sober. Understanding his drunk mind was a hopeless endeavour.

They were attracting undue attention. Several people were already staring at them, wide-eyed and greedy for the drama. Annesley was rubbing his sheen. He appeared spooked, but hunger didn't leave his face — on the contrary, it grew sharper, and Sebastian smiled with his teeth.

"We'll be seeing you," he promised softly. At last, Annesley concentrated on him. Upon seeing the smile, he blanched, backing away, his eyes round with fear.

Young Master was content to rest against Sebastian. He didn't say anything, didn't even look up, so it was up to Sebastian to make their exit.

This whole episode was unfortunate. While it wasn't catastrophic, it still delivered a blow to the boy's reputation. Getting blindly drunk at such a gathering and kicking other guests was beneath him — there would be gossip for sure, and frustratingly, Sebastian couldn't do anything about it. Not yet.

Measuring the curious guests with a cool gaze, he tightened his grip on the boy and began to lead him out of the manor. Ciel Phantomhive's feet moved on their own only occasionally — he seemed to be dozing off half of the time, so Sebastian lifted him slightly above the floor to create the impression of walking and carried him out.

Once they were outside, the cool wind brushed against them, throwing the icy drops of rain into their faces. The boy shivered, mumbled something in a protest, and burrowed tighter into Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian chose against bothering with the carriage. Changing his grip on his lord to a more secure one, he sprang high into the air, away from the streetlights, dissipating in the helpful darkness.

The boy slept for the entire trip back home. He was oblivious to the scene he had caused, to what Annesley wanted from him and to what might have happened to him had Sebastian not been there. How could one tiny human stir so many problems? Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he had to mitigate one disaster after another with such frequency.

It would serve the boy well to become the subject of ridiculing gossip for a while. He was lucky that Sebastian had no intention of letting this happen — he was one hell of a butler, after all, and preserving the reputation of his lord was one of his responsibilities.

Killing Annesley would take care of it. Anyone who wished to gossip would change their minds as soon as they learned of what happened to him. Sebastian would make them too terrified to even look in the direction of Ciel Phantomhive again.

The boy woke up as they were about to enter the manor. He didn't speak, but his breathing changed. Was he feeling ashamed of his behaviour? Did he even remember his recklessness?

Perhaps he could ask. Drunk humans could be an invaluable source of information. Sebastian rarely had to resort to this kind of tactics, but with a master as maddening as his lord had been lately, he had no other choice.

"Do you know who that man was?" he wondered. He didn't need to clarify. If the boy had chosen to attend a public gathering for Annesley, he would understand whom Sebastian was talking about.

"Of course I do," he murmured. Speaking must have woken him up entirely because he began to squirm. "Put me down, I can walk."

Sebastian sincerely doubted it, especially since they had entered the manor and reached the stairs. However, if Young Master wanted to flaunt his stupidity by trying to get his neck broken, he didn't mind.

He let go, and the boy instantly grabbed him for support, his knees buckling. His expression cleared a little, and Sebastian took it as a sign that he could continue his questioning.

"I doubt that you do," he said. His lord paused, probably attempting to understand what they were discussing. To his credit, he succeeded, huffing as if he found this remark offensive.

"Of course I do," he insisted. "Annesley. A baron. He has a bad reputation and a lot of power. Women are his weak spot. Probably something else, too. I managed to scare him, so—"

Women. Annesley spent the entire time devouring him with his eyes and yet the boy still thought his weak spot was women.

A butler was supposed to be a reflection of their masters. Ciel Phantomhive had been reckless and bold today, and Sebastian didn't see why he himself had to behave differently.

Particularly as the boy would have no memories of any of it in the morning.

Following some deep-seated instinct he didn't know he had, Sebastian grabbed his lord by his waist and whirled him around, pressing him into the wall. The boy blinked. He looked lost, so Sebastian took this chance to get closer, pushing their knees together. His heart jumped with a thrill he didn't understand.

"What a naïve and unobservant boy you are," he drawled. His voice was thick with derision and something else, something deeper. Ciel Phantomhive stared at him with wide eyes, too drunk to take offence.

"Why?"

For a moment, Sebastian simply watched him. The manor was dark, only the moonlight streamed inside dimly. In its dull silvery light, Ciel Phantomhive looked ethereal. Shadows loved him — they clung to him under perfect angles, emphasising the blueness of his stare, the pale rosiness of his cheeks, and the darkish redness of his lips. He resembled a night creature, unique and mesmerising, innocent yet dangerous simultaneously.

It was no wonder men like Annesley desired him.

"What if I told you that Annesley has spent the last months trying to summon a demon?" Sebastian asked quietly. Even saying these words made venom rise, mingle with his blood, turning him into a weapon ready to poison everyone it came in touch with. "He has one very particular desire. It has nothing to do with the women you mentioned and everything to do with you. Baron Annesley appears to have quite a strong obsession with you, to the point where he's seeking help from the forces he could never comprehend with his tiny human mind."

He expected fear or blankness, but Young Master surprised him again. He grimaced as if he smelled something sour, and this was it — this was the extent of his concern.

"I knew it," he said, managing to sound haughty even when his words stumbled one upon the other. "So I'm not naïve or unbsers… that."

He knew. And yet he still set the meeting with Annesley up?

"That's it?" Sebastian wondered. Their knees touched again as he slid one of his arms up the boy's back idly, towards his neck, brushing against the silk of his hair. "I must admit, I expected a stronger reaction. Given your issues with the attention of this kind."

Could it be that Young Master didn't know what he was talking about? He was intoxicated enough for this explanation to be plausible.

The boy squinted at him suspiciously.

"You are very bold today," he remarked, each word slow and heavy with confusion. "And you're acting differently. Why?"

The question was so innocent that Sebastian wanted to laugh. Nothing was stopping him now, so he did, freely and carelessly. His other arm shifted from Ciel Phantomhive's waist to his chest, rising until it reached his chin. He lifted it, tilting his head back and drinking in the look on his face.

"You won't remember a word from this conversation in the morning," Sebastian said. He parted his lips, wanting to absorb the air the boy was breathing, his chest swelling with a conflicting mix of condescension and need. "That's what happens when one drinks too much alcohol unprepared. You became almost as slow as other humans."

As he expected, the comparison with others awakened the competitive side of his Master. He scowled and tried to take a swing at him.

"Shut up," he slurred. "You are, other humans. I'm exceptional."

So arrogant even when drunk. Sebastian laughed again, his head spinning from the sudden delight. He crowded the boy against the wall, craving more closeness with him, but this was apparently as far as he could be pushed. With the same offended scowl, his lord extricated himself from Sebastian's arms and tried to walk up stairs.

Sebastian gave him ten seconds at most until he lost his balance and toppled over. Five if he managed to distract him.

"So why aren't you concerned?" he asked again. He'd never get the same chance to find his answers because starting with tomorrow, all alcohol would be banned from their house.

He anticipated the moment Young Master fell, giving Sebastian another opportunity to touch him, but to his disappointment, the boy turned out to be smarter. He stopped walking, correctly deciding to focus on doing one thing at a time.

"Many people are drawn to power," he murmured, struggling with a yawn. "Even if Annesley is obsessed, he's not the first and not the last. It's not me they want. It's never me, it's what I represent."

Sebastian stared at him. It wasn't like his lord to be so self-deprecating. He was confident and self-assured — his arrogance often reached astounding extents and required separate accommodations. For him to think that people's interest towards him was superficial…

"You know, an heir to a noble family for the cult," the boy elaborated when Sebastian still said nothing. He waved his hands slightly, either to underline his point or to keep his balance. "A person of note in the underworld. It's all about status."

…Yes, his Master was arrogant. But his arrogance was the result of the objective assessment of himself. He surpassed others in many areas and he knew it. And what he was saying now made sense, too, even if Sebastian wasn't certain he liked it.

Obviously, people like Annesley were nothing. They didn't know Ciel Phantomhive and were only interested in their baser desires. But even among those who knew him, was there a single person who wanted him for himself?

To Madam Red, he had been an extension of her sister and a reminder of a man she loved. To Francis Midford, he was the fiancé of her daughter: she was interested in his basic well-being, but most of the time, she ignored his existence.

Lady Elisabeth, for all the pureness of her feelings, loved a little boy from her childhood and an image of the dashing husband she'd cultivated in her mind. Finnie, Mey-Rin, and Bard saw a saviour who gave them a chance at a better life. Bard thought he understood the boy, but he, like others, knew only the outer layers. Tanaka treated Young Master like a Phantomhive, the heir to the family he loved — his fondness was genuine but impersonal.

Sebastian was interested in his soul. However…

However, there was more. He knew that his attachment wouldn't have occurred otherwise. One did not get attached to their meal no matter how compelling it was, so while the specific reasons evaded him, he probably came the closest to appreciating the boy for who he was.

He also knew Ciel Phantomhive best. No one else could say the same.

The boy waved his hands again, drawing Sebastian's attention.

"And I'm no longer afraid because I have you," he finished clumsily. Warmth flickered in Sebastian's chest. His lips curled up, but then his lord let out a shocked sound and fell right off the stairs. Sebastian caught him instinctively, rolling his eyes in exasperation and pulling him closer. The boy didn't seem to notice.

"Did you say Annesley was trying to summon a demon?" he exclaimed. Ah. His drunk brain must have finally caught up. "He knows how to do that? How did you know? I've never even talked to this man before. And what, do demons not like his soul or something?"

"Most demons have no taste," Sebastian said with disdain. After the latest centuries, he could no longer imagine being satisfied with making days-long contracts and getting bland, unfulfilling souls as a reward. "They would have made a deal with him if they hadn't known you belong to me."

The boy tried to wrench himself out of his hold again, but Sebastian didn't let him. Enough was enough.

After a small struggle, his lord sighed.

"You belong to me, I don't belong to you," he mumbled. Even intoxication couldn't hinder his stubbornness — this remark was so like him that Sebastian found himself smiling. There was no struggle any longer, so he resumed walking up the stairs, mindful of his volatile but precious burden.

"Oh!" his Master crowed suddenly, jerking out of his latest bout of drowsiness. "Does it mean that you would fight your fellow demons for me? If one were to respond to Annesley's summons?"

Even imagining anyone agreeing to help Annesley made the hisses of anger stir in him. It was a good thing that Sebastian knew no demon would dare. And if they did…

"I would fight for any of my contractors," he said distantly. He would not let his fellow demons touch his humans and encroach on his territory. If they were to ask, he might have given them his permission — it could have been amusing to have them in his debt or even simply to see their shock and confusion at his agreement.

But not when it came to Ciel Phantomhive. For him, he'd eviscerate the entire Hell and leave it empty.

"I would fight for any of them," Sebastian repeated, snapping his gaze back to his Master, suddenly needing to see his eyes. "Even if they were unworthy. Reputation is not taken lightly by any of the demons. But for you?" he leaned closer, breathing in, feeling reckless. "For you, I believe I would fight to the death."

The boy grinned at him, looking delighted.

"I would accept nothing less," he announced. Sebastian nearly choked on startled laughter.

"Of course you would," he said fondly. His nose brushed against the soft skin of his lord's cheek briefly before he pulled himself away, hoping the strange spell would break. It didn't.

Their dressing rituals tended to be identically even, with no trace of distracting emotions or unwanted incidents. But something was different today.

The fog in Sebastian's head continued to accumulate. Gradually, he began to feel intoxicated, as if he was the one who'd overindulged in alcohol. Could the state of drunkenness be transmitted?

He couldn't think of an answer. His mind was focused on disrobing his lord while his body repeatedly succumbed to the oddest urges.

His fingers lingered beyond the acceptable, taking their time to cling when it wasn't necessary. Instead of staying impersonal, his touches turned into a semblance of caresses. Sebastian stroked his lord's bare arms fleetingly as he freed him from his shirt; his hands slipped down to his waist, tracing the shape of his sides, sliding towards his legs. His eyes kept following the curls of the shadows darkening the pale skin, admiring how it looked, wanting to swallow this sight and keep it inside his stomach as fuel.

The fog scattered slightly when one of his fingers touched the contours of the fresh scar. Curiosity burned stronger than attachment, and Sebastian was grateful for it.

"What happened to your hand?" he wondered. He'd never get a better opportunity to find out.

Young Master stared at him vacantly. He stayed silent for so long that Sebastian began to think it was a lost cause. He was about to give up when the boy suddenly frowned.

"It's not important," he mumbled.

"If you want it healed, I need to know. How else would I treat it effectively?"

"I don't want it healed!"

The reply was so raw and so genuine that Sebastian paused. Then the meaning of the words hit him, and his eyes widened incredulously.

Surely it didn't mean… but what else could it be? It explained everything. Why the wound was almost healed one day and began to bleed again the next. Why his lord did not seem concerned and made up ridiculous tales instead.

Still, he had to ask.

"Are you deliberately harming yourself?"

Ciel Phantomhive measured him with a wary gaze. Sebastian tried to mask his aversion at the idea and look more neutral, and it must have worked — the boy sighed.

"It's not about harm," he uttered vaguely. "It's a reminder of Madam Red. And it feels good."

Distaste flickered. Sebastian couldn't hold back a grimace of disappointment.

So this was what everything was about? The boy wished to inflict pain on himself to honour a woman who had nearly killed him? How plebeian. Unpredictable, yes, but only because he never expected his lord to stoop to such a pathetic way of expressing emotions. And over whom?

"Sentimentality," he drawled derisively. Thankfully, the fog that confused his mind disappeared, so he finished dressing the boy for sleep quickly. "Has her death truly broken your heart? How very human of you."

"I am human!" Young Master protested. His voice was urgent, like explaining his undignified behaviour to Sebastian was a matter of life or death for him. "And I'm not heartbroken. I didn't even like her all that much. I just want a reminder. Is this so hard to understand?"

Sebastian felt the strangest need to laugh.

Of course. He should have known that nothing was going to be simple when it involved Ciel Phantomhive. People harming themselves in order to subdue another kind of pain was common and familiar to him, even if he considered it bizarre. But mutilating one's flesh for a reminder of a person one did not love? Embracing the pain merely for the sake of preserving an old wound? What sense did it make?

"It's downright impossible to understand," Sebastian told him. Carefully, he touched his lord's chin, disappointed yet relieved when the already-familiar current jolted through him at the contact. "Sometimes I feel like it is a lost cause. Nothing about you is comprehensible."

His behaviour ever since Houndsworth; the way his mind worked; the choices he kept making.

It was a good thing that Sebastian loved mysteries.

"And if I were heartbroken?" his Master suddenly asked. His eyes were guarded. "Or sentimental? Would that make my soul less desirable?"

This was an interesting question. It required his complete attention, so Sebastian pulled away, mulling over it.

Humans held an infinite allure. Nonetheless, so many of them humiliated themselves by falling victims to the lowest emotions. So many were weak, crumpling under the force of love, sorrow, or desire.

Ciel Phantomhive was not weak, no matter what emotions he was experiencing. Even if he cried over his aunt until the end of his short life, even if he began to moon over Lady Elisabeth… this wouldn't change anything. He would remain himself at the core, and his core was what Sebastian wanted. What he would have and consume one day.

"I'm not sure anything could make your soul less desirable to me," he said thoughtfully. Gently, he helped his lord to climb onto the bed. "I worked hard on it. And I will consume it no matter what transformations it undergoes because it's mine."

His previous masters would have been unsettled by the reminder, but not Ciel Phantomhive. If anything, he relaxed; his face lost its guarded wariness.

"So how will you do it?" he inquired. His voice was a mess now, the syllables slurring, but Sebastian still understood every word.

"How will I do what?" he clarified. He untied the eye-patch, and when he wanted to move his hand away, his Master chased it, pressing his cheek to it like he was attempting to absorb its warmth. Was he cold? Sebastian would have to bring him another blanket.

"How will you take my soul?" the boy asked insistently. His curiosity was vivid even in the dull lighting. "How does this happen?"

The question stirred hunger in him. It seized his stomach, twisting it in dismay, reminding him of how long it'd been since he last had a meal. Ignoring it all, Sebastian grinned. Anticipation always heated his blood better than the food itself, and when he finally consumed Ciel Phantomhive's soul… what a feast it would be.

Meanwhile, he had to practise restraint. He'd polished it to a state of art already, so what were several more years or even a decade?

"It's too early for you to be thinking about that," he said aloud. Since Young Master continued to sit, he pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to lie on his pillow and pulling a blanket over him. When he began to move away, the boy stopped him once again by grabbing his hand.

"I want to know," he implored. His eyes were impossibly wide and just as impossibly compelling. "How do demons take souls?"

Sebastian had no inclination to reply. Outlining the endless ways of torture in his mind was acceptable, but disclosing any of these plans to a drunk human before him? He doubted it would go well. His lord would be shocked if he knew what Sebastian fantasised about so often.

But to his dismay, he found himself caught in the same trap many people had been.

Half of the time, Ciel Phantomhive's charms were little better than rustic. But for the remaining half… Sebastian was looking at him now, and he couldn't look away. It was so nonsensical and undignified to be entrapped by a pair of eyes — eyes that, despite their current earnestness, could turn mocking in a blink of a second. Sebastian was well aware of all the tactics and techniques his Master had in store for manipulating those around him, but he never thought he'd fall victim to one.

How embarrassing. Maybe the boy deserved to hear what awaited him indeed.

Then again… how was he to take his soul? Sebastian still wasn't clear on this. His plans and ideas kept changing over time, and what he'd imagined once no longer sat right with him.

He did not wish to cause more pain than necessary. He did not wish to prolong Ciel Phantomhive's suffering. Attachment was a powerful force and it would stay his hand even if he tried to force himself to follow one of his more violent ideas — he knew it now. He accepted it.

