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bruhstories · 3 years

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Dazed and Confused

Summary: You and Connie have been friends for ten years, crushing on each other like a bunch of idiots who can't confess their feelings for one another. Until you go on a trip with your friends. Pairing: Connie Springer x Fem!Reader Warnings & Content: 18+, language, oral sex (female & male receiving), unprotected sex, weed smoking, alcohol consumption, f l u f f Word Count: 4.2 k

A/N: I got so pissed at that last anon that I finished this oneshot quicker lol. @fiaficsxo here it is!

You loved parties. Not the loud music and thick smoke, not the booze and smell of vomit, but your friends. Every time they gathered at someone's place, your heart fluttered, filled with happiness and content and long-lasting memories.

Connie had the brilliant idea of spending a week in the mountains during your spring break, and you wasted an entire night searching for the perfect cottage to rent. Luckily everyone was down with his suggestion, the only problem was how you'd sleep. Historia obviously wanted to share a room with Ymir. Mikasa and Eren were an item now, so they'd have to sleep together. Armin wanted to try his luck with Annie, so no one objected to that. Jean declared that he wanted to bunk with Connie, like the two eligible bachelors they were, and that left you and Sasha to share a room together. You didn't mind it, in all honesty you loved Sasha with all your heart — but you secretly hoped someone would pick up on your feelings for Connie and let you sleep with him. You weren't that lucky.

You packed your bag the night before the trip, obsessively ticking everything on your list and double checking every item and pocket. It was ready, with one item missing — the white lace babydoll smoothed on your dorm bed. You chewed the pen cap, debating whether to bring it with you or not. You bought it for special occasions, but you haven't had a dick appointment in a long time, and you doubted you'd have one this week. With a shrug, you decided to bring it — you never know what might happen. Nighttime passed quickly and you soon found yourself all dolled up, albeit still sleepy from all the tossing and turning, excited to make more memories with your friends.

The train station was packed with people, especially students who went back to their hometowns for the break, and you were relieved to find Armin and Mikasa there. You three were always punctual, followed by Jean and Annie. Eren, Sasha and Connie were always late, which is why you told them the train leaves at 7 am instead of 7:30. It was a dirty strategy, but no one wanted to miss such a fun opportunity because of those lazy fuckers. And lo and behold, they decided to appear at 7:15.

"That was some good thinking." Jean shook his head, hand sympathetically placed on your shoulder.

"I'm only glad you guys rolled with it." You laughed without noticing the way Connie stared at you, and even he didn't understand exactly what he felt. Was he grumpy because he hated morning, or was it Jean's hand on you that irked him?

"It's not polite to stare." Sasha pulled Connie out of his thoughts.

"I wasn't staring, I was looking." Connie rolled his eyes, gripping the handle of his suitcase a bit too tightly.

"I just don't get it why you don't tell her you like her." The girl popped a bubblegum baloon, proceeding to chew it very loudly.

"Are you kidding me? She obviously likes Jean. Look how she's laughing!"

Sasha placed an arm on his shoulder, a sheepish smile on her face. "You, my friend, are a dumbass."

"Takes one to know one."

To say that your friends were loud during the train ride was an understatement. They didn't really care about the nasty glares other passengers shot at them, opting to talk, sing, eat and practically embarrass themselves. But two hours later you arrived, and the fresh, crisp air of the mountains was a blessing. You didn't regret coming, all of you deserved a break after all the exams, studying and all-nighters you guys pulled.

"We could visit the military museum!" Armin suggested, but Connie scrunched his nose.

"We came here to get high, drink and spend time together, why the fuck would we visit some old ass building?"

"I'd like to go to the museum." You awkwardly smiled, earning a 'see?' from the blond. Mikasa, Eren and Annie backed you up, and since it was a democracy, you ended up leaving your bags at the cottage and touring the small town to find the military museum. The building wasn't massive, and inside it was dark, with crimson carpets and dim lights. It was actually quite a romantic atmosphere, had it not been for the weapons and armours displayed in glass cases. Connie watched you intently, taking in every movement, every flinch, every hair tucking, every scrunch of your cute nose. You absorbed the information, hungry for knowledge. This was something you and Connie didn't share — yes, you were down to drinking and smoking, but you were also eager to learn and study, while he always preached how 'you can always retake an exam but you can't relive a party.' He wasn't stupid by any means, but unlike you, Jean, Armin and Mikasa — who alwaysstudied and never skipped lectures — Connie would wing it and somehow end up getting better grades. His strategy didn't always work, and sometimes, when you were in college, he'd ask you to tutor him. Now you were second year undergraduates, and while you were studying different subjects, you still made time for each other.

"That's a nice, uhh..." Connie squinted, "...shotgun."

"It's a musket." You chuckled, your fingers accidentally brushing his as you turned around to face him.

"Shotgun, musket, same thing."

"Actually, muskets are muzzle-loaded and fire a single bullet, but shotguns pack multiple pellets in one shell." You explained. "I'm sorry, you're probably not interested in my ramblings."

"No, no, it's... interesting. I just wasn't expecting you to know so much about guns." He rubbed his nape and smiled at you.

"Well, I do study history, in case you forgot."

"How could I forget that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You awkwardly elbowed Connie. Why was it so hard for you to just tell him your feelings? Oh, right, because you've been friends for ten years and if he didn't like you back, it would only ruin a great friendship.

"It means you brag about it so much it's kind of hard to forget." He told you, quickly realising just how insulting that sounded.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that's how you felt..." You sighed, eyes darting back to the weapons.

"No, I didn't- forget it." Connie shook his head. Well played.

Back at the cottage, with enough food and booze to last the group a month, you decided to stay in your room for the rest of the day. It wasn't the first time you had embarrassing moments with Connie, but this particular one made you anxious to be around him. Did he really dislike you that much, or was it just friendly banter? If you were to ask him, you could find out, but every scenario in your head had a bad outcome, so avoiding him for now was the smartest choice. Sasha pleaded with you to spend the evening in the living room with everyone else, but you brushed her off, telling her you weren't feeling quite well.

"Text me if you need anything." She told you before leaving. It was immature to act this way, you knew that all too well, but it wasn't like Connie cared, right? You eventually decided to go downstairs after finishing a long episode of your favourite tv show, your stomach begging for nourishment. As silently as possible, you tiptoed behind the couch. The hallway was dim, the sun had already set, and the only lights were the ones from the wide TV screen in the living room where your friends were watching some corny horror movie. You could cut the suspense and tension with a knife, and when you dropped a teaspoon, everyone jumped.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just me!"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, you almost gave me a heart attack." Jean got up from the floor and walked behind the couch. "How are you feeling? Sasha said you're ill."

"I'm fine, don't worry." You picked the spoon up and threw it in the sink. "It's just a headache, I'll sleep it off."

"Good, we need you here." The man wrapped an arm around you. "You're missing how Connie's crapping his pants at this shitty movie."

From the outside it would seem like you and Jean were a couple, but the truth was far from it. You two grew up together, his family was friends with your family, and what you had was nothing more than a brother-sister relationship. Jean's little remark earned a disgruntled look from Connie, you quickly picked up on that, and so you playfully jabbed him in the stomach.

"Connie's crapping his pants? You're the one who almost had a heart attack." You grinned.

"Oi, that was only because you dropped your stupid spoon. I was invested in the movie."

"Mhm, sure you were."

"Hey, you sure you don't want to join us?" Mikasa waved at you from the living room. You pondered over her question. Perhaps it wouldn't be too awkward to sit with them.

"Alright, sure, why not?"

"Come, sit next to me." Sasha shuffled to the side, but what she really meant by that was 'sit next to Connie', because she shuffled to the otherside.

The following two nights were surprisingly quiet, all you did was play board games, watch movies and walk around the town taking pictures. The tension between Connie and you seemed to dissipate, and you both forgot the unpleasant interaction you had on the first day. But on the fourth night, that's when shit hit the fan. Annie and Armin left for a date, and Eren and Mikasa wanted to spend the night alone in their room, leaving you, Sasha, Jean and Connie unsupervised, bored and tipsy. There was absolutely nothing good to watch on the TV, and you almost wanted to scream when your friends wanted to play truth or dare. It was one of those games you despised, because the whole point of it was to put the players in uncomfortable situations. And you didn't like being uncomfortable, unlike your friends.

"Jean, truth or dare?" Sasha beamed.

"Dare, duh."

"Alright, I dare you to switch roommates for the rest of the week." She sipped her blackberry cider.

"Okay? So, I'll stay with Y/N, then."

Good lord, if looks could kill, Connie's would annihilate Jean and Sasha off the face of the Earth.

"No, no, you'll stay with me. Y/N will stay with Connie."

"Eh? Why does your dare involve us?" You asked, confused and curious of your friend's proposal.

"Because." She shrugged. "Don't pussy out."

"I'm not pussying out. A dare's a dare." Jean scoffed. "I'm gonna go take my shit in your room and shower."

"Y-yeah, I'll go bring mine, too." You got up, using this time to hyperventilate alone. What the fuck was Sasha even thinking? Was this some stupid joke? But your friends wouldn't harm you, so why would she suggest such a stupid thing?

You took a quick shower before curling up in the bed, blankets covering you from neck to toe. Connie wasn't back yet, and you didn't want to go after him, that would just be odd. You were hoping you'd fall asleep before he returned, to avoid any unnecessary fuss, but just as you closed your eyes, the door opened. Maybe you could pretend you were asleep? He struggled to find his pyjamas in the dark, stumbling over furniture and knocking things down, and you turned the bedside lamp on to ease his search.

"Did I wake you up?" Connie bit his lower lip, and through the dim light you watched the way his grey eyes glistened, the way his short brown hair was ruffled, and how the sage green t-shirt hugged his toned abdomen.

"No, no, 's alright. I wasn't sleeping. I can't exactly fall asleep." You clutched the blanket at your chest as you shook the intrusive thoughts away. Connie was your friend, damn it, there was no room for romance between you.

"I can sleep on the floor if you want."

"Oh, God, no, it's... stiff."

"Um, yeah, it kinda is. Alright then, I'll jump in the shower real quick before going to bed." He stumbled into the bathroom and you really wanted to fall asleep now.

But you couldn't. Every time you closed your eyes, Connie's face popped in your head. So much for resting. You tossed and turned on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but nothing helped. It didn't take long for him to finish his shower, and you mentally chastised yourself for not falling asleep when you felt him shuffle under the same blanket that was covering you. For a minute, you didn't utter a word, you barely breathed, afraid to disturb the silence in the room.

"Are you asleep?"

"Nope." You heard the click of Connie's phone and turned around. You couldn't see him, but you could hear him.

"Do you wanna talk about something? Until we fall asleep, I mean." You suggested.

"Hmm, sure." He turned on his side and you felt his breath fanning over your cheeks. You were too close to him. "Actually, d'you wanna smoke?"

"Aren't the others gonna be mad if we smoke without them?"

"They don't have to know. Besides, you and I never smoked together." Connie was already up, rummaging through his backpack with the flashlight of his phone. "And then we can talk as much as you want."

"Alright, I'm down."

You laid on the floor, your head next to Connie's as you looked at the ceiling, smoke leaving your lips. He took the joint from you, fingers touching yours and you blushed, the haze of the weed melting your worries away.

"Do you want me to skip the song?" Connie asked, and for a moment you forgot there was a song playing.

"No, I like it." You confessed. "I didn't know you liked Led Zeppelin."

"There's lots of things you don't know about me, Y/N." He passed you the joint.

"Okay, tell me something else I don't know."

"I like it when you randomly say historical or scientific facts."

