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The Devil's Smile	By : Kinnikuman Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 1969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Neither author owns or holds rights to the works of "Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji)". We do not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Four

by the Hatter

Reapers Sutcliff and Knox had returned from the deserter’s without any information of relevance. However Grell was incredibly overexcited and promptly knocked over a lot of files and records that Will had on his desk whilst passionately retelling the events of their mission. At one point when Will had deigned to carry on with his work whilst listening to the seemingly never ending tale, Grell threw himself onto the table on his back, long red hair all over his documents, slim legs waving in the air.

Ronald Knox was stood there, idiotically, with an expression between embarrassment and amusement.

“Grell Sutcliff, kindly remove your person from my desk.”

Bright green eyes flickered back towards him, “Oh, Will, I am almost at the best part. You’re so naughty, spoiling the story you did ask for…”

“I asked why you were back at my desk when you have no conclusive results. From the information you gained, we can establish the deserter known as the Undertaker has no new information regarding the case,” he interrupted, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “You two will continue to investigate accordingly. Furthermore next time you visit a lead, write a formal report – do not bother others who are trying to work.”

“I did say that, Sutcliff-sempai,” Ronald mumbled, shifting his feet.

Grell folded his arms, “Well, Will, you did tell us to ask the Undertaker, I thought it best to inform you personally. I thought you’d be glad to see me, who knows how long it would be before we are reunited again!”

There was no point in reminding him that they worked at the same office, and therefore Will would have the pleasure of Grell’s company nearly every day unless he added to the amount of field work the red-head had. But of course, that would be against item twenty-five of the Grim Reapers manifesto and abuse his position as manager.

Grell’s behaviour had always been erratic, he was something of an in joke amongst the other reapers, not that Will had time for tedious gossip, anything that detracted from his schedule was discouraged. The new recruits were a mix of being creeped out by the red-head or in awe of how he so casually flaunted disobeying the rules. Grell had always liked to put on the show, he was in love with the idea of being on the stage and delighted in turning heads as he strolled through the office in his red coat, swinging that abominable chainsaw about, high heels tapping away on the floor, hips swinging. His conduct was anything but what was recommended of a reaper. In fact, the higher ups had joked that in the company introduction brochure, they should just put a picture of Grell Sutcliff to show how a reaper should not dress. But of course, as Will had reminded them; that would be against the union manifesto, section 32 a, shinigami rights. Sometimes he didn’t realise when people were joking.

Will remembered when they had graduated and became fully fledged reapers. Mister Jackson, who had been their main professor, had said that he expected great things from Grell, who had been his star pupil. Mister Jackson was Grell’s mentor, he was considered a bit of a maverick among the teaching staff. He was unauthordox but got great results in his pupils. It was rumoured that under his smart black suit he wore stocking and lingerie and corsets. Perhaps that was why he and Grell Sutcliff got along as well as they had. Although many of the other teachers said they expected Grell Sutcliff to become a famous reaper. Will remembered his skills back then, he had bested him a few times, but there was no denying Grell was well suited to combat. Grell had been, he was ashamed to admit it, great, exceptional infact. But that greatness was squandered, Grell would never make something of himself in this organisation other than an irritating farce. No matter what Will said, Grell did, as he always had, whatever mad thing he wanted.

‘You don’t want to cause problems for yourself in this organisation, Sutcliff,’ Will had told him as they carried boxes of files to the manager’s desk one day during their early qualified years. Grell had finished his work early, but insisted on only carrying one box at a time, meaning he was still making deliveries when Will finished his as well. Only one box at a time because he was delicate. Personally, Will didn’t know how a man, who could go head to head with seasoned reapers in combat, could ever describe themselves as delicate, but there was no use arguing with him. ‘You are very skilled-!’

‘Oh Will, you’re falling in love with my natural talent, aren’t you?’ he wiggled his hips, flicking back his hair with one hand. Grell had been growing his hair, it now hung past his shoulders – on hot days he would wear it in an efficient ponytail. Will rather liked that look on him; his desk was behind Grell Sutcliff’s so it was just something he noticed. He didn’t particularly like sitting there, Grell Sutcliff was revoltingly untidy. He left papers everywhere, sometimes he sat about painting his nails or humming loudly or lying back in his seat to stare at Will while he worked.

