Chapter Text
It was on days like these that Sebastian Michaelis wished he could have conversed with Chronos, before the Greek pantheon crumbled like dust under the boots of new age ideologies. What made you decide to have time move so abnormally, the demon would have asked, slow when you need to hurry, fast when you still need to ready yourself?
One arm lying languidly on the counter, the other beneath his chin to keep him upright as he leaned his weight against the wood beneath, Sebastian glanced to his left. Past the rows of antiques from different European countries, towering over all else in the store, was a grandfather clock. Built in 1882, it stood nearly nine feet tall, its carved mahogany depicting imps and devils. A Catharine-style glass window revealed the inner mechanisms, the nine tubes just waiting for the next hour to play a rendition of St. Michael's Chimes.
It was a custom piece, made by one of Sebastian's previous contractors. The man had considered himself a Satanist, though the demon would have used the term occultist instead, for there was no true worship of the Morningstar. After the demon devoured his prize, he spirited the clock away, taking it wherever his nomadic lifestyle took him next. He'd never allowed a hobbyist to take a close look inside, nor allowed anyone to date his clock. If eyes pried too closely, they would find that the hands, and other aspects, were made of human bone.
It was only 3:45 in the afternoon, and all Sebastian could think of was closing early and heading home for a lovely glass of wine and a cozy read of his favorite novel—Dracula—with Hansel and Gretel curled in his lap. But no. No, he had to wait for his current customers to finish their lazy shuffle through the many rows full of antiques, vintages, and oddities that made up his shop. He could hear the woman whispering about the price of a tapestry, protected behind glass, on the south wall.
"What nonsense price is that?" she grumbled, leaning forward to get a better look at the smaller details. "Nearly $3,000!"
"Well, Margaret, it says here that it's from England, made in the 1840s. Even has a credible attribution. Multiple museum numbers to call if you are concerned about its authenticity, and the names of those who found it so," her husband replied, tapping on the glass, marring it with his fingerprint.
The woman—Margaret—scoffed, shaking her head so hard that her badly-dyed auburn curls bounced. "You believe this nonsense? It looks like something my nana would have had in her home back in Montana. I'm sure, if you call those numbers, they’ll send you straight to voicemail."
"Are you meaning the floral rug, dear? The one that was owned by her grandmother, and her grandmother's grandmother? That's easily as old as this one, and unlike hers, this one isn't stained and reeking of cigar smoke," the man reminded her, not unkindly.
Sebastian rolled his eyes, tuning out the woman's offended gasp, and the following scolding of her husband. Human relationships were a strange thing; the two were so obviously miserable, but the aged metals and scratches on their rings hinted at a marriage many decades long. Had they been happy, once? Did they look back upon their wedding night with fondness or regret? If they had a family, had their children been raised in a stable home?
"Harold, don't be daft! I'm sure that tapestry is worth far less than its sell price. I bet you if we could turn it around, there's a large stain on its back. No, I don't believe a damn thing that paper says. I don't understand why Maurice wanted me to stop by this horribly expensive shop."
Ah, and that was another confusing thing about humans; their obsession with commerce. If something was too cheap, they took advantage. If something was too expensive, they threw tantrums like children. Even when it came to merchandise that was priced so carefully that it was perfect? They distrusted it, believing there to be a catch.
Well. Sebastian supposed, in this instance, such an assumption wouldn't be wrong. That particular tapestry did have quite the stain, once upon a time; footprints of a pretty red, left by Jack the Ripper's heels. Truly, if it wasn't for the risk of complaints of it being a "biohazard" and "Jack the Ripper wouldn't have worn ladies' heels!" the demon would have kept the mark on there. The addition of blood added much character, even if the blood had been shed thanks to one very, very annoying woman.
Grelle Sutcliffe had been so delighted to see the tapestry in his shop a few months back, exclaiming: "I knew you loved me, Bassy!" Disgusting. As if he could ever love someone like her. When he told her as much, she rolled her eyes, leaning dramatically against the glass with a sigh theatric enough to fit right into a Shakespearean play.
Maybe he ought to introduce the Grim Reaper to that elderly woman; she must be close enough to death that Grelle could kill her without incident, yes? No, no, calling upon a favor—for what would only be a blink of an eye in his lifetime—would be petty. Sebastian glanced back at the clock once more; 3:51.
Had only five minutes passed? Truly, it felt like an eternity. The demon tapped his fingers against the counter, slow at first but quickly ramping up. He could feel his black nails sharpening, elongating into claws, as frustration built. He should scare them off. It was his store, for the Morningstar's sake! They were wasting his and their own time by bickering like schoolchildren over something neither of them would have ever bought in the first place.
As if the Devil himself heard his plea, the smartphone in the pocket of his black dresspants began to ring.
Am I the man I appear to be,
or am I someone I don't know?
Is there some monster drawin—
Sebastian plucked it out, looking at the screen.
CALL FROM - AGNI IYER (FOSTER SERVICES)
He allowed his phone to vibrate once more before answering it: "Good afternoon, Agni. Am I correct to assume this call is for work, and not for leisure?"
There was a sigh on the other end, deep and exasperated. "You would be correct, my friend. I apologize for bothering you during work hours, but this emergency placing is turning out to be quite complicated."
"It is never a bother to be called about a placement. Truthfully, I was about to close up and end my workday early; it's been a slow Friday." Sebastian rolled his shoulders. "Are you on the way to pick up the child, or are you on your way here? I daresay I might require a trip to the grocer. Are there any allergies I need to shop around?"
Agni hummed. "You have plenty of time, my friend. I'm well over five hours away from Victoria's Grove, three counties over. I was just stopping for gas. I still have about fifteen minutes to drive until I reach his location. For allergies, I wouldn't know."
Sebastian frowned. "How odd; I don't think I have ever heard of you, or any of the other caseworkers, being sent out of county," Sebastian mused. He heard Agni laugh on the other end. It sounded strained. "Is this a first for this branch, then? I'm sure Liam must be proud."
". . . Did Liam not call you, Sebastian?"
"Was he supposed to?"
"I’d hoped he would, but it's not too surprising he hasn't. How this child has been handled within the system is raising many, many red flags." Through the phone came the tinny sound of a car engine purring to life. "One moment. I need to put you on speaker. I both have much to tell you and yet little information that's of any use."
A complicated case. The demon had taken on foster children whose placement felt uneasy, ones who made the director concerned enough to set up multiple in-person meetings. But, truly, those were such mild trifles. A grandparent who was too pushy about their grandchild; a custody case in which neither parent seemed fit.
This felt different. His tongue slipped out, just slightly, to wet his lips. This was going to be a delicious terror to feed upon; Sebastian needed to know more. "Please, whatever information you have, I will be able to work with. Start with what oddities have concerned the director, then give me a brief summary of the child I will be taking into my care."
Agni took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I am picking up a 'Ciel'. No last name given. He hasn't just been brought to a different county; he's not even from this state. Liam wouldn't explain further. He just told me that the paperwork was official, and to do as I was asked. I've never seen him so shaken up. I wanted to press more, but . . ."
Agni's sigh was shaky.
"I know when to hold my tongue. He only entered the system barely a month ago, yet he's been transferred twenty-three—no, twenty-four—times. The longest he was under anyone's care was just three days. Many of these transfers have been because the fosterers he was placed with claimed they couldn't 'handle' him. We both know that's not how any of this works, yet . . . every part of this smells foul."
"That is ridiculous." Sebastian scoffed. "Children aren't just moved around like this. I believe you're right; this feels rotten down to the core. Liam holds the Noah’s Ark in high regard because of how much effort he puts in to ensure the safety and happiness of the children in our care, even if that means pushing back against laws that bind us."
The demon glanced over to his customers, now haunting the vintage selection, before continuing. "It seems we've stumbled into quite the quagmire. There isn't much to be done there, so let's not dwell on it. What can you tell me about this boy? This ‘Ciel,’ who apparently has no last name. With so many homes claiming they could not handle one boy, he must be older. Late teens?"
"Ten, actually. I had assumed the same thing. I was given some numbers of previous foster parents to call, to help create a profile. All report violent and aggressive behavior, both towards others and himself. One foster father and his wife were set back thirteen thousand dollars after Ciel found the woman's toolkit, which had been improperly put away after she came home from her construction job. Destroyed their bathroom and part of their kitchen. While he was still at fault for the destruction, I cannot understand, for the life of me, why she failed to put it away properly and why no one was able to stop him. 'He was able to lock us out,' the man claimed."
