Catch & Release

Chapter 1- Nothing

Ansel did not know what happened. They saw the shadow behind Carlisle move so he was on the witch's other side, opposite from Carlisle and Cicero. He stayed silent, only cradling Ansel's head and resting a hand on their chest while the others were talking.

Everything disappeared after that.

Ansel could not really describe it as darkness, but rather a nothing. They felt no temperature, no surroundings, no smell, no sound, nothing to focus their vision on. They could not even see themselves.

Suddenly, they were sitting at a dining room table.

Only darkness poured through the windows adorned by grand gold velvet curtains. They were wearing a black turtleneck, black and red striped trousers with a gold chain attached, black socks and black leather dress shoes. Their hands rested on the table's white linen cloth. The centre of the table was adorned by a vase of white lilies, guarded by one candelabra on each side, all of the candles lit. The carpet was brown velvet. A large crystal chandelier hung over the table from the vaulted ceiling.

The sound of a door closing behind the witch made them look over their shoulder. They watched a butler, who was, to the witch's alarm, not Carlisle, walk in with a small tray. "Good morning, my Lord," he greeted as he set the tray down on the table. His voice was lower and silkier than Carlisle's, but more chilling.

"Your Lord?" Ansel questioned incredulously, scowling deeply as his nose involuntarily scrunched in distaste.

"Of course, Mr. Ansel," he assured them as he poured some tea.

"What happened?" They stood up from the chair. "Where is Carlisle? You were there when—"

"Yes," the butler interrupted with a calm tone, "you died before he could make you a demon."

Ansel's scowl deepened. "Who are you?" they demanded.

"I am your temporary butler. I take care of souls."

"Where are we?"

"Well, this isn't actually where you are," he informed them. "You are in a special container of my design that is holding your soul. I am only making you see this dining room." He served the tea. "It's nice, is it not?"

Ansel ignored the question. "You took my soul?"

The butler nodded grimly. "It was the only way."

"Will I get to go back?" They sat back down. "Back to Carlisle?"

"Yes," he answered, "you will go back." Ansel picked up the cup of tea and took a long drink of it, craving the warmth of the drink; however, it scorched their throat, chest, and stomach, not with heat, but as though it were acidic. They coughed, gagged, and wretched, sweat and tears pouring down their face. "First, however," the demon pushed his glasses back up his nose with his middle finger before pulling Ansel's chair out from the table, "there is work to be done."

Carlisle was clearly a mess. It surprised no one. Cicero stuck around as much as they could in their cat form because they knew it comforted him, but they also had their job to do. It took him the entire next day to get himself out of his clothes so he could shower the blood off of himself, blood from both of the angels he killed and the blood of the lover that died in his arms. It took another whole day to resume his usual duties as the butler, but he found that challenging and depressing when his master was no longer around to be cared for. He drank the majority of the liquor in the mansion, his hair was constantly messy, and he never spoke unless spoken to. He did his best to be well, for Ansel's sake, but it was near impossible.

A week later, the doorbell rang. The Vandiver household was expecting no visitors, so this was quite a surprise. Carlisle went to answer the door but sped up when he felt the presence of another demon. He wasn't sure whether or not to feel threatened, but he saw a familiar face when he opened one of the doors of the double set.