‘I said no such thing,’ he sighed, struggling with the four boxes in his arms. ‘I am just saying with your abilities and with the excellent recommendations Mister Jackson gave you, you could be considered for a management position in just a few short years.’

Grell wrinkled his nose, ‘Management? Where you just say at the office most of the time? How on earth would I meet handsome men that way?’

‘Surely you are joking?’

But he wasn’t.

Will, whose grades had been exceptionally average and his work neat and factual, had been granted the management position while Grell stayed at his untidy desk, humming louder than ever with a never ending files piling up around him.

“We have new readings from higher up,” he interrupted Grell mid rant, “The next person to die of mysterious injuries in the London area is Samuel Carter, age fourteen, he is a male prostitute living in the East end. His time of death is Thursday night at twenty-two hundred hours. He is on your list, Grell Sutcliff. This time I want you to follow him thoroughly and try and observe what you see.”

“Right on, Mister Spears,” Ronald said enthusiastically, “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Oh I do hate going to the East end,” Grell moaned, inspecting his long fingernails, “Everybody looks so dirty and sad.” He glanced up and winced under Will’s glare, “Fine, fine, we’ll try and catch the demon in the act.”

“As expected,” he nodded, “Alright, Ronald Knox, go and get on with your reports. You are getting behind. You do not want to get a reputation for that.”

“Oh Will, you’ve been saying that to me for years and there have been no repercussions.”

Will and Ronald shared a look that said this was not the time to tell Grell that Mr Brogans and Mr Sigmore, who were in charge of categorising the reaper’s reports, had a betting scheme on how many days late Grell’s work would be. They also had a few interesting nicknames for him, though they were much too impolite and crass to repeat.

Ronald dashed off as soon as Will dismissed them, whispering excitedly to Grell about catching Maria from personal on her break. For a second he was peacefully alone in his office, he could only hear the sound of his pen’s gentle scraping along the page as he wrote. All he needed was another cup of tea and it truly would be a perfect moment. He would go and collect one from the dispenser in approximately forty-two minutes so he would be at a better place in his work to take a break.

“Will-ii-am,” purred a voice from the doorway. He looked up to see Grell Sutcliff peering around the door frame at him, one finger running up and down along the wood. He batted his lashes behind thick red frames, “Do you have a minute?”

“No.”

Not that that stopped him, he kicked the door closed, Grell came and sat unceremoniously on his desk, he lifted the small clock Will had positioned on the top right corner, moving it along to make room for his make shift seat. He crossed one long leg over the other, playing with a lock of his hair, “Hi.”

“What do you want, Grell Sutcliff?”

“Always so cold and formal, that’s my William,” he smirked, flashing a set of sharp white teeth, his bright red coat trailing from his shoulders, gathering around his elbows and flowing across the desk.

Grell had become taken with wearing that coat all the time. One morning he was being particularly irritating Will took it upon him to tell his subordinate that brightly coloured clothes were prohibited. But Grell had just shaken his head as though trying to explain a difficult concept to a child, ‘I fear I cannot. This jacket is a token from an ex-girlfriend – an epic and beautiful chapter in my quest for true love.’

‘Oh yes,’ Will had answered smoothly, ‘Serial killers make for such romance.’ He had been annoyed because the higher ups had scolded him for not keeping a closer eye on Grell Sutcliff’s actions.

‘Isn’t it against the rules for a superior to bully his subordinates?’ Grell said, scowling, ‘I’ll wear my beautiful red love tokens if I want too.’

It seemed strange to think of Grell having been with a woman. His flamboyant nature and lack of interest in the female staff members had always led Will to believe he was exclusively homosexual… or rather, something else entirely. Grell Sutcliff liked to conduct himself as though he were a Georgian princess. He was obsessed with romance and meeting his Prince Charming, of so to speak. The woman who wore that red coat once must have been, very unique.

“The kids are all going to a party tonight, dancing the night away, it takes you back, doesn’t it?” Grell smiled softly, “It doesn’t seem like five minutes that we were the young ones. It must be fun to be so carefree again. After office parties, how senior I felt when Eric and Alan graduated and came to our department. It feels like only yesterday,” he sighed, closing his eyes dramatically, “We had some fun, didn’t we, Will?”

