Chapter Twenty-Five
His Cousin, Anguished

It was Paula who eventually thought of the obvious, and vanished down the hall to bring back Stephen Fotheringhay. Stephen was delighted to meet the Chinese boy that Elizabeth was showing around London (Ciel rolled his eyes and cursed in Chinese), and asked after everyone's health with that unassuming way he had that meant he either had no perception of the tension around him, or was absolutely determined to defuse it by making a fool of himself. Elizabeth made herself smile and chat about the play for a little while before asking after his mother, who, Stephen explained, had gone down to the main lobby to collect a message. "She didn't say who from," he added, when Elizabeth fished. "She usually doesn't talk about her messages."

He said it the way one did when it was something one often repeated. She doesn't usually talk about her messages. She doesn't usually talk about her past. She doesn't usually talk about herself or her life or her family or anything at all other than high society. From the few chances Elizabeth had had to speak with the woman herself – at Mama's tea, and a few parties and things in the week and a half since – she had learned exactly one thing about Caroline Fotheringhay from Caroline Fotheringhay, and that was her name. The rest of it was things she'd gleaned from the letters and from third-party gossip at those same events. Not even her mother knew much about the woman, and Edward's investigative powers turned up very little, other than that she'd been born in Bath and educated in a small boarding school outside of London. Also that she had ties to the suffragette movement, though how strong those ties were, exactly, nobody could find out for sure.

Elizabeth let out a long breath when Ciel's disguise held, and wondered what would happen if Stephen Fotheringhay had ever done more than glimpse the Earl Phantomhive from across a crowded ballroom. They would have been caught instantly, probably, and society would have been scandalized that she was still fraternizing with the man who broke off their engagement. Though, to be frank, considering he's my cousin, it's fairly difficult not to run into him sometimes.

I'm glad you're awake.

She shoved that thought away and forced herself to focus on Stephen. "Sorry, what?"

"I said she'll probably still be down in the lobby if you wanted to talk to her? It's probably why she hasn't come back, I saw some of her friends down there." He glanced at Ciel. "And all of you are more than welcome to join us in our box. It's quite bare."

Ciel leaned forward, and whispered something to her, not in Chinese, but in Italian. "Find her. Keep the reapers away. We'll try to track them down."

She fought the urge to say something like don't you dare pick a fight or try not to shoot anyone but either one would be useless. She nodded, and laughed as though he'd said something funny. "Only until the end of intermission. Meet in their box."

He nodded, and pressed her shoulder, lightly. Elizabeth ignored the touch. "Zai jian, Liang."

Ciel bowed, his hands hidden in his sleeves. Sebastian bowed as well, and they both swept away down the hall. Stephen watched them go, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Liang spotted someone he knew upstairs. He'll meet us in your box." She swallowed, and then forced a smile. "Shall we go downstairs?"

Paula bobbed along behind them, keeping a careful eye. Stephen was like Rebecca – he was quiet and shy, but once you spoke to him enough he opened up, slowly but surely, like a flower that only blossomed in the moonlight. He would have been a much better match for poor Rebecca than her current fiancé. Elizabeth worried her lip. Did Rebecca even have a fiancé anymore? After the murder of her father, there was a tarnish on the family name; would the man even want her?

Guilt swallowed her up, squashed her, and she had to fight to keep the sunny fake smile on her face as they wobbled down the stairs into the main lobby.

Something in her relaxed when she spotted Caroline Fotheringhay through the crowd. She was still all in black, with a matching dyed ostrich feather in her hair. Behind her, she heard Paula mumble something in Italian, about stubborn men with stupid ideas, and she flicked her fan over her face to hide her smile. "You said she was off to find a message?"

"Yes, she left in the middle of the act for it, I think." He craned his neck, and waved a bit when his mother turned and spotted them. She lifted her hand, and her mouth tightened a little as her eyes flicked to Elizabeth, who lowered her head in a small greeting, and beckoned with one gloved finger. Stephen flinched.

