The Phantom

In the empty teacher's lounge, Liza finished the last gulp of cold coffee from her paper cup in one go. She was in a hurry to gather her things and was nervous from meeting two new people at the school—Ciel didn't miss how her fingers trembled. The mysterious new student, the heir to the Phantomhive name, and the historian doctor had invited her to go who-knows-where with them, and she had accepted the offer without a second's hesitation. This decision seemed reckless and flippant to Ciel, but deep down, he acknowledged it was a character trait he himself lacked. He missed that freshness, that lightness, which he, due to the circumstances of his long life, had never been able to cultivate. Liza was excited by the new acquaintance. But her movements remained natural, soft, and elegant, like choreography rehearsed countless times. The posture bred by blue blood and the ability to soften the edges of her anxiety were impossible to hide. The earl knew this because he himself had never learned to pretend or be anyone other than who he was. The girl looked familiar. Ciel couldn't get the thought out of his head that Elizabeth hadn't changed at all in a hundred years, even though he knew perfectly well that the person before him wasn't Elizabeth. If he wanted to, he could list an impressive number of differences between the two girls, but he had no such desire. He couldn't tear his eyes away from every movement, every breath of Elizaveta Serova, noticing only their similarities, which were striking. The perfect match of their features alone was statistically nearly impossible, but the coincidence of their names and manners was driving Ciel insane. From the way Liza brushed stray strands of hair from her face with her index finger, to the way she pretended to be content with her place in society by pressing her lips into a guilty smile—he looked at her and saw Elizabeth. To himself, Ciel scoffed: no, Elizabeth would not have approved of the dreary colors of Liza's outfit, her pallor, or her attempts to straighten her hair. But the mere sight of the girl was a balm to his soul. "All right, I'm ready," the girl announced, zipping up the bag she had managed to pack while Ciel was silently staring at her. Ciel snapped out of it, looking around; Sebastian was attentively observing his master's reaction. Liza didn't get a chance to notice the strange looks. Sebastian immediately picked up Elizaveta's dark gray coat from the hook in the corner and helped her into it. She wrapped a black wool scarf around her neck. Yes, Ciel noted to himself once again, black and gray are not Elizabeth's colors. But he didn't believe it himself. Meeting his gaze, Liza Serova smiled, embarrassed but happy. "So, where are we going now?" the girl asked as they left the school. There were almost no students left in the building, but outside, children both older and younger watched with interest as their Elizaveta Albertovna departed somewhere in the company of two English-speaking young men. These schoolchildren didn't know that the two were neither young nor human, but still, as if suspecting something, they didn't even dare to say goodbye to their teacher. And as their mysterious, gloomy trio passed by, the children's voices fell silent. Ciel had been accustomed since childhood to people being in awe of him, watching his every slightest gesture. After all, he was raised to inherit his father's title, and he had become an earl before he was even twelve. But now, with Liza present, the children's behavior stood out, because Liza, although also different from commoners, didn't frighten people with those differences. "First, we need to get the translations of our documents," Sebastian finally answered, noticing that Ciel was so lost in thought he didn't intend to answer their new companion's question. Ciel was walking behind Liza and Sebastian, but then, remembering this was beneath his station, he passed them both and took his rightful position at the front. "Yes," the earl picked up in Russian, with an accent. "We'll start with these bureaucratic trifles. A courier should arrive soon, and then we'll head to the local history museum." "The museum?" Liza was surprised. "You want to go to the museum?" Ciel smirked. "No, it's not for us," he explained vaguely. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves." Ciel checked his phone—the courier had sent a text saying he was waiting for them near the school gates—and the count showed the screen to Sebastian. The older man silently tossed the car keys to the count and headed towards the gates to pick up the package, while Ciel turned towards the parking lot. Liza froze in place, not knowing which of the two to follow. And just at that moment, the heavy clouds in the sky decided to let loose. A clap of thunder rang out, and large, bitingly cold raindrops immediately began to fall from the sky. "This way," Ciel prompted, nodding towards their car. Liza immediately fell into step with the earl, shielding her face from the rain. Ciel opened the door of their