By fun he meant that Will had done his work and Grell had not done his work, Grell had gone to karaoke with the others and Will had done overtime, filed everything into its proper order. And, if Grell’s leaning tower of paperwork became too huge or collapsed on itself, sometimes he would re-organise that before going home. There was always something for him to be getting along with that didn’t involve spending frivolous of time avoiding work or damaging his chance for promotion with a hangover or sloppy dress code. They had persuaded him to come out drinking with him once, where Will had, accidentally drained a large glass of sake after mistaking it for water after Grell and Eric made him try tequila. As a result he ended up embarrassingly drunk, they had climbed to the top of the bar roof where Grell sang Christmas songs. It was at best, a very humiliating evening – one which he never repeated and would never repeat. The one thing about that night, which he did repeat however, was waking up in the bedroom of one Grell Sutcliff.

The bedroom of Grell Sutcliff was as expected, as untidy as the desk of Grell Sutcliff; littered with various items of clothing over every surface, a mountain of shoes, and fabric over his bookshelves, draped around his dressing table. There was make up everywhere, bottles of nail varnish in places bottles of nail varnish shouldn’t be. Will could recall waking up in there the first time and thinking he had been abducted by something. There was a pile of clothes dotted along the floor, leading to the bed. He recognized his own regular black briefs on the bed post, the pain of his head had been horrible, and as he looked at his underwear hanging there, a deep and dirty feeling of shame engulfed him like a pit.

Where in the world was he?

And then he spotted a lacy red thong on the ground close to the bed.

He felt someone beside him, someone slim and naked and touching him. There was an arm around his middle, holding him close. He didn’t dare move. This room didn’t smell like it was regularly cleaned. His back felt sore, like tiny scratches were dotted along his skin – coincidentally there had been. Will spent approximately eight minutes trying to calm down and then plot out how to best escape the bed and the red room without waking his mystery bed mate.

Will had tried to detach the arm, he lifted it a little, but the sleeper stirred, snuggling in closer. He felt a pointy chin nuzzle against the back of his neck and he shivered. Why were they so close? Who slept this close and compact when they had a double bed? The double bed was possibly invented so married couples could avoid each other slightly.

He took a deep breath and peeled the arm back from him, wriggling his body to the side and slipping out of the bed. He rolled out, losing his balance and landing uncomfortably on the floor. Careful not to make any noise, he reached up and wiped his briefs from the bed post, sliding them back on. It felt revolting, wearing yesterday’s underwear. He’d have to shower for hours to get the feel of shame off his skin. He was rustling around on the floor, trying to piece together his clothes and more importantly find his glasses… his eyesight was so awful without them. He was trying to get the creases out of his shirt before putting it on when he heard the springs in the bed shift slightly.

‘Will, what are you doing on the floor, silly?’ Grell Sutcliff yawned, rubbing his eyes, ‘Come back to bed, it’s cold here alone.’ It was, he believed, one of those moments when you could just sink into the floor and cease to exist.

It had, since then, circulated, an office rumour turning into more of an urban legend. Despite Grell’s flirting and obnoxious personality, Will’s ice cold demeanour seemed to lull most of the staff into believing it to be untrue. Will had never denied it. It was foolish to deny the truth. A reaper dealt in facts and proper order, denying the truth was counter-intuitive.

“I am busy,” he said dismissively.

“Oh, don’t be boring, Will,” he shuffled forwards, swinging his legs around and dangling them off the desk, close to him now, close enough to climb into his lap if he wanted. “We had fun once, didn’t we? We could again.”

“Grell, I believe we talked about this,” he sighed.

“Why talk about the past? Love blossoms best in the present…” a slim long fingered hand ran along his arm.

Will brushed it off with a flick of his wrist, “Mister Sutcliff, I will not remind you of the sexual harassment act, section thirty of the Grim Reapers manifesto…”

Grell let out a groan of frustration, “You have absolutely no sensitivity for a maiden’s heart! You are dreadful, William, dreadful I say!”

“I see no maiden here, Mister Sutcliff.”

