An abattoir is a slaughterhouse.

Shutting the door softly behind him, Sebastian looked at the small human standing at the opposite end of the hallway. Ciel seemed to gaze at nothing as he hesitated in the corner before the stairwell. His chest rose and fell beneath his nightshirt; the rest of his torso was swaddled in the gray boiled-wool blanket he'd wrapped around his shoulders. His feet were set somewhat far apart, as if to hold himself aloft took diligence. He breathed like a winded colt.

Sebastian waited. He was not sure Ciel noticed him, and so eventually he came closer, kneeling below the boy's height and looking up into the pale face with subtle inquisition. The blue eye was wide and vacant. The other had been behind that eponymous patch for well over a day now.

"Dear me," Sebastian said barely above a whisper, "that right eye of yours must be in want of some air."

When there was no response, Sebastian stood and ventured a hand to the back of Ciel's head. The boy gave an exceptionally hard flinch — but he did not cry out. This was good, for then Sebastian would have had to clamp his other hand over the boy's mouth, and he felt that that would be rather unhelpful right now. Instead, he finished undoing the patch's knot to reveal an iris glowing so brightly with its contractual mark that Ciel's opposite pupil somewhat dilated.

Sebastian tutted and frowned at this distress, but there was little consolation he could supply within earshot of Hastings and the other boys. He held out a hand in silent question, and Ciel nodded hypnotically, his eyes still focused on an impossible distance. Sebastian plucked him up and took him out into the night, back into the overlooking tree for a third time. This Cornish oak was practically their accomplice at this point.

It was a warmer night than the last. The soft breezes up high stirred at their hair. Ciel's breathing had slowed, and his gaze was softening. Still, he did not speak right away.

"Are you all right now, young master?" Sebastian tried after the silence pressed for many minutes.

Ciel lay in his arms, motionless as a fawn, yet inside he was wound like a coil. His fingers, which had sunk into the front of Sebastian's shirt and held on, did not release their iron grip. No, evidently he was not "all right." Something had frightened him as badly as any of his old nightmares. One only had to look at his face to see the depth of the haunting.

Suddenly, the boy's slender hand began to move, rubbing the lightweight pongee fabric of the shirt between shaking fingertips. Presently, thin eyebrows drew together. "It doesn't feel real," Ciel finally whispered.

He was talking again. Good; that was something. "What doesn't feel real, my lord?"

"... Anything." Ciel lifted one hand and stared at it. "This doesn't feel like my hand. I know it is, but it doesn't feel like it." He looked down at the ground. "And that. It feels like if I fell, nothing would happen to me. It feels like I'm dreaming."

Sebastian's lips parted in confusion. Ciel didn't seem to be experiencing a fever. But was he delirious? "Sir…?"

"I want to touch the tree." An odd request. After a brief pause, Sebastian moved closer to its trunk. Without looking, Ciel ran his fingers along the bark, first gingerly, then so rapidly that he seemed to want to scrape off his own skin. Sebastian pulled back to stop him from continuing. "No… that was helping," Ciel explained airily. "I can feel that… I'm still here… I'm still here…"

Sebastian had no words to understand. All he could do was wait for an explanation.

"Everything feels far away," Ciel admitted next. He started pinching along the spine of his own ear, then tapped on his cheek. "I can feel things, but it's like I'm under a sheet."

"Did this happen all of a sudden, young master?"

"No. No, not at all…" Ciel was pensive. "Earlier today… When I was talking with Whit… I started feeling strange… Like I'm outside my own body." He hadn't stopped poking and prodding himself all the while. "I think I've felt this way before," Ciel said. "I think… It's hard to say." He sighed shakily. "I can't stop thinking about tomorrow."

"Hmm, I see. Feeling some apprehension about our adversaries?"

"It's more than just that." The boy's face was etched with worry, the lines of it shining in the moonlight. "It's… I… hate that I feel so terrified right now." Ciel swallowed, and then seemed more angry than anxious. "This is stupid. I've done harder things before. There's been more on the line. It's just… It's me, Sebastian. I'm the problem. I'm making this worse for myself by thinking too much. I wish I could just stop thinking." There was such bitterness and incrimination in his tired voice. His lips clamped shut, grinding his teeth behind them, as if chewing apart the things he did not dare to say aloud.

Sebastian waited in pensive silence, reflective. The way Ciel had been standing above the stairwell, still as a gargoyle, reminded him of the paralysis that occurred when Ciel had a nightmare, most specifically at the start of their contract. Ciel's nightmares were almost always about the period just before he met Sebastian — a period he typically referred to as "that horrible month." Perhaps he had dreamt of it again… Sebastian felt he should say something. But where would he even begin?

"You'll falter tomorrow if you sleep as badly tonight as you did the night before," he decided, realizing right after speaking that it wasn't a useful comment.

"I know that." Ciel rubbed at his forearm. "That's why I'm so angry right now. I need to sleep but I can't. I just can't." The rubbing turned into pinching, tighter, tighter.

He could draw blood doing that. "Young master, you must stop."

Ciel shook his head mechanically. "It's helping..." He was nestling back into his fear-place.

Sebastian took the boy's wrist and guided it away. "Come, now, you know better than that. Let us dissect this. Tell me what about your conversation with Whit this afternoon made you start to feel uneasy."

Ciel's chin turned away. "It was just… Whit... he… he doesn't know."

"Doesn't know what, sir?"

"What do you think?" Ciel snapped, then softened again. "He doesn't know he's going to be kidnapped tomorrow. He doesn't know he'll be drugged. None of the boys know. All they have in their heads is excitement. All they can think about is how wonderful their lives are going to become. But the reality is…" He broke off, fidgeting with his sleeve. After a minute, he continued quickly, "It's too familiar. It's too much like that day. So even when I know I'm going to be fine, I'm still…" He broke off again. Made a noise of disgust. "It's no good. I'm just no good right now. I can't think about this in a practical way, when it's so important that I do my job. All I can think about is…" After stopping a third time, Ciel began pinching himself again. "God damn it, why do I feel so far away from everything?!"

Sebastian pulled his wrist away again too. "My lord, you have not successfully convinced me that causing yourself pain is a cure for your malady."

"I just don't want to feel this way!" he groaned. "I need to focus, I need to be serious, and I can't even sleep. I hate that I'm like this, Sebastian! Why can't I just get over it?"

Sebastian could not immediately think of anything useful to say. And that was fine, of course. He shouldn't have anything to say. He wasn't supposed to have anything to say. It was not his place to have something to say.

And yet, despite how much he wanted to have nothing to say, his lips began to move.

"I suppose… that if 'getting over it' is your goal, you may never be successful."

The boy growled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I don't mean that you will never improve at all. I mean that… perhaps you are not thinking about your emotions the right way." Sebastian swallowed. What was he saying? And, more importantly, why was he saying it? But the words kept pouring from him, easy as water. "You can't will your apprehension away. Yet that is what you are trying to do, hopelessly, and it is impractical. Instead, I believe you should accept that you are always going to have your memories and that they are going to affect your performance in this mission, but that you will persevere regardless. Because that is what you want, correct?"

Ciel was quiet for a moment. "That sounds like you're telling me to give up."

"Quite the contrary, sir. You give up when you allow your fears to control you. When you accept them, that is when you can move forward."

"You're telling me to accept this? The way I feel right now?" Ciel's eyebrows drew together. He sat up sharply in Sebastian's arms. "You're an idiot if you think I'm going to do that. I don't have to accept anything. I'm the one in control here, not my past, and certainly not the people who…" He chewed his lip fervidly. Doubt leaked into his voice as he said, "I'm the only one in control. I'm the only one who decides what happens, what I feel. Not you, not anybody. I don't have to accept anything! I don't have to accept it!"

