A Young God (P h a n t o m h i v e) [Kuroshitsuji 4]

Chapter IV: The Young Lord

Drowning my thoughts out with sounds...

"What are you doing?"

I leapt, so violently that I felt as though I had left my skin behind in the armchair, and jumped to attention, leaving the book closed on the chair behind me. Hands folded behind my skirt, fingers twisting together messily, my heart hammering in my throat; the taste of iron in my mouth beating up from my startled lungs.

My eyes were fixated on the ground. As that was the case, I could only see dark boots, dripping with water; cut black suitpants, snug against the legs of the wearer, and the beginning of an expensively-tailored noir jacket. I didn't dare look up any further, but I was quite aware that this wasn't anyone that I had ever met in the house before.

No, this was quite different.

"My apologies, sir, I am deeply sorry." Please don't fire me, please don't fire me, please don't fire me.

The boots – or rather, the owner of the boots – moved, hands buried deeply in his pockets. I could see the tops of them. Pale, and almost as ornate as a doll's; thumbs, painted a startling black. Black on black, everything was black. Just like the butler. However, it didn't seem to be a recurring theme in this household. How could Lady Elizabeth allow this to fit in with her 'cute' colour scheme?

"I asked you what you were doing," he repeated, and he sounded almost bored. Now that I had calmed ever so slightly from the initial shock, I could listen to his voice. It was soft, deep and chilled, with the higher effects of the richest men in the country. No surprise, he was well spoken. Probably had elocution lessons from a young age, if this was who I assumed it to be. It could only be my new employer.

I realized that my considerations had caused me to pause in answer when there was an impatient breath, through the nose. "Do you plan on answering my question?"

"I was reading, sir. I'm terribly sorry."

"That I understood." He paced closer to me. As he did so, halting in front of my shaking body, I could feel a slight heat coming from him; he'd been standing in front of the fire. It accompanied a cold, fresh smell of some sort of spiced French cologne; present on pulse points, diffusing through the air. Everything was spinning, feeling dreadfully hyper realistic all at once. I'm going to lose my job. Please, no. Why had he had to come home and ruin everything for me? The house balanced in beautiful harmony when it was devoid of a master – and I had not to worry about unwelcome advances or abuses of power. Until now.

"Huckleberry Finn."

"Yes.

"Tom Sawyer?"

"What?"

Caught off guard by the unorthodox question, I allowed my gaze to flicker where it really shouldn't. It landed upon an almost white face; his skin was completely smooth, not a single scar or fault anywhere. Bones like an angel's, so polished and sharp that one would expect you to cut your hand upon touching him. The single eye that was one display was a gleaming, shivering blue, the shade of a frozen pond; it lacked all warmth, but instead, showcased a strange emotion that I could not fathom. It was probably much more difficult to read his eyes than I would have liked, on account of the fact that one of them was covered by a silken eyepatch, tied carefully around his head.

My God, his hair was even more unusual than mine (and I had scarcely encountered pre-maturing grey in any other woman). It appeared... to be almost navy, the dim light that surrounded the room reflecting off it in a curious azure haze. It was also cut just to his starched white collar, brushing slightly damp shoulders. He was certainly a... strange hawk.