"She's told me not to wave. I keep forgetting."

"Nothing wrong with waving," Elizabeth reassured him absently, keeping her arm tucked through his as they stepped down the stairs.

"Only if you're twelve." He mumbled it under his breath with an expression that said that was a common reprieve. He cleared his throat. "There you are, Mother. We were wondering where you'd vanished to."

"I had to make a phone call," said Caroline, and she stooped down to press her lips against Elizabeth's cheek. Her mouth was cool and damp from her drink. "Hullo, darling, I didn't expect to see you here?"

"I'm showing a family friend around London and I thought the theatre would be a good night out. He's a little reclusive." Elizabeth was bordering on tall, but she still had to go up on tiptoe like a child to return the cheek-kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as I could be, considering I just received some rather bad news." Lady Fotheringhay fluttered her fan, her eyes never leaving Elizabeth. "Stephen, dear, will you go get me some champagne? I'm dreadfully thirsty."

"Of course." He slipped away into the crowd, vanishing into the world of coat-tails and cravats. Lady Fotheringhay waited until he was out of earshot to slip her arm through Elizabeth's, and draw her a bit closer. "And how are you feeling, my dear? It's your first real outing since your engagement ended. I know how difficult the first one is."

Actually, considering that my ex-fiancé is here and I may in fact still love him it's not as bad as it could be. It was on the tip of her tongue. Elizabeth bit it back. "I'm muddling through."

"I assume Stephen's invited you to sit in our box? You and your guest are more than welcome, my dear. Have I ever met him?"

"No, I don't think so." She hesitated. "Did you ever meet my – I mean, have you ever met the Earl Phantomhive?"

"No, I'm ashamed to say I haven't. He doesn't often deign to spend time with the likes of us." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice, and Elizabeth wondered just how many society invitations Ciel threw in the fire every day. "His parents were such friendly people. I don't understand how Vincent Phantomhive and Rachel Durless had a child with such an atrocious set of manners."

For some reason, that stung a little bit. She swallowed her protests. "You knew my aunt and uncle?"

"For a short time, yes, I did." Caroline's eyes softened. "They were wonderful people. I see some of them in you, dear."

"You barely know me."

Lady Fotheringhay shrugged. "Regardless." Pause. Her hand tightened on Elizabeth's arm. "I apologize if my son has offended you – he's always been a little—"

"Stephen doesn't bother me." Elizabeth said. "He's quieter than most people, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, is it?"

Lady Fotheringhay relaxed, and smiled. This time it was a real smile that made her whole body soften. "Thank you. That…helps."

Elizabeth hesitated, squeezing the woman's hand lightly, and forged on. "Actually, he reminds me a little of a friend of mine, Rebecca Beddor. I don't know if you've met her – they're both quiet and bookish, and stubborn as the devil if they want to be."

Lady Fotheringhay's face whitened, and she had to swallow a few times. "…Oh. You…knew the Beddors?"

"Like I said, the daughter is a friend of mine. I was very sorry for their loss. Sir Beddor was…a bit of a strange man, perhaps, but a kind one. For him to be taken so early, it doesn't bode well for Rebecca and Lady Beddor. I'm worried about them."

"Yes," said Lady Fotheringhay faintly. "I see. Yes."

"Did you ever meet the Beddors, my lady?" Elizabeth asked, and her heart twisted in her chest. She didn't like this play-acting. She would have rather just asked the woman outright, but until the night was over and she knew the reapers were gone, there was nothing she could do except this. She flicked her eyes around, once, but there was no sign of Ronald Knox or his dark-haired partner.

"A few times. Sir Beddor was working on a business venture with my nephew Nathaniel; we had dinner together once or twice." She settled, her face smooth as a painted mask. "I couldn't imagine going through what they have. No wife should lose her husband, or a daughter her father. Damian Beddor was a good man. He made his fair share of mistakes, but…but he was always a good man, or tried very hard to be."

"It sounds like you knew them quite well."