“There you go again!” he pointed at him furiously, jabbing a pointy red nail his way, inches from William’s nose. “There you go again! Saying terrible things-! Sometimes, William, sometimes I truly despair! You are trying to freeze my very heart – turn me into one of your report writing monkeys with no passion or true expression! That is what you want, William!” he huffed, crossing his legs, his arms folded, “What is a girl to do?! First that lecherous creep – who scarred my beautiful face, dousing me with tea like lighter fuel then attempting to wipe it off so intimately – and now you – with your cruel words and frigid demeanour! I won’t stand for it anymore! How can a heart stand much more agony! To give herself to a vile beast or be drained dry of her innocent pure love by a heartless commanding pen wielding-! William! Look at me when I’m talking – I’m in the middle of a very dramatic monologue!”

He sighed heavily, “I did tell you I was busy, Mister Sutcliff.”

“Mister Sutcliff?!” he stood up from the desk, his hands on his hips, “You call me Mister Sutcliff, after all those beautiful nights you made me your woman! Are you telling me you felt nothing of the passion between us? That my sweet heart did not sing to yours-! Oh, my darling William, tell me it is not so!”

“The Undertaker made advances upon you?”

That stopped him mid rant; he blinked, gazing at him for a second, before nodding his head, “Oh… yes,” he flushed a little, “Yes, well I just told you.”

“Well, he provided us with no new information regarding this case. And he has not acted out in a damaging way since the events a few months back. The higher ups agreed to leave him be for now, as there are more pressing matters. I see no reason why you should have to do any dealings with him again. In any case, Grell Sutcliff, I will insist upon you having no contact with him in future. Is that proposal to your liking?”

“What?” he looked stunned, “You are… forbidding me to see him?”

“No, I am being insightful as your manager to keep my subordinate out of a situation of which they are uncomfortable.”

“Oh, forbidding me from seeing another man-!” Grell interrupted dreamily, his hands on his face, twirling around, “You do care for me after all, William! I knew somewhere you had to have a heart!”

“That is not what I’m saying, Grell Sutcliff.”

“Somewhere in the frozen ice caps of your heart there lies a secret burning passion-! A jealousy rage that burns for me-!” he flopped against the wall, feigning a faint, a hand over his forehead, “Burning jealousy at the thought of me with another man, making the beast with two backs-! Oh my-! How tragic, like the love of Othello and Desdemona!” he threw himself onto the desk, making it jolt and hit Will’s toes rather sharply.

“Get off my desk. Get out of my office, I am working.”

“But you need not fear, my love!” he sat bolt upright, “I gave myself to you first, you are my first love, there could never be anyone-! Ah, William-! Hey-!” he squealed as William stood up and grabbed him by his hair. He dragged him backwards; there was a thump as his backside hit the floor, Grell grasped onto one of his legs as Will walked ahead, towing him along behind.

“Oh, you are so rough with me, Will-!”

He was promptly flung out into the corridor, rolling a couple of times and landing on his side. Grell Sutcliff grinned at him seductively, “Adieu, my darling!”

Will slammed the door shut, dusting himself off. He walked back to his desk, glancing at the clock Grell had moved, putting it back in its proper position. It had now been nearly forty-five minutes and he was no-where near ahead with his work to deserve a cup of tea. How irritating.

Still, Grell could think what he wanted, he usually did. It was for the best the redhead didn’t mix with that particular deserter. The Undertaker would fill his head with wild ideas; for there had been another reaper, of eccentric personality, a loud, wild laugh and incredible talent a long time ago. A reaper who stopped laughing one day, disillusioned by the finality of collecting souls from the list – a reaper who questioned the higher ups, who defied tradition and order in every way, a reaper who fell from grace, whose true name was almost forgotten, never to return to their way of life. A reaper like that certainly shouldn’t fill any other reapers’ with wild ideas for change. As irritating as he was, Will could not lose Grell to someone like that, he was important to this establishment after all.

It was bad enough Grell Sutcliff openly lusted after that disgusting demon Will had been unfortunate enough to share lodgings with during his time at Noah’s Circus. The last thing he needed was to associate himself with a deserter like that.

It was like Will had said to him all those years ago; you did not want to make a nuisance of yourself in this business.

