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Devilish Impulses	By : Arianawray Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 13948 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unwanted
- 2-Whim
- 3-Trust
- 4-Taste
- 5-Scheme
- 6-Command
- 7-Competition
- 8-Advice
- 9-Enlightenment
- 10-Sustenance
- 11-Caught
- 12-Breath
- 13-Arms
- 14-Inflammation
- 15-Imagination
- 16-Intent
- 17-Compromise
- 18-Sacrifice
- 19-Despair
- 20-Compassion
- 21-Interest
- 22-Equality
- 23-Mentor
- 24-History
- 25-Disorder
- 26-Reputation
- 27-Gifts
- 28-Admission
- 29-Watching
- 30-Bonds
- 31-Revelations
- 32-Confrontation
- 33-Struggle
- 34-Separation
- 35-Duty
- 36-Change
- 37-Together
- 38-Love
- 39-Epilogue: Heaven
- 23
- 24
- 25
History

"I suspected there was an unhealthy attachment between you, but to see it with my own eyes – the young Earl of Phantomhive holding hands with a devil, his butler, is beyond shameless," Ambrose rebukes them once he, Ciel and Sebastian are alone in the withdrawing room. "I knew that demon would behave improperly with you after you showed your weakness by protecting him from my spell – but I am shocked that he is already doing so, while you are but a child!"

The servants are outside in the passageway, armed, leaving the master and the butler to talk in private with the visitor. Ambrose is using that privacy to speak his mind, but Ciel is not to be cowed.

"If you have come to preach to me in my own home, Mister Ambrose, I shall ask you to leave," the earl answers coldly from his armchair, staring across at Ambrose on the sofa.

"I will leave when I have told you what you need to hear. Would you rather I do it behind closed doors, or shout it from outside the house? I gather your other servants do not know the nature of that filthy thing you call your butler?" Ambrose has the face of a relatively young man in his mid-thirties, but his attitude is that of a disapproving old man.

"I do not care if you shout it from atop Lord Nelson's column," Ciel retorts. "But I doubt you will do so. You seem to have been exceedingly discreet these three hundred years about the otherworldly beings you know enough about to have enslaved. Even when you so spectacularly broke into the Tower and ended the Eastons' lives, you never divulged Carsten's nature, or Sebastian's. I believe you do not like people to know that such beings exist. Despite your familiarity with them, you think them unnatural, a secret best kept hidden."

"A perceptive child," the visitor remarks. "As befits a Phantomhive. But why would you let that creature touch you in that way?"

"What way?" Ciel asks evenly.

"Letting him take your hand in front of your servants, and in front of me, tells me you have let him much too close to you."

"That is none of your concern," says Ciel. "Say what you came to say, then leave."

Ambrose sighs, casts a contemptuous glance at Sebastian, who is standing beside Ciel's chair, and tells the earl: "First, I am relieved that you were not permanently harmed after you so impulsively disrupted my spell. I tried to recover you, but I lost control of Carsten when he entered the shadow of the spell. He attacked me upon returning, and I had to shield myself against him with my magic. He left only hours later, when I stabilised the shield and threatened to begin the process of recapturing him. Once he left, I tried to open a doorway to reach you, but the access points had become too damaged by his assaults. I went out and looked for the nearest place from which I could safely make a new opening, but when I found one, I sensed that another exit had cracked open elsewhere in the city. I found it, ascertained that you were no longer inside, then sealed the opening and terminated the spell. Unfortunately, without Carsten, I could not locate you, or determine what condition you were in. I could not search for you for long. I had to conceal my whereabouts from him, and employ my remaining resources to stay alive until I could speak with you again."

"Do you know how much harm that spell caused?" Ciel growls. "I almost died. If Sebastian had not saved me, I would not be here."

"It is fortunate that your covenant with that creature was still intact enough for him to save you," Ambrose says. "My spell was designed to break the contract."

