Coattails

by The-Pied-Avocet

Adolescence is the dormant rose of winter: a prickled, ugly, tangled mess of vines and thorns, with flowers promised only in the distant spring. "Spring" seems so far off to the demon that must console his angry, hurting charge in the midst of puberty - but it will come, and not without a price that they both must pay.

30. The Tending

'Tending' is when a sheepdog looks after the herd without the use of fences. The dog is essentially a living fence, keeping the sheep within the safety of his sight while keeping predators away.

---

Greetings, dear butler~

It has been a few weeks since I sent off my last letter. I can only pray that you received it. My, but you do so hate to respond when I have been nothing but an ally to you… Do you mistake me for a creature without feelings? Surely you understand that I am nothing so rudimentary.

Alas, in that vein I regret that I must soon tip my hand to you and reveal what I am. This is because my otherworldly knowhow has reached its zenith. I have decided that I have no choice but to call upon an old friend's aid.

But your aid is the most important of all, butler… After all, you are the patient, and I am merely the doctor working tirelessly to uncover the rare disease that can tame an immortal beast, hmm? Therefore, your presence will be required on the night of the next full moon, when Earth magic is at its most potent and its detection perhaps the most possible.

But it isn't always about you, butler. The main reason for this meeting is to eliminate the chance that Lord Phantomhive has had a curse placed on him — a slim chance, to be sure, yet as I insinuated in my last letter, I have suspicion enough to warrant investigating.

I will need you to bring me something that belongs to the Earl in order to analyze it. How convenient it would be if Lord Phantomhive still had milk teeth to spare, but those days are behind him now, yes? What a pity, as bones are such ideal sponges for magic. However, I theorize that even one of his eye patches will do the trick.

Are you hesitant to venture into my lair when you know you will be outnumbered? I must assure you that this "friend" of mine is hardly an adversary… But in case you still can't put your trust in me, a neutral party will arrive to escort you to the funeral parlor at midnight.

If I hear nothing from you, as I expect I won't, then I shall imagine that you agree with all of my terms. See you at the end of the month~

It was the middle of the night when Sebastian finally took the chance to read Undertaker's letter. This timing was for the best: the message had left an expression of concern temporarily etched across his features that he couldn't seem to shake.

Undertaker's previous letter, which had arrived the day before their trip to London for the Funtom convention, had contained the hypothesis that a curse had been laid on Ciel in order to curse Sebastian. Sebastian had dismissed the idea promptly. Curses were a very real and infectious form of magic, but scarcely ever were humans impacted by them. This was because curses were designed by magical beings to infect other magical beings, so mortals had little to fear of them. Humans could still become cursed, but their participation had to be quite willful. Much the same as Sebastian could only develop a human illness through a great deal of permissive effort, humans could only become cursed if they purposefully met a series of guidelines — just as Ciel had needed to agree to a contract with Sebastian before Sebastian could stake a claim on his soul.

As an immortal, Sebastian did not possess the same immunity to curses that Ciel did. But that didn't mean he was entirely vulnerable either. A demon of his strength could not be cursed except by a much stronger immortal. Undertaker, while… potentially stronger, did not necessarily fit this criterion. And Undertaker had hinted at being a creature that used Earth magic, and Earth magic did not affect Sebastian so easily.

What was even odder, Undertaker had months ago claimed that the foreign magic infecting Sebastian was "not powerful." This could have been a lie, but it could just as well be the truth. While the grinning bastard was always sure to mock Sebastian's parental transformation to his face, there was that subtle, underlying implication that Undertaker was afraid of what could happen to Ciel as a result of said transformation… That detail was too specific to ignore.

Sebastian now stood in the cool darkness of the master bedroom. Ciel was curled up beneath his summer sheets, asleep. It was a sleep as peaceful as the mid-August night above them. The storm clouds had faded and left stars behind, but something even more ominous appeared to be gathering along the horizon, and Sebastian didn't like it one bit.

Seeing the boy rest made him feel a gentleness inside — and a sense of unease. Sebastian approached the bedside, standing as close as he could without waking his charge… but still he could not sense any "foreign magic" emanating from Ciel. Something wasn't adding up. How could the boy possibly have gotten cursed when Sebastian was never far from him? What could Undertaker be imagining?

Undertaker's original hypothesis, though more frightening, seemed more correct: that there was a pocket of the universe that Sebastian derived his magic from, and some other creature had tapped into it and laid a curse on Sebastian directly. But to what end? And to what success or failure? Sebastian did not at all feel weakened by love: he felt stronger. Even if he now believed Ciel's soul belonged to Ciel and Ciel alone, he would gladly eat it himself if that was the only way to keep it from another demon's filthy maw.

But that possibility was its own food for thought. The more strange, almost more unnerving, idea presented in the letter was that Undertaker knew a neutral party between them. Who in the world could this individual be? Just thinking about an immortal stranger coming near his home made Sebastian's hair bristle and eyeteeth grow sharp. As the moon waxed ever closer to fullness, he vowed to keep on his guard.

---

Twelve days was hardly a long period for a demon. However, those mere twelve days wound up brimming full with revelation.

It was Tuesday the 19th when Sebastian received word of Weston's current course curriculum, and he brought the letter to discuss with his lord along with the trolley for afternoon tea. After being granted permission to enter the study, it was immediately evident that the 'work' Ciel was conducting was of a more frivolous variety than the usual.

"Hold on a moment," Ciel called over his shoulder as he finished arranging one of five thin books on the edge of his desk. He spun around and trotted over to a confused Sebastian at the far end of the room, a self-satisfied look on his face. Sebastian was still not certain what he was meant to be 'holding on' for until Ciel turned to him and raised his hand, a farthing pinched purposefully between thumb and middle finger. "Which book should I hit?" he asked keenly.

Ah, of course — this odd set up was for "coin shooting." Sebastian raised his eyebrows in a show of surprise; clearly the boy had been practicing and was quite proud of his own efforts. "You can hit the targets from all the way back here now, is that so, sir? Your range has improved so greatly in such a short span of time."

Ciel hunched his shoulders, embarrassed. "Don't congratulate me before I've even proved anything, where's the sense in that? Just pick a book!"

Endlessly amusing, this one. "Ah, of course… Then, how about the second one from the right?"

The grin came back, smug. "All right. Watch this." Ciel focused on his target, raising his arm and tilting his wrist like Mey-Rin had taught him. After a few calculations, he snapped his fingers, sending the coin flying across the length of the room — and hitting smack against the front edge of the desk and flinging back across the carpet.

Ciel's mouth hung open in disbelief. Then he stamped his heel. "Oh, come on! I was doing it properly just before you came in, I swear I was. Really, that's so bloody…" Ciel made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat and furrowed his brow. "I swear I could do it," he whined quietly.

In the past, Sebastian would have thought nothing of chuckling at this failed display. But he had empathy now — and so Sebastian realized he knew just what Ciel was feeling. "Ah, that was a shame. I dislike it when circumstances don't go exactly as I imagine as well. Especially when I mean to be impressive."

As soon as the words left him, Sebastian wished he could pull them back in. Wasn't that a negative thing to say! He should have encouraged the boy not to give up, to try again. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Ciel was already speaking.

"It is a shame," he huffed, folding his arms. "I really had it before you came in. It's not even hard. If I tried again, I'm sure I'd do it just right."

"I'm sure you would, too," said Sebastian. "Why don't you, then?"

Ciel soured. "It doesn't matter anymore," he snarled. "Who cares if I got it on the second try? I already proved that I'm not perfect yet. I'm not looking for a patronizing 'well done!' after I already messed up, all right? That'd be worse than if I didn't hit it at all."

Ciel moved back behind his desk and Sebastian followed with the trolley. "Who's to say it would be patronizing? What if it was meant truly?"

A lavender and Earl Grey blend was poured into a cup while Ciel settled into the armchair. "It wouldn't feel right coming from you. Not when it isn't the same standard you'd hold yourself to." Ciel accepted the full cup. "I mean, imagine if you did something wrong, then you did it properly and some guest crooned, 'Oh, there you are!' You'd hate it, wouldn't you? So don't say it to me. I liked it better when you said it was a shame."

Sebastian was shocked at the profundity in this statement. But of course… his young master had always preferred honesty to flattery. Sebastian understood this: though he himself drank in praise much more greedily than Ciel, he spat back what was tainted with pity or condescension. This moment also struck a chord with the single one of Agni's lessons that Sebastian had not thought he'd be able to replicate: Sebastian had drawn upon his own life experiences to parse out how to help Ciel — and it had worked out all the better. Ciel had felt more compassion from Sebastian's empathy than he did from the hollow attempt at positivity.

"Anyway, it appears as though Weston's response has arrived," Ciel was saying, before Sebastian could address the prior statement. The boy held out his hand for the envelope resting upon its own plate on the trolley, the school's insignia plainly emblazoned in the corner. "Let's see what it says."

After offering out the letter, Sebastian placed on the table today's dessert, a baked pear with lemon ricotta cream and crumbled amaretti di Saronno. Ciel read and sipped at his tea. While Sebastian waited patiently for the boy to finish, another letter caught his eye on the edge of the desk. Ciel's response to Henri Fairclough. Sebastian felt a pang of displeasure; the last thing he'd wanted to do yesterday was deliver that despicable man's letter. Surely it only contained more wrongful encouragement that Ciel was a grown adult who should honey his tongue and sully his intellect on the finest nectars of Bordeaux and Champagne and Loire Valley and every other inch of France that harbored vineyards.

Sebastian imagined Fairclough's letters would make for much better kindling than they would words of wisdom for an impressionable boy in such a hurry to grow up. But this was his lord's mail; a good butler had no choice but to deliver it without a word of objection.

That was so, wasn't it?

Meanwhile, Ciel's face had taken on a slight look of annoyance as he made it to the end of this latest message. "Weston and its bloody obsession with classical antiquity…" he grumbled. He tossed the paper onto the table and dipped his spoon into the pear's bone-marrow softness. "I've learned all I care to know about ancient Greek and Latin, and I can't fathom any student who would need more than two or three years of it. What does Weston think is the societal good in having every single one of their students analyze these dead languages far beyond their etymological uses? We're about to enter the twentieth century, for God's sake; this should be treated as a niche study, not the focus of an average boy's entire academic career. Lunacy."

Sebastian refilled the half-empty teacup when Ciel put it down, and tucked his hands behind his back, his standby position. "Then let us forget antiquities. But what about the extracurriculars?" He could read the discarded parchment easily from where he stood behind the desk. "They've also listed logic, physical science, chemistry, geography, mathematics… Ah." One item in particular caught his attention. "Political economy — I believe that could interest you a great deal, sir. What would you think of studying that?"

Ciel was reconsidering the list now too. His chewing slowed in thought, then sped up again when he made to speak. He swallowed. "I definitely think that would be interesting, but I don't imagine there exists a private tutor who teaches it; this isn't the sort of subject matter that parents seek out for their invalid boys who can't attend college. I don't know how we'd find someone I'd call an acceptable teacher."

