While Oscar is sweeping, he notices Edward staring intently up at the ceiling in the foyer. The boy isn’t moving. If Oscar didn’t know better, he’d have thought him a statue.

“Young master?” He cautiously approaches the top of the staircase, lowering the broom for a moment.

Edward slowly turns to look at him. “Oh, Oscar. Hello. My father isn’t around right now, so don’t worry about titles.”

Oscar smiles tentatively, descending the steps before coming to a stop beside Edward. “Are you okay, Edward?” He glances up at the ceiling mural briefly.

Edward doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, pointing up at the ceiling, he asks, “Oscar, do you like this painting?”

“Um…” Oscar glances at it again. Nothing seems out of place. He doesn’t understand why Edward is so fixated on it. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Edward deadpans. “What do you really think?”

“That’s what I really think.”

“Hm.” Edward eyes him with suspicion. “I don’t believe you at all, but okay.” His gaze fixates on the ceiling again. “I don’t really like this painting. I mean, it looks okay now, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” Oscar echoes.

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but I promise you I’m not,” Edward sighs.

“You can tell me.”

Edward searches his eyes. He must not have found any trace of mocking or laughter because he continues. “Okay. Well. This painting changes. Sometimes it looks like this, but sometimes it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t, it’s a lot scarier.”

“Scarier?”

“Yeah, like demons and monsters and all that. It’s creepy.” Edward sighs. “Ah, you don’t believe me. Forget it.”

“No,” Oscar says, grabbing Edward’s arm before the boy turns to leave. “No. I believe you, Edward.”

“You… do?”

Oscar nods. “I saw the painting change, too. But I didn’t see any demons or monsters or anything.”

Edward gapes at him. “So, I’m not crazy!”

Oscar laughs. “Not that crazy.” At Edward’s glare, Oscar shrinks back. Shite, I forgot. I’m a servant here.

“Pfft,” Edward snickers. “Don’t worry, I’m not actually mad.” He drags Oscar up the stairs insistently.

“W-wait, Edward! I have other tasks to do today. William will be very cross if I don’t—”

“I’ll talk to him,” Edward says. “Don’t you want to know more about that painting? What if it’s a ghost?”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Oscar mutters.

“But you don’t know that for sure.”

Edward drags him all the way to the music room, curtains drawn back and heavy books weighing down scattered piles of sheet music surrounding a golden clavier. Taking out a new parchment from one of the piles and dipping a quill in ink, he beams with excitement at Oscar. “Okay, tell me what you see in that mural when it changes.”

“Uh…” Oscar struggles to remember. “I think I remember seeing four orbs instead of seven? Well, objects to be more exact.”

Edward scribbles intently, nodding. “Uh-huh. I see that too, four instead of seven sometimes. What objects do you see?”

“The ring, the cloak… I think a pocket watch? I can’t really remember the other one.”

“Chains?”

“Ah, yes. The silver chains.”

“Hm,” Edward muses. “We see the same things so far. Did the hooded figures also disappear for you?”

“They did.” Suddenly, Oscar smacks his own forehead. “How could I forget the most obvious thing? The throne is black, not gold.”

Edward blinks. “What?”

“A black throne. Don’t you see it?”

“No,” Edward frowns, noting everything down. “The throne doesn’t change for me. Does that mean everybody sees something different?”

“Oh, there you are!” William’s voice startles them. Edward drops the quill and Oscar mentally steels himself for a lecture. “What are you doing there, Oscar? Weren’t you supposed to be finished with sweeping the hallways by now? I’m terribly sorry, young master, I’ll talk—”

“No!” Edward interjects. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I dragged him here while he was working.”

William sighs. “All right, young master. I’ll look the other way this time, but Oscar needs to get back to work now.”

Oscar takes this as his cue to leave with William. Edward winks at him, holding a finger to his lips, and a small smile worms its way onto Oscar’s face.

As he follows William down the stairs, Oscar worries. Now that he’s actually here at Blackwood Manor, he has no idea what to do. He can’t kill Edward so early—it’d only cast suspicion on himself. But he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t the least bit curious about the other boy. And why he doesn’t hate him as much as he expected to. Which is bad.