Which left him with no plausible answer because he hadn't given this subject enough thought after the unfortunate change that befell him.

The boy waited, though, and Sebastian recklessly wanted to grant his request.

If their contract were to end now… if this night were to be the last he was spending as a butler of the Phantomhives… how would he claim his long-awaited prize?

His mind wasn't willing to provide an answer, so Sebastian decided to let his instincts do the job instead. He concentrated on the pearl-like glow of the soul in front of him, letting its ambiguous light entice him. At the thought of touching it, biting into it, his mouth filled with saliva. He could almost smell it now, could almost inhale the magnificent scent it was radiating — it made his head spin, filling it with mindless want.

His body decided to move, and Sebastian followed its impulse obediently. He knelt near his lord, adjusting his hair slightly, sliding his fingers down and to the side, brushing against his face, seeking his lips.

Something glowed in his chest at this touch. The want intensified, gaining variations he'd never experienced before, and just like that, Sebastian knew how he would do it.

"Through a kiss," he said quietly. A quiver went through him at the image, a sudden need twisting him so hard that he had to fight to keep himself unmoving. The boy's lips trembled against his fingertips, their moist warmth palpable even though the gloves, and Sebastian's body came to life. Stunned, he snatched his hand away and stood up on his shaky feet.

He didn't know how he managed to bow and leave the room at a normal pace. His heart was thrashing violently, his mind electrified. He felt disturbingly, painfully empty — everything in him was burning from the desperate hunger. His insides were on fire, and this fire spread even to his human body. The sensation was completely bewildering: it muddled his thoughts, instilling just one, overwhelming desire in him — to get back to his lord.

He couldn't obey it, even despite feeling like his sanity would slip unless he did something to tame his hunger. Because if he succumbed, if he went upstairs, he would end up killing the boy. He would break their contract in every existing way.

The safest choice was to flee far away from the manor, but Sebastian didn't think he was capable of it either. When every particle of his body vibrated with the longing for Young Master, dismissing it and walking away was an impossibility. He needed to stay in the vicinity, where he could at least hear his heartbeat. This would have to suffice until he felt better and got himself under control.

He went into the kitchen, pressed against the door and closed his eyes. His lord's breathing technique was occasionally invaluable, so he tried to follow it: a breath, three and a half seconds of nothing, and then another breath. Again and again.

Five minutes passed; five more followed. By the twelfth minute, Sebastian's body began to calm. His hunger settled down, too, and he risked opening his eyes.

Only to see a red end of a cigar and an unwelcome face staring at him.

Bard. Bard had been here in the kitchen all this time, and in his turmoil, Sebastian failed to notice him.

Why had the wretched human stayed silent? He could have said something to save Sebastian the misery of knowing that his embarrassing display had a witness.

The only hope was that human eyes were too weak to catch any relevant details. Sebastian pushed off the door, trying to appear unconcerned.

"Why are you not in bed?" he asked. Thankfully, he managed to sound cool.

Bard shrugged, his gaze still fixed on him.

"I just wrapped everything up for the night twenty minutes ago," he said. "It's not that late, and it's not like I have a bedtime, do I?"

Sebastian couldn't find what to say to this. It'd be prudent to offer some casual remark to explain his presence here, but his head was temporarily out of ideas.

To his relief and wariness simultaneously, Bard decided to break the awkward silence himself.

"How's the attachment thing going?" he wondered, with genuine curiosity in his voice. "Feeling cured yet?"

"Not exactly," Sebastian replied shortly. He approached the refrigerator and opened it, pretending to scan the contents.

Bard snickered to himself, but he didn't comment, so Sebastian didn't bother turning to face him.

"You know, it's actually good to hear. Because I got worried that my advice might bring more harm than good."

This was mildly interesting. Sebastian shut the refrigerator with a satisfied look, like he'd found what he wanted in there.

"How so?" he inquired politely. Bard shrugged uncomfortably.

"It's the Young Master," he murmured, dropping his gaze for a moment. "I get why you want to take a step back, it makes sense, you shouldn't make your employer your whole life. But… he's still a child. He might not understand."

Sebastian sighed loudly. As usual, Bard had to talk in confusing riddles only his slow brain comprehended before he got to something that made sense. What was to be done about this? Probably nothing.

Nonetheless, he was too interested in the subject to walk away, so he'd have to oblige him.

"Young Master might not understand what?" he asked patiently. Bard gave him a dubious look, the same one he always did when he believed his words should be perfectly clear to everyone.

"Why you're acting differently with him," he explained. A guilty expression crossed his face, and he twirled the cigar in his fingers. "I mean, if you handle your attachment and start behaving more distantly with him, he'll be heartbroken. He'll think it's his fault, that he did something wrong. I want things to work out for you, I really do, but if it's at his expense… I don't know."

Sebastian stared, waiting for the moment when the rambling turned into the words he could understand. It didn't come, so with another sigh, he decided to budge.

"Why would our lord be heartbroken?" he clarified. Bard gawked at him.

"For God's sake, man!" he snapped, and Sebastian was almost startled by his ardent frustration. "The kid's attached to you like you're the only thing he knows! That whole trip to Houndsworth was terrible, I kept seeing him trying to put up a brave face and failing. He was miserable the entire time we were there and I have a pretty good idea why."

"I'm sure you are about to explain it to me. Go on. I find your ignorance fascinating."

"Because you were panting after that Angela girl," Bard said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bard ignored him.

"He's accustomed to having your undivided attention," he continued as if Sebastian hadn't spoken, "and here you were, running after someone else. I'm sure he worried that you might decide to stay in the village instead of returning home. You were with him when he needed someone most, of course he's afraid to lose you. After what he's been through, having stability and a routine is good. So, see, shaking off at least some of this attachment will benefit you, but it'll harm him. And I don't want to take sides."

It took twenty seconds for Sebastian to derive at least some meaning from Bard's stream of consciousness. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated it.

So many of Bard's conclusions were based on primitive misconceptions. He did not know or understand Ciel Phantomhive at all. Despite being aware of the nature of his work, he saw a child instead of the creature of darkness he truly was. He trivialised the boy's mind and attributed naïve and childish ideas to him.

But even with all this, it was difficult to deny that Bard's beliefs formed a more or less correct picture. Young Master did despise Angela, and he was indeed grim for the duration of their trip for reasons Sebastian could not guess. Could there be some truth to Bard's words? Because if so…

If so, Sebastian's worldview was about to take another sharp turn.

"I was not 'panting' after Angela, as you have eloquently put it," he said slowly. Bard made a rude noise.

"The hell you weren't! You stared at her all the time and asked after her ten times a day!"

He supposed this was true. He monitored the angel when he could to make certain he could thwart their plans if necessary.

But what Bard thought of him did not matter at the moment. He had a much more significant question on his mind.

"You believe that Young Master is also attached to me?" he asked. Bard gaped. It was his turn to stare, and Sebastian shifted, annoyed at being subjected to such a palpable incredulity. It was as if he had asked something entirely ridiculous.

A long minute of silence passed before Bard shook his head in disgusted disbelief.

"Sometimes I wonder about you," he grumbled. Then he dared to walk away without adding anything else.

Sebastian would have to come up with a truly odious task for him first thing in the morning. For now, though, he'd rather be occupied with more important matters.

Could Ciel Phantomhive be attached to him?

A surge of longing that flooded him took him aback. Sebastian lowered himself to one of the chairs, gazing at nothing yet seeing much more than that.

The boy had certainly needed him when they first made their contract. He was helpless and largely clueless, and there was a period when he began to grow uncomfortably warm and friendly. Sebastian disliked it, which led to his attempt to trick his lord into violating their contract and consume his soul early.

So much time had passed since then, it was difficult to imagine that the boy's smiles could have ever felt grating. That he could have given them so freely, without restraint.

Maybe Ciel Phantomhive had experienced a form of childish attachment to him at that time. But now? The idea seemed laughable. He was much too reserved to be undergoing the same wild range of feelings Sebastian was suffering from.

And yet, what if he wasn't alone in this madness? What if the two of them were stuck in the same abhorrent swamp of emotions?

A curious sensation blossomed right beneath his ribcage. It felt light and fragile, and Sebastian didn't know how to name it.

If Bard's statement were true, this would change things. The boy's recent actions would gain shades Sebastian had failed to decipher before, but the more he thought of them now, the more visible they became.

Maybe his lord's mood had been erratic because he, too, was struggling with his attachment. Maybe the questions he asked were not meant to imply he knew of Sebastian's feelings and condemned him for them — he might have simply been trying to deduce if he was the only participant in this madness or if the two of them had been infected.

Another emotion joined the undefined slice of light. This one, Sebastian recognised. It was joy, bright and vibrant, mixed with the feeling of the deepest relief.

The days he spent appalled at his sudden weakness didn't seem quite as dreary when he knew his Master shared them. Embarrassment was more bearable when he wasn't the only one to bear it, so having attachment mirrored back at him would be the best turn of events.

A satisfied smile spilled over Sebastian's lips. At long last, he felt lighter, without the infinite pressure pushing him down, and since he was alone, he allowed himself a small laugh.

But things were near perfect! He'd have to watch his lord for some time to make sure Bard's belief was well-founded, and if so, their dynamic might gain a new twist. It'd be interesting to see how far this attachment could be pushed and what specific effects it had on the boy.

Anticipation unfolded. Sebastian stood up, his mind swirling around new exciting perspectives, his hunger temporarily gratified.

Bard was proving to be surprisingly useful. Who would have thought?

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Young Master spent the next several days lost in thought. Sebastian watched him attentively for any glimpses of attachment, but it was difficult to make it out when the boy barely talked to him.

The only thing that halted his irritation was the fact that everyone else received the same treatment. Ciel Phantomhive seemed genuinely focused on some internal dilemma, and until he solved it, there would be no testing Bard's theory.

However… maybe there was some evidence to it. Sebastian didn't want to make the mistake of thinking that everyone felt the impacts of the same emotions in the same way. He'd spent enough time in the human world to witness it personally: some faced a loss and shut down under the deadly power of grief. Others got furious — the loss fuelled their rage and pushed them to action. A group of the most bewildering individuals changed their lives under its influence, finding a new purpose or diving into religion.

It was possible that the same principle applied to attachment. His lord, for instance, was certainly blushing more often and more readily now. Sebastian repeatedly caught him daydreaming instead of reading or working on his correspondence, and perhaps the most intriguing revelation was that he kept touching his lips.

Sebastian was captivated by it. His attachment was revealing itself differently, and he couldn't stop remarking on the potential variations.

If he didn't know Ciel Phantomhive and analysed his behaviour out of context, he would think that the boy was experiencing the bloom of his first infatuation. The touching of lips in particular could signify the memory of a first kiss shared with an object of his affection.

Fortunately, Sebastian knew that no such kiss had taken place. Furthermore, while the thought of the boy becoming this sentimental over him was amusing, he knew it would never be the case. He saw the mild disgust and confusion Young Master consistently demonstrated at the romantic displays of the ever-eager Lady Elisabeth — he had no intimate understanding of the subject. Even more important were his experiences at the hands of the cult. He might feel compelled to deny it, but it scarred him severely, and Sebastian would be surprised if he ever overcame the barriers his past had ejected.

Truthfully, he was glad of it. While remembering how his lord had been violated no longer brought him even a sliver of satisfaction, this event prevented the dangers of hormonal human teenagehood that Sebastian had no interest in navigating. He'd experienced enough turmoil when he suspected the boy was interested in Mey-Rin.

Discarding infatuation, he was left with nothing. Whatever thoughts and feelings his Master had, they remained a mystery, which made attachment the only plausible explanation.

Sebastian was contemplating which methods could better help him to find his answers when he got a short note from Lau.

Tonight is the night. Baron Annesley's wife and the maid will take their leave for a day.

A new kind of hunger slid through him.

Sebastian smiled.

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He left the manor at night, after his lord fell into a deep sleep. Only two rooms were lit at Annesley's house, one of them being his bedroom, and when Sebastian slithered closer, he instantly saw why.

Despite Lau's alert, Annesley wasn't alone. He was busy bestowing his hungry affections on another human, just like he had been the last time. However, there was something startlingly familiar about his new partner.

Sebastian paused, his eyes running over a slim figure. It was a boy with short greyish hair, dressed in a noble-looking outfit that nevertheless stank of cheapness. He tried to hold his back straight, but his shoulders kept hunching as if by habit, and with how readily he succumbed to Annesley, this experience was evidently not his first, far from it.

The boy turned to the window briefly, and Sebastian's breath caught in his throat.

He had blue eyes. In this lighting, every shade of them resembled the colour of Ciel Phantomhive's eyes, the lack of the seal being the only distinguishing feature.

Sebastian balked. A fiery protest hissed in him, and his disbelief rapidly grew into wrath.

He pushed himself into the room, letting the edges of his true form fade and taking a human appearance. He wanted Annesley to see him, to know who was going to take his life and why.

It took an embarrassingly long time for Annesley and his guest to notice him. When they did, the boy shrieked in fright while Annesley recoiled, stumbled, and fell on top of his bed.

Sebastian gave him a sharp grin. Now that he had been seen, he allowed his shape to darken again. Feathers swirled as his expensive but plain human boots elongated into a form he preferred.

"Good evening," he purred. Vehemence made each word poisonous. "I hope I'm not distracting you from anything untoward."

Annesley was blinking quickly but silently. The boy, on the other hand, took one look at Sebastian and screamed. His voice was high and unpleasant, and not at all like the voice of the original.

Sneering, Sebastian moved. He prepared to tear the offensive vocal chords out, but then the boy stared right at him, with his bewitching blue eyes, and something in him jerked harshly. Sebastian hesitated.

It wasn't the right colour, in the end, not at all. The boy also wasn't nearly as pretty — blander hair, blander features, a complete lack of pride and assertiveness… Still, the resemblance was there. Fleeting as it might be, it was convincing enough for chills to travel up Sebastian's spine when he imagined hurting this human.

Annesley had selected him well. And now he would have to die because he was at the house when it should have been empty.

Had Lau known? It would be in his nature to set things in motion with the goal to subject Sebastian to the disgusting scene he had witnessed.

In any other situation, Sebastian would feel justified to snap his neck for the audacity, but alas, he had only himself to blame. He got into the trap he'd always caught humans in by not making his demand clear enough and requesting only for the wife and the maid to be out.

Did Lau deem himself a demon now? This could be amusing. Sebastian would have to look into it the next time they saw each other.

"Please, leave me alone," the boy begged. Tears were flowing down his face in never-ending streams, distorting it and chipping further away at its dubious perfection. "Whatever you are, just leave me alone! I've done nothing, not a thing, I swear! Please!"

This was unpleasant to observe. Sebastian had no desire to gaze at his lord's lookalike, especially not when he still held fresh memories of what this boy had been doing with Annelsey. Even thinking about it made bile rise in his throat, injecting him with the strongest urge to crush everything he saw here to dust.

However…

Tilting his head, he studied the boy more closely. His stomach tensed in hungry anticipation.

The idea was spontaneous and astonishing. It was outrageous even by his standards, but now that it entered his mind, he found himself incapable of waving it away.

Annesley desired Ciel Phantomhive and he got himself a lookalike to meet his needs. Perhaps Sebastian could do the same.

He couldn't and wouldn't kill his Master until their contract ran its course. Even if the temptation began to drive him insane, he would hold it back. But taking the sharpest edge off his hunger? It was an appealing thought, one that instantly set all his nerve endings on fire. His current shape, part demon, part human, burned — the fire engulfed every possible argument and polished his resolve.

Not letting himself think for a moment longer, Sebastian took another step and smiled at the boy.

"There is no need to be afraid," he purred. "I did not come here to hurt you."

The boy still shook like a leaf. He stank of delicious horror, but careful hope began to grow in his eyes, too.

"In fact," Sebastian added, smiling gentler to soothe him, "I only have one question for you. If you could wish for anything in the world, what would you wish for?"

Sniffling, the boy wiped his nose with his shaking hand.

"I… I want to go home," he stammered. "And I want to be rich. Very rich. And to have a house."

Ah, how painfully simplistic. And yet exactly the wish he'd been hoping for.

"I can do it for you," Sebastian said. He stroked the boy's face softly, mindful of the claws. A new wave of terror hit his nostrils and he inhaled, shuddering in delight. "I can make you as rich as you desire. You'll have enough to buy any house you want; the finest food and clothes as well. Anything. All this in exchange for your soul."

The boy looked at him again, but then immediately dropped his gaze in his fear. He continued to tremble. However, his voice sounded steadier when he said, "Just my soul? Nothing else?"

What else did the boy think he might want from him?

"Just your soul," Sebastian replied dutifully. More silence followed, and he swallowed a sigh. He was getting impatient. Annesley was waiting, and his lord might wake up at any moment and request his presence. If he didn't get his answer within the next minute…

"Okay," the boy said. His eyes darted around but didn't stop at Sebastian. "I agree. You can take my soul but only after I get rich."

Triumph flared up. Since his new contractor didn't look at him, there was no need to hide a feral grin that stretched his lips wide.

"Perfect," Sebastian whispered. Without further questions, he pressed his hand to the boy's waist, at the exact location where Young Master's cult-inflicted mark was. His seal seared itself into the skin, and horrified screams filled the room once again.

The more obvious the seal was, the stronger connection formed between a demon and a contractor. Sebastian had no wish for this brief deal to be strong. The mark on his own hand was smaller and duller as a result — this was good. There were fewer chances for his real Master to notice this temporary addition. If he did… Sebastian shuddered at the thought.