"Sir Beddor was the ward of my father for a few years when I was a teenager." Lady Fotheringhay said abruptly. "He had no other family, so he stayed with us from when he was fourteen until he went off to university. But that's many years past now." She straightened. "And you've done a very good job trying to escape from the previous subject, my dear Miss Elizabeth. I realize that it may be difficult for you to talk about, but I've always been an advocate of revealing one's feelings. It has this wonderful cleansing effect." She drew Elizabeth to one of the plush couches and settled there, pressing her hand lightly. "Now. We have a little while before Stephen gets back, so you mustn't be afraid to speak."

Elizabeth glanced back at Paula, who looked half-amused, half-offended. "I really would rather—"

"Forgive my frankness, but come off it," said Lady Fotheringhay, and Elizabeth jumped. It sounded like Colleen had temporarily hijacked the woman's language. "The whole of society has been wondering about your prolonged absences. Now, the second one was for that dreadful riding accident – your mother told me about it, darling, it must have been terrible – but the first, that one was a bit too long for someone who wasn't devastated, don't you think?"

"Honestly?" Elizabeth let her voice go cold. "I don't think it's any of your business."

Lady Fotheringhay sat back, looking surprised. Then she bit her lip. "I'm only trying to help you, dear."

"Thank you for your consideration, but I'm afraid it's unfounded." She could feel the Numbness creeping back up on her. Elizabeth swallowed hard. "It's….I don't want to talk about it."

Lady Fotheringhay gave her a very hard look, her eyes sharp and flickering over Elizabeth's face. Then she smiled. "All right. When you feel like you can, Miss Elizabeth, please, know you can trust me to keep your secrets."

Elizabeth nodded, jerkily, and stared at the wall for a moment.

"Well," said Caroline Fotheringhay, standing. "There's Stephen with the drinks. Do head back upstairs, both of you; I'll be there in just a moment."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to just write a note. I won't be a minute."

There was no excuse she could make, especially not since Stephen had heard most of that and was standing meekly by the couch, waiting for her to get up so he could escort her upstairs. She flicked her eyes around the room once more – the reapers were nowhere to be seen – before standing and resting her hand on Stephen's arm, nodding at Lady Caroline. "See you upstairs."

She turned back at the top of the stairs, and picked out Lady Caroline in the crowd. She was standing, and talking to one of the servants. She didn't recognize him, and for an instant she breathed easier.

Then Cutter eased out of the crowd, offering his arm to Lady Fotheringhay, and as she took it, he looked up, and met Elizabeth's eyes.

"Paula." She said, and Paula ran. She didn't bother disguising it. She cut and ran, and Elizabeth kept her eyes on Cutter as the maid vanished around the corner. Stephen openly gaped. Cutter smiled just as the heavy hand hit Elizabeth's shoulder, and the automaton's cold fingers dug into her skin, a silent warning. Stephen glanced from her to the silent automaton, a maid dressed in black, her eyes cast away from Stephen's so he didn't notice that they were made of glass. Behind the maid was Petrovsky, his hair slicked back as usual, his face drawn and chilly. Stephen's eyebrows lifted in a shy question. "Um, Miss Middleford?"

"I have to talk to this gentleman for a moment. I'll be right behind you." It was a lie. She could taste the bitterness of it on her tongue. "I promise you."

Stephen flicked his eyes up to the maid and Petrovsky again, and she could see the mistrust there. Don't follow your instincts. Do as I say. Go. Go. Go. She wasn't sure if her silent begging showed on her face or if Stephen was just too timid, but he nodded, and continued up the stairs. Elizabeth let out a small breath once he'd passed out of sight, and glanced at the Russian. The automaton said nothing.

"This way." He said, and together they followed Cutter and the Lady Fotheringhay down the stairs and through a side door into darkness.