"Your lack of acceptance," Sebastian said, "is what allows your past to control you."

"No, it's not," Ciel said. He didn't really sound like he believed himself.

"In that case, you are saying to me that your panic is deliberate?"

"..." Ciel was quiet again.

"..." Sebastian sighed. "What I think," he pressed on wearily, "is that by trying to deny your anxieties space, you only prove to exacerbate the situation. You can only hope to soothe yourself if you examine why you are anxious, not if you deprive yourself of clarity."

"What, do you want me to say I'm afraid?" Ciel snorted. "All right, fine. Maybe I'm really nervous right now for a stupid reason. And look at that: I admitted it, and I don't feel any better. So there you have it. It doesn't work."

"What is it that you're 'really nervous' about?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel drew his head back, flabbergasted. "I don't know."

"Hmm, don't you? Well, think on it, then."

The demon was shot a nasty look. "I'm not worried about anything that will happen, it just reminds me of that day. I don't like being reminded of it. That's all there is to it." The response was hot, angry that Sebastian insisted on prodding an area so tender.

Sebastian kept prodding. "What you're saying is, the thing you fear most is the reminder? The memories that you believe tomorrow's kidnapping will conjure?"

"Sure," Ciel snarled, just as hotly as before.

"Well," said Sebastian, "I think it makes sense that you would feel worried then. Don't you?"

"No! " Ciel insisted. "No, because it's not helpful! And you're not being helpful either! Why are you talking about this so much?! It's just making me feel worse! If you really want to help, you should be trying to distract me, or… or something! I don't want to think about how I'm going to be worthless if I feel like this right at the most important moment, but now I am thinking about that! And I hate it!" A pause. "And I hate you for making me do it!"

"Very well," said Sebastian. "Hate me, if you must."

Though the mismatched eyes that glared at Sebastian in the darkness were piercingly enraged, one glowing like a miniature star, they soon fell beneath a layer of bangs as their owner's chin tipped downward. His master was shaking subtly in his arms, bottled emotions making his shoulders tremble, until eventually he went ragdoll-limp.

"I don't want to be on this mission anymore," Ciel whispered hoarsely. "I mean, I'm going to finish it. But I don't want to." He sagged against Sebastian's shoulder. "It's stupid, but you're right. I'm scared. I'm going to be scared tomorrow. And that's just how it is. I can't do anything about it. So I might as well recognize it, because then I can at least stop fighting with myself. I'm scared, and my past does control me, and I just have to accept that I'm a coward, and that's it."

"I think it would be better to say that your past affects you," Sebastian said. "You are still very much in control. You are going to go through with tomorrow's mission, despite that you are afraid. And that is quite the opposite of cowardice. After all, can bravery even exist without fear?"

"... Yeah. I guess that's true." Ciel rubbed at his knuckles. "I guess… it's not really bad for me to… be affected. I can… do my job and feel this way at the same time."

"Very true, sir." Sebastian felt himself smile lightly. His master was coming around. "It is just the same with Avalon, you know. You could never hope to tame him if his fears were not acknowledged and treated."

"... I never thought about it that way," the boy said quietly. He toyed with his fingers, a substitution for playing with the gold signet ring and Phantomhive sapphire he typically donned. "It's true, though. If I just put a saddle on Avalon right away, instead of having Bard do the rope-and-crop practice, I never would have been able to ride him at all." He sighed. "Too bad there's no similar method for humans."

Sebastian hummed a laugh. "Certainly there is, sir. Humans have their words."

"I guess." Ciel hesitated before looking up at Sebastian from the tops of his eyes, puzzled. "Since when do demons have those words?"

There was a sour feeling in Sebastian's mouth, but he answered smoothly, "Could I truly be a Phantomhive butler if I couldn't do this?"

Ciel glowered in mild annoyance. "So full of it…" he muttered, then yawned.

Sebastian cocked his head. "Oh? Is the young master fine to return to bed then?"

"Mm… Not yet." Ciel looked out at the stars, the landscape made navy without the sun to warm its palette. "Is Hastings having you do surveillance tonight?"

"Not tonight." And best not to mention what they had been doing.

"Oh," said Ciel. "Well… I want you to tell me about the details of the… the kidnapping tomorrow. So I can be prepared. But it's boring just standing here."

Sebastian smiled lightly. "I agree, my lord. Hold on, now."

Into the night-world they plunged. Ciel secured the blanket around him as the wind rushed past, as did the wooded countryside below. He watched the earth scroll by for a few moments before repeating, "Tell me now. How is the kidnapping going to begin?"

As Sebastian explained Hastings's ploy, he watched the tension slowly release from the boy's face. Eventually, Ciel's eyelids began to droop as he muttered, "You'll be nearby the whole time?"

"Yes, I should be very close all the while."

A yawn. "And… you'll be the only one that touches me? Not any of Hastings's other henchmen?"

"I'll make sure it is so, young master."

"Good…" A restful sigh. "I think... I'll be okay then… I think I can do it..."

"I believe you can, sir," Sebastian said quietly.

"If only I could… fall asleep…" Ciel mumbled, his head rolling limply to his own shoulder. "It's so stupid that… I can't…"

With that, he was out like a snuffed candle. And then it was Sebastian's turn to wonder at himself.

Since when do demons have those words? The words to pacify fears, not create them? Sebastian himself did not know. He did not think such words existed inside him. They seemed to come from elsewhere, just like the chairs and table and chandelier he'd magicked into existence to impress Hastings: he did not have to think about this chair and table before he created them, and yet, when he needed them, there they were.

"Do you trust the source of your energy? Do you know it to be… safe? Pure? Can its magic alter your mind, for instance? Your thoughts? Enough to convince you that you care for the human child? Or… could someone else have access to that power source? "

For the umpteenth time, Undertaker's words echoed in his head. Again, Sebastian found himself clinging all the more tightly to his charge. Maybe there was a reason those words of reassurance had felt foreign in his own mouth. Could it be because they weren't his words? Did they belong to another demon, using him as a puppet, controlling him through the same mystical vein that Sebastian drew his powers from? It was hard to conceptualize this being so, but Sebastian only felt the prior conversation proved this further. He was not himself.

… Or was he?

Sebastian wasn't sure which notion was more chilling.

After half an hour of continuing his patrol, Sebastian realized he should put Ciel back in his bed. Though he was hesitant to part with his contracted soul, especially right now, he too recalled the state he had left Hastings in… hmm. He didn't regret going to Ciel's side (as if he could have resisted the summons much longer anyway), but he did wonder if he could manage to successfully charm his false master back into trusting him.

The boy did not disturb one bit when returned to his mattress — exhaustion had fully claimed him. It was for the best. He would rise again in six or seven hours, which, given he barely slept the night before, would have to do. The other boys snored lightly like sleeping puppies, as oblivious to their fates as Ciel knew they were. But Hastings's soul remained astir.

Sebastian put his hands on his hips and sighed at himself, mildly annoyed. He had been in such a hurry to get to Ciel in his hour of need that he'd let his poised facade drop. He had not wished to divulge to Hastings that he had limits, could experience desperation… but so be it. Somehow, the relationship had to be mended. Sebastian supposed he had obtained a lot of practice in apologizing these days…

Deciding a knock would still be too demure, Sebastian carefully opened the door to the master bedroom and entered with his head ducked, shutting it immediately behind him. A nearby lamp flicked to life with the demon's will. It cast its light upon the human, who was sitting up in bed, exactly where he'd been left less than an hour ago. He was looking at Sebastian very curiously, with a bit of caution but mostly concern.

