Loads of thanks to the one and only DitzyQueen for the support!

Ah… yes… I'm actually writing a story again… and I didn't forget about it, don't worry! XD I just finished a really good anime (World's Greatest First Love) and… and.. You know… Wahhhhhhhh!

Anyway, enjoy, if you will.

"And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon."

-Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat

_-X*X-_

I suppose there's no real reason for my feeling of apprehensiveness to the arrival of the Phantomhive's carriage in the Belynneda manor's front drive. Casimir and I have worked on cases before; never any real detective work, as that was left to the less bloodthirsty, but we have a vague idea of what we're doing.

Nevertheless, Casimir paces the entrance hall back and forth, his black gloved hands clenching and unclenching, his jaw working irritably. I watch him, sitting on the stairs, tapping my boot under my gown's cream satin skirt. I'd imagine if someone were to walk in on the scene, they'd walk right back out again as they sense the tension.

"Casimir, Acacia," comes a smoke warped child's voice. Our little sister stands in the drawing room doorway, her right hand nervously tracing the jagged burn scar over the left side of her face. She bounces with uncertainty on the balls of her feet, the empty left sleeve of her dress swaying awkwardly where it's cinched at the stump of her arm. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting," I sigh, pinning my gaze back on Casimir, who stopped pacing and is now standing still but tapping his foot.

"Waiting for what?"

"A guest."

"Oh!" Her working features light up and she stops fidgeting. "Who?"

"Ciel Phantomhive," Casimir finally speaks up, "he's taking us on a trip, but we'll be back by dinner."

"Aw, you're leaving again?" The light blinks out of Rosanne's face. "But… But you just got back…"

"We know, Rosy, but it's just for today." I stand from my seat on the stairs.

Three solid knocks interrupt our conversation.

"Alexandra!" Casimir beckons sternly after a short, tense pause. "Hurry up!"

Immediately, Alexandra, back in her rightful pinafore over a soft lavender dress, her golden hair once more framing her face as it should, clicks quickly down the steps, breezes past the three of us who were already in the hall, and opens the door with her customary charm.

"Greetings, sir. I am Alexandra Divolo, the head maid of the estate. Do you represent Earl Ciel Phantomhive?" Her gentle smile is evident in her words, even though the Italian accent is already quite cheerful.

"Indeed I do, miss," a velvety, somewhat sordid voice responds. I can see a hint of black hair over Alexandra's head if I stand on my toes and the curve of strongly built shoulders clad in dark fabric. He stands only a few inches taller than Alexandra, and I am immediately reminded of the black-clad shadow-man from the asylum. He continues talking as I ponder. "My name is Sebastian Michaelis, the butler of the Earl of Phantomhive. May I have the pleasure of taking you and your master and mistress to our appointment?"

"Let's go." Casimir nudges Alexandra out of his way, and Sebastian bows him off the porch. I follow quickly in his wake, Alexandra behind me at a respectful distance. As we reach the carriage waiting with sapphire blue curtains drawn along the windows, Sebastian holds the door as the three of us enter. As he gets in, he closes the door, knocks once on the roof, and the carriage lurches into motion.

There is a pause, pregnant with tension and strung to and fro with my twin's conspicuous glares at Ciel, who only meets his eye and smiles coldly, a smile that doesn't reach his eye.

"He thinks he's so wonderful, doesn't he?" Casimir murmurs to me in Italian.

"You're being rude," I respond, also in Italian.

"Do you think I care, Acacia?" He raises one eyebrow. "Besides, you know I'm right."

"Of course you are."

"Should we kill him?"

"No," I scoff. "He's nobility, and even if he's a jerk, he's only a child."

"Yet I am a child to be reckoned with, hm?" Ciel speaks up in English. Casimir starts and quickly meets his eye. Ciel is wearing a lazy, know-it-all smirk on his perfectly pampered face.

"My apologies, Lord Phantomhive," Alexandra bows her head respectfully. "My master and mistress are not what you would call socially inclined. They-"

"So, Lord Phantomhive," I cut her off, feeling my ears redden with embarrassment, "may I ask how you came to need that eyepatch? There's always a good story behind an equally good injury, isn't there?"