Edward might be oblivious to the difficulties in Oscar’s life, but he isn’t spoiled. He is a little strange and childish, and Oscar can’t quite figure out what goes on in that mind of his, but Edward’s not immature.

“It’s good that you’re getting along,” William begins, eyeing Oscar, “but take care not to be too lax. At the end of the day, we are servants.”

That label. But Oscar nods politely anyways. “Yes, sir.”

“As long as you understand that there are boundaries.”

“It’s interesting,” Oscar blurts. At William’s questioning glance, he hastily covers, “I mean, it’s interesting that there should be boundaries and people on each side. Why should somebody be on one and not the other? Who gets to decide that?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

Oscar doesn’t know if it’s spite or bitterness that propels him to keep talking. “But why not, sir? If somebody has to make boundaries, why not be that person? Or what if there is a world where no boundaries exist, and everyone can do what they desire?”

“And what would you do, child?”

Oscar shrugs. “Anything.”

“Well, you should know, we already live in a world like that. That’s precisely why we created boundaries. Without them, there would be chaos.”

The foyer comes into view and William ushers him to the railing, handing him a broom.

“I don’t think so,” Oscar argues, taking it. “This world always had boundaries to begin with. That’s why we try so hard to cross them.”

William smiles as if to indulge him, and Oscar feels an angry, embarrassed blush forming. He’s not taking me seriously!

“You are a very interesting child, Oscar,” William starts. His mouth opens and closes. “Master Richard once said something similar. See, the Blackwood family is nourishment for the starving, the most vulnerable. The ones that strive.”

Oscar meets his eyes. Did I say too much?

“Those that seek to overcome the boundaries of the world. To stand out from the crowd no matter what. But you’ll have to risk a lot. Pay a lot. And you’ll have to decide.” William stares long and hard at Oscar. “Can you afford it?”

Oscar swallows.

The man’s gaze lingers on his face a moment longer. Then, William withdraws and turns to leave. “I’ll be helping in the kitchen if you need me. Best you go help Eliza once you’re done here.”

Oscar begins sweeping, shaky hands gripping the broom tightly. William’s question echoes once more in his mind.

"Can you afford it?"

***

Every now and then, Edward’s father would go on a trip to All Hallows Church. He’d never take Edward, nor would he say a word of what he went there for. It was the same way his father avoided the subject of his birth mother, and how there were no photos of her in the manor.

Edward leafs through the calendar pages in his father’s study. He’s seen it a million times by now, but he still can’t help looking. Every third Saturday is circled in red ink. Apparently, his father has regular appointments with Father Thomas. It is curious. Edward is curious.

He lets the pages fall away, backing out of the study, all while glancing around for any hint, any sign of what he isn’t being told. The mahogany bookshelves stand proudly to the side and the velvet curtains are drawn back like all the others in the manor. Surely, they couldn’t be hiding any secrets.

Edward shuts the door behind him, buttoning up his coat. His unease, renewed by the demons in the mural he saw the other night, only grows with every passing day. There is almost a desperation to his father’s wrinkles when they train, and he hates feeling like he’s let him down again. It’s been a while since his father last brought him to any of his business dealings too, and that estrangement only leaves Edward feeling like his poor performance is the reason.

He looks around. There are a few maids scuttering about with folded laundry in their arms, and some others dusting the grounds. Occupied. Edward briskly turns the other way and down the stairs as quietly as he can. On the first floor, it is much the same. He passes by the kitchen, and after ensuring James is indeed busy preparing dinner inside with Lucy, he continues on his way. Eliza is in the drawing room, dusting the windowsill. Edward quietly tiptoes down the steps and into the foyer. He averts his gaze from the ceiling, peering through the windows beside the front door first. Sure enough, James is helping the gardener trim the bushes.

Edward breaks out into a run, opting to leave through the servants’ entrance at the side instead. Outside, the chilly London air and noisy clamour of the streets meets him. A carriage rushes past, the clip-clopping of horse hooves leading the way. He crosses quickly, melting into the swarm of people.

