"Do you remember Arthur O'Connor*?"

"I do, your Majesty."

Vincent assumed that the best thing he could do was follow that trail, wherever it could lead him. The meeting had started in good terms, with Her Majesty being in a cheerful mood; something strange to witness in all her widow years. Vincent didn't feel particularly lucky for being able to see it, though. Her Majesty was an unreadable book for him. And that made him nervous.

"I think I should talk with Charles about increasing the guards around palace."

"Excuse me, but who is Charles?"

"Ah? Didn't I introduce you three already?"

The young noble smiled behind his tea cup and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm afraid you haven't, your Majesty. Is… Are they new servants of yours?"

"My personal butlers, yes. They will be the ones to contact you from now whenever I need to send you any urgent petition."

The woman composed a self satisfied smile and left her tea cup on top of the silver tray with golden details that rested on top of the polished table. That day the weather was nice and warm; summer had just begun a week ago. She went to the open balcony with her widow garments whispering behind her with each little movement. From there, she glanced at the young man sitting still. Vincent had married Rachel a year ago, they hadn't conceived any child yet, but they were a happy couple in their early twenties. So far they hadn't starred any scandal. The public had a good opinion of the Earl of Phantomhive, who employed lots of people in the docks and was generous with those who inhabited his terrains. The Chamber of Lords, however, begged to differ. They didn't trust him, nor his predecessors, and some ill-intentioned lords had even started rumours about the Phantomhives trying to dethrone her. Nonsense. The relation between the monarchs before her and the Phantomhive family dated before the Enlightenment. Sometimes they had deviated from the path marked, but measures had been taken to correct and prevent said mishaps. After all, one didn't train a greyhound in a day. Victoria watched how Vincent cleaned his mouth, got up from the seat decorated with fleurs de lis and fixed his jacket.

"There is another thing I wanted to told you about."

"What is it?"

"You ordered me to investigate a list of important persons in the high spheres, looking for hints of treason, plots or misconducts."

"Yes. Did you find anything new?"

The Earl bit his inner cheek and squared his shoulders. It was his work and the Queen had no complains about how he carried it. The end justifies the means, he recited to himself. And at the end of the day, her hands were still clean, she still ruled the country with the popular praise. Not long ago he had had a heated discussion about it, yet the man tried his best to ignore that intrusive thought. Claudia, and others before them, had inherited the title and all that it encompassed. It was his legacy. The weight they had to carry on their shoulders. And if Rachel and he had a child one day, he or she would take the title after him.

"Vincent, what is it?"

Her voice was dyed with impatience. The earl blinked and held her steel gaze while the woman returned to her seat. He had to show more will.

"Some coroner might be involved in human trafficking with children. And there's this other high ranked man in the Parliament who has participated in-"

"You are saying that one man of such importance might be involved, exactly, how?"

"I'm not saying he's the one kidnapping them, nor selling them or taking profit. But, your Majesty, we both know about people like Aleister Chambers. Just because their personas are loved by the public doesn't mean they can get away with everything."

"The Chambers family is in a delicate position and you know that, Vincent."

"So you are saying that he, indeed, can and will."

The Queen twitched her upper lip with disdain.

"I will not tolerate that tone."

The young man left his teacup and held his breath. He bragged of being cold-headed, to know how to play by the rules and bent them at his will and needs. And there he was. Faulting her respect. What would the punishment be?, he mused licking his lips with his jaw tensed. After what felt like a whole, everlasting minute, he lowered his head.

"Excuse my manners."

"I thought you had learned some things this far."

"I do. I apologize, Your Majesty."

The sweet scent coming from the teacup mixed with the herbal smells coming from the open balcony. He wrinkled his nose. It was suffocating, almost. The clear tea reflected the ornamented lamp that hung above their heads. The Queen moved in her seat. She adjusted a loose pin from her hair. Then, slowly, a smile appeared on her face. Vincent didn't feel less threatened by it. On the contrary.

"Accepted. Now, now. What's next?"

His eyes went from the serious woman to the open balcony. The curtains made a soft sound moved by the breeze. He could tackle the issue. There were layers and layers of it, it was just a matter of knowing how to lay everything down.

