New writer here (to the fandom)! I've been wanted to write this for some time now, and half was written months ago. I just haven't had the time to finish it. Anyways, I do hope you all will love it! ^^

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except Lotte and any others you don't recognize.

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

"The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done."

- Francis William Bourdillon

Chapter I

The Return

May, 1967

Her small hands shook as she pulled the trigger at her target.

Dozens of protected and armed men behind her started to move forward as the man in front of her fell to the ground in his own blood. She stood there, lowering the weapon, and keeping an eye on her men as they moved through the run-down apartment shouting "clear" every five seconds. She started forward, eyeing every detail in the vicinity. Each object held a story that rushed through her head. The crooked mirror,—shattered, after a knock-out punch occurred, throwing the victim at the wall. The green couch,-torn and stained with blood and other digesting things—, held secrets hidden within its cushions.

Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked forward. Sweat formed under her brilliant, dark brown hair. And she breathed in the intoxicating smell of old cigarette smoke.

"Special Agent Phantomhive," one of the men spoke up, "the place is clear. No other visual suspects around."

She nodded, and stood in front of the urine-smelling and blood-stained couch. Then she took out black gloves from her pocket, placed them on, and lifted the cushions one by one.

"Did you find anything, Special Agent?" he asked.

Under the cushions were clear, apart from a few pennies, a tooth, and one dead rat. She held back the gag. Then she took a knife from her belt, and started to cut through the cushions. She pulled out the stuffing, hoping there was something inside. There was a part of her that knew there was, but when she went through the cushions empty handed, she stepped back, and looked at the dead man on the ground.

She searched him, trying to find identification or something to tell her who he was.

The man looked to be in his late forties, with an overgrown beard and smelling like the sewer. He didn't match the main suspect she was after, but anyone associated with the serial killer was to be killed regardless. Those were her orders. Still, she had a feeling something wasn't right. She then checked the man more thoroughly, opening one of his eyes to reveal a red tone to the iris. A demon.

She pulled out the report again, reading over the details and the address where the man might've been seen living.

"What room are we at?" she asked.

"We're in room eleven."

"What number does this look like to you?" holding up the report, and pointing at the second number.

"I believe it's a seven," he answered.

And she knew she screwed up yet again. "Fuck," she whispered, faking her screw up. But I got one anyways.

She started for the door, knowing that her screw up would've cost her a thousand lifetimes. But at the age of twenty-five, the young agent still had problems and never expected this job would be still a difficult area to be in. Being in it for a year already, she would think she would get used to it, but it was a different situation.

"Special Agent?" the man called back. "Special Agent, where are you going?"

She didn't listen as she walked out, hoping her punishment this time wouldn't be so extensive.

xXx

Her boss, Mr. Whitney, slammed the report on his desk with a bang while she stood there, frozen.

"This is the third time this year, Charlotte. Do you realize how bad this is?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I got everybody up my ass now because of this! The city, the reporters…they're everywhere! This is the third time you screwed up, and the third time you shot and killed an innocent man! Why can't you read a simple investigation report and follow it?"

Demons aren't anything close to innocent. "I'm sorry, Sir, but honestly, your seven looked like a one."

"This isn't my typing, Phantomhive. It's a printed report and should be easy to follow. And yet, you can't! How am I supposed to let you go out and take one person into custody? Jesus! It's like I'm teaching a kindergartener how to read!"

She froze again at the insult. "Yes, Sir."

"I'm not your teacher, I'm your boss, and you should be able to follow simple instructions." He shook his head.

She stepped forward. "May I speak, Captain?"

"What is it?"

"In my defense, the spot was described the same in the report—run down and utterly disgusting. It was an honest mistake to make. Anyone could've made it."

"Yes, anyone who is blind! If you haven't noticed, Phantomhive, all apartments on that side of the city look like that."

She stepped back as Mr. Whitney leaned back on his chair, and shook his head.

"I know you have the skills, Charlotte, and yet you just don't use them. It's like you're breaking the rules for a reason."

Her eyes landed on him. He leaned forward again.

"You're fired," he said with no emotion on his face.

"Sir, please—"

He looked up. "You're fired!" he said with more force. "Pack up your things and get out."

Her mouth moved, but no words originated. She couldn't lose her job now. She had nowhere else to go.

"Get out of my office, Phantomhive. You're fired!"

