Chapter Three:

And All for Want of a Whisk

"A little charm, and you are not ordinary."

~ Anonymous

Jeremiah Reed had the distinct suspicion that his butler was laughing at him. In supposing this he was entirely correct, but, not being overly bright or particularly observant, he remained merely suspicious and nothing more.

There was an obvious fact hanging just over Jeremiah's head, and though he could not grasp it literally, he saw hints of it reflected in his butler's strange eyes. The fact was that his demon servant was classier, more distinguished; more refined than he was, and that anyone who saw the two of them so much as stand next to each other couldn't help but see it too. Jeremiah detested the idea that his butler should consider himself superior to his master. It was ludicrously inappropriate. It grated at his mind.

It was this hazy concept that began to fuel Jeremiah's spite towards Sebastian, so that every time he caught sight of the contract etched onto the underside of his right forearm, his little hatred flared and grew stronger.

Sebastian, who unlike his master was both bright and observant, knew that all this was taking place in Jeremiah's mind. He found it greatly pleasing. The little digs and quips and sweetened insults that had in the past been the basis of satisfyingly sharp banter with Ciel were usually lost on Jeremiah, who, if he did happen to catch on, would demand outright, "Are you insulting me?" Which of course, spoiled the whole thing.

Ciel, being himself quite bright, observant, and invisible to other humans saw many of these flat encounters firsthand, as well as something else.

He saw that Sebastian was beginning to get annoyed with Jeremiah. And no wonder, he thought. The real problem, in Ciel's opinion, was that Reed, the moron, just had no idea how to make the best of having a demon in service.

Sebastian, though he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, was inclined to agree with this perception. But as things were, he had quite enough to deal with at the moment and felt that he was entitled to a little stress. After all, not only was his current master a dull and raging incompetent, but his former master had recently returned from nonexistence and was making a damn nuisance of himself. He would, unfailingly, make off-color jibes and comments and scoff under his breath at Jeremiah whenever he was around, which Sebastian found very distracting. And it was all the more irritating to him because he found himself wishing that he could make such comments himself.

Jeremiah Reed almost fitted the mold of the Wicked Nobleman – almost. He wasn't noble enough, though he certainly was wicked enough. He was overflowing with wickedness, but though he was highborn and well bred he was coarse and rotten to his core, and even his blue blood could not disguise this from Sebastian… or Ciel.

At the end of the second day of Ciel's presence, after having used the whole day to digest what the Undertaker had told him, Sebastian addressed Ciel bluntly as he made his rounds of the house, extinguishing lights.

"You are making a nuisance of yourself," he told him. "Talented as I undoubtedly am, I cannot present the night's dessert to Master Reed and tell you to shut up in the same breath without the Master noticing. It is most inconvenient for me…" and here he paused. "Ciel."

Ciel could not physically feel very many things unless he really put effort into it, but when Sebastian said his name for the first time it gave him a start and sent chills coursing through him. Since he did not have a body, this felt very odd indeed. He looked up at Sebastian in surprise. "You have never called me by my name before," he said.

"No," agreed Sebastian. "I have not."

He was glad that Ciel seemed to realize the momentousness of the occasion. And it was, truly, momentous.

Because Sebastian was raptly fascinated with names. This stemmed, probably, from having always to call anyone of any significance "Sir", "Master", "Madame", and other properly respectful titles of that nature. They varied with time, class, and importance. To call any one of his masters by their given name while in their service would have been considered the height of impropriety.

So, when the time came to sever ties and collect his final payments, Sebastian reveled in the ability to utter names. Names had a sort of power over people, he discovered. He himself was delightfully immune to it, having had so many temporary names. But to those who only ever had one - why, it was like stealing something precious from them.

Sebastian was old enough to have learned that knowing someone's true name gave him a certain measure of power over them. As a butler, subservient and submissive, this gave Sebastian a secret advantage that he only needed to utilize once, when it would be most traumatic.

His masters always seemed so surprised to hear their names from his lips. And Sebastian, if he did say so himself, had a way with names. He could instill fear with a name, soothe with a name; bid farewell with a name. Letting a name flow over his tongue was like a necessary forerunner to claiming a soul. An appetizer, of sorts, or an aperitif.

There were only two instances in Sebastian's lengthy career when, out of respect, he had refrained from using his masters' names. The first had been a demon more powerful than Sebastian, with a name that sounded black and scarlet and golden, and which Sebastian, to that day, had never once spoken aloud. The second had been Ciel Phantomhive.

Sebastian didn't quite know why; it had simply been his whim to continue calling the boy affectionately "Young Master" until the very end. Perhaps he thought that Ciel deserved it. In any case, calling the detached specter before him by a title of any kind was both unnecessary and somehow inappropriate. So Sebastian smiled happily, and called Ciel by his name.