"Contract?" Ciel snaps. "The contract was–"

"Mister Ambrose," Sebastian speaks. "What have you really come here to say?"

"Do you permit that thing to speak out of place?" Ambrose demands of Ciel. "You give it too much free rein, child. It is not a pet."

"Do not tell me how to run my household," the earl responds, having quickly deduced that Sebastian does not want to reveal yet that their covenant is all but gone.

"You had better know that you are playing with fire. If you must have anything to do with devils, you must restrict their freedom. I had hoped to help you escape the fates of the previous Phantomhive earls by making that demon nothing more or less than your tool and weapon. I shall impart to you the method for doing so if you come to your senses in the future, after I am gone. But even if you will not use my magic, you cannot go on the way you have and hope to end your days differently from your father, or grandfather. Your great-grandfather lived longer than most of his forebears, and reached a more advanced age than his son and grandson did, because he was wise enough to use his magical skills compassionately when he could, and ruthlessly when he had to, something his descendants did not learn. I hope to help you, at least, avoid an early grave. I hope it gives you more time to repent of taking your soul so lightly as to sell it to a filthy demon."

"The Phantomhives always live with danger," Ciel states. "An early grave is unavoidable, unless we are very fortunate, as you seem to suggest that my great-grandfather was."

"Fortunate? Accidental good fortune has little to do with it. It is about wisdom and knowledge. You may have reconstructed every pillar and stair after the previous manor was razed to the ground, but you cannot have replaced the old records lost in the fire. You thus know little of your history. Even your aunt, Lady Midford, cannot have studied much of the family's history before she married. So much has been lost, but I know things others don't. When I was a child in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the very first Earl of Phantomhive – or rather Earl Winterbourn – was still alive. It was clever Queen Bess who designed that earldom to be the shadow to the throne, to absorb the darkness around the crown in ways unattainable by regular channels of authority, so that the monarchs of England might always live in the light."

"Phantomhive dates from Queen Elizabeth's time?" Ciel asks with interest, for this is news to him. "Did you know that, Sebastian?"

"No, my lord. I do not take especial note of the creation of new titles or bodies, unless they have direct relevance to my interests. During the reign of Elizabeth, my interests in the mortal world were physically located in France and Spain, not England."

Ambrose explains: "In 1563, the queen elevated an obscure baron, William Winterbourn, to the rank of viscount, then very swiftly to an earldom. He was simply Earl Winterbourn at the time, but the household – or agency – that grew around him, became known privately in the uppermost royal circles as the Hive of Phantoms, for their task was to eradicate by secret means anything that cast a shadow on the crown of England. They quietly tackled matters within England that were unsettling to the monarch, but could not be dealt with through official channels – a kind of domestic counterpart to the foreign networks of spies and assassins England cultivated on the Continent."

"Why did Queen Elizabeth create the agency?"

"It was because of the death of Amy Dudley, wife of Robert Dudley, later to become the first Earl of Leicester. Everyone knew that Lord Robert was Her Majesty's great love – possibly her only true love. If she had ever chosen to marry anyone for love, it would have been him. But he had a wife, Amy, and many enemies jealous of his intimacy with one of the most eligible monarchs in Europe. Amy Dudley died twenty years before I was born, but I knew all about her death and its consequences for the queen when I was a child, because it was still talked about in certain circles. She was found dead at the bottom of the stairs in the house she was staying in, in early September, 1560. This happened at the height of rumours that the queen and Dudley would find some way to free him to marry her – through divorce, or worse. Years later, most sensible people agreed that neither the queen nor the earl would have been stupid enough to murder her, for they would have been the first suspects. If her death was indeed murder and not an accident, it was most likely her husband's enemies who did it, to cast suspicion on him, making it impossible for the queen to marry him. But at the time, reasonable thought did not prevail. There was fevered gossip amongst the courtiers, amongst the common people, and even abroad, that Amy Dudley must have been murdered by her husband, or the queen, or both. Her Majesty could not control or contain the rumours. Because of such talk, she realised she could never marry Lord Robert, although he was now free to marry her. That experience taught her that she needed other channels besides her political spies to protect her public image – a domestic secret weapon to prevent her being cast into shadow again in her people's eyes."