"I can think of a few avenues," Sebastian said, "some closer to home than others. Would you care to hear them?"

And thus, more inquiries were sent out: first to Weston, seeking alumni who had pursued political economy as academics, or anyone who had applied for a professorship but been denied; then, to noble acquaintances who, like Ciel, preferred lectures to soirees during the Season and may be familiar with a person knowledgeable in the field; next, to Mr. Cavendish, who surely knew a political economist or two, as lead manager of an international company; and lastly, to Aunt Francis and Uncle Alexis, whose opinion Ciel largely respected, even with all of their latest annoyances.

The Midford family's attendance to dinner that Friday gave them a chance to expound on this. However, quite surprisingly, it was Edward who held the answer for a potential candidate.

"I don't remember his name," Edward admitted while carving into his tendrons de vau, "but my friend Cain back in Green House had a cousin who was a genius at the subject. I don't think Cain would've passed political economy without his letters. The two don't share the same surname, if I recall… I'll have to write Cain and ask. The cousin attended Weston, too, before either of us were in our first year. He was a Blue Owl, naturally, all the bookworms are. I think he was living around London, but this was a few years ago now. You might consider him."

"I'll consider anyone who thinks they're good enough." Ciel sliced through an artichoke's small, pale heart. "The professorial pickings are slim for this subject, but it's something I'm interested in, so I'll endeavor not to be too particular about anyone's credentials. I refuse to hire someone who's boring or disorganized, though."

"A book on political economy was just published a short while ago, if you haven't heard," Alexis said brightly, "by Cambridge professor Alfred Marshall. I believe he's been working on it for almost a decade. Colleges everywhere are already adopting it. I'm sure Weston has."

Ciel nodded. "Yes, I know all about Mr. Marshall. I read his previous two books when Funtom first began expanding outside of Europe," he said. "I appreciated how he made the subject matter so approachable for laymen, but it's clear he believes a solid understanding of mathematics helps exponentially. With that in mind, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rehire Mr. Hancey to guide me through the calculus side of things…"

Standing with his back against the wall for his cue to pour more drink or serve the next course, Sebastian could hear the minor disdain in the boy's voice and smirked inwardly at it. Ciel wasn't poor at math, but it wasn't his favorite subject by a long shot. It was nice to hear the young master regarding his studies so passionately, though. When he was at his best, Ciel truly enjoyed learning.

"If there's a new book on political economy, then Cain's cousin is probably sleeping with it tucked under his pillow," Edward said, "or at least, that's the impression I got of him. Maybe this man will be too much of a fanatic to be a good tutor, but I'll get back to you as soon as I have his name."

At this point, their social butterfly Elizabeth had had enough of remaining outside the conversation. She saw her chance for a change in topic and snatched it. "Edward, don't forget the good news you already have to tell Ciel!" she piped up merrily.

Edward blinked. "Good news I already have to tell Ciel? Remind me, sister, what am I forgetting?"

Elizabeth turned to face Ciel in the chair to her left. "Edward is getting a puppy!" she cheered.

"Oh, is that so?" Ciel's voice was notably sly, but Sebastian thought he could detect the barest hint of an emotion the boy sometimes struggled to tamp down: excitement.

Edward was not quite so enthusiastic. "Now, Lizzie, I haven't really decided yet…"

"Oh, but you should definitely get one! It would just be so wonderful to have a dog around the house, wouldn't it?" Halfway through speaking, Elizabeth notably changed the direction of this argument from brother to mother.

Francis wasn't so easily affected. "Dogs require months of discipline in order to become at all desirable in one's home. I have no intention of allowing any animal indoors until it is proven to have complete and total control of itself."

"But do notice how Mother isn't saying 'no,'" Elizabeth whispered laughingly to Ciel, just audible to the rest of the table. Francis chose to remain calmly occupied with her dinner.

"What breeds are you thinking of?" Ciel asked as offhandedly as he could.

Edward sighed. "The Chambers' springers just had a litter, that's why it's on my mind at all. I don't think I would have thought of it independently. But springers are a good breed. Intelligent and respectful of who's in charge, you know." Edward nodded, seeming to think proudly of an imaginary canine who would follow at his ankles in perfect lockstep.

Ciel stabbed a piece of veal with his fork. "A bit unfair for you to expect both qualities at once, don't you think?"

Edward's nods dwindled off in thought. Then he frowned. "Hey! Just what do you mean by that?!"

"You aren't much interested in hunting, though," Ciel continued, sounding abruptly more practical about it. Discussions of purchasing animals were ones he generally treated with some seriousness. "What sort of goals did you have in mind? Springers don't have the tenacity of some working breeds, but there are ones better suited for companionship."

"Well, I'm mostly searching for something to do," Edward admitted. "I'm a little bored since I graduated and the social season ended. I need new ways to occupy my time. I still practice cricket, and I'm learning about the estate, but I wouldn't mind another hobby. I definitely wouldn't mind the friendship. Truth be told, I miss Weston."

Alexis sniffled. "Oh, Edward! You can have as many dogs as you like! Anything to make you happy again!"

"F-Father, please, I'm not unhappy, and it really isn't appropriate to weep at the table…"

"Ah! Ciel, I've just had the best idea! Why don't you get a puppy, too?" Lizzie bubbled then, clasping her hands together. "Wouldn't it be so wonderful, if you both raised your spaniels in tandem and tested each other's progress? Then they could stay siblings, too!"

Ciel's shoulders sagged. "Lizzie, I don't really have time to manage a puppy…"

As expected, Lizzie was determined to wear him down. "Ohhh, you could make time, though, couldn't you? I know you really want a dog, Ciel, I know it!"

"Elizabeth, it isn't proper to impose your own desires onto Ciel like that," Francis scolded lightly. "You know that he's never been fond of dogs."

The conversation paused awkwardly for a few moments. Sebastian could feel Ciel's hesitance and delicacy as he broke the silence with, "I'm fond of dogs."

Francis was equally hesitant. "... You are?"

Ciel nodded a little bit.

"Oh. I see." Francis was slightly embarrassed, but also confused. "I'm… sorry. You never seemed to get on with Vincent's borzoi. I just assumed that… it was still the case that you didn't enjoy such company."

Ciel was careful, stiff, in his next inflection. He gripped and ungripped his silverware, and his leg bounced beneath the table as he spoke. "No, I… W-Well… I, um. A-Actually… What happened… He…" Ciel's words caught in his throat over and over again. There was a longer pause; then Ciel looked at his aunt and uncle and seemed to realize they were regarding him closely. His body went still. "... I know I used to be scared of Sebastian when I was young, but towards the end we got along," he finally answered in a rush.

Francis and Alexis had the privilege of viewing Ciel's expression while he spoke, and they both swapped concerned looks after this final statement. Sebastian wished he could see what they had seen. The Midford children didn't seem as aware of the problem. Lizzie only added indignantly, "I told you, Mother! I wasn't imposing! Ciel likes puppies too!" Lizzie then twisted around in her chair. "Ah, Sebastian, you must be feeling lost. Did you know that Ciel's childhood dog was also named Sebastian? Isn't that a funny coincidence?"

Elizabeth was a rarity: she never ignored Sebastian's presence when he was in the room, rather against her noble upbringing. Sebastian offered her a slight bow. "Thank you for your kind explanation, my lady." But his attention was honed in on Ciel, who was desperate to force the spotlight to shift.

"Um, Edward, let me know if you've decided that you'd like a dog after all. I can help you choose a good temperament," he was saying pointedly. "I do hope you're prepared for a tough time, either way. Dogs are excellent judges of character."

"And again, just what do you mean by that?! "

Francis put a stopper in the bickering and managed to change the subject to the small damages Scotney had accrued in the wake of the storm, asking Ciel if his own land had sustained any of the same and if the townsfolk were managing well. This left Sebastian to contemplate the origins of his namesake.

He felt foolish that he hadn't thought about it more closely in all this time. At the start of their contract, when Ciel had explained the thought behind his demon's new moniker, Sebastian had felt nothing but loathing and irritation. A dog's name! Surely that said volumes about what Ciel expected of his demon: subservience, devotion, blindness to free will. It was utterly disrespectful to the otherworldly power Ciel had become so privileged to wield. Sebastian had thus put extra effort into teaching his impudent little lord that nothing would ever be easy between them. A wolf could never be tamed.

But a wolf could never be named either — and the named wolf had been the real disrespectful one that day, to assume this clever child would not have a deeply thoughtful reason for suggesting the name that he did.

So what reason was that? In his head, Sebastian repeated the previous conversation between aunt and nephew, wracking it for answers. It sounded like this childhood dog had not been kind to Ciel for the most part… but then one day something had changed. What was that something?

The Midfords departed the manor shortly after dinner ended, at half past eight. Immediately following their leave, Sebastian went to the kitchen and prepared the nightly milk tea, stirring in a bit more honey than he usually did. He knew when something critical had come to pass — when Francis was involved, it was usually the case, these days. The extra honey was meant to prove that Sebastian understood Ciel needed a bit of extra sweetness right now, as literally as he did figuratively.

Ciel had been waiting in the bedroom for Sebastian, lying in bed on his stomach, melancholy and thoughtful. He was fully dressed but for his jacket, shoes, and eye patch. He sat back on his heels when Sebastian came in, and held out his hands for the warm cup. His legs were tucked in close against him. Sebastian felt hyper aware of this body language as he took his own seat at the end of the bed — Ciel was making himself small right now, as if feeling unsafe.

In spite of that, or perhaps because of that, Ciel was attempting to project bravado. He chuckled strangely as he held the steaming tea under his chin. "That was a close call tonight," he began with a weak grin. "I almost said something I wasn't supposed to…"

Sebastian sat with his palms bracing his knees. To sit still wasn't perfectly normal for him yet, but he liked feeling closer to the boy's height, so it scarcely bothered him anymore either. "What was it that you weren't supposed to say, young master?"

Ciel's expression flickered between discomfort and forced humor. "I almost said something about the day I was kidnapped." He laughed low in his throat; it sounded more like a cough. "That would have been bad. My aunt and uncle think I lost my memory of that day." Ciel took another sip of tea and glanced fearfully to the side.

Something about the day he was kidnapped? Ciel never shared specifics about that time, if he could help it. Sebastian was dying to know this story Ciel nearly told, but a different question came to mind first, a more tender question, one whose answer would reveal more about the boy's current emotional state. "What do you think would have happened if you did tell your aunt and uncle this memory?" he asked softly.

Ciel's whole body froze. "Um… it would have been bad."

The answer was a simple one, spoken with the simple phrasing of a younger child. He is very afraid right now. "Why would it have been bad? Do you expect they would have been angry with you?"

"Um, maybe." Ciel took another shaky sip of tea.

Sebastian spoke slowly, hoping that it would help his words sink in. "I don't imagine they would have been angry with you at all, young master. I think they would have been very surprised and worried."

