Hours passed as William sat on the rooftops watching the boarded up windows of the shop. He watched as the morning workers walked through the thick, London fog and off to their jobs; he smelled the morning coffee vendors as they faded and turned into the afternoon eel and oyster vendors; he waited as the streets filled with horses and buggies until foot traffic was almost impossible. Perhaps he wasn't going to show, he thought. Perhaps he had abandoned this location completely.

He stood and stretched his legs, trying to figure out some alternative. He didn't want to have to go to the Phantomhive Manor, and he suspected Grell wouldn't have wanted it either, especially with the way she had looked at him that morning. He hadn't a clue how to make Grell's body attractive, feminine; but to be honest, he wouldn't have found that very comfortable. At least this way he could rely on his fighting prowess if he needed it. In Grell's enormous coat and all, he would probably end up falling on his face.

Then a cloaked figure in a dark hat stopped at the front of the shop, but William couldn't make out his face. He was tall enough to be him, but it could still be a coincidence. He could easily have someone else sent to access his shop in the meantime, and William wasn't in the mood to deal with one of his creations. The figure unlocked the front door and opened his cloak to put his keyring away. That was when William spotted the flash of buckle along his foot. It had to be him. He stealthed, leapt down to the street in a smooth motion, and inched around the carriages. The figure was heading inside, but William fell in close behind him and slipped into the darkened shop.

The figure turned around and pulled off his hat, letting his silver hair fall down around his shoulders. He pulled off his cloak and hung them both onto nails that were sticking out of the wall. After the Campania incident, London Dispatch had been removed from the situation almost completely. Upper Management had taken control, and it had taken him several weeks of needling his Manager, Red Dodgson, for details before he finally gave in. The Interloper was in fact the Legendary Reaper, perhaps the most famous shinigami in all of Europe. Apparently several failed attempts had been made years ago to drag him back, but multiple Special Forces Units couldn't bring him in. He was just that good of a fighter, apparently.

William knew he was out of his league in a fight with him, but that wasn't why he was here. The Undertaker was also perhaps the only shinigami William knew of to dabble in magic. That was the part of the report that had plagued him with insomnia in the middle of the night. That was the part that had made him come to find him. Despite the fact that he was a deserter, the Undertaker was still more reliable than a noxious demon. The very thought of letting that creature cast a spell on him made his skin crawl. The Undertaker though was a different story. His bane was his curiosity, and William was certain that a curse to switch bodies would intrigue the old shinigami. At least, he hoped it would.

Undertaker went to the back of his shop and reached into a coffin to pull a lever. A trap door slid back silently to reveal a staircase, and he descended without even an oil lamp to light his way. William gave a heavy sigh. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated. He followed down slowly, giving his eyesight time to adjust to the light. The stairwell met at a stone floor, but there were fewer coffins here than he had expected to be. Instead there were heavy metal doors with bars on them. He could hear the shuffling of disfigured feet from the rooms, with the occasional groan. So this was where he kept his undead. Upper Management had expected him to be keeping them in piles of coffins in some cemetery, not here in the middle of downtown London.

Undertaker lit an oil lamp at the far end of the room, illuminating his toothy smile as he chuckled. "There's no need to hide, stranger. Please, come chat with me."

William felt his heartbeat thundering in his throat. His hands grew sweaty as he clasped his deathscythe tighter. How did he know he was here? Sure, William didn't go into the field very often, but he prided himself on being exceptionally good in every facet of his job, including reaping. Save for that small incident during his final exam, he had never had a hitch when reaping. He had certainly never been found out when he was stealthed. Perhaps the old reaper was bluffing.

Undertaker seemed quite sure of himself though, and in fact had his head positioned in William's direction. He dragged up a stool and laced his long fingertips together as he sat down. "Come now. I'd rather this not take an ugly turn. Wouldn't rather talk instead of fight?" He gave a long chuckle, "I dare say you've got a better chance talking to me than you do a fight. Especially down here in my home."