His eye narrows in trepidation. He seemingly stumbles over his thoughts, but gains his cool back again in record time. Closing his eyes and leaning over his knees, I think he's not going to answer, and am surprised when he says, "My manor burned down when I was ten."

"Hmm," Casimir hums, leaning back against the velvety carriage cushion. "A classic story. The tragic little hero's unspeakable backstory: parents dead, left alone to fend for themselves, slowly builds up their life once more. A noble tale, Earl.

"We ourselves lost our parents in a house fire. Our father was murdered before our eyes, our little sister left mutilated, and we locked up in a madhouse."

"It does seem to be increasingly common…" Ciel murmurs.

Casimir is about to open his mouth again, but, thank goodness, the carriage rolls to a stop. Sebastian, Phantomhive's butler, closes the carriage door securely when the five of us have piled out.

We stand in front of a shop with dark windows, somewhere in downtown London. Casimir laces his fingers in mine and we both gaze up at the large purple sign.

"The Undertaker?" Casimir recites with interest.

"A contact of my master's," Sebastian supplies with his silken voice.

"I have met him," Alexandra comments, settling her sleek black cloak over her feminine frame. "He is an interesting man, to say the least." With that, Ciel leads the way confidently into the shop. The little bell tinkles charmingly with every little bump.

As Alexandra lets the door shut behind her, a sickly sweet smell hits me full on, sending my head spinning. I can detect whiffs of bitterness and despair as well. Casimir throws his free arm around my shoulders and staggers, gagging, "Oh, what the bloody hell is that smell?"

"That is the stench of death."

I whip my head around to see a man. His age is impossible to tell, as most of his face is covered in long silvery bangs. He wears charcoal robes and sits upright in an empty coffin.

"Hello, Undertaker," Alexandra greets warmly.

"Hello to you, Miss Alexandra," The Undertaker says with a wicked smile. "And to you, of course, my lord."

"Hello," Casimir responds at the same time Ciel demands information. Ciel ignores my brother, but Cas proceeds to glare daggers at his back.

"What kind o' information are you looking for, little lord?" Undertaker climbs out of his coffin and glides over to where Ciel stands, trying to look as imposing as possible.

"You know what I want," Ciel says exasperatedly, "All the information you have on the Sins' killings."

"Okay, explain," Casimir demands, snapping out of his angry little bubble. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Over the past few weeks, there have been a couple of related killings." Ciel recites this as if from memory, and I find myself somewhat impressed as he continues through his explanation. "The murderer targets nobility, and carves one of the Seven Deadly Sins on the victim's body."

"Well, continue," I command when Ciel stops talking. He casts a short glare at me but Sebastian quickly takes a roll of parchment from inside his breast pocket and begins to read off of it.

"Lady Beatrice Gulliver was found dead in an alleyway six weeks ago. On her stomach, the word gluttony was carved. Count Diarmad Nowell was found three weeks ago with the word envy engraved on his forehead. These murders match evenly to a copy of a list posted close to each body."

"A list?" Casimir mimics.

"Yes, a list."

"Well, do you happen to have a copy on you?" I ask, slight hints if irritation creeping into my voice. Without a word, Sebastian hands the piece of parchment over to me. Casimir leans over my elbow to read the list.

Beatrice Gulliver for your gluttony (Bye!)

Diarmad Nowell for your envy (Bye!)

Segenam Dott for your laziness

Aleister Chamber for your greed

Alois Trancy for your lust

Casimir Belynneda for your anger

Ciel Phantomhive for your pride

We all die for our sins.

Love, Lucifer

"It's a hit list," I deadpan.

"We are well aware," Ciel sighs.

"Casimir is on it," I insist, "So are you."

"Again, I am aware, Lady Belynneda."

"You're not going to do anything?" Casimir demands.

"If you have any ideas, please, enlighten us," Ciel smirks condescendingly. "Only murderers may get inside the mind if a murderer, am I correct?"

"That's right, si invivibile feccia malato," Casimir growls, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of Ciel's waistcoat, pulling him viciously closer. "You'd best not forget that my sister and I are quite unstable, and we're armed."