It wasn't as though they expected to find anything inside the box. The reapers wouldn't leave anything behind for them to find – they seemed to be able to exist in this – world? Plane? Dimension? He wasn't sure – without anything more than their scythes and themselves, though some of them seemed to be very particular about what they wanted to look like. Ronald Knox and his Oxfords were the primary example, as well as Grell and his specific idiosyncrasies. Ciel only glanced into the box to make sure his assumption was correct before turning to Sebastian. "They're probably downstairs."

"Yes." Sebastian studied him, his eyes flat and unexpressive. "If I might ask, my lord—"

"I would prefer if you didn't," said Ciel. There was no direct order against it, though, so Sebastian asked anyway. Of course he would.

"I understand your reasoning in sending away the Lady Elizabeth," said Sebastian, and was Ciel imagining it, or did the butler's voice tighten, just a little, at Elizabeth's name? He frowned, and made a mental note to ask about it later as Sebastian continued. "But why are we attempting to protect the Fotheringhays? It would be simpler to leave them as bait and wait for the reapers to come and collect."

"Admitted." Ciel said, and stepped away from the wall, turning the corner and jimmying open a drab door at the end. The servant's stairs. They twisted away into the darkness, and he was sharply remembered of the passages below Cutter's manor, the sharp spicy smell of cutting souls. "There's something wrong here, though. It's true that the reapers could have just been showing off, but why would they appear so boldly? Usually when we've run into them before, they don't care if we see them, but they're always working. Standing there watching a play doesn't seem to be incredibly in character for them."

Sebastian's secret smile said that he had passed some sort of test. "A stellar observation, my lord."

"Don't pander to me, Michaelis." Ciel snapped, and started down the stairs. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir. Though I was not attempting to pander."

Ciel ignored him. "This is the only way they could have gone without them being seen. They're not in the main hall, you confirmed that, so…this would be the only option."

"And if they allowed us to see them, they may have something to tell us." Sebastian finished, and together they stepped down onto the bottom floor.

The door had to have led backstage, because there were dozens of people in faux-Japanese costumes scuttling around, and dozen more in normal dress carrying props and pieces of the set. The tangzhuang Lau had loaned them didn't fit with the overall scheme, but it was close enough for them to be ignored as Ciel turned to Sebastian and lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. Sebastian shook his head slightly –too crowded, too cramped, too difficult to sense them – and Ciel cursed under his breath. Then Sebastian stiffened, and smooth as water he stepped in front of Ciel. "Suit, is that you?"

"I no longer operate under an alias, demon, as you are well aware." William said, and he had his stick in a loose grip, his center of gravity steady and focused. He was ready to attack if they did. "What are you two doing here? Interference in this matter will not be tolerated by the Personnel Department."

"I wondered why this place stank so badly," said Sebastian silkily. "Are you here to spy on the humans again? I've been considering just how far the perversion of the reapers extended."

"Shut your filthy mouth." William's voice never changed cadence, never shifted from cool disinterest, and his eyes slid away from Sebastian to focus on Ciel. "You are of no interest to me. Either of you. This incident is a fixed one. There is nothing anyone in this building can do to halt the events that are coming. So take your woman and leave. I don't want to have to deal with the paperwork that will ensue from clashing with a demon."

Sebastian smiled, colorlessly, and said nothing. He simply looked at Ciel, and his eyes had gone crimson, the pupils elongating into slits. "Command me, my lord."

Ciel looked at Sebastian for a long moment, and then back at William T. Spears. Then he took a breath. "What events are you talking about, Spears? What can't we stop?"

"That information is classified, and not something to be discussed with a human. Especially not in front of your enslaved vermin. Now, if you'll excuse me." William pushed away from the wall, twirling his stick absently, and Sebastian automatically stepped to the side, slow and deliberate, so he remained in front of Ciel even as the reaper passed them, heading down the hall. Clearly, there was to be no more discussion. There might have been with Ronald Knox, but with William Spears, there would be none. Done and dismissed. No point in arguing, and no point in setting Sebastian on him either, not in a hallway stuffed full of people.

Ciel raised his voice a bit. "Spears! I want a favor!"