Ciel had snuck a taste of liquor once at a party long ago with his parents. That was what Sebastian's voice had always reminded him of. Smooth as silk; a liquid coolness that burned its way down. Of course, the thrill of the forbidden that had accompanied that one drink had very quickly become a choking, spluttering grimace, and Ciel had been scolded. When Sebastian said his name, it reminded Ciel a bit of that.

And really, could Sebastian be any more pleased? Even the demon's long-lashed eyes were smiling at him. He chose not to say anything further to Sebastian just yet. He merely let a look pass between them that he knew Sebastian could translate.

If I am a nuisance, it is your fault, the look said. It is because of you that I am here in the first place. Ciel did not know what Sebastian expected him to do about it. But for all his apparent ability to fray Sebastian's nerves, Ciel noticed that the butler did not actually seem too intent on getting rid of him. Perhaps this was just because he couldn't, and so there was no use in trying. But then, Sebastian had always had a roundabout way of expressing himself which defied Ciel's analysis.

There was silence for a while in the Reed manor hallways as, one light at a time, Sebastian plunged them into darkness.

At the end of a long corridor on the third floor, Sebastian glanced surreptitiously around for Ciel. The lost spirit of the boy tended to be impossibly quiet, and, often, Ciel would suddenly appear or disappear according to his moods. A minute ago, Sebastian was sure that Ciel had been no more than a step behind him, but now he might be wandering about in the cellar for all Sebastian knew. It was disconcerting, this new disadvantage that left Sebastian open to surprise.

But no; there Ciel was a little ways away, facing a portrait of Jeremiah Reed on the wall. In it, Reed looked to be about Ciel's age, though not nearly as comely. Ciel's expression as he stared at the painting was sour and disapproving. He did not have a very high opinion of Jeremiah Reed. How could he, when their sets of values were so vastly different?

"Not as different as you would like to assume," Sebastian had corrected him the previous day. "Do you know what his first order was, after bargaining away his soul?" His eyes rested comfortably, unmoving, on Ciel's face. "'Kill them', he told me."

Ciel kept trying and failing to hold the demon's gaze, and his dark blue eyes darted up and back, as though retreating.

"And so I did," Sebastian said. "But he didn't stop with those degenerates of society chasing him down like a dog because he wouldn't pay his debts. He was out for revenge, too. Against his parents." His voice filled Ciel's head. "Would you like to know how I killed them?"

"Not terribly," murmured Ciel, affecting indifference.

Sebastian had smiled his open mouthed smile, his pale lips parting from the darkness of his mouth, and Ciel could not look at him, though he didn't know why.

"Terribly," said Sebastian. "I killed them terribly. I went to them while they slept, and I stood by the window, sending them nightmares, and when his mother opened her eyes and saw me there she thought I was the devil. It was very dark. She screamed and woke up her husband. But I leaned down and kissed her, and I put my tongue down her throat to choke her and her husband saw, and then I reached up and pricked out her eyes. Her husband loved her eyes," Sebastian clarified.

Ciel would have tried to make him stop, but he knew that it wouldn't have done any good.

"So to make it even I pricked out his eyes, too. They stopped screaming. Probably they were in too much pain to scream. Then I took them to entrance hall, and I tied nooses around their necks, and I let them drop from the chandelier. It was very sturdy," Sebastian assured Ciel, "and it was a long fall." He raised his head to look up at the high ceiling, for they were, at that moment, in the entrance hall. "Scotland Yard didn't know what to think, but Master Reed didn't think I was brutal enough. Can you imagine?" He shrugged, and his tranquil expression made Ciel feel lost. "Ah, well. I shall try harder in the future."

Ciel could think of about a dozen retorts he could have made, but he couldn't bring himself to make any of them. Sebastian had not told him all of this in any attempt to shock or disgust him; Ciel had seen plenty worse than anything spiteful Jeremiah Reed could ask for. The whole drawn-out narrative had only been Sebastian's way of saying 'you have been replaced, and this is no longer your story.' It had been a warning. But Ciel had managed, somehow, finally, to raise his disapproving eyes to Sebastian's and hold them there. "Shut up," he scoffed.

Sebastian had obliged.

"His face seems… cruel," said Ciel, drawing back from the portrait.

With the slightest of breaths, Sebastian blew out the last candle lighting their hallway, and Jeremiah's portrait was shrouded in shadow.

Ciel was no easier to see in the darkness than in the light, but Sebastian kept a close eye on him. The hand that Ciel put up to the window pane was as clearly translucent as the glass it touched. Outside, it had begun to snow.

Winter had come early to London that year. It was still only the beginning of November, but the temperature had unexpectedly plummeted and seemed content to keep descending, as it frosted buildings and carriage wheels with glittering ice. It snowed for a day, and then another, and another. The week after that, it snowed again. The drifts began to increase in size and get in everyone's way.