The boy finally stopped screaming. He craned his neck in an attempt to see the seal, but with a flinch, he looked away and grabbed his shirt.

"This done?" he murmured. "I can go?"

"Yes. And this is yours now," with a flourish, Sebastian conjured a purse full of money. It was artificial, but the copies were good enough to fool most. "I shall visit you again soon to give you more."

The boy's face lit up. He grabbed the purse greedily and peeked inside, gasping in excitement when he saw the contents.

"By God!" he exclaimed. "It's mine? It's all mine!"

"Indeed," Sebastian drawled. It was hard to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You should leave now because I have other matters to attend to."

The boy nodded vigorously. Cradling the purse, he rushed to the door, but he stopped mere inches from it.

"What should I call you?" he wondered. "You know, if my money ends?"

Technically, he was supposed to allow his contractors to give him a name, but…

"My name is Sebastian," he said. The boy blinked once in surprise before nodding and running off. Finally.

Consuming this soul wouldn't sate him for long. It was ordinary — bland and boring, barely enough to last him a few days. But even this would suffice.

The next time he faced the risk of losing control when interacting with his lord, he would have a ready-made substitute to devour. It was an interesting plan and Sebastian couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier.

"I know what you are," a voice said. Slowly, Sebastian faced the source.

Annesley was still sitting on his bed where he'd fallen, staring at Sebastian in horrified fascination.

"I know what you are," he repeated, although he sounded less certain of himself now. "You are a demon. I knew you exist. I knew it! But when no one answered my summons, I thought… this is why you are here, isn't it? You came to answer my calls?"

Sebastian laughed. The laugh was unpleasant, and even a stupid human like Annesley must have realised it because he recoiled again, his face losing its colours.

"Do you not recognise me?" Sebastian asked lightly. His shoes clicked as he began to approach, shedding several more layers of his human form. "We've met several times by now. Or were you too busy staring at someone else, perhaps?"

Annesley licked his lips nervously. His body began to shake.

"I do remember you," he muttered. "You are Earl Phantomhive's servant. But I thought… you came here, so…"

Sebastian twisted his lips derisively.

"I came here to seek satisfaction for the disrespect you've been paying my Master for the last several months," he uttered silkily. "It's presumptuous of you to believe that I would favour you over him."

"But you just agreed to fulfil that whore's wish! Why wouldn't you grant mine?"

The ridiculousness of this man went above the normally amusing thresholds. If anger wasn't a constant low-thrumming presence in his blood, Sebastian might have been tempted to put Annesley in the basement of some abandoned building and visit him nightly to observe how long it would take to strip him of everything but primal fear.

Sadly, one night would have to suffice — less than that if his Master were to wake up.

"The only wish I'm truly interested in granting at the moment is that of Earl Phantomhive." Sebastian reached the bed and stopped, watching Annesley fixedly. His darkness snarled in eagerness, stretching forwards and trying to wrap around him in its burning, suffocating hold.

Annesley scrambled back with a sound of distress. He didn't notice the edge and dropped onto the floor with a thud.

Snorting, Sebastian slowly walked around the bed, drinking in the growing despair and panic Annesley was so generously bestowing on him. Then he sent a knife forwards, watching how it buried itself into Annesley's shoulder and pinned him to the carpet.

The fool yelled, thrashing.

"I can offer you more!" he shouted hysterically. He seemed to be coming to terms with his imminent death because the lingering traces of hope disappeared, replaced by wildness and insanity. "I can… I can serve you instead! Be your link in the human world! Do your work! What makes Ciel Phantomhive your Master? Tell me, tell me and I'll make a better offer! Why am I a worse candidate? I might be no earl, but I'm respectable! Why serve him when I can—"

Sebastian threw another knife. This one hit Annesley's chest — shallowly, to hurt, not to kill.

With a howl, Annesley fell silent. He was panting harshly, though, his blood-stained chest falling and rising in effort.

"Because he is a king whereas you are a pawn," Sebastian said lazily. He took another step, twirling a new knife in his fingers. "A sun, whereas you are a slug. A delicacy whereas you are tastelessness personified. And the most important fact, of course, is that he is mine, whereas you tried to infringe upon my territory."

No more steps were left. Sebastian crouched, baring his teeth in a promising grin, and Annesley shrieked in panic.

"Wait! Wait! The boy — the other boy! The whore! You made a contract with him! Surely I'll be a finer choice? He can give you nothing!"

"He can give me exactly what he has given you," Sebastian remarked. His blood roared, both at the thought of finally consuming a soul, unimpressive as it was, and sinking his claws into Annesley. "A pale substitute to sate my hunger until the soul of my true Master becomes mine. Your fate will be better, in all honesty. You'll simply die, and your soul will be intact. Free to travel to your next destination."

Annesley clearly found this perspective more terrifying. The last coherence slipped away and he screamed.

He didn't stop screaming after this.

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"What did my Master want from you?" Sebastian wondered. Annesley was still alive, and he was getting bored. It was time to finish his little adventure and to return to his manor, but there was something he needed to know first.

Asking his lord would be senseless. He'd receive either a derisive glance or a bunch of lies that would set his brain aflame.

Annesley's eyelashes were fluttering. His body had an intriguing colour — it was not white, exactly, but rather discoloured. His blood was splattered all over the room, his skin turned into a canvas of burns, wounds, and bruises. Initially, Sebastian thought to inflict the damage by following a specific pattern: his lord had expressed the desire to see his drawing abilities, and this could be a good chance to showcase them. He could create something easily recognisable: a portrait, an image of their manor; Pluto, perhaps. The wretched dog adored him, sensing a creature of similar breeding — Sebastian had been forced to interact with it so many times that he could easily depict all its features now, from the exact colouring patterns to its ridiculous naïve stare.

In the end, he decided that this would be too gaudy. Besides, he didn't plan for Young Master to learn of this event — Annesley was destined to be as useless and uninspiring in his death as he had been in life.

There was no reply yet, so Sebastian pressed a sharp heel of his shoe to Annesley's navel, gradually increasing pressure and provoking the skin into bursting.

"A camera!" Annesley rasped. It'd been an hour since he last begged for his life — now his pleas revolved around letting him die, interchanging with bouts of apathy. "A camera. Talbot's camera. He wanted a weapon. He wanted… to see… the fish. The weakness. What it treasures… It was probably you. He was talking about you, I'm sure. You are the fish."

This sounded disturbing coming from Annesley's mouth, but it was just the thing his lord might have said.

"Thank you," Sebastian said politely. He would find out about this camera from someone who wasn't on the brink of death. "Farewell now."

Annesley didn't even look frightened. He closed his eyes, and Sebastian pushed the heel in, piercing the lower part of his stomach with it. Simultaneously, he ripped the head off in one powerful thrust.

There. One more annoyance was gone, and his lord's reputation was about to be restored. Chances were, he would be asked to participate in the investigation. Sebastian couldn't wait to see his face once he looked at the body — how long, if ever, would it take him to understand that the responsible party was shadowing him step by step daily?

Smiling, Sebastian stood up. The darkness retreated, fully sated, letting him regain his human form, and he looked around sceptically.

The blood was everywhere — it had formed a small sea by this moment, soaking into the carpet, the floor, the linen on the bed, even the ceiling. This would not do. Young Master wasn't fond of blood. He'd behaved with an admirable restraint the last time, but back then, he'd been shocked and sleepy. His reaction might be more extreme at the crime scene.

"So many things to do," Sebastian muttered. Then he got to work.

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It was half past five in the morning when he finally removed the last drop of blood from the room. It looked pristine now — both a token of regard for his lord and a small mystery for him to solve.

Only one problem remained. His Master might rightfully wonder if the body was in fact Annesley's — for all he knew, Annesley might have killed someone and escaped. To dispel these possible doubts, Sebastian redressed him into the clothes he'd worn at the gathering, down to the boots with feathers that were offensive to anyone with a sense of style.

He could have always left the head behind, but he intended to take it with him. When the time came, they could plant it into the residence of an unwanted person. This would solidify the reputation of the Phantomhives while securing the boy's protection from possible legal problems.

Taking one last pleased look around the scene, Sebastian left, Annesley's head tucked under his arm securely.

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The morning was busy. He set up the interviews with his lord's prospective teachers, prepared breakfast, and waited until the boy consumed it and went upstairs. It was already nine o'clock. Finally, another hour later, after giving orders to the servants and explaining that no, Bard couldn't use a flamethrower to compete with Pluto, he dived into his research.

Few books mentioned Talbot's camera. Even fewer had enough information to explain what it was.

Lifting his head, Sebastian stared outside the window thoughtfully.

This camera was undoubtedly a beguiling invention. How regretful that he hadn't known Talbot himself when he was alive. Had he been a genius scientist who had managed to break the boundary between the human and other worlds? Or had he employed a demon to help him with his inventions?

Perhaps Sebastian could ask the next time he visited Hell. A device capable of showing whom a person held the deepest regard for, provided that this person and their object of affection existed in two different dimensions? By this logic, if Young Master were to be photographed, he might see an image of his deceased parents or aunt by his side. An unattainable source of his deepest longing.

Or he might see Sebastian.

An undefinable sensation twitched beneath his ribs. It was uncomfortably warm and ticklish, and Sebastian sighed.

He was curious, certainly. A picture like this would be one of the biggest pieces of leverage he could have hoped to get over his lord. In addition, it could serve as the ultimate proof of Bard's words. If Sebastian knew for certain that the boy was attached to him, it would even out their playing ground.

To imagine that this was true… His heart beat faster at the idea. A strange kind of excitement flooded him, and he would have succumbed to it if it weren't for one small but persistent problem.

It was abundantly clear why his lord wanted to get his hands on this particular camera. Like Sebastian, he wanted leverage, and he went to extreme lengths to acquire it. Contacting Lau, visiting a public gathering, somehow managing to get Annesley to tell him what he wanted to know… it was brilliant — or it would be if wariness didn't hold Sebastian's admiration back.

He could not allow himself to be photographed. No matter the cost. Because he was almost sure of what his picture would show.

To be fair, it wasn't as if he had plenty of options. The camera would depict a being he treasured in a world that was not his own, and Ciel Phantomhive was quite literally the only candidate in this competition. Sebastian cared about numerous curiosities in Hell, such as his collection of stones, but in the human realm? All his previous masters and mistresses were dead. The only people he knew currently were the people connected to his lord, and there was no denying that he favoured the boy over them.

He suspected that Young Master wouldn't see it this way, though. He would misinterpret and attribute more significance to the picture than it actually held, claiming it as his victory, and Sebastian couldn't let this happen.

There was also a line in the book mentioning Talbot's camera that he wasn't fond of. 'If it happens that a subject of the photograph cares for nothing in the outer worlds, the picture shall remain empty of additional presences.'

Since the line was short and added at the very bottom, Sebastian was content to ignore it. Still, it was smarter to err on the side of the caution.

He would take a picture of his lord to see what he held dear. He would not have a picture taken of him just in case it wasn't empty and featured his lord.

Everything would be as simple as he made it.

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Sebastian got so focused on the upcoming challenge with the camera that he forgot about Annesley. He remembered only when his Master ordered him to prepare the carriage, his face tight, his stare dark with the thoughts Sebastian doubted he'd be able to extract from him even if he were to apply torture.

When they stopped near Annesley's house, his anticipation began to build up. It sent a thrum of eagerness through his blood, and he was aggrieved to realise that he would have to keep a mask of indifference instead of allowing himself to monitor his lord's movements with the intensity he would be inclined to exhibit otherwise.

They entered the house. The boy's shoulders were tense, likely in preparation for the gruesome sight he believed awaited him. Sebastian couldn't wait to see his reaction upon realising that there was nothing to concern himself with — not a drop of blood would greet him at the scene.

A smile began to work its way onto his lips, so Sebastian ducked his head to hide it. One of the officers they were passing stared at him with incomprehensive horror.

Young Master paused when he walked into the room. Sebastian held his breath. He couldn't see his face now, but even the set of his shoulders, the way he held his back told him a lot. The boy was full of disbelief.

Naturally he was. He couldn't suspect Sebastian, he had no reason to, yet who else would have left such a lovely crime scene for him?

To Sebastian's surprise and satisfaction, his lord recovered quickly. He approached Annesley's body, circling it and finally revealing his expression. It was coldly contemplative. There was nothing to read from it, not a thought to guess at, so Sebastian exhaled quietly.

Well, then. He would have to be patient.

His lord knelt next to the body and stared at it for a while. Then he loosened several buttons on its shirt, peeking at the mutilated chest, and a spark of delight exploded in Sebastian.

Clever and highly intuitive. Sebastian thought the cause of death was so obvious that his lord would not bother studying the rest of the body. He should have known better — years of investigations polished Ciel Phantomhive's skills, and his inquisitive nature contributed heavily to his success in this sphere.

His smile grew bigger. He got so distracted that he forgot to erase it when his Master stood up and turned to face him.

"Are you finished, my lord?" Sebastian asked neutrally.

"I am." The answer sounded very confident. The boy approached him, his hooded stare making the first traces of wariness materialise in Sebastian's mind.

"So soon?"

"Oh, this case is extremely simple. Would you like to hear my conclusions?"

He was right, something was most definitely wrong. But what could it be? His lord couldn't possibly suspect him. For all he knew, this was just another gruesome case — Sebastian had no direct connection with Annesley in his eyes.

"If you would like to share them," Sebastian agreed. Tension reared up anew when he received an angelic smile. Before he could blink, his lord grabbed him by his shirt and pulled at it harshly. The abruptness made Sebastian succumb from surprise, so a moment later, he found himself face to face with his Master.

"I know you killed him," the boy whispered. His stare was alight with fury, and Sebastian's breath caught in his throat. His blood grew unbearably heated — he was magnetised, inflamed by this display, and he wasn't certain why. "I could recognise the way you kill and the weapons you use anywhere. If this was someone other than Annesley, I would let it go. But you set me up."

What?

Through the haze that began to accumulate in his mind, Sebastian couldn't decipher the meaning of the accusation. He set his lord up? But this had never been his intention. On the contrary, he sought to secure his reputation after his embarrassing behaviour at the gathering.

"People saw me talking to Annesley," Young Master hissed. His words were sharp like knives, and Sebastian wanted to wear them like jewellery. He couldn't recall the last time he felt so delighted. "I never talked to him before. People saw that he was shaken after our conversation. I am known for eliminating scum like him. What do you think they are going to believe now that he died shortly afterwards in such a unique way? Whom do you think Randall and even the Queen will suspect? For whatever reason you killed him, you set me up. And this is not something I'm willing to forget."

How full of life he looked right now. Ciel Phantomhive was a supremely beautiful human, there were no doubts about it, but his righteous, prideful fury added more layers to it. If Sebastian was not allowed to eat his soul, he wanted to inhale him. To tear into his flesh with his teeth to absorb at least some of his essence. He wanted to kiss his mouth until it tasted of blood, and then he wanted to drink it until his hunger abated or his fascination lessened its vicious grip.

He'd never thought humans could hold true power, but his lord proved him wrong. It didn't happen always, but sometimes, in moments like this one, the combination of his determination, intelligence, and ability to remain unpredictable inspired Sebastian to kneel in servitude willingly, perhaps even eagerly. He couldn't imagine how the boy made this leap to connect him to Annesley's death, but it was startling and impressive, and Sebastian never wanted to crack his head open to see what was inside more.

The boy released him and took a step back. His gaze was calculating.

"This was a warning," he uttered, his voice an icicle wrapped in the layers of scorn and dark promises. "If you ever do something like this again, I'm going to reconsider our contract."

The haze disappeared. Coldness replaced it, and Sebastian tensed.

His Master had to be truly angry to make such a threat. There was no ground under it, Sebastian didn't break any orders, but even hearing the words made hostility swirl in his chest.

The boy would reconsider their contract?

Quite literally, over Sebastian's dead body.

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He stopped seething shortly after they returned home. It was difficult to stay annoyed when enchantment continued to haunt him, reminding him of what a compelling creature his lord was.

Before, when Sebastian pondered over attachment, he considered beauty as its underlying cause. It was difficult to deny that he was addicted to the boy's appearance and that he spent hours planning and selecting the most fitting clothes for him, driven by the insatiable urge to make him too irresistible to look away from.

But now, he began to wonder if it was unpredictability that had infected him with attachment. This was what he appreciated most in his existence, the reason why staying in Hell, so bland despite all the delicious horrors it held, grew unbearable.

The moving of time was eternal — it was smooth and careless and endless up until some dim lights flared up. It happened occasionally, and when it did, Sebastian got to share this darkness with someone else for a very brief period. Making a contract was the only change in his eternity, the one semi-interesting thing that lit his path until the deal was closed and he was forced to enter the darkness again, hoping that the light of another challenge wouldn't make him wait long.

The more unpredictable his masters were, the more thrilled he felt, and Ciel Phantomhive was the epitome of unpredictability. Sebastian could anticipate only a half of his decisions. The second half remained wrapped in mystery, the leaps he'd made with Annesley's murder being the latest example.

No matter how hard he thought, Sebastian still couldn't tell how Young Master figured out who killed Annesley. Even more unexpected was the way he concluded that Sebastian set him up when the intention was to do the opposite.

Sebastian looked at the situation and saw it from a specific angle, believing it to be the only true one; then his lord introduced another view, and it was every bit as logical. To suddenly see the same picture in a different way was breath-taking. This was a feeling Sebastian craved more than anything.

And this wasn't all. Ciel Phantomhive had somehow become capable of hearing him speak when no other human could say the same. He scored a brilliant victory over him in their game with the teachers — technically, it was a draw, but Sebastian never felt sourer.