"Didn't you say I brag too much about it?" You took one final drag before you stubbed the joint out in a makeshift ashtray filled with a bit of water. By this point you were high as a kite, every trace of rationality gone.

"That doesn't mean I don't like it." Connie smiled and you could feel it in his voice. "Now you tell me something I don't know about you."

"I can't sleep with open doors. It freaks me out." You sat up, a breeze blowing through the window sending shivers down your spine. "It's a bit cold, do you mind if I close the window?"

"Go ahead."

You got up and picked the ashtray up but before you could close the window, you stumbled over a chest of drawers, the ashes mixed with water spilling over your t-shirt.

"You okay?" He quickly crawled to you, concern written all over his face.

"Yeah, I'm just clumsy." You laughed it off and waved your free hand. "I'll go get changed, I should have a spare shirt."

But you didn't have a spare shirt. All you had was that stupid white babydoll, and anxiety seeped through your veins. You couldn't exactly show up in that in front of your crush. And you didn't want to ask him for a shirt either. Fuck it, what else could you do?

You peeked out the bathroom door and saw Connie back in bed, lazily scrolling through his phone. God, this was embarrassing.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He laughed, but when your facial expression didn't change, he frowned. "Y/N?"

"Um, so, I didn't have a spare shirt and- Jesus, this is awkward." You opened the door and his eyes widened. "Is it alright if I sleep in this?"

"Oh, I get it now." Connie scoffed.

"Get what?"

"You were hoping you'd share a room with Jean, right?" He sounded almost disgusted.

"Excuse you? Where did you even get that idea?" You slammed the bathroom door shut, arms folded across your chest.

"I'm not stupid, Y/N. I've seen the way you two act. Do yourselves a favour and just fuck already."

You were speechless. Completely reactionless. The weed amplified your anger, but his words brought tears to your eyes.

"You... you fucking asshole! You think I brought this for Jean? I brought it for you!"

"Eh? M-me?" Connie was confused, and you were pissed.

"Yes, you. Jean's like a brother to me, oh my God! Ew!"

"Wait, so you and Jean are not in love with each other?"

"In love?? Connie, how high are you exactly?" You walked closer to the bed, arms still crossed.

"But- Fuck, I am stupid." He shook his head, the memories of you flirting with him flashing before his eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

"A bit..." Your muscles relaxed and you sat on the mattress. "Really, Connie, I... I like you. A lot. But you're always giving me mixed signals."

"That's because I always thought you liked Jean!" He threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"No, you're the only one."

"Huh, guess I've really been dazed and confused."

Calloused fingertips ran across your hips leaving goosebumps in their trail. Your hands roamed his back and the way Connie kissed you was better than any high you've ever experienced. He was touch-starved, and you were just as needy. His knee found its place between your thighs and you moaned when it barely brushed your cunt.

"I've been dreaming for this moment for as long as I can remember." Connie breathed into your neck, the hot breath tickling your skin.

"Me too, you blind bat." You laughed and he turned you over, hovering over you.

"'M sorry I didn't notice quicker." He kissed you again. One hand travelled lower, pushing your underwear to the side before he pushed two fingers between your folds. "Fuck, you're so wet."

"Well, at least now I don't have to finger myself thinking about you." You whimpered with a grin.

"Oh?" Connie arched a brow. "Is that what you've been doing?" He curled up his fingers and you threw your head back with a moan. "I thought you were a prude."

"T-there's lots of things you d-don't know about m-me!" You replied back between oh’sand ah’s, imitating his words from an hour ago. That only earned a sneer from Connie, his head dipping between your thighs. "Wait, what are you do- ooh fuck!"

His tongue lapped at your cunt, fingers pumping in and out of you, and you completely sunk into the mattress, moaning his name over and over again. You gripped the sheets, flexing the muscles in your legs as you squirmed and thrashed. Connie stopped and you almost crushed his skull with your thighs at the empty feeling. He pulled your underwear down and shoved the cotton panties in your mouth.

"Don't wake everyone up, Y/N. You don't want them knowing what a little slut you are, do you?"

You shook your head and Connie went back to circling your clit with his tongue, adrenaline rushing through your entire body with each lick, each suck. Tears of pleasure pooled at your eyes, nose and cheeks red from the thrill of your incoming orgasm. The way he was sloppily eating your pussy and moaning while doing it drove you insane, and within seconds you came undone, thighs trembling with delight. In fact, you were so sore you had to push his head back, begging him to stop so you could return the favour.

"You taste so sweet." Connie licked his lips. You don't know what possessed you to pull him into a kiss after you removed the makeshift gag, but he was right, you were sweet.

"Can I...?" Your eyes drifted down to his twitching cock, your voice soft and quiet.

"You wanna suck it?"

"Yes."

"Later. Right now, I wanna fuck you."

Connie gave you no time to protest, his elbow pushed one of your things to the side, the blushing tip of his cock grazing over your overstimulated clit, up and down your slit. Inch by inch it disappeared into your cunt and he let out a satisfied sigh. You bucked your hips, manicured nails digging into his shoulders with each thrust.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight!" Connie growled, head lowering to kiss you. You could still taste yourself on his lips and that only made you clench your spongy walls around his cock. That seemed to please him, because he rocked his hips harder and faster. "You like it?"

"Oh, God, yes!" You gasped, beads of sweat forming on your forehead as you clawed his back.

"Fuck, I want you to ride me." He gripped your hips tighter and turned you over. You tried your best to get in the new position without letting his cock slip out of you, and when you finally adjusted yourself, it was a whole new challenge. Gravity pulled you down, and his tip brushed your cervix, your eyes squinting at the slight pain. "If it hurts, stop-"

"No!" You cried out, your hands resting on his chest. You bounced up and down, the uncomfortable feeling slowly replaced with pleasure. Connie's hands traced your thighs as you rode him, another wave of heat flushing through your core. His palm met your cunt, thumb circling over your clit. "I can't c-come again!"

"Yes, you can. And you will cream on my cock."

The disgust words worked like magic and you flexed your thighs, bouncing faster, head thrown back, hair cascading down your back. "You're so beautiful, Y/N."

"Connie, I-" The words stopped in your throat, the pressure too much for you to handle.

"You what?"

"I'm- oh, God!"

"Atta girl!" He praised you when he felt your silken walls relaxing and your thighs quaking. The second orgasm was so intense you let yourself fall over his chest, dizzy and tired. You thought he'd give you a break, but Connie wrapped an arm around your back, holding you in place before giving your oversensitive cunt a few more thrusts. "Now you can return the favour."

You mustered up some strength to get up and kneel in front of the bed, between his legs.

"Please don't come in my mouth." You asked him before wrapping your pretty lips around his cock.

"Gotchaah-" Connie choked on his words when he felt himself in your hot mouth. You bobbed your head up and down, cheeks hollowed and eyes on him. You didn't break eye contact when you pulled away and spat on the tip, hand pumping his cock to smear the spit. "Hot." He mumbled before you went back to sucking. You felt the throbbing, tightening your lips around him and picking up the pace. "Y/N-"

It all happened in a flash — Connie yanked your hair and pulled your head back, thick ropes of milky white cum shooting all over your face and neck.

"Eew!" You scrunched your nose, hand under your chin to stop it from dripping down the floor.

"What do you mean ew? That's, like, a billion kids!"

"Actually, a fertile man produces around-"

"Don't start. Do not." He pressed his index finger over your lips. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You woke up sore, especially between your thighs, but damn, was it worth it. Connie wrapped an arm around your waist, mumbling something about how pretty you are, but you assumed he was still sleeping — or still high. The sun shone through the blinds and you squinted, annoyed by the brightness, and so you turned around, watching the way your crush snored peacefully.

"Cute." You smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead, waking him up. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Why?" Connie rubbed his eyes. "Waking up to you is a blessing."

You couldn't hide the tinting of your cheeks and the grin on your lips. "I didn't think you were the romantic type."

"There's lots of things-"

"I don't know about you. But I'd like to know those things. If you let me, of course." You bit your lower lip, eyes filled with hope.

"Can I be your boyfriend?" He sat up, his eyes serious.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Okay, so maybe Sasha knew a thing or two when she dared Jean to switch roommates.

You walked into the kitchen after getting ready for the day, with Connie following behind you. Everyone was eating their breakfast, and Jean instantly dashed to you.

"Connie, bro, take me back. Sasha's leaving crumbs all over the bed! I can't sleep like that!"

"I can't, man, I wanna spend the rest of the week with my girlfriend." He sneered and you elbowed him.

"I forgot to mention Jean's overprotecti-"

"Your what? Hands off my sister from another mister, you creep!"

"Creep? You're the one who was sexting someone's sister last night." Sasha chimed in, mouth full of cereal.

"Thanks, Sash." Jean rolled his eyes. "For real, how did this happen?"

"You see, mate, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"Nope. I will not hear this."

#connie springer #connie springer x reader #connie x reader #aot #aot x reader #aot smut #aot x you #aot x y/n #connie springer x you #connie springer x y/n #snk #snk x reader #snk smut #snk x you #snk x y/n #connie x you #connie x y/n

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 2 years

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The Curious Disappearance of Lady Henriette Woolahan (Part 1)

For a friend!^^

(At last! Well, almost)

I started writing this in 2018 for a Secret Santa exchange. I got carried away, it got too long, and 7k words in and only 1-2 days left to complete my gift, I knew I couldn't finish it on time. So, I shelved it and drew something instead. I always wanted to complete it one day though, and for three years, I didn't have the opportunity. This year, I decided that I would finally finish it! It was meant to be a one-shot, but it got super long (again!!) and I chose to cut it into two. (The second part won't come "right away" but I will do my very best to get it up in the foreseeable future - and not take three years again!)

I also decided to retool this fanfic a little to be part of my "Watchdog of the Queen" series. Because it's still primarily a gift though, it can 100% be read without knowing anything about the main series (which is also about different characters and set in a different time anyway!) or the other side stories! There are just a few subtle things from them in here - as a bonus. Not necessarily fun ones, but bonuses nonetheless.

I hope you had happy holidays and refreshing festive days^^ - and that you will enjoy this story!

It's also on AO3.

London, England, United Kingdom – August 1871

It had been months since Diedrich had last heard anything from Vincent Phantomhive. For months, he had lived in bliss because of that. With the Channel between them and no correspondence, it was easy to push away any memory regarding Phantomhives, Watchdogs, and a lost bet. For the first time since he had enrolled in Weston College, Diedrich had been at ease with himself and the world. Thus, when he had been chosen to accompany his superior to London for a military meeting, he had agreed without much thought.

It had been easy to forget, but when the letter arrived, everything rushed back.

Now, Diedrich found himself in front of his most dreaded townhouse in the entire city of London, the bright sun mocking him. Unfortunately, neither had Vincent forgotten about him nor did it seem to matter that he had joined the Imperial German Army. With a sigh, Diedrich raised his hand to knock, but the door flew open before he even had the chance to touch it.

“Dee, I hope you did not forget that this house has windows,” said Vincent, a bright smile on his face. “Tanaka and I were watching you standing indecisively in front of the door for the past thirty minutes. ‘To knock or not to knock!’ That must have been your question!”

Although it itched Diedrich to turn around and leave, he stayed – that bet and gentleman’s manners be damned – and said, “If you knew that I was here for the past thirty minutes, why didn’t you open the door sooner?”

“Tanaka and I made a little bet about when you would finally knock; I lost five pounds because of you.” Vincent opened the door a bit wider and stepped aside. “And now, come in. We have a lot to discuss.”

