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The Devil's Smile	By : Kinnikuman Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 1969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
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Chapter Nine

By Robin

“Agni?”

Soma threw himself onto the bed and waited for a response.

No one was answering him. He pouted. He wasn’t used to being made to wait, especially when he wanted something so greatly, and it was so frustrating! He could practically hear the seconds ticking away! His only consolation was that the bed was soft as silk underneath him, so comfortable that it was like melting into a cloud, and he could easily lose himself in such a pleasurable feeling! Still, where was Agni?

He rolled onto his back and pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing as he gazed up at the canopy above the bed . . . these English houses were so small, he felt suffocated when he was already ready to explode! The cream-coloured shalwar kameez on his legs felt airy and light, enough for him to stretch out in comfort, but the lungi skirt gave him enough warmth that he just couldn’t get in this dreadful European weather . . . it was always so cold, but at least his lungi was so colourful and bright! He could never dress in black and navy tones like the British, but at least he could have maroons and browns aplenty! It almost made waiting worth it.

“Agni! Agni, hurry up! Agni!”

He pulled himself up and looked around his room with arms crossed across his bare chest. He couldn’t find his favourite sherwani and he wasn’t going to finish dressing until he found it, and – besides – he still had good news to share with Agni! He rubbed his forehead and paused as he felt the bindi that should have completed his outfit, but until Agni found his coat it might as well have not been there at all! Even if he could compose an outfit on his own . . . he wanted Agni’s opinion.

“Prince Soma?”

Soma jumped up on the bed and landed on his knees. He clapped his hands together in joy and looked towards the door where the bedroom door opened to reveal Agni, the slightly older man smiling patiently – but with a somewhat fatigued expression – as he caught sight of his master. In his hands he carried a tray of freshly made chai tea and a selection of Soma’s favourite biscuits.

“I am sorry for the delay, my prince,” Agni said with a bow of his head. “I hope you can forgive me for my tardiness, but –”

“Agni! Agni! I got an invitation to a party for our little Ciel! Look, look!”

“Really?”

The older man paused when he saw his master only half-dressed, but he quickly regained his composure and placed the tray down on a bedside table. It was difficult for his prince to sometimes remember that England was a very different place to India . . . even were one to feel very hot, even if one were to lose a beloved item of clothing, one had to remember a gentleman never revealed his body. It was a blessing from the gods that Ciel was absent today, for the young boy would have been quite embarrassed. Soma just failed to understand the emotions of others, no matter how hard he tried to do so . . . it was simply beyond his comprehension why Ciel might object, and as such he carried on his behaviour regardless. Agni would have to try and explain again later in the week.

Agni went to take a hold of the letter when Soma jumped up and threw himself back against the bed, reclining spectacularly as he arched his back and stretched, letting his toned abdomen take focal point. He didn’t even seem to think how this might have looked to an outside, before burying himself into the pile of pillows and waving the letter at Agni with a childish flair. He was still smiling so brightly that Agni felt blessed to be in his presence, for only a true prince could look so vibrant.

“You have to come closer!” Soma commanded. “You may be my khan-sama, but you are also my friend! In your past-life we would have been nearly equals, but in this life we are equals, for you are my friend and my friends are always equal to me! I tell you that you must be my equal! Therefore you will come closer!”

“My prince,” Agni said with a heartfelt sigh as he gave a sad smile, “I will always worship you and adore you, for you are the very god who rescued me, you pulled me from the shame of my past life and gave me a rebirth. You moulded me into someone who is worthy of serving such a prince. I will always be by your side. You needn’t command me to come closer by prince, for you are never out of reach of me.”

“You are out of reach now, are you not?”

Agni watched as his prince held the letter out in his left hand as far away from his body as he could, meaning – even if Agni leaned on the bed itself – he would have to crawl over the bed and reach out far to get the letter. His prince was being stubborn it seemed. He was pouting again, evidently not content with emotional closeness and longing for a physical closeness. Since Meena had left he seemed to pine for hugs and caresses, but it was just unfortunate it was improper to seek such a thing from a butler.

He silver-haired man smiled and gave into his prince’s demands, rather like a parent with a needy child that so desperately sought affection and approval. His prince was exerting control, but not merely for control’s sake . . . he wanted someone to need him, someone to sit with him and to love him, but he was still so afraid to ask for those things, so terrified to simply ask for affection. He had grown so much. He knew now to try and understand other’s feelings, he knew that he needed to be mature and constructively contribute to the household he lived within, but – through all that – he still had the emotional maturity of one much younger.

Agni swore that one day he would win Soma’s complete trust. There would come a day when the prince would not need to force affection and closeness with such games, but nor would he need to ask . . . he would not need to ask because he would know that it could be given. He would know that he was loved. Agni smiled and hoped that his wish had already come true . . . perhaps Soma did not ask as he knew he would get. He nodded his assent to his prince.

“Very well,” Agni said. “I do have one condition though . . .”

“That you’ll find my sherwani? I won’t dress until I have it!”

Agni raised his bandaged hand and chuckled a little behind his hand, ignoring the way his prince sat up and crossed his legs, pouting so much that his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing nuts for winter. Agni walked around the bed and collected the tray. Soma saw him coming and quickly switched the letter to the other hand, holding it across the bed out of Agni’s reach, and – when Agni inevitably walked around the bed again – he quickly switched hands again.

“I promise I will find it for you after tea, my prince,” Agni said, climbing carefully onto the bed and placing the tray between them. “That is my condition, after all, that you will let me serve you. What better for a conversation between two friends than tea, and who better to serve that tea than the prince’s khan-sama?”