Snrk. The demon covered his mouth, smothering his laughter behind slim fingers. "Oh my. That's impressive for such a little boy. I'll ensure my armory is locked tight, lest he gets his hands on any weapons of mass destruction. Is there a known cause for these dramatic outbursts?"
Silence. Agni inhaled, slowly, and the exhale that followed was wet. "Nothing detailed. It may be good to contact Liam later, to press for information, if he doesn't call you first. From what I have gathered, from all my calling around, there seems to be some severe physical, and sexual, trauma in his recent history. He may be a trafficking survivor."
"If they're keeping his last name redacted, they may be trying to protect his identity. If that is true, and depending on the ring he was under... those with connections in high places would want to find him and silence him, either by abducting him once more to sell, or killing him. It could explain why there's so many pieces missing to this puzzle. Do you have any guesses on where he entered the syst—"
"I don't mean to interrupt," Agni cut him off; the car engine stopped. "But I have just arrived at the residence. There seems to be a disturbance; I hear yelling. What in the world is going on?" Sebastian heard the muffled sound of a dog barking and multiple voices yelling; Agni sounded panicked. "The boy is being held down by both foster parents; a window has been broken. I must go!"
Agni hung up quickly, but not before Sebastian heard a young voice screaming in the background: "I HOPE YOU ALL FUCKING DIE! YOU AND YOUR STUPID, WORTHLESS BITCH OF A WIFE!"
Oh my. This child had quite the mouth on him.
Sebastian waited a second, two, three, before slipping the phone back into his left pocket, right as the couple came up to the counter. The woman had a nasty scowl on her face, adding more folds to her already-elderly skin. She slammed something small—a piece of cardboard—onto his counter: a price tag. Which she tore off one of his carefully-laundered, recently-acquired 70s jackets. His eye twitched.
"What is with this price?" she snapped. "Do you think it's appropriate to charge nearly $350 for ugly trash? And a moment before, you were on your phone! While customers are browsing your store! Have you no manners, or were you raised in one of those liberal households?"
Sebastian forces a smile, resisting the urge to allow his teeth to sharpen and rip her head from her shoulders. "Oh, I do apologize. Do you mind showing me that 'trash' to which this tag belongs? I hope you didn't damage it by ripping it off . . . otherwise, I'd have to charge you for damaging my product. I'm sure you, who cares so much for manners, can understand."
The husband, who was squirreled away a few feet behind her, flinched. He licked his lips. "D-Dear, you didn't pull that hard on the tag, right? You couldn't have."
Her nostrils flared as she spun around on him (much faster than Sebastian would have expected from a woman of her age), the heat of her glare scorching. "Really, Harold? That's your concern? Not that this stick of a man is overcharging paying customers, or that he's threatening me with an extra charge for no good reason?"
Sebastian cleared his throat, returning her attention to him. "You haven't paid anything yet, my lady, therefore you are not a paying customer," he said calmly. "Again, I ask you to please show me the 'trash’ about which you are so upset. And quickly, I might add. The call I received was of the utmost importance. I do need to close up shop once you're done."
Margaret's mouth dropped in offense, her dentures barely hanging on. "I beg your pardon? How rude! Perhaps I would be a paying customer if you learned how to price your ugly wares!" She smacked the paper tag on the counter, loudly. She scrunched her nose in disgust as she snarled: "And no call is that important during work hours. Your customers are! Where is the owner? I need to talk to him about hiring young folk; your generation is so disrespectful."
The demon leaned on the counter, allowing his fangs to sharpen just somewhat, enough to make the two humans in front of him tense. He kept that smile going, stretching it, as he whispered: "What customers? You have not paid me any money, nor have I sold you any wares. This shop, of which I am the owner, is what I consider my side occupation. My priority has been, and always will be, to my fostering of children. There is a little boy in need of me. I would much rather spend my time ensuring he has a safe, warm home than entertaining the likes of you."
He tapped his nails—no, claws—on the counter. His amber eyes flashed to crimson, the pupils slitting. His smile, already too wide, warped into a toothy grin, as he purred: "Now, either do me the kindness of showing which item you likely damaged by your childish tantrum, or get out of my store and pray I do not find you worth suing over those damages."
Harold grabbed his wife's arm, doing his best to drag the woman away. "I am so sorry, young man!" he cried out, shaking. His bony hand clenched tighter, possibly enough to bruise given the way his wife flinched. "Truly, I am! We'll leave your store and never come back! I swear it! Please don't sue! I can't afford to cover another one of her mistakes!"
Margret tried, and failed, to tug her arm out of his tight grip. "Let me go, you bumbling idiot! You're hurting me!" She smacked her husband's hand; his grip didn’t loosen. "This is all nothing more than a trick of the light. Maybe he's pulling magician magic tricks, like we saw in Reno last May! Every young person now is such a rude brat! This is what happens when you stop spanking children because of some now-a-day bullshit they feed you on the telly."
The demon had enough. Sebastian walked around the counter, one hand grabbing the backs of their shirt collars, and pulling them backwards until they're at the front door, where he loosed his grip to push the entrance door wide open, the bell above the shop ringing violently.
"Please don't come again," he hissed. "I don't need money from people long past their prime, who still believe that corporal punishment teaches children anything. I hope you have a terrible day. Goodbye."
The heavy wooden door—and the large windows beside it—shook as Sebastian slammed it shut, hastily locking it before flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. The two humans stared at him from the other side; Harold with fear, Margret with pure disdain. She raised a fist—to slam against his windows, the demon was sure—only for her husband to shock her out of the act.
"Good God, Margret, are you going to embarrass us next to one of the busiest roads in town?! People are gawking already, and I am so tired of not being able to go anywhere with you without leaving ashamed! This is why our daughter doesn't talk to us, why our grandson doesn't come over for dinner! Either we go to the car together, or I will leave you here and you can see about getting your own ride home!"
Each black blind was pulled down individually, obstructing the view from the picture windows, each awning window pulled shut and locked in order. The closing ritual never strayed: start from the front left, where all the antiques sat; brush away dust from the furniture, wipe away any fingerprints left on the glass display cases, polish the smooth metals of brass, bronze, and copper. The back left held many different oddities: taxidermized insects, jewelry with sorrowful histories, the occasional creepy doll that may or may not be cursed.
Then to the right backside, where crystals, tarot cards, incense, and books of witchcraft lived. The decks had not been opened, the crystals unbroken, and no book had a tear. Sebastian's hand stopped over one book in particular: A Demon's View of Witches, written by a Sabine Mikala. It had been a bitch to find a publisher, but even now Sebastian earned royalties as her "descendant."
Sieglinde's birthday was next month. Perhaps he'd give her a copy (since Wolfram would get on his case if he didn't get her a gift), maybe even sign it as a treat. With how many original copies he had left, the girl wouldn't even realize the ink was fresh. He'd gladly deal with the overbearing beast yelling at him for giving an eight-, going on nine-, year-old a book featuring graphic descriptions of violent rituals; it would be too hilarious not to pull such chicanery.
Begrudgingly, he finally walked to the front right of the store, where he kept the vintage wares. It was Sebastian's least favorite section: a collection of clothes and tacky art pieces that blemished his otherwise lavish shop. They were only here, on his floor, as a favor. As much as the demon loathed Grim Reapers, he was no fool. Four of the seven Reapers that had him in their sights excelled at combat, and the other two kept close eyes on those he engaged with socially. And, while he hadn't seen the insane seventh Reaper—the manager of the group—in quite a while, Sebastian would prefer to avoid another Death Scythe impaling him.
Ugh. He still shuddered at the memory.
According to a Ronald Knox, the Grim Reaper Dispatch shortchanged their members, rarely giving them actual money to use in the living world. How am I supposed to take a dame on a date if I can't buy her dinner? Ronald had complained once, shoving some ugly jacket into the demon's hands some months ago. You give me whatever you can sell this for, and I won't lie to Headquarters that you've gone rogue and we need to put you down. Sounds like a fair bargain to me.
Ha. For servants who relied on God's forgiveness to release them from their torment, Reapers could be just as cruel and manipulative as demons.