"She handed down the control of this agency to the monarchs who came after her?" Ciel asks.

"Yes. Though she was not particularly fond of James Stuart – she had after all authorised his mother's beheading, had she not? – she left him her crown, and the use of what was by then known as the Phantomhive coven. Queen Elizabeth created it in an age when there were no newspapers, reporters or photographers to manipulate for influencing public opinion. She intended the Hive of Phantoms primarily to prevent others from unjustly perceiving her as infamous, rather than for the darkest purposes. But the agency changed after her death, and gradually became what it is today. As early as James I's reign, the Winterbourn earldom quietly became the Phantomhive earldom, though the earls retained the Winterbourn family name until your great-grandfather changed it. They were altering their skills, growing more intertwined with the underworld. I lived through all that. I had nothing directly to do with them at the time, but I knew about them, through my own magical and other sources."

"You said the very first Earl of Phantomhive – or Earl Winterbourn – was still alive when you were a child?" Ciel asks.

"Yes. When I was ten years old, old enough to understand most of the ways of the world around me, Queen Elizabeth was, I believe, fifty-seven, and the first Lord Winterbourn was still alive, although he was shortly to die at the hands of unknown enemies. His eldest son, Philip, inherited his title and duties, well into the reign of James I. The connection between the monarchs of England and the Phantomhive earldom has lasted to this day. And if you are not wise and careful enough to live until you have children of your own, you will be the last Earl of Phantomhive from the Winterbourn line."

"That is not necessarily a bad thing," Ciel comments.

"So you say. But for the sake of your great-grandfather, who showed me compassion, I sincerely hope you will not go to an early grave."

"My duty is to ensure that such a thing does not happen," Sebastian states. "Lord Phantomhive's immediate precursors did not, to my knowledge, make contracts with devils. He is stronger than they were."

"You can only achieve so much, you fool of a demon," Ambrose spits. "What good can you do when you belong exclusively to the forces of evil? You cannot influence the forces of balance, which were partly responsible for destroying Vincent Phantomhive."

"The forces of balance destroyed my father? What do you mean?" Ciel questions.

"You barely understand your origins," Ambrose sighs. "The Phantomhive agency was created to swallow all that was unclean around the throne of England, and be the shadow of the throne, so that the monarch could always live in the light. To achieve that, and rule over the underworld from which much of the uncleanness came, the Phantomhive earls and their associates had to be powerful in their ways of evil, because the forces of evil always demand a show of strength. Display weakness, and those forces of darkness will desert you at best, and devour you at worst. But whenever the Phantomhives grew far too strong, the forces of the universe that demanded balance would step in to tear them down because the shadow must not become stronger than the light. Caught between conflicting demands – to be all-powerful and to be perfectly balanced – the Phantomhives are always doomed."

"Who controls the forces of balance?" Sebastian asks.

"No one," Ambrose replies curtly to the devil before turning to the earl to elaborate. "The universe enforces its own balance, not God, not Satan, not the princes and principalities of the earth. Perhaps God intervenes sometimes, or devils act for their own mischievous reasons, or the rulers of the earth check the powers they can influence. But not one of them fully controls the forces of balance. It is simply a law of nature. Nothing can grow excessively strong before it is hacked down. I used my magic and Carsten's skills to learn more about what happened to your father. The angel who destroyed your family was a renegade, carrying out acts sanctioned neither by heaven nor hell, and concealed from Queen Victoria. Nonetheless, that angel was an agent of the forces of balance, because the shadow of the throne had grown too powerful. At the same time, the forces of evil, which always test the Phantomhives who govern them, had found what they considered a weakness in your father – his love for his family. He loved your mother, and he loved you. Your father became vulnerable to the powers of balance because of his strength, and vulnerable to the powers of evil because of his weakness. In such circumstances, he could not win the game he was playing. Neither can you, unless leave the game, or impose your own strength and balance on the universe. If you had not stopped me from giving you complete power over your devil, I could have almost certainly secured one of those opposing forces in your favour, leaving you to balance the other with your judgement and sense."

