Chapter One

  
 “…Darkness...” the girl whispered. “Darkness has finally taken me. Now all that is left is revenge…” She slid the dagger across her pale flesh. She felt no pain, for the burning desire in her heart obscured everything else. “I will give my soul...”

The only candle in the room flickered out.“…and I will take it” a voice replied.
The girl shivered. He had found her.
    “Do you wish to serve me?” She asked the shadows.

For a moment, silence. Then, “Do you wish to form a contract?”

Silence...
   “Yes.” She said. “Serve me, and I am yours.”
   “Then you know what you must do.”

   The girl raised the dagger. “By fire and stone, by blood and by steal, I conjure now the ancient seal.” She lifted her bloody hand high into the air, and as the blood flowed slowly downward, the lines formed a crimson dragon, and began to burn. She screamed as it cauterized her flesh and turned black. As she faded out of painful consciousness, she saw two ghostly eyes. The most beautiful she had ever seen, but mysteriously mismatched; one glimmering scarlet, and the other glowing eerily purple, bearing the mark of a pentagram etched in red.

“Good morning my young mistress. For breakfast today we have fresh strawberries, and tea made from the fruit of the passionflower.”

Lady Cassandra Rowan, the Queen’s Serpent, shielded her face against the bright morning sun.“Close the curtain, Fenris.” She murmured, her night dress slipping off her shoulder as she rubbed her weary eyes. “It’s especially bright today.”

“As you wish, my young mistress.”

She stood and lit a candle, placing it beside the tea as she slumped onto the chair.

“A letter for you from the queen, mistress.”

She took the letter and examined it, sipping the tea.

“It seems the opium gangs have returned.” She said.“Apparently there have been reports of assaults by criminals who have been charged with trafficking, but never convicted of anything more than petty theft or vandadlism. They were a sly little group, managing to evade the Yard at every turn, staying always one step ahead.”

“I see.”

“There is to be a ball tonight, where I am to meet with a man called Lau.” She inhaled deeply and half-closed her eyes, looking upward ever so slightly. He knew it was meant as respectful exasperation. Indeed, it was the same expression he’d worn when his mistress had first given him his name…

“Your eyes are fey,” she had said “like the wolves that roamed the ancient forests of Avalon. I’ll call you Fenris… my phantom wolf…” Somewhere in the depths of his psyche, an image from anima mundi had echoed faintly. Two wolf pups cowered at the bottom of a well. Having fallen in, their instinct was to run down the tunnel, but a large cobra stood guard, preventing them from fleeing into the water and drowning. Where he had seen the image before – or if he ever really had - he was unsure. But a greater, inexplicable sense of uncertainty shivered through him, and he decided to embrace the novel sensation. After all, he had an eternity to try new things…

He knew that, like him, she would never roll her eyes at her duty. For he knew that despite her attitude, she loved her position, and the life it granted her.

“Now,” she said, untying the string at her breast and shaking her long black hair, “come and dress me, Fenris.” 



   Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia was only thirteen years old, and her heart was already shattered beyond repair.

Her anguish was complete. In a matter of minutes, her entire world had been turned upside down, and everything she thought she had known, the sweet reality she had so taken for granted, was gone. Her young mind attempted to rationalize the situation, which only made it worse. Her true love had left, but he would surely return to his home eventually. And also, the manor could not just be left without a master or mistress. So she kept to his bed, drifting in and out of tearful despair.

The servants were also distressed.

“Where has the young master gone?” wondered Finnian, the young gardener of Phantomhive Manor. “Will he ever return?”

“I don’t know!”fretted Mey-Rin, the manor’s red-haired maid. “Where could he be!?”

“I don’t know where he is or when he’ll be back!” Interjected Baldroy the cook, a cigarette flapping wildly between his lips . “What I want to know is why the hell did he tell us we could burn the bloody manor!? He lives here too, ya know!”

“Or at least, he did…” Finny murmured sadly.

“I’m worried about Lady Elizabeth…” said Mey-Rin. “She’s been holed up in the master’s room for days! I asked if she wanted her linens pressed, but she won’t even get out of bed! There must be something we can do…"

The three grew silent around the kitchen table, trying to think of a plan to set things right.

    The carriage slowed to a halt outside the sprawling estate. Lady Gwendolyn Olivia Whitney alighted gracefully, narrowly avoiding a large pile of manure. She sniffed the air with disdain, and held a small bouquet of lavender up to her delicate nose as she raised the hem of her pristine mint-colored gown. Her strawberry blonde hair had taken three hours to style and decorate, her exquisite jewels had been selected from the finest shop in London, and her corset had been cinched an extra two inches; a feat which her maid had said was impossible, but she knew better, regardless of her current dizziness… probably just the horses’ stench she thought with disgust, and quickened her pace towards the door.

   She had expected to make a grand entrance; she was usually the belle of the ball. She and her chirping blonde friends, draped in equally pastel satins and silks, invariably managed to catch the eyes of every young suitor in attendance. But as she neared the grand doorway, she realized everyone’s eyes had already found their captor.

   Gwendolyn looked on in horror; what treachery is this!?

   The center of the focus was a woman clothed in black, with braided black hair so long it almost touched the floor. She slightly taller than the other women…probably just false heels… Gwendolyn thought. The woman’s skin was nearly white, shining like porcelain, and she wore a narrow black mask to cover her eyes. Around her neck hung a beaded rosary, and Gwendolyn gasped a little as she noticed the miniature crucified savior dangling irreverently between the woman’s corseted white breasts. She held a glass of the darkest wine Gwendolyn had ever seen… It looks rancid…

   She watched as the crowd gathered, entranced by this strange visitor. Even the women seemed enthralled, eyeing her as intently as their husbands were.

   Everyone seemed to have fallen hopelessly under this woman’s spell.

   I need a drink, she thought as she walked to the back of the room. Only a few ensconced candles illuminated the dark walls, and the chairs and tables were empty, their occupants having abandoned them... they’re all gawking at the witch, she thought and peered into the shadows. This was surely an adequate place to hide. She spotted a table in the corner, hidden in shadow by a large velvet curtain and conveniently equipped with a bottle and glass, and decided to try and wait out this odd situation.

   The bottle was open. She poured a glass, it was white wine. She sipped at it daintily.

   “So you too, eh?”

   Gwendolyn nearly spit out her wine and looked around, startled.

   Across the table, a man leaned forward, looking at her curiously.

   He was thin and awkward, with unkempt brown hair and dark eyes. His skin was pale as well, but not like the woman’s… it looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun in a very long time.

   “I beg your pardon?” She said.

   The man smiled and leaned back into shadow.

   Gwendolyn stood, grabbed a candle, and thrust it into the darkness across the table.

   The man was gone.

   For a moment, she stood there gazing into the void, then she sat down abruptly and gulped the wine. As she set it down, she noticed a bit of white debris on the table. She wouldn’t usually sully her glove with a stray piece of trash, but since she could have sworn it wasn’t there before, she reached forward slowly and picked it up.

   It was a crumpled bit of paper. Scrawled on one side in listless, jagged black letters were three words: Yaldaboath Saklas Samael