***

“What exactly do you want to discuss with me?” Diedrich asked after he and Vincent had made themselves comfortable in the drawing room with tea, biscuits, scones, and sandwiches. Stepping into the townhouse had been like stepping into the past: Nothing had changed in the last eight months. Everything was exactly where it had always been, and sitting in the parlour with Vincent eating and talking about the newest mission felt infuriatingly normal. It was as if Diedrich had never left. “The letter you sent me was not exactly informative.”

“A little mystery to entice you to come,” Vincent said and leaned back, crossing his legs. “The Queen has given me a new case, and as you have not assisted me in quite a while now, I thought it would be good to call upon you again. I was also afraid that, if you spent too much time away from England, your accent would become as horrendous as in Year One. I am certainly not ready for another round of ‘ze’s and…”

“And what is this case about?” Diedrich cut him off.

“It is nothing too complicated: Lady Henriette Woolahan, the only daughter of a very influential and important Duke went missing two nights ago, and we are to find her.”

Diedrich took a sandwich. “Why exactly has she gone missing? Was she kidnapped?”

“I do not want to rule out this possibility at such an early stage; I highly doubt it though.

“Lady Henriette’s disappearance was noticed yesterday morning when a maid came to wake her up and get her ready for the day. Only, as you can guess, she was not in her room, or anywhere else in their townhouse. Duke Woolahan contacted Scotland Yard, and the initial investigation showed that nobody seemed to have forced entry into the house. There are also no signs of a fight or such in Lady Henriette’s bedroom. Her Majesty heard of the disappearance shortly afterwards and immediately requested my presence in Buckingham Palace. Henry Woolahan is not only a duke but also a highly respected member of the House of Lords. Because of this, Her Majesty wants me to investigate this case instead of the Met,” Vincent told him while he stirred his tea with a scone. “I doubt that Lady Henriette was kidnapped because there are no signs of force or violence in that house. She must have left willingly. Furthermore, no ransom note was sent thus far, and it has been a day and a half since her vanishing was noticed. Why would you even go through the trouble of kidnapping someone, the daughter of a high-ranking individual no less, if you do not want to get money out of it?”

“Well, if she was not kidnapped, has she somehow endangered herself after sneaking out of her home, was caught, and is now a prisoner?”

“Please elaborate.”

“Perhaps Lady Henriette was some kind of amateur sleuth, and while investigating a case she got into trouble?” suggested Diedrich.

Vincent chuckled, not taking his eyes off his cup in which he seemingly tried to drown his scone. “What an imagination you have, Dee! But Lady Henriette was certainly not an ‘amateur sleuth.’”

“Then, why else has she gone missing?”

“Nothing is carved in stone, but I believe she eloped,” Vincent said and ate his disgusting, soaked scone.

“An elopement? Since when do Watchdog cases involve running after lovesick fools?”

“Since now, apparently.”

Diedrich rubbed his face. “I cannot believe that you made me come for something as trivial as that.”

“We cannot jump to conclusions, Dee – it may not be a trivial matter at all! Lady Henriette could have eloped with someone akin to Bluebeard. She may be in grave danger.”

“This whole affair does sound fairly trivial to me, though.”

Vincent shrugged and grinned at him. “But as you are already here – and as I arranged for you to get a week off – it certainly won’t do you any harm to accompany me.”

“Speaking from experience, it always does me a lot of harm to accompany you. My right arm still hurts a bit from last time – and that was over half a year ago.”

“What else do you want to do during your stay? Play whist all day long with your imaginary friends? Or did you bring your cuddly toys to hold a tea party?”

Diedrich glared at him. “I do have friends here.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Midford, for example.”

“Not anymore. Alexis is my brother now. He married into my family, and as I’m the older brother and the family head, Idecide whether or not he can see you,” said Vincent and calmly refilled his cup.

“As far as I remember, your sister married into Midford’s family. He didn’t marry into your sister’s, into your family; that’s not how this works.”

Ignoring him, Vincent took another scone, and Diedrich shuddered while he watched Vincent hold it into his tea for too long. What did scones even do to him?

“Also, Midford is a grown man and the head of his own family,” Diedrich pointed out.

Vincent stuffed his drenched scone into his mouth.

“How would you even hinder me from doing anything else? I can do what I want.” Diedrich stood up the moment Vincent reached for a cucumber sandwich.

“Phantomhive – what are you doing?” Diedrich asked slowly.

Not looking at him, Vincent dipped the sandwich into his tea, and a shiver ran down Diedrich’s spine. He hurried to the door, but when he put his hand on the knob and turned it, he had to discover that it was locked.

Diedrich turned around, saying “Phantomhive, open this goddamn door or…” He cut himself off when he saw Vincent actually eating the drenched sandwich.

“I have always thought of you as disgusting,” Diedrich said, fighting back nausea and tears, “but this is a new level of grossness, even for you. Don’t ever do this again.”

Vincent finally looked at Diedrich – and without breaking eye contact, he slowly reached for another sandwich.

“Do not dare, Phantomhive.”

Vincent’s hand got closer to the sandwich.

“Stop!” Diedrich called. “You have won. I will accompany you while you search for Lady Henriette Woolahan. Please, leave the sandwich alone.”

Chuckling, Vincent leaned back. “It is good to see that you never changed, Dee.”

***

The townhouse of the Woolahan family was not very far away from the Phantomhive townhouse, only about fifteen minutes by carriage. For the first time, Diedrich was glad that all nobles lived so close to one another because he was certain he would not have survived to be stuck with Vincent Phantomhive in a carriage any longer.

“Could it be that you’ve become even more irritating since we last met?” Diedrich asked when they finally arrived and he could get out of the carriage.

“No, you must have become more serious, Dee. Where did you leave your sense of humour?” Vincent replied while he walked towards the entrance.

“I did not leave it anywhere. I simply don’t find you particularly funny,” Diedrich replied and followed him.

“Still, it is always me who can make Undertaker laugh.”

“You could stand in front of him and do nothing and he would still burst into laughter.”

“If it’s that easy to make Undertaker laugh, why do you never manage to do it?”

“It is only easy for you because Undertaker likes you for some reason; most likely because you are as insufferable as he is.”

“Well, now that hurt my feelings!” said Vincent and turned around to Diedrich who stopped right on time so that he did not walk into him.

“And to make up for hurting my poor feelings and heart, hold still for a moment,” Vincent said, took out a comb from his jacket, and swiftly went through Diedrich’s hair with it before he could protest.

Diedrich stepped back and held his head. “What are you doing? Go away and leave my hair alone! And since when are you carrying around a comb?!”

Vincent twisted the comb in his hands. “For years, Franny has been trying to convince me to carry one around. A while ago, I thought, as I have finally reached the mature age of twenty…”

“Mature? You?”

“…that I should comply and take a comb with me. Also, most people who see Fran and me for the first time are very surprised to find out that we are full siblings. It may help if we both carry combs with us at all times.”

“First of all, I don’t think this will help. Second, your sister wanted you to comb your own hair with it because she hates your fringe. You should not go around combing other people’s hair and giving them silly bangs to match yours!” Diedrich took his new fringe’s tip and held it up. “Why would you even do this?” he asked and was about to fix his hair when Vincent stopped him by taking hold of his hands.

“Dee, calm down! You look fabulous!�� he exclaimed and pushed Diedrich to the door.

“I believe you have left your brain at your manor,” Diedrich remarked. “And now, please let go of my hands. I want to fix my hair because there are people in the world who do not want to look like an animate swab.”

Vincent shook his head. “Focus, Dee! Nobody cares about your hair. Remember why we are here: to collect intelligence on Henriette Woolahan, nothing else!” He knocked on the door. “Good luck!” he said and ran into the bushes right before the door was opened.

“Hey! What the hell are you–” Diedrich called after him but stopped when he noticed a butler standing in the doorsill.

“Welcome. We have awaited you,” the butler said dryly and opened the door wider when Diedrich turned towards him. After glaring at the bushes, Diedrich stepped inside the townhouse.

Had Phantomhive started to frequent opium dens in the last eight months? he thought while he stood in the entrance hall and looked around. When the carriage had entered the street, Diedrich’s gaze had immediately fallen on the Woolahan townhouse as it stood out like a sore thumb with its colourful and heavily engraved façade, its pillars and the cupola on the roof. It reminded Diedrich of the New Palace of Sanssouci in Potsdam in all its Baroque glory, but while the palace rose high and elegant from its park, the townhouse looked rather ridiculous in-between the comparably more “modest”-looking houses. Inside, everything was as heavily ornamented.

“If you could follow me,” said the butler and guided Diedrich to the drawing room where a woman was sitting on a rose-patterned rococo chaise longue. She had greying brown hair and wore a deep red dress. She squinted at Diedrich when he entered the room.

“There you are! You have kept me waiting, Vincent Phantomhive!” said Duchess Harriet Woolahan, and Diedrich blinked at her.

“You are mistaken. I am not Vincent Phantomhive,” Diedrich told her.

She shook her head. “Don’t try to fool me, boy!” The Duchess narrowed her eyes. “Who else wears their hair like you do, Earl? I can see that you are the Earl of Phantomhive even without my glasses! And now, stop trying to trick me! When will you grow up?” She leaned back. “Please take a seat, Mylord. I hope it will be fine for you that I am not wearing my glasses; they broke this morning, and their replacement will only be done tomorrow. But then, I don’t think that the circumstance of me being nearly blind will hinder our conversation. Tea?”

Internally cursing Vincent, Diedrich sat down. So, that was the reason why that idiot messed up my hair. “I am sorry for having tried to fool you, Duchess. Of course, you would see through me. And I would love some tea,” he said, trying to sound as happy and polite as possible.

Duchess Woolahan nodded. “Of course, you are; of course, you do. Hooper!”

The butler immediately appeared at Diedrich’s side to pour tea into his cup.

“Say, Earl, why did you want to see me so urgently? After all, we have only spoken twice before, and the last time was a year ago,” said the Duchess with a raised eyebrow.

“I have come because of your daughter Lady Henriette. I have heard from someone involved in the police procedures that she has gone missing.”

“Oh, Henriette!” Harriet exclaimed. Instantly, Hooper handed her a handkerchief with great indifference expressed on his face. “Please do not tell me that you solely came to collect information for gossip!” she wailed and took the handkerchief.

Sometimes I forget that Phantomhive’s occupation as the Queen’s Watchdog is a secret. “Of course not, Mylady,” Diedrich assured her. “I wanted to give you my condolences, and I wondered if you would like to talk about what happened? After all, talking about something that is bothering you can help to ease your pain.”

Theatrically, the Duchess dabbed away non-existent tears with her handkerchief. “Oh, how very kind of you, Lord Phantomhive! It all started the winter I was born…”

***

Five hours later, Diedrich stumbled more than he walked out of the Woolahan townhouse.

Verflucht seist du, Vincent Phantomhive!

“You don’t look well, Dee. Was the tea stale?” Vincent asked from inside the carriage when Diedrich managed to drag himself there and open the door.

“You really kept me waiting,” Vincent continued and sat up, a smile on his lips. He placed the book he had been reading carefully on his lap. “Was Old Harriet’s life story so interesting? So captivating? I didn’t know you liked such things. You took so long I’m nearly done with Nicholas Nickleby! Did you know that this is my mother’s second copy as she lost her origin–”

Unable to keep himself calm anymore, Diedrich threw himself at Vincent. He took hold of his collar and hurled him down to the carriage floor. The book fell out of the carriage.

“One reason,” Diedrich pressed out between clenched teeth. “Give me one reason why I should not kill you here and now!”