"How is enslaving Sebastian supposed to achieve that?"

"A contract with a devil weakens you even as it empowers you, because it sells your destiny to the demon, and you lose your immortal soul to eternal darkness. Yet, without supernatural powers working for you, you cannot rule the underworld with an iron hand. The best solution for always having the strength to govern the forces of evil is to wield a fully compliant weapon of evil. A devil completely obedient to your will, unable to take your soul, can be such a weapon. You remain master of your destiny; your soul retains the possibility of being reunited with God if you repent in time, once you hand over the reins to your children; yet you never lose control of the underworld because your weapon cannot turn around and bite you."

"Funny thing for you to say, when you've spent these several days running away from Carsten," Sebastian smirks.

"Hold your tongue, demon," Ambrose snarls. "I had full control of Carsten, but failed to realise that his entering a place which contained none of the binding powers of the original spell I had used on him would allow him to break his chains. If I had known that, I would still own him."

"I wonder what else you do not know," Sebastian remarks.

"One thing I certainly do not know is why your master allows you to speak so snidely, or permits you liberties with his person," Ambrose says angrily. "Carsten was never permitted a word out of place. I made certain of that. I would read the Bible to him every evening, and pray that the holy Word of God would make him repent of his nature and spend the remainder of eternity begging God for either forgiveness or a destruction so complete that none of his consciousness would remain to be tormented through the rest of time."

Sebastian stares at Ambrose and snorts in amusement as he asks: "You read the Bible to Carsten every evening for fifty years? Ah, Mister Ambrose, it would entertain me exceedingly to watch him get his claws on you."

"Enough," Ciel grumbles, not wanting this to degenerate into a childish argument. "What can I do to balance these opposing forces?"

"First, chain that devil so that he can never harm you, then employ him wisely to govern the underworld. Work judiciously for your monarch, without overstepping your bounds, and pray that the queens or kings you serve will never so continually transgress as to require you to exceed the bounds tolerated by the forces of balance. The shadow of the throne must never become greater than its light."

"Is that the whole of it?"

"Practising it is the trick. It is very nearly impossible without absolute power on the one hand and discernment on the other, so you had better have at least the evil under your thumb. That is the main of it. Smaller details you can work out yourself – you seem intelligent enough, though you should govern your impulsiveness. Throwing yourself in front of lances to save devils who deserve only condemnation is not the way to rule your world. As the Earl of Phantomhive, you hold immense power because of your knowledge, skills and cunning. The crown of England fears you even as it needs you, and the powers of heaven and hell, darkness and balance, tussle over your fate. Sparing a devil you could better use as a weapon is not a wise step for one such as you to take."

"I'll determine that for myself, Mister Ambrose," Ciel says, getting to his feet as his visitor does. "I thank you for your insights, but I must govern my own decisions and my household as I see fit. Otherwise, who would I be to govern the underworld?"

"I hope you will not come to regret the way you choose to live."

Sebastian opens the door of the withdrawing room for Ambrose, revealing Baldroy and Mey-Rin in the passageway with their weapons at the ready.

"Are these all the people you can trust to staff your mansion?" Ambrose asks as he pulls on his coat, eyeing the soldier-chef, sniper-maid, the superhumanly strong gardener further out near the entrance hall, and the vague steward who has just set down a cup of green tea on a side cabinet.

"They are all the people I require," Ciel replies, walking with Ambrose into the foyer.

"You could do with a lot more," the man murmurs, pausing in the main doorway before stepping outside, suddenly stumbling, and clutching the stone balustrade for support.