"Well," said Hastings at last, "you were gone for a while."

"So I was," said Corbin, and then bowed with almost theatrical grace. "I must ask your forgiveness… My rough nature can occasionally rear its head at the worst of times. I wish you had not seen it so soon. Unfortunately, you have. I hope I have not slighted you too deeply."

Hastings hesitated, before saying, "I am more confused than anything else. Why did you need to go away so suddenly, and for so long? I doubt we were about to be discovered."

Sebastian bowed again. "Ask me not for details. Simply understand that being a demon… is more than about pleasing one's master all of the time."

"... As you say," Hastings muttered. He held up his head. "But I wish you would at least come when I call for you."

Corbin laughed darkly. "What a greedy master." In a leap too quick to be conceived by the human eye, Corbin had pinned Hastings by his arms not painfully to the bed, his fanged maw grinning down at him, eyes an electric pink. "If you wanted a dog, dismiss me now," he breathed, "for what you have is a wolf, and a wolf does not come when he is called." He put his mouth right beside the man's ear. "He comes when it pleases him."

The look on Hastings's face when Sebastian pulled away was dizzy and captivated — just as Sebastian had hoped. "Christ," he strangled out at last, "if you're going to talk like that, then I do want another stitch."

And so, using a much more familiar method, Sebastian helped yet another human to sleep that night.

On the morning of the 23rd of May, Ciel had eaten breakfast. He'd eaten as if he had never in his life tasted something as delicious as fried potatoes, baked beans, and sliced ham. He ate like the voracious, growing young person he was. Whit commented with a laugh that "Patch" must be feeling better today. Ciel agreed that he was. The rest of the morning was then spent riding, as the four other winners once again tried and failed to imitate Ciel's technique.

"You can't do it all at once," Ciel kept reminding them. "And you should try to get used to the saddles before you do anything else. You're going to wear yourselves out if you push yourselves too far. Trust me."

In the afternoon of the 23rd of May, a reporter and photographer from The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News came to see if they could learn more about the promising young jockeys who would be leaving Banstead tomorrow to begin their training across Great Britain. Hastings agreed to speak with them, but he was very vague in his responses to the men, particularly about where they would travel. "Please, try to understand, we don't want the press following us from place to place," was his excuse.

The boys were also asked a few questions. "Are you excited? Are you nervous? Is this the farthest you've been from home? Do you think we'll see you in the Ascot in ten years?"

Whit, naturally, was the darling of the interview. "We're so excited! I'm not nervous a bit. I haven't been outside London in my whole life. If I'm not in the Ascot by the time I'm twenty, just wager I'm dead!" Whit laughed, and so did the reporters and the boys and Hastings. Ciel momentarily stiffened, but then Sebastian watched him collect himself and pretend to laugh too.

After the photographer began putting away his equipment, Hastings whispered surreptitiously to Sebastian, "Do something to make sure their film doesn't turn out. I don't want anyone to know the boys' faces." It didn't take much effort. As Sebastian could steal bullets from guns before they fired, so too was he able to remove the celluloid roll and damage the film without anyone noticing. The journalists wouldn't find out what had happened until they attempted to develop the photographs hours later.

At the same time, Hastings's personal staff and temporary staff, which had been borrowed from a friend for a few days, left the countryside manor, either to return to said friend or begin working for him. Sebastian had learned from Hastings that this "friend" was a part of the strange operation involving the horses and the stolen boys, and could tell, from the way the domestics spoke as they tidied up and packed their belongings, that it wasn't unusual for them to switch houses depending on their masters' schedules. Did they not concern themselves with the strangeness of their employers' lives? Sebastian supposed that these particular humans were passive enough not to care where their paychecks came from, so long as they received that paycheck.

And then, as it had to, as all things had to, the evening of the 23rd of May came.

"Aren't you going to eat with us tonight, Mr. Hastings?" Marlee called from inside the dining room. Sebastian stood just around the corner from its closed door.

"Alas, no," Hastings answered with despondence. "I have some preparations for tomorrow's trip to attend to. But don't worry, boys; we'll see plenty of each other these coming years. Eat up, and then get on to packing your things."

"Yes, sir!" "We will, sir!" "Goodnight, Mr. Hastings!" chirruped the boys.

Hastings passed Sebastian in the entrance hall as he made his way to the staircase, raising his eyebrows with a quarter-smile as if to say, And now it can begin.

"I'm starving," said Teddy, probably through mouthfuls of soup, "even though we had a nice, big lunch. I'm gettin' used to havin' three square meals."

"We're right spoiled," said Whit, "and I think I'm takin' to it. Oy, Trevor, can I have the salt?"

"Where's it?"

"Ajax yer elbow."

"Wot?"

"By yer elbow. Other elbow. Thanks."

"I'm so excited that I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight!" Marlee bubbled.

"Me neither," Teddy agreed.

"Who says we got to?" laughed Whit. "We'll be travelin' most a' the day tomorrow, I wager. We can tell stories long into the night n' sleep in the brougham."

"I don't think Mr. Hastings'd like it if we stayed up," Trevor said. "And you two don't want tuh be gettin' in any more trouble."

"We can whisper," said Whit. "Whattayou think, Patch? Yer feelin much better, yeh?"

"Mostly," Ciel said, voice a bit strained, but only when he first spoke. His next words were injected with that faux enthusiasm he'd mastered pretending. "I think we ought to see if Josef will come out and play tonight. If we run around with him, then we'll get tired and be able to fall right asleep!"

"I hope Josef comes back to play." Marlee yawned. "Though I think I was wrong… I am feeling a little sleepy after all."

"You don't even remember last night, do ya?" Whit laughed. "You were jus' barely standin'. It was hilarious."

Teddy clapped his hands and repeated the mantra, "Don't fall asleep! Don't fall asleep!"

The boys proceeded to make jokes about Marlee's tiredness for the next five minutes. As he was much smaller than the other boys, it made sense that the drug would affect him first.

"Cor, I think he's actually fallin' asleep!" Whit laughed.

"No, 'm not…" Marlee's voice was tonelessly relaxed.

"Mar-lee, it's only half past seven!" Teddy scolded jokingly.

"Do you feel alright?" Ciel couldn't seem to help asking.

"Mm…"

"Get yer head off the table, Marlee! That's not proper!" Teddy was laughing as he said it, though.

"'S'alright, let the pup sleep. I'll carry 'im up m'self." As usual, eldest Trevor would take charge of the situation. Sebastian had to give him a larger dose than the others to ensure the boys would all succumb to the chloral hydrate at around the same time.

"Think it's catchin', though." Teddy yawned next. "Now I feel knackered."

"Come off it!" Whit still sounded as energized as ever. "What happened to tellin' stories and playin' with Josef?"

Ciel decided to chime in. "I don't know… suddenly, I'm feeling it too."

"Tha's troublesome. Not gettin' sick among ourselves, are we?" Trevor said.

"No, we can't be!" Whit's voice was heavy with disappointment. "Snap out of it, lot! You was just sayin' how much you wanted ta stay up all night! Marlee! Can't believe it, he's already dreamin'!"

"It's been a busy week," said Trevor, the third to yawn. "It's just catchin' up to us is all…"

"Stop that!" Whit snapped. "Yer makin' me feel it too… Teddy! Trevor! Not the both a' you… Patch! Say yer still with me!"