Sebastian hissed under his breath, and Ciel wondered if he'd expected this. Spears kept walking for a moment, and then slowed, and stopped. The theatre people parted around them, like waves around rocks. Then, slowly, the reaper turned, and his glasses glinted in the lamplight. "I don't bestow favors to humans, especially not those with servants like yours."

Ciel ignored that. "We won't stop your reaping. We won't interfere. All I'm asking is that you let us see Fotheringhay's cinematic record. We think that the memories have the information we need in order to stop the Zodiac, which is something you want as much as we do."

"On the contrary," Spears said, "the Zodiac has offered us more job opportunities than we've had since Jack the Ripper."

"But neither you nor your partner like overtime, do you?" Ciel bit back a small smile when Spears cocked his head to the side, his expression unchanging, his eyes flickering in his face. Then, after a moment, he lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug.

"If you happen to be there during the reaping, that's none of my business, now is it?"

Spears vanished into the crowd. Sebastian's expression, when Ciel turned to look at him, had flickered back to normal, though he had a twist to his lips, as though he'd smelled something nasty. There was still a dash of blood in his eyes. He lifted his eyebrows at Ciel. "A surprising angle, my lord. We're not going to try and save the woman?"

Ciel scowled at him, stung. "If we get the opportunity. To be absolutely honest, the information matters more. And many lives matter more than one."

Sebastian looked back at him, and there it was, the small, arrogant smile twisting the corner of his mouth, the one that said everything. "As you say, my lord. The needs of the many, I've found, are often seen as greater than the few."

Ciel shrugged a bit, and started back up the stairs.

They were nearly at the Fotheringhay's box when he worked up the nerve. Ciel stopped, and turned back to Sebastian. He switched to Greek. He doubted there was anyone in the hallway that could speak it overly well, let alone distinguish it from Chinese. Sebastian didn't blink at the shift.

"Why did you threaten Spears?"

Sebastian looked back at him, levelly, though his mouth may have tightened a bit at one corner. It was half-smile, half-grimace, and in spite of himself, Ciel shifted, ready to spin out of the way if Sebastian lunged. "Pardon me, my lord?"

"You swore you'd never lie to me." Ciel's voice was icy. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Acting like that could lead to an unmitigated disaster. It was sloppy and reckless. It shouldn't have happened."

Sebastian said nothing. His eyes were gleaming amber-red as Ciel continued. "You've been acting strange since the manorhouse. I thought it might have been the imprisonment, but it's not that, is it?"

Nothing. Sebastian remained quiet. Ciel clenched his hands into fists. "The Director said he'd met you before. Was that true?"

"Yes," said Sebastian, and he almost spat the word, his voice rough and angry. "We have had the displeasure."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You did not ask, my lord." He stepped to the side, out of the way of two high society ladies who gave them queer looks. Chinese men – even fake Chinese men – weren't often seen in the Savoy. Correction: weren't ever seen in the Savoy. There was a reason why all the actors on stage were wearing heavy eyeliner and walking around with their eyes half-closed. "We should return to the box, my lord. The curtain is about to rise."

Ciel didn't move. "I don't want to have to give you a command, Sebastian. But I expect an explanation for this. All of it."

Something in his face flickered. Then Sebastian bowed, deeper than he had in a long time, and it wasn't out of respect. His mouth was in full twist now, and his eyes flickering with something hot and alien and furious.

"Yes, my lord."

"Sir," panted Paula, and she'd only just come around the corner. Her cheeks were flushed; she was wheezing, a hand to her ribcage, and silently Ciel swore to himself to never underestimate running females again. He remembered – he painfully remembered – what it was like to run around in a corset, and the one he'd worn hadn't been cinched nearly as tight as it should have been.

She had to take several deep breaths (as deep as she could without fainting) before she finally could speak. "Cutter's here. Cutter's here. Miss Lizzy told me to come up here and find you but I don't know how much time we have left—"

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, and there were no words needed. There was a flash of black, and then he'd vanished down the hallway. Ciel lowered his voice. "Go and wait in the box. Don't talk to anyone. Don't go anywhere except the box, and when you get there, lock the door and stay there."