Sebastian catches him by the arm, but Ambrose slaps his hands away. "Don't touch me, unclean thing."

"Mister Ambrose, what is wrong?" Ciel asks sharply.

"Nothing I have not expected. With the remaining resources at my disposal, I have perhaps a few months to live. I won't die beautiful either, child," he chuckles. "Well, it's nothing I haven't deserved. No mortal should live as long as I have."

"Mister Ambrose!" the earl cries as the man tries to pull himself upright again, only to collapse against the balustrade.

"Help him," Sebastian orders Finnian and Baldroy.

The visitor flinches when touched, but Baldroy growls at him: "Hey, if you'll be snapping at them who're only trying to help you, you're none too wise a man."

He relaxes a little when he sees that the men helping him up are human, then passes out in their hands.

"Young Master," Sebastian says quietly. "Much as I would love to toss him into his hired brougham and send him on his way, I am obliged to inform you that I sense Carsten out there, full of rage. He's heading steadily in this direction."

"We must shelter Ambrose," Ciel decides. "I'm not delighted about it, but we can't throw him to Carsten in the state he's in."

"I thought you would say that. Which room, then?"

"North wing, guest room furthest in along the corridor."

"Very well, my lord."

Sebastian instructs Baldroy and Finnian to take Ambrose to the north wing, then pays the driver of the brougham what he would have got had he taken his passenger to his intended destination. Ambrose had apparently meant to head for the port and sail for Germany. Sebastian gives the driver what he is owed, and takes all of Ambrose's cases down from the carriage.

The butler locks the main door and casts over the manor his own brand of demonic power through a simple spell that will do for the time being to prevent Carsten from entering easily. He takes the cases to the guest room where Baldroy is removing Ambrose's coat, and Finny his shoes. Ambrose has regained consciousness, but remains weak.

Ciel watches silently from the doorway as his servants put the man to bed, and Sebastian stores the cases neatly in the empty wardrobe.

"My... papers..." Ambrose mumbles.

"If your papers are in your cases, then everything is in the wardrobe," Sebastian tells him.

"The child must know..."

"If you can stabilise your condition, we will give you whatever reasonable assistance you require to do it, then you can talk of other things later," the earl assures him. "I do not think that calling for a physician would help you?"

"No physicians. Not yet. Maybe two or three weeks later, when I look old enough to match the age at which I should have died," the man murmurs.

"Ehhh?" goes Mey-Rin, puzzled by the odd comment.

"You may leave us now," Ciel tells the three servants. "Sebastian will tell you more about Mister Ambrose later."

"Of course he won't tell them about himself, will he, the beast?" the guest remarks, eyeing Sebastian, when the others have left the room.

"Carsten is hunting you down as we speak," Ciel states. "I won't feed you to him in the state you're in – it would be like throwing a rabbit to a tiger. But whilst you are under my roof, and under my protection, I expect you to conduct yourself as a guest ought to. Any more insulting words about the members of my household, and the wolf out there will get his meal. Now, what can I do for you so that you do not expire in this room today?"

"Just let me rest. My magic will gradually release another store of the life forces I have in reserve. When all the stores are used up, I will die, as perhaps I should have long ago. I do not know if God will accept my soul, for I have had too much time to sin. But at least the judgement will be in His hands, not burnt up in some fee I must pay to a noxious creature for its pathetic services."

"If that remains your concern, you should know that Sebastian no longer claims my soul," Ciel reveals at last.

"Ah, then you have devised your own way of taming him, after all?" Ambrose asks, pleased.

"For so old and knowledgeable a mortal, you really can be most obtuse," Sebastian states. "Your spell damaged our contract beyond repair."

"Then why– how–?" the man gasps.

"I saved my young master from the shadow of the spell because I wanted to. I remain by his side because I want to, and because he wishes it. Ponder that while you rest in his home, and while I go out there to keep at bay the one who wants to shred you with his bare fangs and claws."