Soma suddenly smiled brightly and threw himself at Agni, wrapping strong arms around broad shoulders, and when he pulled back he kept his hands firm upon Agni’s shoulders and gave him the sweetest expression ever seen. Agni had to keep a firm hold on the teapot he had been pouring to prevent it from spilling and burning his prince, it would be a shame to waste it . . . it was said that whilst the British may have been a chore to abide, the tea they brought with them was not. Agni had praised them every day for such a habit . . . even if they had to sweeten it with milk and spices to make it bearable to endure.

“I am so glad, Agni! Let us drink tea and I will show you the invitation!” Soma pulled away and sat excitedly as Agni poured the tea and placed it on a beautiful saucer. “Shall I wear traditional Indian attire or an English suit? English suits are so uncomfortable! They pull so much at the neck and they do not breathe! Will you wear an Indian suit with me? You are invited too!”

“I am? I did not receive any invitation, I am sure . . .”

“Oh! I took your invitation earlier. You were taking far too long to open it! I forgot to give it you back, but it’s okay! You can have mine! They have the same message anyway! Here! Take it! See! It’ll be so much fun!”

Agni smiled and exchanged the letter for the tea. He overlooked the obvious violation of his privacy, but as the family from his previous life no longer contacted him he truly had no private correspondence to worry about. There was also the fact that he hid nothing from his prince . . . he once had, believing it to be in his prince’s best interests, but he had learned his lesson the hard way . . . he and his prince shared everything now. There were no secrets between them.

The letter seemed rather juvenile in writing and tone; it also seemed to be very informal and inappropriate . . . he was surprised his prince was not offended by the lack of protocol in what the writer had done. Agni gracefully laid down upon his side next to his prince and read the letter carefully. Soma lay upon his back and sipped the tea cautiously before a skin grew upon it . . . the prince always hated skins upon his tea, pulling them away with a look of disgust, and once he had even demanded Agni serve him tea without such a skin. Agni had been dismayed at such an impossible command. His prince was mildly less picky in recent days, but it was still a bane to the prince’s life. It was enviable in a way . . . many people would have given their lives to live just a day as a man whose biggest problem was the skin on his tea.

“This is a highly unusual invitation, Soma . . .”

“Really?”

The prince rolled onto his side and faced Agni with a strangely serious expression. He rested his head upon his hand and drank carefully from his teacup so as not to spill, and – against his will – Agni found himself blushing a little at the strange closeness between them. It felt far too intimate. It hurt him a little to even reply to call his prince by his given name, because such familiarity was not right between a butler and his master, let alone between a god and his creation . . . but to lie side by side upon a bed felt so much worse . . . it felt like a blasphemy beyond anything he could possible express or comprehend. This was his lord and he was lying with him.

Agni at once pulled himself into a sitting position, reminding himself that culturally sharing a bed with a friend – in a non-romantic manner – was rather common . . . it was only his own glorified perception of his master and British custom that declared it something inappropriate. He wondered if he should revert to ‘my prince’ to make clear their relationship, but he knew Prince Soma would only feel hurt if he were to do that. The prince preferred familiarity in private.

“Yes, my prince,” Agni said, letting habit override his prince’s wishes regarding names in private. “I am afraid that Earl Trancy has broken many rules of protocol in this letter. He has not only invited mere servants, which would damage the reputation of any noble associated with such a party, but he has effectively railroaded Ciel into attending. It is most unfair.”

“But I heard that Miss Lizzy and the Viscount of Druitt are attending! That is a good thing, isn’t it? Plus, if we go, then who will care about the scandal of servants? There shall be a prince attending! A real prince!”

“Yes, but we must consider Ciel’s feelings, Soma,” Agni said carefully, pouring more tea for his prince when he saw the cup run low. “It is possible that he may not wish to attend, or that he will not attend, and even if he does –”

“Of course Ciel will attend! He is my little brother! He will have so much fun!”

It was a butler’s duty to protect his master, even if it meant sacrificing his very life, but – in this circumstance – it seemed that there was very nothing to protect his master from . . . even if a scandal were to ensue, his master was a foreign prince that could easily feign ignorance of social customs, he could easily protect his image. It would be best not to attend, but a butler could not make those decisions . . . a friend, however, could. Agni wanted to act as a friend and tell his master the truth, but to do so would be to act too familiar and could he bring himself to do that?

“You worry too much, Agni!” Soma threw an arm over his khan-sama, who could only tighten his hands into fists and resist the urge to run away. “It shall be so much fun to see Ciel smile and it shall be so nice to wear such sparkling and bright clothing! I wonder if I can learn a dance fit for a king! I shall show our culture in the finest light possible and we shall entertain Ciel in the style befitting a prince!”

“There are many Indian dances I am sure I could teach you, my prince, but I believe that the entertainment has already been planned. It is also not our place to entertain the guests for we are the guests.”

“But I want to do something for Ciel!” Soma pouted and cuddled up close to Agni and rested his head on the other man’s hip. “I know! I shall contact this ‘Alois’ and tell him that I want to entertain Ciel with a dance! He seems like such a lovely man to throw such a party that maybe he will dance too! We could all dance an array of dances from our countries for Ciel! I have never seen a Chinese dance and Mey-Rin and Ran-Mao are such pretty women . . . we could make them wear Chinese clothing, too! It would be so pretty!”

His prince truly was a remarkable man. He had such a pure and innocent heart that he truly could not see the problem in what he was suggesting, and he was so sheltered from the world that he could not even begin to comprehend the emotions of the two women in question or why they may object. Agni’s world had been changed by Soma and he too had been changed, but even though Soma’s world had changed he remained the same almost completely . . .