How unfortunate, that the 'trash' the woman had thrown a fit over was one of Knox's donations. It was a suede jacket, made of goatskin, black as a stormy night with isometric patterns of gold and sapphire on the shoulders. Frankly, it was the most ugly thing Ronald had ever demanded he sell. When it had been in style, it would have been worth around $125... modern day inflation brought its worth to nearly $700. Sebastian was underselling the jacket by quite a lot; it was just so ugly, and the sooner someone bought it, the sooner the demon would no longer have to deal with Ronald badgering him about it.
And woe, as he looked closer, he found a tear in the lapel. Minuscule, easily fixed by his centuries of expertise, but no less aggravating. With a sigh, Sebastian lifted it from the rack by the hanger, folding it over his arm. He spent a minute checking the rest of the vintage section, slightly concerned that the dreadful woman might have damaged more clothes. Finding nothing, Sebastian finished his workday by grabbing the cash register (an antique, with a modern card scanner by its side), tucking it awkwardly under his arm, beneath where the jacket hung, before stepping outside.
With the alarms engaged and the doors locked, Sebastian glanced up and down the busy sidewalk. The two elderly humans were long gone. Good. He headed to the right, stopping a few feet after the windows ended. There were two front doors for his building; the one to the left saw the most foot traffic, with the building's number above the doors: 666. The one to his right, however, was a simple door with no lock. There, dead center on the pale wood door, was his home's number: 666 ½.
Was a demon truly a demon without some whimsy in his cold, black heart?
Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him, starting the climb up the concrete steps in the narrow passage to the second door, made of thick mahogany with etchings of imps and devils. The landing had a rug to wipe one’s feet: black, decorated with a floral border, and reading WELCOME, FOOLISH MORTAL. He’d found it three Halloweens ago, and it tickled him so much he just had to bring it home. There was no simple doorknob; instead there was a knocker, the ring held between the jaws of a horned tiger. Both eyes housed a keyhole, with a third found in the back of the tiger's mouth. Once unlocked, Sebastian pushed it open, the door groaning loudly.
The hallway was dark; when he wasn't hosting a child, Sebastian rarely bothered with lights. He could see quite well in the dark, and so could his two little 'roommates.' As he kicked the door closed behind him, Sebastian was greeted by the pitter-patter of two sets of paws: one light, one heavy.
"Mrow!"
Sebastian opened his empty arm wide; a fat sphinx cat, with a dark grey mink pattern on its skin, leaped with the grace of a drunken hippo. Slamming into Sebastian's side with a force that would easily knock down your average human, the cat purred up a storm, claws digging into his work peacoat. The demon quickly placed a hand under its rear, preventing the tomcat from sliding down and slicing open the burgundy fibers with his razor-blade claws.
"Oh, hello there, Hansel," Sebastian coos. "And how is my plump terror doing today? I know, I know, I'm home early!"
A quieter "Brrmph?" comes from down the hall; peeking around the corner was another sphinx, this one a slim tortoiseshell, ears flat against her head. Sebastian crouched down with grace, letting Hansel drop like a sack of potatoes; the tomcat clearly didn't mind, just purred louder and rolled onto his back. Sebastian gestured with two fingers, curling them; the other cat trotted over, tail up as she greeted him with a loud "Mrrph!"
"Your brother is always leaving you behind, isn't he, my little Gretel?" The demon scratched under her chin, the shecat's green eyes closing contentedly. "What a mean brother he is. Come now, you two. It's too early for dinner, but never too early for some treats. No, never too early for you two to get your tummies all round with your Churus."
The Michaelis apartment was quite simple.
Built in 1895, the brownstone two-story building had a charm to it that most modern-day buildings didn't. The second floor—that being the apartment—wasn't as large as the store below, as the far left of the flat roof was instead made into a terrace. Sturdy and easy to clean, the demon was so very grateful that he’d won the bid ten-something years ago to make this place his home (for now). With seven rooms in total (eight, if you counted the walk-in closet) it was neither very large nor very small.
There were only two hallways, making an L shape, the entrance being on the far right of the shape. Down the left hallway was Sebastian's bedroom door on the south wall, and his study's door on the west wall. Inside his bedroom was another door that led to his private bathroom. From there, turning north up the other hallway, you'd find the decently-sized open living room to the left, the kitchen and dining room to the right, and at the end of the hallway were the two last rooms. To the left was the bathroom meant for the foster child, and to the right was their bedroom.
The kitchen had a small pantry, and in the space between the kitchen and the child's room was one last door, which led to a long, walk-in closet. The living room had a large glass door which led to the rooftop terrace, where Sebastian had a few fruiting vegetables and berries. A good majority of the furniture was a mixture of retro and antique, things he'd collected over the years after the consumption of the souls of his previous contractees. The television, however, was modern, along with many other electronics such as game consoles, the computer and laptop in his study, and even the litter boxes he kept in his bathroom.
Hansel and Gretel meowed up a storm, weaving through Sebastian's legs like snakes. He never missed a step, never tripped, making it safely to his study. It, too, was an L shape, just upside-down. There was a folded drop-leaf table only three feet into the room, on which the demon placed the cash register, sideways. Another few steps later was the end of his desk. Placing the jacket on its surface, he pivoted and exited, with Hansel and Gretel nearly tripping him as they both threw themselves in front of his feet.
"You two are very needy right now," Sebastian noted, his voice light. "Hm. Are you out of food?" Glancing quickly to the open living room, he spied the cat tree and the still-mostly-full bowl of dry food in it. "No? Is it the Churus you're waiting for? All right, come on, you little imps. Hansel, stop getting underfoot lest you be stepped on. Gretel, that does not mean you need to smack your brother—hey, no, put away the claws!"
Herding the rowdy felines into the kitchen, Sebastian tapped his fingers on the dining room table to invite them up. Gretel jumped fluidly onto it, while Hansel scrambled on a chair first. He stared at Sebastian expectedly. Rolling his eyes, the demon pushed in the chair. Pleased, Hansel joined his sister on the table, headbutting her. The tomcat could easily jump from the floor to the table, but for some reason he demanded to be pushed in every time. What a cheeky little creature.
The kitchen was a mishmash of vintage and retro, with each appliance carefully picked out. Was the appliance something he would allow the children to use without chaperoning—dishwasher (though only he could access the soap), refrigerator, microwave—? If so, it was retro. But if the appliance was something he wouldn't let children use alone, such as the stove-top oven, the kettle, and the air fryer—it was vintage and locked down. He used to allow the tea kettle and air fryer to be used freely but, after too many incidents, he simply couldn't allow it anymore.
Paper and plastic dishware were in the lower cabinets, while the porcelain and glass dishware were in the top cabinets, locked away after an older girl had broken his favorite, cat-themed, tea set. Children were such determined nuisances, selfish and shallow, with no room in their small and underdeveloped brains to consider consequences. Sebastian was sure a lesser demon would have lost their patience within just a few hours of working with the little brats. But Sebastian was no lesser demon, and what was the point of a hunt if the prey was easy? What worth did a meal have if it was free?
"Mrooow!" Gretel cried, flopping onto her side on the table. "Mmmmrooooooow! Brrph!" she complained, staring at the space where the cat treats lived. Her expression was pitiable; I'm starving, it said. And unless I am fed soon, I shall waste away. Does Father hate us? Does he wish us to suffer?
"I don't know which of you is worse," Sebastian scolds playfully, stepping to the light blue refrigerator and opening it. Inside was . . . concerning. He clicked his tongue as he catalogued the lackluster assortment of drinks, fruits, vegetables, sandwich meats, healthy snacks. There were three eggs left, an unopened gallon of apple juice, a bag of Babybel cheeses, and a small bottle of goat milk specifically for his cats.
And, of course, their Churu.
Salmon for Hansel, chicken for Gretel. They greedily "mlemlemlem"-ed up their treats, eyes closed in contentment.
I will need to go to the store before Angi arrives, Sebastian thought. Just grab enough for more simple meals, then Ciel and I can discuss what he's more likely to eat. Wasting food is distasteful at best, disrespectful at worst. I swear, if I have to toss out a perfectly fine cod sandwich again, I may just eat his soul early.
With the cats placated, Sebastian tossed the empty tubes into the trash before making his way to the walk-in closet and unlocking it. The long room was well-organized, with easy-access plastic bins and drawers from floor to ceiling; different-colored cloth boxes, signaling what items the section held. He kept the linens close to the door, different bins marked with the use and the type of fabric. Most children preferred cotton, so that was what he kept most.