*/*/*LineBreak*/*/*/

There were some things of which Claude was not entirely wrong about. The soul of her master, of Alois Trancy was constantly flickering, like a candle. Sometimes his eyes would go cold and cruel and he would act out violently, at others or himself. And yet there were times where the master would be as sweet and pure hearted as the boy Hannah had watched all those years ago. Claude delighted in causing that change in him, making the candle of the master’s soul flicker and rage and transform. He would build him up and knock him down over and over again, toying with his affections. The master longed for Claude’s love and Claude held it from him so cruelly.

One such as her master was born to be loved.

Yes, Claude delighted in his cruelty, whereas Hannah felt such sorrow for causing the biggest change of all in the master. She had once hoped that he would hear her true voice, he could hear Luca, who slept inside her, waiting for his big brother. But Alois heard none of it; he was tangled in the spider’s web. Her soul spoke to him constantly, she wanted to call out to him, to tell him, ‘No Master, you are going down the wrong path. You weren’t meant to go this way.’

She had to keep watch; she had to stop him from losing himself in the dark forest that is Claude Faustus. It should not be Claude who is at the master’s side, Claude whose every breath purred an air of betrayal and hate. No, Claude had no place here. That place he took with such mockery could never be his; it always belonged to someone else, to Luca Macken. It made Hannah feel sick to see Claude go down on one knee and say those words, ‘Yes Your Highness’. It was twisted, warping the innocence of those words into something dark and devastating, there to only break the master’s heart in the end.

Could he not see the one who truly loved him was her? She could give him the home he longed for. The master did not want any of this, not truly, he wanted a home forever lost; such a heated soul, bouncing back and forth. Hannah never should have left him alone that day. She wept after she devoured Luca’s soul, his sweet smile burnt her to the core; none had smiled in the face of their death. Yet he did, so happy that she had made his brother’s wish come true. His words pounded around her head, he had thanked her. Not one person, of the hundreds she had served and eaten, not one had thanked her.

She had been in agony and full of joy at the same time. She held a hand over her heart and watched from the shadows as Jim Macken found his brother’s lifeless body amongst the others. He wept and howled in a pain that Hannah, as a demon was unable to express. And then she sank back to the underworld and waited in silence, empty and unable to comprehend her own misery. She had grieved for Luca with Jim Macken, even though they were apart. She should have stayed with him. He fell so far and so hard on his own. He was lost without Luca. He was broken down further, driven to desperation, his sweet child’s eyes turning wild and cold. Hannah observed him sometimes, when she would feel Luca’s voice the strongest within her, she would peer up into the mortal world and see what became of Jim Macken. But even then she could not bring herself to go to him. She closed off; her long, long life seemed void. A demon’s joy and a demon’s suffering was so entwined. It was many years before she went back to him. One morning in spring she could not bear it any longer – Luca had died thanking her and she became drawn to the boys, drawn to how they longed to make each other happy, how one broke without the other. They belonged together, the Macken brothers. She wanted to reunite them, to keep them together at last. She had been a bored, apathetic demon, tired of eating human souls and tired of the human world altogether until she met Luca. He had changed everything and she could not leave his brother to fend for himself in such an unforgiving world.

Hannah and the triplets searched for him, and when she found him at last it was too late. He was ensnared in the spider’s web and she knew she would have to endure and fight and persevere in order to save him. So she remained, she endured the master’s rage, she let him injure her and beat her, because she knew that his heart was broken. It longed to be alongside its pair and he was searching for it in all the wrong places. His passing fancies, the gentleman he entertained at parties, his boyish crush on the young lord Phantomhive, his great passion for Claude. None of it would fulfil him; none of it would give him what he wanted in the end. Passed his painted faces, his seductive robes, his lace and ribbons, bright colours and violence, there was just a little boy who wanted to be held gently and adored.

There is none who know you better than me, Master, Hannah thought as she watched him strolling in the gardens. I would give you such love; I would give you everything you desire. If only you could see it.

“Hannah,” he called lazily, “Did you know an ugly little gate, which made the most horrid screeching sound used to stand just there?” he gestured with his hand to the path towards the woods which surrounded Trancy manor, “It looks better like this, I had this whole garden knocked down and changed – Claude did it for me! He is so thoughtful that way!” he clapped his hands together, “No stupid gates, just beautiful flowers!”