It would be a sin to change such a perfect man. Agni may have been embarrassed by such intimacy, he may have felt awkward with such assertive declarations, but he would never dream of changing his prince. No other man could see the good in every soul, no other man could contain such confidence and self-belief, and no other man could constantly strive to make the world a better place and better himself in the process. Ciel would not want for anything should Soma attend the party, for Soma would not let him want. It would be a day to remember. His prince was already so excited and full of hope, and it would be a sin to rob him of that.

Agni smiled warmly and gently extracted himself from Soma’s grasp, before gently climbing out of the bed and standing on his feet. He felt infinitely more comfortable serving his prince than he ever did at his side as an equal, because he knew in his heart that such a man existed solely to be served. He bowed to his master and ignored the sad expression on the teenager’s face as he extracted the tray and moved it across the room to a far table.

“You never sit with me!” Soma said, sitting up and pointing an accusing finger at Agni with saddened gold eyes. “I want to lie with my friend and spend time with him! I demand that you lie back down with me!”

“Prince Soma, you are forgetting the feelings of others again . . .”

“Yes, you promised to remind me when I forgot to consider others,” Soma said, dropping his hand abruptly as his head fell down and his smile disappeared. “I know that if you wanted to lie with me that you would, so that if you refuse to do so then that must mean that you do not want to . . . why do you not want to? Have I offended you in some way? I wish to lie with you.”

Agni’s hand froze on the sherwani as he heard the pain in his master’s voice . . . that broken voice filled that shook like a leaf in the English wind. He lifted the coat and picked up a selection of golden accessories as he did so, turning to look at the prince with concern. The purple-haired man seemed so despondent, a shell of his former self, just so forlorn and heartbroken as he looked with watering eyes at the bed-sheets. The way his final words were said with such wistfulness and desire had nearly broken Agni’s heart. Had he failed as a butler?

“My prince,” Agni said, walking to the bed and placing the clothing items beside his master. “There is not a moment that goes by where I do not wish I could sit at your feet and sing your praises, for you are my god and beneath you is where I belong. That is why I am happy to serve you. I will forever aspire to be like you, but you are forever out of my reach, as you are too perfect for me to ever be.”

“Then you will not lie by my side as an equal?”

“I am not your equal, but if it makes you happy I will lie beside you,” Agni said with a warm smile, kneeling in front of Soma and reaching out to turn his prince’s saddened face to look upon him. “I would do anything to make you happy, Lord Soma. I am yours to command.”

“You confuse me! You don’t want to lie with me as you say you are beneath me, even when I say you are not! Now you say you wish to because it makes me happy, when I don’t want you to make me happy, I want you to be happy!”

“Don’t you see? By your side or at your feet, I am always happy.”

“A-Agni!”

Agni smiled as he felt the inevitable arms wrapped tightly around his neck, but in sudden shock he felt unable to respond the sudden hug. His eyes widened in horror at such intimacy, afraid that he was breaking some sort of holy law by touching such an idol, but – at the sound of Soma’s joyful tears – he felt compelled to touch his god and return his affection. He wrapped his hands around Soma and then flinched a little at the feeling of bare skin. It was an odd feeling, but a pleasant one . . .

He would never deny his master anything, especially affection. Soma was so scared of losing loved ones, so terrified of abandonment, that sometimes – even if it went against protocol – Agni felt compelled to touch him and hold him. If he acted distant in the way of a regular butler then Soma would fear rejection, he would fear that he was not loved, and that could never be. He would always be loved. Always. His prince needn’t feel that he wasn’t worthy, because he was the centre of Agni’s world, and to feel him so close and to be assured that his god were real and such an integral part of his life . . . he could never repay Soma enough. He was not worthy of this.

“If it will bring a smile to my prince’s face then I shall lie with him,” Agni said, pulling the tear-stained face away to smile upon it. “I will have to insist that my prince refrains from crying, that is my condition.”

“Your condition as my khan-sama?”

“No, Soma,” Agni said, helping his prince to lie comfortably, “as your friend.”

Soma looked as if he would cry again. In a previous life Agni would have been frustrated and perhaps exasperated, he may have even tried to force emotions from the prince to suit himself, but in this life he was willing to take whatever emotions the prince gave to him, not only that but his patience was limitless . . . on his prince such tears were pearls of purity. He cherished these moments more than anything.

“I will have to leave when Sebastian and Ciel return, I have duties to perform.”

“That is fine, even a minute with a friend is a minute well spent!”

“Indeed, my prince . . .” Agni smiled warmly. “Indeed.”

* * *

“Oh, Sebas-chan! Thank you!”

Sebastian’s eyes widened a moment in horror.

It had been a rather long day to say the least, his only consolation coming from his master’s severe discomfort during their discussion with the young streetwalker, and now it seemed that the day was far from at an end. He sometimes envied the human need for sleep. It would have provided him with a most excellent excuse for retiring early this evening, but his master would not allow him any such luxury . . . nor would Sebastian willingly indulge with such a cast of characters around him.

He had barely stepped foot out of the carriage when he caught sight of Grell Sutcliff standing not too far down the drive, his gloved hands clasped together in front of his chest and his body leaned forward as if instinctively reaching for Sebastian. Sebastian frowned darkly at the smile on the man’s lips, the flickering of his eyelashes, and the little moan of excitement . . . he wished to blame the lack of control upon the man’s humanity, but his superior had been an absolute pleasure to deal with in comparison. If Sebastian saw even so much as a lock of that red hair again any time soon, he was half certain he would shave the redheaded man when he slept. He would need to speak to Mister Spears about his employees’ decorum.