Ciel gave another bitter laugh. "In that case, it's even better that I didn't say what I almost said, because I hate it when people worry about me."

This seemed like the proper opening. "And would you like to tell me what it is you nearly said?"

There was a moment of strong quiet. Ciel squeezed the cup in his hands. Sebastian was about to rescind his question, but then the answer began. "Um. I almost said how my father's dog tried to save me when the manor was invaded. U-Up until that day, our dog was always bullying me. He would jab me with his nose and bark at me when I was young, so I didn't like him at all. I was the only person he would treat like that, too. But when the manor was under attack, he actually tried to guide me safely out of the house. Then at one point he went into a room before me and I heard him yelp, and when I ran inside, he was dead." Ciel swallowed and took a long sip of tea. "Um, this is really good. Did you add extra honey tonight?"

Sebastian was stunned for a moment. Other than a few facts to prove he knew nothing about who was behind the attack, Ciel had never granted so personal a detail to Sebastian about the night his family died. This was absolutely a breakthrough. "Yes, I did add extra honey," Sebastian said. "You nearly told your aunt and uncle all of that?"

"Um, not all of that… just the part about Sebastian trying to rescue me." Ciel hesitated and a more familiar tint of annoyance replaced the alarm in his visible eye. "You're going to get a big head over this, aren't you? Listen, if you want to know why I named you Sebastian, it was just because one of the animals you turned into before you chose your human form was a black dog. And maybe at most because I didn't know how to feel about my dog and I didn't know how to feel about you either. It's not because you 'saved' me or anything like that."

"Young master, that is a very painful memory you've been carrying all by yourself," Sebastian said.

Ciel frowned, shrinking back slightly. "Let's not mention it anymore…" he mumbled.

It was unfortunate, but Sebastian knew he had to follow the young master's lead here. It was crucial that Ciel learned he always had control of this particular conversation. "All right, young master. Then the last I will say is that I'm very proud of you for sharing that important memory with me. It must have taken a lot of courage."

"..." Ciel leaned away to put the teacup on the bedside table. He stood up and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "I just want to get ready for the bath. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

It was always painful to watch the boy deflect kindness from the very edge of his own need for it. Sebastian found himself constantly vigilant for new ways to supply that kindness that Ciel wouldn't outright reject. One way was to make the bath the most relaxing environment he could. He adjusted the water's temperature to just slightly higher than that of the human body, and massaged the shampoo into Ciel's scalp gently as he washed his hair, and dried him afterwards with the plush Turkish towels that were as soft as velvet. Ciel remained distant throughout it all, quietly allowing his hair to be fussed dry and his summer nightshirt to be settled over his shoulders. The quality of his toothbrushing was somewhat poor, but Sebastian knew it was better not to nitpick right now. There were more important matters at hand.

Ciel padded across the carpet, looking reluctantly at his bed. He didn't seem to anticipate sleep would be very resourceful tonight.

Sebastian had one more idea left. "Young master," he offered, "if you are feeling awake yet, by any chance would you like to join me on surveillance of the grounds? The weather is quite calm tonight."

He hypothesized that this request would be met with pushback — since when did Sebastian go on surveillance without a good cause? But fortunately, Ciel appeared too tired and subdued to fight against what he needed. He responded automatically, "Yes, I'll join you."

The night air was a fair sixty-two degrees and slightly humid. Still, it was too cool for Ciel to go out in only his pajamas — but dressing in trousers and shoes would not provide comfort for sleep. Fortunately, they possessed the perfect 'blanket' for this special scenario, and Sebastian went to the dressing room to fetch it now from the shelf.

It had been a gift from Prince Soma to celebrate Ciel's fourteenth birthday. The Kashmir shawl was made from shahtoosh, an exceptionally fine hair harvested from the soft underbellies of Tibetan antelope. The borders of the fawn-colored fabric were woven with interlocking florals in magenta, marigold, turquoise, and burgundy. It was a beautiful, rare gift that only princes and nobles could afford to own, but its culturally-appointed wearer differed between India and England. While men wore these beautiful shawls in India, in England they were only styled by women. Soma knew this, but he had gifted it to Ciel anyway, as a piece of his culture and as a luxury beyond compare.

Ciel had thought about regifting it to Elizabeth for all of a few seconds — and surely if Elizabeth knew it was in her fiancé's possession, she would have demanded it, for the feeling of shahtoosh was as unrivaled as its status: a lightweight, almost unnoticeable fabric capable of providing incredible warmth. Ciel had felt this immediately when he touched the shawl, and decided it was worth keeping for himself. He had rather inventively started using it as a blanket during the colder months, curling up beneath it with a book in the library or drawing room while the snow stacked peacefully on the windowsills outside.

"What a waste of a fine article," Sebastian had lamented last December, to Ciel's flushing insistence that he could do as he liked with his own possessions. Now Sebastian brought it out and wrapped the long rectangle around the boy's shoulders and delivered him to the rooftop.

They stood up high, gazing out at the hills and meadows that rustled peacefully beneath a spangled skyscape. Sebastian finished tucking the shawl around Ciel, making sure his bare legs and feet were fully swaddled by the folds. "Are you ready, young master?"

The moon was encroaching on half-fullness. Its light and that of the countless stars provided just enough for a human to perceive the night world by. Ciel's contract eye had just the slightest glow to match, and he squinted it slightly as he looked out at the land, as if trying to reacquaint its underutilized muscles with long-distance sight. Eventually, he nodded, and in a heartbeat they were leaping out into open air.

Ciel leaned into Sebastian's chest automatically as they passed over the familiar earth made unfamiliar from this steep angle. Sebastian controlled the speed of their descent and kept his grip secure to minimize the feeling of falling. They landed a hundred yards away in one of the enormous hemlocks that lined the territory's front drive, with only the barest rustle of needles signifying their landing.

Sebastian turned to the boy in his arms. "I think that is the farthest stretch we'll need to travel. Was that all right, young master?"

As he'd hoped, Ciel wasn't terribly unnerved from the ordeal. He blinked owlishly back at Sebastian and nodded again, just once. Out of his element in every way, Ciel had no choice but to trust Sebastian totally, and that internal surrender seemed to have an unexpectedly pacifying effect on him. It was like the scruffing of mother cats on their squabbling youngsters, a tug on the back of the neck that caused the little one to naturally relax every rebellious muscle and be carried to safety. There was no need for Ciel to fight right now either. He could just lay there, enveloped in warmth, and allow someone else to choose everything for him. It was the very definition of childhood that Ciel typically resisted with all the heel-digging of a little ram.

He is growing up, but he still needs to feel this way sometimes, to know this level of reassurance is possible. The moment this thought dawned on Sebastian, it became intrinsic. He needs to feel it especially because it is a lesson he was forced to unlearn.

With the confirmation that Ciel was secure, the journey across the countryside began in earnest. Sebastian leapt from treetop to treetop in a rhythmic fashion, not too high, not too jostling, a gait he hoped would soothe the sleepless one. During their last mission at Gwilym Hastings's abode, Ciel had been utterly exhausted and had given in to sleep within five minutes of being carried. Sebastian theorized it would take a little bit longer for Ciel to drift off now — but it wouldn't be a bother even if it took all night. The brilliant, invincible feeling that always came from holding his contracted soul close was thrumming inside him like a pulse, and it was heightened all the more by the fact that he cared so very, very much for the soul's host.

They stayed atop the belt of foliage that followed the looping road through Phantomhive territory and marveled the landscape as they went. Though humanity slept, the animal kingdom had its own plans at this hour. A pair of roe stags chased each other through a freshly-harvested wheatfield, the last impulses of their rutting instinct pushing them to seek battle. An occasional bat darted in and out of the sky's camouflage in its pursuit of moths. A nightjar attempted to gain speed from Sebastian's ambling slipstream, following close for a while but quickly finding him much too slow and dipping off on its own course. And the air swarmed with the cacophony of frogs and crickets in a last song of summer that would refuse to die until the leaves had fallen and browned where they lay.

Occasionally, Sebastian looked down to study Ciel's expression. At first, all he sighted in those open eyes was a sorrowful distraction that kept Ciel from truly seeing anything that they passed. But after a while, the gaze softened into interest on the stars and earth and nocturnal life, and softened further as sleep arrived to dull his natural vigilance. After twenty-two minutes of touring his shire from above, Sebastian at last felt that wounded soul slip into the peace of dreaming. So too was Sebastian able to slip into his own thoughts.

Tonight, Ciel had supposedly revealed the story behind his demon's namesake. It was perhaps half of the truth: Sebastian did not doubt the child's wariness upon first naming his demon and how that wariness had reminded him of his dog. But it did not speak to the parting heroism the dog had printed in Ciel's memories. Had Ciel perhaps seen Sebastian as a savior all those years ago after all? As the one who would lead him out of the labyrinth of terror his life had become?

The boy honored me with a name that means courage, and I punished him for it.

Sebastian clucked, "Oh, young master…" under his breath as he turned to deliver them both back home. He had been wrong, so wrong, all this time. Was there even a way to make it right? Or was it too late for this boy at the peak of adolescence to unlearn the lessons in misery he'd so long been subjected to? Sebastian would try with all the power in his budding heart to make it so.

---

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian looked up from the egg he'd been separating between two bowls at the worktable. When he had felt Ciel's presence coming towards the kitchen, he'd anticipated he'd either soon be interrupting a dessert quest or helping to locate a treat for the horses. It was a Sunday afternoon, and that sometimes meant the young master would be seeking alternate recreation, without so much of the weekdays' work to occupy him. This question caught Sebastian off-guard — as did Ciel's current location, which was directly across the table from him.

"Young master, what a surprise. I was just preparing the dessert to go with your afternoon tea," Sebastian said, passing the yolk back and forth between the shell halves only twice before all the whites had dribbled into their prospective bowl. "Did you need me for something?"

Ciel quirked an eyebrow at him. "Obviously, idi—" he began, then cut himself off. Huffed out his nose, disgruntled. "Yes," he said. "I need you to answer the question I just asked you."

Sebastian paused. "I am… preparing the dessert to go with your afternoon tea, sir?"

Ciel rolled his eyes, though a slight pinkness dusted his cheeks. "Ugh. No." He pointed at Sebastian's workstation. "When I asked you what you were doing, I meant it as literally as possible. What are you doing with those eggs? What is the purpose of that? "

"... Oh!" The realization hit Sebastian with great excitement. He came to the kitchen because he wants me to teach him something! Ah, but it would be better not to seem overeager. Sebastian managed to stay composed. "I am separating the egg yolk from the whites, sir," he explained. "They serve different purposes in this recipe, and the easiest way to separate them is to transfer the yolk between the segments of shell so that the whites can fall away."

Sebastian demonstrated the process again with his second egg and tipped the yolk into another bowl by itself when he was through, then smiled pleasantly.

Ciel returned a saucy look. But when he stared down at the bowls he chewed his lip, as if working up the nerve to say something. "... Let me do the next egg. I want to try that."

