Chapter Text
“Midford.”
“We need to catch her red-handed,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly, fingers drumming rhythmically on the desk. “Perhaps we can set a trap by luring her with another prostitute.”
“Midford.”
“Or maybe we should try to see who’s next on her list and confront her then.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Or maybe we could confront her directly…”
“Lizzy. ” Finally, the blonde looked up from her reverie.
“Charles,” she acknowledged, the usage of his first name sending a thrill down Grey’s spine. Being the gentleman he was, Grey ignored the sensation, instead narrowing his eyes and staring down at his fiance. Her face was still pale, and she was trembling.
“You’re not going to break down on me, are you?” he asked suspiciously. Her lips pulled upwards into a small smile as she caught his meaning. Are you alright?
Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but no words could come out. Her smile abruptly froze on her face. “I’m...I’m…” A tremor shook through her body, and Grey felt a wave of panic threaten to overwhelm him as he darted forward, grasping her shoulder. His knee-jerk reaction shocked both her and himself, but Grey refused to let his shock deter him.
“Midford,” he said firmly, urgently. Her watery green eyes slowly matched his gaze. “You know, when I first met you, I thought that such a tiny girl could never handle the Watchdog’s cases. I thought that you were weak, and that you would break under the pressure.”
That must’ve broken something inside her. The girl burst into tears, blurting out, “I am! I am weak, I am breaking under the pressure. I overestimated myself, and now I’m not sure that I can do this. I’m too weak...”
She began rocking on her heels, grief and shame written in every minute detail of her expression. It was jarring to see her— Elizabeth Midford, the genius daughter of Francis and Alex Midford — in tears. She proved the impossible to be possible.
“No, you’re not,” Grey insisted fiercely. Grey had never been one to mince words. “You proved me wrong. That very first day we met, tiny little Elizabeth Midford challenged me to a fencing match and won . And, if that wasn’t enough salt to rub into my wound, she also beat me in a battle of wits.”
“One chess match doesn’t count as much of a battle,” she hiccuped, but something about his words sparked a fire in her eyes. “Uncle Vincent beats me all the time.”
“But you kept proving me wrong. And even now, you’re still proving me wrong. You, Elizabeth Midford, are strong.”
“Am I?” she whispered.
“Stop doubting yourself,” Grey snapped. “If you are, you are. And you know I never lie, Midford.”
She stilled, then a tiny giggle slipped out of her mouth. That small giggle turned into boisterous laughter, tears running down her cheeks (from sadness or amusement, he couldn’t tell ). Her laugh sounded like twinkling bells, filling the empty room.
Grey, for one horror-struck moment, thought he might have driven his fiance mad. “Sorry,” she giggled, wiping a tear away. Emerald eyes shining with determination, she smiled at him. “You’re right.”
Wiping his dumbfounded look away, Grey turned away haughtily, cheeks burning. “Of course I’m right.”
“Thank you, Grey.”
“Just don’t go breaking down on me again,” Grey commanded gruffly. “Your brother will behead me.”
“And we can’t have that now, can we?”
“Of course not.” Grey drew back, scandalized. “My face deserves better than decapitation.”
The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
And, for a moment, it felt as if nothing was wrong with the world.
.
.
“The next name on her list is Lisbeth Strider. I’ve tracked both Strider and the next name, Catherine Beddow, down and arranged a meeting with them,” Grey droned, tossing the leather journal he was holding up and down in the air. His fiance rolled her eyes, snatching the journal out of his hand and flipping the pages open. Inside was Grey’s messy scrawl denoting several dates, alibis, and profiles.
She scanned the pages, eyes darting left and right calculatingly. Grey waited in patience for her response. Finally, his patience was rewarded with a thoughtful glance upwards and a question. “Do you think Madame Red has any accomplices?”
Grey paused, contemplating the idea. His fiance was constantly surprising him. Finally, after ruminating through his thoughts, he replied, “Every victim died the same way, but we shouldn’t rule out that possibility.”
“We need to catch her red-handed.” Elizabeth set down the journal, determined. “I’ve informed Uncle Vincent of our discovery. He said that he’d allot some ‘resources’ to us and to expect them later today. With his support, we can pull off this.”
“And what is this ‘this’ you speak of?”
“Why, Grey, I thought you would’ve already figured it out,” Elizabeth said semi-mockingly, twirling around. Eyes glinting with anticipation, she grinned at him. “I’m changing my name to Lisbeth.”
.
.
.
“This is a horrible idea.”