“Oh, I always knew that the bright spark of passion resided in your chest waiting to erupt into a towering inferno!” Grell blushed and lowered his hands, turning side-to-side with his eye half-closed in bliss. “I simply had to come at once to thank you! I don’t know why you are driving inside a carriage when you could be driving into something else, hmm? You should let me thank you, Sebas-chan!”

The redheaded man squealed loudly. His shoulders tensed as his hands came up beneath his chin and he seemed to find such a squeal to be a release, and at once he threw his hands by his sides and made an awed sound of adoration. Sebastian stood in front of the carriage door. His master remained in the carriage, waiting to be escorted outside, and Sebastian waited merely smiled dangerously, waiting for the inevitable to come. It would have been better to shut this man up at once, but he could sense Agni and Soma watching his master and himself from a window. No spectacles today.

“Oh, let me hold you, my darling Sebastian!”

The redheaded man ran straight for the demon, but – no sooner had he dashed off from where he stood – Sebastian stepped to one side quickly, but elegantly. He kept his hand on the door and bowed to his master as if nothing strange were occurring, but – once Grell reached the spot where Sebastian had stood – it was far too later for the Shinigami to stop in his tracks or to retreat.

Grell screamed out in pain as he crashed hard into the open carriage door. Sebastian smiled warmly with closed eyes as he kept a strong hand on the door, preventing it from going further back or breaking. It meant that Grell had crashed headfirst into an unmovable object, and as such he now existed as a red-stained lump on the gravel beneath the carriage doorway, his nose and mouth bloodied and his expression dazed with the pain he had just endured. There wasn’t time for him to move when Ciel stepped immediately out of the carriage . . . onto his stomach.

“Sebastian,” Ciel snapped, “what is this freak thanking you for?”

“I had a few hours spare last night, after our visit to the Undertaker,” Sebastian said with a bow, closing the carriage door and signalling to the driver to drive away. “I contacted Mr Trancy for an extra invitation and delivered it directly to Mr Sutcliff as per the Undertaker’s request and my master’s order. I believe this creature must assume I invited it personally. I apologise, sire.”

“It can’t be helped,” Ciel conceded. “Deal with this man and then resume your duties. I shall play cards with Prince Soma until eight o’clock, then I shall take private dinner in my rooms, after which I require a rose-scented bath and then I shall retire early for the evening. Understood, Sebastian?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sebastian watched carefully as his master walked to the doors of the manor. It seemed that Snake had been awaiting their return and so opened the door for their lord, beyond which Prince Soma could be seen running down the staircase to embrace Ciel in a painfully tight manner. He knew that he perhaps should have prevented his lord’s discomfort, but at times like this . . . it was surely an even trade? If he must dispose of trash then his master could endure the touch of a lesser man, surely?

Grell groaned and climbed to his feet, using a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face with a disappointed frown. It took a long minute and the help of a pocket-mirror to restore his complexion to its former pale glory, but the pain and throbbing of his nose refused to subside. It didn’t help that he already had a lump on his head from where William had hit him, or a bruise on his arm from a fight over a soul the previous night with a very strange demon that seemed far too short to do any real damage, but he knew Sebastian wouldn’t care about his previous scrapes and scraps. He wondered if the Undertaker would care, but why would he?

“Well,” Sebastian said with a bright smile, “it seems love can hurt, Mister Grell.”

“You – you brute!”

Grell threw his handkerchief at Sebastian’s face, but the demon caught it in one gloved hand. The look of disgust on Sebastian’s expression made Grell feel his heart clench just a little, wondering just what it would take to win someone’s approval for once . . . he remembered once how he had licked his chainsaw to taste the blood, cutting his tongue open in the process, and he remembered how Will had refused to kiss him! It was such a horrid rejection!

“Why on Earth did you send me that invitation for if I disgust you so much?” Grell snapped, flipping his hair across his shoulder as he stormed across the drive to sit upon a garden wall. “You can’t just toy with a lady’s emotions like that!”

“True, but I see no lady.”

“And I see no gentleman! No wonder you demons have such a horrid reputation! You can’t just lead a lady on like this . . . promising her a kiss, promising her seductive pictures, and then – then -! Oh, you vermin, you scum, you demon! You try to kill me, then you use me as a meat-shield, and now – above all things – my blood repels you!”

“I may be a demon, but I am something of a connoisseur,” Sebastian said, making sure no one was watching him as he blew out a stream of fire to destroy the soiled handkerchief. “If my master is filet mignon then you are nothing but the gristle from the scrap meat given to Pluto.”

“One of these days I shall be tasting your blood,” Grell growled.

The redheaded Shinigami crossed his legs elegantly as he pulled out a nail file and removed his gloves; he began to furiously work on his nails in the seeming aim of turning each one into a deadly claw, his mouth open as his sharp teeth peeked out into view from over his lips. It would have been a terrifying sight for any human, but for a demon like Sebastian such a sight was relatively tame. Grell’s cheeks were a violent red, his green eyes like cold stones set into a dangerous statue, and the little growls of frustration every so often told the story of a man rather embittered against the world.

Sebastian caught sight of the invitation in question tucked into the other man’s breast pocket, he felt tempted to reach out and yet thought against it . . . Grell was a dangerous man who, although easily distracted, was capable of accomplishing any task when his mind was set upon it. Grell had killed dozens of women, destroyed nearly an army of moving-corpses, and could even inspire fear in a man like the Undertaker. It would be foolish to underestimate him.