Again, Sebastian was surprised. "Oh, my apologies, sir. The recipe only requires two eggs," he said, and immediately could have slapped himself in the forehead. "Fortunately, we have plenty more eggs on hand. Let me go and fetch a few so that you may try."

"I-I only need one!" Ciel insisted weakly as Sebastian moved over to the pantry.

Sebastian reemerged with three. "It can be difficult to get right on the first attempt. You may wish to have the chance to try again." Sebastian settled the brown speckled eggs carefully on the countertop. Ciel chose one and regarded it like a puzzlebox as Sebastian laid out another pair of ceramic bowls. "There we are. When you're ready, you may begin by cracking the egg."

Ciel jabbed him with a narrow stare. "I have a funny idea," he said flatly. "Why don't you teach me as if I'm someone who's never cracked an egg before? "

"Ah, certainly, yes," Sebastian chuckled. "In that case, take one of the eggs and tap it gently against the side of the bowl, right around the middle, until a crack forms."

Ciel appeared to be regretting his participation already, but did as he was told, tapping so gingerly that a break didn't even form at first. Sebastian sniffed a laugh; he was so used to the abrasiveness of the servant trio that he'd been more prepared for the egg to shatter immediately all over the counter. Ciel eventually got the shell to split the slightest bit and stopped. "Now what?"

"Ah, well… Now you should try and open the egg the rest of the way. But be careful that you don't accidentally break it in the process. Just open it gently with your fingers—"

Ciel thrust it at him. "You do it. I don't want to make a mistake."

Sebastian didn't accept right away. "You wouldn't even like to try?"

Ciel grimaced. "No… This is already gross enough as it is… I'll feel nauseated if I break the whole egg and it runs everywhere…"

"All right, all right, I've opened it for you. Take one half in each hand. As you can see, the yolk is sitting in the right half. Now hold the egg over the bowl and tip the contents of the right shell into the left so that the whites overflow into the bowl underneath."

Concentrating so fiercely that it was almost comical, Ciel allowed the two halves to meet. Translucent contents slopped over the crisp shell edges just as they were supposed to. Ciel shivered. "Wah…! That was so cold and slimy! It was like being touched by a newt!"

"But that was very good," Sebastian encouraged. "You kept the yolk in the shell without losing it. Go on, transfer it again. But this time you'll have to be a bit more daring in order to get the white out, as there isn't as much left."

"I hate this." The yolk was tipped a second time, with barely any whites to be spared. "You made it look so easy, just like you always do… You're so— Never mind it." Ciel passed the yolk back for the third time. In this instance, unfortunately, the orange sac burst open and dappled the whites with little droplets of sun. "Blast. That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"

Sebastian smiled. "Ideally, no. Fortunately, it is only practice. And if we were really going to use these in the recipe, we could still employ a spoon to remove the pieces of yolk."

Ciel's resolve was as easily shattered as an egg itself when he didn't really care about the results. He dropped what was left into the bowl, shell and all. "What is the purpose anyway? You said the whites and the yolk do different jobs. So what are those jobs?" He held his hands somewhat away from himself now, presently too sullied to be allowed near his person.

Sebastian picked up the balloon whisk he had set out before, along with his own bowl of whites, which he began beating with a smart turn of his wrist. "Today, I am baking you apple fritters to go with a first-flush Assam. Mixing beaten egg whites into the batter allows the fritters to be light and fluffy, so they do not weigh as heavily in the stomach."

"And why would egg whites make that… the case…" Ciel trailed off as he watched Sebastian's whisking transform those whites before his very eyes. "Wait, now what's happening to them? Why are they turning foamy? What did you add to make them do that?"

"Nothing, sir. This is a natural reaction." Seeing Ciel craning his neck, Sebastian tilted the opening of the bowl downwards to allow for a better view. "The proteins in the whites change their structure when beaten. Stirring creates air bubbles that allow for the proteins to strengthen and grow longer, which allows them to solidify slightly. But if you stir for too long…" Sebastian kept beating at speeds only he was capable of comfortably reaching until the white froth began to clump and deflate into a cumulus mass. "... the air bubbles are released and the structure falls apart."

Ciel had leaned across the table to watch this unfold. He looked minutely fascinated by it all. "This is like a form of chemistry," he said at last.

Sebastian used the whisk to scoop the inedible froth into the sink to be washed away. "Cooking is in every way a chemistry, young master. It is an art as well. And I believe it is something that can never be mastered totally. There is always new information to be gained, a hypothesis to be tested, an ingredient that has yet to reach its full capacity."

Ciel leaned off the table, smirking. "Are you saying that humans invented something that's actually fascinating to you?"

Sebastian bowed his head in willing defeat. "I am indeed, sir. And it wouldn't be the first time."

Ciel studied his butler very quizzically for a long moment. Then, as he always did, he broke off the gaze with a haughty jerk of his chin and moved over to the sink to wash his hands. "I suppose that was decently interesting. That's enough wasted eggs for one day, though. Back to work for you."

But this visit wasn't the last that Ciel made to the kitchen that August. Every other day or so, he came to ask Sebastian what he was doing, and every time Sebastian was happy to answer. He taught Ciel about straining gravy, and kneading dough, and reducing syrup, and separating suet. These were not lessons that held Ciel for very long, and yet he always returned the next day or so for something new. The visits usually occurred between lunch and high tea, but Sebastian did not imagine that the timing was very specific until Bard happened to enter one afternoon while he was showing Ciel how to crimp the edges of a pie crust.

"Oh, young master's visitin' us? What's all this about?" Bard asked in a mild sort of way. Usually he was still tending to the horses at this hour, but it was muggy that day and he'd clearly come in the kitchen for some reprieve from the weather. "Quality inspection?" He chuckled.

Ciel, however, immediately flinched away from the table as if it were made of hot coals. "Uh, it's nothing," he muttered. "I was just checking something…"

Bard filled an empty jar up with clean water from the stovetop and drank from it greedily. "Well don't let me be the one to… uh, stop you," he finished in surprise as he watched Ciel practically scamper out of the room. After waiting a beat for the young master to get out of earshot, Bard gave a short laugh in surprise. "Huh. A'right, then. Shoot. Was it somethin' I did?"

"... I have no idea," Sebastian answered blinkingly, and it was true. For all the little trips Ciel had taken to the kitchen that week, the boy's mood was still overall fickle. There were instances when Sebastian would enter the bedroom or the office and Ciel would already be glaring at him, with one less visible eye than most humans yet with twice the impact. Sometimes he and Sebastian would only be a minute into one of their meetings when Ciel would declare, "All right, you can go away now. Goodbye." Other times, Ciel would act sulky and miserable and only supply one-word answers to any of Sebastian's gentle prodding. "Fine. No. Maybe. Whatever. Mm. Hmph. Ugh." Even less helpful were those little expressive grumbles that couldn't qualify as words, just the most rudimentary form of language that even neanderthals could make sense of.

Sebastian tolerated it all. He knew he deserved to put up with such an attitude. And he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Ciel never treated anybody else this way, so it had to mean something. But this capriciousness did somewhat remind Sebastian of who Ciel had been back in February and March… and while the thought was moderately worrisome, it also made Sebastian wonder if they were close to another emotional breakthrough.

"My riding jacket is feeling off in the shoulders," Ciel said, rotating his free arm in its socket as if trying to get the clothing to fit him obediently. "I guess that means I'm growing again…"

It was now the afternoon of the 30th of August, and it was proving to be one of the last beautiful summer days they had left in the year. Ciel had sought to take advantage by doing a walking exercise with Avalon, and Sebastian had been selected to help. Bard was currently in town replacing their back-store of potatoes; the so-called "chef" had unthinkingly placed them too close to the apples and caused them to start sprouting early — thus, Ciel's excuse to Sebastian was "you're the only one available to help with the horses." The idea of Ciel seeking out Sebastian's independent company seemed too good to be true, especially when the young master had been so moody with him lately… but that was the truth of the matter, wasn't it?

Ciel had his quarter horse doing a different drill than usual today. Instead of standing in the center holding the rope while Ciel led Avalon around in a circle, demon and boy walked side by side as they traveled the rectangular perimeter of the paddock with the horse on a lead. "The late master had rather broad shoulders, did he not?" Sebastian recollected from seeing a few scattered images of Vincent over the years. "It would not surprise me if you were taking after him in that regard."

"Mm, I suppose," Ciel said, words hinted with the idea that he didn't dislike this — though he was distinctly disappointed when he tacked on, "My father wasn't very tall, though…"

Sebastian turned. "Are you concerned about your height, young master?"

Ciel's eyebrows drew together. "Maybe…" he answered eventually. His thumb rubbed at the cord of the rope he held. "I'm only thinking that I've always been a bit behind Lizzie…"

"Ah, I see." Sebastian nodded thoughtfully; Lizzie had been visiting just the other day. "It may be that you will never be taller than her… and that would be all right, as you can't control it." Ciel didn't look very assuaged by these words. Sebastian added, "Of course, it may also be that Lady Elizabeth is done growing and that you will surpass her within the year."

That changed things at once, but not for the better. Ciel blinked up at Sebastian in anxious surprise. "W-Why would she be finished growing taller already? She isn't even sixteen yet."

"Of course. However, it happens to be the case that young women often finish maturing before young men."

Now Ciel looked frightened. Avalon sensed the change in atmosphere enough to nicker curiously. "But Lizzie's not a—! She's… She's still a girl! " he cried.

Sebastian dipped his chin genially. "Yes, Lady Elizabeth is still a girl. But she is on her own journey to adulthood, with aspects that can be observed and aspects that cannot — in short, a journey very similar to yours. She will continue to change, as humans do throughout their lives, but certain milestones have no doubt been reached by now."

Avalon snorted and Ciel patted the long snout, keen for the distraction. A troubled expression was painting his features. "Is… that why she's so…" Ciel paused, frowning, and Sebastian waited patiently. "So… So concerned with… with romance novels and… and kissing me on the cheek lately?" When he finally said it, he seemed ill at ease.

Ah. Sebastian was both surprised yet not at all shocked to learn that Lizzie had once again pressed a romantic expectation upon Ciel at her latest visit. Though cheek-kissing could be a rather normal greeting, it appeared to have breached the bounds of normalcy in this instance. The marchioness's worries about leaving the children unchaperoned had not been misplaced after all… but still, what could be more expected than a pair of young people wanting to practice expressions of love, away from the eyesight of critical adults and their stifling rules?

"... Perhaps it is," Sebastian said simply, without judgment, trying to show Ciel that this matter would not be blown out of proportion. Half a year ago, I would have either teased him or scolded him, depending on my own whims… "It is quite typical for humans to grow increasingly interested in such activities as they venture towards adulthood."

Ciel hunched his shoulders. "So that really is the thing that makes an adult, is it?" he seethed.

Perhaps 'practicing expressions of love' had only been enjoyable for one young person yesterday. Sebastian decided to return the question. "What do you think? Are romantic feelings what 'make an adult?'"