“It’s a public place?”

“ONE GOOD REASON.”

“I need to finish a book and safely return it to the manor library before my mother has time to rise from her grave and scold me for displacing it?”

Diedrich’s eye twitched.

“You are my fag, and according to the rules of Weston, you will be expelled if you murder me.”

Diedrich pulled Vincent up by his collar. “WE ARE NOT IN SCHOOL ANYMORE. VERDAMMT NOCHMAL,” he yelled and let go of him, making Vincent fall back to the ground.

“Ouch! That hurt!”

Diedrich stepped back and pinched his nose. “Why am I still associating myself with you?”

“Because deep within your cold heart lies a glimmer of honest, deep-rooted affection for me?”

Ignoring him, Diedrich picked up Nicholas Nickleby, brushed the dirt from it, and handed it to Vincent who had sat back down on the carriage bench. “Was that an act fuelled by this glimmer of affection you have for me?” he asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to take any chances with your mother potentially rising from the dead,” Diedrich replied. “I’m sorry for throwing it on the ground,” he added in a softer voice, and Vincent wordlessly took the book from him.

Then, Diedrich climbed into the carriage and closed the door behind him. “Please tell me that you did not only rest and read while I had to listen to the Duchess’ overly dramatically told life story. I asked about her daughter, and all she did was talk about herself.”

“She always does that – talking about herself, making everything about herself.” Vincent leaned back as the carriage started to drive again and absentmindedly drew circles with his finger on Nicholas Nickleby’s cover. “Harriet Woolahan does not particularly care about others. However, she does like to control and watch over everyone. If I had not sent you to her, I would not have been able to interrogate the servants.”

Diedrich glared at him. “Couldn’t you have told me this beforehand? Or, at least, given me a signal when you were done so that I could excuse myself and go? And was it really necessary to make me pose as you?”

“Necessary? No. Absolutely amusing? Yes! Also, I did not know that you would come so soon – I expected you in the evening, not in the morning –, so I had planned to go to the Duchess myself and let Tanaka do the interrogation. As she anticipated my visit, I thought it would be better if you went in my name; she does not take last-minute changes very well and might have dismissed you otherwise. I even paid Hooper to get rid of her glasses. I sent him a letter while you were agonising on my doorstep for thirty minutes. Hooper does not like the Duchess and only continues to work for her because he needs the money. Ah, and as to why I didn’t give you a signal…” Vincent chuckled. “I thought that you would leave on your own. I didn’t think you would honestly stay and listen to everything Old Harriet has to say! Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”

“I wanted to be polite.”

“Dee, politeness should always be sacrificed for your own well-being; your well-being should not be sacrificed for politeness.”

“I don’t know what I should do with a piece of advice from you.”

Vincent shrugged. “Do with it whatever you want.”

“What did you find out from the servants?” asked Diedrich, shifting in his seat. “And why did you ask the servants and not some other family member?”

“My dear Dee, can’t you guess? Because servants should be ‘invisible’ at all times and, thus, see and hear more than most. People often ignore servants, don’t even acknowledge that they are still in the room, and start to talk about all sorts of things, completely forgetting that these ‘lowly’ servants have ears like everyone else and that they love to gossip about their employers. Of course, I could have spoken to Lady Henriette’s father or her brothers, but I doubt they could have told me anything new whereas the servants might know the truly interesting facts!” Vincent’s blue eyes shone. “And I was right! Apparently, Lady Henriette was secretly seeing a young man; he is most likely the person with whom she may or may not have eloped. However, the servants only know that he exists and that he is a medical student whom they call Mason Enace. They don’t know how he looks like as he never visited Lady Henriette; she only ever went to him. They also don’t know the true nature of their relationship. Of course, they assume that they are lovers, but she might as well have been blackmailed by him. Or he by her.”

Diedrich nodded before he looked out of the window and frowned. “That’s not the way to your townhouse. Are we going to seek out this Mr Mason Enace?”

“Eventually, we will. Right now, however, we are heading to Scotland Yard. I need to know if they found out anything new before the case was officially given to me,” said Vincent, and Diedrich sighed. Visits to Scotland Yard were never pleasant. The current Police Commissioner, an extraordinarily grim man named Arthur Randall, hated Vincent with a passion and this hatred extended to Diedrich. At least, because of Vincent’s position as the Queen’s Watchdog, Randall could neither refuse them entrance to the Metropolitan Police’s headquarters nor imprison them. Even if this did not make the whole situation less unpleasant, it made it easier.

While Diedrich would love to jump out of the carriage and return to the townhouse alone, he knew that Vincent would have never decided to go to Scotland Yard if he did not believe the visit to be absolutely necessary. Vincent found great joy in annoying Arthur Randall, but whenever they met, Randall could not stop himself from mentioning Vincent’s parents.

There were only very few subjects Vincent Phantomhive did not like to talk about, especially did not want others to talk about – and the topic of his parents was one of them. Diedrich was well aware of his “weakness” regarding this topic and could technically use it to tease him, but this knowledge wasn’t a weapon he would ever use against Vincent. All Diedrich knew about the former Earl and Countess of Phantomhive were their names and that they died five years ago, leaving their two children deeply shocked and scarred. He didn’t need to know more, didn’t want to know more. He didn’t pry into Vincent’s family story like Vincent never pried into his. The death and subject of their parents was still an open wound for both Vincent and Francis, and Diedrich knew that he had no right to poke around in it. Arthur Randall, on the other hand, believed that he had and never wasted a chance to twist a knife in their wounds.

Thus, Diedrich leaned back and listened to Vincent’s endless chatter and his restless fingers drumming on his mother’s book.

***

“Vincent Phantomhive, I see you still haven’t got yourself killed. You are as infuriatingly hard to kill as your parents,” said Lord Arthur Randall when Diedrich and Vincent walked into Scotland Yard as if he did nothing all day long than to stand at the entrance and wait for their arrival.

It would not surprise me at all if he did that, Diedrich thought. Phantomhive may be an idiot, but he still does a better job at handling cases and getting rid of criminals than the Met.

“And apparently you have been running around London all day long without achieving anything judging from the condition of your shoes – new ones, I haven’t seen them before; frankly speaking, they do not suit you, do you need a recommendation? – and your especially grumpy state of mind,” Vincent replied, glancing at Randall’s shoes and face. “Randy, let us go to your office. You don’t need to lead me there. I know my way and that your chair is the most comfortable one in this entire building which is in dire need of a renovation. Ever thought of new tapestries?” he said before running off.

“This kid,” mumbled Randall before hurrying after him.

With a sigh, Diedrich walked to Randall’s office – until he was grabbed and dragged around a corner. Vincent put a hand over his mouth to prevent him from yelling and when he understood that Diedrich had seen and recognised him, he put his hand down.

“I should contemplate about embroidering ‘Phantomhive, what the hell’ on handkerchiefs and selling them. I think they would sell well,” said Diedrich, scowling at him.

“I would buy ten,” Vincent replied. “For now, let us forget about your entrepreneurial aspirations and find some Yard officers to talk to. Everyone is better than Randy the Weasel who should still be on his way to his office.” With fast strides, he walked down the corridor to the common room, and Diedrich followed him. Vincent pushed open the doors, and they stepped inside.

“Pretend you are a new detective in civil attire, wanting to get to know your new colleagues. Ask them about themselves, about their workday, if they have heard anything regarding a certain Lady Henriette Woolahan. You go left; I go right,” Vincent whispered to Diedrich before heading right.

Sometimes, he reminds me of those overly enthusiastic vendors at markets that capture you and speak so quickly that you have a hard time following them. And before you realise what is happening, you own a stack of new pots and a complimentary spoon.

Diedrich went left and walked up to two officers who stopped talking the instant he joined them.

“Hello, I’m–” Alias, alias, I need an alias. “Dieter Säcker, one of the new plainclothes detectives. Nice to meet you.”

“I didn’t know we got new detectives,” said one of the men and frowned.

“It’s not like we are ever officially told when someone new is hired,” remarked the other one. “As long as it’s not very important, we only find out about these things days later by hearsay.” He shook hands with Diedrich. “Anyway, welcome to Scotland Yard. I am Jack Monaghan, and this is Isaac Xavier.”

“What was your name again?” asked Xavier after he and Diedrich had shaken hands as well.

“Säcker.”

“Sayka?”

“No, Säcker.”

“Saykuh?”

Diedrich sighed. “‘Dieter’ will be fine. Dee-tah.”

Xavier’s face lit up. “Say, Dee-tah, how do you like it so far at the Met?”

“It’s all right, I guess. It’s my first day and I was already sent to interrogate the members of the Woolahan household.”

“This explains your clothes,” Monaghan meant, looking him up and down. “I wondered why an ordinary plainclothes detective is wearing a nobleman’s clothes. Those people in those fancy houses don’t let someone go inside who isn’t dressed as fancily as them, I suppose?”

“Yes, exactly,” Diedrich replied. “Have you heard that Lady Henriette Woolahan has disappeared?”

“In passing. It’s not my case and I’m not exactly interested in what the upper-class people are doing. They are always making a fuss about nothing. I’m sure that the Lady’s fine.”

“I haven’t heard much about it either, but you can never know,” added Xavier. “The Lady may have been murdered or kidnapped. If she disappeared, I don’t think it’s good to insist that she is ‘fine.’”

“Ah, I see,” Diedrich said and not to appear too suspicious, he continued the conversation. “One more thing: I saw the Police Commissioner coming into the building rather agitated. Did something happen?”

“Oh, that. The Commissioner is constantly agitated because of something. Lately, he’s been worse because he has a tough time with a serial killer case that has been going on for a few months,” Monaghan told him. “I don’t know the details, but let’s see if someone’s here who does.” He looked around and eventually called, “Costigan!”

After a while, a man with unruly brown hair appeared in front of them. “What’s the matter, Monaghan?”

“This is Dieter Sayka,” Monaghan introduced Diedrich. “He is a new detective – did you know that they hired more detectives? Because I didn’t.”

“I didn’t either,” replied Costigan before he nodded to Diedrich. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Isham Costigan.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” said Diedrich.

“Anyway, Sayka is interested in the case the Commissioner is personally handling because he noticed him being even grumpier than usual,” Monaghan continued and then turned to Diedrich. “Sayka, Costigan is assisting the Commissioner in this case.”

“Ah, the serial killing,” Costigan said. “Just like all killings, a very unpleasant matter. It’s also a rather unsettling case. Nothing is connecting the victims: No apparent preference in age or gender, and the victims seem to vanish into thin air. Howsoever the culprit – or culprits – is choosing their victims is so random, anyone could be next.”

“Goddammit, Costigan, you are scaring Xavier,” said Monaghan, and Diedrich saw that Xavier had indeed become pale.

“He shouldn’t be so easily scared anyway. He’s a police officer after all. Also, I’m saying this to warn you: Be careful, my friends. I don’t want to see any of your names on this ever-growing list.” Costigan took out a little notebook from his jacket pocket and began to read out the names of the missing people: “Andy Morvell, James McKerras, Michael Bilton, Maud Cowen, Harve Atkins, Mable Clarke, Cornelius Moore, Emil Barry, Willie Robertson, Maymie Day, Delmar Robins, Duncan Thompson, Alfred Gillis, Sophronia Farrell…”

“Who the hell names their child ‘Sophronia’?” asked Vincent, joining their little group. “It sounds awful. I’m terrible at name-giving and even I think it’s a dreadful name. She must have hated her parents. I hope it’s a woman because if Sophronia’s a man, it’s even worse.” He briefly bowed and then smiled brightly at everyone. “Hello, my name’s Victor Honeysett. Like Dieter, I’m one of the new detectives. I would love to get to know all of you gentlemen, but I’m afraid that we have to go back to work, don’t we, Dee-tah?”