Yes, Sebastian could easily best him in a fight, but he was certainly in no mood for fighting at a time like this . . . the last time he had fought Grell he had ruined a perfectly good woollen jacket, and frankly he was in no mood to change clothes or use the petty human money to purchase new items. He would refrain from antagonising Grell for now, but temptation was difficult to resist . . .

“Is that the invitation in question, Mister Sutcliff?”

Grell looked up at Sebastian over his glasses; his eyes were still full of fury but there was a subtle look of curiosity and desire hidden there, a small spark that kept the ‘new’ Grell alive in the ‘old’. He was a man of many faces. Sebastian could understand Grell’s initial depression and clumsiness when they had first met, for he had been a ‘woman’ dressed in man’s clothing, but since then Sebastian had been quick to note that there was still a sharp dichotomy in this creature. Sebastian had been quick to try to understand it, because to understand it was to manipulate it.

“Oh, what do you care?” Grell snapped, filing more furiously. “I should use these beautifully heeled boots to trample your uncaring face into the ground, it would serve you right! Oh! Why must love be so cruel? You are like the Othello to my Desdemona! You hurt me so brutally, so cruelly . . . I can almost feel your hands around me, strangling me, but of all the places to grip -! You demon!”

“If that is the invitation in question, Mr Sutcliff,” Sebastian said, standing tall about Grell so that the redhead fell in his shadow, “then it was not my idea to give it to you. I merely followed my master’s orders, and my master only ordered me to do so at the request of a mutual friend who wished for your presence.”

“Hmm? Well, William has been so cruel lately that there is no way he would let me go to any party, he would rather die than let me have some time off . . . it obviously isn’t you, because of all the pussy cats you seem to stroke it seems that only the ones with four legs get you purring. You know . . . there’s more than one way to skin a cat? Plus, a kitten isn’t the only thing with claws, my darling Sebas-chan.”

“Oh? What would you do should I return your advances, my little kitten?”

Sebastian chuckled darkly and leaned down to be at eye-level with Grell.

The sitting man blushed so darkly that his cheeks seemed to match his hair perfectly in shade, and his hands stopped filing his nails as he gulped hard in suspense. He seemed to be enthralled by the demon’s gaze. It was something he had wanted for so long, so be seen as an attractive woman worth pursuing, and to find someone willing to give him just a scrap of attention . . . an iota of awareness . . . it was rather overwhelming! He’d thrown himself at so many men, just hoping one would show some interest, and here he was at last -! Sebastian was flirting with him!

The demon’s white-coloured glove reached out to stroke his cheek, just a gentle touch, but so intimate . . . but his eyes were so cold, a simmering golden-red flame on the brink of extinction . . . it – it was as if Grell were merely being played with! He had searched so long for his Romeo and it was like Romeo had removed his mask to prove himself to be Paris! It – it wasn’t what Grell wanted . . .

“N-not today!” Grell shouted. He scrunched his eyes shut tight and pushed Sebastian away hard with both hands. “I – I – I just ate garlic and I haven’t any mouth wash, it wouldn’t be right . . .”

“Of course,” Sebastian said with a cruel smile. “I also imagine the Undertaker would not approve in the slightest. He strikes me as the jealous type. I wonder if he would beat you for such an indiscretion or the man to which dared to touch you? If it is the former then it may make such an affair worthwhile . . .”

“Hey! That is -! Wait. The Undertaker? The Undertaker! You aren’t seriously telling me that he is the one that sent that invitation, are you? Oh! I thought my darling Sebastian wanted me there, but you mean it’s him?”

“That is correct.”

Grell felt himself blushing for a new reason.

It just wasn’t possible for the Undertaker to have wanted someone like Grell there! It simply had to be some sort of sadistic game, but far from the good kind of game . . . the man was manipulative, ferocious, and a pathological liar with a warped sense of humour, and – frankly – he didn’t seem to do anything unless there was something in it for him. What could he possibly gain from having invited Grell to such a party?

Oh, if he were simply toying with a lady’s emotions then – then . . . it wasn’t fair! It was just so difficult to judge such a man, because as much as he hated the Undertaker there was just something different about him that held some sort of appeal, and as much as Grell hated himself for feeling such an attraction he hated the Undertaker more for being so appealing to begin with. Grell knew that he was insanely handsome, beautifully intelligent, strong enough to protect a lady, and – most of all – saw people for who they truly were . . . to the Undertaker a lady was a lady, no matter her sex, and a child was a child, no matter his status, but . . .

Why would he invite Grell? He could not only have any woman he wanted, but he was also a vicious man who refused to tolerate any direct insults or plays for power, and whilst he occasionally let Grell torture him and put him in his place . . . he seemed to only do so because it amused him to do so. The very first chance Grell got to exert any ounce of power or make any real threats . . . the Undertaker had hurt him! He was just as much a brute as Sebastian at heart!

“B-but that man hates me!”

“Hmm? I think not, Mister Sutcliff,” Sebastian said indifferently as he reached down to pick up a nail file. “It takes a special kind of man to let another willingly bury himself in salt, give into a command without question, and – when given many clear shots at murder to instead opt for the minimal amount of damage. You are lucky to have just a scar. If it were up to me you would have required a skin graft.”