"Not in the least!" Ciel's chest lifted. "Really, I think not getting carried away with romance shows far more maturity! For instance, I've never had any romantic feelings ever in my life, and I don't see a single thing wrong with that." Ciel sniffed, all ego and posturing; it was clear this point actually made him feel some superiority, and he was grasping for any pride he could right now. "Emotions get in the way of rationality, so the less I'm ruled by them, the better."

Sebastian chuckled gently. "Though our opinions quite differ on that final statement, there is one thing we can agree on," he said, as Ciel acknowledged him thinly. "How a person experiences love does not necessarily relate to his or her maturity. It isn't a bad thing if you do not ever feel romantically inclined."

"Except it is," Ciel snapped, all too happy to contradict himself if it was for the sake of proving Sebastian wrong, "because I'm engaged to someone, if you haven't noticed."

Hmm. Maybe this discussion is too important not to have with him outright. "Young master, do you mind if I ask how you felt when Lady Elizabeth was prompting you to do things that you did not want to do yesterday?"

"Annoyed!" Ciel barked immediately. Then he dropped his chin. "We're too… we're… That's not what we're meant to do, and Lizzie knows that! But she didn't care about that at all, and I couldn't be the one to tell her because I'd only hurt her feelings!"

"So instead, your feelings were hurt," Sebastian said. Ciel looked at him sharply, indignant, frightened. "Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but I believe that Lady Elizabeth made you feel very uncomfortable yesterday and you felt it would be wrong to tell her."

"Well, how am I supposed to anyway? She's the one who's right, isn't she?" It was a plea for help. "I mean, we are engaged, even though neither of us had a say in it…"

"So what is your say now?" Sebastian asked calmly, seeing Ciel grapple with his distress. "How would you like your companionship with Lady Elizabeth to proceed?"

"..." Ciel ducked his neck. He'd slowed down in thought, and Avalon nosed at him in question. The touch of the soft muzzle seemed to soothe him. "I wish we could just behave as we always have before now," he said at last. "And I… I wish I didn't have to take charge of ensuring that."

"How wonderfully insightful," Sebastian said immediately. Ciel eyed him in hesitant disbelief. Sebastian's voice remained firm. "You should not have to take charge of ensuring this. I will take charge, just as I should have done in the first place."

"Lizzie won't be very happy if you start chaperoning us all of a sudden, though," Ciel mumbled, still glum, still not quite trusting. "She likes coming here so that we aren't under someone's thumb all the time… and I thought I wanted that too, honestly, I just don't feel very certain about it anymore."

They rounded the far corner of the paddock, finishing their first clockwise lap. "If you would still prefer to have some distance from me when you and Lady Elizabeth are together, I understand, and will oblige. However, I think the two of us should have a sort of… secret password, perhaps. If Lady Elizabeth happens to impose upon you again, perhaps you can say that you hear my arrival. By speaking my name with an order behind it, I will feel your summons via our connection and know to go to your side at once. My interruption should serve to keep Lady Elizabeth from acting in a way you feel is untoward. What do you say to that?"

Ciel was watchful for another moment more. "Fine," he eventually permissed. But the way his posture straightened after that had an air of relief. "She's not a foolish girl, so maybe she'll start to catch on to the trick, but… at least she'll blame you for it." He gave a forced snicker.

"She may blame me all she likes." Sebastian placed a hand to his chest. "My job is to make sure of your care, not to make Lady Elizabeth happy. In any case, young master, I am proud of you for broaching this topic with me. I will always do my utmost to help you with such matters."

Ciel wrinkled his nose back and opened his mouth as if to argue something, but then a bit of movement in the adjacent paddock caught his eye. "And there's trouble coming," he groaned as Sysonby trotted up to the front of the fence, grunting in time with his footfalls and tossing his head and working himself up to a lather. Both Sebastian and Avalon grew stiff with anticipation. "Easy, easy," Ciel cupped Avalon's opposite cheek, trying to keep his head facing forward, "we don't have to give him any mind."

Though his ears twisted back and his eyes shifted, Avalon allowed himself to be led by the human. Sebastian tried to do the same — yet he still felt himself jolt with readiness to spring into action when Sysonby bellowed his malcontent a mere five feet from where they stood, making Ciel clap a hand over his ear and wince in irritation.

Avalon stopped dead in his tracks. Ciel noticed and quickly began to comfort him. "Steady, you're all right now, steady. Let's keep walking, boy." But Avalon wouldn't keep walking no matter how he was tugged. Sebastian found himself watching like a hawk for the moment he'd need to whisk Ciel out of Avalon's strike zone. Any second now the horse was sure to start kicking…

Avalon turned towards Sysonby with his ears facing forward. A low sound rumbled in his throat like a warning. This unexpected insubordination made Syson squeal with surprise and stamp his hoof. Avalon silently stood his ground for another handful of seconds. Then he turned and nosed at Ciel a second time, as if to apologize for ignoring him.

"... Well, well." When Ciel finished marveling, he grinned meaningfully at a still-guarded Sebastian. "Now wasn't that interesting?" He clicked his tongue and Avalon followed faithfully this time, while Syson could only watch on. "Looks like you know how to hold your own after all," Ciel said to his horse with obvious pride. "You just needed to remember it, hm? Yes, that was a good sign… Sebastian, I need you to write the farrier at your next convenience. I think I would like to introduce Avalon and Syson properly someday next week. It's about time we let these two sort out their differences."

---

Nightfall.

The moon was beaming as brilliantly as a spotlight upon the shire that evening, the very evening Sebastian was to meet with Undertaker. Its fullness was like an indicator that the opening act was about to begin. Every treetop shone, every star twinkled, and every gentle breeze played its music through the flora. The scene was perfectly set for a midsummer's night — but who would choose to grace this stage?

Sebastian was on high alert to find out.

And he wasn't alone. Sebastian had the rest of the Phantomhive staff at their posts too, though he had spared them the details as to why. If Undertaker's invitation was a trap to lure Sebastian away from Ciel, Sebastian would use everything in his arsenal to keep the young master safe. The servants were nothing compared to an immortal's strength… but they were all he had. And there was a new, strange rush of surety that came from the realization of his trust in them: these four unusual humans would fight to the death for the sake of their young master. Sebastian knew he could count on them in a way he had never counted on anyone else before.

But it still remained up to him to locate this "neutral party" Undertaker was sending this way. Sebastian patrolled the outskirts of the manor grounds now in hopes of locating them. Every sense he had was heightened to its utmost with worry. He couldn't stop moving for an instant.

And then at midnight on the dot, with all the precision of a fairy godmother's broken spell, a presence headed his way.

Sebastian felt this otherworldly arrival like a change in air pressure. The mysterious being was not even trying to mask their presence; they entered a demon's territory with sheer brazen confidence. Sebastian charged in their direction without hesitation, eyes blazing bright. What idiotic immortal would burst through his boundaries without thinking twice about it— they had to have a death wish—

"Look alive, Sebby dear~!"

— or they'd have to be a death wish.

She came careening right in front of him, cutting off his path through the wood with the roaring slice of her modified scythe. Sebastian leaped backward, respectful of that nuisance of a weapon's power. He'd clogged its mechanism once with the fine thread-count of his suitcoat, but he knew this particular person wouldn't allow that to happen so easily again. Before him now, the rotating blades carved into the earth until the device stuck vertically out of the ground. Its owner stood perched on the handle of it with her knees bent far to the sides and her vibrant hair obscuring her face.

"It's been a while…" Grelle's head slowly raised and that red hair fell away like the parting of a theater curtain, "... Sebastian darling~"

Her chartreuse eyes and pointed teeth shone in the pale blue light like a waking nightmare for anyone, man or demon, hoping to hold onto their soul. This was the chilling presence of a fully realized Grim Reaper.

"Really… I was just thinking it was all too soon," Sebastian said with stiff embitterment.

Still balancing, Grelle sprung tall to her heels and wrapped her arms around herself in a tight embrace. "Oh—! Cold as ever! Giving me chills up and down! That's the Sebby I've yearned for all this time!"

This was said with total delight, for some reason, and with that, the death omen suddenly appeared no more frightening than a human. Grelle dismounted the handle with a little hop and plucked her scythe from the ground as easily as she would pull a weed. She sighed, wagging a finger at him. "But let's talk for a moment, darling. There have been no deaths around your manor in almost a year! It's really quite disheartening, if I do say so. It's almost like you were trying to keep me away. You know I take these assignments whenever I can so that we may get better acquainted…"

"I thought you Reapers preferred it when demons didn't factor into your collecting." Sebastian twisted his head about impatiently. I must get back to searching for this neutral party… "I only kill when under orders from my master. I do quite well staying out of your lot's hair. I would appreciate it if you returned the courtesy and stayed out of mine."

"Oh, I'm not interested in that, literally or figuratively, dear." That scythe was like a prop to her; she settled the blades into the ground again and popped an elbow atop the handle, cradling her chin in a palm. "Fortunately for us both, I managed to get the night off. Not easy to do with corporate breathing down my neck, mind! It took them several miserable months to take me off parole… but I've still found it in my heart to forgive you for catching me." She winked as she granted him a grin full of teeth that could cleave off a finger.

"Grand." Sebastian made to surpass her. "Then, if you're not here to collect any souls, on your way. As it happens, I have urgent matters of my own that need attention."

And unfortunately, as expected, Grelle seemed interested in stopping him. "Excuse me, excuse me? That's not the direction to London," she called, pouting out her lips. "If you're going to jump right into business and ignore your kind escort, have a little sense about it, hm? Or you might make a woman think her beauty has befuddled you."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "And what makes you so sure I'm heading to Lon…" At the truly wry look she sent him then, Sebastian was able to make the connection. "You're the neutral party…?" he said, feeling dreadful.

Grelle hoisted the scythe onto her shoulders with one arm and posed her hand like the mano cornuto※ with the other. "At your service~!" she cheered. Her posing hand was soon placed on her hip. "Though 'neutral party' is such a bland term, really, darling. 'Liaison' is vastly more romantic, don't you think?"

Sebastian did not feel able to answer her. The truth of Undertaker's letter was coming to fruition. 'Alas, in that vein I regret that I must soon tip my hand to you and reveal what I am…I have decided that I have no choice but to call upon an old friend's aid.' Grelle did not appear to be the 'old friend' in question, but her species painted the picture clearly enough. Undertaker was a Reaper — a retired one, probably, and therefore he should be lacking a scythe, which meant he was officially declawed. Or at least, Sebastian hoped that was the case…

Grelle was suddenly inches from his face. "So, which is it?" she drawled, gazing at him from the tops of her eyes. "Are we going to play catch up here or will we do it on a stroll?"

Sebastian sighed. If this was his neutral party, he supposed he had better play nice, to some degree — she might like him now, but she could always change her mind. "We should be on our way," he huffed, and sprung promptly into the treetops.