"So far, freemasons, rosicrucians and minor covens haven't given us any trouble." Vincent started talking in a calm tone. He didn't even know how much Victoria knew, and how much she kept quiet about. Members of the Royal Family had been personally involved with said organisations, even occupying important titles inside them. "The two first aren't what bothers me. And as far as I'm informed, the weirdest thing those covens have done are sabbaths in the Northern woods, because someone said it had been a druidic temple there centuries ago."

"I see."

"And there are pilgrimages to the Swinton Estate** each solstice and equinox. But that has nothing to do with what I'm referring to, I'm afraid."

"Have your investigations tied it with the trafficking cases?"

"Not quite. I'm still gathering information. Chambers could hold an important position. And there's the military men who have high ranks among them."

Victoria entwined her hands over her lap. Her fingers toyed with the black embroidery of her widow dress.

"If it's one of these flourishing societies interested in studying ancient things they don't have to be necessarily a problem, my boy."

"One thing is to dabble in spiritism sessions because it's been a sensation in France. To pick interest in John Dee's writings*** because some Russian noble starts debating his theories about angels. Even the recent interest in ancient cultures, with all those archaeological discoveries the past decade… A very different-"

"... and hot chocolate instead of tea?"

"We'll see, don't get too ahead of yourselves, the day is still long."

Rachel looked for her husband's gaze across the comfortable carriage. He didn't notice it, as he was looking outside the window, lost in whatever case he was taking care of those days.

"Vincent?"

"I think hot chocolate might be a good idea if the time keeps being this cold."

Outside, the landscape had started to shift from the last rural properties to the former outskirts of the city. Here and there, masses of snow splattered the fields, ones thicker than others that had started to melt. The trip was going on smoothly, everything was running as Vincent had predicted, which filled him with serenity. He drew a hand to his dark bluish hair and brushed some strands from the bridge of his nose. Later they would encounter the usual collapse in the middle of the city, where the commercial areas which surrounded the Thames confluenced. He would take Rachel to Fleet Street, and if they went to the retail galleries that filled Oxford Street, he would buy her a little present. The Earl looked at his sons. When they had gotten inside the carriage they had spent some minutes until they had settled who would seat with whom. Ciel sat at his side, bouncing with enthusiasm. He had lost the count of how many times the child had muttered "Tomorrow" under his breath, to be almost instantly echoed by his brother in a hushed tone. A little choir of "Tomorrows" kept his thoughts at bay, for a while. Vincent scratched his left wrist where the hem of the black leather gloves applied more pressure. That conversation with Her Majesty had happened more than five years ago.

"Ciel. Hold these for a second."

With that, Vincent took his rings off without difficulty and flexed his fingers. First, the family ring; the signature crest followed it. Ciel pressed his lips in a contempt smile when he examined them closer. The sapphire reflected the light in a myriad of shades; it never failed to hypnotize him. The crest ring was smaller and made from gold. It was heavier and felt warmer in his palm.

"Can I try them, father?" asked the child in a soft, strangled thread of voice. His eyes followed the deep blue gem in awe.

"Of course."

Whenever he had the chance of trying the ring, a little knot grew inside his stomach. One day he wouldn't just hold the silver piece while his father was taking off his gloves. One day it would be his, like it had belonged to his grandmother before his father; however, his brother would never have the chance of owning it… He could only hold it when Ciel asked him to do so. His little brother, who dreamed of being a toy maker instead of helping him with the difficult duties of an Earl. Or even a priest. He didn't like to think about what the future could bring. He could always convince him to live in the Phantomhive estate, after all it contained several little towns… His younger brother, who was more patient than him, both with Elizabeth and other people. It wasn't like Ciel was short tempered, just that he preferred to be more direct whereas he took turns around topics. Who gave him jealous, shy looks from the opposite seat of the carriage. Who averted his big blue eyes when he caught him staring and cleared his throat before he looked outside the window.

"It's... So bright."

At his side, his father smiled. Vincent closed his eyes for a second to ground himself when his mind started to wander about the case. Again. He was on a family trip. It was not related at all with his Watchdog activities. He had been longing for one. It was no time to think about anything related to the case. His only duties that day were to savor the time he was going to expend with his family at the fullest. He would meet the next week with Diedrich and Randall.