Sebastian bent downwards and handed Grell his file with a wide smile. The demon seemed to find the situation incredibly amusing, but that in itself was rather suspicious, for what reason would Sebastian have to be honest with Grell? It couldn’t be habit from the terms of the contract. The only reason he would have to be honest and try to manipulate Grell’s feelings towards the Undertaker were if –

He would only do that if he wanted Grell’s attentions elsewhere. Oh, that stung so deeply that Grell felt his heart twist within his chest like a knife had been plunged deep within him! He had spent his whole life searching for life and now love had decided to brutally betray him, denying him the one thing he had wanted through his whole life! William couldn’t bear to see him as more than an ‘it’, Sebastian would rather kill him than spend a moment in his company . . . the Undertaker saw him as an equal though. No one else would beat him when wrong, but humour him when right. If he were to be honest with himself then no one else saw him as right, but still . . . Grell wasn’t going to be won over with a mere invitation!

“I must also add,” Sebastian said coldly, stepping back with his usual indifferent expression returning in full force, “that of all the Shinigami I have had the displeasure to meet in this past week, only he seems to be competent enough to complete any given task. It seems to me that Mister Spears’ standards are slacking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I told Ronnie this morning to check the Cinematic Records! We’re finally onto something! Besides if you demons were as organised as we Shinigami then this mess would be over with by now!”

“Oh?”

“Oh, it seems my Sebas-chan doesn’t know,” Grell said with a devilish smile, uncrossing his legs to spread them just slightly. “It seems that information between demons travels slow, like a maiden’s courage as the swelling act to the final moments of a play approaches . . . no encore Sebastian? It seems that your demon friends have much more stamina, maybe that’s why they haven’t told you yet, hmm?”

“It seems you have something to tell me, doesn’t it?”

Grell sighed and removed the invitation from his breast pocket. His waistcoat suddenly felt tight around him, suffocating even, but he bore with it and looked longingly at the pale piece of paper within his fingers. The invitation no longer seemed as appealing now it was no longer a token of Sebastian’s ‘love’, but a party was still a party! He would even call in sick to work if he had to! He already had the most perfect dress in mind, not to mention the accessories, but that was only if he chose to go. Still, he couldn’t wait to see what the Undertaker would be wearing, not to mention Sebastian and the other handsome men!

“Well the idea of three handsome men fighting for my love has perked up my spirits a little,” Grell said with a girlish smile, hugging the invitation close to him as he threw his head backwards and gazed at the darkening sky. “If you must know there are two demons who seem to be up to no good, one who seems to be a second-rate version of you and another who is just some bratty kid . . . brat appears everywhere though, we’re still not sure how he manages to get around so easily.”

“So two demons have been behind these murders? Why?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” Grell said with a pout. “I haven’t been back in the office since I left this morning. I told Will that I would fetch him a book or two from the Undertaker to confirm a – a – a . . . theory . . .”

Grell yelped in horror and covered his mouth with an open hand. In his desperation to thank Sebastian he had completely forgot that he had been sent to run errands, and William had been such a stick in the mud recently! He wouldn’t flirt, he was such a drill-sergeant, and he seemed to delight in punishing Grell for every little thing . . . he would be in so much trouble! Perhaps he could claim that the books had been lost and that he had to wait for the Undertaker to reclaim them? That could work, plus he owed the silver-haired man a ‘thank you’ for the invitation, as well as a slap for the hair pulling from his last visit.

“I may have forgotten a few errands, my darling Sebas-chan. I’m afraid this leading lady will have to take her leave for now, but the night is still young, perhaps we could turn this solo act into a dynamic duo. I am sure you would make an excellent understudy to my great . . . large . . . talent.” Grell giggled to himself and jumped to his feet. “I’ll visit you later, Sebastian! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Wait, Mr Grell. Do you know what connects the victims?”

“Well . . . we have an idea . . .”

Grell thought hard for a moment, his index finger pressed to his lips in thought. The older looking demon didn’t really reveal much in his methods, from what the Cinematic Records told them, but the young boy was unusual . . . he seemed to be able to be in several places at once, and he also seemed resentful and angry, sometimes deferring to the elder, sometimes ignoring the elder . . .

“The victims’ memories of the demons themselves tell us nothing,” Grell said carefully, “although I’ll try to get you a description of the pair in case you can help us in our enquires. They are all connected in their pasts, however, by some Tracy or Trancy or whatever idiotic name the old man calls himself. I think he’s one of the books I was supposed to find and collect. Ugh! Why should I be made to look into the life of an old man? It’s a bloody good job the books aren’t illustrated, I can tell you that much! He’s cropped up in a few of the Records apparently, but Will says it’s all circumstantial for now.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but the man is dead. Frankly any demonic pair still following his orders under a contract would have to be insane . . . what use can you get out of a dead man? His body is too unresponsive, his soul is too cold to manipulate . . . hmm, perhaps I should drop by the Undertaker’s after all . . . anyway, I must see about the mix-up with that kid too. Will was so sure he had died! Well, I told him dead men don’t send invitations to balls, but our dear Will insists –”

“Hmm? Do you refer to Alois Trancy? I was under the impression that he was still alive? It would be unfortunate if my master had attended the ball of a dead man. Surely Mister Spears’ is mistaken?”

“Oh, I would have thought so, but Will is always right . . . it gets a little tiresome after a while. The girls in the Personnel Department are taking bets on when he’ll actually get something wrong for once, but poor Ronnie has already lost that bet. Hmm, so like Ronald to try the impossible . . . youngsters, hmm? Well, I better get the old man’s records, unless William has already found them, and the young lads . . . if William is so sure he’s dead, then – well – who is it holding the ball?”

“I am sure I have no idea, Mister Sutcliff.”

“Ah, well, I would argue my case, but you know how it is . . . can never argue with management, eh? Regardless, goodbye! Until we meet again, my love! May the oceans of time and space never part us! Mwah!”