William took a deep breath. He had of course considered that this could turn into a fight, but it was a foolish move to follow him down here. He should have engaged him up top when there weren't some unknown number of undead that could be released at a moment's notice. Grell would have known better. She had always been the better tactician; William was more a strategist. But he had also studied the methods of the Legendary Reaper for some time. Curiosity was his bane, but he also appreciated good conversation. That was partly the reason he seemed so fond of humans; they were apparently better conversationalists than most shinigami. He might have fallen for this supposed trap, but William knew the reaper behind them. He stepped forward and let his stealth fall away. "Good evening, Undertaker."

The old reaper's smile grew wider and he sat back in his chair absolutely pleased with himself.

"I'm sorry for the deception," William continued. "I assure you that I don't normally stalk someone of your… fame, but you're a difficult person to find."

"That I am," Undertaker was peering at him curiously, and tossed aside some of his bangs to get a better look. "I'm not too keen on being stalked though. Come," he gestured. "Step closer. I can't see a damn thing with you skulking in the shadows."

William took a few steps closer, quite aware of the reach that the famed deathscythe would have, and to try and stay clear of it. "Again, my apologies. I'm afraid my… colleague and I have run into a bit of trouble, and-"

"Sutcliffe? My goodness, is that you?" He looked him up and down in absolute confusion. "Gone back to the Butler garb, have we?"

"No, no, I know that's what I look like, but-"

The curve of the blade was on his throat in an instant. William hadn't even seen him pull the satoba from his robe, but suddenly there the scythe was, at his throat, and larger in life than in any of the pictures he had seen. Part of him was terrified, but the other part of him felt honored to have such a fine weapon brandished against him.

"You look like Sutcliffe, but yet you aren't her. You don't move like her, and you certainly don't have her fine fashion sense. I say you look like a body thief to me."

William's eyes went wide. "No, please, wait! I'm not Grell, I'm her supervisor. A demon switched our bodies."

Undertaker blinked, "Eh?"

"A demon cast a curse on us and switched our bodies. Here, this is my deathscythe. Why would I have this and not her chainsaw if I was a body thief. I don't even know what one of those is…"

"Don't play with me. That could have been stolen from another poor sap."

The scythe remained pressed against his throat, and all William could think about was how he hadn't told anyone where he was going this morning, not even Grell. She knew he had a plan in mind, but she didn't know where. If he died here, he would trap her in his body forever. Gods, and he thought himself a tactician.

Undertaker cocked his head to the side. "Assuming you might be telling the truth, I suppose I should give you a chance. You said you're her supervisor?"

He nodded.

"Tell me something about her, body thief. Something about who she is, what she's done; something I would know about."

William's mind went completely blank. Of course. "You barely know her. What in the world would you know?"

Undertaker snickered, "Be creative. Surely you don't need more motivation."

Grell's glasses slipped down the bridge of William's nose, but he didn't dare to push them up again, not with the scythe so close to his throat. "No, that's alright." He wracked his brain, trying to find anything he could use about Grell that Undertaker would know about. He had mentioned that bit about her being a Butler. "She was a Butler for Madam Red."

"Heh. Is that really all you have?"

He felt the deathscythe push against his throat, and blurted out. "She was also half of Jack the Ripper!"

Undertaker paused. "Go on."

"She worked with Madam Red. The two of them killed prostitutes together, that was how I was able to track her down. I dragged her back myself."

He withdrew his scythe and put a finger to his lips. "Really? I had suspected that she was involved when I realized she was a shinigami on the Campania, but my goodness, she does have a soft spot for humans, doesn't she?" He flicked his hand and his deathscythe was suddenly a satoba again. Will adjusted his glasses with a shaking hand, and Undertaker came closer to him.

"Apologies for trying to slit your gullet there, but you do look like a body thief if ever I saw one… uh, what did you say your name was again?"

He urged his voice not to waver, but had no luck. "William T. Spears."

Undertaker smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. William stiffened. "No hard feelings, I hope, William?"

"No, no, of course not."

"So you say a demon did this to you two?"

"Yes. He said some sort of incantation and…"

"Here, let's go up and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"No, it's alright. I don't want to-"

"Fiddlesticks! It's the least I can do for nearly killing you, Mr. Spears."

William tried to manage a smile, but he was simply too wide-eyed and pale to make it look convincing.