"I know. But now I'd like to have them back."

His son let out an embarrassed chortle and left both jewels on his palm. The gloves rested on top of a pearl white scarf when he left them at his side.

"Can we buy candies?"

"If your mother let us, of course. Can we, dear?"

Ciel hit the seat structure with his heels, overwhelmed by his excitement. Finally they were going on a trip together, no one had to be left behind. He didn't have to worry about having to return in a hurry, now that his little brother was healthy. Their mother seemed to be in good shape too. And the next day it was their birthday. He hadn't given it too much importance: yes, he would be ten, and he would have presents, but at the same time the last weeks had felt like a carousel… Rachel moved in the opposite seat and the soft upholstery creaked, catching his attention. Her pink lips curved in a mischievous expression.

"Maybe if you three behave we can get some."

Vincent raised an eyebrow when he spoke with a fake hurt tone.

"Why do you include me in that?"

Despite having a little stack of violet drops hidden in his room at the bottom of the wardrobe, new sweets were always welcomed. And he could always sneak with his brother into the kitchens when Tanaka was busy, and therefore, distracted.

"We will!"

The energetic child hit the seat again when he swung his legs with a wide smile on his round face. His mother frowned.

"Don't kick the seat, sweetie. It's not a very good start."

Ciel nodded with a serious look, and then he took a loud mouthful of air. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't wait to get out of the carriage. His heart still felt like a trapped bird inside his chest. It was a special day, but that didn't mean he could escape her quarrels.

"Yes, mother. Sorry."

"Are we going to the Thames?," asked her younger son in a thread of voice. When Rachel looked down to him, the child gifted her with a bright smile. It was warm but not as wide as his brother's expression. "I hope it is frozen so we can walk on it."

"I doubt it will be frozen, dear, it would be troublesome for the ships."

"Plus," Vincent added, "The current is stronger than it used to be, if the water flows more freely, it's more difficult for it to become ice."

"Aw, I wanted to see it…"

"It's still Autumn, we will plan another trip if the snow allows us. On Chris-"

"But the weather is being so cold! The fountain in the front yard was frozen this m-morn-"

The child interrupted himself when he tripped over his words. Soon, his cheeks were covered in a soft pink tone. He didn't meant to interrupt his father, but he just couldn't wait to see the city. It had been months since they all had been in a trip together, even if it was to a close place like London. Ciel let out a loud laughter. His father looked at him and caressed his dark hair. Sometimes he wondered how different they would had look if they had inherited Rachel's golden locks and his plain almond eyes.

"You know that the arcs on the bridges are wide, hm? They allow the water to flow better."

"Oh, I see, I see."

Ciel nodded with a solemn look. With no more bounces nor kicks, he moved to the edge of the seat with eagerness. He stared at the landscape with shiny eyes, biting his inner cheek and gasping when he spotted some foxes near the road. But before he could point them out, they had already hidden in the dark bushes. He faced his father and listened eager to his explanation.

"The fountain froze overnight because it is slower."

"And, can't like, a little portion of the river freeze?"

"Sometimes, but it's more likely to happen outside the city."

"Because the factories, right?"

"You are right. It's nice to see that you were paying attention to the latests lessons I gave you two."

His brother's curiosity was even more difficult to sate than his own. The boy chuckled and snuggled his forehead against his mother's arm. She circled his shoulders with one arm and hugged him. Her eyes met her husband's. The Earl let out a soft pleased hum and tilted his head. He leaned over and reached for her free hand. Rachel entwined their fingers and curved the corner of her mouth. He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, tracing her knuckles. So far, the most difficult thing had been convincing the boys to wear several layers of winter clothes. And later, once they had sat in the carriage, Rachel had taken said layers off. The various scarves, gloves and heavy coats were folded in the empty space near Vincent and Ciel. The vehicle jumped when they crossed a little stone bridge, they let their hands go, and Rachel closed her fingers over the air. They hadn't brought any food with them, because they planned to eat something in the city. She swallowed to keep her throat wet. The carriage passed over a patch of ice, it broke, and the sound of splashing water reached her ears. She drew a hand to his son's head. Her fingers curled some locks and the boy, though reticent at first, delved in the gesture resting his head against her ribcage.