His lord was exceptional. Sebastian made the best choice by deciding to serve him and by not eating him every time he felt inclined to it. If any human deserved his attachment, it was Ciel Phantomhive, so there was nothing embarrassing about this temporary affliction.

It didn't remove the uncomfortable weight from his shoulders entirely, but it was a start. What he needed now was to prove that he wasn't alone in this and that his Master shared his sentiments. Humans were always weak and malleable when it came to emotions.

Not him, his mind reminded him, but Sebastian shrugged the thought away.

He needed to find out if his Master was attached to him, and if he wasn't, he had to instil and cultivate this sensation in him. He would make the chessboard even — he was a demon, after all. Ciel Phantomhive was only a human. He could win some battles, which was already more refreshing than Sebastian could hope for, but he stood no chances at winning the ultimate war. Their ending was already pre-written: Sebastian would fulfil his wish and then he would murder him, finally sinking his teeth into his soul and consuming it all, not leaving a trace of it behind.

The grand victory was his. But the way to it was fraught with challenges, and he was eager to tackle them.

For that, he needed the camera. And perhaps some encouragement of attachment within his Master to be absolutely certain of the mutuality of his emotions.

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Since attachment was an entirely new feeling to him, Sebastian wasn't certain how to make it happen. The answer his lord had given him didn't mention anything of the sort, but if he were to consider how other affected humans behaved… It was safe to assume that mothers were attached to their children and friends were mostly attached to one another. In fact, attachment seemed to go hand in hand with affection, and what better way to encourage it but through gifts?

Sebastian thought it made perfect sense. The boy already depended on him for the most essential things — giving him thoughtful and unexpected gifts occasionally would solidify his regard further. After all, who else would be able to come up with something Ciel Phantomhive would truly like? No one. Because no one knew him as well as Sebastian did.

Regretfully, this didn't mean he could think of an appropriate gift immediately. What should he give him?

There was a flower Sebastian had been growing, but it hadn't reached its blossom yet, so it was too early to use it. In the years of his service, he'd prepared enough desserts and meals to spoil his lord senseless — cooking a dish wouldn't be a good gift.

Something more unique, perhaps. His lord stood out from the rest, the majority of other people were merely sheep in comparison: charming in their own simplistic way, but too unimpressive to be remembered for long.

Sheep.

The idea was spontaneous, but pleasure and excitement that washed over him sealed the deal. Without thinking twice, Sebastian outstretched his hand and let the human facade shatter. Familiar darkness enveloped him, buzzing softly, and he carefully extracted one hissy curl from it. It went willingly, so when he directed some energy towards it, it began to transform with no fuss. A moment later, he had a solid toy lying on his palm. It reflected a form of a black sheep with curly white horns, and it stood on an equally white platform.

It was perfect. A flattering yet honest message to send. Ciel Phantomhive was the black sheep of this world: unable to fit in with the others, different, unique. Some might think him odd, but this oddness only served to elevate him. Yet for all his strengths, he remained a human — still a sheep. Forever rooted to his humanity like the sheep was to its platform. Deadly to others, but in a limited human way, hence the white horns.

What delighted Sebastian most about his gift was the fact that it was made of his essence. It turned the figurine into a small talisman of a sort: it would slightly extend protection towards the boy, guarding him from the dangers that were in the immediate vicinity. With his newfound ability to hear the demonic range of sounds, would he be able to tell what it was made of?

Sebastian couldn't wait to find out.

At night, he slipped into his lord's room and left the figure of sheep on his bedside table. The boy shifted instantly, as if drawn to his presence — another unique ability? Sebastian escaped the room as quickly as he had entered it, but he didn't go far.

He could hear his lord move. A slight sound alerted him to the fact that the sheep was found and lifted off the table, and then, for a while, there was nothing.

Until a giggle broke the silence. It was full of delight and of such innocent joy that it sounded strange coming from his Master. Nonetheless, Sebastian's heart skipped a beat, a mirroring grin curling his lips up.

It seemed like he was on the right path. This result was even better than the one he'd been hoping for.

No more sounds escaped the room, so after ten minutes, Sebastian risked peering inside once more. His Master was asleep again, his features serene, his breathing deep and even. He was clutching the black sheep in his hand, and a new wave of pleasure trickled through Sebastian, spreading warmth across his body. He smiled.

He was still smiling when the night ended.

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Sebastian's wariness of Talbot's camera faded as soon as his lord exposed his plan.

He was trying to be cunning and not to betray his intentions, so instead of ordering Sebastian to stand still, he engaged Bard, Finnie, and Mey-Rin in his plan.

The moment these three fools gave their agreement, Sebastian allowed himself to laugh.

Young Master's mind might have posed a problem, but their servants would never be able to accomplish their mission. They had the attention span of a human toddler — they moved with similar slowness, too, so if they wanted to chase Sebastian through the house, he would gladly take them on their so-called challenge.

And so he did. He flitted all over the manor, pausing long enough for the anxious counting to start and changing his position at the last second, smirking at the distressed wails and curses. To his interest, Bard seemed particularly invested in taking a picture — perhaps after their imminent failure, Sebastian would ask him why.

However, all this faded in comparison to the most intriguing and relevant nuance. A nuance that made Sebastian feel like a victor in this new game already.

Ciel Phantomhive's decision to take a picture secretly betrayed his sentiment more profoundly than he would have guessed. He willingly sacrificed a crucial chess piece and subjected himself to the strong possibility of losing, and he would only do that for one reason: if he needed a very specific kind of victory.

If he had ordered Sebastian to stand still — better yet, if he had forced him to photograph himself, it would signify his need for leverage. It would have been a cold and calculating move with the aim to find out what Sebastian cared about most in the human realm and to expose it as his weakness, humiliating him with the physical evidence of his flaw.

But the boy had chosen differently. He chose a chaotic, hectic, and unreliable method — he went out of his way to keep Sebastian oblivious to the existence of the camera; when it was no longer possible, he pretended this was just another game, even though his desperate effort spoke of something deeper. This approach was devoid of logic, and this meant that it was based on emotions.

Ciel Phantomhive didn't want leverage. He wanted a potential weapon for self-protection. He wanted to see if he would be the image on Sebastian's photograph — and if not, he didn't want Sebastian to know or wonder about the picture, likely planning to bury it like a shameful secret and forget it ever happened.

Feelings had to be behind his increasingly desolate attempts to take a picture and the entire crazy plan he'd concocted. Engaging the servants; ruining his appearance by untying his tie and demanding that Sebastian fix it; hiring an undoubtedly fake reporter with an unlikely story to tell… Curiosity alone couldn't explain such intensity. No, the boy had more personal and emotional motivations, and they could emanate from one truth only.

Bard, for all his ignorance, had been right. Ciel Phantomhive was attached to him. The gifts no longer mattered — the attachment was already formed. Now the boy desperately needed proof that Sebastian was also infected. He was too mortified to give a direct order, worrying that Sebastian might come to the correct conclusions, so he decided to take a more complex way that would protect his dignity in case he did not obtain the results he wanted.

They were much alike. It was no wonder they had similar ideas.

The sharp sweetness of the triumph was intoxicating. Sebastian cautioned himself against making hasty conclusions, but his delight did not retreat. On the contrary, it continued to gain volume and it brightened his days in the most pleasant of ways.

He caught himself staring at his Master even more than usual, imagining the possibilities his newfound knowledge could open. He didn't know how to use this situation yet, but its very existence already made strange and blissful giddiness dance in him.

It was briefly interrupted by the newest idea of his lord.

"I suppose I'll have to die to get what I want," he said out loud. He had to know Sebastian would hear him, and he was right — the sound of his voice carried through the manor and ambushed him at the most unexpected moment.

Sebastian tried to focus on the hired reporter again, but his attention wandered as he listened to the details of the new plan.

The game was entering the next level, and it was crazier than the last one. The boy correctly calculated that the only thing that would make Sebastian stop would be himself. Planning to endanger his life, to stage such a complex performance, and still refusing to give an order? His stubbornness surpassed that of anyone Sebastian had ever known — except himself. And this plan, unlike the other ones, actually had high chances of success. This should have been concerning, but Sebastian only found it charming.

Let them take his picture. If his Master went through with his wild idea, he deserved to feel victorious for several minutes. After all, there were plenty of ways for Sebastian to destroy the image before it got into the boy's hands.

The day went on, and curiosity coupled with impatience pushed Sebastian into mischief. If his lord resorted to playing dirty, he would do the same. And he would win. Self-destructive behaviour was not to be encouraged.

Food punishments were always effective, so instead of preparing the fresh chocolate-mint pie Sebastian had been planning to, he took small paw-shaped cookies the servants had brought from Houndsworth and put them on the plate. They looked unappealing, and the taste must be equally unpleasant.

In addition, if Bard was right about attachment, then he could be right about the reasons behind Young Master's dislike towards Angela. Reminding him about Houndsworth would be a subtle jab that he might or might not understand.

In an excellent mood, Sebastian went upstairs.

"Today I'm serving the Demon Hound bean cakes," he said serenely, presenting a dubious-looking plate. "Manufactured by Houndsworth at the time of our trip."

The boy frowned and stabbed one of the cookies. His frown deepened. Alas, he happened to like the taste, but his confounded expression was gratifying. Toying with him would never lose its appeal.

Sebastian couldn't ask about the photographs directly, not unless the game was closer to completion, but he could hint at its likeliest outcome.

"Young Master," he purred, his gaze playful, "how about having one taken as well?"

At the mention of being photographed his lord stiffened. A wary look flashed in his eye before he tried to appear aloof.

"Nonsense," he murmured. His voice was choked, as if the mere suggestion horrified him, and Sebastian couldn't help but laugh. He relied on the demonic range of sounds automatically — offending his Master and facing another creative punishment wasn't in his plans for today, so when the boy whirled around to glare at him, he froze.

"Something funny?"

Of course. He could hear him now. How awkward — and yet how entirely captivating. Sebastian would have to watch what he said now. It was potentially inconvenient in the long term, but he was addicted to the feeling of amazement witnessing this brought to him time and time again. He would not be willing to give it up despite all the drawbacks.

It was disappointing that his lord did not see anything unusual when he looked at the black sheep — his mysterious relation to the demon world, whatever it was, didn't stretch far, apparently, but Sebastian was still satisfied. And he anticipated further transformations.

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He deliberately tuned out the detailed preparations his Master was making with the servants. While he was curious, he preferred to be surprised. It wasn't like the boy would be in real danger — the seal would alert Sebastian as soon as the performance unfolded, so he'd arrive on time to prevent it.

As he waited, he focused on preparing supper, roasting the duck and cutting the vegetables to create a spicy pillow for it. The kitchen was empty: everyone was out there, busy with their reckless plan. On the one hand, Sebastian appreciated the chance to cook in silence, but on the other… Bard, Finnie, and Mey-Rin were hired specifically to watch over Young Master. They were supposed to protect him. Yet here they were, plotting his potential demise without a real protest.

If they went through with it, Sebastian would love to have a word. His Master might have a sharp tongue and a presence that commanded others to do his bidding, but his safety came before everything. If anyone had to understand this, it was their servants.

His seal burned, and Sebastian looked at the oven with a sigh.

Unfortunate. He'd have to hurry or the duck would be ruined.

Mildly annoyed but mostly amused, he dashed outside, to the source of his unrest. There were six heartbeats around the clearing — was Tanaka involved in this deadly circus, too? — in addition to the clear sound of Ciel Phantomhive's heart.

The boy was calm. His breathing was even, as if he was doing something mundane rather than risking his life out of stubbornness.

Sebastian snorted fondly, but when he reached the clearing and saw a huge statue flying straight at the boy's head, the amusement suddenly shattered.

He didn't like how it looked. He didn't like how it made him feel. Such a stupid, senseless, dangerous decision — all because his lord fell victim to a degrading human emotion.

Maybe Sebastian understood it. If he lacked his powers and doubted his ability to get his answers in the way he desired, he might have been tempted to do something foolish, too. In fact, he had done it by making another contract. It was reckless and risky, yet he followed the impulse just because he couldn't have what he wanted in any other way. He couldn't blame his lord for doing the same in his quest.

He could be forgiven. But Finnian, who had thrust that huge stone up, knowing it would hit the boy, and who now stood nearby, shaking all over? Sebastian would make him regret it. Finnian would beg to be returned to the laboratory after he was done with him.

It all took a couple of seconds, but for Sebastian, it felt excruciatingly long. The distance between his Master and the statue was shortening gradually, and he waited until almost the last moment, wondering if the boy was going to change his mind and jump away.

If this were to happen, Sebastian didn't know whether he'd be disappointed or relieved.

He didn't have a chance to find out. Young Master continued to stand, his face peaceful, his heartbeat slow and confident. It was Finnian who lost his composure. With a cry, he darted forwards, intending to intercept the statue or to be crushed by it in their lord's place.

A feeling of possessiveness coiled deep in Sebastian's chest. He wasted a second marvelling at this contradictory emotion — he was pleased that Finnian remembered his duties and was willing to sacrifice himself to correct his mistake, but at the same time, he despised the idea that someone other than him were to save Ciel Phantomhive.

The boy was his, everything about him: his soul, his life, his death. Only Sebastian had a right to hurt him and to protect him, to eventually kill him. And his rights were not to be encroached upon by anyone, friend or foe.

Within a blink, he surrounded his lord, covering him with his essence so thoroughly that he barely left space for him to breathe. The boy's legs weakened. He began to fall, and Sebastian's darkness guided him through it gently, softening the impact and keeping him safe. A hostile curl shot up to viciously push Finnian out of the way, hissing as it did so.

The statue crashed into his back before splattering into dust. He'd only given it a brief look — a headless angel, really? Feeling it fall apart at the contact was doubly pleasing, then. A slight weight lingered at his shoulder blades, but he didn't bother checking what was causing it. His attention was absorbed by the brave, foolish, surprising human who was lying on the ground with no care for the world. Confident in his knowledge that Sebastian would be there to protect him.

Young Master came to his senses quickly. He turned, and their eyes met. Sebastian's heart skipped a beat.

How could looking at the same person feel so startling and different? Every time was a novelty. Every time, Sebastian found himself more breathless, more unable to look away.

It was like some force decided to create Ciel Phantomhive specifically to appeal to him. He embodied everything Sebastian valued most: unpredictability, intelligence, beauty, wittiness. His essence was contradictory just like his soul — he was shockingly brave at times yet he knew when to step away; he was independent yet reliant on Sebastian for the most basic of things; his wish was about staying alive long enough to accomplish his revenge yet he willingly thrust himself into situations that could easily end with him dead.

If he were anyone else, Sebastian might have considered letting the statue crush this person to death merely for amusement and mockery of their blind expectations. But what person would even come up with such a plan? What person would choose such a complicated way of gaining advantage? No one. No one but Ciel Phantomhive, who could hear Sebastian when he wasn't supposed to, whose schemes continued to break all limits of sanity, and who somehow managed to make friends with Sebastian's true form.

He was a puzzle with a never-ending allure, and Sebastian wanted him with a kind of hunger that was bound to drive him mad eventually. The other boy he'd drawn a contract with was nothing. He would barely help him to last a day. The anticipation of tasting his real Master's soul had long since grown into an urgent need, and lately, in moments like this, a distant part of him whispered that there might be a solution. The same part that finally gave him an idea of how he was going to finish this contract, that whispered, 'Through a kiss' with his lips when he himself did not expect it.

It would be so easy to do it now. Not to take the soul, not yet — just to kiss. To tease himself with the meal to come, one he'd invested so much of himself into. To press into the boy's mouth, to study its shape not from the outside but from the inside, mapping out every curve and tooth, inhaling his breath and seeking the subtle scent of his soul in it.

Perhaps they could have a rehearsal of the end of their contract. It would only make sense, wouldn't it? It would change nothing but remind him of the pleasures awaiting him at some distant point of the future.

His mind could no longer withstand any thinking processes. It caught fire, turned into a flaming, fiery ball of need and urgency, and Sebastian instinctively slid one arm around his Master's back, splaying his fingers over his waist possessively. Another arm coiled around the back of his head and pulled him closer.

Desire spread. It flooded his chest, then his veins; it swallowed everything, plunging his body into a confusing stream of sensations. There was a swirling ache, not truly painful yet persistent, urging him to do something to alleviate it; a subtle sensation of sweetness coupled with a bizarre feeling of being drunk. It did not let him think or look at anything but the boy in his arms.

Cold burned through him, the warmth froze him — a little more, and his mind might shatter under the influence of so many bewildering and contradictory emotions. There was only one way to put an end to it, and it entailed succumbing to them and doing what they pushed him to do.

Sebastian leaned forwards, his gaze focused on Ciel Phantomhive's lips. He could sense their warmth from here, could almost imagine their taste. His heart thrashed in his chest, equally hungry, and he shortened the distance between them further, his body quivering in starvation.

He wanted. He never wanted so much. He would kiss Ciel Phantomhive regardless of the consequences — he might end up taking his soul, drinking it straight from his delicious mouth, and any loss of rank and power would be worth it. Or he might simply not stop. He might kiss him until his lips turned into a bleeding raw layer of muscle, until his body softened and went pliable, and the only taste he knew or remembered was that of Sebastian.

The boy must have sensed his thoughts. He turned away at the last moment, but it would not save him, not this time. Sebastian wasn't going to take no for an answer.

At that very second, a golden shower of sparks exploded above them. The sudden lighting and its sizzling sound made them both flinch in surprise, and Sebastian blinked, feeling adrift and out of loop.