An artichoke-green, fitted sheet was pulled out first, followed by its accompanying, paler bedsheet. Sebastian paired these with a white comforter, decorated with a floral pattern of lilac and pale yellow. They'd been in here for a while; a simple wash with plain water would freshen them up. With little knowledge of the child, and any allergens he may have had, it wasn't a risk worth taking. A hospital trip on the first night would make Sebastian look a fool.
"Where's the damned matching pillowcase?" the demon grumbled under his breath, searching through the two bins of cotton pillowcases. "I know it's in here somewhere, why is it not with the whites—oh for the love of the Morningstar, why the hell did I place you with the magentas?" The stark-white pillowcase was pulled out with a flourish, flapping loudly as Sebastian shook it out. What an odd mistake for him to make.
Hansel was waiting for him in the living room, pawing at the bifold doors near the large, dark grey couch. When his owner approached, he scampered off to jump onto the armchair a few feet away. The cat watched with mild interest as Sebastian pulled open the doors to expose the small closet inside, where the washer and drying presided, stacked on atop each other. The washer, on top, was opened, and the linens tossed inside the large drum. With a curious little "Mrow?" and a tilt of his head, he asked in cat language: New little human soon? Little human to give scritches and butt-bongo time?
Hansel merped and mrowed, tail twitching in agitation when his beloved master ignored his pouting expression. The demon glanced backward as the wash cycle began, smiling at his sweet plump boy.
"Dear me, Hansel, that's such a grumpy face you have there," Sebastian purred "Come now. You can survive without my attention for a while longer."
Hansel growled, then yowled with the dramatics of a well-learned actor.
"Dramatic little beast," the demon caved, stepping close to give his little menace the rough petting he loved. "I have much to do. You know that? You're such a rude boy. Yes. Yes, you are." With a few chin scratches given as an apology, Sebastian had to force himself away from his sweet little man. Woe, what great suffering it was to deny the desire to pick up the large sphinx into his arms and smother it in kisses.
The majority of the evening was cleaning: vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, and the like. The guest bathroom was restocked with all the necessities it needed; the guest bedroom was aired out. Sebastian checked the bare mattress, and realized he couldn't put the sheets on just yet. With a sigh, he dumped them on the nearby desk to rush back to the hallway closet. Sebastian was back within seconds, mattress protector in hand. Traumatized little mortals tended to have, to use the polite term, accidents. He had thrown away far too many beds before he discovered this simple solution.
Sebastian used to burn the soiled clothing too, when he’d taken up foster care in another country. But when he moved to the United States, the first time he did that, Liam scolded him for well over three hours; one of the items he burned to ash had been a memento of his then-child's late aunt. Sebastian had been able to smooth it over, magicking the nightgown back together, and lying to Liam that the child had simply mistaken something else he burned for her oh-so-precious, ugly, nightgown.
Now, he gritted his teeth and washed them all. With a tug to ensure the protector was snug, Sebastian finally dressed the twin mattress in the comforts of cotton and the sweet promises of safety. No blanket could stop a demon, nor even a human, from doing what it wanted; from stealing what it craves. But Sebastian had never been that kind of monster; he'd manipulate them, break their spirits, bring them to emotional ruin . . . but no further. Spilling blood, ravaging bodies, and devouring souls, of such young mortals was something lesser demons did.
And Sebastian was no lesser demon.
So, under those blankets would be safety, an unbreakable fortress, with the demon acting as the dragon outside the stone tower—spitting fire and dropping magma from his maw—all while choking the royal imprisoned inside with smoke and ash. No knight in shining armor would come to their aid; no, they would thank the dragon for feasting on the flesh of heroes, for every meal gives them more time before the dragon turned on them; and, oh, would the dragon turn on them. After freeing them from that tower, after letting them build their own castle far away, right before their hairs turn grey . . . the dragon would scorch their kingdom and devour them whole.
Sebastian licked his lips. I hope this Ciel will end up being a wonderful meal, when I find him decades down the line.
With the room aired out, the bed dressed, and the carpet well-vacuumed, the demon exited, closing the door behind him. His cats waited a few feet from the door, well-trained to never enter the foster's bathroom, or bedroom, unless welcomed inside by the child. Following him to the kitchen, the pair meowed as he opened the refrigerator, meaning to grab himself a drink. Oh. His usual smirk dropped as he stared at the mostly-empty fridge. Right. He still needed to go shopping. A clock on the wall read 8:15PM; the boy would arrive in less than two hours.
There went his chance to sit down with a cup of coffee and begin rereading his favorite novel. He sighed, leaning forward to eye what was left, and found most everything was expired. Of course, he hadn't put much thought into it earlier, distracted by his needy animals. Sebastian simply not requiring the same sustenance as mortals—though he didn’t count this as a fair excuse—would explain why this slipped his mind. He pulled out what needed to be tossed, throwing it all into a cardboard bag.
Let's hope the brat isn't too picky; I'm not going shopping again until Monday, at the earliest.
Sebastian had just placed the last grocery bag on the dining room table when there were three firm knocks to the door. It seemed Agni was about fifteen minutes earlier than expected. Sebastian rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he settled himself into the parent mindset. Another two knocks. He opened them; crimson has faded to amber, his wicked grin softened, and his posture relaxed further.
He could hear an argument as he walked down the hallway; the child sounded angry. Hurt. Deliciously frightened. As he should be, for one never entered a demon's lair without losing a piece of themselves. The boy's voice was accented, British, posh. If he grew up in an upper-crust family, he might be a spoiled brat. He wouldn't be for long; Sebastian was very good at knocking prideful children down a few pegs.
Sebastian unlocked the door before pulling it open, his face hosting a soft smile, eyes crinkled in that way humans found friendly. Agni's white eyes met his, kind but nervous. The man had his hands full: the left held a small cardboard box, while his right (bandaged, as always) held a young boy's shoulder; tight enough to keep him from bolting, but not enough to bruise. The demon hadn't seen the social worker so exhausted in . . . well, ever. There was a deep sadness in his expression.
Interesting.
"Forgive me for not calling you to announce an early arrival," Agni tilted his body in a shallow, apologetic bow. "The freeway's traffic cleared up sooner than I thought, and we were hit with luck when it came to many green lights."
Sebastian waved his hand dismissively. "It's no trouble at all, Agni," he soothed. His eyes lowered from Agni's face to the little boy's; his head was swallowed by a light grey hoodie that was far too large for his slight frame. "Now, is this my new guest? Please, come inside, the both of you. I just arrived home myself, truth be told. There's a small handful of groceries I need to place in the fridge."
"Thank you for your understanding, Sebastian! Come now, Ciel, if you'd please enter firs—"
Ciel tensed, keeping his feet firm on the ground. "I don't want to go in there," he sneered. "What is the point? I'll be tossed out within a few hours anyways. This repetition is bollocks."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Oh? 'Bollocks,' is it, young man? Underestimating me already? Well, now. I can't allow such falsehoods to cloud your mind." The demon knelt down, attempting to catch the boy's eyes. Shadowed by the too-large hood, Sebastian can barely see one blue eye, bright and aware. The other was entirely covered by his blue-grey bangs.
The boy glared at him, mouth pulled into a thin, flat line. With a nasty, pompous tone, he said: "Why did you kneel down? I don't want to see that ugly thing you call a face. It makes me sick."
Oh! What a cheeky little brat this boy is.
"Ciel!" Agni admonished. "That is completely unacceptable to say! Such manners are shameful. I am so sorry, Sebastian. I've spoken to him throughout the ride about being polite, but nothing seems to stick." He sighs deeply. "You owe him an apology, Ciel. That is unkind, and you know that."
Sebastian found it amusing as the boy rolled his eye, scoffing. Ciel attempted to shuffle backwards, just minutely, trying to hide behind Agni. There was little room to do so, unless he wished to risk a very painful trip down the staircase or Agni tightening his grip. His blunt words reminded Sebastian of someone else.
Funny for you to say such things, Agni, given Soma acts far worse, he mused, though he kept that thought inside for now. Perhaps, once Ciel had settled in, he'd tell the boy about the behavior of a high-schooler, who acted just as juvenile as he did.
Though, depending on how long Ciel stayed in his care, Soma would end up showing sooner or later. Though, for my sanity, I pray for later.
Sebastian didn’t break eye contact with the child. The sense of fear was still strong, coming in waves, but far stronger than that was the look of defiance in his eye. Such a delicious mix of emotions. Ciel looked just as likely to bolt as he was to use his nails to claw the demon's eyes out. It didn't take much to realize how weak the boy looked, skinny and frail, but the fight blazing in his soul was blinding. Whatever trials this boy had faced changed him down to his very DNA, twisting his soul into something black, yet radiant.