There was a small hedge maze set up with varieties of roses and other flowers planted amongst them in clear sections. There was a water fountain in the centre and the trees before the woods were identical and well kept. The master enjoyed coming out in the garden, he enjoyed the outdoors. He always had, even as a boy. Luca had always been in awe of how high his brother could jump, how he could stand up while he swung on the little wooden swing in the village, how fast he could run. He never liked to run as much now, though there were occasions Hannah would see him, sprinting through the woods, laughing or peacefully quiet. He seemed the boy he had been at those times. It was always such a fond sight.

“The garden is most beautiful, master.”

“Yes,” he frowned a little, watching her, “Hannah, go and get me some wine. I have a thirst…” he twirled around and flopped onto a soft grassy stretch.

“Of course, Master,” she said, nodding to Timber, who walked back towards the manor.

“Oh! And get Claude!” Alois sat up, waving his hand, “I want him to serve me my wine.” He flopped back down, wearing a satisfied smile, his eyes closed.

She had stood at the door whilst Claude served as his tutor the day before. The master disliked working hard, he was sweet and playful. And Claude took great pleasure in being cruel and mocking him when he struggled.

“Come now, my lord, even the youngest noble child could do this. You will be caught out,” he taunted as Alois stumbled over his basic German.

“You shut up!” Alois had snapped at him, “Now you’re just being horrible! I told you to tutor me, not be a bloody bastard!”

He chuckled lazily, “Do you dislike my teaching methods, Your Highness?” he raised the little leather cane that Alois had given him that morning, “As your tutor, I believe I can issue discipline if you misbehave or fail your academic targets.”

It was cruel. The master craved his affection, even the thought of being struck by him seemed to entice his interest. He had stood up from his chair, “Very well, Claude,” he turned around, going to bend forwards over the desk.

Hannah remembered the disgust in Claude’s eyes. His lip curled for a second before it was replaced by the same blank expression.

“Oh, no, master, face me. Hold out your hands.”

The master had looked nervous, he seemed to realise Claude was not playing with him. He faced him, holding out his hands, large blue eyes staring up at his butler.

“You should take off your gloves, that way this lesson will be learnt into your skin,” he reached forward to take them off for him, unlacing the little bows at the wrists, one hand clasping his wrist gently as his other slipped the gloves off, Alois’s cheeks flushed at the contact. He held out his hands almost eagerly once both gloves were removed.

Claude tutted, shaking his head, “No, no, palms up, master, ah, there we are. Count for me, won’t you, in German, I think.”

“But I can’t-!”

“I am sure you can stretch into the depths of your brain to count to ten. You should be able to do at least that by now, or are you truly hopeless?”

“Don’t make fun of me, Claude-!”

“If you make a mistake, we start again.”

The first swipe came down hard, the master let out a cry of pain. Hannah felt her hands twitch, she wanted to protect him. She wanted to attack Claude Faustus. He knew well what he was doing. He wanted to extinguish the soul of which she loved so much.

“I don’t hear counting, my lord,” Claude whispered silkily, smacking him again, “Try this time.”

“Ein,” the master said in a tiny voice.

“Very good,” he said brightly, before lashing down again.

“Zwei.”

Hannah had to look away; she could see Claude smirking at her. He wanted her to see this; he knew it would torture her as it would torture the master. There was never a viler demon… of all the demons Jim Macken could have summoned in his desperation, why did it have to be the spider – the weak and heartless spider who would never truly comprehend the thing in which he longed for.

“Drei.”

“Keep your hands up, master, or we start again. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Vier.”

The cane came down harder this time, the master let out a loud cry, and Hannah glanced up and saw tears on his cheeks.

“Come now, you have endured worse. Surely you can manage this; you will remember to keep on top of your studies after this, master. I promise you.”

“Thank you, Claude,” he whispered, gasping out as the lash caught him across the fingers, “Fünf.”

“Half way there, now I’m going to strike the last five more quickly. You are going so well, just make sure you keep up with me, master, or we can start again.”