"Rest, Mister Ambrose," Ciel says, before he and Sebastian leave the room and close the door after them.

"How close is Carsten?" Ciel asks the butler once they are in the corridor.

"Close."

"Can you see him off?"

"I shall do my best. Do not step out of doors until I am done with him. You, the servants and Ambrose will be shielded if you remain within these walls."

"If it comes down to choosing between your safety and Ambrose's life, I will order Baldroy to throw Ambrose out of the window," Ciel tells him firmly.

"Let us hope it does not come to that, my lord. What sort of reputation for hospitality would the Phantomhive manor acquire if it is ever discovered that we throw guests out of our windows?"

...

Sebastian glides down from the tops of the trees in the forest bordering the Phantomhive mansion, to block the path of the devil advancing towards the great house.

"You'll go no further," the butler announces to the other, who comes to an abrupt halt.

Carsten looks different from when they last met. His dark-gold hair falls around his head instead of being combed neatly back, his brown eyes flash with glimmers of demon fire, and his garments are casually worn, white shirt half-undone, no tie, and a long black coat that streams out behind him in the wind. He wears high boots now, not the tame, laced shoes his former master put him in.

"You know what he did to me," the demon snarls. "I am owed vengeance and blood – you would do the same if he had lured you into a trap by purporting to seek a contract, only to cast his old magic at you and keep you on a vile set of leashes and strings, like a puppet, for five decades!"

"I know," Sebastian agrees. "But it goes against my young master's principles to serve him up to you while he is sick and weak. So I must oppose you for now."

"I demand vengeance!" Carsten hisses, leaping in the direction of the manor only to be met in mid-air by the butler, who beats him back with a slash of an ungloved hand, black fingernails transformed into talons. Carsten himself sheds his dark leather gloves and extends his claws, then launches himself at his fellow-devil. "I still have nothing against you, but I will rip through you to get to that bastard if I must."

"You think too much of yourself if you believe you can tear through me," Sebastian smiles.

"You think too little of me if you believe that I can't," the other growls.

A vicious thrust of a booted foot nearly catches Sebastian in the face, but the butler executes a neat back flip which turns full-circle and drives hard into the ankle of Carsten's supporting leg. Carsten falls forward onto his hands, then springs aside off his palms as Sebastian stabs his elbow downward, nearly making contact with his opponent's back. Both males are on the ground for a second. With equal swiftness, they leap off the earth that soils their garments and re-engage ferociously, forearms clashing with wrists, feet blocking dagger-sharp fingers, knees connecting with knuckles. Carsten aims a blow at Sebastian's abdomen, but a balletic spring into the air leaves the former punching the air while the other kicks him in the face.

Carsten staggers backwards, blood spurting up into his mouth. He swallows, for it will return to his body anyway, and spits out these words at Sebastian: "Why do you fight so intently for that slip of a child who is no longer your master? You owe him no answers, no loyalty. You are bound by no covenant. Ambrose means nothing to you, so let me pass, let me at him, and you can make it up to the boy later."

"Unacceptable. The boy will never let me forget it if I allow you through, and you are not the one who has to live with him."

"That brat really has you by the bollocks, hasn't he?" Carsten sneers. "What is it he gives you that you refuse to look for elsewhere? Sweet blood, eager little mouths and snug arseholes are aplenty in this world. What is so remarkable about that skinny sack of flesh and bones you worked so damnably hard to save from that damaged spell?"

"Nothing that you would understand," Sebastian answers grimly, before his left foot connects with the side of Carsten's head, sending him spinning into the trees. He springs over to the flailing demon, snaps his bleeding head up by his hair, and warns him: "Insult my young master, or attempt to reach the house one more time, and I will do you so much damage that you'll be healing till the day hell starts spewing snowflakes."

"I've earned the right to skin Ambrose alive," Carsten snarls. "You know I have."