“On the contrary, Earl, I’d say it’s a brilliant idea.” Elizabeth smiled sunnily at him, slowly descending down the stairs into the foyer. “Now, try to act a little more confident in our plan, will you? We’re about to meet some of Uncle Vincent’s associates and should try to make a good first impression.”
“Still a horrible idea,” Grey mumbled under his breath. Louder, he voiced, “You’re mad, Midford. Completely mad.”
“Speak for yourself,” his fiance retorted.
“You’re posing as a prostitute who we suspect is the next target of a successfully elusive serial killer unarmed.”
“I have my hairpins,” Elizabeth pointed out, affronted.
“Against their knife? Sword? Gun? Although the latter is unlikely, I doubt your pretty little hairpins can parry every blow.”
His fiance turned to him, sending him a sunny smile. “That’s why you’re here though, right?”
Grey almost stumbled, but regained his composure remarkably well. Had it not been for the stiffening of his shoulders, his fiance probably wouldn’t have caught how startled he was at the statement. “Are you not planning on saving me should I be threatened by a ‘successfully elusive serial killer?’” The blonde asked humorously. “My, my, earl. I thought you better than that. Leaving a dainty lady to fend for herself, how dreadful.”
“You’re hardly dainty. Or a lady, for that matter,” Grey pointed out, dodging her punch aimed for his shoulder. “ Easy there, Midford. Dainty lady, right?”
The blonde girl scowled. “Go die.”
“After you.”
Their delightful banter was interrupted by someone clearing their throat awkwardly. Immediately, both nobles glanced upwards. Grey recognized the figure of his fiance’s brunette attendant immediately; the servant often delivered them tea, and Elizabeth frequently struck up conversations with the mousy woman that’d distract her from discussing their case.
“Earl Grey, my lady.” The attendant (Violet, or perhaps Paulina or something? ) curtsied politely. “Earl Phantomhive’s associates have arrived. We’ve escorted them to the parlor; they’re waiting for you two.”
“Thank you, Paula,” his fiance replied smoothly, bowing her head ever so slightly before nodding at Grey. “We’re already late, but let’s try to salvage our reputations.”
“Will do.” Grey matched her pace easily, following the brunette servant as she led them to an ornate mahogany door, bowed hastily, and scurried away. There were already voices inside: loud, boisterous ones that sounded much too carefree for associates of the grim Phantomhive household. Grey paused, assessing the voices and noting their particular pitch, intonations, and accents. Oriental, Yorkshire, and some posh sophisticated accent that screamed upper class. Grey suddenly realized that they hadn’t gotten any confirmation that these people were really Vincent Phantomhive’s associates; immediately, he was on his guard.
His fiance, on the other hand, held no such qualms in entering the room. “On the behalf of both my fiance and I, I humbly apologize for being late,” she announced, silencing the room as she strode confidently.
That was so Lizzy. Grey couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he trailed after her, observing the room.
An Oriental man, probably Chinese, sat on the couch beside a woman with similar Asian features. Neither looked phased at Grey and Elizabeth’s abrupt arrival, their eyes almost apathetically focused on the pair as if judging their worthiness. To their right stood a blonde man with cold, sharp blue eyes who simply scowled at them. And finally, to the left was a blonde aristocrat who Grey had the unfortunate “honor” to meet in the past: Aleister Chamber, better known as the Viscount of Druitt.
“ Ahh, it can not be!” The viscount exclaimed dramatically, flamboyantly throwing his hands in the air as he gazed at Elizabeth and Grey with mournfully, teary eyes that made both uncomfortable. “Why, you two are nothing more than sweet, innocent childr—”
Shing.
“May I execute him?” Grey asked, turning to his fiance and ignoring the man’s wide-eyed look due to having a sword to his neck.
“I would agree, but the blood would ruin the furniture,” Elizabeth said dryly, turning to the group. “My name, as you all know, is Elizabeth Midford. As the Aristocrats of Evil, you three—”
“Four, actually,” the Asian man interrupted cheerfully. Petting his companion’s hair almost exactly how one did a cat, he explained, “Ran Mao, here, is my assistant.”