He did not give the master time to answer before he started, Alois cried out in pain, Hannah saw him struggling to recall the numbers, “Sechs, seiben – Aah-!” he closed his eyes tightly, “acht-! Zehn-!” he looked up at Claude, his hands were shaking, the skin had torn. The master had such soft skin; he took good care of it. He believed having clean white skin would make him feel purer. “There! I did it-!”

“No, master,” Claude chuckled, “You missed one. Neun, nine, can you not count?” he raised the lash again, “From the beginning now.”

‘No-! Wait-!’

She saw the master cower and something in her reacted before she could stop herself. Hannah reached up and grabbed hold of the lash, squeezing it in her hand, holding it high above the master’s head. It startled Claude, his eyes widened and his glasses nearly fell off. The master had frozen too, still holding out his hands, though he had taken a step back as though he meant to duck away.

‘Hannah,’ he said her name gently, lowering his sore, bloodied hands. Then he seemed to notice it was Claude she had moved against, and his eyes went cold and dark. ‘You idiot – you whore! What do you think you’re doing?!’ he reached up and snatched the lash from her; she closed her eye as it caught her across the face. He wrenched it back and hit her again, always going for her face, his foot struck her on the leg, causing her to fall to the floor, ‘Who asked you to interfere with my lessons? You’re just a maid-! Just a servant-! GET OUT-! GET OUT AND LEAVE US ALONE!’ he stamped hard on her belly, stamping again and again. The heel of his boot cut at her flesh, she lay there limply, letting him. He was upset; he was upset about Claude hitting him.

Her poor, wounded master; his heart was in such turmoil.

She limped out of the room, Thompson and Canterbury holding an arm each, she glanced back and saw Alois wrap his arm around Claude’s shoulders, ‘Do you like the smell of my blood?’ he whispered into his ear, ‘Does it entice you?’ his tongue slid out and licked along the cut, ‘But you will have to wait…’

‘And on that day I will make one hell of a feast out of you,’ Claude said, withdrawing the arm and turning his head to the door. His eyes locked with Hannah’s, she saw him smirk and the study door slammed shut.

“I have brought the 1658 bottle the Viscount gifted you with at the last gala, Your Highness,” Claude was beside her so suddenly.

Alois sat up, beaming at him, “Yes! That will do nicely! Cousin has great taste in wines!”

The Viscount thought he was introducing his innocent young cousin to the adult world of society, rich young men drank wine or brandy. The master had drunk hard liquor before, he and Luca had stolen a bottle from their neighbour. Luca had not cared much for the burning taste. He said it made people cross and sick. And the previous Count Trancy would give his boys the cheapest strong liquor before he ravaged them. Some would refuse to drink or weep; Jim Macken had raised the glass high and drained it down. He was bold, even in terror. He had been bold before Claude convinced him he would count on him.

Claude poured the glass so easily, handing it to his master, “Indeed Your Highness. It is a particularly sweet flavour, made from the best white grapes in Bordeaux. Well suited for one such as you, master.”

Alois took a sip, smiling up at his butler, “It is so lovely.”

“I am glad to hear you like it, my lord. You are looking very fine today, every bit the head of the Trancy family.”

He said it warmly, a hint of a smile at his lips. Yet he said it to be cruel. He was toying with him again, building him back up after the spiteful little show he put on yesterday. Hannah had seen the cycle of it countless times before.

And Alois would ignore the fact he had seen this over and over again, he sat up, a hand subconsciously smoothing his soft blonde hair, his cheeks flushed at the compliment. “Will you sit with me?” he asked, “I hate it when you are away from me…”

“But of course, master,” he bowed respectfully, walking past Hannah, stood at the master’s side as he sat back on the grass. She remembered another scene like this; Jim Macken sat amongst the protruding roots of the large elm tree at the top of the little hill behind the run down house he had lived in with his brother. Luca Macken at his side, giggling breathlessly at the latest rude story or jape that his brother had told.

Claude did not belong here. There was no place for him.

“Sit here?” Alois said gently, patting the spot behind him, “Please, Claude? Let’s enjoy the garden together.”

“It is not a butler’s place to do such a thing, Your Highness,” he said softly, briefly he glanced up at Hannah, a smirk slid across his features, “But I could have one of the summer chairs brought out for you. I could stand at your side.”