The realisation of where they were and what he had been about to do was gradual. It enveloped him into a tight, rebuking coat — Sebastian had to swallow the molten heat in his throat to restore at least a semblance of control over himself.

"What a charming picture the two of you make," Lau drawled. What he observed and concluded could pose a problem eventually, but even if so, it was insignificant. Sebastian was much more concerned with his lord's reaction.

Did he notice anything? Did he have any idea of how affected Sebastian was, that he had been a step away from devouring him in a way his traumatised brain would undoubtedly find abhorrent?

His heart jumped erratically as he stared at the boy, waiting for his judgement, but it never came.

"You're late," Young Master said. His voice was cool, even though his cheeks were flushed.

He hadn't realised what Sebastian had almost done, then. It shouldn't have been surprising — this was the last thing he should expect from him, after all.

Relief surged through him. Sebastian cleared his throat quietly.

"My apologies," he uttered. It occurred to him that he was still holding his lord at a distance that was indecent, but his hands refused to obey. They clung and gripped, craving more contact. "I was making preparations for tonight's supper. The main dish is a Rouen-style roast duck."

There was a pause, and then the boy said, "I see."

Sebastian tried to look away from him, but his attempt failed. The desire might have retreated, yet it did not disappear entirely. It was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to attack again, powerful enough to control his body even now. Sebastian wasn't certain he could let go. Unless his Master did it first.

Why the boy continued to sit frozen was beyond him, but fortunately, even if Sebastian's limbs refused to cooperate, his mind renewed its work. He knew what to say to shake his lord and to force him to put distance between them.

"You should have just ordered me to let you take it," he uttered.

His tactic was efficient. His lord recoiled from him so rapidly that he easily broke away from Sebastian's grip, his eye widening in shock.

"What?" he spat. He sounded offended, perhaps even shaken, and his panic breathed calmness into Sebastian. He smiled a little, relieved at finally being able to think properly again.

"Whatever you order me to do, I will do so right away," he reminded gently.

He knew he'd won this game. Even if the boy admitted to his urgent need and ordered him to stand still, Sebastian would oblige, but he would destroy the photograph afterwards. He knew his Master would rather bite his own tongue off than issue the same humiliating order twice after yet another failure.

Silence dragged on. Sebastian could practically hear the fight that unfolded in his lord's mind — if the boy acquired the ability to hear him when he wasn't supposed to, maybe he gained a similar one in return? It would be gratifying to be able to hear all these confusing, complex thoughts.

At last, Young Master exhaled, looking away from him.

"I don't know what you mean," he said grumpily.

So this was it. He chose to hope that the servants had succeeded in taking the picture, but regardless of the outcome, he resigned himself to the fact that this had been the last attempt. After Sebastian called him out, the boy would not want to continue. His dignity wouldn't allow him.

Sebastian smiled.

When everyone went back to the house, he walked to Pluto, grimacing when the creature instantly let out an excited yelp. With some reluctance, he patted it and then showed it a package full of tiny bones. He wouldn't have thought that a Demon Hound would find this rubbish alluring, but Angela had gone out of her way to instil bad taste and encourage misbehaviour in this particular dog, which meant that his options were limited.

"Would you like one?" Sebastian wondered. Pluto whined in agreement and tried to lick him, so he had to move away. "It will be yours once you do what I ask."

It was no wonder the Hound perceived him as its master. As long as Angela wasn't in the picture, Pluto would be instinctively drawn to him, compelled to fulfil his orders and seek out his favour. Sebastian was the only fellow inhabitant of Hell here — the connection emerged automatically.

However, it was one-sided. He couldn't suppress the aversion and the grim knowledge of what was to come, so he could only just about tolerate the creature. There was every chance that Angela would use it against Ciel Phantomhive and their manor, and whatever attachment Pluto had managed to form to everyone here would break to pieces the second his true owner wished it.

Would Sebastian be able to shake off his own attachment to the boy just as easily after his death? He hoped so. He and the Hound had to have something in common, considering their identical origin. Perhaps they were both destined to default to their initial settings with time.

More than an hour later, it was done. The dismayed shouts of the servants informed Sebastian of Pluto's success at destroying the picture, and the last traces of tension seeped out of him, leaving him with nothing but satisfaction.

His lord had come up with another curious game, but this time, the victory wasn't his. He lost: he would never receive the confirmation of Sebastian's temporary weakness. Conversely, Sebastian was now certain that the boy struggled with his own attachment — his rash and desperate actions betrayed him. There couldn't be a more sufficient revenge.

Unless he obtained physical proof. This would sweeten his victory, and this was exactly what he intended to do.

Young Master, undoubtedly exhausted by his intense effort of today, fell asleep right in his armchair. Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle as he looked at him, ignoring the warmth that stirred inside.

What a foolish child. He was rapidly losing his edge: first the half-baked plan with the camera, and now he put himself in a vulnerable position while leaving this very camera out in the open. He was practically asking to be photographed and for his weakness to be immortalised and displayed.

As his faithful butler, how could Sebastian not oblige?

He took the camera, ignoring the way his heart sped up.

A little waiting, one click, and the photo was done. Now he only had to use the laboratory his lord had so generously set up in their manor.

It took some time to bring out the image, and Sebastian had to repeatedly swallow his impatience. Anticipation continued to build up. Seconds were crawling with offensive slowness, which allowed a strange jittery sensation inside him to take roots and grow in volume. His heart was still pounding, his stomach twisting in knots of all shapes and sizes, and the more he waited, the less solid he felt. He could no longer concentrate on maintaining his human shape — the intensity of his focus absorbed most of his power and left him blurred and strangely restless.

Another second, and the image was ready. Sebastian grabbed it as quickly as he could, his breath stumbling and his insides flip-flopping. His curiosity was almost painful, he couldn't deny it. He wanted, needed, craved to see the photograph.

Whom did Ciel Phantomhive care about most? Would it be his predecessor? Male heirs often felt a particular bond with their fathers. Although, considering how old the boy was when he lost his parents, he might have still been attached to his mother most.

It could be Madam Red, too. Despite his denials and explanations, Young Master was trying to preserve the scar she left behind. Perhaps he felt more for her than he was willing to admit even to himself.

The image might also show Sebastian the dog. Why not? The irony of this would be indescribable, and fate enjoyed playing its jokes.

The last option was himself, but Sebastian would rather wait than believe something that might not be true, especially with how strongly he seemed to wish for it to be.

Taking the final involuntary breath, he looked at the picture. Instantly, his heart soared. It was an interesting and pleasant sensation, and he would have paid more attention to it had he not been absorbed by the image he saw.

It was him. The photograph reflected him: he stood near his lord, looking at him with a faint, warm smile.

Him. It was him.

A flood of truly magnificent feelings hit him, and Sebastian shivered under its onslaught. Delight and joy pecked at his wariness and doubts until nothing was left — all he felt now was an overwhelming sensation of lightness. His lips stretched in a huge, foolish grin, and what had worried him suddenly seemed distant and irrelevant.

He was right. He wasn't the only one saddled with attachment. Young Master was also its victim, but while Sebastian stood a chance at hiding it, the boy's weakness had been exposed beyond the point of return. Sebastian held the physical manifestation of it in his hands.

His lord was attached to him. He favoured Sebastian over every human he'd known and lost.

The joy was so potent that Sebastian would have given much to collect and reuse it later. It warmed every part of him — he felt like flying and dancing in the air, he felt like nothing could possibly ruin his blissful mood ever again.

What was he to do with it? There were so many options.

Carefully pocketing the photograph, Sebastian picked Ciel Phantomhive up and carried him out of the office. The boy didn't wake — he relaxed and even wrapped his arms and legs around him, settling comfortably.

He could turn the image into a weapon. This would make his victory absolute — after all, his Master had his fun when he pretended to be poisoned. There would not be a better opportunity to get even.

Or he could use it as a means to call for truce. His lord all but accused him of being attached, and now Sebastian could accuse him of the same. They were reluctant allies in this, and they could both agree to never mention this again.

He thought about this as he put his Master onto his bed, took his shoes and jacket off, and covered him with the blanket. Each movement was careful and light — Sebastian didn't want to wake him up, not until he decided what he was going to do.

To use the photograph as a compromise or to make a lesson out of it? Which of the options was more intriguing?

The black sheep made of his essence stood on his lord's bedside table. Sebastian pushed it closer to the edge and then placed the image near it. Let it be the first thing Young Master saw when he woke up.

With this done, he watched the boy for some time, the same wonderful sensation of lightness enveloping him from all sides.

He was what Ciel Phantomhive treasured most. The boy's attachment to him surpassed even his expected human attachment to his family. Could there be a more rewarding reward?

Happiness brimmed in him and gave everything that surrounded him additional, brighter colours. Somehow, the world seemed even more interesting, and for the first time in centuries, Sebastian was reminded of how delightful an eternal existence could be. So many unique places to explore; so many new mysteries to untangle. Even the perspective of experiencing more of human emotions no longer worried him. On the contrary, it seemed like a gift that he was finally eager to unwrap.

Becoming the central source of attachment for his contractor was certainly a novelty. There were humans who had thought themselves infatuated with him, but their shallow interest broke the moment Sebastian revealed his real self —physically, mentally, or both. Many of these masters and mistresses began to whimper the second they saw the beginnings of his true form; depending on their disposition, they begged or shouted at him to never transform in their presence again. When Sebastian exploited their weaknesses, they got wounded and nursed their broken hearts until the end of their contracts.

Ciel Phantomhive was different. Sebastian was pleased at the chance to transform and be himself by his side — the way the boy reacted to him was an unexpected thrill. He would be unable to withstand the sight of Sebastian's ultimate true form, but he already showed himself more durable and enthusiastic than every single contractor before him. Like all humans, he could be hurt by Sebastian's displays of amusement, but he never wallowed in self-pity for long. He gave as good as he got, coming up with games and schemes that Sebastian couldn't even always catch up with.

For this particular human to feel attachment to him was a delight. An honour, almost.

Basking in the delicious giddiness, Sebastian went to the kitchen, the image from Talbot's camera dancing before his eyes.

He was in the mood for planning and preparing his lord's favourite breakfast.

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It was dangerous to watch how the boy reacted to the photograph — with his elevated senses, there was every chance he would sense Sebastian's presence, but staying away was unthinkable. He needed to know. Perhaps this could help him to decide how he was going to frame his own reaction during their next conversation.

Young Master grabbed the photograph, his face brightening in visible excitement before suddenly losing all colours. He blanched, the scent of his horror so exquisite that Sebastian barely fought the instinct to slide closer and inhale.

The boy's heart went crazy, too. It beat so harshly and wildly, like it was considering escaping to some distant part of the manor, and Sebastian wished dearly to laugh.

Yes, this was his victory. And it tasted better than most souls he'd consumed.

Just like this, he knew how he was about to proceed. He didn't need a truce, not now. Making compromises was boring and unimaginative. It would be far more interesting to use his triumph to its fullest, bringing his Master to the same humiliation he had gleefully subjected Sebastian to.

The boy wanted him to learn what dramatic meant. He did. Now he would show his new knowledge off.

Sebastian left the room and didn't enter it like he usually would. A smirk refused to leave his lips as he wondered whether his lord was going to call him or if he would rather swallow his tongue and manage to dress by himself. Was he desperate enough to delay their inevitable meeting?

He must have been because the command didn't come. His lord chose to ask Tanaka for assistance. Then he walked into the dining room by himself and took his place at the table, holding his head high and his face emotionless.

Sebastian had to admire it. It would make breaking the façade all the more challenging.

"Good morning, my lord," he said cheerfully. "I wasn't aware you were awake."

He expected a pause, some sense of awkwardness, but instead he was treated to a chilly gaze.

"Did your hearing become impaired overnight?" the boy asked him. There was not a single fake note in his question — it was composed perfectly, bringing a wave of disappointment with it. Sebastian pursed his lips.

Perhaps it was a mistake to let Young Master stew in his mortification. He used the time they didn't see each other smartly, stitching every wound and covering them with layers of armour. Sebastian would have to make an effort to break through them all.

"Today your breakfast is mushroom omelette with greens and bacon," he announced. "I also prepared puff pastry with soured cream."

His lord said nothing. Sebastian watched him as he served him, waiting to see if the boy would betray his real feelings with a look or by making some uncontrollable gesture.

Alas, nothing happened. Young Master was clad in ice. He was the indifference personified — only his erratic heartbeat revealed his nervousness, but pointing it out would be admitting that Sebastian had to rely on his demon senses to get a reaction.

He had a better idea.

"I'm honoured," he said gently, with a respectful bow. The reaction was instant: his lord's body coiled defensively, a blue glare all but eviscerating him.

"Shut up!" he growled. His disbelieving rage was overpowering: Sebastian could make a meal of it alone. All concerns about his own attachment paled — he had the weapon to silence his lord on anything related to this topic forever.

"It's your own fault for falling asleep and leaving yourself defenceless," he pointed out. After the latest defeat, the heady feel of victory raised him to the most pleasant heights. He was delighted at the chance to finally look at his lord from above.

The boy, naturally, didn't share his amusement.

"You bastard!" he spat. His fury was raw, desperate, and suddenly not very enjoyable.

He was taking it too seriously. While losing had rattled Sebastian deeply, too, he knew it wasn't a permanent failure. Nothing was permanent, especially not fragile feelings like attachment.

He accepted that he had developed a weakness for Ciel Phantomhive, and while it was abhorrent, humiliating, and disturbing, he could comfort himself with the thought that it wouldn't last. Sebastian would eat his soul, and all the feelings for the boy would fade along with the light in his eyes. He could handle it until then.

But Young Master couldn't tell himself the same. Human life was too short: so many people promised eternal love, friendship, or loyalty to each other, having no inkling of what eternal meant in reality. Their feelings were only a ghost of what they believed them to be: they were weak and impermanent, and if more humans realised it, they would have dramatically fewer reasons to suffer over.

Perhaps he could offer his lord a slice of reassurance.

"The image reflected in a picture is but an illusion," he said, softening his voice to the more indulging undertones. "However, even if it is an illusion, wishing to hold onto it is one of the hollow dreams humans have."

He made sure to frame it like a rebuke instead of a direct advice — this was on par with their game, but he hoped the boy would understand and draw accurate conclusions. He did not have to abhor his attachment; only his human limitations were forcing him to hold onto it and let it unsettle him this much. Yes, it was a weakness, but regardless of how overwhelming it felt now, it would shatter eventually. Why worry over something fleeting?

Sebastian supposed that, being a demon, it was easier for him to separate himself from the unfortunate emotions. Nonetheless, his lord had an impressive control over his feelings — for a human. He did not have to act on his attachment and come up with inane games under its influence; he and Sebastian could go about their contract as if nothing changed. The sensations they didn't like would come to their end at the same moment: upon the fulfilment of the boy's wish and his death.

This was as much of a truce as Sebastian was willing to offer. He stared at the boy, willing him to understand, but the longer the silence lasted, the more concerned he began to feel.

Young Master didn't look reassured. Strangely, he didn't even appear annoyed — his face went starkly pale and he stared at him like Sebastian had hit him. Even his soul seemed to react: one whiter part darkened slightly, shrivelling as if in staggering pain.

It was so fascinating and bewildering that Sebastian couldn't help but look, drinking in every anxious shift and swirl. Only extraordinary events could evoke changes inside the soul. How could his innocent suggestion have led to this result? And was there any way to recreate it, only in a more controlled manner?

Sebastian was so focused on this unexpected change that he barely registered when his Master finally spoke.

"An illusion," he murmured. Vitality returned to him, with more natural colours filling his face again. "You are calling that picture an illusion."

Did he disagree? There was a new kind of defiance in him, darker and more dangerous. It instinctively filled Sebastian with a strange need to defend himself.

"Isn't it?" he countered, tilting his head with a smile. How did Young Master plan to argue with him? Did he wish to insist that his attachment was unwavering and would never fade, thus never following the life cycle of illusions? It would be laughable, though Sebastian didn't think he would mind. Perhaps it would even be charming.

But the coldness the boy's demeanour radiated didn't imply any confessions of the sort. On the contrary, something about the way his gaze narrowed sent a thrum of warning through Sebastian. He had no gift of predicting the future, yet somehow, he knew that he would dislike whatever he was about to hear now.

His lord's lips moved.

"If it is," he said evenly, "then we can terminate our contract right now, and you won't be able to lay a finger on me in reiteration."

…This was not what he had expected. This hadn't been a part even of his most daring guesses. Darkness burst in an explosion of shards, forcefully peeling bits off his human disguise.

"I'm extremely curious as to how you came to this conclusion," Sebastian whispered. His voice wasn't anywhere near human. Transforming in the middle of the dining room at this time of the day wasn't a good idea, but at the moment, he couldn't care less.

He had grown indulgent as of late. He was willing to close his eyes to numerous slips and mistakes his lord kept making, but some things meant going too far even for him.

A threat to terminate their contract was among them.

The foolish child couldn't be speaking seriously. Did he truly believe that, even if he were ever justified in dissolving their agreement, it would stop Sebastian from seeking retribution? What he had done to all humans throughout his hellishly long lifetime would be nothing in comparison to what he would do with Ciel Phantomhive in this case. The boy was trying to start a game he would never win and which he would regret dearly for each and every last agonising second of his life.

He had to sense it. Young Master was remarkably attuned to him, but for some reason, he ignored the signs. He dared to smirk with the corners of his lips, leaning against his chair comfortably.

"Why do you think you're on that picture, Sebastian?" he wondered condescendingly. His very tone grated on Sebastian's nerves. "Out of everyone who could appear, why did it happen to be you?"

He didn't answer immediately. These questions obviously meant to trap him, but how? Did the boy intend to apply some other meaning to the photograph?