"He only spoke the truth, Agni. Don't shame him for that." Sebastian let himself grin. "If I may be so bold, Ciel, but could you please do this ugly man a favor and step inside? What is insulting is the waste of my air conditioning during the August heat."
Ciel blinked, surprised. "You . . . agree that you're unpleasant on the eyes? Most ugly people don't accept the truth. They get mad instead, yelling at me when I remind them of their ugliness."
Sebastian lifted his hand to cover his mouth, his laugh gentle. Oh, this boy was a treat! "Oh, absolutely!" the demon agreed. "I am not one to be displeased when it comes to the truth. You see, I skipped my morning skincare routine after breakfast, so my old and decrepit self terrorized the locals at the grocer. If you come inside, I will gladly offer you my laptop, and we can find myself a coffin, fitting for a cretin like myself."
The boy was so close to smiling; the twitch at the corner of his mouth was barely noticeable but, even if he’d missed the expression, Sebastian could sense the boy relax, ever so slightly. "It would need to be a closed casket. Would anyone even want to come to your funeral? I can't imagine someone like yourself having friends; if you do, they must look even fouler than you."
"Ciel! That is quite enough," Agni's voice raised a few decibels. He wasn’t yelling. No, Agni would never yell at a child; but his disapproval was clear as day. "You are not permitted to treat Sebastian in such a—"
Sebastian raises a hand, silencing the other man. If he were a normal man, perhaps he'd find such a defense honorable. But the demon was not a normal man, and he found it annoying. He had control; the man did not.
"Agni would come,” Sebastian said, “and I wouldn't call him ugly. I'd describe him as quite the opposite" The demon glanced at Agni, ignoring the slight flush on the taller man's face. "He is the only man who considers me a friend, and the only one who could do me a most important favor. A favor which only he has the strength to do." He leaned forward, conspiratorially, lowering his voice so only Ciel could hear his whisper. "He needs to drive a wooden stake deep into my heart, lest I crawl out of my coffin, six feet under, to continue terrorizing the living with a face full of maggots."
Snort. Ciel covered his mouth, hiding his grin. He forced it back into an expression of mild boredom, coughing; as if that could hide the laughter that slipped out. "What, do you think you're a vampire? Like Dracula, from Stoker’s novel?"
Sebastian stood up slowly, letting his spine pop! dramatically. He finally returned his amber eyes to meet Agni's confused white gaze. Then, with grace, he bowed deeply. "Oh, I don't think I am a vampire, child. I am a vampire, and I am inviting you into my castle. We could do this the simple way, with you crossing the threshold calmly and with pride, or the hard way . . . in which Agni and I will have to lift you, and swing you inside like a toddler. Which sounds more agreeable to you, Ciel?"
The boy stopped hiding behind Angi, shaking the man's hand off his shoulder as he stepped in front of him. Then, with his nose pointed high, Ciel stepped into the apartment. Agni's mouth dropped, watching the boy change from nervous to confident. "How . . . ? I can't believe that worked! Sebastian, once again you have proven yourself a miracle-worker! From what I have learned, after the fifth transfer, Ciel would never go inside willingly. Oh, thank the gods you weren't fostering anyone at this time. Truly, you are the perfect choice!"
Sebastian's grin turned sharper, eyes glinting in malicious glee.
"You say that like you're surprised, Agni. I am, after all, simply one hell of a foster father."
All three locks on the front door were different, requiring different keys. Ciel looked at him, annoyed, as he watched the man use said keys to lock the door; it seems there was no simple deadbolt (which would make escaping more difficult, if not impossible) for him to finagle it open. Even the mechanisms themselves were made in a way that no lockpick, nor crudely-bent bobby pin, could ever unlock. Demon-make creations do not work like the creations of man. The complexity, the trap-work—nothing major, just a little zap, and a miasma of dread, when little humans become too curious—the thread of connection that pulled on Sebastian whenever the door was messed with.
Now in the hallway's light, Sebastian could see the entirety of the child's face. Ciel's right eye was covered by a black eyepatch, and the boy kept fidgeting with his bangs, trying to hide the fabric. His left eye, that bright blue, was subtly moving; the demon already knew that the boy must be memorizing the layout of his new home, making mental notes of possible escape routes and dead ends. The way Ciel moved his head looked so natural, tilting this way and that like a curious kitten.
Sebastian led Agni and Ciel to the kitchen, his back fully turned to hide the smirk on his face. That, there, is the expression of a child who has much experience in escaping. No, not just that. Intelligence, which leads to subterfuge, which leads to a headache. How many times will you try, child, how many plans will you enact and fail until you lose hope? Can you lose hope?
"What are those things?"
Ciel sounded stupefied. There, sniffling at the different bags, were Hansel and Gretel. Upon seeing the new arrivals, they chirped their hellos, Gretel jumping down from the table. She trotted over, tail in the air, to wind around Ciel's feet. The sphinx sniffed at the bare part of his leg, the small sliver between the hem of his pants and his, frankly dirty, sock. Now that Sebastian thought of it, the clothes the boy was wearing were all dirty. How many days had he been wearing them? The stench is only slightly noticeable, but enough to make Sebastian's skin crawl.
"Ew! Where is its fur?" Ciel cringed. "They're so lumpy and baggy. Like naked mole rats, but nothing like what I've seen in National Geographic."
"Oh, these two? They're my cats," Sebastian remarked brightly, biting back his offense. "The one greeting you is Gretel; she loves meeting new people. The larger boy up there is Hansel, her brother. I take it that this is your first time seeing this species of cat; they're sphinxes."
"Wait, they're cats?!” Ciel shrieks. "No, no no no get away from me! I don't want you touching me! Get! I said get!"
It's a miracle the boy didn't kick Gretel as he stumbled backwards, though he did look like he wanted to. Gretel took two steps forward, then paused and turned around, not finding worth in continuing her pursuit. She looked backwards, once, as if hoping this new little human might change his mind. The disgust is still clear on his face. With a sad "Mow . . .", Gretel's ears droop, her tail curling around her in flimsy comfort. Sebastian hurt for his sweet girl; she had always been the first to greet a child, and this was her first ever rejection.
What a rude little brat, Sebastian thought, eyes hardening, gaze turning cold, before he forced himself back into his gentle persona. What reason do you have to reject my lady in such a way? It can't just be their appearance, yet I don't believe this strong aversion is from any sort of trauma. Well. I suppose if this adds some extra fear into my home, I will still relish the taste.
Agni took a deep breath, holding it for seven seconds before exhaling. "Ciel. Would you please lower your voice? It is late in the night and, while Sebastian doesn't have any close neighbors, such volume is unbecoming. We can hear you just fine."
Ciel rolled his eye. Then, with a smirk, he pitched his voice louder as he snapped back: "Oh, is there a problem with my VOLUME?! DOES THIS UPSET YOU?! I AM SOOOO SORRY! HOW VERY RUDE OF ME!"
"Ciel!"
The boy huffed, stomping past Agni to bring his storm into the kitchen, keeping clear of the cats. Hopping onto a seat, Ciel began to tear through the grocery bags like a tornado. A bag of celery, packets of apple slices, sandwich meats . . . so many different foods, all that Sebastian chose carefully, thrown around the room. A gallon of milk, hurled at the wall, smashing the plastic open and painting the blue wallpaper white. Three apples nearly smacked Sebastian in the face; he caught them effortlessly. An expensive cut of lamb had the plastic around it sliced open by the boy's far-too-long, and dirty, nails, Ciel digging his hands in to rip into it, only to be frustrated when the meat doesn't give so easily.
Agni desperately tried to gather the far-flung items, rushing around the kitchen and catching food as it was thrown. "Ciel! Enough! This is beneath a boy your age!" Agni would sputter out, just for Ciel to return with:
"How am I supposed to know how a boy my age acts? As far as I know, we're meant to have 'fun,' and throwing things around and making messes is very fun!"
Sebastian hadn't moved. Hadn't said a word. His amber eyes took in the destruction with a quiet fascination, studying Ciel closely. This chaos wasn't random; food was thrown, yes, but never directly at either of the two men or the cats. He didn't touch the few sweets—some cookies, the boxes of cake and brownie mix—nor did he attempt to rip open the teabags. Squinting his eyes, Sebastian focused on Ciel's expression. There was anger behind his violence, apparent and loud, but deeper behind that blue eye was the reflection of a boy who craved boundaries; someone to tell him to stop, to make him stop, yet he was so clearly afraid of punishment.