Alois, who had looked so crest-fallen for a second, clapped his hands in delight, “Oh yes! That would be wonderful! Hannah, go and fetch me a chair – one of the nice ones!”

“Of course, Master,” she hated turning her back on Claude. She feared that one day he would send her away and she would return to his lifeless body. It was like turning her back on an innocent lamb, too small to know fear, in a wolf’s den every time. But it was her master’s order and Hannah would obey without question. She’d have gouged her own eye had he asked it of her. She would serve and protect him forever.

She retrieved one of the summer chairs from the cellar and carried it back through the kitchens. Hannah found herself glancing at the small cellar window; it had been replaced since the break in. A couple of former… dolls, as the previous Trancy head had called them, broke into the manor one night. They intended to threaten the master, to try and blackmail him with the knowledge that he was not Lord Trancy’s biological son. Claude had slipped up; of course, it had been Hannah and the triplets who found them. Claude came later, carried the one Hannah left alive before the master. It terrified Alois, of course, and then he had flown into a violent rage.

‘I was kind enough to save you!’ he snarled, striking the older boy across the face with the sharp walking cane Claude had fashioned for him after he saw Ciel Phantomhive with one, ‘And this is how you repay me – a knife in my back? I could have burnt you all! I could have let you all die! Who would have missed any of you? Who’d have missed a whore’s son like you?’

There had been no more break in’s, and rumours in the nearby town spread that the new Lord Trancy was as well protected as the Queen.

As she approached the master, Claude bent forwards, taking Alois by his hand and helping him to his feet. One white gloved hand on the small of the master’s back. A demon like Claude had no right to touch him, none… It made her blood burn to see it.

She placed the chair down and Alois sat upon it, finishing off his wine. On a different day Claude would have told him that drinking wine too quickly was a sign of a peasant and anyone of class would know him for one instantly if he behaved so. Today he merely half smiled and took his place at their master’s side.

“Must you go again tonight?” Alois said pouting, “I have been sleeping so restlessly.”

He rarely dreamt. Hannah remembered this of him since he was a boy. But sometimes he had bad dreams, he would wake up crying or terrified. However the bad dreams had been coming more frequently. The dark shadows about his feet seemed to be drawing in, dead hands reaching up to clasp at him. Alois could feel it yet he saw none of the danger.

“If it pleases you, Master, I will refrain from carrying out my orders until tomorrow night,” he said gently, “I will remain at your side, as I always have.”

“Yes, I knew you would!” he beamed at him, leaning back in his seat and enjoying the breeze, “You are so good to me, Claude. Promise you will always do such things for me, won’t you?”

“Yes Your Highness.”

It was a good day, and sometimes on the good days it was all a bit too much for him. Alois’s tears brimmed in his eyes and he dabbed them away with his sleeve. Claude did not, today, remind him that a gentleman should use his handkerchief; that the whole point of the handkerchief in his breast pocket was to avoid using your hands directly. Today he came infront of the chair, knelt at the master’s feet.

“What is it, master? Whatever is the matter?”

“I’m just so happy, Claude,” he covered his face with his hands, “How is it that you know me so well? I don’t think I could do any of this without you. It’s almost like… you’re my…” he trailed off, shaking his head, afraid of Claude’s coldness coming back, afraid of being hurt.

“There, there, master,” he took one of the hands and kissed the palm so gently, over the spot he had struck with the cane just the day before. Alois flinched a little at the memory, before softening, leaning into the touch. “There is no need to be upset. I am here, I am your loyal servant.”

His expression was so peaceful, his eyes full of love, “Oh, Claude,” he whispered.

Claude glanced up at Hannah again, his eyes taunting her. ‘He is mine’, that is what those eyes said, ‘don’t you see, demon sheath, this boy’s soul of which you are so obsessed is all mine; for me to pick to pieces or keep for all eternity. It is mine and you will never have it’.

Alois seemed to notice him looking at her, for he said, “Hannah, leave us,” waving a hand in her direction, dismissing her.

“Go on, Hannah, you heard the master,” Claude said in that soft, silky voice, “You can rest easy. I am taking good care of the master.”
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The Devil's Smile