Paula shook her head.

"Paula—"

"I'm not leaving Miss Lizzy."

Damn Elizabeth's tendency to inspire loyalty in people. He gritted his teeth. "You can't fight. You'd only be a hazard."

"I'll not leave her alone!"

He didn't have time for this. "Fine." He snapped, and took a few skipping steps back, shifting from foot to foot. His muscles were almost jumping inside his skin; he'd been cooped up like a cat in a burrow for the past few weeks, unable to track down any news, to do anything, to punch anyone. Even with Sebastian free and at full (if capricious) capacity, he wouldn't object to landing a few blows himself. "Don't get in the way, and don't get caught."

"I can defend myself."

He snorted, but said nothing more. When he turned to head back down the hall – he didn't run, couldn't afford the attention brought by running, but he'd learned how to walk damn fast – Paula was right beside him.

The show was back on, which meant this part of backstage was nearly deserted as Elizabeth and Petrovsky and the automaton walked along. She wondered where Cutter was, and Caroline Fotheringhay. Somehow she doubted Petrovsky would be taking her to them. It wasn't logical to show his hand, or let her overhear anything that Cutter and Caroline would be talking about. That's assuming they want Caroline alive at all. If the reapers were here for Caroline Fotheringhay, then there could be a few reasons – she knew too much, she knew nothing and was snooping, or she knew just enough to become dangerous if she continued her liaison with Elizabeth.

On the other hand, she doubted Petrovsky wanted to keep her alive either. The only question was how long they would be walking before he and his automaton tried something, and as much as she trusted the blades in her fan, she wasn't sure they would work all that well on an automaton.

Think, Elizabeth, think. She'd brought her gun, too, but that was creasing her pocket and with the automaton holding on so tightly, she had no chance of pulling that. She tightened her grip on the fan, and flicked her eyes to Petrovsky. She'd never seen him fight, never spoken to him all that much. Edward's digging had turned up very little outside of his work with the Zodiac, and that was, of course, shrouded in 'company secrets'. She had no idea what he could do. It was making her nervous.

Of course it would be on the first day that she and Ciel were actually trying to work together without killing each other that she would trip into such an extreme muck-up. Elizabeth grimaced. I'm never going to hear the end of it.

They turned, and turned again, and finally shifted into a low-ceilinged corridor that had a thin wooden door at the end labeled exit. Probably for the actors. Elizabeth glanced at Petrovsky again, and then at the automaton, whose grip had not slackened once during their walk. "You're going to kill me in the alleyway, then?"

Petrovsky spat something in Russian, and the automaton squeezed her arm hard. Thankfully, it wasn't the one that had been cut. Elizabeth scowled. "If I'm going to die I'd like to at least know where."

"Shut up, woman."

They were just closing in on the door when a hand whipped out from a side corridor, closed around her wrist, and yanked.

For an instant, she had absolutely no idea what was happening. The lights had gone out. She smacked into the wall from the force of the tug, and her shoulder – this time it was the one with the cut – screamed at her in protest. Petrovsky snarled something else in Russian, probably a curse, and then there was the sound of a scuffle, and a sharp male cry. Elizabeth swore too – she was almost healed, but that didn't mean these cuts weren't painful – and as the automaton loomed up in front of her she twisted the fan and slashed the blades across the thing's throat. It made a rattling gasping sound, copper and iron; Elizabeth wrenched, but the fan was stuck fast. Hot drops of blood sprayed across her face. She shoved the thing away – it hit the wall with a rattle as she plunged her hand into her pocket, seizing her gun. It tore her skirt as she wrenched it free, aimed, but she couldn't fire. Another hand – Petrovsky's this time she was sure, by the thick fingers and the way that he drove his fingers into her flesh, automatically going for the most pain – seized her arm, squeezing hard, slamming her wrist against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone move, but the automaton, her fan sticking sickly out of its throat, lashed forward, and the man who'd helped her – she couldn't see his face, not in the dark – was shoved back into the nearest wall.