"I'm awake…" Ciel mumbled.

Whit snorted. "Good God, the lot a' you. It jus' came over you so fast, like you…"

There was a long pause.

Whit was hesitant as he ventured, "Teddy...? Trevor? Yer not really asleep, are ya?"

No response.

"Oh, Cor," Whit whispered. His chair fell back with a solid thud. "Oh, Cor, Patch, Cor! We been slipped somethin'! We gotta get outta here, quick!"

Seconds later, the dining room door swung wide, hitting the wall loudly. Whit was tugging Ciel by the hand when he rounded the corner and very nearly ran headfirst into Sebastian. Still, with only a second's hesitation, Whit had leapt onto the unbeknownst demon and was attempting to beat him back. "Run for it, Patch, run! Go get help! Before you end up like the others! Go—"

The boy's voice cut off abruptly when Sebastian put him in the gentlest carotid restraint that could feasibly exist. There was a struggle, but after a brief ten seconds, Whit's body sagged against Sebastian's elbow, subdued as all the others had been. Ciel had run a short distance, but feigned a collapse on the front carpet, arms and legs sprawled as if he'd been struck with narcolepsy. Sebastian could feel the fluttering of the soul in his master's chest, like its own separate heartbeat. Ciel was frightened, but he wasn't going to let the guise slip.

Sebastian placed Whit gently on the ground and went to retrieve his master just as he heard Sykes and Pickering drive the carriages to the front of the house. They had eighty minutes at most before the knockout drops wore off. All would need to be concluded before then.

It had been a while since Sebastian had truly flown. He wasn't sure he had exactly longed for the experience, but there was something about feeling the wind flowing over and between the owl's feathers he'd adorned that was somehow nostalgic. He had let Hastings witness his transformation into a beast this time. His false master responded in the way his many past masters had: with eyes sparkling like a child's. Interesting, then, that his true child master was the only contracted soul Sebastian had known whose eyes didn't sparkle at the sight of magic.

Below on the dirt path tottered the two carriages, moving at a decent clip, though not so fast as to raise suspicion. But raise suspicion they had, and from a very unexpected source. Sebastian would have smirked if he had lips and not a beak. 'Josef' was trotting several yards behind the carriage that carried Hastings, determination in every stride. He smelled the boys that had become his playmates. Did he too smell the danger they were in?

A journey that could have taken twenty minutes took closer to thirty, as the drivers tried to avoid going through the village of Banstead outright, but eventually, after passing by countless fields and chalk pits and wide stretches of furze, the thick forest surrounding the asylum came into view. Sebastian swooped beneath the trees to follow the carriages on their rickety way. Without the stars and only the lanterns to guide them, the journey became pitch black. Sebastian did not fly close enough for the drivers to see him, but he could see them: their faces looked haunted as they tried not to imagine what could live in this brand of darkness. The demon felt a laugh against his breastbone. This forest was nothing but a safe haven to England's most common wildlife. It was what lay beyond the wood that should truly inspire fear.

After five minutes, the clearing came into view. The main hospital loomed above everything else, with its lit windows like probing eyes. At this hour, few lights remained, most of the nurses and doctors having retired for the evening, with only the skeleton crew still lurking inside the building. No one came to check on the carriages arriving just outside the hospital's doors. Perhaps they had expected this arrival.

Sebastian transformed back into his human guise away from where anyone could spot him and walked over to the little entourage. The carriages had come to a stop along the side of the hospital, where a pair of steel cellar doors were being flung wide by Hastings's men. Emanating from inside, Sebastian could hear that tell-tale thrumming: the staccato footfalls of a breakneck horse.

When Corbin approached the others, one of the henchmen stopped what he was doing and stared at him with a shocked expression. Sebastian recognized him as Hardwick, the man who had held him at gunpoint in the stables for an hour while he waited to be interrogated by Hastings, a mere three days ago. Evidently, Hardwick had never expected to see Corbin again, alive or dead, and certainly not working alongside him.

Hardwick was standing by the carriage that contained the boys, apparently preparing to carry them inside. "Allow me to help," offered Corbin, reaching past the dumbfounded man and into the pile of sleeping children propped haphazardly around the compartment. Ciel had been positioned near the far window; Sebastian gathered him gently in his arms and pulled him into the moonlight. Hardwick continued to gape. Corbin only smiled quaintly and proceeded to where Hastings stood, just outside the cellar's maw.

Sebastian hoped Hastings wouldn't tell him to put the boy down, and he didn't, fortunately. He was altogether too excited about showing the devil his little project to care about anything else. "Here we are, then," Hastings said, with a dark enthusiasm. "This is it. Are you ready to see what it is we've done?"

Without waiting for a response, Hastings gestured with his fingers for Corbin to follow as he descended below ground. Sebastian secured his grip on Ciel before stepping after him into the gloom.

When the short flight of stairs ended, Sebastian felt sand beneath his feet.

The room they stood in was scarcely lit by a dusty lantern, which hung in the corner. At the moment, there was little to see; it was a scant basement room with unpainted walls and no furnishings other than the lamp. The biggest curiosity was the deep layer of sand covering the ground — that, and the way the sand seemed to have been churned in a curved pattern leading from a large entranceway on the east wall, into an equally large entranceway right in front of them…

The hoofbeats had become an almost steady pulse, background noise. But suddenly, the noise grew louder.

A white horse appeared in the rightmost entryway, a thing so pale in this underground lair that it seemed to shine. It was like a cave creature, devoid of color after spending eons growing in a place without sun. Almost as quickly as it entered, it left, spinning whorls of sand in its wake.

Ciel gasped subtly, and Sebatian glanced down. The boy's eyes were open. Sebastian could see by the look on his face that he hadn't really believed horses could be kept underground until he'd seen it for himself. But he feigned sleep again when Hastings called from the next room over, "Keep coming, this way, this way. O'Leary! That horse's lost his rider. How long has he been going now?"

"Eighteen hours," Sebastian heard someone shout several walls over. He left the first room and entered another that was nearly identical to the previous: barren and dark, a large open entryway to the right and a smaller door in front of him, cracked partially open, some light escaping. "The boy fell off an hour ago, but he survived; now we're just waiting for the beast to tire out."

"That could take another four hours," Hastings sighed. He was almost to the other end of the room, heading to that smaller door where the yellow glow threatened to spill. Sebastian stepped calmly to the side as the horse made another lap. It easily passed them at over thirty-five miles per hour, yet it took the turns as if it were going half the speed.

"Come in here, Corbin." Hastings's voice reached out from the lit room. Obediently, the demon heeded the summons.

The noise, the smell, and the sight was sure to have overwhelmed any human unprepared for what came next.

The space was full to the brim with brown quarter horses. Each one was tethered to a steel ring in the wall by a rope. The horses' physical and mental conditions varied greatly: some threw back their heads and tossed their manes; others kicked and stamped impatiently; but just as many laid on the earth with their enormous ribs heaving in exertion or with a leg sprawled out at an impossible angle, broken and gangrenous. The room reeked of their sweat and blood and leavings, but not as much as it could have: the sand had been kicked over anything that stank, including the horses' festering wounds. Sebastian tipped Ciel's head towards himself, hoping to stifle the stench even a small amount, if possible. The boy furrowed his brow, breathing through his mouth. Feigning sleep could not have been easy now.

The horses' bones were becoming visible beneath their thin blankets of flesh. None seemed to have ready access to food or water. Their muzzles were bound tight with surgical tape, possibly to keep them from making noise or biting. Yet, despite these cruel conditions, the uninjured horses did not act sick.