Far too many mixed emotions for such a small body. The demon saw no reason to address Ciel; he wouldn't dignify such behavior by chiding a child who wouldn’t listen to reason. Instead he turned to Agni, who was rescuing tomatoes from the sink. Sebastian put a hand on the other man's shoulder, startling him. "Would you mind putting whatever you find on the counter? I'll start putting the remnants of this stormy night in their rightful places. I honestly didn't buy too much; it was a quick trip. I wasn't aware of any allergens or preferences Ciel may have, so I avoided the more common ones like nuts and seafood. Shame about the eggs, though. His aim is impressive for only having one eye to see through. I never thought about using egg yolk to add a smiling face to my windows until now."
"I can hear you," Ciel grumbled wearily. The storm had finally passed, leaving few survivors of its rage. He sulks, laying his arms on the table and resting his head on them. His breathing was slow, heavy. With a mumble, the boy lamented: "And you don't get to know anything about me. I won't be here long enough for that to matter. I never am."
Hm. Losing the spark already? That won't do. "Do you hear that, Agni? I swore I heard some buzzing," Sebastian teased, nodding his head towards the disheveled boy. "Must be a fly, since I'm hearing bullshit."
Ciel didn’t raise his head; he did, however, lift one hand to toss his middle finger in Sebastian's direction, making the demon snicker quietly.
With the salvageable groceries put away, Sebastian and Agni joined Ciel at the table. The social worker sat closer to the boy, looking down at him with an expression of pity. With a weary sigh, underlined with a fondness only humans could produce, Agni finally placed down the cardboard box he'd kept under his arm the entire time. He pushes it over to Sebastian, who lifted it up first; it was far lighter than Sebastian had expected. Inside was . . . only two days worth of clothes, a single set of pajamas, and a hastily-written note in an unfamiliar scrawl; must have been from the previous fosters.
TO THE NEXT FOSTER PARENT; I HOPE THIS HELPS, AND GOOD LUCK
NAME: CIEL [UNKNOWN]
AGE: 10
SEX: MALE
DOB: DEC 14
HISTORY: PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE
BEHAVIOR: VERBALLY AND PHYSICALLY AGGRESSIVE (DRAWS BLOOD), FLIGHT RISK, HIGHLY DESTRUCTIVE AND PRONE TO EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS.*
WARNING: WE HAVE NEVER HAD A CHILD SO DESTRUCTIVE IN OUR CARE — DESTROYED THE URN THAT HELD MY GRANDPARENTS WITHOUT REMORSE, THEN FLUSHED DOWN THE ASHES WHILE LAUGHING AT MY WIFE.
"You seem to be a whirlwind, Ciel. Flushing someone’s deceased relative down the toilet is something I've only seen in movies. What inspired you to do such a thing?" Sebastian’s voice was not unkind; he leaned forward. "Those who do such things in fiction I've seen are always the fool, but I see no jester in front of me."
Ciel lifted his head; his eye was red, yet no tears or stains marred his cheeks. "It's mean to keep the dead around. It doesn't make you feel better, and it doesn't make the dead happy, either. It's . . . wait, what's the word—oh! Stagnant. If you were a ghost and had to be stuck forever in one place, that would be like Hell, if Hell was real."
"Pray tell, what should one do with the dead? Leave their remains in a cemetery, where they may well be forgotten? Perhaps in Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, to be sold to the masses?"
Sebastian ignored Agni's urgent whisper: "How foolish to speak of Sweeney Todd! You'll give him nightmares!"
"Burn them." Ciel suddenly went tense, voice flat. His eye, usually so bright, dulled. "Burn them, bring their ashes to somewhere natural, far from home, that they loved. Scatter each and every ash. At least there, in nature, it'll always be changing. The sun will rise and set. The wind will shake the branches, sometimes just a little and sometimes a lot. It could be sunny, then rainy, then snowy. One day there could be a squirrel in a tree and the next there is an owl eating its face. It won't ever be boring. And if they are a ghost . . . they wouldn’t be trapped. They'd be free to do whatever they want, because there wouldn't be an urn or a bag or a box caging them."
Sometimes he speaks so much like a boy his age, but now this. How has your trauma molded you, brat? If I cultivate your soul well enough, you may end up being my favorite meal this century.
Sniff. Agni had his hands in front of his face, held like in prayer. "That's a sad, yet beautiful, way to think of it, Ciel! We do something very similar in my religion. To us, the fire is purifying to the soul, to help them through the next stage of saṃsāra—oh, excuse me; you may not know that word. Think of it as helping them prepare for reincarnation. We then scatter their ashes in sacred rivers to liberate their souls."
"Can fire really purify?" Ciel asked, suddenly alert. "If someone did something . . . really bad, does the fire make it so they can be forgiven? What if they're so gross that nothing can save them? What happens then? Do they go to Hell, like in Christianity? What if they didn't want to do the bad thi—"
Ciel's questions were interrupted by Agni's phone going off. Agni quickly stood, nearly knocking his chair over. He bowed in apology before stepping out of the kitchen, into the front hallway to take the call in private. Ciel sighed loudly; he was just getting into the real questions. The boy leaned back in his own chair, throwing his arms over his head and using the backrest to stretch, yawning loudly. Slumping back forward, he rubbed away the sleep building up in his eye.
Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Agni returned.
"My apologies, but that call was from my son, asking for me to return home as quickly as possible. Soma has somehow set fire to the aloo paratha I left him to heat up for dinner; I told him not to touch the stove after last time, but . . . as always he did not listen." The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is quite late, and I don't have much more information to give you tonight, dear friend. I should have more tomorrow, as I am meeting with O'Reilly over breakfast to discuss Ciel's case. If it is all right with you, I'd like to swing by sometime in the midafternoon with, hopefully, more information."
Sebastian stood slowly. "Of course. Please, allow me to walk you to the door. Ciel, you may either look around while I do so, or you may join us. It matters not to me which you choose."
Ciel rolls his eye, but he jumped down from his own chair as well, shuffling behind the adults warily. "Does this mean Agni will be picking me up tomorrow, then? I'm sure you're already planning on tossing me out after I ruined your kitchen. There's still egg on the window."
It was Agni who replied, gentle but firm: "It does not, Ciel. I have full confidence that Sebastian will be the perfect fit for you." He stopped before the entrance, looking down at Ciel kindly. "I shall see you tomorrow, Ciel. I hope you have a good night's sleep. Oh. You too, Sebastian."
"Wait!" Ciel shouted before he could stop himself. He quickly looked away, the tips of his ears pink, unwilling to risk eye contact. "I . . . I know I won't be here long, no matter what you say. But you still . . . you still drove really far away to pick me up, the farthest anyone has. And you never yelled at me in the car. I'm sorry your effort will be in vain, but . . . thank you. For trying."
Agni dropped to one knee, eyes twinkling as he chuckled warmly. "It was truly no bother, Ciel. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I truly believe that you will find a home here. You’ll soon find that Sebastian and I are more stubborn than a herd of elephants. We don't believe in leaving people behind; none of us at Noah's Ark have ever given up a child. You will be no different."
Ciel's lips wobbled, for a moment, before he chewed on his bottom lip. He backed away from the men, the door, and pivots, retreating speedily. Agni rose, the smile on his face dropping like wet chalk on a blackboard. The Morningstar below, the man looked exhausted. When he met Sebastian's eyes, all the demon could think was:
I have never seen you look more your age than now.
"You shouldn’t need to worry about dinner; Ciel and I grabbed McDonald's about an hour ago. Don't give me such a look, my friend. I know you oppose the chain's very existence. I was in dire need of fuel, and the drive-thru was the least risky option. Admittedly, he didn't eat as much as I had hoped he would, so he may need a snack."
Sebastian thought back to the note, and to Agni's earlier call. "Ah. Yes. He's a flight risk, is he not? I'm not too worried about him slipping away, but I will be sure to keep an ear out for any suspicious sounds, like the breaking of glass or a boy yelling about a 'worthless bitch of a wife.'"
Agni paled.