"I'd have to give you a present tomorrow, too. I shall be thankful for having the three of you with me," said Vincent after some seconds in silence. It was a calm kind of silence, and he almost regretted breaking said atmosphere.

"Then you will help me keeping these two away from the kitchen. That's the only thing I ask for."

"You can count on it."

Randall locked the drawer and left the copper key on top of the documents that flooded his desk. The Scotland Yard commissioner wrinkled his nose. He had to inform Vincent immediately, but Abberline was busy inspecting another district with Wakefield, and the list of officers whom he could trust could be counted with the fingers of one hand. Yes, all of them were diligent men with their duties clear and held in high esteem, but not everyone knew about the affiliations of their chief. The Watchdog wasn't unknown among the police; still, Randall kept a close eye on what was said, how was it said, and when was that information revealed. If his only source of troubles were the newspapers he would not have to worry about any slippery tongues between his men. The man got up from his tall chair, circled it, and stood near the window. The day had dawned clear, some low clouds marred the sky, but that was all. The clouds of smoke from the factories headed for the sky in lazy dark columns, waving back and forth. The Earl hadn't called him for a meeting, his sons' birthday was the next day and they used to meet on Saturday evenings. He would gather all the information he could, and when Herr Diederich convoked him, he would attend. After that, they will put Vincent up to date the next week. Risky as it was, Randall thought that the Earl must really trust the German official enough to let him take care of some of his duties. There were, of course, matters in which the nobleman preferred to dirt his own hands; but he left others gladly in charge of second and third parties. He was a strategist at the end of the day, a brilliant one, if anyone ever asked Randall. The commissioner shuffled the papers until he found the reports filled by Wakefield, took them off their brown folder and eyed them with his mouth tensed. A child had been found dead, they had only a thread about the scarred girl, and not a single trace about the rest of them. According to the autopsy, he presented several traumatisms, a clean cut from his sternum to his navel; plus the stab wound, remains of a scorch… There were more details, but he just gave the inform a quick glance. It made him feel sick. He could despise the mortician as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he was efficient in his work. Maybe far too efficient, yet useful. The man let out a long, deep, tired breath and closed the file. Despite his ample field experience, the things he had seen during his training years, followed by his years as a mere officer, and since he had become a commissioner… The description of it was enough to send a wave of unease down his spine. There had been even crimes between bands far more gruesome, but those cases had been about adult victims. He had read it more times than he could recall in the past days, trying to find anything he could use to track the perpetrator. Or perpetrators. It was possible that the ones who kidnapped the children weren't the same who had killed that bastard boy. Randall rubbed the bridge of his nose where his thin glasses applied more pressure. And there were the hound bodies they had found outside places related with the Watchdog. Was it a direct threat against him? Against them? A new piece was in the board, one they hadn't counted with; and they had went directly for a checkmate? His head started to feel heavy. The last thing they needed was someone trying to take them down, but they had to work with what they had… So far, they had been keeping the media at bay, because Her Majesty didn't want to make it public until they had gathered more clues; Mister Pitt had proven to be more than excellent in his job spreading false bits for other journalists to follow. A path of breadcrumbs with scandals here, bastards there, a flash new about a ball. Things like that, the kind of content that the general public enjoyed. He had his men doing the best they could, if he had to turn the slums upside down he would do so, he thought clenching his teeth. A quick, urgent rapping at his door brought him back, and the man got up from his chair with haste.

"Come in."

Frederick opened the panel and stepped inside in a rush with his brown coat flowing behind. He splattered mud and water all around the office floor, and Randall was about to scold him for that, until he saw his expression. His eyes were wide open, the young inspector was trying to calm his breath enough to talk, his hair was all out of place.

"Abberline, what is it? Have a seat."

"No, sir. Thanks. We found a body when searching another part of the maintenance tunnels around the Thames."

Lord Randall stared back at him in silence, the only sound that filled the office was the pace of his desk clock. From the open door, the general ruckus from the lower floors of the building reached his ears. He blinked with perplexity.