He couldn't. The books were clear. Only one explanation existed, and no one, not even Ciel Phantomhive would be able to find a way to twist it.

"The camera shows the being most treasured by a person photographed," Sebastian said. Each word rang with his renewed confidence. "I assume the results are self-explanatory. You have gotten attached. It happens to humans, and truly, I'm honoured by—"

He didn't get a chance to finish because the boy laughed. Not just laughed, but laughed at him. His laughter was always the richest and the most fulfilling sound, and much as Sebastian hated to admit it, it remained so even now, when it was saturated with derision.

"I have gotten attached?" Young Master drawled. Cold amusement armed each of his words. "Charming, but entirely wrong. Did you honestly think that you're more important to me than my parents? Than Madam Red? Than all other people I knew and lost even before I met you?"

The more he heard, the less he liked. Suddenly, the victory he had been feeding on began to slip right from his grasp. It was still in the vicinity, still reachable, yet despite his attempts to grab it back, it continued its escape. His movements were too slow — he couldn't catch up with it.

This was exactly what the picture meant. Wasn't it? This was why Sebastian had felt so triumphant. Because it was him the camera had chosen. It was him standing next to the boy. Not his parents, not Madam Red — it was him.

As if overhearing him, the boy scoffed.

"Please," he uttered derisively. "You are nothing."

Logically, this shouldn't have had any impact on him. He was a demon and these were three measly human words. However, his lungs constricted. His teeth let out a screechy protest from the force he gritted them with. Humiliation and another sensation, one resembling pain from the wounds he might have sustained in a physical altercation with a powerful enemy, locked him in his place, stole his breath and tore into his heart with vengeance.

His control began to seep out. With difficulty, Sebastian tried to concentrate on reconquering it, but the foreign creature that his Master had transformed into halted him again.

"If any Sebastian stood a chance of appearing in the picture because of my regard for him," he said, "that would be my dog. Not you. Never you. So think again."

This oddly echoed the thoughts Sebastian had had only recently. Back when he was waiting to see what the image would reveal, he went through multiple options, including that of the damned dog he'd been named after.

But that was then. That was when he hadn't known what the picture would show. As soon as he saw himself in it, all other possibilities faded into oblivion. He wasn't prepared to be attacked by them now, to have them thrown in his face.

He hated the poisonous mix of feelings he was currently experiencing. He couldn't name half of them, and he had no interest in defining them. He only wanted them to disappear.

"You are in that photo because you represent my deepest wish," the boy told him. He was speaking sharply and clearly, and for the first time, Sebastian wished he could block his voice. He didn't want to listen to this. "When I agreed to a contract with you, I put my trust in you. I chose to believe that you would help me to find and erase those responsible for what happened to me. You promised me my revenge, and that is all I want. I want it more than I love anyone — that includes my deceased family. You are the creature that can let that happen."

It… made sense. It made sense, and Sebastian tried to breathe, but the air remained paralysed somewhere in his chest.

This explanation largely correlated with how he explained the untaken picture of himself. He had almost no doubts that Ciel Phantomhive would appear in his photograph, and he had already justified it in his mind. There were not many human candidates to pick from, and while attachment spread its icy fingers in him, the soul was also to blame. Sebastian wanted it above everything the human world had to offer. He explained the image he'd undoubtedly see with their contract, so was it that surprising that his Master operated by following a similar principle?

Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he was supposed to admire how cold-blooded his lord could be and take pleasure from the fact that revenge still mattered a lot to him.

Unfortunately, pleasure was the opposite of what he was feeling. He couldn't rationalise it: his anger and disbelief raged, his essence flinching from the jolt after jolt of cold shock.

"Rest assured, I treasure you immensely, Sebastian," his lord murmured, an alien smile teasing his lips. "You are my weapon. And I sure hope it's not an illusion because if it is, then you failed the contract and you'll have to release me from it without consequences. I have no need for inefficient soldiers."

This was how he interpreted his advice? Had he truly failed to understand — or was it another game, an attempt to escape the contract unscathed?

A violent hiss tore from his chest. His bared teeth sharpened, his darkness snapping in its offended fury, but the boy didn't react like he was supposed to — like every human was supposed to. He gave out a short laugh, looking as relaxed and lazy as ever.

"What's the matter?" he taunted him. "Are you angry about it? Honestly, I have no idea why your thoughts jumped to the idea of attachment in the first place. Perhaps you are projecting? I did wonder why you were so adamant about refusing to be photographed."

Sebastian had to step away, his tension skyrocketing with a new vigour.

His lord was in the mood for annihilation. Nothing was stopping him from dismissing his previous approach and ordering Sebastian to photograph himself right here, right now. And if he did it, if the image of him appeared where it wasn't supposed to, then the victory that had somehow slipped away from Sebastian would turn into yet another failure.

This couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it. But did he even have a chance to twist himself out of this trap? His thoughts were all jumbled. Fury, disbelief, and several more distressing feelings suffocated him — he couldn't breathe, he couldn't find his bearings.

He didn't know what was left for him to do. To escape? It would mean admitting failure. To attack? It would be even worse. What could he do?

This agonising, absolutely hateful experience lasted for eternity. When the boy finally released him and turned his gaze to the plate with food, Sebastian finally managed to suck in a breath.

"It's cold now," Young Master commented, observing his breakfast critically. "Go reheat it."

It was a dismissal. Sebastian had been craving it only five seconds ago, but now that he got it, it suddenly felt like a slap.

He tried to move, but his feet refused to obey. His mind was in shambles: his outrage was constantly beaten down by another, less familiar sensation. It felt like an injury, and Sebastian was at a loss regarding how to handle it.

Ciel Phantomhive concentrated on consuming the pastries. He looked invigorated and lively, as if he had sucked all the energy and joy out of Sebastian and now hosted them in his own body. The sight of it was unnatural — worse, it was unbearable. Because it embodied the defeat that was never supposed to happen.

Somehow, Sebastian managed to take the plates and walk out of the room. He walked to the kitchen, his movements mechanical and only barely conscious.

He didn't understand his reaction. Yes, it was upsetting to have his victory contested. It was disappointing to believe something that turned out to be untrue. But there was no reason for this hurricane of distress and… dejection? Was it what it was? It felt stronger. It felt so intense that Sebastian wasn't certain for how long he'd be able to withstand it. This feeling pressed against him like physical weight, threatening to break the bones in his legs and make him kneel.

He'd had enough of experiencing things he did not understand and could hardly define. He didn't want to be subjected to it even a second longer.

He had to think. He needed time.

Thankfully, Young Master did not attempt to initiate contact with him. He stayed by himself and Sebastian was only glad to steer clear. The servants didn't bother him either: they were too busy being their idiotic and giggling selves, so he could spend the day in blissful silence. Even when his lord ordered Tanaka to take him to London, Sebastian didn't protest. On the contrary, he felt relieved. The farther Ciel Phantomhive was from him, the easier it was to breathe.

This was yet another new experience, but Sebastian knew it wouldn't last. Soon enough, the lack of his lord's presence would start distracting him. The craving for his company, for the sound of his heartbeat would quickly strangle every other emotion, and it would be hopeless to fight it.

For now, though, Sebastian was going to enjoy this reprieve. He needed it.

It was later in the evening when he and his Master finally spoke again. The boy managed to undress himself without assistance — he located himself at the chess table, watching him with hooded eyes.

"Do you know where I've been today?" he asked. Sebastian ignored the instinctive stirring of curiosity. If the boy wanted to tell him, so be it. He was not going to risk asking for information only to be rejected again. "Tanaka brought me to Annesley's house. I thought I'd seen something interesting there last time, so I decided to check."

Sebastian held his gaze, although his heart instantly went into overdrive.

Young Master couldn't know about the contract with that boy. What was his name? Either Sebastian hadn't asked or he didn't remember. But he certainly left no clues behind, so there was no way for his lord to suspect anything.

However, what had he been doing at Annesley's house? Something forced him to go there. There had to be something he had noticed.

"Oh?" Sebastian tried to sound neutral. "What would that be?"

He didn't like the way his lord looked at him. It was absurd to even contemplate such things, but this stare made him feel wary, as if he had something to fear.

Perhaps he simply wasn't used to being subjected to this particular kind of biting coldness. It was usually reserved for their enemies — it was unsettling to be on the other side for once.

"Annesley was trying to summon a demon," Young Master uttered slowly. Sebastian was so intent on hearing accusations that he blinked, briefly astonished. "I don't know why, if he succeeded, and whether this was the reason that made you kill him. But I was curious about the methods he used."

His lord took a step towards him, his face still hard and unforgiving. Something about his last sentence sounded ominous, and Sebastian tried to swallow the bad feeling that crept up his throat.

The boy was curious about the summoning ceremony? Why? He had already succeeded in getting himself a demon. There was no need for him to show interest in any other similar processes.

"I was thinking about what you told me today," his lord added thoughtfully. He wasn't standing far, not physically, and yet he felt miles away. "How seeing you on that picture was an illusion. How I'm putting too much faith in you to believe that you would ever succeed in fulfilling your part of the contract."

The anger that had finally begun to settle flared anew. Sebastian's eyes flashed in a warning.

"That was a misunderstanding," he snarled. His nails began to itch in their need to elongate and sharpen. "I didn't mean—"

"But it's the truth, isn't it? You're useless," Young Master made another step. His blue eyes were glowing with an almost ethereal light. "It's been years and we haven't progressed at all. You seem to be more content with playing a butler than investigating anything. You constantly distort the orders I give you, and that includes the initial stipulations of our contract. So after this morning, I asked myself, do I really need you?"

The darkness began to wake up. It trembled, spreading through him like a flood, washing away every semblance of order Sebastian had managed to restore throughout the day.

Stop, he wanted to warn. Because whatever terrible thing the boy was planning to say would snap the last thread of his already tattered patience. He didn't want to face the repeat of what had happened with Miss Taylor. He had managed to avoid harming his Master, but only because he had an appropriate outlet.

Right now, he suspected that no substitute would suffice. If Ciel Phantomhive finished speaking, if he said what Sebastian dreaded he would say, nothing would save him. And this outcome was still too alarming to consider.

But the boy showed no intention to stop.

"See, I have no idea how I managed to summon you in the first place," he said calmly. He appeared taller than he was, his confidence embracing and elevating him. "Whatever you say on the matter isn't reliable, so how can I know what drew you in? Maybe you are the weakest demon out of all, one who's shunned by everyone and who's forced to look for people in a desperate condition. Maybe, if I were to actually summon a demon purposefully, I would end up with a stronger and more competent servant… And that is exactly what I tried to do today."

Sebastian knew how anger tasted. He knew how to handle it; he knew how to use it. But what he was feeling now wasn't it. Simple anger would have been a blessing: what stormed inside him was the rawest, the wildest combination of it. It was anger, fury, rage, lividness, and everything and anything in between. It exploded in him in a powerful mix — he burned. His entire body was on fire.

The darkness that the parts of his body stretched into filled the room. It bathed the boy in itself, crowding him but still being unwilling to hurt him. He felt it — he had to feel it. But his cursed tongue continued to spit the terrible words.

"I summoned a demon," Ciel Phantomhive announced. He sounded triumphant, his gaze flaring with victorious gleefulness. "They might have ignored Annesley, but one of them came to talk to me. And it was a very fruitful conversation."

…No. They wouldn't dare. They had to know he would destroy him. But why would the boy lie over something like this? How would he know about Annesley summoning demons unless he had truly noticed something incriminating at his house?

"That other demon is interested in the contract with me," Young Master added, and a vicious snarl curled Sebastian's lips backwards. "He said he knows you and that he'll be able to take the contract from you if I choose to terminate it. And I'll be honest, Sebastian, I'm very, very tempted. During the ten minutes we spent together, he managed to impress me far more than you did in years."

Another growl slipped past his lips. Staying within the boundaries of his human container became an insurmountable challenge — he would fail, he was already failing. Layer after layer of humanity slid off him, baring a heated, simmering vileness that curled underneath. Possessiveness coiled and swirled, and he knew that soon enough, it would burn through every disguise he still held onto. It would expose him down to his one final true form, and the sight of it would likely drive the boy mad.

He deserved it. He deserved pain and suffering. Not death, though. Death would be reserved for whatever fool had decided to gamble and forsake their eternal existence by preying on Sebastian's human.

The said human smiled at him, watching him with his shrewd gaze.

"If my soul has to belong to someone," he murmured, "then it should belong to the worthiest candidate. And I'm coming to the conclusion that it's not you. That demon, on the other hand—"

The last thread snapped. A thousand angers scorched him to the bones: Sebastian lunged at the boy, seeing nothing but him, wanting nothing but to silence him and to hold him hostage. Chained by him, consumed by him, murdered by him — belonging to him until his last breath and beyond.

His clawed fingers wrapped themselves around his lord's throat as he pushed him into the wall. A startled breath fell from those poisonous lips at the impact, and Sebastian leaned closer, shivering with the need to drink it. To swallow every inhale and exhale and steal everything the boy was — because he was entitled to it. Because what became his, remained his for eternity.

His fingers tightened their grip.

Young Master had forgotten. He needed a reminder. He needed to remember that the air he was breathing flowed into his lungs solely because of Sebastian. Without him, he'd be nothing but a dead, violated corpse rotting in some unmarked grave.

He had accused Sebastian of not understanding attachment, but now that he did, the boy didn't seem to appreciate it at all.

If he did not care about loyalty, maybe he would understand violence. It was overflowing in Sebastian's veins, replacing blood in all entirety — he would be only glad to share it.

Ciel Phantomhive was not smiling any longer. At first, Sebastian rejoiced, but a second later, a belated realisation dawned on him.

What he had taken for a pained grimace wasn't a grimace. It was a grin. The boy was grinning at him.

It was even worse.

The shock quickly gave way to more fury. Sebastian hissed, enraged beyond any scope or limit that existed in any of the worlds.

"I will murder you before I release you from the contract," he rasped. It was a good thing the boy could understand what he was saying even when he was using the demonic range of sounds. "If any demon dares to approach you, I'll tear them limb from limb."

"Very frightening," his lord whispered back. His face was getting red now, his eyelashes fluttered like he was a second from passing out. Yet still, impossibly, he clung to his consciousness.

The boy was a survivor. Sebastian had seen how furiously he fought for his life in captivity, how terrified but determined he was to keep living. This made his current suicidal behaviour even more mystifying.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. His claws twitched — whether in the need to tighten or to let go, he didn't know. "Do you understand how easy it would be for me to kill you? If I press even a little harder now, you'll be dead. No more dinners. No newspapers in bed. No investigations, no revenge that you want so desperately."

He expected at least some awakening. A flash of fear in the boy's eyes, some light from the sudden understanding of how precarious his position was.

But as always, he got the opposite of what he hoped for. His lord tilted his head as much as his position allowed him, trying to bridge the almost non-existent distance between them further.

"Do it," he exhaled. If his eyes were burning with something, it was excitement, and Sebastian recoiled from it as much as he did from the boy. His grip lost its power as he stepped away, shaken and out of breath like he was the one who'd been choked.

He was wrong. His lord would not be driven mad by seeing his actual true form. He was already mad, in more ways than Sebastian had anticipated.

It was delightful. And it was frightening because no human should behave in such a way. Humans were supposed to run from predators. Ciel Phantomhive wasn't an exception — in most cases, when he sensed danger, he sought to avoid it. He only ever behaved differently with Sebastian. Did this make him half-human? Non-human when he was specifically in Sebastian's presence? Or did it make Sebastian non-predator in everything related to the boy?

None of it made sense to him. None of it could make sense.

"You are insane," he stated flatly. It was his luck to choose a crazy human — worse, Ciel Phantomhive had infected him with his madness.

Perhaps this was one answer to all questions Sebastian had been asking himself for the latest months. All his feelings, all the attachment fell under one category: insanity.

Insanity was a good explanation as to why he still hadn't murdered this creature. Even now, when his world was coloured blood red, he couldn't tolerate the idea of raising his hand against the boy with real force. He wanted to strangle him, to mark him — he still wanted to kiss him to taste his soul, but even losing control didn't force him to succumb to violence completely. His claws hadn't even torn the skin, just scratched it, mindful and considerate in their assault.

Terminating Ciel Phantomhive's life was off limits. Luckily, there was a demon somewhere out there that this rule didn't cover.

Sebastian left the manor behind. His power carried him: it knew exactly where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do.

Hell was the same dreary and uninspiring place it had been a month, a decade, or a century ago. The best thing about it now was the flowers he had accidentally planted during his last visit. Blue and white roses were still everywhere, higher and more potent than he remembered.

What had other demons thought about them? At least some must have seen them, but they hadn't dared to remove or damage them.

All the more outrageous that one of them chose to try sinking their claws into Sebastian's Master. Perhaps his reputation began to fade from the memories of his fellow inhabitants of Hell. Perhaps he had to remind them.

The concentration of power drew him to the central clearing. It was the place where demons gathered to celebrate whatever new event their limited imaginations came up with, sneer at each other, or engage in mass torture in an attempt to showcase their creativity. Most often, they did these things simultaneously.

It'd been a while since Sebastian took part in it. The perspective of breaking his usual pattern didn't appeal to him, but in this case, he was grateful for the timing. It was easier to find the guilty party when most demons were in one place.

The violence hummed in him, and he soothed it.

Soon.

He resumed his human shape on purpose. The majority of the demons despised everything connected to the human realm, and making them uneasy was Sebastian's favourite thing even before the insult someone had inflicted on him.