Petrovsky tightened his grip on her wrist, until her bones felt like they were being crushed and she couldn't help but whimper. She wouldn't have been able to shoot him, even if she'd managed to get her fingers to work. In his free hand, she saw a knife blade gleam. "Give. Me. The gun."

She shook her head wordlessly.

He shifted, turning to drive the knife into her, and when his grip on her arm loosened, Elizabeth didn't hesitate. Her instincts took over. Elizabeth slammed the barrel of her gun across Petrovsky's jaw, and when his head snapped to the side, she twisted out of his grasp, lifted her free hand to cup the handle, and pulled the trigger.

She was close enough to him that she felt the vibration of the bullet hitting him directly in the chest. She saw the blood well up and streak down his vest as Petrovsky stared at her, his eyes widening, getting bigger and bigger and bigger, until all she could see were his eyes as the pupils shrank to pinpricks. He fell to his knees first, and then he slipped forward and landed face down on the carpet, and Elizabeth suddenly realized she was trembling. She was cold and sweaty and shaking, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the man shove a now twitching automaton off of his chest. He stepped over the body, and looked at Petrovsky for a moment before glancing at Elizabeth. He had a scarf wrapped tight over his face, but his brilliant green eyes froze her in place.

It can't be.

"Miss Middleford!" It was Stephen Fotheringhay. Theo slammed past him as he stalked off, knocking him into the wall, and Stephen made a squawking noise of protest. Then he turned to look at Elizabeth, and he made another noise, a mixture of a growl and a shriek. The color drained from his face. "What's happened? Are you all right? You're all over blood—"

She shook her head, and stepped away from Stephen only to tread on Petrovsky's fingers, and it sent a sick jolt through her body. Elizabeth shrieked and leapt away, holding tight to her gun, and she saw Stephen's eyes flick from the firearm to the man on the floor, the murdered woman and the blood spattered across her face.

He crouched, and set his fingers to Petrovsky's neck. She couldn't watch. Elizabeth closed her eyes and focused very hard on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. A simple rhythm. But her concentration kept slipping. She could feel the ache in her hands from the recoil of the gun, smell the blood and gunpowder.

"He's dead," said Stephen, in a hushed, frightened voice, and it struck her in the belly, hard. She forgot how to inhale. Elizabeth looked down at her clean hands, staring, uncomprehending. "He's dead. My God. He's dead."

Elizabeth couldn't breathe. She wanted to vomit. The gun slipped out of her hands and clattered on the floor as she took two steps back, tripped over her skirts, and hit the ground herself. What happened? She couldn't remember. Couldn't comprehend. My God. He's dead.

Out of the darkness stepped Ronald Knox. He smiled at her, his yellow-green eyes appreciative behind his glasses as he brought his hands together in slow applause. She looked up at him, and it was all she could do just to stare.

"Well done, love. Well done."

No time for comprehension. Just sharp sick shock, horror, anger, terror. She lashed out, and Knox caught her by the wrist before she could punch him. "Easy there, darling. The ladies won't like it if you damage my face."

She couldn't speak. What was it Papa had said? Nobody ever knows if they're ready to kill, sweetheart, not until it happens and you have that choice in front of you. That unbearable, horrible, glorious choice. It hadn't been like that. It hadn't been like that at all. It had been a split second. Kill or be killed. No choice involved, not that she could think of. Him or me. That's all it was. Him or me. And she was sick thinking of it, because what would her parents say? Oh, God. I've killed a man. I'm a murderess. I'm a murderess and I shot him and he's dead because of me.

"Oh God." She said, and pressed the back of her hand against her lips.

"Get a hold of yourself, love," said Knox, and he was stupidly, disgustingly cheerful as he bent down by the body to double-check for life. Stephen was still crouched, shuddering, back against the wall, his eyes fixed on Petrovsky's dead ones. "I don't particularly want to deal with hysterics as well as dead bodies tonight, especially not before a party."