Elizabeth, of course, loved the snow. She didn't believe that she could ever think of the wonderful fluffy whiteness as a nuisance, like her parents. What did she care if a week of dinner parties were cancelled, or carriages stuck in slush, or the hems of dresses soaked and ruined? Elizabeth had always been shielded from the starving and poverty-stricken for whom the snow and ice signaled misery, sickness and death. So in Elizabeth's eyes, the city of London sparkled in a snowy gown.

Speaking of which, the time to create winter wardrobes had rolled around. Elizabeth's mother, strict as she was, had a definite eye for fashion and sympathized with her daughter's love of pretty clothes. That, and Elizabeth couldn't very well attend school in last year's fashions. But Frances was just happy to see her daughter's spark returning when the dressmaker arrived, bringing beautiful patterns with her.

During the next week, the Middleford sitting room was buried beneath varying scraps of fine fabric, threaded needles and silver pins. The snap of the measuring tape sounded constantly.

Everything that could be renewed was taking shape in that room as the sewing machine hummed. New night-dresses, chemises, dressing gowns, corsets and corset covers, gloves and hats to match the dresses; smart boots to match everything. Three yards of black lace, dark green silk lining, light-colored velvet for hats and muffs, sewing silk and new dress hoops. White organdy, two yards of yellow muslin, silk waist lining, ribbons of every color to tie in her hair and thread through sleeves. Puffed sleeves, fitted sleeves, high collars… and slightly lower ones. Company dresses, home dresses, thin morning dresses. Cashmere and taffeta and delicately embroidered stockings. Each dress must have stockings to match, of course. Wide belts and narrow belts for traveling suits, extra buttons for everything that had buttons, (which was most everything) and lacy new parasols for the day dresses.

Navy blue was out of the question, as it "dulled the green of Elizabeth's eyes," the dressmaker said. But other colors could be found in abundance.

"I'm so glad I can wear green," said Elizabeth, as cloth of every green shade imaginable was draped around her to test the effect. "So few people look good in green, and I just love the shade of my new green dress suit."

Her mother, experimenting with ribbons, was gladdened by the happiness returning to Elizabeth's tone.

"What do you think?" asked the dressmaker, "Shall we style the waist in the newest fashion? It's very becoming, and I believe Miss Middleford is old enough for it now."

"Oh yes, mother, please? It is pretty."

Frances' shrewd eyes scanned her daughter, and she nodded her assent. "Yes, the new style will do," she said, then turned back to her ribbons. But her hands stilled.

Yes, Elizabeth was old enough for the newest fashions. She was in her teens, and it was beginning to show. Her dresses were all being lengthened – how bittersweet that Elizabeth could wear long dresses now. She had to, as her legs were growing long. And her waist was suddenly accentuated in her new outfits… as well as other… parts… that were abruptly becoming noticeable. Her little girl was no longer so little.

Elizabeth, standing on her stool, reflected that she was enjoying herself, and she felt that she had not enjoyed much of anything for a long time. All the same… how could she be enjoying this when Ciel was dead? And what pleasure could new dresses bring if no one but that odious Mr. Reed was to see her in them?

Frances, ever observant, could see the sting of sadness creep back into Elizabeth's eyes… but only for a moment.

Elizabeth had made a decision. She would enjoy herself. There was, as the bible said, "A time to mourn", and a winter wardrobe fitting full of lace and bows and new beginnings was not that time.

"I'll tell you what, Lizzie," said the Marchioness, approaching her to tie a lilac ribbon into her hair. Elizabeth smiled. Her mother was always in a good mood when she called Elizabeth 'Lizzie'. "Your winter holidays begin in three weeks, don't they?"

"Yes," answered Elizabeth. Frances pulled on the loops of the bow to even them out, then looked approvingly on her daughter. Elizabeth would not yet consent to wearing any color but black, and the bright ribbon brought some much needed variation to her attire.

Elizabeth watched her mother curiously as she fussed over her, and wondered briefly whether she could ever grow to be as strong. She hoped so. Where Elizabeth could be flighty and scatterbrained, Frances was always so reliable; so complete.

She often wore an ivory and onyx cameo brooch of a woman in profile pinned onto her collar, and Elizabeth had always admired it and thought it beautiful. Frances was wearing it now. Elizabeth looked at it and imagined herself, years and years in the future; a straight-laced adult with a cameo brooch pinned to her collar, married to some faceless stranger who was not Ciel. That would be her life when she was her mother's age. And it would not by any means be terrible, but… but…

Though Elizabeth's smile melted a bit at this thought, her mother's next words brought it back.

"What do you say we throw a Christmas party this year?"