She rushed out after that, with no tears in her eyes.

xXx

As she entered her apartment, she couldn't help her overwhelming anger inside of her. Her fists balled up, teeth clenched, and her eyes narrowed as if she were to kill the next person she saw. Not only did she break the doorknob off as she walked in, but everything in her house shook like a small earthquake occurred. Her eyes focused on the treasures hidden behind certain areas in her little run-down apartment. And when the shaking seized, she placed the knob on the counter, and walked to the window. Outside, rain pattered against the window as she chewed her nails- a habit since childhood. Cars honked and people walked by like nothing was happening in the world. And yet there was. Unlike her, they didn't know the darkness that lurked around them- creatures that walked among them like they were human. Things people only told in faery tales existed.

Demons.

She knew they were out there. Her blue eyes knew as much.

I will find them, Father…they're out there, and I will kill every single last one of them with my dying breath.

A knock suddenly pulled her out of her thoughts as a small voice echoed in the room. "Lotte?" Are you in there?"

She sighed and went over to the door, pulling it open with the little nub left by the doorknob. "Yes, Ms. Herbert, what is it?"

"Oh, Lotte, you are home. There is a nice gentleman with an English accent downstairs asking for your name. I told him you were at work, but he said he saw you walking inside the building. I told him to wait outside while I see if it was true or not. Did something happen at work, Lotte?"

"No," she said quietly, "nothing. Did you ask who the man was?"

"I didn't. He said to speak with you personally and as soon as possible. Seemed to me he was in a hurry of some kind."

Lotte's eyes narrowed in the distance. "Okay," she sighed.

She stepped around the old woman and down the stairs. Every step she took down there felt like another step to something new. She didn't know why, but Lotte knew her life was about to change.

The man outside wore a simple black bowler hat and a brown raincoat. He looked about mid-sixties, and held the grandfather role every small child would love. Even his glasses screamed old grandfather. But Lotte knew this man's business was something else.

She opened the door and got his attention. "Excuse me? You were looking for me?"

The man turned and smiled. "Yes, are you Charlotte Phantomhive?"

She nodded, surprised at his strong English accent. "Lotte…yes, I am."

They shook hands. "May I come inside? I have some important matters to discuss with you."

He tone was serious, making Lotte ever more nervous. "Why? Who are you?"

"I am a social worker located in London, England, Ms. Phantomhive, and I am here to give you some unfortunate news."

Lotte nodded. What the fuck? "Uh okay… come on in…I guess."

They entered the apartment after the three story climb and Lotte closed the door with a hard push.

"So…" she walked away from the door, watching him look over her apartment. "…would you like some tea or something?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," he said, taking his scarf and jacket off and sitting him-self on the couch. "I'm surprised that a Phantomhive would live in a place such as this."

"Yeah, well…some of us aren't millionaires or whatever." Lotte stood in the kitchen making tea quickly. She turned around, leaned against the counter, and eyed the man. "So…who are you again?"

"I am Lawrence Wilson, a social worker located in London."

She gave him a grin. "Yeah, I got that already from your accent. And you're here because…?"

"I have some bad new, Ms. Phantomhive. I'm afraid your uncle, Liam Phantomhive, has passed away."

She nodded slowly. "Uh huh."

"You don't seem phased by this."

She rolled my eyes, turning back to the tea. "Honestly, old man, I don't even know who you're talking about."

"You are the daughter of Ryes Phantomhive, correct?"

She cringed at the name of her late father, and she turned back to him, nodding.
"Yeah."

"You're father's twin brother was Liam Phantomhive."

She shrugged, feeling a bit agitated. "Okay and…what's your point?"

"In your late Grandfather's will," he pulled out a piece of paper, got up, and walked over, reading it aloud, "Ciel Phantomhive, it writes that if both sons pass, then his only granddaughter, Charlotte Elizabeth Phantomhive, aka you, would inherit both Phantomhive manor, the toy company, and money involved."

The whole time Lotte stood there clueless. Her eye brow raised, mouth gapped a bit, and a blank stare at the old man. Her mouth moved, emitting no sound. She didn't even know what to say. What if this old man was lying?

"Ms. Phantomhive? Did you hear what I read? Should I reread it for you?"

I waved my hand. "No, I'm just a little confused here." She walked forward. "What did Liam Phantomhive or whoever have in his will? I know he probably had children."