“—are privy to my identity,” Elizabeth finished, nonplussed by the interruption. “Although the papers will eventually say that Earl Grey is the head of the Phantomhive household, I will be playing an active role in all of these investigations. As far as you all are concerned, Grey and I are both essential parts of Watchdog duties. Although we won’t be completely taking over Watchdog duties as of yet, Earl Phantomhive has found it prudent to have us introduced to the Underworld slowly. As we will eventually be interacting with all of you more in the future, Earl Phantomhive wants us to establish a rapport—”
“Earl Phantomhive this, Earl Phantomhive that,” the blonde man interrupted rudely, glaring at her. “Listen, kid, we don’t defer to children . I don’t know what Vincent was thinking, having you two take over Watchdog duties.”
“Is there a problem with having us as your superiors?” Grey sneered, unable to keep the derision from leaking into his voice.
“Grey,” his fiance hissed under her breath.
“Yeah, in fact, there is a problem with that.”
“Now, now.” Grey was suddenly blinded as a mane of golden hair interrupted his glaring contest with the snobby Aristocrat of Evil. “We’re a team, aren’t we? And above that, we are English gentlemen. Let us not fight in such a beauty’s presence! This golden rose, too pure for our foul world of darkness, has chosen to sacrifice herself for the greater good—”
“Stay out of this, Druitt,” Grey snapped. The viscount visibly withered.
“Looks like you’re trying to compensate for something, boy .”
“Really. Boy: creative insult, haven’t heard that one before,” Grey snorted. “God, even Midford comes up with better insults than you.”
“Hey!”
“You really want to lose to me, huh,” the blonde growled.
“Not really. I intend on winning.”
“Please. With your girly hairdo—”
“Enough!” Elizabeth barked, her eyes flashing with not only irritation but anger. Her voice sounded remarkably like her mother’s. “Both of you idiotic lot are driving me mad with your schoolboy insults. We’re here to discuss a Watchdog case that I intend on solving. In order to do so, we’ll need your help. Therefore, please, Grey…”
“Yes, Grey,” the aristocrat mocked.
“You shut up, too!” Elizabeth snapped. Funnily enough, the blonde haired man snapped his jaw shut, looking fairly chastised. “For God’s sake, if you’re going to call somebody a child, don’t act like one yourself. I thought the Aristocrats of Evil would be better than this. You’re all so goddamn childish.”
The Asian man coughed.
“Except for you, Lau,” Elizabeth amended. Grey raised an eyebrow, which she caught. “Uncle Vincent just sent me their files. I looked them over right before your arrival.” Jabbing a thumb at the Oriental man, she stated, “Lau. Opium dealer. Granted amnesty because of his monopoly over the ports, useful for information. Supposedly useless in hand-to-hand combat, but his assistant Ran Mao makes up for it.”
This time, she pointed at the man Grey was arguing with. “Azzurro Vanel, Italian mafia member and drug dealer. The only reason Earl Phantomhive hasn’t thrown you out yet is because of your connections to international crime. You use dirty tactics to subdue your opponents. You’re rather pathetically self-centered.”
Finally, at Viscount Druitt: “Viscount Druitt, underground auctioneer of humans and overall pain in the ass. Since you bribed yourself out of jail, Earl Phantomhive decided to put you to good use, at least, with your various cult connections.”
Grey rose an eyebrow at this, somewhat disbelieving that the overzealous and superfluous noble could have any such underground connections. The blonde nobleman had fallen silent, a contrite expression on his face as he sulkily crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re about to engage with Jack the Ripper,” his fiance announced nonchalantly. “I’m going undercover. None of you, except perhaps Vanel, can offer much physical support. However, we’d appreciate it if Lau spreads the word of Lisbeth Strider’s whereabouts. The purpose of this meeting was mainly to establish a friendly, amiable relationship with you all. Expect that we’ll contact you in the future.”
“Spoken like a true Phantomhive,” Grey muttered under his breath, not admirably but not condescendingly either.
“Should something go wrong...” Here, his fiance grimaced, “Uncle Vincent has the files he needs to succeed. That is all.”
.
.
“I find it funny that I’m constantly degrading myself when around you, Midford,” Grey murmured, linking arms with her as they strolled through the dimly lit cobblestone street. After Grey’s insistence, they had decided to forgo the original plan of having his fiance walk on the streets by herself with Grey a short distance away. Hopefully, the killer would get desperate enough to approach the pair together; all Grey knew was that Edward would kill him if his sister came back with even a scratch. “The common folk must think horrible things of me, considering how often I’ve visited this area.”
“Trust me, Grey, you didn’t have much of a reputation to lose,” Lisbeth retorted, still smiling prettily at him to keep up pretenses. “This is the fourth night in a row without any action. Maybe we were wrong about the target…”
As if the fates decided to prove her wrong, at that very moment Grey felt something whoosh past them at an incredible speed. The street lamps flickered eerily before going out completely, leaving the street in utter and complete darkness. Grabbing his partner and literally swinging her around to avoid being hit, Grey drew his sword and squinted, eyes attempting to adjust to the sudden darkness.