"I—wasn't aware the call was still going. How embarrassing . . . but. Ahem. Yes, he's a flight risk. He tried to bolt out of my truck at least six times; the child lock was too complicated for him, and I was prepared to grab him at any moment. If you wish to take him anywhere, send me a text so I can give you clearance. Knowing your generosity, I'm sure you're already planning on buying him something. Oh, and when you have time, please send me the total cost of the food that was wasted. I will pay you back myself."
"Agni, while that offer is very kind, I have to decline. The only thing I am concerned about when it comes to the groceries is Ciel's destructive behavior. I will need to have a stern conversation with him, specifically about food waste and not the cost . . . but not tonight. I believe he has had a very rough day, and a tantrum isn't surprising." Sebastian's smile was sunny, peaceful. "Go ensure Soma doesn't burn down your home; I shall see you tomorrow."
"Would you care to explain why you caused so much mischief for your last foster parents?" Sebastian was casual with his question, even as he watched Ciel attempt to push over the empty cat tree in the corner of the living room. Why he was trying such a thing, Sebastian didn’t know nor care. "I heard you broke their window, and used quite the word to address the lady of the house."
Ciel watched suspiciously as Sebastian settled himself on the armchair. Hansel (who had been hiding ever since the storm in the kitchen) clawed up his owner's leg to flop into his lap. Sebastian hadn't sounded accusatory. Just interested. Ciel chewed on his lip; the bravado from earlier was fading without Agni's presence.
"I almost got away; if Agni had shown up even a minute later, I would be who-knows-where, away from all of you." Ciel’s voice was matter-of-fact, though his confidence wavered as he went on: "If his wife didn't want to be called that, maybe she shouldn’t have been letting her kid eat my chocolates! They told me those chocolates were just for me." Ciel stuck up his nose. "'You don't need to share them,' they said. But then she and her husband allowed their son to go through my bag of sweets and eat them all! They just watched!"
The demon rocked backwards, petting the cat in his lap. "Did they happen to say why they allowed this?"
Ciel nodded rapidly. "I told their son I didn't want a hug, and to stop entering my bubble. I didn't want to play with him. Since I wasn't being a 'kind boy' and sharing my toy with him, the lady said to her husband that I needed an 'example of what sharing looks like.'" Ciel frowned. "I just wanted to be left alone. I don't share what's mine."
The boy tried to shove the tower again, but immediately stopped when he looked up. Gretel had climbed it while Ciel talked, and was now curled up comfortably on the top shelf. Sebastian waited to see if Ciel would try again, even with the cat there.
He did not. Just like how he never aimed for the cats during his tantrum, I don't believe this boy has any desire to harm animals. That's a good sign, I suppose. It would be difficult to explain how this one child somehow died violently in my care.
"I'm sorry they went back on their word, Ciel. Your space should have been respected." Sebastian spoke firmly, watching Ciel's eye widen. "There are many ways to encourage the act of sharing, but punishment is no motivator, and neither is shame. Do you remember what brand of chocolates they bought? I'd be willing to buy them myself, when I visit the grocer next. Though, if you'd prefer a different brand, or even a different type of candy, I can buy you that as well."
". . . Are you trying to bribe me?" Ciel sounded offended and afraid.
"No. On the contrary, I do not want to gift you something if it means you feel as if I'm trying to bribe you, or as a means to lower your defenses. There are many adults in this world who would do that, as a way to keep you quiet about something frightening. Your caution is not only understandable, but respectable. I do hope, as time passes, you will come to see that I am no threat. But even if that never comes to fruition . . . I will understand and never intend to hold it against you."
The demon leaned forward, squishing Hansel beneath his chest; the cat did not mind.
"My offer comes from my own disappointment in how you were treated. I simply detest those who go back on their word."
There. The swirl of mixed emotions, the dying galaxy that made up that big, blue eye.
Is he afraid of comfort, afraid this offer comes with teeth? Is he angry at being unable to rile me up, or is he angry at himself for wanting someone on his side? Is he mournful of the life he left behind, or sorrowful at the life that he is yet to live?
Ciel sucked in his lower lip, chewing on it harder; Sebastian saw it split before Ciel winced, lapping up the blood nervously. "It was . . . Funtom. The chocolates, I mean. With the caramel swirled into the shape of a cat. They're pricey."
Sebastian waved his hand dismissively. "Funtom confections are not made with cheap labor and, unlike other brands, they don't use subpar cocoa. The less Hershey chocolate enters this house, the better. We'll grab some in two or three days, depending if I take us shopping on Sunday or Monday. Though you did your damndest, we do still have enough food to last us a week."
The demon pried Hansel off his lap, forced to ignore the sad little "Brroooooow" in response. He didn’t step near Ciel, but lowered his posture just enough to be “below” the boy.
"Now, then. I understand that it is late, and you must be tired after such a long car ride. While sleep is a priority, I would find it amiss if I did not first give you a quick tour of your new home. The apartment is small, so getting lost shouldn't be a concern. Will you join me?"
Sebastian offered his hand; Ciel smacked it in return, mumbling: "I'm not a baby who needs his hand held." Yet he followed like a lost little duckling, imprinting on the dragon who played the mama duck. The south side of the house was simple: just one long hallway that led east. Two doors, both with their own locks and keys.
"This is, obviously, the hallway which leads down to the front door. The door in front of us leads to my bedroom, and the one to the left is my study. When not in use, or if I am in need of privacy, you will find them locked. If I am in one or the other, the door will be open. I do not close my bedroom door at any point in the night; if you have need of me, please just enter and worry not about knocking. I am a very light sleeper, and will most likely be awake by the time you cross the threshold."
With a quick flick of his wrist, the demon summoned keys into his hand, the same way a magician used sleight-of-hand to grasp a card that was not there a moment ago. Unlock, push open, and hold back laughter when Ciel's expression changes from intrigue to disappointment. Sebastian's room was, purposely, extremely bland. A queen-sized bed; a nightstand to the left, with a cast-iron lamp whose shade was made of red silk with a black, beaded trim; a bookshelf built into one wall; a cat tree tucked in the corner. Further inside was another door.
"What's that door lead to?"
"My private bathroom. I keep one of the litter boxes inside there, with the other in my study. They are self-cleaning, which is quite useful given how busy I tend to be. You will not find any litter elsewhere; I have trained them well, so they know to wipe their little paws after."
"How are they supposed to use the box if your bedroom and study are locked most of the time? Do you make them hold it?"
Sebastian smirked. "A very good question. Look up; see the empty shelves that line the walls, some very close to the ceiling? They're made for Hansel and Gretel to get around the house. Climbing is very important for cats, and with how small this apartment is, the more options they have to run around, the better. Every room, besides your bedroom and bathroom, have small holes which work as archways to pass through. And, before you get any ideas, no. They are only large enough for Hansel's body to get through. You will not fit."
Ciel pouted.
"Now, you've seen both the kitchen and living room. But, did you happen to look around the living room? Or did you immediately begin to try to topple over the tower, like the Warsaw radio mast?" Sebastian glanced down at Ciel, who was giving him the best impression of a cat who smelled something foul. "Ah. My apologies. Let me rephrase my question: did you spend any time looking around the room, or did you simply come stomping in like Godzilla in Tokyo?"
That hit the mark. Ciel grinned. "If your living room is Tokyo, it's a really bad replica. I've seen pictures, and I am going to go there for—I mean. I was going to go there for my thirteenth birthday. The point is that you're shit at decorating!"
"My my. Such language. Does the size of your vocabulary wax and wane depending on the moon phase, your mood, or from a third source? You bring to mind those sour children I see in the store. The ones covered in salt."
"Covered in salt? Wait. Do you mean Sour Patch Kids? They're not covered in salt, you dolt. They’re sour crystals. Have you never tried any?" Ciel folded his arms. "Really? So, you know some random information about a radio tower, you know about Godzilla, you’ve fostered other children, but somehow you came to the conclusion that Sour Patch Kids are covered in salt? Maybe it's your intelligence that waxes and wanes, depending on when you remember your skincare routine."
Sebastian couldn’t help it; he cackled, louder than expected. "Oh, you are a treat! You're very clever, Ciel, and cheeky to boot. Here I am, trying to be a good host, and you're making me stumble over my words like a common fool. Am I your jester, or are you mine? So, shall we both drop the cap and bells and get back to the tour?"
Ciel snickered. "Okay, okay. Not because I care about what you have to say, but because I want to go to bed. I've been up since five this morning."