“Yes, we do. Goodbye, Monaghan, Xavier, Costigan,” said Diedrich. Before he could hear the officers’ responses, Vincent pulled him out of the common room.

“Very polite, Honeysett, and not suspicious at all,” Diedrich remarked while Vincent shooed him through Scotland Yard’s corridors.

“What did I say to you about sacrificing politeness for your own well-being? I saw Randy coming and I knew from the look on his face that, this time, it was better to run than to stay and try to talk to that weasel. And now, come, Dee. Weren’t you the one who was in Green Lion? Why are you so slow?”

Glaring at Vincent, Diedrich broke free from his grip and took Vincent’s arm, dragging him out of the building and to their carriage. As soon as they closed the door, Tanaka drove away as fast as possible to the Phantomhive townhouse.

“I’m barely twenty-four hours in England and I’m already running from the police,” said Diedrich when they arrived in front of the townhouse’s gates. Tanaka opened the carriage door for them, and Diedrich jumped out.

“Routine, Dee, routine,” Vincent replied and climbed out of the carriage.

“Now, tell me, did you find out anything of interest while we were at Scotland Yard? Or was this whole ordeal in vain?” asked Diedrich after they entered the townhouse and while they were walking to the parlour.

“It definitely wasn’t in vain,” meant Vincent. “I’ve found out that the Met knows as much regarding Lady Henriette’s disappearance as they did yesterday.”

“But then, everything was in vain! After all, we went there to get intelligence.”

Vincent chuckled. “Oh, Dee. The lack of intelligence is also some kind of intelligence. For now, let’s not dwell on it and focus on getting some rest before dinner.”

***

Diedrich grimaced while Nina adjusted his collar.

He and Vincent would leave for a garden party at the Bainsbridge townhouse in about an hour. Rochelle Bainsbridge, Vincent had explained to Diedrich, was a close friend of Henriette Woolahan. The Bainsbridges, like many other noble families, were eager to make the most out of the final weeks of the Season and had organised various balls, soirées, tea and garden parties throughout the next days. Today’s garden party was the first of their final five gatherings. As soon as Vincent had heard of this the day before yesterday, he had worked on finding a way to get into that garden party: Rochelle would surely invite more of her friends who were, by extension, also friends of Henriette’s. Thus, it was the perfect opportunity to get as much information as possible. However, the Bainsbridges attached great importance to order and onlyallowed invited guests at their parties. They were highly exclusive affairs and the invitations to the garden party had been sent out weeks in advance. Once their guest list was set, it would not be changed. Vincent had still managed to get two invitations.

It had turned out that Kit – it had taken Diedrich a moment to remember that he was Vincent’s actual fag at Weston as he only knew him by his last name – had been invited to the said garden party. Although Vincent refused to get Kit entangled in his Watchdog duties and make him an Aristocrat of Evil, they were still good friends and if there was no other or better way, Vincent asked Kit for assistance. Kit, who knew about Vincent’s severely unorthodox occupation, was always happy to help. He had profusely apologised to the Bainsbridges that he would be unable to come; an emergency prevented his attendance – and, if it was allowed, he would like his friend Vincent Phantomhive to take his place.

When Vincent had become Earl at fifteen, his school obligations had hindered him from attending many social gatherings during the Season. This year, this was not an issue anymore, and Vincent had been bombarded with invitations: Everyone wanted the elusive Earl of Phantomhive at their party. Furthermore, Kit, while prominent, held a lower rank than Vincent. Therefore, upon hearing Kit’s proposal, the Bainsbridges had made a fantastical exception and allowed the exchange. Somehow, Kit had even been able to persuade the Bainsbridges to hand out an additional invitation.

Diedrich was in awe of Kit’s accomplishment and negotiating prowess – even if he wished he had not made that effort. He would have been very content staying at the townhouse while Vincent collected information on his own. As usual, nothing went his way, and Diedrich was now at Nina’s mercy.

Vincent had called Nina Hopkins, a tailor whose family had been clothing the Phantomhives for generations, after Diedrich had admitted to not having packed anything suitable for a garden party. Nina was far too dramatic for Diedrich’s liking, but she was undoubtedly a master in her handicraft and the best option for such emergencies. Therefore, Diedrich begrudgingly tried on every piece of clothing she handed him and stood still while she scrutinised him, made some adjustments here and there, and then told him to try something else. The outfit was not quite right yet; nothing felt quite right yet for Nina. She aimed for perfection and would not allow anything else.

Sighing, Diedrich shrugged on another jacket. At least, Vincent was silent. He could not see him because of the divider but he knew that he was here. Vincent was likely sitting on a windowsill and quietly reading The Old Curiosity Shop. He had told Diedrich that, about two weeks ago, he had decided to go through all of Dickens’ novels and novellas in publication order.

After swapping out shirts and vests and jackets a few more times and putting a top hat on his head, Nina finally clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Excellent! This will do.” She put the divider away and rolled a large mirror to Diedrich. “Please take a look at yourself, Mr Diedrich,” she said and craned her head to Vincent. “Next time, please contact me earlier! I could have made something more stunning if I had proper time to prepare every- Earl! Are you lying down in your suit?!”

Diedrich glimpsed at his reflection – the clothes suited him; Nina did well, though he could not understand how this particular combination looked any different from the last five – and then watched Vincent sit up and put his book next to him. “I’m sorry. You were taking so long, Nina.”

“It was barely twenty minutes!” Nina replied exasperated. Her words shocked Diedrich. Twenty minutes? It had felt like twenty years. “Please take better care of your clothes! You keep ripping them and drenching them in blood and whatnot and you are well aware how little I care for men’s wear!”

Vincent raised his hands in apology. “I promise I will be more careful.”

Nina glared at him. “You better uphold this promise for once, Earl. Now, don’t you have a garden party to go to?”

***

“There are some things I don’t understand yet, Phantomhive,” Diedrich said on the way to the Bainsbridge townhouse. “Mostly because you have not told me anything but the bare bones.”

“I’m sure that if I did not tell you something, it was not important at all,” Vincent replied.

“I still would like to know though,” Diedrich insisted. “If people have been fighting to invite you to their events, how come you did not receive an invitation for the Bainsbridges’ garden party? Or to another of their parties?”

Vincent adjusted his sleeves. “There was a rumour that I would be unavailable for the first two August weeks. It sounded so convincing and truthful that people have not bothered to invite me to any gathering during that period.”

“That’s a fine rumour someone sow.”

“I know,” Vincent said and grinned at Diedrich. “I did it myself.”

Diedrich shook his head to conceal the smile that had crept like a traitor onto his face. “Should not have expected anything else from you, Phantomhive.”

Vincent burst into laughter. “You would have done the same if you had received that ungodly amount of invitations! I kept them all as proof that I am not exaggerating. After Franny left the house, I felt a bit lonely. I do not appreciate the invitations’ intentions, though I certainly appreciate their amount in a way. I gave them their own room in the townhouse – I decorated it for the entirety of ten minutes and took great care to remove every candle from it – and collectively call them ‘Invi.’ I lost a housemate and gained another! We have tea parties and picnics in the darkest part of the garden. I need to introduce you to Invi.”

“Please, you do not have to bother. I believe you that ‘Invi’ is very pleasant. I do not have to meet them myself.”

“Invi is not pleasant!” Vincent exclaimed so suddenly that Diedrich jumped up a bit from his seat. “They are a terrible conversationalist and incredibly frail! The faintest wisp of wind leaves them a tangled mess and it is left to me to bring them back together.” He shook his head. “I appreciate their companionship, but wish they would be less dependent on me. I have my own life after all.”

“Is it me or are you talking even more nonsense than before? Have you fallen on your head in the last months or…?” Diedrich asked.

Vincent shrugged. “It is you. I hope the guests at the garden party are better conversationalists than dear Invi or that they are, at least, willing to answer any question about Lady Henriette. And speaking of Lady Henriette: The public does not know about her disappearance. Her family wants to keep the matter quiet for as long as possible to avoid any scandals. I doubt it will stay a secret for long. You have met Old Harriet after all.”

“‘If I did not tell you something, it was not important.’ How does this not qualify as important?!”

Vincent raised his shoulders a little for a half-hearted shrug. “Everyone believes Lady Henriette is visiting her ailing great-aunt in the countryside,” he told Diedrich, and Diedrich groaned when he heard this.

“That standardised lie sounds more suspicious than her actual disappearance.”

“The Woolahans do not seem to be particularly creative,” Vincent said the moment the carriage stopped. Diedrich took a deep breath and braced himself for what would come before he climbed out first.

***

One good aspect of having joined the Army was that Diedrich did not have to attend any parties. Social gatherings drained his energy quicker than running ten kilometres and doing hundreds of squats, push-ups, and sit-ups. They also left him with more lingering exhaustion. However, after having been present at many such gatherings with his parents and getting trained in proper etiquette at Weston College, Diedrich knew how to skilfully navigate them.

He had known this, at least.

It had been eight months since Diedrich had last attended such an event. Evidently, this was enough time to forget long-learned behaviour. Not used to large, formal gatherings and the idle chit-chat amongst nobility anymore, Diedrich was tense and taciturn next to Vincent while they greeted the Earl and Countess of Bainsbridge, walked around the venue and started conversations with various guests. He had to adapt himself to this life again; he would work on this as soon as possible. Especially considering that his parents planned to start sending him to parties again in a few months. He could not embarrass himself then.

Vincent, on the other hand, was a natural and slid through the garden and talked to and smiled at people with almost awe-inspiring elegance and ease. It was odd to see Vincent like that, so refined and dignified. It was such a stark contrast to the Vincent Phantomhive he was in private.

After multiple strategically chosen conversations, Diedrich and Vincent ended up talking to Lady Rochelle’s older brother Preston who then introduced them to his sister. Her delight to meet them was written all over her face.

Or, rather, her delight to meet Vincent. Rochelle’s eyes shone when she looked at him and only held apathy when they grazed Diedrich.

That must have been the true reason why the Bainsbridges had allowed Vincent to be Kit’s replacement: Rochelle was hopelessly in love with Vincent and must have championed for Kit’s request to be accepted. Vincent immediately realised this as well and there was a slight change in his expression before he broke into a bright smile and bowed his head to the lady and her friends next to her. Preston introduced them as Beatrice Lawrence, Sophia Vanderbilt, and Anna Breckenridge.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lord Phantomhive,” said Rochelle in a saccharine voice and batted her eyelashes at Vincent after her friends had greeted him.

He met her awfully obvious infatuation with a polite, reserved smile and said, “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rochelle.”

“We were very surprised to learn that you were not tied up with business matters at all.”

The lady who stood next to Rochelle, Sophia Vanderbilt, nodded. “It was shocking to hear from Rochelle that your unavailability was only a rumour, Lord Phantomhive.”

“What a fine mystery it is,” said Vincent amused, and Diedrich had to restrain himself not to roll his eyes. “The origin of this rumour, I mean. Its circulation almost made me miss out on this wonderful garden party. The Earl and Countess of Bainsbridge have outdone themselves.”

“My parents will be pleased to hear this,” Preston said and stood up straighter. “They worked hard to prepare everything for today and provide a memorable experience for everyone. My sister and I helped out as well. Rochelle did all the flower arrangements herself.”