black Hyundai for the girl and got into the back seat after her. He smirked, noticing how she hurried to shake the water from her long, wheat-colored hair, tied back in a ponytail. Only one strand near her face, a familiar unruly strand that always escaped her hairstyle, was already beyond saving from the moisture. Unable to resist a sudden impulse, Ciel leaned forward, caught the strand on his index finger, and twirled it. When he removed his hand, the strand held the shape of a tight spring. Liza froze. *** When the car door near the driver's seat swung open, Ciel immediately pulled back from me, nonchalantly, as if nothing strange had just happened. I started breathing again. Sebastian got behind the wheel. He handed a large, already opened manila envelope to us in the back seat. Ciel took it and pulled out several notarized documents in thin file folders. While he meticulously checked the translations of the passports and other personal papers, I took the folder containing the original and the translation of his Harvard diploma from his lap. "So you're not a historian, Mr. Phantomhive!" I discovered with surprise. The diploma proudly stated: Harvard Law School. "Law school! What else are you planning to surprise us with?" "I have a few more secrets up my sleeve," the young man assured me with a grin. "And please, call me Ciel." "Alright, Ciel, let's see what you've got for us." When Phantomhive set aside the checked documents, I glanced curiously at the folders. Noticing this, the earl’s heir silently handed the papers to me, and I stuck my nose into them with great curiosity. The set of translated and certified documents was very specific. "Military service record, medical reports, internship reports in government agencies, a driver's license... are you planning to fly to space or something?" "Almost," Sebastian answered. He had already started the car, and we smoothly pulled out of the parking lot, following the moms taking their sons home from soccer practice. Sebastian didn't elaborate further, and I turned my curious gaze to Ciel. He clearly wasn't thrilled that thanks to Sebastian, he would now have to answer my question after all. "All these documents are for me to get a private investigator's license in Russia. The process is terribly convoluted here, but this document right here should make things easier for me." Ciel tapped the bottom sheet in the folder I was holding. I hadn't paid much attention to it because the translation looked boring: an A4 sheet with text that looked like a printed business email. Ciel realized the translation didn't interest me and flipped the document over—the boring white sheet was attached to heavy, embossed paper, a letter written in flawless calligraphic handwriting. "Letter of recommendation," I read the heading and immediately dropped my eyes to the signature and wax seal to see who had written it for Ciel. "What?!" After reading the long chain of titles, I straightened up and sat taller. "What?" Ciel mimicked with a smirk, enjoying my reaction. I read the signature aloud, more to myself than anyone else: "‘Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith’? The Queen herself wrote you a letter of recommendation?" Openly laughing at me now, Ciel took the letter from my hands and put all the documents back into the envelope. "Fitting such a title into an apostille was quite a feat, wasn't it?" Sebastian chimed in. I met his gaze in the rearview mirror. "Right," I answered automatically, though I hadn't even looked at the apostille, too engrossed in the letter. "You see, Elizaveta," Ciel continued, "along with the Phantomhive name, my predecessors also passed down loyalty to the British Crown." "‘Her Majesty's Watchdog,’" I recalled. That title, one from a whole list of credentials, was among the few things I had learned about Earl Ciel Phantomhive from the encyclopedia on English art history where I first saw his portrait. Ciel nodded. "Actually, I'm not here to investigate crimes. Sebastian's and my affairs are far removed from the criminal world. Well... that's what we think, at least. But Her Majesty wished for me to continue my duties and, as she put it, ‘be of use to the world’ even on this research trip. And I couldn't disregard her command." I watched, mesmerized by the resolve of this mysterious youth. His casually unbuttoned top coat buttons and hair damp from the rain didn't make him seem more earthly or understandable in the least—he was an unattainable idol, a representative of some other world with which I had nothing in common. I opened and closed my mouth, silent as a fish. But Ciel didn't expect an answer from me, lowering his eyes to the documents again. Perhaps Sebastian noticed my bewilderment but politely didn't point it out. Ciel selected some of the documents the courier had brought, then pulled out another folder with other documents from somewhere (frankly, at this stage it was hard to keep track of his actions) and an empty envelope. He put the notarized translations, some hand-filled Russian forms, two