"Your threats are shallow, Lord Belynneda," Ciel answers calmly. "And it seems to me as if you are the only unstable one here."

"No, Caci's just as crazy as me," Casimir chortles, releasing Ciel and stepping back. "She's just quieter."

"More mature," I correct.

"Says my baby sister," Casimir huffs.

"By three and a half minutes," I mutter, "it practically doesn't count."

"We have work to do, if you two don't mind," Ciel fumes.

"Lead the way, puppy," Casimir invites, an amused tone permeating his voice.

"Puppy!" Ciel stammers indignantly. "I am the Earl of Phantomhive! What gives you the right-"

"Please, Earl, don't shout," I smirk, "it's very rude." With an utterly triumphant tilt of his lips and yet another amused giggle, my brother hooks me around the elbow and practically pulls me out of the undertaker's shop.

_-X*X-_

I get the strange feeling that Ciel blames my brother for the lack of accomplishment today. Everywhere we went, from the Undertaker's shop to the harbor at East End where the last victim had been found dead in a barrel of tea about to be exported to Korea, they always managed to throw some kind of insult at one another. Boys are so immature.

"He's so-" Casimir stammers heatedly when we finally sit down to evening tea in the drawing room. His hands are shaking so much that his delicate teacup is tinkling on its saucer. His hand of cards, a game Rosy insisted we play with her although with only one hand, she must spread hers out on her lap, rests forgotten on the low mahogany table next to a beautiful platter of chocolate croissants.

"He's so what, Cas?" I tease, casting a meaningful glance at Rosanne.

"He's so… you know, Caci. He's a smug little-"

"Puppy?" I supply, grinning behind my cards at his loss of appropriate words to use in front of our ten year old sister.

"Close enough," he agrees, picking up his cards again but not making a move even though it's his turn. "Not telling us. Come on now, he knows it's our lives on the line, right?"

"His is too, you know." I meet his eyes, lowering my voice in a conciliatory way. "You saw the list, Cas, don't be so selfish."

"You're worried about him now, are you?"

"Of course not, just listen to me for a minute," I sigh. Casting a short glance, I make certain Rosy is occupied with her croissant and an impromptu card castle before continuing. "He must be angry because his name is in the list, right? But did he seem overly irritated with anyone else?"

"No," Casimir ponders around his teacup's rim.

"So, why not?"

"Maybe he's not scared of death," Casimir suggests. "Perhaps he knows his survival is assured, or perhaps he's just a complacent little-"

"Cas," I cut off. "Think. What's a logical explanation for this? Why could he seem so certain of himself?"

"Because…" After a heartbeat, I see the realization dawn in his eyes. He slams his cards down on the table, knocking his teacup on its side and spilling dark liquid all over Rosy's mess of cards. "Caci, he knows he's not going to get himself hurt!"

"But why?" I insist, leaning forward into the middle just as he does the same, pressing our faces so close our noses are almost touching. Casimir smiles at me, one with faint traces of warmth under a layer of ice.

"Because he's the one behind the killings, Caci."

"This is a severe accusation you're making, Lord Belynneda," I smirk back. "How can you be so sure?"

"Simple, my lady. He is the Queen's Watchdog, and she did want us out of the madhouse, so she set up her little puppy to do her bidding. Give us a simple case and send us home unharmed."

"And the letters?" I probe, excited. "The hit list? Why was his name on it? Why was your name on it?"

"To throw us off," Casimir says easily. "By putting his own name on it, he'd be a less likely suspect. By putting my name on it, I think he'd probably be adding a little flair, or maybe trying to get us all panicky."

"What about the victims?" Why would Queen Victoria kill off her own people?"

"Hm," Casimir huffs, sinking from his euphoria. He leans back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. Puffing out his chest indignantly, he says, "Yes, well, she's a queen, who the hell has a clue?"

In a low, dangerous voice, I question, "Well, Cas, what are we going to do about this little liar?"

Smirking once more in the sly, virulent way that crowned us irrevocably insane, he says, "Why, we kill him, of course."