As soon as he stepped inside, the entertainment ceased. Screeches, shrieks, and laughter died down in a split second, with dozens of eyes of different hellish colours fixating on him. There was a stirring of unease and curiosity before most demons with lower ranks bowed hastily and took on their human appearance — a sign of respect to the shape he was currently wearing.

"Sebastian," Gaap greeted him, grimacing, as always, at the human name that instinctively fell off his tongue. He didn't bother to change how he looked. "This is a surprise. To what do we owe this pleasure?"

A slow dark smile twisted his lips, baring his sharp teeth. It widened when half of the demons stiffened. Several took a wary step back.

"I'm looking for someone," he said. Despite the fact that his vocal chords belonged to a human, his voice was a low, demonic hiss. Even his Master would be unlikely to understand it. "Perhaps for one amongst you."

More unease. The stink of fear filled the air, tickling his nostrils and making his lips twitch hungrily.

"I see," even Gaap appeared wary now, although unlike others, he was more puzzled than scared. "And what criteria will help us to narrow this search down?"

"Having a death wish would be the first clue," Sebastian took several steps towards the gathering, absorbing the varying expressions of worry and terror. Since he hadn't involved himself in such meetings for several decades, it was no wonder his appearance was causing such a turmoil. It was hard to get on his bad side — for the most part, he simply didn't care enough. But this? This insult couldn't stand. The boy was his, and if he had to tear several throats out to make the point stick, he would be pleased to comply.

"What happened, Sebastian?" Gremory asked. She remained in her demon form like Gaap, and like him, she smelled disturbed.

"I'm aware that one of the demons tried to disrupt my contract," Sebastian said. As soon as the words were out, the rage returned with a doubled force, tearing through his body and stripping it of its human contours. Raw power seeped through his skin, heavy and oppressive, making the majority recoil from him. "I want the name."

There was silence. And more silence. And then Raum laughed hesitantly.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "You deigned to come down to Hell itself over your contract? You hate this place. What's so important that—"

Sebastian was by his side before he finished speaking. His hand plunged into the soft chest, clenching around the shadowy iciness there and jerking it outside.

Raum screamed. His shape thrashed in Sebastian's grip, and as soon as he collapsed onto the floor, Sebastian stepped on his throat, digging a hole in it with his heel to make sure it would be unable to produce any sounds.

"Remember your place," he said mildly. Raum convulsed, trying to drag his half-broken shape away from him, but Sebastian was already losing interest. Someone this pitiful and weak would not risk his ire willingly. He had to look for someone with a higher rank.

As if sensing his thoughts, Gremory shook her head.

"Kings, dukes, and other princes would not do it," she said. "Marquises are more likely. How about Claude? You know he— oh," Gremory frowned. "So he's taken a contract already."

"He was the first I would have looked into," Sebastian agreed. When it came to encroaching on someone's territory, Claude was the first guess, but back when Sebastian had tried to speak his true name, he sensed the change to a human one. Claude had his own master to work on, he wouldn't have time for anyone else.

Silence dwelled once again. The more it went on, the brighter his anger burned. It was a separate being now, a clawed and vicious monster that begged to be released. The mere idea of the boy summoning someone of Sebastian's nature, speaking with them, making deals with them breathed fire into his very core, and if he didn't find his answer, he would incinerate this whole place, the consequences be damned.

"One of you talked to my Master," Sebastian said. Now his words were rougher, wrapped in the promise of destruction. "I want to know who it was. I won't ask again."

No one replied. No one stepped forwards.

Predictable. Yet foolish.

With a small effort, Sebastian turned off most of his human sides, concentrating on his demonic senses.

All demons smelled disturbed. The majority smelled scared. His fellow princes smelled concerned.

One demon smelled guilty.

Every part of Sebastian zeroed in on this specific mass of darkness. It was Phenex — boring, obedient Phenex with his ridiculous dreams of heaven.

He wouldn't have been among Sebastian's first choices, but his senses didn't lie. This creature smelled rotten from guilt.

Phenex must have understood what his stare meant because his eyes widened in panic.

"It's not me!" he cried out. "I wouldn't do that, it's against our law! I have—"

Sebastian didn't let him finish. Whatever disease the boy had infected him with was progressing swiftly, sending a roar of mine, mine, mine through his blood, so he bared his teeth and lunged at Phenex, tearing into him with his claws.

For a while, it was a blur. As a marquise, Phenex was strong, but he was nowhere near Sebastian's capabilities, especially not when he was in such a state. The need to kill, to disembowel, to carve into every part of this unworthy competitor's body and stuff it with liquid silver was pushing him forwards, making him feed on the powers he usually kept dormant.

"It's not me!" Phenex screamed again. He was bleeding shadows from everywhere, his body shaking from shock and pain. "Everyone knows that you aren't right in the head about— that you deem this contract important! No one would risk it! I'd never risk it!"

Sebastian growled. Now that he could imagine this specific face speaking to the boy, luring him in, urging him to form a new contract…

A new haze of fire and rage engulfed him. Sebastian grabbed Phenex by his shuddering throat with one hand and thrust his claws into his right eye socket, breathing in the howl of agony that followed.

"Ciel Phantomhive is mine," he whispered. "If you think I'm done with you after you tried to take him from me… I'm just getting started."

"I didn't do it!" Phenex shrieked. He tried to push at him with his hand, but Sebastian took this chance to snap it in half. "Stop it! Stop, I didn't do it! I'm not interested in your contract!"

Sebastian smiled, and Phenex went grey, just like the smoke he was leaking.

"Who in their right mind would even want your contract?!" he screamed desperately. "That boy is an abomination! There is nothing alluring about his soul at all! Only you would— no! Stop it!"

With a snarl, Sebastian dug his claws into the left eye socket, twisting it and grinding it into nothing. Whether Phenex was being truthful about his ignorant assessment of the boy's soul or not, this was the confession. He'd seen him. He'd looked at him.

Sebastian didn't need to know more.

The new round of terrified screaming inflamed him. He ripped, twisted, and clawed, delighting in the agony and horror being pushed right into his hungry mouth. The seconds stretched into minutes, and each of them was so pleasurable that most other thoughts fled him.

It wasn't easy to kill another demon. Even those of the lowest rank were surprisingly resilient, and to kill a marquise, one had to invest a substantial amount of time and effort.

Fortunately, Sebastian had both.

Another voice tore into his pleasure. It didn't belong to Ciel Phantomhive and thus it was unwelcome, so at first, Sebastian ignored it. However, the more of Phenex's life force he stole, the more insistent the voice got, so at some point, he snapped his head in its direction.

"What?" he growled. The red haze still clouded his vision, so it took a moment for him to recognise the demon who interrupted him.

It was Shax, another marquise. Another being with a lower rank that had no right to interfere. Sebastian bared his blood-stained teeth in a warning, and Shax blanched, bowing his head in a rush.

"Phenex was telling the truth about not interacting with the object of your contract," he said demurely, keeping his eyes downcast. "He has never interacted with him. Irrespective of whether it makes any difference, I thought you should know."

When the possessive roaring in his ears subdued a little, a useful piece clicked in its place.

One of Shax's abilities included understanding when someone was lying. If he was saying that Phenex was truthful, then it was likely the case. Demons had no loyalty to one another — Shax would not be willing to endanger himself by lying to save a fellow marquise. This wasn't how things worked in Hell.

Sebastian tilted his head, turning his gaze back to Phenex's exhausted, crippled form.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "But he had to have seen him to remark on the quality of his soul. Do you have a suitable explanation for this, too?"

"I do," Phenex rasped. The tongue Sebastian had torn out was rapidly growing again, but the process wasn't yet finished — the sounds were broken and unnatural. "I can explain."

A chilling smile embraced his lips. Sebastian dragged his claw down Phenex's trembling abdomen, teasing, but only just.

"Please do," he drawled.

"I was… curious," Phenex trembled in his grip. It was a pity that Sebastian had drunk his eyes out of their sockets — now he couldn't gauge the degree of fear in them. "I wanted to see him. There are, rumours. About you and this contract. You've been gone for a long time now, so some of us grew interested. I only wanted to see what kind of soul you considered so compelling. I looked, but I didn't approach. I swear on my immortality."

"Your immortality is nothing when I'm the one holding it in my hands. Shax?"

Shax bowed lower, still refusing to look up.

"He's telling the truth," he said shortly.

Almost disappointed, Sebastian let go. Phenex dropped to the ground with a moan of pain, instantly curling up on himself, enveloping himself in his own energy in an attempt to accelerate healing. Even in this state, it would take him at least two days to recover wholly, and Sebastian couldn't hold back a grin.

"If I catch you anywhere near Ciel Phantomhive again, I'll pay you another visit," he purred. Phenex whimpered, crawling away. "And this one will end only when your immortality runs its course. Is that clear?"

"Yes. Yes, I swear. I won't approach again."

Losing interest in him, Sebastian turned to survey the others. The beast of fury in him had been sated, but it was already stirring anew, eager for the blood of a real perpetrator.

"My problem isn't solved, then," he concluded silkily, making an unhurried step towards the crowd. The majority of demons recoiled from him, their eyes lost and terrified. They weren't used to seeing him like this — the instances where he lost his temper might have been memorable, but they were extremely rare. "I won't leave until I see a demon who thought he might jeopardise my contract. It's in your best interest to assist me. Shax?"

The demon flinched, his shoulders hunching, but he gave everyone a quick penetrating look. Sebastian wasn't certain to what extent his abilities stretched, but at the very least, Shax was capable of detecting lies more rapidly and efficiently than everyone else.

A moment later, he got an apologetic glance and another bow.

"No one here harbours any knowledge about the issue you inquire about," Shax reported. Sebastian pursed his lips.

This was starting to get disconcerting. The only demons that weren't in attendance were those who currently had contracts. They would have no time to bother with someone else's master, so the guilty party had to be here.

What if it was Shax himself? With his abilities, he stood most chances at deceiving him.

Narrowing his gaze, Sebastian stepped closer. The powerful wave of Shax's fear engulfed him like a delicious blanket, and he inhaled it greedily, his lips twitching in a smile.

He was about to speak when another demon came forwards.

"I have to ask, Sebastian," he said politely, "what makes you believe any of the present here would wish to go against you and to attempt to claim your contract?"

It was Paimon. He outranked Sebastian, which meant that Sebastian couldn't dismiss him easily even if he wanted to.

"My lord has informed me about this," he replied. "For obvious reasons, he couldn't give me the name."

Paimon pressed his abnormally long fingers to his lips, brushing against them, and Sebastian stiffened. Was he hiding a smile?

He hoped that it wasn't any of the kings who had contacted Young Master. Battling someone who outranked him and who was much older wasn't a challenge he looked forwards to. However, the insult was too great to let it go, so if there was no other option, he'd be ready to fight Paimon.

His energy stilled to accumulate more power. Hunger was an issue — he was weaker than he was supposed to be, but while he would have definitely lost the duel to Paimon in any other situation, the stakes were high and personal. His chances weren't half as bad.

"Have you considered that your lord might have lied to you?" Paimon asked, and all thoughts came to a halt. Sebastian froze.

This was… not the option he'd entertained. It was too outrageous and ludicrous to be true. He couldn't have possibly made a fool of himself over a lie — Ciel Phantomhive was capable of many things, but even he couldn't have pushed Sebastian into turning himself into a laughing stock in front of all the demons, in his own home, no less.

And yet… it made sense. Demons of his and higher rank would respect his boundaries; those inferior to him would be too intimidated to try stealing a contract from him. Shax couldn't smell anyone guilty despite the majority being present, and apart from Claude, Sebastian had no other even slightly likely suspects.

Young Master fooling him was the best and the most logical explanation.

The audacity of it stupefied him. For a moment, everything stopped: then the centre of gravity tilted. He felt like he was falling, unable to move and delay his drop. An unknown emotion swelled and rose in his chest, intensifying with each passing second, getting so heated that it was about to explode right inside him.

Sebastian expected the black rage to consume him when the explosion happened, but as the molten shrapnel filled him, all he could do was laugh. His laughter was soft, but in the quietness of the clearing, it resonated through every corner.

He could see his reaction shocked the others. Even Gremory was staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Paimon was keeping a straight face, but amusement was dancing in his gaze, making it glisten madly.

"Yes," Sebastian admitted, much fonder than he himself anticipated. "This is exactly something he would do."

Paimon nodded at him. Sebastian bowed slightly in respect before turning away with a flourish.

"I hope you enjoyed the performance," he said to everyone, making his way towards the exit. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay, but I bid you a delightful night. With luck, I'll see you in another century or two, and not a day sooner. Farewell now."

He lost his human shape and shot out of the clearing, out of the caves, out of Hell. The farther he got, the more annoyed he began to feel. It was like his mirth and his anger weren't certain which of them must be predominant, so they let each other take charge for a while before switching.

The whole situation was hilarious. What Ciel Phantomhive had managed to achieve was admirable, it was impossible to argue with it. He must have felt much more vulnerable and wounded by the revelation of the photo than even Sebastian had guessed — only this would have forced him to come up with this insane scheme. What other human could have managed to force a demon to embarrass themselves in such a permanent, public way?

On the other hand, it wasn't a random demon who'd been embarrassed. It might have been funnier if the boy had tried his frankly terrifying combination of wit and pettiness on Claude, for example, but it was Sebastian who had become his victim. Again.

Humiliation predictably gave way to fury, with more amusement hot on its heels. This confusing state accompanied him as he arrived at the manor, and when he barged into his lord's bedroom and saw his haughty stare, frustration came to the forefront.

"I see you are not sleeping," Sebastian remarked, his voice twisting nastily. The boy smirked at him.

"You are lucky that I am not," he said. "Otherwise, you would have awakened me with your clumsy entrance, and I would have been forced to punish you."

"You are the unlucky one, then," Sebastian approached the bed slowly. He didn't take his eyes off his lord's face. "Since you would have delighted in thinking of the most exquisite punishments. Was your lie one of them? Your attempt to punish me for pointing at the truth of where your emotional priorities lie, no matter what reason gave life to them?"

There wasn't any visible change in response to his words. The boy merely watched him, his stare dark and calculating, his thoughts known to him alone. Finally, he shrugged.

"Your behaviour makes me think that what I did wasn't a lie," he noted. He sounded so dismissive that it instantly set Sebastian on edge. His antagonism crackled.

"Why is that?"

"Because you clearly did something with it. Went to interrogate some other demons, maybe? This is how lies become truth," his Master settled deeper into his pillows. His sharp gaze shone with gleefulness, and Sebastian barely stopped himself from hissing at him.

The more he remembered what he'd done, the more he refused to believe this was real. He couldn't have made a fool of himself in front of the entire Hell over a childish lie. It was unthinkable. Everything in him began to tremble, the more familiar demonic sensations mixing with foreign human ones, pushing his body into a state he struggled to describe.

"How did your lie become the truth?" he growled. The boy's mouth curled in a smile, and the malevolent joy in it breathed fire into Sebastian's already malfunctioning chest.

He wanted to… he didn't know what he wanted to do. To destroy him. To tear his limbs off and bathe in his blood. To drag him to the darkest pits of Hell and abandon him there, in the eternal darkness.

Although knowing the boy, he would make that place his new kingdom in no time.

A chilling thought, one that had no place in reality.

"It's simple, really," his Master drawled. He crossed his legs lazily, every movement pouring his amusement out.

Amusement. Sebastian didn't think he ever thirsted for someone's destruction with such vigour.

"How so?" he rasped through gritted teeth. The fury in his words only seemed to entertain the boy because his smile grew into a smirk, his body relaxing further — as always, the angrier Sebastian got, the calmer he felt.

"I gave you a lie," the boy said. His eyes were too attentive, too discerning. "You took it, believed it, and acted on it. This made it the truth for you and for every poor demon you've shared it with."

Sebastian bristled. He tried to stop himself immediately, but it was too late — his Master had already caught it. A shiny delight made his face light up.

"That bad?" he asked conversationally. "Interesting. What did you do? Hunt down all the demons you could find and try to torture the non-existent information out of them?"

This was uncomfortably close to the truth, so Sebastian stayed silent. Not that it mattered — his Master laughed anyway, loudly and genuinely, throwing his head back in his satisfaction.

"You have only yourself to blame," he noted. "That's another test you have failed."

Only a demented mind could bend the truth to such an incomprehensible extent. Only a demented mind could try to twist this mortifying nightmare into a test. Sebastian almost regretted the fact that he understood it so well — if he didn't, he wouldn't have to fight through admiration. He would be able to concentrate on his anger, with no other confusing feeling rising to distract him.

"How did you know that Annesley had been trying to summon a demon?" he wondered. His voice was calmer now, tamed by the appreciation he could feel growing again, wrapping its suffocating branches around him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the boy teased. The smugness he was emanating was infuriating as much as it was endearing. All Sebastian could do was stare.

"I would," he said finally. That removed the smile from his Master's face, giving it a more serious look.

"As I told you before, I took a trip to Annesley's house," he uttered. "I found a book on demon summoning."

"A book?" Sebastian frowned. "But why—"

The boy shifted, bending his head enough to bare his neck, and Sebastian stopped talking. Or breathing.

His neck was the canvas of bruises. They were large, purple-red, the skin broken in two places, revealing several droplets of blood. How did they…

It was him. Back when the boy had announced his lie, when the world lost any colour but red and pushed Sebastian's consciousness so deep down that he barely registered what he was doing.

He had overreacted in his rage. This was the result.

Concerned, he crossed the distance between them in one swift movement to take a better look. His Master didn't even flinch from the sudden intrusion — he tilted his head further, either giving Sebastian access or displaying the bruises deliberately.