Diedrich glanced at the arrangements that had been placed on the buffet and dining tables underneath the marquees as well as at the flowers that decorated the marquees themselves. They adorned the rims and wrapped around the poles. The colours were an incredibly gaudy choice – bright violet and orange; Diedrich would have preferred more subdued colours – and the flower placements were clumsy at best. Still, Rochelle beamed proudly. Diedrich grabbed a finger sandwich from a servant. In case someone asked him if he liked the flower arrangements as well, he now had an excuse not to speak.

“Oh, did she?” Vincent exclaimed. “You did extraordinarily well, Lady Rochelle. You chose bold, fashionable colours, picked the best flowers, and wove them into true pieces of art.”

Rochelle turned red, and Diedrich was a little impressed when she spoke without stammering. “I thank you for your kind words, Earl.”

“I only gave you the praise you deserve! I pity everyone who cannot see your spectacular flower arrangements.”

Beatrice Lawrence sighed at his words. “I do as well, Lord Phantomhive,” she said sorrowfully. “Rochelle did so well. I wish Oliver were here to see them and be part of the Earl and Countess’ festivities.”

Vincent pricked up his ears. “Oliver?”

“Oliver Breckenridge,” Anna told him. She had been quiet the entire time and had only briefly and wordlessly curtsied to greet Diedrich and Vincent. “He is Beatrice’s fiancée and my older brother.”

Beatrice sighed again. Her melancholy was almost palpable. “Oliver was invited as well but he woke up sick this morning and could not come although he was perfectly well the last few days. It happened so suddenly that Anna could only tell us upon her arrival. I hope he will get well soon.”

“Beatrice has been inconsolable for hours,” said Sophia, a bit of annoyance creeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “She is very fond of Breckenridge and looks forward to all their meetings with immense excitement. Beatrice, only two more months and you will long for a time when you do not have to see him every single day!”

“Oh, leave her be, Sophia!” Rochelle replied. “Beatrice is only in love. She and Breckenridge are such a well-matched couple,” she added and smiled at Vincent who discreetly avoided her eyes and focused on the rhododendrons instead.

“Well-matched and deeply in love they may be, it is no excuse to overlook the fact that our very close friend Henriette could not come as well,” Sophia meant. “Especiallyconsidering the circumstances of her absence.”

“Has she suddenly fallen ill as well?” Vincent enquired.

“No,” Preston replied. “Lady Henriette’s great-aunt has, and she has travelled to the countryside to be by her side. I heard they are very close.”

Sophia chuckled. “I am certain they are close – now. This is all very unlike Henriette. She would never get into such… situations: She does not like spontaneity and would not have left in such a hurry. When her grandfather succumbed to his long illness last Season, Henriette took the time to write Rochelle, Beatrice, Anna, me, and a few others longwinded, tearful letters to explain the situation and excuse her early departure from London. Where are the letters this time?”

“If it was an emergency,” Rochelle interjected, “even Henriette would be spontaneous and leave in a hurry without informing anyone beforehand. And now enough of this.” She beamed at Vincent and asked, “Lord Phantomhive, are you interested in a game of croquet?”

***

As soon as the carriage doors were closed, Diedrich and Vincent groaned and slumped in their seats. Although Vincent knew how to present himself well in high society and Diedrich was athletic, various lengthy rounds of croquet with the Bainsbridge siblings, Sophia, Beatrice, Anna, and some other insufferable people had successfully drained them of all energy. They had done all this in vain even. Diedrich had no idea what could be gleaned from the sparse pieces of information they had received about Henriette, though he was sure Vincent would disagree if he said this out loud. Right now, Diedrich was too exhausted to talk about the case or to listen to one of Vincent’s lectures on how “every piece of information is important in its own way.” Vincent was as tired as he, but he seemed to have a second energy source within his body which was solely reserved for lectures, and Diedrich did not want to remind him to use it.

“Your form was terrible,” Diedrich said instead. “I still can’t believe you and your team managed to beat me at the cricket tournament.”

Vincent smiled but said nothing.

“How did you do it? It has been a year and you still have not told me.”

“Why should I tell you? My lips are sealed.”

“When it comes to that, they are sealed for once, hm?”

Vincent chuckled tiredly. “Of course. One does not reveal one’s tricks. I can only repeat what I’ve told you back then: Blue House won because of well-wrought strategies and teamwork.”

“I’ll get this out of you someday.”

“There are not enough wishing stars for that,” Vincent replied. Then, they half-lied half-awake in the carriage until they arrived at the Phantomhive townhouse. Tanaka opened the door for them, and Diedrich braced himself on the carriage walls to get out. His worn-out state deeply embarrassed him.

He turned to look after Vincent who sat up but did not make a move to leave the carriage.

Diedrich frowned. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No. I have to go somewhere in preparation for tomorrow’s investigation and it’s better if you don’t accompany me there.”

“Where are you going?”

Vincent pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret. Tomorrow’s investigation will be my welcoming gift to you.”

“I hope you know that a card would have been more than enough.”

He shrugged. “Dee, if you have nothing else to tell me, I have to go. We’ll see each other again at dinner. Goodbye!”

***

Vincent did not return for dinner. Instead, Diedrich got the holidays he needed. The library at the Phantomhive townhouse was a truly stunning place with its enormous collection of books and rich décor. Despite its grandeur, it was still a delightfully cosy place, so small and neatly packed, and Diedrich liked spending time there. It was a refreshing change from the huge library at his parents’ gargantuan, pompous home. The only downside of the townhouse library’s size was that it felt overcrowded and suffocating whenever Vincent was there too. But then that was more the fault of Vincent who had shockingly little sense for personal space rather than the library’s.

The usual problem was not here though, and Diedrich was able to spend the rest of his afternoon calmly and comfortably in the library recharging his energy. He made sure to handle the books with great care. He was neither superstitious nor did he believe in the supernatural, but after Vincent had said that his mother could rise from the dead if someone misplaced or ruined her books… The last thing Diedrich needed was getting his peace disturbed by a Phantomhive – alive or dead.

Afterwards, Diedrich had dinner and talked with Tanaka who enquired about his butler Heinrich; he was fine and had stayed behind in Germany because Diedrich had travelled to England with his superior and some others from his regiment. Then, Diedrich went to bed and slept soundly. Sadly, Vincent was back for breakfast the next day.

“I hope you did not miss me at dinner,” said Vincent from behind the newspaper he was reading when Diedrich entered the dining room. “I fully intended to be back on time, but something important hindered me.”

“I did not miss you at all. I only acknowledged your nonattendance and moved on with my day,” Diedrich told him as he sat down. “It was the most pleasant dinner I had in a long time. In Germany, I have to eat with the other soldiers, and it is neither silent nor refreshing.”

“At least one of us had a nice evening and night,” Vincent said and put down his newspaper to reveal the dark circles under his eyes.

“You look worse than usual,” Diedrich remarked, taken aback by his appearance. “Did the ‘something important’ rob you of your sleep? And maybe it was not a good idea, after all, to exert yourself any further after all those rounds of croquet.”

“Yes, but it’s fine. I knew what I was doing.”

Diedrich raised an eyebrow. “What was it that you would knowingly, willingly sacrifice your sleep for it?”

“It’s not important for you to know. I still got enough sleep and I will look better with a bit of make-up.” With these words, Vincent silently resumed eating his breakfast while Diedrich watched him with a frown on his face. Apart from holidays and important dates concerning his parents – their birthdays, their death days – Diedrich rarely experienced Vincent Phantomhive in such a sombre mood.

I wonder what happened last evening, Diedrich thought. But I know that he will not tell me, no matter how often I’ll ask. If he does not want to say something, nothing in the world could make him speak. Well, except his sister.

In the deafening silence that followed, they finished their breakfast. Forty minutes later, they were taking a hansom cab to Bloomsbury. With his dark circles now covered with makeup, Vincent returned to being an absolute nuisance, and Diedrich decided to let him talk and talk on their way without interfering much.

“What exactly are we doing here?” asked Diedrich when they got off the carriage in front of the London University’s main building.

“Don’t you remember? Lady Henriette’s alleged lover is a medical student, and London University has a medical school. Did you know that the university was founded in 1826 and became the first university in England to have English as a subject two years later?”

“Have we come here to talk to Mason Enace or because you wanted to go to the perfect scenery to tell me all your useless trivia knowledge about this institution?”

“Both, but mostly the latter considering that we have to find Mason Enace first.”

Diedrich frowned. “You mean you don’t know if he’s attending this university? Didn’t you check the registers?”

“I wish I could! Of course, I technically cancheck the registers. In this case, I’m afraid it won’t help much though.”

“And why wouldn’t it help? We have his name after all!”

Vincent chuckled. “Dee, I thought you were smarter than this. Do you honestly think there is someone in the world called Mason Enace? M. Enace? Menace?”

Diedrich’s eyes widened. “If Lady Henriette calls him that, he must be her tormentor, not her lover!”

“No, you idiot!” exclaimed Vincent. “Didn’t you listen to me when I told you about what I’ve found out from the Woolahan servants? I said: ‘He is a medical student whom they call Mason Enace’! ‘Mason Enace’ is a name given to our mysterious medical man by the servants – not Lady Henriette herself, let alone his parents! The servants gave him such a name because they believe him to be a menace to Lady Henriette’s innocence – which he indeed may be.

“Everyone can listen, Dee! But listening intently is an art that has to be trained!”

“I admit that I’ve been a fool. Still, I don’t want to hear any instructive words from someone like you!”

“Well, they aren’t my words. Of course, I’ve formed them with my mouth and other articulatory organs by manipulating the flow of the air, but they sprang from memory!” Vincent cleared his throat. “My father used to say this. I like to imagine that you would have gone along well with him, Dee.”

Diedrich raised an eyebrow. “Considering how youare and that you inherited your god-awful job from your father, I’m glad I never got to meet him,” he said and regretted it right afterwards.

He wanted to add something. Then, to his surprise, Vincent chuckled. “You cannot use me as a ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’-example when it comes to my father. If you had met him and me separately and without knowing our names, you would have never guessed we were related. I take more after my mother in appearance and, in many aspects, in personality as well. Franny looks more like our father, but the resemblance is not as overt as with me and our mother. The same applies to personality: She resembles Father more than I do in this regard too, though not that much. He was, therefore, in many ways different from us. Father was a very pleasant person to have around, and I know what you are thinking right now: ‘Of course, Phantomhive is saying that! He thinks the worst people are pleasant to have around.’ I mean it when I say I believe that you would have liked him, even if only a bit.” A sad smile sneaked on Vincent’s face, and Diedrich felt rather awkward. It had been a long time since Vincent had talked so much about his parents.

“I–” Diedrich began but Vincent cut him off immediately.

“Speak no further. It does not matter. Where were we? Oh, yes, our ignorance concerning our mystery man’s name. As we have established that we know nothing of him except that he is somehow associated with Lady Henriette Woolahan and a student of medicine, I’ve dedicated the day to investigate the medical schools of London,” Vincent said and walked into the university building.

Diedrich followed him, groaning. “You are joking.”

“I am not. I’ve consulted Angelina in this matter. I hope you remember that she dreams of studying medicine? She helped me pick the schools which are the likeliest to be the mystery man’s. Do you know how hard it is to enquire such things without giving away that I need the information for an investigation? Sometimes, I envy the Met officers because they have badges and permits and do not need to hide their occupation. Then, I remember that I would have to work for Randy and the envy vanishes instantaneously.”

“So you have been at the Dalles house yesterday?” said Diedrich before realisation befell him. “Your sleeplessness was because of Lady Rachel!”