Frances was gratified as Elizabeth fairly hopped on her stool for joy and threw her arms about her mother. Frances guessed that Elizabeth was still not quite as grown up as she might look, and that suited her perfectly.

"An undetermined future service?" repeated Sebastian incredulously. "The boatman made a deal with you without specifying payment? I never would have done such a thing."

"He seemed surprised at the offer," admitted Ciel, a trifle defensively. "But he took it, didn't he? It's not as if I had anything else to bargain with."

Sebastian's smile was condescending and contemplative. "What could a little thing like you ever accomplish that Charon could not get for himself?" he wondered.

Ciel bristled. He might not have been much of anything anymore, substantially speaking, but his wit and his tongue were still bitingly sharp.

"Well something, obviously," he retorted testily, "since he accepted the offer and I got what I wanted."

"Yes," agreed Sebastian distantly. "You might now be obligated to do any number of unpleasant or impossible things."

"Oh, shut up," said Ciel. "I told him I would do it, whatever it is, and I will. You know I had no other choice."

"That's true," allowed Sebastian. "Your resourcefulness in hopeless situations does indeed astound."

Ciel frowned slightly. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Certainly not," said Sebastian.

"…Hmph," said Ciel.

Sebastian turned away to hide a smile.

They were forced to put their conversation on hold for a time when the cook – good natured, matronly, forty-something – re-entered the kitchen. They were baking today, and Ciel was watching with interest as she and Sebastian produced towering delicacies and pastel-colored edible works of art from a few ingredients stirred expertly in a bowl. The aroma wafting from the ovens was tantalizing at the very least, but the wonderful smells did not make Ciel hungry. He was beginning to forget what hunger felt like.

While Sebastian worked magic with pink frosting and powdered sugar, Ciel resumed his attempts at a task which had been daunting him for weeks now, but that he continued to fail to achieve. His failure was not due to lack of trying, as the effort exerted often exhausted Ciel entirely. Sebastian, when he could, stole a glance at him. He was pretending not to notice Ciel's mounting aggravation and disappointment, which was good of him, and the right thing to do.

Ciel was trying to pick up a whisk.

He would lower his hand, fingers tentatively outstretched, and attempt to wrap them around the kitchen utensil. But though he tried again and again, his hand would simply pass right through it. Ciel grit his teeth in anger. He couldn't do it. He couldn't pick up the whisk. Or the books in the library, or the candle on a dresser, or the picture frame on a desk.

A few of the other servants had actually walked right through him when he had not moved out of their way quickly enough. It was a very unpleasant sensation for Ciel, getting passed through; not being noticed. But the servants had not felt a thing. He was utterly undetectable, except to Sebastian.

He was determined to remedy this.

The only progress he had made was that he was now able to seat himself on solid objects without falling through them. Ciel was not satisfied with this, however, because if he got too distracted, he would lose all his concentration and find himself inside or below the desk he had been perched on, or seated awkwardly halfway through a chair. Sebastian, to his credit, tried very hard not to laugh when these things happened. Ciel's pride was bruised and battered almost beyond recognition as it was.

And Ciel was growing actually a bit desperate. If he could not so much as lift a whisk from a kitchen counter, how could he protect Elizabeth from Jeremiah Reed? Or possibly… from Sebastian? He had not voiced this hidden fear to the butler, but he had no doubt that it had crossed Sebastian's mind.

Sebastian would do exactly as Reed bid him. And Reed meant Elizabeth harm.

As long as Sebastian followed a master who was plotting against the Middlefords, he was a danger to Elizabeth. And therefore also to what remained of Ciel. "Would you like to know how I killed them?" had a habit of floating through Ciel's mind whenever he thought of this, and the thrill of fear accompanying it never grew any slighter.

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at Ciel; a sneaking smirk of a glance, mirthful and knowing. Sebastian could tell what Ciel was thinking of, to put such fear on his ghostly face. He could always tell.

Ciel caught the glance after it vanished, and it stayed with him, perched on his shoulder. He had never been able to hide from Sebastian even when he was alive. But back then, of course, there had been no need to. Now he was dead and had nothing more to lose, and he was frightened of that glance. It was uncontrollable and strong, and Ciel was so very, very weak.

The thought came to him then, suddenly, randomly, and unbidden, that he did not know Sebastian very well at all. Sebastian was a stranger to him, and perhaps he always had been, even if he had never known it. How well could one get to know their butler, really, when he was not even human?

Christmas in the Middleford ballroom was spectacular.

It was not quite Christmas yet; about a week before, as a matter of fact. Ciel's birthday on the fourteenth had come and passed without his remembering it. Sebastian had remembered, but had not said anything. He knew that birthdays do not matter except to measure life, and would be of no use to Ciel anyway.