They looked bad. He hadn't realised the amount of force he applied, and the fact that the boy never cried out or complained was as bewildering as the smug expression he was currently wearing.

"I will bring the ointment," Sebastian said quietly. He wasn't certain what else to do. Should he apologise? That would mean admitting he was at fault, and he was vehemently against it. The boy had provoked him on purpose — his threat could be interpreted as a violation of their contract, justifying anything Sebastian did to him.

Still… still, he couldn't shake off the uneasiness.

He shouldn't have done this. Losing control like this was unacceptable.

"No," his lord said sharply, and Sebastian straightened instinctively.

"What?"

"I don't need any ointment. If I change my mind, I will inform you."

The boy's fingers brushed over the bruises protectively, almost possessively. Sebastian traced his movements, feeling something equally possessive take roots in his chest. His eyes lingered on the droplets of blood, now smudged against the purple skin.

His Master must have caught this because his lips quirked in a new smile.

"Do you like blood, Sebastian?" he asked suddenly.

The question took him aback. His face must have betrayed him again because the boy shrugged a little.

"Just something I've noticed," he said vaguely. "You act oddly around it sometimes. Like you feed on it or something similar."

He was more right than Sebastian was willing to admit to him. Despite his sadistic streak and his affinity for darkness, the boy would not want to know what Sebastian had done to Miss Taylor. He would not want to know the thoughts that plagued him at the moment, as he stared at the bruised neck and the blood on it, as he inhaled its rich scent, his insides twisting in sharp hunger.

"Blood can be nourishing," Sebastian said carefully. "In the absence of souls, its value increases."

His lord hummed. His face gained an unreadable look — he was thinking about something intently, his thoughts shrouded in mystery so compelling, Sebastian leaned closer before he could stop himself, fascinated and greedy to learn more.

"I asked you a question when we were in Houndsworth," the boy stated abruptly. "You never answered it. What kind of blood do you have in your veins?"

This was not what Sebastian might have seen coming. What a bizarre question.

He hesitated, and his Master, taking it as a doubt, continued.

"You have a human body, but it's not your true form. You created it with your powers. It clearly doesn't work the way actual human bodies are supposed to — you don't eat or sleep. Yet you do bleed. I've seen it more than once. So what kind of blood is it? Is it closer to demonic or human?"

Sebastian didn't even bother opening his mouth — he knew no words would come out. He was speechless, unsure if he should feel offended or pleased.

On the one hand, the question was audacious. Demon blood was sacred for demons, as powerful as their true names, and the idea of sharing any information about it was absurd.

On the other hand, the question was delightfully intelligent, to the extent that startled him.

He knew what his blood was and what it could do in his true form. In a human shape… The matter was not explored well enough for him to have a solid opinion on it. He was never interested in the blood of other demons and he was strong enough not to concern himself with the thoughts of anyone trying to take some from him.

Logically, he supposed his blood would be powerful regardless of the shape he was wearing. A lot of his life force was concentrated in it, demon or human, so it could have numerous uses even while mixed with human cells.

"Forget it." His Master's voice tore him from his thoughts. Sebastian focused on him again, but the boy just narrowed his eyes. "With how silent you went, either you won't tell me the truth or you don't know it yourself. I'll try it personally and be the judge of it myself."

…What?

There was stupor. Then denial. Then shock. Then stupor again.

The words didn't make sense. They couldn't mean what he thought they might, even his Master wasn't that mad.

Sebastian stared, waiting, hoping for elaborations, but none came. The boy arched an eyebrow.

"Well?"

Madness. This was unspeakable madness. Who in the world could come up with a request like this?

Finally, he managed to speak.

"You can't be serious," he said. The incredulity in his voice was strong enough to be insulting, but this was the last thing he cared about now. "You can't drink my blood."

"Why not? Will it kill me?"

"No, but—"

"Will it kill you?"

"No."

"Then I don't see any problems with it," the boy finished serenely. His eyes were full of strange, possessive excitement, and the sight of it was so appealing that Sebastian struggled with responding immediately.

This was so far from normal that he had no idea how he should react. For a human to drink demon's blood? It was outrageous. It was blasphemy of the worst kind, and if the boy had asked this from any other demon, he would be dead before he had time to finish his question.

But Sebastian wasn't any other demon. And if he thought past his stupor, he couldn't deny that the idea was engaging. Maybe more than he was comfortable admitting.

While he wasn't certain what properties his blood had when it was inside his human body, it couldn't be anything damaging. It would likely give the boy additional protection… it would also act as a powerful repellent against other demons who might be tempted to come take a closer look after Sebastian's performance in Hell. Nothing would scream "mine" better.

Did he think the idea of sharing his blood was engaging? He had underestimated it. This was the cleverest and the most compelling suggestion he'd ever heard.

"Very well," he purred. His lord raised his other brow, probably surprised at such a quick agreement, but Sebastian was already taking his gloves off, baring his left wrist.

What thought process had pushed the boy towards this decision, he would never know. It was wild and outlandish, particularly as his Master had no idea what demon blood could do. He hated blood, why would he want to drink it? Maybe he had a tumour in his brain, and it forced him to make increasingly unhinged choices. As long as they benefited Sebastian, though, he didn't mind, no matter how mercilessly the curiosity was devouring him.

He cut his skin with his nail, watching how a thin trail of blood stained it. Wordlessly, he offered his wrist to his Master.

The boy's cheeks were flushed now, the same look of greedy excitement shining in his eyes, darkening the blue in them to a blacker shade. He took Sebastian's hand in his, observing the blood for a while, and then he bent his head, his lips pressing down carefully.

A shudder of bliss tore through him. Sebastian's eyelashes fluttered in delight, but with a start, he forced himself to keep his eyes open. This sight was too unique and captivating to miss it.

The boy took his first swallow a little uncertainly, but he must have found the taste acceptable because his next one was more confident. The more Sebastian watched, the hotter the knot in his chest became. Desire burned at the back of his throat, so he licked his lips, still staring, wishing to touch. If he could at least brush a strand of hair from his lord's face... to connect their fingers, perhaps, or to press his knuckles to this face, tracking the way its temperature changed under the influence of his blood…

But he couldn't. This might spook Young Master, and the last thing Sebastian wanted was to interrupt this unusual moment.

It still ended sooner than he'd hoped for. The boy leaned away, his lips stained red, his cheeks scarlet and his eyes glowing with some unidentifiable emotion.

"Good," he announced, as if he was commenting on one of the dishes Sebastian had prepared for him. "Better than human blood for sure."

His lips curled in an involuntary smile.

"Have you been drinking human blood when I wasn't watching?" he asked. His lord shrugged, putting a blanket over himself.

"I drank enough of my own blood to last me a lifetime," he said. "It was always disgusting. Yours… is not."

With this, he closed his eyes, demonstrating his wish to be left alone. Reluctantly, Sebastian followed it. He bowed, even though he knew it wouldn't be seen, and walked out.

Even at a distance, he could sense his Master with enhanced intensity. He knew it was to do with his blood: it sang inside the boy, making him emanate a semblance of demonic energy. It wouldn't last, but Sebastian intended to enjoy it until it faded.

When he crossed the first floor, another presence distracted him. It was standing outside, in the garden, and he paused, his brows furrowing.

Another demon. A familiar one — Gremory. Again.

This time, he couldn't fight the wave of frustration that rolled through him. With an annoyed huff, Sebastian slipped out the door.

Gremory was waiting for him. His scathing words were ready to be launched, but he held them back when he saw her face. It was pale and disturbed, her gaze wild yet fiery.

"May I help you?" Sebastian asked frostily. "When I said that I do not want any demons to disturb my Master, you were included in the list."

Gremory shook her head, dismissing him.

"Have you lost your mind?" she whispered. Sebastian arched his brow. "You've been acting strangely for a long time now. I tried to think nothing of it— you were always eccentric, and I knew how bored you must be feeling. The scene you made in Hell concerned me, so I came here hoping to get you to talk to me. But this?" With a trembling hand, she pointed in the direction of Ciel Phantomhive's window. "This is insanity, Sebastian. How could you do it?"

She must mean the blood drinking.

This was rather unfortunate. She couldn't have come at a worse moment. Not that Sebastian was going to justify his decisions to her.

"What I'm doing with my contract is my business," he said mildly. Gremory hissed at him.

"You know what our blood does to humans," she insisted, her eyes flaring with anger. "It makes them immortal, Sebastian! What were you thinking? Why would you do that?"

He didn't like the reminder. He liked the perspective of discussing it even less.

"Our pure blood makes them immortal — eventually," he corrected her. It took an effort not to snap back. "I gave him blood in my human form. The effect won't be the same."

"How do you know it?" Gremory looked aghast. "No one has ever done something this— this foolish before! We have no idea what might happen! Do you even intend to take his soul at all?"

This was getting ridiculous.

"Of course I intend to take his soul. Giving him my blood is an experiment, nothing more."

It looked like he finally said the right thing because Gremory's fierceness faded. She fell silent and looked at him intently, as if trying to gauge his truthfulness.

"I sent a dream to one of your Master's servants," she said suddenly. "A vision of his death as I see it. I saw that you got invested in your contract, but I couldn't judge by how much. I was curious to see what you'd do if you learned of what I saw, and your reaction only intensified my concerns. What you are doing is not normal, Sebastian, even by your standards."

Darkness steadily grew into its own presence. It cloaked him, buzzing in a warning.

Gremory had sent her vision to Mey-Rin? This explained where it came from, but the fact that he now had the confirmation of it blackened his mood. Gremory often saw things of the past and the future. These visions were never set in stone, but they all came to life to at least some extent.

Which meant that his Master would be in serious danger at one point. From a ridiculous duel that was never supposed to take place. What would possess the boy to participate in it? Where would Sebastian be to allow it to unfold?

He didn't like this information. He'd have to increase their number of fencing lessons.

"I don't know why you bothered spying on me," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing in his displeasure. "But your vision is not appreciated. Ciel Phantomhive will die when I fulfil my part of our contract. He will die by my hand and my hand only."

Gremory pursed her lips, her true form starting to peer from behind the human shield.

"If only you knew what things I saw, Sebastian," she murmured, her voice wistful and terrified at once. "Your future keeps fluctuating, and I'm afraid that if you continue to pursue the path you're currently on, you will face the kind of change that even you will find unbearable."

This stirred his interest, but another, more powerful feeling subdued it.

Receiving a glimpse into his future was an intriguing perspective. He was certainly curious what change could be so big that it disturbed Gremory and made her follow him around.

But where was the fun in knowing everything in advance? He'd much rather remain oblivious and discover everything freshly, in its own time.

"I will deal with any changes and challenges as they come," he told Gremory. "As for your concerns regarding my behaviour… yes, I find my current Master unique. He fascinates me. Serving him is an honour, and this honour is my advantage, not my loss. Finding contracts such as this is a rarity that I do not often enjoy."

"Oh, Sebastian," Gremory looked at him with pity, and he tensed, offended. "You are mistaken. Your Master is neither unique nor as compelling as you make yourself believe."

For some reason, this claim affronted him even more. Frustration deepened, and he barely stopped himself from snarling.

He did not have to share anything with her — Gremory was intruding, and contrary to what she seemed to think, she was not entitled to any details of his service. But the need to explain, to make her see burned stronger, and it forced him to use a card he didn't think he'd ever mention to anyone.

"My lord can hear me whereas no other human can," he uttered. Gremory would be unable to understand everything else, particularly the attachment, not when Sebastian didn't understand it himself, but she was bound to find this recent fact astonishing. "Were he here right now, he would have managed to comprehend what you and I are talking about, even though human ears cannot perceive the sounds we make. Are you still doubting his uniqueness?"

He was confident that the answer would be no, but to his surprise, Gremory didn't look impressed. If anything, her gaze lightened, gaining even more pitiful shades.

"The only reason that makes him unique is your belief that he is," she murmured softly. "Do you know why he can hear you, Sebastian? Not because he's special. Certainly not because he has some natural talent. He can hear the demonic frequency because you've been drowning him in your essence. Holding him when you're transformed, letting him sleep like this. Merging with him. Making a gift from your power to him. You're coating him with your energy — inevitably, this began to affect him."

Sebastian blinked. The stupor stole his ability to speak, spreading through him in a cold progression. The spark of interest that had been burning for so long dimmed, and he felt its loss acutely.

Gremory made a good point. It was disillusioning to admit it, but her theory answered every question believably. He had noticed that his lord's ability to hear him was new. The last time, he'd been able to withstand the contact with the form that was supposed to burn him — likely because he was too used to its proximity.

It was true that Sebastian had been overindulging himself. He'd never worn his true form in contracts more often than he did now; he'd almost never touched his masters in anything other than his human shape. Quite possibly, this affected Young Master and made him more in tune with everything demonic.

How disappointingly simple. Now Sebastian felt like a fool for not realising it earlier.

Gremory must have read his expression correctly because she huffed.

"Have you truly not considered it?" she sneered. She didn't sound deliberately antagonising, yet Sebastian still found himself feeling it. "Or perhaps you've been so bored that now you're making up a mystery to obsess over? Think about it."

He wanted to tell her to stay away and out of his business. Nevertheless, after the blow of one mystery having such a trivial explanation, he wasn't sure what to say.

"He has other features," he remarked at last. His attachment had come before he noticed that the boy could hear him when he shouldn't have. Surely finding him refreshing and interesting wasn't that odd?

Gremory's face darkened.

"You are hungry," she snapped in exasperation. "You haven't eaten in ages. Your hunger and your boredom make you idolise someone who is not worthy of being idolised by you. He's only a human, Sebastian — just as plain and tedious and pathetic as they all are. Your misdirected interest in him is the only thing that elevates him. And I assure you, feeding him your blood will only contribute to your unfounded impressions."

There wasn't much Sebastian could respond with, at least not right away. His thoughts were too mixed, his feelings too chaotic to make sense.

Normally, he wouldn't think twice before dismissing Gremory or anyone else who dared to presume they understood him better than he understood himself, but her words had logic that he couldn't ignore. Could hunger really be the explanation behind everything? Did his attachment even exist or was it the result of starvation?

"I have an idea," Gremory said. Before Sebastian could blink, she snapped her fingers, and a powerful flare of her magic permeated the air. It was directed to the windows of Young Master's bedroom, and an instinctive growl escaped Sebastian's throat. His fury crackled and he made one threatening step towards Gremory.

"What have you done?" he asked softly. The deadliness of his tone must have spooked her because she sent him a strangely wounded gaze.

"I wouldn't have hurt him," she said, almost affronted. "It's just a little masking spell. Go look at him. Spend some time with him. Now that his soul will appear to be the plainest of grey to you, now that it won't make you salivate, see what you think. See if you still want to give him your blood. Once you understand how confused you were and what role hunger played in your feelings, I'll lift the spell."

For a second, he was torn between disbelief and rage. The incredulity at her audacity left an acid-hot trail of heat stretching from his mind to his body, and it took an impossible effort to keep himself still.

Gremory had never used her higher status against him before. He couldn't cancel her spell, not without applying so much power that it might end up killing the boy. She knew it.

His fury continued to build up, so he glared, his essence coiling and snapping in a vicious need to attack. Gremory eyed him warily.

"It's not forever, Sebastian," she uttered, as if placating him. "I believe several weeks will suffice. It'll be enough to lift this… this infatuation you think you developed and open your eyes to how human and unremarkable your master is in reality when you aren't blinded by your hunger for his soul."

He said nothing, just measured her with a long, dark stare. Gremory lowered her head in contrition.

"I apologise. I'd never interfere, but I strongly believe that this will benefit you. Once you have your answer, your honest answer, let me know."

Without waiting for his reply, she transformed. Several feathers fell as she took the shape of the raven and took off, her disapproval and her regret leaving palpable odour behind.

Most demons had the unique animal forms they felt the natural affinity for. Gremory was one of the few who lacked it. Sebastian always suspected she chose the raven during their interactions to mimic him: she had strange ideas about politeness. Her perspectives were always a little more refreshing than those of other demons, but right now, it didn't matter at all to him.

She was right to leave. Had she chosen to stay, he wasn't certain what he'd do.

Clenching his fists, Sebastian glanced at the window to the room where his Master was sleeping. His heart sank.

He could still hear his heartbeat. He could still scent his own essence coming off him in intense waves.

But he didn't sense his soul. Not the real one. There was only a plain mass of greyness, the dullness that only the least compelling humans had.

How could he feel anything but disgust?

Replies:

OnlyHere4Puckabrina, Hey! I'm so glad you enjoyed this chapter! I enjoy the chance to show more twisted side of the plot from Sebastian's POV - he's a demon, after all, he can't be nice, and even Ciel doesn't see the depth of his darkness - not yet, at least. Happy you enjoyed the funeral conversation :D These two are such idiots, and Sebastian is unrivalled in his ridiculousness. But it makes him the demon we know and love indeed! I hope you like the new chapter as well, we're finally at the photograph episode :D

Manon, thank you as always 3

Aleta Wolff, thank you, I'm happy you enjoyed this last dive into Sebastian's weird mind! I also love his and Ciel's power games, they are my favorite part of canon.

Guest 1, oh wow, thank you, this is very gratifying to know! Especially since English isn't my first language. I hope you enjoy the new chapter as well!

Guest 2, haha, thank you, I'm glad you think so! 3 Poor Sebastian, attachment scares him.

Silver wolf, thank you so much for your amazing comment! I actually haven't been reading manga myself, partly because the story has so many deviations that they do feel like filler and I don't like it much. I prefer for the plot to stay focused on a select few characters — which is why I stick with the anime. Either way, writing about Sebastian and Ciel is a delight, and I hope you liked the new chapter!