They acted like they wanted to run.

"A curious sight, isn't it?" Hastings said, suddenly by his side. Sebastian reflexively turned Ciel away from the man. "A bit unnerving, really; I don't like to look at the test subjects for long, if I can help it. Though I suppose this sort of suffering appeals to you."

"No, not especially," said Sebastian. Another gaze around the room. "What exactly is being tested on them?"

Hastings's smile was devilish itself. He looked down at Ciel menacingly. "This little thing can be the one to show you — as soon as he wakes up, that is." He spun around, just missing the sight of Sebastian's upper lip curling, and walked to the sixth and final room just right of the 'stables.' "Follow me, demon. Soon, our master plan will become clear."

The boy flinched just once before forcing himself into stillness. Sebastian responded with a tighter grip, reassuring, before following Hastings into the last chamber.

It was good that Ciel's eyes were shut, for here was where the stolen boys were being kept.

The orphans stood or laid against the walls in similar conditions to the horses: chained by their necks to metal rings, emaciated — and impatient, or, at least, the ones on their feet were. Some lay in misery just like the horses, gasping for air. The four remaining upright stared at Ciel guardedly. Sebastian noted that, unlike the horses, the boys were spread out far enough that they could not touch each other. The way they bared their teeth, feral, at the sight of another victim seemed to imply that the boys would fight, if given the chance.

"You can put that one over here," Hastings called to him from an unused ring. He then nudged with his toe at an unmoving child. "Get this one out of here, O'Leary. His ribs are broken, he may as well be dead."

A man sitting at a metal table covered in syringes and vials didn't even glance over. "I don't want to touch 'im. Get your man to do it."

"Never mind him, Corbin," Hastings waved his hand. Then he continued to O'Leary, "Where's Vogt? He wanted new subjects, well here they are. We need to vaccinate them while they're still asleep, but I don't know which serum he wants us to use."

"Don't put me down," Ciel whispered tightly. Sebastian wouldn't dream of it.

"Vogt went out to take a gander at the stock you brought in. He wants to see what age the oldest boy is, we've been testing on tykes for too long."

"Fifteen years, I think." Hastings picked up one of the syringes, looking at the clear liquid it contained as if he could make out something about it. "Certainly more durable than the ones Northcott was getting for us. We're lucky if they last more than three trials."

Hastings turned to Sebastian then. "Sorry about all the keeping shop." He held up the syringe. "This," he explained, "contains the thing that is going to change the world."

It looked like no more than water, perhaps a bit more viscous. "I'm intrigued," Corbin forced himself to say politely. "It seems so unassuming."

"It does, doesn't it? But it is just the opposite." Hastings pressed the plunger, and fluid fountained out of the needle. "The boys and the horses have been injected with this everyday," he explained. "Perhaps you've noticed their transformation: they should be weak in these conditions, and yet they remain strong. Only serious injury can put them out of commission. We're working on that too… the boys are still dropping like flies… but they are still much more capable than the average person of surviving in a less-than-ideal environment."

Hastings's voice picked up speed as he grew more excited. "Not only are they surviving, but they are accomplishing feats of endurance that the average man could never hope to replicate! That horse you saw out there — he'll be running for an entire day before he'll need a rest, and two hours later, he'll be raring to go again." He tapped the syringe, grinning almost maniacally. "Liquid energy. That's what we created." He gestured wide. "Isn't it incredible? Look at how aggravated the boys are. They're practically overdosed on the stuff. All they want to do is ride the horses, and all the horses want to do is run. If only the horses didn't throw their riders so often, the boys would last longer… But you see now, don't you, demon? We're creating the new soldier. The most superior man will truly belong to England, it's indisputable! All this study of jawlines and brain cavities, it's rubbish! We Englishmen are no different from the people we overthrow. But now… now we will be." He was breathing hard and looking at Corbin, practically begging with his eyes for praise.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you getting so worked up?" O'Leary grumbled over his shoulder.

Hastings placed a hand on his hip. "Shall we tell him, then, Corbin? Shall we tell him what you are?"

They shouldn't. But before Sebastian could begin to craft his own diversion, fate did it for him.

"Oy, Mr. Hastings! We've got trouble!"

In rushed the rest of Hastings's men, looking frazzled and terror-stricken. Hastings frowned at them, as if they had interrupted him at the worst of times. "What, what kind of trouble? Can't you sort it out yourselves?" he snapped.

"Well, we thought we could," Hardwick said. He held up his gun. "There's a rabid mutt ou' there who's got in the carriage with the kiddies. It's foamin' at the mouth n' actin' like it's guardin' 'em or sommet. It won't le' us get near."

Ah. So the good dog Josef had successfully aided the orphans in their darkest hour. Perhaps he did take after Heidi's companion after all.

"Then shoot it, you idiots," Hastings growled.

"Tha's just it." Hardwick shook his head. "All our bullets… Someone's taken 'em out. Not a single one a us has any. N' we don't wanna get bit. Ain't worth it."

This interruption was still clearly too much of an inconvenience. "God's sake… Take mine then." Hastings reached into his jacket. Felt around. His brow furrowed. "What on earth." He switched to the other flap. "I could have sworn—"

"I'm afraid you aren't going to find what you're looking for in there, Hastings."

All the men's heads turned at the boy's voice. Ciel sat tall in Sebastian's arms. He had the stolen Webley revolver pointed at Hastings's heart. His aim did not waver. His gaze said that he was prepared to fire it, even if the kickback was more than he could handle.

Sebastian smirked proudly, fervidly, as Astre Renault died with the threat and Ciel Phantomhive rose out of it like a phoenix. Gone was the humble orphan; the demon's master was here now.

And so was the demon.

Hastings stared into that fierce blue eye with utter confusion. His gaze ticked over to his presumed demon. "Corbin, what are you doing? What's going on? Take that away from him." Sebastian did not move, other than to draw his smile wider, wickeder. Hastings was rapidly frustrated. "Corbin!"

Ciel chuckled darkly at the man's desperation. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he doesn't work for you. He never has." He waved the mouth of the gun at the crowd, watching the men flinch one by one as it pointed their way. "Listen up. Which of you is Vogt?" When no one spoke, Ciel added, "You may as well tell me. I have other ways of finding out. And they'll be much less fun for the lot of you."

"He is," one of the men said at last, prodding forward a man with a pointed mustache who licked his lips in worry.

"Good." The pistol pointed back at Hastings. "Who else here is important to running the operation? Is it just you, Vogt, and this O'Leary fellow?"

Hastings was absolutely dumbstruck. "Corbin," he tried again, "what is happening?"

"Answer my question, and maybe you'll find out," Ciel huffed, clearly feeling belittled. When Hastings only continued to stare, the boy addressed the crowd. "Does anybody else play a crucial role in the business?"

Hardwick and the other men were quick to blubber their innocence. "No! We didn't know anything!" "I didn't even know what was happening!" "I've never been here before in my life!"

"Very good," said Ciel. With a nod, Sebastian set him on his feet at last. "Then you're unnecessary to me."

The color drained from six faces.

Hastings did at last address the boy. "Who are you? What the hell is going on?"

"I'm the Queen's watchdog," said Ciel, prying off his eye patch. "Sebastian. Since you seem to miss showing off your cooking prowess so much, prove to me you still remember how to trim the fat."

Sebastian hunched to spring. "Yes… my lord."

The cellar doors banged closed. The whole place went black.