Jeremiah Reed attended the event, bringing Sebastian with him for no particular reason other than to order him about with witnesses around, as if it might somehow humble Sebastian in some way. With Sebastian came Ciel, and the latter was feeling very humble indeed just then, having still yet failed to make any noticeable impact on the world around him. The aforementioned whisk still resolutely refused to budge no matter what Ciel did. He had even stopped wandering off by himself, since Sebastian was the only one who knew he was there. If he spent too much time alone, unnoticed by all those around him, Ciel began to doubt his own presence, which was a very nasty sensation. He began to feel that if he doubted too much he might disappear altogether, and how could he protect Elizabeth from Jeremiah then?

But in the shining glow of Christmas at the Middlefords', Ciel put his present troubles aside to make way for a host of new ones.

A magnificent supper was served in the dining room, and after that there was dancing and drinking and socializing in the polished and sparkling ballroom. The rustle and swish of the frills on the women's dresses were a constant accompaniment to the music of the hired orchestra, as well as the sway of delicate gauzy fans that swung from every lady's wrist; only for show, since it was the middle of winter. The aroma of spiced wine complemented the soft candlelight that was reflected in the abundance of jewels the women had adorned themselves with. The gentlemen, in their best, highest, and most constricting collars stood stiffly in groups talking business with one another or dancing with their wives, or keeping close eyes on their daughters.

In a room somewhat off to the side, some of the younger crowd had gathered around the grand piano. Someone who could play had taken it upon himself to do so, and the group proceeded to do their favorite carols as much justice as they could, though the littlest ones sometimes created marvelous discords.

God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,

Remember Christ our savior was born on Christmas day,

To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray,

Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,

Oh, tidings of comfort and joy!

Out in the ballroom Sebastian stood, tray in hand, serving, observing, and smiling at humanity as if good will were his real nature. He was resplendent in his finest clothes, and was somehow managing to look more festive in deepest black than many of the actual guests in their whirling holiday hues. He looked that night, as he usually did, as if he had been painted into the scene instead of arriving at it like everyone else. Sebastian was a work of art that lived and breathed and served wine in sparkling glasses; he was apart from the throng while in the midst of it, and he was there because the picture wouldn't be complete without him.

Ciel had been to so many occasions just like this that he had long ago lost count of quite how many. As Earl Phantomhive, he had thrown a few like it himself. But now he realized that he had never actually looked at any of it before. Or if he had, he had never known how different it could be when he was on the outskirts looking in.

He kept away from the crowds. There hardly seemed to be any room for him, slip of an echo that he was. When he was alive, parties had never been his favorite of pastimes, but he had never, never been ignored. On the contrary, he had always resented how much attention he attracted. His isolation had always been self-imposed, and that, he discovered, as countless merry eyes stared through him, made more difference than he could possibly have known.

With his back to the wall, Ciel watched the evening progress. He watched Sebastian weave through the crowd, ever the dutiful butler; and he watched Jeremiah Reed, who had had too much wine and was starting to slur, draw a crowd of his own. But mostly he found himself watching Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had refused to wear any color even to the Christmas party, and she was glowing in a frothy white cloud of a dress embroidered with cream-colored roses. It was the most grown-up thing she had ever worn, and in honor of the occasion her mother had fastened the long-admired cameo brooch around her throat with a black sateen ribbon. Besides that, Elizabeth wore no other ornament.

And she was attracting attention. A couple of the older boys…almost young men, but not quite…had situated themselves near her and were doing their best at that very demure version of what passed for flirting at family parties. Elizabeth, as always, was sweet and captivating. But she did not flirt back, not even a little, and when they left her, she did not seem to think that their absence from her side was any loss.

Ciel overheard them as they went: "Sweet girl," said one, "rather juvenile though."

"Sweet," agreed the other. "Too sweet. That much sugar can be nauseating." (The boy felt snubbed, and he was not a graceful loser.)

"Too young anyhow," continued his friend. "Why, that little one still plays with dolls. A child like that shouldn't put on such grown-up airs." (He raised his hand to stroke the peach-fuzz on his chin that was his non-existent beard.) "It makes her seem like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. Try again in a few years, eh?"

Ciel, already submersed in gloom, steamed at this exchange. "Why, you…"

He proceeded to curse the pair of scorned suitors with every nasty word he could think of, loudly and vehemently. Of course, no one heard him but Sebastian, who was highly amused to hear them, having been all the way across the room at the time so that it seemed like a loud string of inappropriate words had erupted from out of the air.

Sebastian maneuvered his way slowly to Ciel's side, and observed what held his attention. "Defending Miss Elizabeth's honor?" he whispered. "How valiant."

Ciel whipped his head around to glare violently at him.

"Cheer up," Sebastian suggested. "You are at a party! What could possibly be the matter at this joyous yuletide celebration?"