Last year, not long after they had graduated from Weston College, Vincent had met Lord Dalles at a party. They had exchanged themselves on philanthropic matters and got along so well that Dalles eventually introduced Vincent to his family – to his wife and their two daughters, Rachel and Angelina. Vincent had grown to like Rachel, and to Diedrich’s absolute horror and utter disbelief that this was even possible, she had taken a liking to him as well. Numerous times, Diedrich had informed Rachel that Vincent Phantomhive was a despicable human being and not worth her time or anyone’s before he had ultimately given up. No matter what he said, her fondness for Vincent did not dissipate.

Almost a year had passed since their initial meeting and Vincent had still not got engaged to her, let alone had begun to court her. Otherwise, Rochelle would not have behaved as she had. Diedrich had no idea why Vincent was so hesitant to marry or court maybe the only woman in the world who genuinely liked him. This only added to Diedrich’s constant bewilderment when it came to them.

“Yes, I was at the Dalles house yesterday,” Vincent said slowly while they manoeuvred through the corridors.

“How are the sisters?”

“Angelina is doing well, and Rachel…” Vincent briefly bit his lip. “She’s fine too.”

“How do the Woolahan servants even know that ‘Mason Enace’ is a medical student when they have never seen him?” asked Diedrich to change the topic. He should have never brought up Rachel Dalles. Vincent was already upset because of her, and Diedrich did not want to agitate him any further. Not now when they had a case to solve. Anything that would gloom Vincent’s mood would also unnecessarily prolong the investigation – and Diedrich wanted to get this done as quickly as possible.

“Or that he even exists?” he continued.

“The servants came to this conclusion by bringing together the pieces of evidence they had collected,” Vincent informed him. “One day, Lady Henriette developed an interest in medicine and started to weave bits and pieces of surprising medical knowledge into conversations. They found objects which were, undoubtedly, medical instruments cleverly but not too cleverly hidden in her room. Said instruments were, fortunately, of the harmless kind like masks. I suppose they must have been interestingly chosen gifts. What is better than to proclaim your love with a stethoscope? Also, the servants found these things and noted Lady Henriette talking about medical subjects shortly after they noticed her sneaking out of her room at night.”

“Honestly, I would have concluded that Lady Henriette either wants to become a doctor herself or that she steals away into the night to strategically and medically murder people,” said Diedrich.

Vincent laughed. “You spent too much time with me, didn’t you? Anyway, the servants have initially come to similar conclusions as you did.”

“What made them change their mind?”

“A maid found Lady Henriette’s diary.”

Diedrich pinched his nose. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. The whole situation is slightly horrifying, but it’s better that Lady Henriette’s maid found the diary. The servants told me they had been very close to collectively reporting her to the police. Simply because she is an overenthusiastic, lovesick young woman who has a suitor with questionable gift taste! Unfortunately, or perhaps even cleverly, Lady Henriette never wrote her beloved’s name into her diary.”

“Of course,” mumbled Diedrich. “Are we heading straight to the medical wing to ask everyone present if they’ve ever encountered a Lady Henriette Woolahan or what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if you’re thinking too simple or too complicated. Perhaps, it’s a mix of both? Anyway, we are going to the cafeteria closest to the medical rooms.”

Diedrich’s eyes widened a little. “The cafeteria?”

“Yes. People usually go to the closest place if they are hungry which means that the cafeteria closest to the rooms where the medical students have their classes will mostly be filled with them. Also, while eating, people talk about all sorts of things. They also gossip a lot. In a classroom, it’s more toned down, but in cafeterias, everything runs wild and free. Of course, the gentlemen’s way; you get the gist. The cafeteria is the perfect place to find out if one of the students didn’t come in the last few days,” Vincent explained.

“Because if someone didn’t come for a long time, people would gossip and speculate?”

Vincent beamed. “Exactly.”

***

“Are you hungry?” asked Vincent when they walked into the cafeteria which was crowded even at this early hour. “What am I asking. You are always hungry.”

Diedrich glared at him. “I hope this wasn’t an insult.”

“Certainly not. I’m fascinated by the fact that you are a walking collapsar in this regard, Dee. This ability of yours will benefit you today: After all, we will have to eat at multiple cafeterias today. And now come to the first station.

“Do you see that, Dee? They have sandwiches here as well!” said Vincent when they queued up at the serving counter. “Let us grab some and split up.”

When it was their turn, they got sandwiches and tea and went into different directions with their trays. Diedrich let his gaze wander over the cafeteria and went to the first empty seat he spotted.

“Is it free?” he asked the student that sat next to the empty chair. When he nodded, Diedrich sat down. Quietly and taking care neither to eat too fast nor too slowly, Diedrich ate his sandwiches and listened to the chatter around him. Soon, he found out that he was sitting amongst economy students and he sneakily withdrew. Again, he searched for an empty seat, sat down, listened, and stood up when he didn’t hear what he needed. It took Diedrich a while until he finally located some medical students. He was forever grateful that the cafeteria was so full and nobody paid attention to him and his frantic seat changing.

He listened to the students until they finished eating and went away. However, all he could learn was that one of their classmates could not see blood despite striving to become a surgeon and that many boys were eerily excited to dissect their first corpse at the North London Hospital later today.

A few more times, Diedrich found groups to listen to, but from the medical students, he only ever heard stories about terrible professors, ridiculous fellow students, the lack of equipment, and the upcoming anatomical examinations. No mentions of a student who had not attended classes in four days without explanation.

“Let’s go,” said Vincent when he re-joined Diedrich, and they left the building.

“I’ve had enough for today,” Diedrich told him. “I don’t think it’s an effective method at all. I could not find any useful information. It was just mindless chatter.”

“There’s no such thing as mindless chatter, Dee. Every kind of conversation…”

“‘…contains overt and covert useful information. It only cannot be foreseen when said information will become useful to you.’ You told me this the first time you dragged me to a Watchdog case.”

“I’m impressed that you remember that! Didn’t we have a good time back then?”

“You invited me to your home, basically kidnapped me to an abandoned warehouse where you casually listened to the conversation of the members of a drug ring and made me listen to it as well as if it was the most ordinary way to spend your Sunday afternoon! Then, you pressed a dagger in my hand, told me not to lose it, and left me alone – with only a thin wall separating me from a group of criminals! If I hadn’t been too perplexed at that time, I would have gone home. You could have told me sooner about your job. At that moment, I was sure that these criminals were your dealers and you have taken me with you to get your new share. Seriously, you could have told me about you and your family before we made that stupid bet.”

Vincent grinned at him. “Well, you could have worked harder to defeat a group of bookworms. Oh, there’s a hansom cab! Let’s quickly grab it!”

***

Retaining their method, Diedrich and Vincent went from medical school to medical school: Westminster Medical School, Charing Cross Hospital Medical School, St Mary’s Hospital Medical School. They had two more medical schools on their list, but it had become too late to continue their, frankly, ridiculous investigation.

Relieved and tired, Diedrich leaned against the hansom cab’s window and looked outside. Vincent had enough energy left to tell him all about the happenings in Britain he had missed in the last eight months. Diedrich barely paid any attention to what he was saying. His brain was too exhausted and he was, surprisingly, too full to strain himself to listen to Vincent Phantomhive. He only registered snippets: something about a murder in Eltham, something else about a great storm and numerous shipwrecks, rugby and some other unions, a royal concert hall and marriage. Diedrich only snapped into wakefulness and clarity when he noticed that the cab was decidedly notdriving back to the townhouse.

“Phantomhive,” he said firmly and slowly, “where are we going?”

Vincent stopped his lecture on the Tichborne case finally coming to court and the current state of the trial and blinked at him. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I could swear I did.”

“You didn’t though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Really? Because I am most certain that I told you where we will be going. Where did you think we would go?”

“The townhouse,” Diedrich said. “And could you please answer my question now? Where are we going?”

“Why are you being so impatient?”

“Because you are stalling to answer!”

“Oh, I am?” Vincent said, raising an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, I was only trying to confirm whether I told you where we are going or not.”

“And although I answered this, you kept asking,” Diedrich pointed out.

“Well, without proper confirmation and evidence, how should I know if your account of events is the true one? You may be lying to me.”

“Why on earth would I…” Diedrich started before he groaned in annoyance and put his hand on the cab door’s handle. “You keep and keep on stalling! I have enough of this. You either tell me where we are going or I’m leaving. I can and will jump out.”

Vincent leaned back and looked out of the other window, bored. “Dee, you are no fun. Also, why should I bother answering a question you know the answer of?”

Diedrich looked at him for a moment before he asked slowly, “It’s somewhere I would never agree to go to otherwise, right? Don’t tell me it’s…” He paused, dread filling his body. “Don’t tell me it’s Undertaker’s.”

Vincent said nothing and kept his eyes fixed on the window.

***

It was Undertaker’s.

The funeral parlour was located in a narrow street, dirty, dark, and unfriendly. It was the same inside the parlour; the only reason why Diedrich preferred the street was that Undertaker wasn’t there. Vincent had to drag him inside, and as soon as the door was closed behind them, Diedrich heard Undertaker’s laugh from… somewhere. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dim light. Vincent’s likely hadn’t too, but he was still going around, happily checking the coffins for Undertaker and occasionally walking against a questionable piece of décor.

Vincent found Undertaker right before Diedrich finally got used to the dimness. Laughing, Undertaker stepped out of the coffin. The first time Diedrich had been dragged to the funeral parlour, he had turned around and walked out upon seeing Undertaker. Vincent had pulled him back inside, and Undertaker had laughed over Diedrich’s cowardice.

Diedrich did not fear Undertaker though. He feared for his nerves because Undertaker was even more annoying than Vincent and, in combination, they were unbearable.

“I see you got your German dog back,” noted Undertaker and sat down behind his desk.

Diedrich glared at the mortician while Vincent said, “Yes. He even proved his loyalty by coming as soon as I called him.”

“Good for you, Earl,” Undertaker replied. It was hard to tell if he indeed looked at Diedrich because his hair covered most of his face, but Diedrich was sure he felt Undertaker’s eyes on him.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me why you are here?” Undertaker asked when he took his eyes off Diedrich and poured tea into two beakers.

Vincent let himself fall onto one of the coffins on the ground, and Undertaker handed him a beaker which he gratefully took. Diedrich crossed his arms. “I’ll pass,” he said. Undertaker shrugged and put the second beaker back on his desk.

“Undertaker, as you may have guessed we have not come here to chat idly,” Vincent began and took a sip of tea. “On the Queen’s order, we are currently investigating the disappearance of Lady Henriette Woolahan, the only daughter of a Duke and parliamentarian.” He handed Undertaker a photograph. “Because of that, we need some information on your recent ‘clients.’”

Undertaker leaned back and chuckled to himself. Diedrich braced himself for what would come next. “I will give you the information you need – in exchange for a first-rate laugh,” Undertaker said and craned his head to Diedrich. “It’s been a while since you provided me with it… hehe…”

Diedrich stiffened, dread running up his spine. Then, to his surprise, Vincent said, “I will do it this time, Undertaker. I have taken him unawares bringing him here, and Dee has returned to England only a few days ago – and I promised him a welcome gift.” He stood up, and Diedrich stared at him. Vincent had been behaving even weirder than before, but thistook the bun. What on earth had happened in the past eight months?

“Dee, could you please wait outside?” Vincent asked. “I promise it won’t take long.”

***

Still puzzled by Vincent’s suspiciously generous gift, the thought of leaving did not even cross Diedrich’s mind once while he was waiting outside the funeral parlour. Not that he had to wait long because he heard Undertaker bursting into laughter within a few minutes. Vincent opened the door and beckoned Diedrich back inside right afterwards.