Red.
Lots of red.
“Oh, my ~” The figure gushed, approaching them with a malicious cackle. “I usually don’t kill pretty men like you, but you’ve been hanging around our little lady too long.”
“That’s not Madame Red,” Elizabeth informed cautiously, snatching her swords from Grey’s belt without decoration.
Grey’s instincts were screaming at him to be wary; his body was unnaturally stiff as he scanned their opponent from head to toe. “Be on your guard.”
Unfortunately, the reminder came a second too late for Grey himself. Grey cursed, clutching his shoulder and gritting through his teeth. His world exploded with pain, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand as he whipped around and saw a woman standing behind them with a still smoking pistol in her hands.
The other red-clad figure giggled mockingly. “Angelina, Angelina…” they sang, “What did I tell you about being hasty? We just want the girl, remember? Don’t shoot just yet.”
“Shut up, Grell. This one’s mine.” The woman’s lips curled downwards in disgust, undoubtedly not recognizing her niece nor Grey with their disguises. “Filthy.”
“Auntie Anne,” Elizabeth gasped under her breath, eyes flitting between ‘Grell’ and her aunt. Her face seemed to crumble, but Grey had no time to dawdle and concern himself with her emotions because Madame Red was darting forward with a knife and her pistol.
She was definitely no match for Grey’s years of experience, but the gunshot wound slowed him down enough for her to nick him on the cheek. Normally, Grey would’ve made some comment about how interesting his fiance’s relatives were, but he was distracted by the sound of a machine whirring.
Someone shoved him aside before the weapon slashed him in half. “Chainsaw,” Elizabeth pronounced urgently, dragging Grey to the left. Madame Red scoffed, mumbling something like “weak.” He shook himself out of his stupor; now was not the time to start acting like a damsel in distress. Prying off his fiance’s grip, he gave her a nod, a smirk crawling on his features.
“Let’s show them how weak we are,” he sneered.
Both of them launched forward without warning, making a beeline towards Grell. He was clearly the larger threat. Grey hardly took a second to slice off part of Madame Red’s gun, feeling a savage pleasure at the woman’s stunned expression before dodging her swipe. “And so the show begins,” Grey sang, leaping forward and stopping Grell from cutting his fiance’s arm off. “Don’t touch her,” he warned pleasantly, agilely dodging the criminal’s attack.
Then they began their battle, dodging and lunging, striking blow after blow on the cobblestone road but never hitting their opponent. Grey found himself sweating; this Grell was powerful, agile, and didn’t shown any signs of fatigue. His fiance was busy dealing with her wayward aunt to help him with his monstrously strong opponent. It took Grey all of his skill to keep up , much less wound the scarlet haired figure. He wasn’t counting on an accomplice of this caliber, damn it.
Sometime during their sword fight, the clanking sound of Elizabeth’s sword stopped.
An inhale, a gasp. “Lizzy? ”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his fiance showed no hesitation in using the side of her sword to knock her aunt unconscious. Her expression was disturbingly calm, and Grey wondered what kind of storm was bubbling underneath her stony mask. His distraction was almost a fatal mistake; Grey’s instincts were the only thing that saved him when he stumbled away from another attack.
“Why…” Grey breathed heavily, panting and glaring at his opponent. “...aren’t you tired yet?”
Damn it, why was he so weak in comparison to this stranger?
“You’re not at my level yet, boy,” Grell returned, golden eyes glinting. Something akin to disappointment or boredom flickered in them.
“But he’s not alone.”
Elizabeth’s sword impaled the criminal in the shoulder, her pistol raised to the criminal’s head. “Surrender and you may live,” she demanded.
Grell’s body froze completely. Then, to their surprise, the scarlet-haired figure laughed. Loudly. The very sound sent shivers down Grey’s spine. “Sorry, darling, but it’ll take you a few more centuries before you can defeat me. It’s quite disappointing that Angelina didn’t kill you two, though. Being bested by two brats, how boring.” And, even with his fiance’s sword impaling Grell’s shoulder, Grell grinned at them and lunged.
Instinctively, Grey surged forward with his weapon, but Grell was fast.
Inhumanely fast, and that was why the silver haired noble had barely any time to process that the red haired figure dashed past them before Madame Red’s prone body was stabbed.