"I hated parties when I was alive," said Ciel. "Why shouldn't I hate them now? They haven't changed, I have."

"Mm," said Sebastian. "You have, of late, but wherefore you know not, lost all your mirth," he quoted Shakespeare's prince of Denmark with mock whispered emotion.

"Oh do shut up," said Ciel, "You foul and pestilent congregation of vapors."

Sebastian chuckled. "As long as you can quote Hamlet correctly, you are still yourself. You are right. You have not changed." His smile melted away as he turned. "That is the strangest thing of all."

Ciel wondered at this last statement, but he turned his attention back to Elizabeth… whose attention was now caught by someone else. She seemed almost…annoyed.

Jeremiah Reed was a little ways away and he was attracting more and more notice by the minute. He was becoming steadily drunker and louder than was acceptable in public. And this was a heavier statement than one would think, since many gentlemen there were, to put it plainly, smashed. But they were aristocratically smashed.

Some of the guests were laughing good-naturedly at him. "It's Christmas," they said, "And the boy is high-spirited. Let him have his fun."

But others were nervously distancing themselves from him and darting him disgusted and disapproving glances. "He'll cause trouble for his hosts if someone doesn't take that wine glass out of his hand," they said. "He's spilt a good half of it over himself already."

Elizabeth, for a moment, was torn. She did not like Jeremiah. She was the daughter of the house and it was not her place to interfere; that was for her father or older brother to handle. But her brother was away overseas, and the Marquis was nowhere to be seen. Elizabeth excused herself from her circle of friends. These were her parent's guests, but this was also her home, and she would try to do what her mother would do in such an event. She made her way over to Jeremiah Reed.

"Don't bother, Lizzie," said Ciel, following her, weaving in and out of guests who could not see him. "Let someone else handle it." Of course, she could not hear him, and didn't follow his advice. "Not that you'd listen even if you could hear me," said Ciel. "You never have before."

For a moment it appeared that she would have to let someone else handle it. The room was so crowded that Elizabeth could hardly move forward, let alone push her way through. And as part of the crowd thinned a bit, she only had time to see that Reed had separated himself from everyone of his own leave… and had ventured alone out of the ballroom, across the hall, and into the library. Momentarily satisfied, Elizabeth turned to make her way back to her friends. But then she stopped and thought.

Elizabeth loved the family library with its warm lamplight and plush armchairs; its cozy environment of pleasure and knowledge. She seldom read anything but fairy stories, but the option of all the other unopened books was always present, and she loved them, too. She even loved the funny, bloated little chandeliers that hung from the ceiling like ugly crystal jellyfish. She could not let Jeremiah Reed in his drunken state touch anything in this most beloved of rooms. Suppose he was sick on the carpet! Suppose he lost consciousness in her favorite chair, as her brother had done the first time he had tasted whiskey. There would be no moving him if that happened! Suppose he spilled his wine, or soiled a book with his food stained hands.

She turned again, and rushed out after him.

Ciel stifled a groan that no one would have heard anyway. This was worse than if Elizabeth had confronted Reed before a crowd, and might have infinitely worse repercussions. Now the two of them were across the hall, alone, and Reed was awful enough when he was sober, let alone drunk. Damn him, and damn Lizzie for not having the sense to bring someone with her!

He wheeled about to implore Sebastian for help – but just as Elizabeth had done a moment ago, he halted sharply. Sebastian was all the way at the other end of the ballroom, happily serving champagne and being the epitome of polite servility.

"Of course you won't help me, you sly murderer," Ciel thought. "You'll ignore me as sure as I'm born."

But… if Jeremiah Reed were to call for his servant now…if Sebastian were summoned to his master's side… oh, what would happen then?

But in this regard Ciel had a scrap of luck. The mute animosity between Jeremiah Reed and his butler would prevent the proud rake from asking assistance unless his need was dire. This bought Ciel some time.

He followed Elizabeth, and kept close at her heels as she eased open the library door. "Mr. Reed…?" she ventured softly, calling like she would to a runaway pet she didn't want to startle. "Mr. Reed?" again, louder.

Reed had been staring hard at a row of books, leaning forward as though he was having trouble seeing them properly, and when Elizabeth called his name the second time, he turned to her and half-smiled. His eyes were very wide, and the effect was less than friendly.

"Mr. Reed? Ah – wouldn't you like to come back to the party, we're about to serve -"

"Why!" exclaimed Reed. "Why – look who it is. Little Coppelia," he sneered, "Little broken doll."

Elizabeth knew an insult when she heard one, but she could not actually bring herself to be insulted by this. She had seen the ballet Coppelia; it was a rollicking comedy about a young fool who fell in love with a beautiful doll, and not once in the performance did the doll ever get broken. She knew that Reed was only drunk and displaying his ignorance.