"Another child?" he managed to sputter with a puzzled look on his face. The binder rested on top of the documents, and he lowered his gaze to examine its surface. Which one would it be that time? The scarred girl? The blonde one? Or maybe one of the younger boys? Frederick placed his hands on the polished bureau, slamming it before he started to shuffle the papers scattered around.

"No. A man. We filled a missing report about him weeks ago, but when the child case got worse we just gave it more priority."

The binder about the missing children knocked an ink bottle, and in the middle of his confusion, Randall was able to give thanks for it being empty. The young man was making a whole mess of his impeccable desk. Frederick held a paper in front of his face and he took some distance to focus his gaze on it.

"This one, the Russian. He was beheaded in the spot we found him, I'm afraid."

The older man closed his mouth with a deep crease above his nose bridge. Speechless, he let his gaze wander over the portrait of Lady Svetlana's personal butler, before he forced himself to look up from it. The noble woman had vanished days ago and that new took him by surprise.

"Where, where did you find him?"

"Away from the ports and the factories, near the outskirts, sir."

"You say he was killed when you found him."

"It was dark, but judging by the amount of blood…"

"... Write a report and gather more men, check the whole place. And," Randall made a pause when he picked a quill and a blank piece of paper. "Go there and take everything you can."

"What is it?"

"It is the house where they were staying. We'll consider it a crime scene from now even if we have no other clues. I have some things to fetch first but I will go there as soon as possible. This is the last thing we needed, Frederick…"

The officer frowned his soft brows and followed his superior with his clear eyes as the man circled the desk with hurry.

"How bad is it, sir? Where are you going?"

He looked down at the paper when Randall smacked it inside his palm. The man adjusted his thin framed glasses.

"I have people to inform of this. Luck doesn't seem to be on our side, inspector. Wish us some."

The commissioner yanked his coat from the rack next to the door of his office and put it on without care. Frederick had just read the address when Randall disappeared almost running down the hallway. Without any reinforcements. The inspector ran to the threshold and caught a blur of slate grey heading downstairs. He had to be fast. Wakefield could check the house, whatever Lord Randall had in his mind, it had to be very important because it was the first time he saw him reacting that way. Probably it was related with the Watchdog. Yes, it made sense. That man, lord Vincent, had helped them countless times whenever they got stuck, but at what price… Abberline almost tripped with his wet shoes when he rushed towards his companion's office. Wakefield would be busy with paperwork. He rapped the door with haste.

"Open, it's me, Abberline! We have an emergency."

"Come, come."

The office was upside down. Knowing him, that was weird. Folders and binders were scattered all over the red wine carpet with no apparent order, and Frederick took a long stride to pass over a pile of documents.

"What the hell happened here? You made a mess."

"I thought that we could do an inner research about more missing children, and I was right. I mean, in this city, a lot of people simply vanishes. Yes, but–"

He made a pause, closed a binder and opened the next one. The inspector was sitting at his desk, biting the end of his quill as he eyed the papers. He didn't look up when Frederick reached the bureau.

"–Eleven years ago. Do you know what case I'm referring to?"

"No."

"I found a file about another case of missing children, and wanted to give it a try. Five children went missing. One, from a merchant's family. A bastard, nothing remarkable. Until they found only two of the bodies. Stabbed, too."

Wakefield took a deep, slow inhalation and turned the page he was inspecting. In front of him, Frederick changed his weight from one foot to another; Lord Randall probably hadn't found a carriage yet, at that time there used to be some traffic around the headquarters. The clock on top of the desk kept ticking.

"According to this report, which by the way, I don't know who filled it, but was pretty inconsistent with the details, at least one of them had a stab wound in her chest and a burn."

"Are you suggesting that both cases are related? With a case that has been abandoned for eleven years?"

"Exactly, Frederick. We should tell Lord Randall, see if he knows anything. Just to let him know. I wish you were this sharp when we are outside sniffing around," he remarked with a half smile. "But, what did you come to tell me?"

"I need you to go to this location. Remember the Russian Lady? We found her butler dead. That's her place."

"And why do I have to go? Can't you see I'm busy here?"

The man gestured in a wide arc with the hand he used to hold the quill.

"Lord Randall just stormed out and if I lose any second more, I'll lost him."

"You owe me too many, Abberline."