The men had tried to run. Tried, but, of course, failed to make it more than a few steps into the adjacent room before Sebastian broke every last neck. He did it quickly, so that they could not even cry out. In this place that stank of blood and misery, his master hardly needed another horror ringing in his ears. It was hard enough as it was to keep those shoulders from trembling.

When the lights came back on, Hastings, O'Leary, and Vogt had been bound by their wrists and ankles, and deposited in one of the empty rooms, away from the suffering children and livestock and henchmen's corpses. The horse that had been running laps had been halted. The air was silent and still.

Ciel stood in front of the three men, soaking in their fear of him, gaining strength from it. This was the part of the mission where at last everything came together. Sebastian stood beside his true master, wearing a matching expression of cold-blooded satisfaction.

The horror on the faces of Vogt and O'Leary was pure and animal, as a creature who is hunted knows not his predator. Only Hastings's visage bore the distinctly human creases of betrayal. It aged him ten years. It withered his confident nature to the bone. He was scarcely recognizable.

"Corbin..." said Hastings again. He choked on his own breath, as if trying not to sob. "So it was a trick… All of it, a lie…?"

"Not a bit. I unfortunately don't possess the ability to lie." Sebastian smiled with his eyes closed. "I was just lucky that you possess a fine gullibility."

Hastings blathered, "But the chandelier— The owl—"

"Quiet," Ciel barked, kicking the man in the shoulder with the sole of his boot. "Rather than delusions of grandeur, you should be worried about your life. If you're lucky, you'll find it in the hands of Scotland Yard. But for now, I hold it captive, so you'd better be bloody well careful about what you say and when you say it. Now." The gun was aimed at Hastings once more. "Tell me about each of your roles in this game."

Hastings was still looking at Sebastian with remorse. Sebastian only smiled glitteringly back. "Hey!" Ciel jammed the gun against Hastings's forehead. "I'm the reason you're in this mess, all right? He works for me, so stop turning to him for help. And before you ask," he added when Hastings opened his mouth, "no, he doesn't want your money, so don't try to buy your way out of this situation. It's a waste of my time."

"But Corbin, you told m—"

Hastings's words turned to screams as the gun went off, a bullet shattering straight into the bones of his foot. Ciel knew how to hold himself to lessen the recoil's impact, but even so was knocked back by the shot, and Sebastian caught him from stumbling too far. The bullets in this gun weren't small either; there was a reason Webleys were legally issued to military personnel only.

"Right," Ciel breathed, trying not to sound too affected. "Since he's busy now, you can introduce him as well yourself." The boy nodded over to O'Leary.

O'Leary swallowed, his blue eyes wide. "I-I'm… I'm a doctor," he stammered over Hastings's cries. Swallowed again. "Hastings is… he manages the finances and hiring and resources."

"A doctor, hm? Some doctor. Employed at the Hundred Acres by day, are you?"

O'Leary shook his head. "I'm an equine doctor, mainly."

"Wonderful. Thank you for being concise." Ciel turned to Vogt next. "How about you then?"

Vogt spoke in a German accent when he answered. "I invented the serum. But I never meant for it to be used like this, I swear—"

"Don't give me that coward's story. I've plenty of bullets for cowards." Then Ciel looked sidelong at Sebastian with a small smirk. "He sounds a bit like Diedrich, doesn't he? And that isn't the only thing that reeks of familiarity. This whole scheme feels repetitive. Let's see… A daily vaccination that grants a person unusual abilities, crafted by German scientists… Where have I heard about that before...? Oh, yes." Ciel crouched down in front of Vogt. "There was that one underground facility outside of Bavaria where every single staff member was murdered during a raid."

Vogt's eyes had been growing wider. "Oh, God," he said at last. "It was you. It was the both of you. You killed them. You killed them all—"

"How you got away is what I really want to know," Ciel said almost to himself. "No, that's easy enough to guess: you weren't there, for one reason or another. Well… you may be interested to know that the only person who escaped alive was one of your 'test subjects.' He's now employed as my gardener."

"One of the subjects is alive?!" This seemed to shock Vogt even more. "I thought all our research was destroyed! I've had to start from the ground up… But maybe, if I met him—"

"You all just can't shut up, can you," Ciel growled, pointing the gun at Vogt suggestively but not firing it again. "I don't know why you think you're going to be allowed to do more research. Your methods are barbaric, and children aren't rats. In any case, your story does explain why this injection doesn't just make anyone stronger, you weren't smart enough to replicate it perfectly. But your work stops here." Ciel stood up. "As does your life."

"Bitte," said Vogt, but no words could follow that single plea.

"Your old team was right to destroy its evidence." Ciel turned his back on his captives. "You've created a power no country should have access to. And no country will. You're going to get rid of this serum entirely."

Vogt shook his head, disbelieving. "Your Queen… she would pay you handsomely for it… If I made more—"

"I wouldn't dare make an assumption about what my Queen would do," Ciel said. "But I have my own opinions on how the world ought to be shaped. And it doesn't involve turning this country into an unhinged global empire... No, England's doing a frightening job of that as-is." The boy shot a glare over his shoulder. "Don't think I'm foolish enough to keep you alive so you can barter your way to freedom, Vogt. No one should ever learn what you know. And seeing as my friend here can't lie, I'm leaving the serum's destruction up to you. Then when you're done, you can send yourself to hell." Abruptly, he handed the gun to Sebastian. "Now, I've had enough of this rotten atmosphere. You can finish the job."

Sebastian blinked. "Sir?"

"See to it that O'Leary and Hastings are too scared to do anything but speak the truth, and get them to say the names of the other people supporting this awful experiment. I don't trust Scotland Yard to interrogate them properly."

Without waiting to see if his demon followed, Ciel plodded through the dark and the sand back towards where they'd first entered the tomb. He strode with purpose, but the sand has a way of slowing down anyone who isn't keen to its nature. Though the boy stumbled many times, nothing could sway him from his desired path. Sebastian was in his wake. He did not know if Ciel wanted him there. He only felt, perhaps, that he should be there.

The night air broke over them like cold water. It seemed to hit Ciel with the same force as a tide as, after a few steps away from the cellar doors, his knees buckled beneath the moon and his face tossed skyward. He gulped hungrily, greedily, for breaths that tasted not of despair. He clenched his fingers around the sparse grass as if to tether himself to what was right and just.

"How much I'd love," he said at last, "to just set it all ablaze again. To end their misery… send them to heaven or wherever. Earth will be their hell as long as they're alive."

The breeze's caress was the only response the universe granted the lost one. There was no activity stirring in the upper floors of the hospital either. Perhaps so many strange noises had come from the basement by now that even a muffled gunshot did not raise any hackles. Good; Sebastian had eyes and ears for only his master now.

"Fire is the only way I know to start over," Ciel said raggedly. He was shaking, entrapped in the same deep delirium of last night. "But even then, it can't destroy the memories. I can't forget. I'll never forget. No matter how many things I burn, as long as I'm alive, I won't forget!"

These words, Sebastian knew, should fill a demon with pleasure.

Souls were meant to be nurtured, as meat is turned tenderly on a spit. A good butcher knows that the process of cultivating meat begins long before the animal is bled out. The man who catches a lamb as it comes spilling into the world, wipes blood from its nose, and breathes air into its lungs until the newborn screams with life has already begun to turn the mutton. The man who docks its tail, weans it, dags it, trims its hooves, rolls it on its back to shear off all its wool, has already begun to turn the mutton. And when, at last, the lamb has become a fat, happy sheep, the man kills the sheep, puts it over the fire, and turns the mutton, just as he has been all along. Every drop of milk and blade of grass enriches the flavor. Every instance, positive and negative, in the sheep's simple existence makes the meal what it is.