The job. The job. Do the job. She tore her eyes away from the body and fixed them on Knox's shoulder instead. "Do your work and leave, then," she said, and her voice, thank God, didn't waver. "Because I don't want to look at you."

Knox clicked his tongue against his teeth. "This isn't my only job though, sweetheart. We have to stick around for a little while longer. You'd better scoot, though. William won't be happy to see either of you hanging around a crime scene."

The point is someone in this theatre is going to die, and they have something to do with the Zodiac. How was it they'd been stupid enough to not worry about who killed him?

"I don't care about your bloody partner!" Elizabeth shouted, and even though she could see Stephen shaking out of the corner of her eye, rubbing his fingers together and watching the blood stick, she didn't care. "I care about Caroline Fotheringhay!"

Stephen snapped to attention, but Knox blinked at her curiously.

"Who?"

The world shifted under her feet. The scent of blood was getting to her now. She had to get outside. She couldn't look at Petrovsky again. She bent down, and her fingers closed reflexively around the gun. "Caroline Fotheringhay. You were sent here to reap her, weren't you?"

"Never heard of her." Knox fingered his chin for a moment. "I saw a couple come through a few minutes ago though. The woman looked posh. Dark hair, dark eyes. They went outside." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "If that's all…"

"But—" The point is someone in this theatre is going to die, and they have something to do with the Zodiac. With Petrovsky, the count was filled. This isn't my only job, though… They just hadn't thought of a body count more than one. Elizabeth looked at Knox for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest, and her stomach rolled, as though she'd just boarded the Campania once again. "Who were you sent here to reap?"

"So he told you, did he?" Knox smiled a bit, and there was a hint of danger in that smile, danger and mischief both. "That's unexpected. My lord Phantomhive usually plays his cards so close to his chest."

"That's not the point, Mr. Knox! Who were you sent here to reap?"

The reaper looked at her for a moment longer. Then he leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips were cool. It made her skin crawl.

"You have nine minutes," he whispered in her ear, and then he'd vanished back down the hallway, leaving them with the body. Stephen stood, shaking.

"Miss Middleford?"

She looked down at the gun in her hands. Then she looked up, and she felt her throat close up, her eyes water. She nearly burst into tears right there. She took a breath, and wiped her eyes before reaching forward, offering her hand. "Come on. I think I know where your mother is."

Stephen watched her for a moment longer, considering, and she saw the moment when he decided to trust her. She saw it in his eyes, and that made everything worse.

"Right," he said, and set his hand in hers.

A/N:

So here we are! I'm working on expanding Chapter Twenty-Six, so I think my writer's block has been chipped away enough for me to make a tentative (not definite) guess as to when my next update will be...probably either Friday or Saturday. This isn't for certain - I do have a lot of homework this semester - but I will try as best I can.

Thank you all for your continued support of this story, and your endless patience with me and my random posts.

If you want to get more definite information on where I am in the writing process (and thus guesstimate as to when I will update) please check/follow me on Tumblr. (shuofthewindDOTtumblrDOTcom) I sometimes post excerpts and things on there, so if you're interested...

LittleMissSophie: / Just...I flipped out when I read your last review. I never dreamed that I would ever be compared to the talent of JKR. Just...oh my goodness, dear. I can't speak anymore.

2die4: All of the compliments, I can't handle them! I don't think DE will ever become a movie, but...asdfkdjlsa. Thank you, dear.

Tri17: Thank you. Just...thank you so much.

It seems that all I can say is thank you right now, to all of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

If any of you are interested, I have posted a Frances-centric Kuroshitsuji crossover story, with the second fandom being The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. If any of you have read Cassie, you'll know that TID is in the Victorian era, and is fairly steampunky. The characters wove together quite well, if I do say so. :) If you're interested, pop over and read it.

Well, I have to rush off to class. :D Thank you all so much, again. I'll never say it enough. Thank you. Thank you.