Blood oozed from her chest, little rivulets trickling through cracks in the cobblestone. The blood stained her scarlet clothes an even deeper shade of red, blossoming into a twisted, grotesque flower. Grell stood over her body with an almost amused expression, red cape billowing in the cold winter wind.
The image had a macabre beauty to it.
Grey’s mind raced with possibilities of escape. They were outmatched, damn it, and he knew they couldn’t win. He had to get them out before they were taken out.
Elizabeth was frozen.
Then, a sob retched out of her throat. “Auntie? Aunt Anne!”
Grey grabbed her before she could dash over to her aunt’s body and risk decapitation by a cackling Grell.
“Who are you?” Grey demanded, grip on his fiance involuntarily tightening. He’d seen plenty of things under the Queen’s command, some more unnatural than others, but Grey was used to ridding England of pesky murderers. This person, however, was different.
“What are you?”
“You don’t see it yet?” Grell giggled, twirling around to face him fully, hand still gripping onto their chainsaw. “Why, I’m a Reaper.”
As if on cue, something burst out of the woman’s chest. Grey tensed, prepared to face any kind of otherworldly foe Grell might throw at them. Instead, however, Grey paused; what were those? Even as that question ran through his mind, he already knew what they were:
Memories.
Angelina Dallas and Rachel Phantomhive.
Vincent Phantomhive.
Her husband.
Her child.
Lizzy.
Elizabeth watched it all silently. Grey, on the other hand, warily kept an eye on the Reaper.
The record finally ended with a few shots of pitch-black darkness.
Everything was silent.
“How could you?” His fiance asked. Her eyes hardened, gaze furious as she screamed, “How could you? ”
“Midford,” Grey tried, but even though he had an advantage over her physically, his fiance had always been more agile. Twisting her body, she freed herself from his grip and lunged at the Reaper. He cursed, his grasp on his sword tightening as he dashed forward. “Damn it, Midford!”
Grell continued to laugh, even as Elizabeth slashed her second sword at him.
They probably would’ve been butchered if the situation continued where it was heading. But (thankfully) , fate had other plans.
It happened so fast that Grey only saw the aftermath: Grell on the ground with a primly dressed man standing on their face. “Pardon me for interrupting your conversation,” the man droned. “I am William T. Spears of the Dispatch Management Division of the Reapers. I’m here to collect Dispatch member Grell Sutcliff for breaking the rules.”
“William! ” Grell whined, but the other... Reaper simply crushed the redhead’s face in the dirt. Grey tried not to cherish the sight. He failed. Stepping on smug enemies was one of the most delightful feelings in the world, as petty as it might sound.
“Dispatch member Grell Sutcliff, you have broken several rules. Firstly, you have killed people whose names are not listed on the Death List,” William listed. “Secondly, you also used your scythe without permission and even modified it without following proper procedures. Please return to the main branch to submit your reflection letter and report.”
Reflection letter...and...report?
“I hate to interrupt,” Grey drawled. “But who the hell are you two?”
William hardly spared them a glance. “Forget about this, humans. We have no business with you.”
Elizabeth’s gaze was cold, but her voice was alit with fury. “Your companion just killed my aunt.”
“Grell Sutcliffe will be disciplined accordingly.”
Elizabeth bristled, her grip on her sabre tightening.
Grey reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Midford.”
She knew as well as he did that they couldn’t measure up to the pair of Reapers. It was goddamn frustrating, but true: both of them knew they couldn’t do anything hasty.
“Say, I’ll tell you what—ow, William! Stop!” Grell whined. “Hey~ I just wanted to offer them some advice, William!”
“Nobody needs your advice,” replied the ridiculously level-headed man.
Grey gritted his teeth, pulling Elizabeth by the arm (and conveniently ignoring all proper social etiquette in the process) and dragging her backwards. “We’re getting out of here, Midford.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “But—”
Grey was uncompromising. “No buts. We’re outclassed.” He spat out the words like venom. “Come on, let’s move.”
“...understood.”
“Stay out of our affairs, humans!” Grell called after them. “Unless you find a hand~some~ boy! Then feel free to seek me ou—ow, ow, William!”
They didn’t stop running until they were at least fifteen blocks away and heaving for breath. “Grey…” His fiance’s voice was wrought with a myriad of emotions: grief, embarrassment, anger, frustration…
His tone mirrored hers. “I know.”
That night, and the funeral afterwards, served as a grim wakeup call for both of them.