small black-and-white ID photos inside, and sealed the envelope. It already had a pre-printed address and stamps on it, but I couldn't make out the details because it had already gotten dark outside. "Mail this later," Ciel ordered Sebastian calmly, casually tossing the envelope onto the passenger seat at the front. I raised my eyebrows in surprise, meeting Sebastian's gaze in the rearview mirror again. I kept expecting Dr. Michaelis to scold his student for bossing him around so casually, but he said nothing. I glanced at Ciel and met his silent gaze. For a second, his eyes, usually gray, flashed with something blue, an almost warm sapphire. Ciel looked away and continued putting the documents he didn't need back into the courier's envelope. Suddenly, he noticed something in the envelope, opened it wider with his thin fingers, and peered inside with a sort of disdain. He turned the envelope over, and a business card from the translation agency fell onto his lap. Something was handwritten on it. After only a sidelong glance at the secret message, Ciel tossed the card aside. When it landed on the seat between us, I automatically picked it up. On the back, a phone number was written by hand, with a note: "For Ciel," with a tiny heart next to it. Ashamed of my curiosity, I put the piece of paper back on the seat. But really, Ciel was indeed handsome, no less than Sebastian. For some reason, such thoughts hadn't occurred to me before. But the more time we spent together, the better I got to know him, the harder it was to shake the thought that Ciel wasn't that much younger than me, and that he was quite a catch. I squeezed my eyes shut and barely suppressed a childish urge to shake my head. God, Liz, get a grip. The silence hanging in the car became oppressive. I meticulously sorted through all the options in my head for what other questions I could pester the Englishmen with. Sebastian saved the situation. "Do you often go to museums?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue. I looked up from my shoelaces and saw that we had indeed already reached the local history museum. "I suppose so," I answered, shaking my head doubtfully. "Just not in my hometown." "That's usually the case. A pity," Ciel added. "We miss so many interesting things simply because they're hiding right under our noses." His words seemed too serious to just drop and then get out of the car, but to my surprise, that's exactly what Ciel did. As I watched him, the car door near me also opened, and Sebastian offered me his hand to help me out. Outside, it had gotten dark quickly. The rain had stopped, leaving shallow puddles and mud on the asphalt. Sebastian immediately guided me to the raised museum doorstep and only then let go of my hand. I quickly hid under the shadow of the building's awning to conceal my blush. It was quite late for the museum, and it was closed, but a tall, lean man leaning on a long black umbrella as if it were a cane was waiting for us by the building. He didn't even glance at me, and neglected Sebastian as well, rushing over to Ciel as soon as he got out of the car. "Lord Phantomhive, good evening!" the man greeted, almost bowing to the earl’s heir. I was embarrassed; I had been calling him "Mister," completely forgetting he was a lord. "I'm Anton, we spoke on the phone." Ciel was in no hurry to respond to the museum worker's fawning in kind. He ignored Anton's outstretched hand and marched straight towards the museum doors. "Shall we get straight to business, if you don't mind?" he asked as if it were nothing. I was a little surprised by his coldness. So Sebastian hadn't been joking when he whispered to me that Ciel wasn't very polite. Anton was also taken aback for a moment but quickly collected himself and spoke more seriously. "Yes, of course. We are incredibly grateful that you and Dr. Michaelis found our exhibition interesting." The young man held open several doors in a row for us, letting Ciel, me, and Sebastian pass through narrow lobbies and past the ticket counter into a wide hall full of exhibits. The display cases under glass (both wide tables with small fragments and tall "dollhouse" boxes with reconstructed warriors' garments) weren't yet fully arranged. Next to the displays stood wooden crates with the remaining exhibits packed in several layers of protective material. "The exhibition isn't open to the public yet, but I hope you'll forgive the mess." Ciel briefly scanned the wide, windowless hall. "Is this all?" he asked. Anton immediately rushed to the double doors at the far end of the hall. "Of course not," he declared proudly. "This is the largest hall allocated for the exhibition, but the more ‘temperamental’ exhibits occupy three more smaller halls. Unfortunately, since their environmental controls aren't fully set up yet, I can't take you there at the moment." Ciel walked through the museum hall almost reluctantly and peeked into the next room. Unlike this one, with its light walls and many ceiling lights, the next room hid its lamps, which illuminated