"I know. Will you check the place? We have to classify anything we find there as evidence."

"Count on that. Classifying things is my speciality."

Frederick huffed at that comment, left the paper on top of the old report, and hurried to the stairs.

"Look at that!"

He obeyed, peeking from behind Rachel's long coat, and found what his brother was pointing. A carved horse made of fine wood, hand painted, rested in a stool amidst a wide variety of toys. From porcelain dolls to stuffed animals and seasonal decorations, what had caught his attention was the black horse. He let go of his mother's hand with a little hesitation, and went to Ciel's side.

"The horse?"

"All of them, look, they even have puppets."

Ciel pointed at a couple of wooden toys that hung from the ceiling. His finger left a little mark on the glass due to the difference of temperature. It wasn't as cold as their mother had predicted, but the heavy coats and scarves were welcomed.

"Do you want to know how to make these?"

The child parted his lips and stammered before he formed a coherent sound. They barely talked about the fact that he wanted to be a toy maker. Nor about the fact that Ciel would be an Earl whether he liked it or not. He felt how his cheeks became hotter and fixed his eyes on a doll house composed of three bodies. From the windows of the closed half he could see tiny furniture.

"Y-Yes."

"I'm sure you will even make better ones," he noted with a cheeky expression on his face. "Then I will hire you and we will sell the nicest ones in England!"

He moved away from the decorated showcase dragging his brother behind towards the next store. Rachel and Vincent followed them some feet behind, chatting between them and eyeing the crowded street.

"I will have my own company, you'll see."

Ciel threw his head back with a happy chortle.

"Oh, oh. Listen. I could fund it, give you all the money you needed" he bragged with enthusiasm, waving his arms around.

"What about the earnings?" he replied with a serious look. "I mean, I guess I could… Tr-Try to do it by myself…"

The older boy stopped his tracks and drew a hand to his chin. He examined the delicate clothes that were placed in some figurines behind another showcase. Past them, he could see a red headed woman talking with a young blonde boy. They seemed to be examining a fabric.

"Should we split them fair, right?"

He tugged his sleeve from the elbow and Ciel moved his eyes away from the tall woman dressed in shorts and a long blouse tucked under a corset. As far as he knew, neither his mother, auntie Angelina, aunt Frances, nor Elizabeth wore that kind of revealing clothes. Both his aunt and his cousin wore tights when fencing, but that was all. He frowned, because he felt like he had met her before, but couldn't pinpoint who she was… And less when he was in a middle of a heated conversation.

"But you should have more, you will be making them."

"Yes, and I will have a company enough to compete with yours."

Ciel's eyes shone illuminated by the lights placed around the showcase. His chest rose when he inhaled and placed his hands on his hips.

"We'll see that!"

The boys moved away from the tailor shop and kept going down the street. Vincent didn't keep an eye off them even as Rachel examined the long coats hung from mannequins in the shop.

"It's been a while since we called Nina, but if we drop by now, she will insist in trying anything on you. And I'd like to enjoy your company for once."

The Earl caressed her gloved hand, which rested on his forearm. They walked entwined like that with short steps, following the boys. Both had just halted next to a candy shop a couple of stores away and were talking heatedly. Ciel had one hand on his hip and waved his finger in front of his brother's nose. As they got closer, understanding their words became easier.

"... realize it would be a huge one? You wouldn't even rest to make that many toys!"

"I could hire people."

The man let out a suffocated laughter and drew a gloved hand to his lips. Rachel looked up at him when his frame shook, then, to the boys.

"What's going on? Don't you tell me they are arguing again today."

"No, no…," Vincent let out a short chuckle and kept walking, getting closer to them, who were still busy talking and didn't seem to realize they had reached the candy store. "Look."

The woman moved her gaze from his almond eyes to the children wrapped in both cream colored coats. If she ignored all the other sounds and conversations around them, they were close enough to catch their words.

"So you say you don't think I could make it on my own."

"Don't twist it!"

Ciel frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Rachel smiled to herself: in that moment he was a copy of Vincent. The child's expression shifted from defiance to worry when his brother tried to mutter a comeback.

"I-I can do t-things on my own, Ciel."