For souls, it isn't so different. Every moment of a human's life seasoned their soul just right. And for Sebastian, grief and torment were ambrosia. To see his contracted suffer not through wounds but through internal conflict was akin to a farmer watching his flock graze on fresh clover, wagging their tails and bleating. It was the look on the faces of manor guests when a perfectly prepared dessert was offered before them. There was something utterly right and beautiful about observing the combination of fine craftsmanship and Mother Nature's blessing. Ciel's soul was predisposed to such a marriage: his personality and intelligence, tied with his bloodline and history, was a circumstantial myriad that could only lead to the most delectable soul Sebastian had ever had the luxury of absorbing.

Thus, Sebastian knew that these words, this admission of Ciel Phantomhive's suffering, should fill him with pleasure.

But they didn't.

And what was worse, Sebastian knew what would help alleviate that suffering.

Josef snarled monstrously when Sebastian opened the carriage door, pressing his belly flat against Marlee. Then the dog saw Ciel sitting alone in the moonlight, and his demeanor changed at once. He yipped and sprung out, jauntily pranced over to the boy, and began licking all over the down-turned face.

"Wh-? Whah-!" Ciel leaned backward at the affectionate tongue-bath he was suddenly being chased with. "Hey! Blegh— Hey!" He had tilted back as far as his waist would allow, and still Josef insisted on kissing him. Ciel shielded his face with his hands. "Cut it out, that's enough! Er… Back! Wait! Find! Walk on! Eh… That'll do! Something, I don't know! Didn't your master teach you any commands?!"

The shepherd eventually stopped licking the boy, but didn't stop circling, as if trying to herd him toward the rest of the 'flock.' Ciel panted, swiping at his cheeks with his sleeve to get the saliva off. But the dog's affections seemed to knock him out of his somber trance. Eventually, Ciel stopped cleaning his face and sighed. "Yes, yes, hello, Josef," he huffed, and ducked and swatted and spat when the dog responded to the nickname with more kisses. "Cut it out! I get it! I get it!" Josef did at last 'cut it out' and instead sniffed at Ciel's hair, nuzzled his chin. Ciel sighed, and smiled in spite of himself. "You're quite clever, aren't you. To come all this way, to put yourself in danger just for us… Yes, you're a clever one." He scratched between the tall, black ears. "Clever boy… Very good..." He muttered under his breath over and over again as his fingers carded the soft fur.

Sebastian watched the two of them for a minute, thinking. It was just over a year ago that he'd held in his arms a panicked boy demanding he incinerate a house, along with the broken children inside it. These children, Ciel had believed, could never be happy again. In his mind, Ciel had granted them the cruel mercy he himself could never be offered. Sebastian had reduced the manor to ash. It had not troubled him to do so. Not for the sake of the broken children; not for the sake of his broken master. He had been content for so long to accept Ciel's belief that there was no cure for this brand of sadness but fire.

Now the demon watched a dog overwhelm the boy with its unconditional, animal love and thought, There is a cure, and it is this.

Sebastian went back inside the asylum.

Hastings screamed with renewed pain as he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and dragged roughly through the sand into a room separate from Vogt and O'Leary. Sebastian tossed the man down so that his shoulder dug into the sand, then pulled him upright again by his hair.

The injury was still fresh in Hastings's eyes. "Damn you," he said. His face was a mess. "What is it that you want? It's not lust, it's not glory, it's not wealth, so why?" He sniffled angrily. "Why are you doing this?"

"I should ask you the same question," Sebastian purred, "though I believe you have just answered for me. Lust, glory, wealth… Those desires and impulses that so define your race mean little to my kind. My master, my true master, has the only thing in this world that means anything to me."

"The boy?" Hastings was livid. "What does he possibly possess that I couldn't give you?! What has he done that compares to what I've created?! What… What has anybody done that compares to what I've created?! I'm an anomaly among my kind, demon, you saw that! I'm special! I'm good! I'm… worthy! Of you, of the world! Of anyone!" He laughed through his own tears. "You know it! You saw it in me, you said so yourself! You say you can't lie, but you must be lying, Corbin!"

"I have never lied to you," Sebastian said easily. "You let yourself believe what you wanted to believe. And you won't find any sympathy in me. Sympathy…" Does not exist in me, he wanted to say. The words wouldn't, couldn't come out. "... is never a reward you shall earn from me."

"So I see." Hastings went quiet. Then he said, "I am the fool. I should have known. Where there is a demon, there is hell."

"Not yet there isn't." Sebastian cocked his head with a grin. "But it was my master's request that you experience it." He gripped Hastings's head in both hands. "Now," he breathed darkly, "let us see how many bones I must snap before you too lose your ability to lie."

"Those are all of the gruesome details, in any case," Ciel sighed, knitting his fingers together as he looked out on the racetrack below the grandstands. "I hope I wasn't too graphic in my descriptions. I tried to spare you the worst of it… especially when today is supposed to be a day of celebration."

Queen Victoria chuckled gently as she cooled herself with a decorated fan. "Oh, my dear boy, I am not so delicate. I come to the Ascot every year, and it's always the same. I don't mind talking about something other than racehorses." She lifted her teacup off the lace tablecloth and took a sip. "But I speak falsely. That's exactly what we are talking about. I must say, I am impressed to hear you qualified in Mr. Hastings's race."

Ciel closed his eyes, smiling. "You are too gracious, your majesty. I can tell you honestly, my competition wasn't comparable to anything you see today. Though if you favor a particular jockey, I do have a useful trick I could share with him."

"You are a devil," the Queen said, winking at him youthfully, "to make a joke about such a thing. You know I would have loved to learn more about that serum if it hadn't been destroyed."

"The serum?" Ciel blinked. "Oh… The 'useful trick' I was referring to is actually something I learned while practicing jockeying on my own. But yes… it is a shame we could not find out more. Vogt's suicide was quite unfortunate."

"Quite," said Queen Victoria. She and Ciel both clapped appropriately when the latest race came to an end. "I don't suppose," she added eventually, "that the world would ever be the same, should such a serum become commonplace."

Ciel dipped his head. "No. I daresay it wouldn't."

Sebastian stood behind the wicker chair his master was situated in. This summer's day, the 18th of June, was neither too hot nor too windy, the perfect weather for enjoying a race. Beneath the roof of the gazebo-style bandstand, the Queen and Ciel sat beside an elaborate glass table decorated with the infamous botanical china the Queen herself had purchased at the First World Exhibition in London in 1851. Silver platters of scones, Scotch eggs, pork rillettes, and candied citrus peels accompanied a pot of Twinings's Ceylon black tea. Grey, Phipps, John Brown, and Sebastian were the only other beings privy to this conversation.

"I've been informed by Scotland Yard that one of the men in custody keeps referring to your butler as a demon," Queen Victoria said next. "The man insists that Mr. Michaelis turned his stables into a palace, and even transformed into an owl in front of him."

"Sounds like he's truly the one who belongs in an asylum," Ciel half-laughed, before tacking on with less levity, "as would anyone who sees no wrong in forcing children and animals to participate in such a disturbing experiment."

"Let us speak more of them. The horses and the Middle Eastern boys." The Queen removed her gaze from the track as the next racers prepared for their chance to run. "I believe you said that they have made a splendid recovery?"