“This was quite formidable, Earl…” Undertaker remarked, half-lying on his desk and giggling to himself. “Now, to answer your question: I have never seen this Henriette Woolahan before. She is not here.” He held out the photograph to Vincent.

Vincent took it and pocketed it again. “I see. I want to ask you about a few more people…”

“In that case, I’ll need more payment,” Undertaker replied and turned to Diedrich. “You will get your turn after all~”

Vincent smirked. “Undertaker, did you forget? Earlier I said we need some information on your recent ‘clients’ – and not only on Henriette. You agreed to this, and I paid you.” He retrieved a stack of papers from his jacket and held it out to Undertaker. “I want you to tell me if any of those people have been here or not.”

Undertaker chuckled. “Very well, young Phantomhive,” he replied and took the documents. Holding them close to his face, he went through the stack.

Diedrich turned to Vincent. “Why would you check on more people?”

“Did you forget? Scotland Yard is investigating a serial murder. Sixteen people have been killed to date.” Vincent counted the names with his fingers. “Cornelius Moore, Maud Cowen, Bernard Wigram, Andy Morvell, Delmar Robins, Sophronia Farrell…”

“‘Sophronia’ is a terrible name,” Undertaker said while he continued to read through the papers.

“I remember that,” said Diedrich. “But why did you ask Undertaker about them?”

“To satisfy my curiosity,” Vincent answered. “Serial murders are more interesting than apparent elopements. I wish the Queen assigned that case to me, but well, it’s not something of importance to her.”

“And when and how did you get those files?”

Vincent grinned. “I stole them from Scotland Yard last night.”

Diedrich stared at him. “You did what?”

“I stole them from-”

“I heard you the first time! How on earth did you manage to steal documents from the police?”

“You’re saying that as if it is difficult.” Vincent shrugged. “We have a blueprint of the building at home. I found it in my parents’ possessions – what a lucky find! I guess they got their hands on it after Randy was being wilfully obstructive again. I think they snatched the blueprint right under his nose. It’s possible, don’t you think, Dee? Anyway, I used the blueprint, sneaked into Scotland Yard, got into the document room, and left before any Met officer knew any better. Don’t tell my sister: She will be furious, but this is also the most physical activity I engaged in for a while besides that croquet match, so she would ‘only’ get mixed feelings from this story. In her current state, I do not want to upset her any more than I usually do and ‘mixed’ is already not approved.”

“Now, your state from this morning makes more sense. Between visiting the Dalles sisters and robbing Scotland Yard and potentially getting you imprisoned you could not have possibly caught any sleep.”

Vincent shrugged again. “Life of the Watchdog.”

Undertaker waved the stack of documents about. “Earl~”

“Oh, you’re done already, Undertaker?” Vincent said and took the papers.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“None of them are here either.”

Diedrich blinked at Undertaker. “None? Sixteen people have been murdered and not a single one has been here? Is here?”

“You forget that I am not the only mortician in London.”

“Then, do you know if the victims are at other funeral parlours?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“They aren’t and weren’t at another funeral parlour either.”

Diedrich threw his hands into the air. “You aren’t useful at all then. What did Phantomhive pay you for?”

“No, Undertaker was a great help, Dee,” Vincent interjected. “That Lady Henriette has not shown up at any funeral parlour in London could mean that she is still alive which is good. Of course, this could also mean that she and our mysterious ‘Mason Enace’ managed to leave London – and then died outside the city. Or that she died but nobody found her corpse yet. And a few more possibilities.”

“So – nothing?” said Diedrich.

“No, not nothing!” Vincent insisted and drank the rest of his tea. “And in the case of the sixteen serial murder victims: It is very odd that none of them found their way to a funeral parlour yet. This is, of course, not impossible but, if I dare say, the probability of this circumstance is rather low. This naturally leads to the question: Where are the victims then? The culprit may be collecting them – or eating them.”

“Eating?!”

“It happens,” Vincent said with eerie nonchalance. “Furthermore, it is interesting that Scotland Yard classified this case as a ‘serial murder’ if none of the victims’ corpses has been found anywhere yet. Even if the crime scenes displayed larger amounts of blood and signs of struggle, it could just as well be a series of kidnappings rather than serial killings. Perhaps they did not consider kidnappings because the victims are all from the lower class and no ransom was demanded? Not that any ransom couldbe paid by kinsmen. It is impossible to tell with such little information. I guess the Met was being lazy and wanted to make things easy for them by proclaiming the case a serial murder. It’s no wonder considering that Randy is Scotland Yard’s Commissioner.” Vincent gazed at Diedrich from the side with a peculiarly dark look in his eyes that made Diedrich shiver. “Anyhow, ‘a commanding officer is the embodiment of his company.’”

Diedrich stiffened at the words. After all, they had been his once and he still remembered them well. Before he could reply, Vincent’s mood changed back and he joyfully waved at Undertaker. “Thanks for everything. We’ll be leaving now. Goodbye!”

“Wait a moment, Earl,” said Undertaker and stood up. “There is something I have to give you before you go.” He vanished to his private rooms, and Diedrich turned to Vincent. “Do you have an idea what he wants to give you?”

“I have a vague idea, yes.”

“And?”

“Why do I have to do all the thinking, Dee?” Vincent replied and yawned. “It’s tiring. Let’s turn this into a little exercise: What do you think Undertaker wants to give me? Three educated guesses, please.”

Diedrich sighed. What could Undertaker possibly give anyone except headaches? And for what reason even? As a gift? As a prank? Last year, he had only worked with Vincent for a few months. In that time, Diedrich had met the mortician only five or six times and he could not remember Undertaker ever having given a gift or something like that to Vincent.

“I suggest you hurry up, Dee,” Vincent interrupted his thinking process. “Undertaker will return soon.”

“I don’t know… maybe an urn? So that you can put someone’s ashes in there? Maybe… Invi’s after you got sick of them? Who knows what you have been up to in the last eight months. Or maybe some black nail polish to try out? A handbook on how to irritate your fellows? Not that you need it.”

Vincent chuckled. “Dee, your deduction skills have deteriorated. They were poor when you became my fag, but they did get minimally better in the six months we worked together. Now, the bit of progress you achieved has become null and void: I apologise, Diedrich. I have failed you.” His eyes started to shine. “Do not worry though! I will make it up to you.”

“Please don’t bother. Also, what was there even to deduce, Phan-” Diedrich began and was promptly interrupted by Undertaker pushing a squeaking serving trolley into the room. On top of it were three surprisingly elaborate cakes and a large plate of biscuits.

Vincent smiled at their sight and walked to them. Diedrich immediately realised his error – Vincent had no fondness for sweets –, and Vincent wasted no time addressing his fault. “Dee, from the look on your face, I can see that you understood what you did wrong: Undertaker said he wanted to give me something. He never said what he wanted to give me was for me as well! You have been wracking your whole-wheat brain over gift ideas for the wrong person! The cakes are, obviously, for Francis.”

It was not obvious at all. Not to embarrass himself any further, Diedrich did not say anything to this though and waited until either Undertaker or Vincent was gracious enough to explain this to him.

Vincent eyed the cakes. “They are lovely, Undertaker. She will love them.”

“I wanted to put a bit more effort into them – even if she will eat them within minutes. They are for a lady after all.” Undertaker retrieved some boxes and fabrics from the obscured bottom part of the trolley and began to pack in the cakes with astonishing care. “Your butler has been picking up the cakes for her in the last months. As you’re here, I thought you could simply take them with you now.”

Vincent scratched his head. “We didn’t take my carriage, and Tanaka is not here. It’s only Dee and me today. But it will be easy for the Green Lion Military Man to carry three cakes at once.”

“Excuse me – what?” exclaimed Diedrich but Vincent and Undertaker ignored him and kept talking.

“How is Lady Phantomhive anyway?” asked Undertaker and went to box the biscuits.

“It’s been a week since I last saw Franny, and she was fine then,” Vincent said. “Of course, this could have changed by now even if she has been doing exceptionally well. I think it would take more of a toll on Alexis than on Francis if she wasn’t well.”

Undertaker put the box with the biscuits on a piece of fabric and knot the sheet together above the box like he had done with the cakes. When he finished this, he put his hand on the box and said, “There. All set for the lady and the little Phantomhive~”

“Little Midford,” Diedrich corrected. “Don’t you both know how marrying into families works? And it’s not ‘Lady Phantomhive’ anymore but ‘Marchioness Midford.’ The only one who is still named ‘Phantomhive’ is, well… Phantomhive.”

Vincent sighed. “You are such a disappointment, Dee. You could have made the sentence less awkward by calling me by my first name.”

“I never did that and I won’t ever start calling you by your first name.”

Vincent shrugged and took the packaged biscuits. “I will get everything to Franny as soon as possible! I will greet her for you, Undertaker. Goodbye!” he said and walked out of the funeral parlour with long, fast strides, leaving Diedrich with the three cake boxes. Diedrich stared after him and then turned to Undertaker who had sat back down behind his desk and giggled to himself. “I would take extra care if I were you, Green Lion Military Man. You wouldn’t want to upset Lady Phantomhive by ruining her cakes~”

***

Diedrich found Vincent by the main road, sitting in a hansom cab and watching the people on the street passing by and going through their everyday lives. With a lot of effort and care, Diedrich had managed to carry the cakes from the funeral parlour to the street and he sighed in relief when he could finally put them down.

“You will also carry a cake box to the townhouse, have you heard me?” said Diedrich when the carriage started to move. “It’s a miracle I haven’t dropped any of them on the way to the cab.”

Vincent turned away from the window and to Diedrich, and Diedrich’s eyes widened when he saw Vincent’s weary face. “I got tired while we were at Undertaker’s,” Vincent admitted. “I couldn’t trust myself not to drop a box and decided it would be better if you carried most of the boxes.”

“But you seemed perfectly fine a few minutes ago!”

He rubbed his eyes. “Undertaker gets oddly worried sometimes. I did my best to pretend I’m fine.”

“You overworked yourself today, didn’t you?” Diedrich said. “You barely slept last night too. What else did you do after the party yesterday anyway besides visiting the Dalles sisters and breaking into Scotland Yard?”

“I watched a dog fight in Whitechapel to get inspiration if I ever have to fight against rats too.”

Diedrich stared at him, and Vincent laughed tiredly. “Of course not. I walked around the city a bit after robbing Randy, stumbled over a dog-rat fight, and reported it to the next Met officer I could find before I went home. He better did something about it.”

Diedrich sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear. And what is with your sister and cakes? Undertaker’s cakes even?”

Vincent yawned and leaned his head against the window. “Franny likes Undertaker’s baked goods a lot. He sends her some now and then. Due to her current state, she keeps asking for his cakes and biscuits. Tanaka is the designated middle-man for those operations; Alexis and I help out whenever we can too. Oh, and the biscuits Undertaker gave me? They are those bone-shaped ones he often offers us. Do you remember?”

“I do. The ones for your sister aren’t bone-shaped though.”

“Obviously, Franny does not like the shape. Undertaker exclusively bakes them as circles for her.”

“Sounds like Undertaker chose the wrong occupation.”

“Well, with that name, how could he have become anything but a mortician?”

Diedrich blinked at Vincent, “Wait, ‘Undertaker’ is his real name?!” on the tip of his tongue, but he never got to say the words out loud because Vincent had fallen asleep.

#watchdog of the queen #bonus chapters #kuroshitsuji #fanfiction #black butler #diedrich #vincent phantomhive #tanaka #undertaker #nina hopkins #deecember #arthur randall #uhm why are the stars that large?????

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