My ride ended, and I had to enter that building, dragging my sparse belongings inside. I was  unsure what else to do other than to gawk at the sheer size of it all. Spiral staircases disappeared into ceilings. Chandeliers decorated with red, green, and blue crystals hung above me. Doors upon doors that could have led to anywhere. I needed to figure out where to start in my search for my employer. That concern, however, did not last long. Another annoying man stood before me, and a grimace of annoyance was his response to my presence.

“You should remember to bow and genuflect to your sir. Do I make myself clear?” some redhead instructed.

 I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you loud and clear. Where's the old man?”

I tried not to habitually wipe my boots on the expensive rug of the hallway. I got yelled at about this once, and I would rather not get another earful within the same hour. It was just a habit, anyway. Why were these buggers uptight with me? It was always the same thing. Stand up straight, do nothing, stare at the wall, and listen to them clink their traps. 

That was impossible. 

I found it strange that other than the coachman and this overpaid greeter, I saw no other servant in this vast, empty place. Even then, this man was a temporary staff member. He was there to deliver messages and documents to the owner.

The walls muffled the sounds of bleating sheep from the pastures, which filled the mansion with an eerie, empty silence. I stared at the many paintings and even a few photos hanging on the walls behind the man to distract from my boredom at this ginger's babbling. 

Most paintings were of a once brisk man at various periods of his life, sometimes holding his assorted hunting game in his hands. In a few of them was a woman who looked similar to him, and I assumed her to be his relative or maybe his wife . . . Or both if I was being honest.

If there was a wife still present, this entire job would be the death of me.

My previous words about taking this job seriously did not convince the pug-nosed redhead. I would not take this nonsense seriously, but he could not have read my mind.

He opened his mouth to give me another nagging but was cut off by heavy footsteps that stopped him in his vocal tracks. He and I swiftly turned to the spiral staircase towards the source of said sound.

“Oh, my lord, I'm truly sorry for the delay. I was relaying the rules to this gentleman of what you expect from him.”

“I—okay. Dismissed t-today. Night.” The voice was so soft that I barely heard the flittering words that escaped from his lush lips. 

The man bowed before the boy, scrambling away through the front door, and allowed me to have a good look at my current employer.

“Um, sorry about that. I’m—I didn’t tell them. They . . . This is not formal.” 

He was a tall, slender young thing, most likely barely in his twenties. He wore his buttoned-up striped shirt under a deep crimson frock coat and long black trousers. A head covered in dark, limp, orange hair almost formed a curtain over his eyes, nearly eclipsed by his heavy lids. I almost mistook their ruby hue for his overgrowth of bangs. It must have been one of those effects of “keeping it in the family” that gave him those bloody peepers. The poor chap had to squint even with the flickering candlelight in the room. 

Maybe I was not presumptuous enough about the close relations of this family. If I looked at his pursed lips long enough, I swore I saw teeth in even worse shape than mine. Why did they look so sharp?

He was not the older gentleman I expected. 

A simple young lad.

“Ahi, you could have said that earlier,” I abruptly said. I never was one to shut my mouth, and I did not plan to start now.

“S-sorry,” the young boy muttered, tugging at the neck of his vest. I peeped thin and faded scars that coiled his fingers—odd for a guy who never spent a day in menial labour.

“Yeah, anyway. Enough on this. Where’s your dad? I'm supposed to be working for him.”

The boy’s crimson eyes held a distinct look of confusion before he covered his mouth and said, “O-oh, um, you mean Uncle? He—white death t-two years ago. I'm h-hiring, mister. Sorry.”

Not wasting any more time, I approached the nervous lad and gave him a little nudge on the shoulder. “I'm not gonna bite or something. So drop the ‘mister’ bullshit. Hide.”

White death? Wait, does he mean consumption? The last time I heard anyone call it that was some 50-year-old drunken idiot. Well, that was unexpected, even though it was not like I was excited about sucking off an old man. 