"Let us make this swift, then. I have a large library of movies, television shows, and even video games for your leisure,” Sebastian explained. “I do not have a set screen time; that is something we’ll set up as time passes. I neither want to be too restrictive nor too lenient with your screen time, or your options on what to do in your free time. For the first few days, however, you won't have much screen time, as we need to learn about one another."
"I don't see any consoles," Ciel pointed out. "There's a box in the corner; are they in there?"
Sebastian shook his head. "No. That box there is full of toys: dolls, action figures, stuffed animals, cars, et cetera. The bookshelves have coloring and activity books, picture books, chapter books, even some comics and manga. As you can see, they are a bit . . . scarce at the moment. Whenever I have a new child, I like to take them shopping to find books for them to fill these shelves. When they move on to the next stage in their life's journey, I allow them to take whatever they like with them."
The demon walked further into the living room, until he reached a glass door. He rapped his hand against it; the sound was deep, indicating the thickness of the glass. "The balcony is, of course, just through here. Yes, the door is locked. As long as I am with you, you may spend your time outside. The upcoming two weeks should be very sunny; the round table out there has an umbrella, so we can enjoy both the weather and shade. If you'd like, that is. I have plenty of fruiting plants as well, along with both a seed and a hummingbird feeder."
"Mm. What’s behind these?" Ciel asked as he threw open the twin bifold doors near the couch. He looked first at the washer and dryer, to the left, before glancing to the right. The closet had plenty of shelves, chock-full of cloth boxes filled with even more toys, along with games of the board and card kind. "Oh. That's a lot. Do you have chess?"
"I do. There should be a few chessboards on the third shelf, to the right-most side. They're nothing fancy, just differing brands and a few oddballs molded around some sort of popular animated series. Are you well-versed in the game, Ciel?"
"Yeah. I bet I could crush you."
"Is that a challenge? We'll need to play sometime this upcoming week, then. I'm sure you react well to losing, right, Ciel?"
The boy smiled, genuinely, for a brief moment. Then it faded as quickly as it appeared; the boy slammed the doors shut with far more force than he opened them with. Ciel continued down the vertical hallway, momentarily distracted by another door to the right, this one on the opposite side. He tried the knob; locked. He groaned, glaring over at Sebastian as the man followed behind him. "Why do you have so many doors locked?"
"Safety precautions," Sebastian explained. "You will find many doors, drawers, and cabinets to be locked. Even the washer and dryer are locked. As you learn to trust me, and I you, I will gladly begin to leave some open to you. However, with my years of fostering, I know I can never truly guess what type of child is coming into my care. Children can be very creative when it comes to using objects for . . . unintended purposes. I apologize. It must be very upsetting to have so much locked away, but I do find myself thinking my house should only be haunted by one corpse."
Ciel tilted his head. "Whose corpse is that?"
"Mine, of course. As I told you . . . I am a vampire. And as a vampire, I am very selfish and do not want to share my home with another one. Therefore," the demon went on, looking down at Ciel, who stared blankly back at him, "I must ensure that you human children do not expire . . . at least, not under my roof."
"Uuuugh." Ciel hit his forehead against the hallway closet door lightly. "Where's my room? I can't stand listening to your voice anymore. I need a break from your drivel."
Sebastian smirked. "Well, there's only two doors left, if you continue forward. To the left is your bathroom, and to the right your bedroom. I replaced the linens a few hours ago." The demon led Ciel through the door on the right; it was a small, compact room. The bed, with a full mattress, was flat against the south wall. A small set of drawers mirrored it, under the window to the north. Following eastward from the window was a corner desk, with a green bean-bag chair, a beige bookshelf, and a standing lamp that was bolted into the floor.
Ciel did not notice the anatomy of the room; no, the only thing that drew his eye was the doorknob.
"I don't have a lock," he snapped. "So, your bedroom and study get locks, but mine doesn't? What poppycock is this?"
"Unfortunately, as I have said before, there's a safety hazard when it comes to what is locked and what is not. Your bathroom also lacks a lock." Sebastian knelt down, meeting Ciel's furious blue eye with his calm amber gaze. "I know this is upsetting; I can see it in your expression. Your privacy does matter. I will knock and ask before entering your room; the only times I will allow myself in without your permission are if, one, I believe your health is at risk; two, I have not heard from you for an amount of time that I find concerning; or three, you refuse to come out when we must leave for an appointment, or else someone is here who needs to see you, such as Agni, the foster director, or a doctor."
"So, what you mean is: if I feel like it, I'll bullshit a reason and bulldoze in. It doesn't matter how you try to spin it. That's what it means." Any joy the boy may have felt, moments ago in the living room, was gone. "Are you going to walk in while I'm using the restroom, too, pervert?"
Sebastian didn’t rise to the bait. "Not unless you give me a reason to. I have said it before, and I will say it again: you are an intelligent boy, Ciel. I believe you know, and understand, why I cannot have locks on your rooms. I'm not here to tell you to smile and be fine with it." Sebastian's eyes narrowed; his voice turned firm. "But I am telling you: this is how it is. Please do not give me a reason to enter your space without permission."
"Tch." Ciel kicked at the rug, shoving his hands into the oversized hoodie's pocket. "I was going to apologize for calling you ugly, but now I don't think I will. You're ugly both inside and out. Foolish of me to think, even for a moment, you would be any better than the others."
The demon exhaled. "I wasn't expecting an apology, and you are free to think whatever you like. I am going to go grab the box from the kitchen. Feel free to inspect your bathroom as I do so. You will find that the tub does not have a way to plug it; if you want to take a bath—as opposed to a shower—I need to know, to ensure you don't try to act a mermaid." Sebastian stood slowly, his knees popping. He didn’t look behind him as he left the room. The heat of the boy's glare was burning enough, and his ears caught what his eyes did not.
Ciel's heart was thrumming in his chest—fast, like a rabbit—his breathing short. A curse was muttered, the rug kicked again, then again, then a third time. Truth be told, Sebastian had been expecting a far more explosive reaction; where did the storm from earlier go, or were they waiting in the eye of the hurricane before water crashed down in renewed fury? Scared one moment, confident the next, sharpening his claws and filing down his teeth as he danced, macabre.
The box still sat on the dining room table, innocent. Sebastian reached inside to pluck out the note. "He doesn't need that," he said quietly, crinkling the paper and shoving it into a pocket. If he was human, the sparse amount of clothes might have made him feel pity. But Sebastian was no mortal, and he found himself more annoyed than anything; no one could have been bothered to send him with more than two outfits? Given him some extras to take along with him, something Sebastian could have washed and sent back?
Why did he, a demon, always find himself pulling more weight for human children than their human fosterers?
When Sebastian returned back to the north hallway, Ciel's bedroom door was closed. He knocked thrice. "I have your things, Ciel. May I enter?"
"No." The boy opens the door just enough to block the majority of it with his small body. Thrusting out an arm, he snapped: "Give it here. It's not like it's heavy. I can carry it with one hand."
Sebastian plopped the box into the boy's waiting hand, only for Ciel to immediately drop it. He swore loudly—“Bloody hell!”—before yanking the door wide open and gathering it in both hands. Tearing open the top folds, Ciel's face dropped. He grabbed the clothes, tossing them over his shoulder into the bedroom, and flipped the box around. He gave it a good shake, as though expecting something to drop out of hiding.
". . . Is . . . this really all that was in there?" Ciel's voice was soft. His bottom lip was trembling, his pupil shrinking into a small dot. "Just those clothes? Nothing . . . nothing else?"
"There was a note from your previous foster parents, with some information about you, but that was all." Sebastian held the paper between his index and middle fingers, offering the boy a read. Ciel didn't glance up from the empty box. "Is there something missing, Ciel?"
The child didn’t answer, not at first, biting his lower lip once more and reopening the small wound he'd made earlier. This time he didn’t lap the blood up, letting it dribble down his chin. His next inhale was shaky, and the following exhale was wet. "No. There's nothing. It's fine. Take the box." He thrust it forward. Sebastian didn’t take it.
"It doesn't seem fine to me," Sebastian said softly. "You seem quite upset. What is missing?"
The flame returned. "I SAID IT'S FINE!" Ciel shouted, throwing the box at Sebastian's head with surprising force. "GOODNIGHT!"
The door slam was final; there was no more conversation to be had tonight.
"All right," Sebastian said, loudly enough for the boy to hear behind the closed door. "A reminder, then, that my room will be open all night. If you need anything, please make your way inside. Sleep well, Ciel. I shall see you in the morning."
And what an eventful morning it would be.