She was there with him seconds later. "So, so, where have all the intruders gone?" she asked, soaring easily alongside him as they weaved their way to the city. She had disappeared her scythe for the time being. "No souls for me to collect means they've given up, hm? I guess you finally frightened them all away?"

"That is my hope," Sebastian answered curtly. He looked just slightly over his shoulder at the manor even now. Those four can handle human intruders. I must have faith. He forced his eyes forward. "And since we are feeling bold enough to ask questions like that, perhaps I can inquire about your relation to Undertaker?"

In a rare moment of agreement, Grelle made a disgusted face. "Ugh! Him! " she fumed. "I've met with him once or twice before now, but I know enough to call him a real freak! And what wasted beauty! Such gorgeous features, but he doesn't take any care of himself! His hair is matted and his complexion is dull and his wardrobe — awful! And that smell! Ugh! His kind is beyond help, Sebby dear, I don't give him the time of day. I'm only here because I knew we'd get to chat again."

This 'neutral party' is even more biased than I was expecting. Sebastian didn't feel any warmth towards Grelle in this moment, but he did have to admit, of all the immortals Undertaker could have sent, this was the sole one Sebastian felt some leverage with. Grelle was no ordinary woman, in more ways than one: she had decided on her womanhood personally, rather than made her sex the determining factor, which was an anomaly that the demon side of him could only find impressive — but that wasn't all. Sebastian felt he had only a loose understanding of how to keep on her good side. The few times she'd visited the manor for work, half a year after the events that led her to taking Angelina Dalles's life, Sebastian had gleaned that Grelle did not actually want him to love her in return. He'd learned this after once flirting back in an attempt to convince her to leave: at first she'd liked it, but quickly she'd gotten bored and threatened to attack if he got in the way of Reaper business. Perhaps this was because his flirtations were just above the level of lies, or perhaps she was one of those types who preferred the chase. Either way, his brutal honesty kept her happy, and so tonight Sebastian would be honest.

"Did Undertaker tell you anything about this meeting's purpose?" he pried next. They moved quickly, at their inhuman speeds; already they were halfway to London.

"As I said, I don't speak with him," was the offhanded remark. "Othello's very excited about whatever it is, though." Othello? "The way he was droning on, it sounded horrifically nerdy." Nerdy? "He tried to explain it to me in that geek-speak of his and I was about ready to shut him up with a smack on the head, but then he said you were involved in some way, and that was all the convincing I needed to take part. Of course, if you want to try to explain it, I'm sure you won't bore me to tears…"

Sebastian selected his words deliberately. "Undertaker has his suspicions that my young master has been cursed. We are attempting to rule out the possibility."

"A curse, hmm? I wasn't aware those were even real… Sounds like a load of claptrap to me, honestly. But maybe I ought not to think so. I often feel I must be cursed, after all." Grelle seemed minorly disinterested in entertaining this further, but still decided to ask, "So what happens if that Phantomhive kid is cursed?"

Sebastian didn't answer, but Grelle swooned about 'more shivers' as the burst of demonic energy he sent into the air around them was clearly felt by her.

They arrived at the funeral parlor at just over a quarter past. Grelle snapped, "Ugh, I just hate this place," and used it as an excuse to grapple onto Sebastian's arm. He allowed this; she could serve as a form of protection, should Undertaker try any funny business. They entered the door together this way, Sebastian braced for anything…

Anything but Undertaker and the supposed 'Othello' with their temples practically jammed together, both attempting to peer through the tiny eyepiece of a microscope at the same time.

"It's like he just gave up past the first layer…" Othello was saying, twisting a knob on the side of the apparatus and carefully adjusting the stage. "The outside has the usual coral pattern you'd expect from a tooth but once you get past that, it's nothing more than a solid, dense mass… A little bit of hollowness on the inside, actually, that's so strange… Fascinating. How do you think he decided that?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself, seeing as he's just arrived," Undertaker said without taking his eye away.

Othello jolted back abruptly with a little cry of either fear or delight. "A demon!" he gasped, and rushed over to stand in front of Sebastian. His eyes were glistening bright behind his spectacles. "This is my first time ever seeing a demon in person!" he marveled. He bobbed all about to view Sebastian from every angle. "Of course the folks in Ms. Grelle's division do here and there, but we in Forensics can only dream of what it would be like to get a live sample from a real demon! Oh, pardon me. I'm Othello, and you must be Sebastian Michaelis! I've heard so much about you from Ms. Grelle! Yes, you are quite a handsome find, I'll give her that! But your tooth! Now that's what I call a real handsome find! An actual imitation of a lower right first molar made by a true immortal using astral magic… You don't come across one of these just every day! Tell me, did you decide on its cellular structure or was it determined by factors beyond your scope of understanding?"

Grelle ground her fist into the top of Othello's head. "You and your droning on about things no one gives a damn about! Stop treating everyone like test subjects in the making and maybe you'll get some answers for once!"

"Oww… Ms. Grelle, please mind your strength!"

Sebastian only stared the entire time this tufty-haired man spouted on about his odd demon obsessions. 'Hardly an adversary' indeed… Sebastian could tell this Reaper's strength truly wasn't comparable to anyone else's in this room. This Othello character was clearly here thanks to his knowledge of magic and no other purpose.

Sebastian couldn't ignore Undertaker's sashaying approach over to them; Grelle tightened her grip in response too. "Hehehe… Welcome back, butler… Or should I say demon." He put the very end of a long fingernail to his lip. "I suppose the truth of both our species has been all but laid bare now, wouldn't you say? Let there be no more secrets between us."

I don't buy that for an instant. Nor did Sebastian believe Undertaker was just now uncovering his demonhood. There would never be complete trust between them — to even suggest there could be proved it.

With the arm not occupied by Grelle, Sebastian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the young master's eye patch, wrapped in a clean cloth. "Let's not prolong this meeting any longer than necessary. I have the article you requested. Analyze it posthaste so that we may put your twisted curse theory to rest."

Undertaker's long sleeves wagged in the air as he snickered. "I certainly hope we do, dear butler. I certainly hope we do."

Othello twisted his mouth in disappointment at the offering. "Only an eye patch, really? You couldn't have gotten me one of his teeth as well?"

Sebastian found himself irritated beyond reason — and didn't fear showing it around this pup of a Reaper. "I spent two years helping those teeth to grow in straight. I'm not wrenching a fully formed one out now!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Othello held up his palms, sheepish, as Undertaker cackled in the background. "I can analyze this too! Bones are better is all. I might just need a few extra minutes."

Sebastian sighed. "Whatever it takes."

"Oh good, because…" Othello held out his other hand. "I'm going to need another sample from you too? The magic finished draining from your old tooth ages ago."

Begrudgingly, Sebastian retrieved a new molar as asked. Othello scurried back to his microscope, not without a small sound of merriment, but unfortunately Undertaker didn't join him this time. He continued to address Sebastian instead. "That may look like an ordinary microscope, but it is something very special," he explained. "Rather than simply magnifying an object, it is also capable of making magical energy visible to the naked eye… Such incredible technology can only be accessed by a Reaper in the upper echelons of the forensics department." Hmm. So the scientist isn't a pup after all. "Magic is not typically something that can be observed, as you well know. But it will be easier to identify what type of magic is infecting you if we can see its structure for ourselves."

"Ugh! What's this? You're infected with something?" Grelle distanced herself a bit from Sebastian, though to her credit she didn't let go.

"So this one says," Sebastian muttered, eyes not leaving Undertaker.

Undertaker made a hissing laugh between his teeth. "We haven't had our chance to catch up yet either, have we?" He said this to Grelle, who grimaced slightly in response. This grimace only deepened into a frown at the next words. "You got yourself into a bit of trouble with little Lord Phantomhive's maternal aunt last I saw of you. Tell me, was the punishment for deserting harsh?"

"Not really your business," Grelle said. She seemed more than a bit put-off.

"Only curious about how they do things around there still, no need to get feisty," Undertaker giggled. "I'm grateful to you, really. Thanks to you, I was able to prepare the greatest funeral in England since old King Billy's liver gave out!" His chuckling became uncontrollable for a moment.

The room had been tense with repressed magical auras, though now Sebastian felt Grelle's flaring red-hot. "This response is unexpected," Sebastian muttered to her. "Here I thought you'd have some pride about it."

Grelle managed to get a hold of her aura but sniffed, "I'm an actress, darling. You'll never know what I don't let you."

Sebastian didn't push it. If Undertaker had solidified himself as an enemy to Grelle, he certainly wasn't going to interfere.

"Ohh. Okay…" Everyone turned as Othello suddenly began to speak. "I'm seeing something here…"

"What is it that you're seeing?" Undertaker clacked over to Othello's side without his usual lazy, off-tempo gait.

Othello kept his eye on the lens, as best he could with his glasses in the way. "The non-demonic non-astral magic on the tooth is definitely also on the eye patch. There is significantly less on the eye patch but it's there. That's interesting…"

"Does that mean the young master is cursed?" Sebastian went rigid, waiting.

Othello fidgeted with his spectacles as he pulled away from his device, sensing the importance of his answer. "W-Well, that would usually be my hypothesis, yes," he began. "The only time I've ever seen a human exude magic is when they're cursed, but… my opportunities for studying the properties of cursed humans have been very lacking — I really only get to retrieve a sample after they're already a corpse! Though I haven't seen any magic that looks like this before, even in the few instances where I've gotten a sample from a human contracted to a demon… This is something special indeed… Very special…"

Sebastian didn't like this answer. It was barely an answer at all; he wasn't going to allow the uncertainty to mar his judgment. "How do I know this isn't a trick?" he posed to the room. "Some spun story to distract me from the truth of the situation? Demons and Reapers are not allies."

The answer to that question was an unspoken one. It came in the form of Undertaker's aura, powerful, oppressive, like a smog of rage and desire for blood. Sebastian felt Grelle nudge up against him as they were approached by its wielder. "This is all your fault, isn't it…?" Undertaker squeezed at the air with his fingers, as if yearning to wrap them around Sebastian's throat — or around the handle of a weapon. "I told you to stay away from the boy, I told you… And now you've cursed him too, haven't you? You're cursed and you cursed the last Phantomhive, you wretched demon, I ought to have you—"

"Wh-Whoa, whoa, easy, old friend!" Othello chimed in from a distance. "Let's not jump to any conclusions yet! You know it's inherently impossible for a curse on a demon to transfer to a human, even if they shared a contract! And most importantly, let's not have any fighting near the microscope, please! If it gets broken, it'll be my head!"

Like a tornado winding down, Undertaker's energy slowly, slowly diminished to a low hum. His breathing was raspy and metered; his eyes were not visible beneath the ends of his fringe.

After a few more moments of watching, Sebastian finally felt it was safe enough to venture another question. "Explain to me why it would be impossible for a curse to transfer from me to my master through our bond." He wanted to know, but he wanted Undertaker to hear the answer too, to be returned to a place of rationality — or however close Undertaker could get to being rational.