Sebastian held back a wince as Grell blew him a kiss as he jumped a way. The wink in the redheaded man’s eyes suddenly made the demon wish he had risked a battle merely to get the message through the effeminate man’s head, because – despite his distaste regarding his position amongst the humans – he definitely did not want the romantic attentions of a Shinigami upon him.

He waited until Grell was out of sight to return into the house. He could sense two souls within Soma’s room and another soul in Ciel’s study, it seemed the plan to play cards had gone awry . . . no doubt Soma had grown bored and decided to do something else with his khan-sama. Snake, meanwhile, appeared to be within the kitchen with several other servants as there were no servants anywhere else within the manor and all the souls could be accounted for in the servants’ quarters. This was rather worrying. The servants were preparing furiously, Ciel had locked himself away, and no doubt Soma’s new interest would be related to these two seemingly unrelated events. He could only question what would have the humans acting in such a manner, but he was certain he had an idea . . .

“Sebastian!”

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, turning around to greet the oncoming carriage with twitching eyebrow. “It is a pleasure to see you this fine evening, may I ask what brings you to my master’s home?”

“The invitation of course, silly!”

“Ah, of course.”

Of course . . .

* * *

Claude watched his master with a mild interest.

It was said that every exit was an entrance to somewhere else, rather like a cosmic balance just as much as it was common sense. If a person were to leave a room then they must enter another room, if a soul were to leave this realm then it must enter another realm, if a small boy were to summon forth a demon . . . well, it would be needless to say that demon must be summoned from somewhere.

Claude had speculated once that the death of a small child must precipitate the arrival of another, that one was merely a substitute . . . a replacement. He wondered if that would make the two souls equal, like a pair of actors in a play being double-cast for the same role, the worth of both being one and the same . . . or would one forever be inferior; a mere imitation or copy that was designed to look the same, but would forever be inferior in quality? He had once made such an observation in his master’s presence. The temper tantrum that proceeded made the cruel question quite worth it, but it had not done much for his master’s patience towards the servants in the days that followed. He was sure the triplets and Hannah despised him for it.

He watched his master as he seemed to frolic today in the midst of the woods, his previous temper dispersed into the air and his sorrow washed away with the morning dew, and as he spun and turned he held his hands out wide with a childish smile, little pearls of laughter echoing from his cherubic looking mouth. It was unusual to see a boy like the master so cheerful, but Claude knew that pain could not last forever . . . one must always have respites of joy, lest one be driven mad, and although his master was nearly there these precious moments meant he was not there yet.

It was interesting to watch.

Did he forget his past in those moments? Did he forget the stains upon his soul or the scars upon his body? Did he imagine himself as spoiled goods that would never be pure again, like ink-stained water, or did he see his soul as forever innocent and distinct from the flesh container that held it?

He swept on and on as if in a dream. His body lost in what was fast becoming a dance of flamenco, a dance that was close to Claude’s heart and thus had become his master’s favourite dance also, and soon he was lost. He was lost in his own world, until he danced through a dew-stained spider’s web, the silvery strands striking his face and marring his pale skin. His master laughed. He laughed and pulled at the strands with a glance both angry and amused, and as licked upon his fingers the seal upon his tongue glowed just slightly.

“Ole!”

Claude winced at the sound of his master’s jibe and the laughter that followed. The boy had been pestering him during their lessons to learn Spanish; he wanted to be fluent, he wanted to speak the language he claimed Claude was born with, and when Claude argued that demons were not born of this realm Alois had claimed otherwise, his arrogant voice flittering through the air:

‘You’re not like any other demon, Claude! Sebastian may not know the taste of human food, Hannah may find even the commoners new and refreshing, but you are different! I want to be like you! I want to be like you, Claude! Teach me! I command you to teach me! I see you dance and your name –’

‘The pupil does not teach the teacher. Ten swats.’

‘Claude . . .’

It sometimes felt as if the boy could read his thoughts or sense his presence, for no sooner had Claude felt the satisfaction of the memory – the joy of having whipped Alois’ hands bloody once more – had the boy appeared again before him. He leaned forward and clasped his hands behind his back, whilst his face bore such an overjoyed smile of pleasure and ecstasy that Claude felt as if he had the boy under his full control, because – as Hannah and the triplets knew well – with the level of devotion his master held any request would be granted.

There was nothing that he wanted though, nothing to request. He craved only the taste of souls, his master’s and especially the Phantomhive boy’s, but he also had needs that were increasingly hard to ignore . . . Sebastian seemed to be repulsed by humans, refusing to even undress for necessary encounters with such creatures, but Claude felt different. He could not do without. Abstinence was far crueller on him than it was Sebastian, and with those dew-stained, bare, white thighs before him . . .

“Claude! You’re looking at me as if you want to eat me,” Alois said with a giggle, turning his head to gaze up at his ‘prince’ and press a hand against his butler’s chest. “You could you know, I bet I taste ever so nice.”

It was true that Alois would taste delicious indeed. His soul was not anything particularly unique, but it was spicy and hot, like the delicious foods native to the Southern American countries or to the Indian subcontinent, and his body itself was perfectly clean and scented with fragrant perfumes. If he were to engage in . . . those acts . . . then Alois would be perfect indeed. He had been used enough to make him physically accommodating, but not so much that he had lost his childish naivety and innocence entirely. It could prove fun for Claude and educational for Alois.

Then again . . . he could do better than an old man’s bed-warmer. It also wouldn’t do for him to warm Alois’ bed himself, because if Hannah were to find out then he would lose a valuable ally, and she would find out . . . she would find out because only the devastation and horror on Alois’ face once Claude revealed a bed for a night did not equate to a bed every night could compete with the act itself.