"Actually, he didn't and nor did he have a will. Your fraternal Uncle past unexpectedly, so he never bothered."

"Okay…and the company. I know the company closed down once my father died. My Mother told me so when we moved to America."

"Ah, yes, well the will is a little outdated. It was written a week before he died in 1942."

She rolled her eyes and walked to the fridge, taking out a beer and chugging it. This is too much! "I was barely a month old when my grandfather died, old man. How could he know I would still be around?"

"Well, he didn't, Ms. Phantomhive. It's up to you, if you would like to take the family fortune or not or donate it."

Her eyes immediately moved to him upon hearing his words. "Fortune? How much?"

He flipped through a few papers then said, "Ah, about three hundred million pounds."

The half empty beer fell from her hands and landed on the tile floor, spilling. Her mouth gapped wide open at the number he spoke. And she blinked, Am I dreaming? Then pinched herself. Nope, not dreaming. "I'm sorry; did you just say three hundred million pounds?"

"Uh yes, I believed I did."

"Holy fuck!" she yelled.

"I beg your pardon?"

Lotte walked over to him, placing her hands on his shoulder and shaking him. "You are serious about this, right? Because if you are, I do have the authority to arrest you here and now. Well, maybe not anymore, but I do know the laws about this and I'm not afraid of scammers. I'm good at catching them."

He fixed his glasses. "Yes, I am aware of your involvement with the FBI, Ms. Phantomhive. If you aren't able to leave, that is perfectly fine. However, I will need you to come to London to collect some things and help decide what to do with the manor at least."

"Wait, are you telling me I have to go to London?"

"Hmm…yes, I do believe you have to. Although, I would've thought you would move back to the manor, but if that's impossible…"

Lotte stepped back. Live in a mansion…a big mansion, with lots of money. "Fuck them," she whispered, and looked up to the man with a hard stare. "I'll take it."

And she started to run around her apartment collecting anything and everything that she would need. Then once her one suitcase was packed, she moved to a large kitten poster on the wall, peeling it off to reveal a large vault.

"Ms. Phantomhive, don't tell me this suitcase is all you have."

"Don't be silly!" she put the code in the lock and pulled it open, revealing over a dozen guns and other old weapons. "I got all of these that I need to take."

"Oh…um…"

"Can we not take them?" Lotte asked, turning around.

"We can box them and they will come within a week."

"Hmm…can I take one? I can't go anywhere without a gun."

"One should be alright. Does this mean you're going to move into the manor?"

"Duh!" she picked out a small pistol, silver with an engraved rose on the side. Her fingers placed bullets in it and slid it shut with a click. "I have a goal I have to achieve, and being here…it was holding me back. Besides, I was let go today from the FBI, I have nowhere else to go." She looked outside to the rain again, remembering her time in England when she was younger. "Perhaps, going back to my birthplace will be a good thing."

I hope.

xXx

Lotte's hands clenched the seats of the chair as the plane took off from New York. She kept her eyes straight, posture like a board, breathing coming in and out in harsh rhythmic huffs. All she had to do was keep this up for the next eight hours. Eight, long hours of pure torture. She couldn't wait until she landed and arrived at her family's manor. As much as she was nervous to be back, she was excited to lie in a nice, soft bed.

"Eight more hours, eight more hours, eight more hours…" she kept repeating.

The plane shook as she gripped the arm rest harder. She closed her eyes and prayed that she would survive the trip.

"Gods…"

"Nervous flyer?" old man Wilson asked.

"If humans were meant to fly they would grow wings," she answered, feeling another shake. "Can't they keep this mental contraption straight?"

"When was the last time you flew?"

She glanced at him quickly before looking straight again. "Since I came to America with my Mom. I was five." Another shake erupted. "FOR FUCK SAKES!" A few people turned to look at her and she stared them all down. "What? Haven't seen someone's fear of planes come to life before? Well?"

"Ms. Phantomhive, please calm down. We'll be there soon. Here," she looked in his hand at the two small pills, "take these and you'll be fine."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who do you think I am? I'm not going to place strange pills into my system, are you crazy? Don't you remember I was an FBI agent?"

"They're just something to help you relax, Ms. Phantomhive." And he took two, popping them into his mouth as Lotte watched. "See?"

Another shake and Lotte took the pills from the old man's hand. "Fine! This better work."