only the display "aquariums," and was painted a frightening dark red. Looking over Ciel's shoulder, I tried to see what was on the very small stand in the center of that dark room, but the light from the lamp glared off the glass, making it difficult. Whatever it was, it was important, since it stood alone and in the very center. There weren't any signs or plaques yet describing what was on display for future viewers. And my knowledge of history, while not hopeless, wasn't enough for me to guess what was so special about these ancient clay shards or metal arrow and spear tips. Ciel scoffed, unimpressed. Such indifference, feigned and detached, probably took years to practice. "What is this exhibition about?" I asked quietly, slightly ashamed that I didn't understand what was happening at all. I expected Anton to answer and launch into a lengthy discourse on the exhibition's purpose and cultural significance. But he remained silent, as if I hadn't asked anything. Instead, Ciel turned to me and immediately brightened with a friendly smile. "This, my dear knyazhna, is the most unusual exhibition dedicated to the Scythians. Every, even the tiniest, exhibit here not only perfectly illustrates their daily life and culture but also their beliefs, because every item here was attributed with magical properties." I glanced briefly at Sebastian. Despite the fact that, as far as I remembered, the study of magic in history was his specialty, he didn't look like visiting this unfinished exhibition was his idea. Seeing how Anton's face changed the moment Ciel mentioned my title, I decided not to correct him by reminding him I was no longer a knyazhna. For the museum worker, I was no longer a nobody, so I stood straighter, raised my chin higher, and accepted the role I was meant to play in Ciel's little performance. "I want to bring your students here," Ciel continued. "Well, my students, rather. The ones I'll be teaching British culture to." The facts weren't adding up in my head. "What do the Scythians have to do with it?" "You'll never understand another culture if you don't know your own. You can only study another through the lens of your own experience," Ciel declared, allowing a long pause to hang in the wide hall, as if adding weight to his words. Then he dropped the feigned seriousness and added: "Besides, the Scythians have a lot in common with the Celts, and the Celts take up a very large part of the curriculum I so diligently prepared for the course." Ciel's answer stunned me so much I couldn't find a reply. He didn't wait for one and turned back to Anton. "I think in about three weeks. Around... the thirteenth of October?" "Of course, of course, let's go to the organizers' office and note down all your wishes for the tour." Anton gestured grandly for us to leave the hall and began closing the door to the second room. I bit my lip in frustration, annoyed that I still hadn't gotten a good look at the exhibit in the center. Suddenly, Sebastian was beside me, holding my shoulder protectively and guiding me closer to the door of the adjacent red hall. "Wait a moment, Anton Andreevich," he called out softly. "What's that over there, in that display case?" I turned to him gratefully. "Ah, of course. A true connoisseur knows where to look." Anton smiled so sweetly at Sebastian I almost grimaced. Every time I started to think he wasn't so bad, he'd do something like this, and my respect for him would plummet again. Ciel, who had already turned to leave, also froze, listening to Anton's story. "I think it's fine if you take a closer look," he said playfully, as if permitting some brilliant mischief. I glanced at my companions out of the corner of my eye. Both remained where they were. Etiquette dictated I stay near them and decline the offer, but I was too curious. So I took a few careful steps towards the exhibit stand. The click of my heels echoed through the mostly empty space. I didn't go right up to the exhibit. In fact, I only entered the room by about half a meter. As soon as the lamp stopped casting sunspots in my eyes and I could see what was hidden under the thick glass, I stopped, admiring it. It was a statuette. Small, about the size of a chocolate Granpa Frost, and clearly made of gold. The craftsmanship was so fine and it was so well-preserved that I couldn't make myself believe this thing was created before our era. The statuette depicted not one person, but three. A woman with a complex headdress, like a crown or a kokoshnik, and before her, two anthropomorphic beings with horns were kneeling on one knee. "This is the goddess Tabiti," Anton explained reverently, "the mother of all. The Great Goddess. And before her, as far as we know, are two yakshas, or—in modern terms—two demons, two nature spirits. There isn't a definitive opinion yet on what scene is unfolding before us, but most historians believe the idol depicts a scene from a myth where the yakshas asked the Goddess to turn them into humans." Anton fell silent. This legend was unfamiliar to me, so I suppressed my dislike