Othello lowered himself onto the edge of the table, not without a long sigh of relief that a crisis was averted. "Think about it," he said, tipping his palm. "You have a contract with the Phantomhive kid, but even your magic doesn't work on him, right? You can't cure him if he gets sick, you can't make him invincible, and you're closer to him than anyone else. Humans just aren't designed for spells. There's simply no part of him that's capable of hosting a curse."

"Unless… the young master allowed himself to be cursed," Sebastian said.

Othello nodded. "Sure, sure, but is that really a possibility? You implied it was unlikely, and honestly, the evidence backs that up. I know it was Undertaker's theory, but the truth is, curses are so rare in this part of the world these days. And if you're as attentive to your master as you say you are, it would be really weird if he managed to deal in black magic without you finding out."

"But you just told me that humans aren't designed for spells," Sebastian reminded slowly. "So then explain: what is going on?"

Othello smiled in such a way that his friendship with Undertaker abruptly made every ounce of sense. "Something really, really wonderful," he said airily, "a thing I've dreamed of witnessing at least once in my career: a complete and total mystery."

That was the one answer that was even less promising than a curse.

Othello was still in the midst of celebrating it. "Really, it's like nothing I've ever seen before! Here, I'll explain." He spun back to his lens and began describing the view. "What I'm looking at now is a magic so weak, it shouldn't even be able to work. I feel pretty certain that it's Earth magic, it has a lot of the same properties, but… How to put it… It's… rudimentary? Come look for yourself, if you like." Othello stepped back and gestured an invitation to the equipment.

Sebastian stayed put. "Why don't you tell me what I would see."

Othello nodded, not one to argue with a demon. "If you were to look at your tooth, you would see your magic flows like stardust. It has an almost liquid appearance, and it sparkles. Earth magic shows as fractals and dull glints. And the foreign magic…" Othello took another turn at the lens and laughed. "It's flakey and misshapen and drifting everywhere… I almost can't believe it's attached to either of you, it doesn't look like it's meant to do anything but simply exist! There's far more of it attached to your tooth than the eye patch, which makes sense, because your body is capable of being a host to magic and your master's isn't. But still… The fact that it's attached to the Phantomhive kid at all… What does it mean…"

"You must find out." Sebastian hoped he didn't sound desperate when he said it. "If it's hurting him… No. The source has to be discovered at once."

"It can't be hurting him, it's so poorly designed," Othello mused offhandedly, the only comfort Sebastian had had all night. "Why it's even affecting you is shocking to me, I think it's just the sheer abundance of it in your system…"

"And you couldn't tell me what its intention is," Sebastian said softly.

Othello shook his head, hair flashing almost green in the candlelight. "Sorry, no. The appearance of magic can't reveal anything that specific, unfortunately."

"Now you tell me something, butler." There was less ice in Undertaker's voice now, but it was still a tone as deep and dark as a morgue. "Can you truly not think of a single individual who may be the cause of this?"

It came to him quickly. "Henri Fairclough." Sebastian snarled it like the name was a curse in itself.

"Henri Fairclough…" Undertaker repeated it with no less ire. "You didn't speak of him before when I asked you this same question. What has changed? Who is this individual? Tell me now."

"To my senses, he is no more than a normal human," Sebastian said. "But I have been getting… something like hunches, that Fairclough is dangerous to my young master. Maybe that's what I was really detecting all along. Maybe he is the cause of the foreign magic… or related to it in some way. To my knowledge, he isn't currently in London."

"Get a sample from this guy at the soonest opportunity, then," Othello called over. "If he has the same weird magic attached to him as you and the kid, we've likely got our source and I can continue my research. Oh, how I want to continue it now…"

"The name Henri Fairclough is not familiar to me." Undertaker was stroking his chin, lost in serious thought. "I am certain I am aware of every immortal populating South England… I make it my business to know them and their human pets, should they have any. It would be very surprising if one had escaped my notice…"

"He's a Frenchman who has been visiting the country since at least early April, if that changes anything," Sebastian said tiredly. He glanced down at Grelle, who'd had a fierce grip on his arm for a while now. Is she frightened of something? "But if there is no more experimentation to be done tonight, I must insist upon returning to the manor. If you are truly so concerned with the young master's safety, it is imperative that I be by his side, especially if some creature wishes ill-will against him."

"Begone, then." Sebastian had never heard Undertaker so ornery — let alone unamused. His voice was almost entirely different without glee backing his every inflection. "Othello and I have much to discuss. Take your leave."

"Uh, Ms. Grelle, don't be long now!" Othello bid hastily after her.

As soon as the pair shut the door behind them, the absence of Undertaker's aura was immediately settling. Grelle detached herself from Sebastian almost immediately too. It was as if she were relieved to do so. Was she only clinging to me for my sake? "Ugh… well wasn't he as vile as ever," she groaned, rotating a lock of hair between her fingers. "Such a stifling atmosphere is bound to give me split ends! No manners at all, that man — Brrrr! I say we get lost before I start developing stress wrinkles."

"There's no need for you to follow me home." After a quick scan for nearby souls, Sebastian leapt to the mortuary rooftop. "You've done your duty."

Grelle followed him up. "I will be the judge of that," she parried, smirking, and shooed at him with her fingers. "Come on, then. On with the show, darling."

They sprang their way out of the city, this time without speaking a word. Sebastian's mind was blaring so loudly with sirens ( get back to the boy, get back to the boy ) that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that Grelle was actually communicating her benevolence by following him home. Her attendance proved that, even if Sebastian's absence had been taken advantage of and the manor was currently under attack, she would be there to assist. No one can say she doesn't take her job seriously…

The manor wasn't under attack. From half a mile away, Sebastian could see Mey-Rin sitting immobile at her rooftop post and Finny patrolling the grounds, his blond hair like a beacon. Inside, Bard would be scouting the floors while Tanaka stood guard at the door to the master bedroom. Beyond that door slept the only manor occupant who didn't realize his entire household was exercising maximum security. Sebastian would have no choice but to tell Ciel about it tomorrow — he'd frame a Reaper appearance as the excuse, word it in such a way that it wouldn't qualify as lying, and mention nothing of Undertaker. Ciel might have a few questions regardless; Sebastian decided he could at least admit that he had been feeling extra cautious lately and overreacted by putting everyone on duty…

The young master and I are closer than ever and yet there are still so many secrets between us.

"Grelle… there is a final favor I want to ask of you," Sebastian began as she posed nimbly in the treetop beside him, and she quirked an eyebrow. "You Reapers speak as if you have a vast array of files available to you regarding humans living and dead. I would appreciate it if you could examine your collections for anything related to Henri Fairclough. It is imperative to the safety of my master that there is nothing suspicious listed about this individual."

"Is it?" Grelle's long hair wavered in the breezes. "A demon worrying about the imperative safety of his master… Sounds like a blatant contradiction from where I'm standing. And besides, haven't I done you a number of favors already? Why should I stick my neck out any farther, hm?"

Sebastian bowed at the waist. "Please. I am… I am counting on you."

For almost half a minute, there was no response. Sebastian hoped this meant she was soaking in the moment of seeing him humbled; maybe it would be payment enough.

"There will be a lot of red tape to cut through," Grelle sighed at last. When Sebastian spared her a glance, she wasn't looking at him. "Corporate is simply swarming with crusty old men who hate it when I go sniffing around for juicy gossip… and if the files are with the French branch, I'm going to have to put in even more requests than usual. And those requests might just get turned aside, you can nearly count on it! But… I'll see what I can do."

Sebastian breathed out in relief. "Thank you."

Grelle narrowed her eyes for a moment before smirking slightly. "Don't warm up now, demon. You're more fun for me when you're cold as ice." She reached behind her back and her scythe manifested in her grip as she brought the hand back around. "You're just lucky I'm curious enough to find out what's going on. That little nephew of Ann's… Well, clearly she thought he was worth dying for… and now I suppose you aren't any different. Pity." Grelle turned on her heels. The rough stitching in the back of her coat was as striking as a surgical scar. "If you ask me, that brat's the real curse around here."

She left then without another word, a strike of red leaping back towards the London horizon.

Sebastian sent each servant to bed with the explanation that the danger had passed. Tomorrow they could sleep in until eight o'clock if they liked. He could tell in each expression he faced that this was shockingly generous coming from him. Tanaka only nodded and left his post, knowing that too much conversation, even in whispers, outside the young master's door may just rouse him. Sebastian waited until he was certain Tanaka was gone before entering that door.

He stood in the cool darkness of the master bedroom. Ciel was curled up beneath his summer sheets, asleep. It was a sleep as peaceful as the late-August night above them. Sebastian approached the bedside, standing as close as he could without waking his charge… and dropped to his knees. No. He still, still, could not sense any "foreign magic" emanating from Ciel. There was nothing he could do. He was as helpless as a child.

Sebastian had hoped tonight's meeting would yield answers. Instead, all Sebastian gained was more questions and more fear. Ciel laid on his right side; they were face to face, though one's eyelids were gently closed and unaware. The blankets rose and fell with every sleeping breath that the body beneath them took. Sebastian's vision swarmed in a strange way as he gazed upon the boy he worried about so much that it caused him to feel pain.

Young master… what in the world is happening to us?

---

"Everyone, gather round and listen to me. It's about time we got on with it."

It was one o'clock, Saturday, the 6th of September. A week had passed since the night of the full moon. There were no more letters from Undertaker regarding the foreign magic, but Sebastian's fears were temporarily allayed: Ciel was in a good mood right now, and Sebastian could not help but feel lightened by it. Today was the day that Sysonby and Avalon would be formally introduced.

Mey-Rin, Bard, and Finny stood eagerly in a row for their instructions. Ciel addressed them all at once before giving them their individual tasks. He gestured to the paddocks that lay behind him and Sebastian. "As you can see, Avalon's already in position," he began; in the background, the bay horse nosed at the grass, unaware of his fate. "The first step of the plan is to bring Syson into the paddock too. This is where I'll give him all kinds of attention, to make him feel like I know he's in charge. But eventually, we're going to give Syson free rein. He's wanted to establish his dominance for ages, so I anticipate he'll go rough up Avalon no matter how much I flatter him. However, we need to make sure that this roughing up doesn't get entirely out of hand. Bard and I will be the judges of that. The rest of you need to follow our lead.

"Bard, you'll start us off by bringing Syson into the paddock, where I'll already be standing inside the gate with the sugar cubes and carrots ready. I'll butter him up for as long as I can, but eventually the horses are going to get curious about each other, and Syson will no doubt make the first move. They might fight almost immediately, so the farrier's removed their shoes in the hopes of keeping the injuries from getting too serious. But in case blood is drawn, I'll need the rest of you to help separate the horses.

"Mey-Rin. Syson has been trained to stand still if he hears a nearby gunshot. If I signal to you that the fight is out of control, I'll need you to shoot a blank to stop him. Bard. After Mey-Rin fires, I want you to go into the fray and get a rope around Syson so he can be led off. Finny. Follow after Bard and help pull Syson away if he refuses to be led."