Ciel, having never had any interest in seeing ballet, knew none of this, and was insulted on her behalf.

"I am not a doll, Mr. Reed," said Elizabeth with unworried ease, "neither am I broken. I only wanted to ask if you wouldn't like to join us in - "

Jeremiah cleared his throat with a guttural, phlegm-filled noise. "Listen, Beth," he said.

"Beth?" said Elizabeth.

"Beth?" said Ciel.

"Don't fancy Beth?" said Jeremiah Reed. "All right; 'Betty', if you like."

"Elizabeth, if you please, Mr. Reed," said Elizabeth with what Ciel considered admirable indulgence.

"Elizabeth, if you please, Mr. Reed," mocked Jeremiah in a nasal voice.

"Mr. Reed, I - "

"Mr. Reed, I - "

"Stop that!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Have you no class at all?"

"Stop that!" mocked Jeremiah.

"Oh!" Elizabeth cried, surrendering to frustration. She marched over to Reed and took him by the wrist. "Come along, now, Mr. Reed. I have never been anything but kind to you, and now you will show me at least the smallest ounce of courtesy you possess!"

Reed's face had turned porridge-colored when Elizabeth had grabbed his wrist and started leading him out of the library. For a moment he said nothing, but Ciel's eyes were locked on his face, and he knew what was about to happen the split second before it did. Jeremiah Reed wrenched himself free with a violent tug; in the same moment he snatched Lizzie by the upper arm to hold her still, swung back his free hand, and slapped her full across the face. The smack! was so loud that it made Ciel jump, and Elizabeth, had Reed not been holding her in place, would have been sent reeling to the floor.

"Don't you touch me," he said, breathless.

Elizabeth staggered back from him. Her lips were shut but her eyes grew wide with shock and pain. Slowly, as if she moved through water, she began to remove the fingers of her glove; one, two, three, four, five. She slid her glove off and laid it carefully on a chair. Tenderly, she touched her cheek, and winced. "Mr. Reed?" she said, very softly.

"What?" he muttered, still breathing heavily.

SMACK!

Ciel's mouth had dropped open and he stood gaping at Elizabeth like an invisible fish. What a shot!

Jeremiah, stunned, stumbled back, tripped over a footstool and fell hard into a shelf of books. "Holy shit, girl!" he yelped. "What in hell do you think you're doing?"

"Jeremiah Reed!" exclaimed a voice in outrage. "How dare you?" The three in the library swung around in unison to the doorway, where Frances Middleford, looking more deadly than Ciel had ever seen her look, was standing – with at least half the crowd of the Christmas party behind her, all whispering in shock and excitement.

Elizabeth demurely slipped her elbow-length glove back onto the hand she had struck Jeremiah Reed with. Her expression was effortlessly blameless.

"How dare you use such language in my house in front of my daughter? Have you no decency?"

Jeremiah did not seem able to speak.

"I see," said the Marchioness, (who, Ciel was disappointedly realizing, had not seen nearly enough.) "It seems to me that you have had quite enough Christmas spirit for tonight, wouldn't you say?" (At this there was soft laughter from the crowd of guests.) "Yes, I thought as much. Sebastian? Ah – there you are. Your master is feeling a bit ill; he wishes to be taken home."

The dutiful butler attended to his master on the Marchioness' command.

Good for Aunt Frances, Ciel thought. Leave it to her not to let any grass grow under her feet when she wants someone out of her way. And good for Lizzie! Who ever knew she had it in her? I suppose if Sebastian hadn't stopped me from raising my hand against her that time last year, she'd have belted me one in return! Then Ciel realized with horror that he had just thought the phrase "belted me one", and knew that he must stop adopting crude, slang terms from Jeremiah Reed.

"Elizabeth," said Frances, "Your cheeks are awfully red. You haven't been sipping the champagne when I specifically told you not to?"

"Oh mother, of course not," said Lizzie, with the simplicity of the honest. "I only… well I only argued a little with Mr. Reed over the ballet Coppelia, and I'm afraid I began to lose my temper. It was all very silly."

"What?" Ciel exploded. He had been longing to see Jeremiah Reed revealed for what he was, and now - "What? Lizzie, tell her what happened! Tell her – why in hell is she covering for that rat?"

"She is displaying good sense," murmured Sebastian, as he guided a lolling, surly Jeremiah Reed past where he stood.

"Wassat?" said Reed.

"Hush, sir," Sebastian bid him.

"Sebastian, this is idiotic; what could she possibly gain by - "

"Hush," repeated Sebastian with a sting in his tone, "we lack privacy here. Come along."