"Not while the child decides otherwise. Why don't you wait and watch? If Ambrose's soul ends up beyond your reach, maybe you were never meant to torment him; if his consciousness is rejected by God and ends up in our realm, you'll have a long time to torture that soul as you please."

"I don't trust that bastard out of my sight. He'll do something like live for another three hundred years!" he snaps, trying to loosen Sebastian's grip.

The butler slams the other demon's face into the ground, and again yanks his head up by the hair. "No more nonsense. You are most disrespectfully infringing upon a fellow-devil's territory without his permission. Did no one school you in etiquette?"

Carsten struggles, but to no effect.

"You may have been locked up too long, and had too many Bible passages read to you to remember, but we devils do not intrude on one another's territories unless we are seeking war, or perhaps a mate," Sebastian reminds him with a touch of mockery. "You're not here to court me now, are you?"

"Do not flatter yourself. The configurations of your physique and personality hold no appeal for me," Carsten scowls.

Sebastian laughs, leans in one more time to bare his fangs at him in warning and remind him: "No closer to the manor for you." Then he releases him and jumps a good distance away.

"Ask him if he'll see me," the other demon says unexpectedly.

"Ask who?"

"The bastard."

"Missing his tender discipline already?"

"Is that the constant theme of your fantasies? Masters rutting with their servants?"

"Is that such a bad thing?" Sebastian smiles.

"Just ask him."

"I'll do that. But he barely tolerates my presence as it is. He'll not want two of us near him – and I will not let you near my young master again."

"I have no interest in stealing your child. Ask him for me."

Sebastian considers the request, nods, springs out of the forest, and returns alone to the manor.

...

"Is it a trap?" Ciel wonders, when Sebastian informs him about Carsten's wish to see Ambrose. "Is this a cunning plan of Ambrose's to stay in my home in an apparent state of weakness, then bring in Carsten, who may still be under his control but instructed to act as if he is not? Together, they can do as much harm as they did to us before."

"That would be a devious plan indeed," his butler replies. "However, I am reasonably certain that devil is fully unchained now. I am also very certain that Ambrose has lost much of his power, and is mere weeks away from death."

"If you are quite sure, I have no objections to the meeting, provided they do not tear my house apart. But we will have to ask Ambrose if he is ready to meet his former slave. He must know that Carsten badly wants to torture and kill him."

In the north wing, they put the question to Ambrose, who has recovered enough to sit up.

"I'm dying anyway," the man laughs in response when informed of the request.

"Think about it. Let us know when you decide," Ciel tells him, before he is called away by Tanaka, who informs him that Lady Elizabeth has telephoned the manor and wishes to speak with him.

Alone with Sebastian, Ambrose asks: "Is it true, what you said earlier? That you will no longer claim the child's soul, and are remaining with him to assist him, purely because you wish to?"

"I do not lie, Mister Ambrose. You and your Bible may condemn the Father of Lies and brand all devils the same. But beyond the essential similarities of cruelty and violence, we are as individual as humans in our characters and motivations, and our readiness to learn. I will protect the child now, and in the future, and I will be his evil, so that he does not have to be devoured by it. I can be the shadow to the shadow of the crown. And then I will free him from their command."

"I do not approve of your closeness to him. But if truly you will be his power of evil without taking his soul, there may be hope for him," Ambrose murmurs thoughtfully. "I warn you, though: the royal family won't release him easily. They need their shadow to live in brightness."

"I have little hope of Victoria freeing him, but if Edward does not do as his conscience advises, then I shall become his deeply troubling and painfully insistent conscience till the day he dies."

"You are a peculiar devil."

"You are not the first to say so."

"Hmm."

"About Carsten: are you at all inclined to see him?"

"I shall consider the ramifications of acceding to his request. I will give Lord Phantomhive my answer tomorrow."

"Well then, rest soundly, Mister Ambrose."
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Devilish Impulses