Ciel nodded twice. "Once they were no longer receiving the vaccinations, they no longer felt the constant need to expend energy, and their endurance levels returned to normal. The horses are being cared for by gracious volunteers around London. It may, at this point, be impossible to find their original owners, if they were even stolen. They'll be auctioned once their health improves, with some of the proceeds going to the volunteers and the rest to be contributed to the Sacred Heart Orphanage of Westminster Abbey, which has been instrumental in solving this case."

"That pleases me to hear." The Queen smiled. "And where are the children now? I was especially sorry to learn of their condition."

"The four remaining children from the Middle East will now be living at the Sacred Heart Orphanage," Ciel explained. "I'm hopeful that when they learn to speak better English, they will gratefully acknowledge your nationalizing them."

"It isn't a trouble whether they understand or not. It was the least I could do for them." Queen Victoria bowed her head, abruptly solemn. "There shall be a memorial erected in the town of Banstead to commemorate the boys who died protecting Britain's children. Who knows how many countless lives were ended in the name of science… I did not know them, but I shall always think of them fondly."

"In a roundabout way… Northcott is to thank as well." Ciel took a thoughtful sip of tea. "I do believe he was on our side. He was only blackmailed into joining with Hastings. Despite that, he made whatever efforts he could to keep the children of this country out of trouble. He died trying to protect a boy from being trampled. And then, it was only through Northcott's death that we could begin to unfold the operation."

The Queen gave him a slight smile. "In your letter, it sounded as if you believe he too proposed that the operation take place in the Banstead Asylum, and that the rent was covered by means of supporting all patients financially. It is a shame that the owners of the hospital could be so corrupt as to allow this... but the Lancashire City Council shall control the asylum from here out." Another small span of quiet. "The English boys who were taken alongside you. What has become of them?"

Ciel smiled, as if thinking of his temporary companions with some humor. "The youngest two have gone to stay at the same orphanage as the Mediterranean boys," he began. "The orphanage is rather crowded at the moment — but I do believe they shall soon come into more space. The eldest of the winning jockeys, Trevor, has found a job with one of the aforementioned volunteers and is helping to take care of the horses. And, as for the last of them…"

"Orphanage? Nah, I'll be going back tah the West End. That's my true home, y'know." Whit gazed around the entrance hall for a last time. "I still can't believe this is your true home."

The night of the 23rd had been a full one. Even after completing the interrogations and destroying the serum, there was still the matter of the test subjects: they could not remain where they were, but they could not simply be freed either. This was where Scotland Yard was meant to shine. The Queen's watchdog and his demon did not compare to an organized task force when so many boys and horses required immediate medical attention, food, lodging, and general care. No, best to leave the busywork to the secretaries.

Sebastian would alert the police soon. But first, he had to get his master and the sleeping boys to safety.

Ciel sat on the first step of the carriage, still kept company by the ever-attentive Josef. When he saw Sebastian coming, he stood, nodded as if to ask, "Is it done?" and, upon receiving a nod in response, disappeared back into the cab. With a quick whistle, Josef hopped in after, and the door closed.

Sebastian took his place at the reins, and the brougham took off the way they had arrived. From there, they began the two hour-long trek back to Phantomhive manor, stopping only once in the village of Banstead. At the town's lonely pub, Sebastian found the off-duty postmaster drinking with a rugged old farmer. "I implore you to return to your office and telephone Scotland Yard with this message," he said, smiling as he passed over his handwritten note, along with five pounds of paper money. The postmaster stared, surprised but fortunately not too far into his cups. "There is urgent trouble at Banstead Asylum. Read them this note, and tell them the Queen's watchdog has been by… They will promptly understand."

This too was where Ciel released Josef into the night, with the gentle command of, "Wander off home, now." The dog trotted away, its own personal mission complete, and fast blended into the shadows.

With nowhere else to go, Teddy, Trevor, Marlee, and Whit had spent the night in the guest rooms of the Phantomhive manor. If they had been shocked at the 'luxury' of Mr. Hastings's abode, Ciel's residence utterly floored them. But what had especially surprised them was the notion that 'Astre' had been acting all along.

It was the morning of May 24th now. Three of the four orphans were getting ready to depart for their new, proper homes. A carriage outside the front door waited to take them to return them to London; only Whit couldn't seem to separate himself from Ciel's side.

"I can't believe ya pulled it off," Whit was saying to Ciel for the sixth time, shaking his head. "Yeh had us all fooled. I really thought ya were this little whelp from France… Even though yeh speak like a noble! And it's 'cause ya are one! Cor! You should really consider a career in the theatre!"

Then Whit looked at Sebastian apologetically. "I'm sorry I tried to attack yeh, honest! I had no idea you was with Patch! Ah," he turned to his host. "Sorry. S'pose I should stop callin' ya that."

"Don't worry about it." Ciel smiled cordially. "You risked your life for mine. You are a most trustworthy ally. I won't forget your courage."

"Aww, Patch!" To Ciel's unmasked surprise, Whit captured him in a hug. "I won't ever forget you either," he promised. He pulled back, looking sadly at the marble floor. "T'be honest… I'm really upset that the jockey apprenticeship wasn't real. I wanted us to become best friends. I was really looking forward to it. Thought we'd have years together..."

"..." Ciel didn't seem to know what to say. It was doubtful he returned the sentiment. "Yes. Well. If it were real, we never would have met at all."

"S'pose not." Whit scuffed at the floor with his toe. "Um… but if yer ever in the West End, would yah come lookin' for me? I-I'm always easy to sniff out. Wherever the best show is at, yer sure tuh see me nearby!"

Ciel held out his hand and grinned graciously. "Of course I'll look for you, Whit."

Whit looked absurdly grateful. He pumped Ciel's hand in both his own. "Yer incredible, Patch! Cor, yer really somethin'! I'm so lucky to have met you! I'll never forget ya for m'whole life!" He kept shaking Ciel's hand, until Sebastian interjected that the cab driver would be expecting him aboard.

"Sure gonna miss you," Whit said one last time.

"I'll miss you too," Ciel said, in that sugar-sweet voice he used for lying. Though his tone was more earnest when he added, "Stay out of trouble, then."

"I will!" Whit promised, waving over his shoulder as he sped down the stairway. "When I have a permanent address, I'll try to write ya! So then ya can keep in touch! G'bye, Patch! We'll meet again, mark my words!"

"All right, all right. Goodbye," Ciel called back. He and Sebastian politely waved him and the others off from the front door, until the carriage had turned the first corner out of the Phantomhive territory.

Once they were out of sight, Ciel gave a long sigh. He touched a hand to his forehead. "Over at last. Thank God… I feel exhausted. My head hurts, too."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," said Sebastian, more than happy to be back in his proper butler's attire. "A tea of chamomile, feverfew, and lavender may assist with that."

"It may." Ciel sighed again. "What's more likely is that I'm going to get sick no matter what I do. I always get sick after a particularly stressful mission."

Sebastian held out his arm, gesturing for Ciel to precede him indoors. "Fortunately, the young master has an open schedule for the rest of the week. I think you've well-earned this rest period, sir."

"Obviously." Ciel strolled inside, exuding aristocracy once more. "And while you make that tea, you can prepare something with chocolate, too. I haven't had a proper dessert in days."

As Sebastian went to close the front doors behind his master, he gave one last look at the sky. It was an unusual sky for England: not a cloud dotted its surface. The endless blue seemed to invite a thousand possibilities. Sebastian smirked at his own thought. 'Possibility' was a mere illusion. Humans and contracted demons, bound temporarily by the laws of Earth, could only watch their lives play out a single way. Sebastian always found himself content to go along for the ride, to be surprised at each turn. And yet, he couldn't help but find himself thinking, What is going to happen next…?