Thirty minutes later, she was fast asleep.

xXx

The plane landed with a large bump as Lotte snorted out of her deep slumber. She wiped the excess drool on her face, and looked out the small porthole window.

"Welcome to London, Ms. Phantomhive," Wilson spoke with a smile. "Hope you had a pleasant sleep."

She shrugged. "Pleasant enough."

She stood up, feeling the after effects of the drug -drowsiness. Her hands clenched the seats as she moved forward through the cabin to the front, breathing in better, fresher air.

"Geez, old man, what the hell did you give me anyways?"

"A sleeping pill, Ms. Phantomhive. It does have some drowsy after effects. I suggest not driving for a few hours."

"I'll keep that in mind," she spoke with fake enthusiasm in her voice, following him through the long hallways of the airport.

Her eyes looked around, remembering the terminal where her and her mother had sat before taking the long journey to New York. It would be the last for twenty years. Now she was back. Her eyes looked at each individual that passed her, thinking if they were human or not.

Over the past few years it had started to become easier to tell. It was their eyes and the way they walked. Their eyes were always glassy with a distinct reflection in them that humans did not have. There was also the unique colours such as reds or yellows that most hid under dark sunglasses even on a rainy day. Their posture was straighter, almost model-like. Demons always thought themselves superior to humans even though they lived in a human world.

Lotte wished she had her pistol with her and not packed in her checked bag.

After they claimed their bags, Lotte followed Mr. Wilson outside into the rain. Welcome to London, I guess. She wrapped her arms around herself trying to get warmer. That mansion better have good heating! This is too cold for May. Raindrops spattered onto her leather jacket, rolling off the fabric. Her breath came out in white puffs. This was definitely too cold for May.

"What's up with this weather?" she asked.

"Strange isn't it? The sun hasn't shone for several months. And another strange this is, the rain only stops at night, showing a full moon."

"Full moon? That's impossible."

He raised an eyebrow at her under his hat. "Is it, Ms. Phantomhive?"

"What does that mean?"

"You tell me. You are a Phantomhive after all. You should know a lot about strange happenings." He picked his brown brief case up from the ground. "Ah, there's our ride."

Her eyes narrowed, following his movements as he placed her bag in the back, opening the back door for her. Her hand squeezed her small pistol as she went to get in. He sat beside her in the large back seat of the chic, black automobile.

As the car started to drive away, Lotte became antsy. "Who are you, Mr. Wilson? Really?" she asked, looking at him.

"I am but a simple social worker, Ms. Phantomhive," he answered, keeping his gaze forward.

"But you knew my family." This wasn't a question for she already knew his answer. Otherwise, he would've known about her grandfather.

Ciel Phantomhive, from what Lotte knew from what her mother had told her, was a quiet man. In his early years, he had spent it as the Queen's Watchdog until he married. There, he settled in his mansion and invested on his company until his death on the thirty first of December 1942, two weeks after Lotte was born. She didn't ask more about him and didn't know any stories around him being the "Queen's Watchdog", whatever that meant. Lotte didn't care, however. She didn't know the man at all.

"Yes," he smiled.

"How well?"

He gave a soft chuckle. "I knew well enough. Your grandfather and I were actually good friends at one point."

"My grandfather?"

"Yes, I have old memories have him and I playing poker and getting drunk off of scotch at the manor. Although he was a decade older than I, he was one of my closest friends. We had known each other for twenty years before his death. He had hired me as his personal social worker when I started my profession and he had been my only client. Such a tragedy when he died. "

"How did he die anyways?"

"My dear, do you know nothing about your grandfather?"

"Not as much as should." She looked back out the window, watching the rain splat on the glass.

"He was more than just a business man, you see. He was very involved in the many communities in England. Some might say he was something other than human nature."

Her head wiped around to Wilson. So, he knows. "Then you know."

He gave her a smile. "Know what?"

She leaned towards him. "Do you who killed my father?"

She watched his eyes open and his smile disappear. "That's a question you shouldn't be asking me." The car stopped as lifted his head and smiled. "Looks like we've arrived at the office. Come on, you'll need to sign some papers."

Lotte remained in her position as he left the car. She clicked her tongue, knowing well that Mr. Wilson was more than just a social worker to her late family.

She went inside a small, but busy office. People were walking, typing, and talking all at once. Lotte was always a city person, but never liked crowds. She moved around the people and up to wear Mr. Wilson stood. A woman, about mid-forties sat at a desk, typing on a type-writer. Her thick rimmed glasses and pink suit was too much for Lotte, but she gave the woman a smile anyways.