for the young man and decided to ask: "And what did she do?" "She gave them a riddle," Anton answered with a sigh, as if condescending to speak with me. Suddenly, Sebastian picked up the story. His tone was much more polite and more pleasant to listen to. Moreover, he spoke so persuasively, as if the story interested him not just as a historian, but as a person. "If they had guessed the riddle, they would have become human immediately. No one knows what exactly she said to them. These tales have only reached us in fragments. It's only known that the yakshas failed to solve the riddle. In the end, Tabiti took pity on them and was ready to turn them into simple mortals without any conditions. But the magical pact—a magical contract, if you will—had already been made, and she couldn't revoke it so simply." "Magical contracts aren't so easily broken," Ciel finally spoke, turning to look at me over his shoulder. "And what happened next?" I asked, peering into his dark, distantly familiar gaze. "No one knows," Ciel answered curtly. He turned away and walked on towards the exit. Anton scurried after him. I shifted my weight awkwardly from foot to foot. My feet were tired from the heels after the long day. Sebastian smiled softly at me and offered his elbow. I readily took his arm, and we too made our way out of the exhibition hall. "There's a certain charm to open endings," Sebastian said. He spoke very quietly, so only I could hear him. Ciel and Anton were busily discussing the details of the tour they were preparing for the schoolchildren. "You can imagine whatever ending you like." I sighed. "I hope," I confessed, "as is usually the case in parables, someone sent by the Goddess whispered the answer to the riddle to the yakshas, and they were freed from their bonds." Sebastian only answered me with a long look. He looked perceptive: either searching for something in my answer himself, or prompting me to arrive at some thought. But I didn't understand what it all meant. Another forty minutes passed in a flurry of discussions about organizational details (when to bring the schoolchildren? how many? to what extent would Ciel himself replace the guide?). When Ciel had finalized the tour arrangements and we were outside again, Sebastian suddenly took his leave of us. "I must go now," he said, kissing the back of my hand. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Elizaveta." Then he briefly shook Ciel's hand. They exchanged tense, eloquent looks, as if they had telepathically conversed, but said nothing aloud to each other. "Goodbye, Sebastian," I even gave a small curtsy. Ciel and I stopped by the black Hyundai and silently watched the man until he disappeared from view. "Where is he going?" I asked. The question was impolite, but it was so late, and he hadn't taken the car, that I just couldn't contain my curiosity. Ciel let out a quiet sound. Something between a kind chuckle and a bitter smirk. "Sebastian has his own affairs. And believe me, there's nothing attractive about them." I didn't understand this statement at all. But the vague phrasing made it clear I shouldn't pry further into someone else's personal life. The earl’s heir checked his wristwatch. I automatically did the same—the evening was relentlessly approaching nine o'clock. "Elizaveta," the young man suddenly called. I tilted my head questioningly. "Actually, I have another meeting to attend tonight. It's a matter of a completely different nature, and it's directly related to my title as the Watchdog." It was a very long preamble, and I frowned, not understanding where Ciel was going with this. He himself seemed uncomfortable having this conversation. He wrinkled his nose in embarrassment. "I don't actually have the official license for this yet, but I've been asked to participate in a private investigation, and I'm going to get the details now. I don't expect you to agree, but you said you were interested in the life of the Phantomhive heir, and perhaps you'd like to be my ‘Dr. Watson’ this evening." I was very flattered by the offer. And by the comparison to John Watson. However, going somewhere alone with a stranger at this hour was... strange. I had already opened my mouth to politely decline and ask Ciel to take me home, but then I remembered that at home, only a half-empty bottle of wine in the fridge, a jar of olives, and ungraded tests were waiting for me. After all, there was a reason I was no longer a duchess: I could afford to discard some norms of propriety. Especially since it didn't seem like Ciel would be interested in judging me for it. "You know, Ciel, I'd be happy to join you. Just have to warn you first, I have absolutely no experience with investigations." Ciel gave me a charming smile. "My experience will be enough for both of us." He opened the door for me by the front passenger seat, then got in the driver's seat himself and started the car engine. As we were driving out of the museum courtyard, I thought I saw Anton watching us intently from the window of a dark room on the second floor.