And the butler led his current and former masters out of the Middleford Manor, one heavily intoxicated, with one arm slung over Sebastian's shoulder and his feet dragging, and the other silent as death and unnoticed by everyone, smoldering with increasing anger and stopping every now and then to turn and look behind him, as if he didn't want to leave. From within, he could hear that the carolers were still going on as if nothing had happened.

Hark! The herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn king!

Peace on earth and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled…

Ciel sat in the kitchen of Reed's estate staring off into space, his impotent anger cold in his lungs. He sat and hated. The whisk rested mockingly next to him.

Sebastian was helping the other servants put Reed to bed; he had passed cleanly out during the carriage ride home. Ciel understood now that it would have been useless for Elizabeth to play the injured ingénue before her mother and her guests. It would have ruined the party; ruined everyone's night, gotten her unwanted attention and false sympathy by the gallon. And it would never do to let anyone know that Elizabeth had been so bold as to strike a young man who had just recently lost his parents. Young girls were defenseless and helpless; never would they raise their delicate hands against anyone. If Lizzie behaved like a proper young lady, she would have either screamed for help or fainted dead away when struck. Not doing either of these things simply would not be acceptable or understood.

And besides – come morning, Reed would deny everything. And most people, not knowing him very well, would take him at his word.

"Still here?" asked Sebastian, entering the room from the butler's pantry. "I only have a moment to speak, the others will be here presently to 'close up', as Nora says. Did you know she worked in three Italian restaurants before being hired here?"

"You were right outside the doors, weren't you?" said Ciel. His voice was low with the effort of controlling himself. "You were right there. You could have stopped him from touching her. You let him do it. You didn't stop him the way you stopped me. Why not?" His voice grew louder as his temper began to break free of his restraint. The thoughts in his head were pouring from his mouth.

"For you to raise your hand against Elizabeth was to ruin all that was best about your nature," Sebastian said. "It was my duty to prevent you from doing so. Jeremiah Reed has no such redeeming qualities of his own. To bully and beat those weaker than he is as instinctive to him as breathing."

"You could have stopped him!"

"Why should I have stopped him?"

"Sebastian, it was Elizabeth!" Ciel was yelling now, but Sebastian's voice was soft and casual.

"And what does Elizabeth matter to Jeremiah Reed? Are you forgetting that I serve a new master now? Or perhaps you still labor under the delusion that you have any control over me." He smiled a pitiless smile.

"That isn't what I - "

"And besides – Elizabeth does not need my protection. After all, you were with her. Why didn't you protect her?" At this Ciel's anger seemed to transcend language and stifle him, for of course, Sebastian had found the root of everything.

The cook, the elder of the two maids, and two of the cook's assistants entered the kitchen then, and Sebastian turned away from the apparently empty counter-space he had been speaking to. Hatred burned coldly in Ciel's eyes. "I hate you," he said. The kitchen was filled with the servant's chatter.

"I hate you," he said again, louder. "And I hate Jeremiah Reed. I hate this house and everyone in it, I hate my aunt and I hate Elizabeth, I hate that no one can hear me, I hate that I am dead, I hate that I am dead and nothing has changed, I hate that everything has changed, I hate this goddamned whisk, and I hate that I'm so goddamned USELESS!"

By the time Ciel had reached 'I hate that I am dead', he was screaming, and with the word useless, he vaulted from the counter, passed straight through both the cook's assistants – who jumped and shrieked in shock – snatched the china mixing bowl from the hands of the cook and hurled it to the floor at her feet… where it smashed, with a crash that could have awakened the whole house.

"Saints alive!" screamed the terrified cook, "If that bowl didn't fly from my very hands!"

All the polished silver was gleaming in its open drawer, where Sebastian had neatly laid them not a minute ago. Ciel ran to it, wrenched the drawer from its opening with an almighty tug and threw it with all his might against the wall. The silver crashed deafeningly to the tiled floor. The servants screamed and clung to each other; the maid and the cook floundered in perilous disarray, and Sebastian stood still and watched Ciel, as he flung open cabinets and knocked piles of plates to the floor or sent them crashing into the sink, overturned knife-holders so that the knives were thrown every which way, grabbed glasses, sugar bowls, gravy boats, fragile salt-and-pepper shakers, and smashed them all to pieces on the floor and walls.

When he finally stopped, breathless, his rage spent, the cook was sobbing, her assistants were frantically reciting the Hail Mary, and the old maid was gasping in fear and crossing herself, her lips moving in silent prayer. Sebastian stood, unmoving and silent, and stared at Ciel. Ciel met his eyes for just a moment. Then he turned and began to search through the rubble and jungle of broken glass and china, looking for something. He found it.

Slowly, the fingers of his transparent hand closed around the handle of the whisk. He picked it up and held it, bewildered and triumphant, and it did not fall.

Sebastian's eyes were hooded and wary.

Well. Glory to the newborn king, by all means.