There was determination on his shaky voice. Ciel filled his cheeks with air.

"Of course you can, I'm not saying the opposite. Huh."

He stood there reluctant when the older boy reached to stroke his arm over the coat. He didn't move away, and passed his left hand under his nose while sniffling.

"It's so cold."

"Do you want my scarf?"

They had finally reached the boys and were waiting for them to move. Still a few feet away, Vincent eyed their exchange in silence, dazing his eyes around the bright front of the candy store. He didn't dare to interrupt them.

"It's fine, I'm not tha-"

The boy gifted him a big, triumphant smile once he had wrapped his scarf around his neck. The cloth covered half of his face and he struggled to freed his mouth. Meanwhile, his brother had buttoned up his coat until his chin and was facing the nearby showcase. When he looked past the other child and noticed their parents, his cheeks reddened. Pulling Ciel closer to him, he used his brother as a shield from their mother's stare. Rachel wouldn't laugh at them, wouldn't she? In an embarrassed tone, he coughed and got closer to the crystal. His breath left a circle of steam on its surface when he raised his voice.

"Can we have thin mints?"

Randall sat inside the carriage with his hat on top of his knees. He had choose the first one he had found; he had no time for commodities in that moment. He heard a ruckus outside the carriage and, seconds later, Abberline popped his head behind the window.

"Sir, wait. Sir, it is important!"

He turned the latch of the door and the officer took some steps back with awkwardness.

"What?"

"Wakefield was examining-"

"Get inside, Abberline, for the Lord's sake."

Once the young man had sat in front of him in the cramped vehicle, Randall closed the door and gave two knocks on the ceiling. As the carriage started trotting down the road, he waited for Frederick to speak.

"Well, sir. Thanks. I, what I… Ugh," he mumbled as he passed a hand over his face. "Wakefield was examining the archive, putting some order in it, and has found an old case about missing children. Apparently, two were murdered that time but the officers didn't find the murderer. Do you know anything, sir?"

Randall tousled his sideburn and looked through the window with a distant air.

"I didn't work on it, have you read the report?"

"Two children were found dead. The girl didn't have any marks, not that Wakefield told me… However, he protested about the lack of information in said report, calling it sloppy. Can both cases be connected, sir?"

"Eleven years ago… I was starting to work with the current Watchdog. I didn't even think of it, to be honest, because all traces became cold as suddenly as they had appeared." Randall moved on his seat and scratched his knee. The suit was warm, but the fabric was a bit stiff. He kept talking in a monotone voice. "That time there was almost no spawn between the reports of the disappearances and when the bodies were found."

"Who took care of the body? Was it mister Undertaker?"

"No. Maybe he got his hands on some information, but I don't recall recurring to his aid. Apart of his occasional presence in the meetings, at least. Other man took care of that, I think he's name was Oth-"

The carriage took a sharp turn and he halted his monologue. Frederick stared at him with intensity.

"First things first, Abberline. I thank you for letting me know about that. But now, I'll give priority to the murder we are investigating. That Russian butler."

With that, he ended the conversation. He needed to think. He needed to meet with Vincent, and call Diederich, too. They were trying to hold too many sticks at once. The best outcome was that they would have to let go some. The worse was that they ended up pricking their hands. He adjusted his thin glasses and cleared his throat.

"Understood, sir."

* Arthur O'Connor was a 17 years old boy who got into the gardens of Buckingham Palace and pointed a gun to the Queen in 1872. He was seized, disarmed, and after the trial he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a year in prison. Allegedly, he tried to get her to sign a Fenian document. The Fenian Movement was a group who wanted the independence of Ireland from the British.

** The Swinton Druid Temple is a folly built in the 1820s in North Yorkshire, by William Danby (1752–1833), writer and eccentric owner of the Swinton Estate. The alignment of the stones was inspired by Stonehenge, and it ended up being a solution to the local unemployment issue. Once it was finished, Danby challenged anyone to spend seven years living as a hermit there, but no one accepted it.

*** John Dee (1527–1608) was an English mathematician, astronomer, occult philosopher, Hermeticist, and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. Among many of his works, De Heptarchia mystica (On the Mystical Rule of the Seven Planets) was a guidebook for summoning angels.