The looming blue-copper spire of All Hallows draws Edward towards it. The front gate is slightly ajar. He slips into the courtyard, enveloped by bare trees. The glass windows tower above him and the lights are off. His footsteps echo loudly in the empty clearing. Edward places his hands on the front door. He listens for sounds inside.

There’s no mass right now. He swallows, pushing against one of the heavy doors. It opens slowly, groaning at his effort and grating against the stone pavement. Edward winces and he waits with bated breath, hoping nobody heard that.

After a few moments of drowsy silence, he tiptoes inside. A noticeboard with the schedule of masses for the week is displayed to the side. There’s another set of doors in front of him, leading into the actual heart of the church. He opens them, breathing in relief when they don’t creak.

The slanted pews frame a path to the altar, austere cross hanging from the windowed wall behind it. The cavernous space is dusted with gold, and marble beams meld into arches above the balconies on the second floor.

Then, faint voices echo from above. Edward quickly ducks back behind the doors, hiding out of sight, and listens intently with a pounding heart.

“It’s changed again. The mural,” his father’s hushed voice reverberates.

“And what did you see this time, Richard?” Father Thomas asks, voice slightly raspy with age.

“The Fallen are here.”

Edward gasps silently, covering his mouth. Like demons?

Father Thomas harrumphs. “As they always are.”

“No.” There’s a hint of exasperation in his father’s voice. “They’re inside Blackwood Manor.”

A pause. “Who knows about this?”

“Just you. I haven’t told anybody else yet. Not even William, Eliza, or James.”

“And Edward? When are you planning to tell him the truth about the Blackwood family?”

His father sighs. “He’s not ready.”

“He’ll never be.”

“I…” his father trails off. “I just need more time. At least let me teach him how to defend himself.”

“…Very well. I trust you. But be careful. Have you hidden your family’s Artifact well?”

Edward’s ears perk up. Artifact. What is that?

“Yes. Nobody will be able to take it unless I die. And even if they do, they’ll never notice that it’s right in front of them,” his father continues.

Die? What does he mean? Edward bites his nail nervously.

“Good,” Father Thomas responds. “I’ll call the Seven Families together and let them know to be careful. If London’s swarming with Fallen, God knows where else this is happening.”

So, Fallen are demons? Edward muses. If demons exist, magic must too! He strains his ear to hear more, trying to suppress his childish excitement at the thought of magic. Focus, he tells himself, shaking his head. This is serious.

“No,” his father interjects. “We have to play it safe. No big moves. We’ve already lost so many Artifacts. We can’t afford to lose any more.”

“Richard, there you go again, that look in your eyes. You have a plan?”

“Let’s just say it’s been ten years in the making. It’s already started in fact, ever since the night Emily was murdered.”

A somber silence permeates the air. Edward’s mind reels at the new information. Mother was murdered?

“I have an idea of who the Fallen might be,” his father’s voice continues. “None of the others should come to London right now, lest their presence mucks things up. Fallen, especially Vessels of Sin, are already unpredictable. I need to be able to control the environment as much as possible.”

“Alright, I’ll send them a message instead.”

Edward gulps. Whatever Vessels of Sin are, they can’t be good.

“Ut alii vivant, Father Thomas,” his father says.

“No,” the old man’s voice trembles in equal parts anger and fear. “No, you cannot, Richard.”

“Come on, say it with me. Otherwise, I cannot go in peace. Ut alii vivant.”

“Generations before you and generations after... I will not condemn you to your death, Richard!”

“We’re doing this for God. For humanity, Father Thomas. For that grand a thing, a sacrifice is inevitable.” His father’s voice breaks, “Please. Give me strength.”

Edward hears faint sniffles. Shivers creep up his spine and he trembles behind the door.

“…Fine. Fine,” Father Thomas says curtly. “If that’s how it must be, then ut alii vivant. Ut alii vivant to hell and back, Richard.”

Edward’s studied Latin. He understands.

Ut alii vivant. So that others may live.