Alois would need consoling in his grief.

“I do not consider myself hungry, your highness.”

“Thirsty then? I can quench any thirst.”

“Not mine,” Claude said coldly.

Alois frowned and turned his back to Claude. He placed both hands on his hips as if imitating the actions of an adult, but he did not seem so much like a displeased adult as he did a mere caricature of one, an inferior imitation that could not quite reach the elevated status of what it strove to be. It was almost poetic to meet in such a place and at such a time. They had come full circle . . .

The first time they had met Alois had a wish to be rid of the old man, to find someone devoted to him completely, and he had danced under the trees searching for a dream, for an illusion, because what demon could ever truly be controlled? In Alois’ dream he was master. He was the writer of the novel, the painter of the portrait, and in his dream Claude was his and so too was the manor. Alois was a dreamer who could never be awoken. He had managed to achieve the illusion of control by assuming the role of ‘Earl’, but he owned that role no more than any actor could ‘own’ the character they played, and now he wished for more. He dreamed for Claude to be his. He dreamed for love. Such dreams . . .

Perhaps that was the charm . . . the desire to awaken the dreamer to reality, the need to exact control over the walking sleeper . . . it was too easy to remind Alois of his past and that he would never measure up to the upper classes, but to build up his dreams of love, to make him believe in such dreams coming true, then to smash them, to remind him that such a love was unattainable . . . perfection. His tears would marinade him, his pain would saturate him, and he would be perfect at last.

“You have given me very difficult orders, your highness.”

“You can do anything, Claude! I know you can complete any order! You’re the best!” Alois clapped his hands together and spun around with a saccharine smile. “You’re the best butler in world, my knight in shining armour!”

“I am sure that even knights have their limits.”

“Not you! I only give you easy commands anyway . . . prepare the ball for Ciel next month, tutor me in my lessons, protect the Trancy name at all costs, love me unconditionally –”

“I said your orders were difficult,” Claude said with a venomous glare, “not that they were impossible. The spider can never love the fly, and so the butler cannot perform such an impossible task as the final order you just listed. I also believe that we have more important things to worry about than love, your highness.”

“What’s more important than love?”

Claude looked at his naïve master and felt a confliction within his soul. The dominant emotion within his chest was fury and frustration, an irritation at being bound to a boy that could be so fickle in his whims and ignorant in his outlook, because such a boy could never achieve the fine calibre of taste and excellency of the Phantomhive lord. It was childish to believe ‘love’ to be important, idiotic to believe a butler could ever love his master as an equal, and to be bound to that . . .

The trouble was that his master refused to give up in his chase of Claude, desperate to win his love at all costs, to the extent that he had even blinded Hannah in the desperate belief that Claude would be impressed by such a brutish and clumsy display of power. In Claude’s current mind it was like a starving man being offered bread-and-water. Yes, it would never compare to a succulent feast, but to have such a meal easy at hand and forever available . . . who could deny? He had human needs and desires, his hunger hard to control, and since coming into contact with Phantomhive his personality had noticeable changed . . . it made Alois jealous.

“Very little, your highness,” Claude replied with a dangerous smirk, hiding his true motives behind seemingly sympathetic words. “I simply worry about the current state of affairs throughout the country. It seems that Earl Phantomhive may have made a connection between the victims . . . it would be bad for the Trancy name if people were to assume we were connected in some way, would it not?”

“Oh, yes, but –”

“If people assume that we are involved then Earl Phantomhive would feel compelled to investigate you further; he would not only strip you of your undeserved title, but he would strip you of me too . . . we would both lose something of value, your highness.”

It was difficult not to laugh at the expression upon Alois’ face.

The boy seemed oblivious to the fact that they were suspects in a heinous crime, instead he was focussed on the hopeless desire for Claude’s love and the perceived potential for his own love to be returned, it was as if his very dreams had come true. Pitiful. It was like feeding a stray dog scraps of dinner, how easy it was to win affection and ensure a repeat visit to the provider of the food!

Alois’ eyes were wide and shimmering, his usual cruel smile was erased and replaced with a serene and graceful expression, and his hands were clasped in front of his chest as if in prayer. He seemed pure and chaste, he seemed virginal and cherubic . . . he seemed every bit as dreamlike as the world he lived in, something unreal and something that could never be real. It would never be possible for him to be the boy he wanted to be, and yet Alois would never accept that, he would always strive to be more . . . for Claude . . . always for Claude.

“It is getting late, your highness,” Claude said, gently reaching out to lay a gloved hand upon Alois’ shoulder. “You should retire to bed, should you not? I would be more than happy to help you prepare.”

“Oh, Claude! Let’s go right now! I want a bath too, will you help me bathe?”

Alois was far too easy to manipulate. If Claude wanted to hurt the boy he had his heart in his hands, ready to press down and stop that beating mass at any stop, he could destroy the boy by simply using him and then rejecting him . . . realising his worst fears and making Alois realise that he was truly as worthless as the old man made him feel. If he wanted he could even have a boy so desperate to please and be loved that he would have someone to appease his needs whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and however he wanted. Alois would never say no. Claude had complete and utter control.

Hannah would be far more difficult to manipulate though, and he certainly did not wish to invoke her wrath . . . to engage with Alois for his body would require a continuous usage, for to cease activities would enrage Alois and thus enrage Hannah, but – as he knew – one day the contract would be complete. He would have had his fill, but he would also consume the soul of the boy and all would be complete. He would not have to keep up such a charade forever.

In the meantime he would have his fill . . .

“Yes, your highness.”
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The Devil's Smile