Ciel took a deep breath. "Sebastian." The boy spoke the name that meant courage, and locked eyes with his demon as he spoke it. "I need you," he said, "to do exactly as I tell you."

"Yes, sir," said Sebastian.

"I will call out to you if I need help," said Ciel, "so don't act without my orders."

Sebastian wanted to but could not agree to that final stipulation; to do so would mean lying. Would Ciel really call out if he needed help? Sebastian was not convinced. But neither gaze would drop, and the determination Sebastian saw reflected in that bright blue iris said all. Trust was on the line, and neither of them wanted to be the one to break it — out of stubbornness, out of admiration, out of anything and everything that made their extraordinary bond what it was. And thus nothing needed to be spoken.

Ciel finally turned to face the other three. "Are your positions understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Finny, Mey-Rin, and Bard said in perfect synchronicity.

Ciel nodded. "Then let's get to it."

Sebastian stood outside the fence with Finny, Mey-Rin, and Tanaka. Ciel stood inside it by himself, fifteen feet away from the rest, waiting for Bard's arrival with Sysonby at the gate. Avalon had noticed his boy standing there and plodded over curiously, head craned forward in interest of treats. Ciel frowned at him and didn't call him over, likely feeling that to do so would be unkind, as Syson would show up with Bard any second — and there they were, cresting the rise.

The two horses sighted each other at once. When they realized they were about to wind up in the same paddock, they exhibited opposite reactions. Avalon squealed and raced to the far fence; Syson pulled eagerly on his lead, head raised high and eyes wild. Bard grumbled something at the prince of a horse and kept his grip on the halter firm as he delivered Syson to Ciel.

Ciel knew his role. He immediately began laying the praise on thick. "Hello. Hello, Syson. Easy, easy, look at me. What have I got for you? What's this here?" Bard kept his grip on the rope for now. The goal was to distract Syson for long enough that Ciel could perhaps lower his temper with affection and treats; then when Syson was inevitably released, he might not be so eager to exact a punishment. "That's right, I brought sugar cubes because I know they're your favorite. Have another. They're my favorite too. That's it, you big idiot, just keep paying attention to me and don't think about anything else."

But Syson's attention was entirely divided. On the one hand, he was smitten with all the affection: even more than sugar cubes, what he liked was for Ciel to display favoritism in front of another horse. On the other hand, there was his rival, unguarded and unable to hide for the first time since arriving. Syson gnashed at the treats, but for the most part the food rather disturbingly spilled from his mouth, causing Ciel to exclaim sourly that he was "being disgusting." Syson's agitation was beyond help.

Eventually, Ciel seemed to notice this was the case (or perhaps he'd simply run out of sweets and sweet nothings). He gave Bard permission to remove the halter. Sebastian was watching like a hawk as Syson felt his freedom and barely resisted claiming it. Young master, please back away, what if he bolts and knocks you— Ciel gave Syson space as the last remaining threads of resolve were snapped and the stallion raced to prove himself.

Avalon was agitated too. All while Syson had been placated, he'd paced along the back fence, hoping for an escape to materialize. When he noticed his greatest enemy charging towards him, he attempted to get out of the way, light on his feet and ears alert. Syson blocked his exit, once, twice. However, after he held Avalon at a terrified standstill, it was quickly apparent that Syson didn't quite know what to do next. His ribs heaved and his hooves were spread wide and his tail whisked the air.

"He's such an idiot," Sebastian heard Ciel groan to Bard. "He acts first and asks questions afterwards. Honestly, he's no better than Se—" Ciel paused, stopping short, and closed his mouth. Bard was honed in on the horses and didn't appear to notice.

Sebastian would tuck that observation away for later. At the moment, Avalon was trying to dash out of Syson's reach, and each time Syson would race ahead and cut him off. Both horses could turn on a dime, but Avalon's bewilderment prevented him from escaping his pursuer. Eventually, Syson got in a kick as Avalon passed behind, then a nip half a minute later, blowing out with his lips triumphantly as Avalon squealed and darted. Finny and Mey-Rin both made sounds of distress with each strike, but Bard and Ciel understood this was all normal behavior and kept watching for a sign of truly dangerous violence.

Syson was more interested in asserting his dominance than attacking. Still, he made Avalon his plaything until the bay was entirely cowed, frozen from having his every escape checked. Sysonby trotted around his victim in a circle, showing off his breed's famous high-stepping gait and tossing his head and lifting his tail and making himself every inch the carousel pony. After a minute of this, he snorted hard in satisfaction, and pranced away to reclaim his human prize.

Ciel folded his arms. "Well, that's that, I suppose. Go see if Avalon's taken any damage. I'll manage this sore winner."

Bard nodded and trudged over in Avalon's direction. Syson winged past him at the halfway point, all puffed up with self-importance and acting mighty. A little too mighty it would prove in a moment. Ciel held out a hand to start settling the victor down, but Syson ignored it. He brought his huge head into Ciel's chest and nosed him backwards.

Ciel stumbled but fast regained his footing. "Hey! Syson! That's enough of that!" Syson ignored the scolding and swung his head in Ciel's direction, trying to herd him away from Avalon. Ciel shoved at his neck. "Syson!" But the horse was bigger and full of vim. He stepped forward, using the threat of his bulk to steer Ciel.

Sebastian gripped the fence tightly. He was desperate for an order, and he wasn't alone. Mey-Rin was already backing up with her Enfield revolver pointed at the sky, prepared for the signal to fire. Finny had one foot poised on a rung of the fence. Bard was hustling back to where he'd just been. None of them were as anxious as Sebastian, only ready to act. Young master, give us your order…

Help came from the one being who didn't understand orders. In a flash, Avalon had surpassed Bard and bolted over to slam his shoulder into Sysonby's body.

Immediately, Syson swung around. His hip bumped into Ciel, sending the boy to the ground. "Oof!" Ciel rolled onto his arm and sat up, glancing around in confusion. Long legs flailed above him, dirt flew. The horses didn't notice where their feet fell. Ciel gasped and covered his head with his arms.

The fence was gripped so tightly that the wood splintered. "Young master!"

Those words seemed to jolt Ciel into his right mind. "Sebastian!"

At last.

Sebastian had the boy in his arms in moments. He moved like lightning, whisking him away from the four-legged danger, to the safety beyond the fence. "Young master, I have you. Are you all right?"

The soul was fluttering in its home like a caged bird, but Sebastian had watched the scene and he knew: Ciel was unhurt but quite rattled. "Wh-What happened?" Ciel stuttered, and looked up at Sebastian. "W-Why did Syson spin all of a sudden?"

"He was surprised." Sebastian brushed grass from the boy's shoulder, which also served to soothe him. "Avalon came to assist you when he least expected it."

Ciel's eyebrows lowered as he took in the truth for himself. "Avalon?"

The horses had just finished their tussle. They were still regarding each other with snorts and flightiness, but they were backing apart now. Avalon pawed, as if about to charge. Instead, he twisted and took off in the other direction. Upon seeing this, Bard decided to hop out to the safe side of the fence, and it was the right thing to do. Avalon's racing was so fast that it was nearly without control. Syson understood the challenge. It was the very same game of chase he had always bullied out of the cobs — but this time, he would be the chaser.

Their unshod hooves tore saucer-sized chunks out of the earth as they flew across the pasture. Avalon remembered his time in the track and sprinted like he was mad, like he meant to win. Syson was wheezing after him in moments. Avalon didn't let up. He ran with his nostrils wide and mouth open, with lather rolling across his back; with his tail a streamer and his mane plastered to his neck; with his ears pinned and his eyes white.

He ran, until his reason for running was no more.

Avalon felt the rumbling behind him cease. He slowed to a stop and watched his opponent. Yards away, Syson stood with his legs shivering. Both horses heaved and stared at each other in a state of near exhaustion, like two lone enemies across the borders of their warring countries. At last, Syson stamped the dirt a single time in miserable defeat. He whinnied his lament and sauntered over to the trough for water and drank deep. In the center of the paddock, Avalon pricked his ears. And then he began to graze on his lands without fear.

"Whoa," Ciel half-whispered before the servants flocked them.

"Young master, you aren't hurt, are you? Those hooves got awful close!"

"That was frightenin', it was! But simply incredible too! My heart won't stop racin'!"

"Jeez, I ain't never seen anything like it in all my days…"

Tanaka only smiled as if everything made perfect sense.

Sebastian lowered Ciel gently to his feet, and the servants crowded round and crooned about how brave Ciel was and how they'd wanted to help but waited for his orders like he'd told them to and how nothing had gone as they'd expected. But Ciel was scarcely paying them any mind. His eyes were fixated on the bay horse that had come to his rescue. He was thinking hard.

Finally, he turned to Sebastian. "You did well, waiting for my order," he said seriously, as the servants continued their prattling to each other. "You're somewhat overbearing these days, you know. I thought you'd be butting in at the first inkling of a crisis."

Sebastian smiled, feeling its lopsidedness. "Well, I did want to, very much, but…" Here his mouth curved properly. "I knew if you were going to trust me, it was important that I trusted you first. So, young master, I am very proud of you for calling out for me when you were in danger." He chuckled. "But next time, feel free to call a bit sooner."

Ciel scowled and glared at him with an eyeful of exasperation. "You know I hate losing to you," he began, "but this riddle has vexed me for weeks and I can't go without knowing the answer a minute longer. How the hell are you able to tell me that you're proud of me without it qualifying as a lie? Just what loophole are you exploiting here? Tell me now, demon."

Sebastian frowned, blinking. Had Ciel really been so uncertain of his intentions all this time? This had to be made clear at once. He put a hand to his chest. "There is no loophole, young master. It isn't a half-truth either. When I tell you that I am proud of you, it is solely because I am."

"Are you?" The glare tightened.

Sebastian dropped to his knee. He straightened the lapels of Ciel's riding jacket that had been knocked askance from the fall and tugged at their corners. He looked Ciel in the eyes. "I am exceptionally proud of you," he said.

Ciel studied his butler very quizzically for a long moment. The moment didn't end with a haughty jerk of his chin either. Instead it ended when Bard interrupted it to ask what they should do next, in terms of separating the horses before they could rally their energy for a second round. Ciel turned to give his orders, and Sebastian stood back to his feet. Externally, he betrayed no emotion. Inside, he surged with his own sense of wonderment.

He had been overly attentive to Ciel's feelings for only a few months now. He thought he had seen every emotion this boy could possibly exhibit… but there was something he had forgotten about, something he had never quite seen form in Ciel's expression. There had been crystals of it, early on in their relationship, but Sebastian had worked to dash them, to keep his charge always in a state of uncertainty and unrest. But miraculously it had returned, like an animal long thought to have been hunted to extinction. This rare emotion arrived as a small yet sure glimmer in that blue eye, a glimmer more dazzling to Sebastian than any magic beneath a microscopic lens.

It was longing.

---

※: Italian for "horn hand," this is a gesture of ancient origins against the evil eye and bad luck. Grelle is simply striking her signature pose.