"I'll be back shortly. My assistant will get you to sign the papers, Ms. Phantomhive."

Lotte nodded at the old man as he disappeared in the sea of people. Lotte sat down across from the woman and watched as she was handed the small stack of papers in front of her.

"I'm going to get you to sign here and here and here." She smiled.

Silent chills ran up Lotte's spine looking at her smile. "Great," she managed, signing on the lines.

"So, you are the last remaining Phantomhive. Are you really going to live in that manor?"

Lotte looked up from the papers and nodded.

"You're sure brave."

She paused and looked up. "Why do you say that?"

The lady leaned forward. "Because some say it's haunted. You aren't afraid of ghosts, are you?"

Lotte narrowed her eyes. "No." Ghosts are the least of my worries.

She only leaned back and smiled as Lotte signed the last piece of paper.

Mr. Wilson returned, placing his hat back on. "Congratulations, Ms. Phantomhive, you are now the owner of Phantomhive manor and all of its earnings."

"Great…but is that it?" She asked, knowing there had to be more. She did study a bit of law back in early years of school.

"Of course; come, I shall take you to your new home." And he led her out back into the car.

They sat in silence for a long while. Lotte knew this wasn't right. Her FBI senses were tingling. Her eyes glanced at Mr. Wilson, making sure he was actually human. But she would've known by now if he was a demon.

Then she finally had enough of the silence. "Alright, what's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"I know getting an inheritance this large isn't that easy. So, what the hell?"

"You shouldn't worry about meaningless things, Ms. Phantomhive. All is well now. All is well."

"Then what do I hear of the manor being haunted then?"

"Ah, well it's an old estate and rumours do go around." He paused for a moment. "We're here."

And Lotte looked out the front just as the large iron gates had opened. A long, dirt path surrounded by dense woods, shrouded with mist and fog lay ahead. Lotte's heart started to beat rapidly, feeling the anxiety roll in her stomach. She had only been here a few times before and it was before she could remember. Her mind wandered deep into those woods, though wondering what could be lurking in the shadows. Could it be possible that her father's killer could be hiding out in the wilderness somewhere? Could the creature really be here in London just as the demon told her?

When the forest opened, Lotte gasped at the dark building in front of her. Under the cover of gray was her new home, adorned with vines and heavy bricks. The dark windows silenced her breath as she left the car, and followed the old man into her family manor.

The large double door creaked opened to reveal a massive, dark foyer covered with debris and spider webs. She shivered and coughed, realizing it was almost colder in the manor than it was outside.

"Why is it so dark and dusty in here?"

"Well it has been a few years since it was maintained."

"Didn't my uncle live here though?"

"No, absolutely not! He…was terrified of this place and wouldn't go anywhere near it. No, he remained far away in the comfort of his cottage in the middle of the country."

"But he owned the place."

"Yes, I had thought some people came by to maintain it, but I guess I was mistaken. That would explain why this place was broken into a few times."

"Broken into?" she snapped. "What the hell did you give me?"

"Come now, Ms. Phantomhive. All it needs is some love and care…and a little dusting. It'll be good as new in no time." He then handed her the keys. "Here are the keys and you have my number just in case you have any questions at all."

"Questions? I have dozens of questions?"

He turned to leave. "Yes, well," his voice started to shake, "they will have to wait for another day unfortunately."

"But-"

"Too many memories…"

"Wha-"

"Oh, I did forget to tell you one thing." He opened his eyes and Lotte watched him closely. "You may need better protection than the pistol you have in your holder. There are more than just ghosts that lurk in the shadows of this mansion. Remember, inheritances are a heavy burden."

"Wait, what?"

"Good night, Ms. Phantomhive." And he closed the door behind, leaving her in the darkness.

She ran after him, opening the door and shouting, "What do you mean…?" But the old man had already started to drive away, leaving dust behind.

She breathed heavily, looking up towards the dark sky. The clouds were clearing, rain had stopped, and she noticed the thousands of bright stars that winked at her. She had never seen so many in her life. Maybe this will be a good thing?

But her eyes narrowed at the full moon that hung over the manor, knowing quite well something big was coming.

I do hope you guys liked it and my OC and the "future" setting I gave. Please let me know in a review if I should continue! ^^

Thanks for reading!