The boy held a distinct blush at the sudden contact and recoiled back slightly. “What did y-you just—”

I grinned and said, “I mean, no one's around. I'd rather not go, ‘Sir, I'm ready to serve you on my knees,’ haha.”

I could never hold down a job because of my mouth, but instead of holding a countenance of anger, the boy held this pure wonderment, and his cheeks deepened in red.

“Th-that’s . . .”

“That’s what, sugar cane?”

“It—um, L-loukas.”

“Loulou, got it.”

A whimper crawled from the young man, and I could not help but laugh at how easy he was.

Strange fella.

Loukas took a deep breath to regain his already poor composure and said, “Um, we have clothing that’s more suitable for the job. You would be washing, assisting with my m-meals, and . . . helping me. Yes, that’s what you will be doing.”

I had to wear some posh rubbish. I raised my hands to the back of my head and said, “Fine, sure. Just no long trousers, alright? Those nasty things make my legs itch. I would rather have a maid’s frock. At least it can match my eyes.”

I heard what I thought was a cough from the man, only to realise it was . . . a snicker?

“Oh, no. It will be short. I get that. Certain clothes make me upset, too. Especially ones that reveal too much skin,” he said. "But maid's clothes are black and white, y-your eyes are um . . .grey."

I cocked my head aside. “Ah, at least you get it, smart lad. Eh, black and white make grey, anyway. So, still matches.”

Loukas blinked his red eyes with surprise, folded his arms, and looked away. “Smart? No, I'm barely able to think. Not one good thought. It's . . .” He trailed off before refocusing on me again. “Your room, correct? You will begin t-tomorrow.”

Despite the vast size of the manor, my assigned quarters were only a short distance from the mahogany-carved front door. 

The lad didn’t seem too bad, a little odd and jittery, but I should not let my guard down. I came here for a reason—to take the money, find out what happened to him, and leave. So whether Loukas was decent was not my priority.

“Lost, little sheep?” a melodic called out to me.

I turned to the source and saw a smiling, almost angelic man standing in the halls. He was without a coat, but he wore a white long-sleeve cuffed at his wrists and newly polished shoes. Black gloves covered his hands, and his face held a friendly, warm smile. I gave the man a once over, his blond hair tied in a shoulder-length ponytail. Skin remarkably tawny, no chance from outdoor work with those tailored knickers. It was unusual to the point I wondered where he came from. Especially with that accent he had. Another servant or something similar to that? That would make sense, but he seemed so carefree in how he held himself. As if he had no task to do for the mansion's owner. He had the impression of a simple, jovial man, but I had met my share of men with such faces. This one, those bright green eyes, held an unsettling feeling that I could not place my finger on. 

It was so fake.

“Quiet all of a sudden? Rather strange from how you were earlier, especially that scratchy voice of yours. Do you need a lozenge?”

He bent at his waist and held out a sweet to me. I scoffed at the man and swatted away the treat. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Touchy topic?” The man did not seem too perturbed by my shoving as he retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his gloved hands.

So my mere touch disgusted him even with his damn gloves?

Figures.

“Shut up. Let me guess, another whore?” I asked.

The man raised a brow before he burst out into laughter. “Ah, a perceptive little thing, but no. I'm more of a . . . companion of the puppy who owns this estate now. Known him for a few years. Alexander.”

“Yeah, companion, sure. I don't care what you rich fucks do. I'm just here to get my money and leave, alright?”

“Believe what you want, but he is a fascinating boy. Very slow, too. I’ll just say enjoy your time here.”

Something about how this man talked about Loukas felt off. It just felt so . . . off.

I shook my head. No, this was not my concern. It was none of my business. “Whatever, I’ll probably get fired within a month like those other guys.”

I turned tail and walked away from the man.

My ears, unfortunately, heard Alexander’s goodbye, “Maybe even earlier for a man like you. So rough and vulgar, Puppy would not want you for long. But, I bet you’ll help him out nicely.”

There was a cold shudder that crawled up my spine. What happened to my friend? My real reason for being here . . . Makhi, what happened to you? I had to know.

No matter what.