Ch. 6

Two days later Ciel came to Undertaker's parlor to give Theresa her first assignment. She was supposed to find a kidnapper based on a list of suspects Sebastian had put together. By the next day she had it narrowed down to two men, which allowed Ciel to apprehend the culprit easily. Every job Theresa was given she completed swiftly and efficiently. Ciel would never admit it, but he was truly impressed with her skills. She was reliable, smart, and resourceful; it was nice to have a capable servant aside from Sebastian. Theresa also became fond of the young earl, and he began to feel like a younger brother to her.

After about three months of working for Ciel, Theresa finally ran into a case she was having difficulty with. Ciel wanted her to follow the distribution manager of a new Italian trading company in London; Ciel suspected he was behind a recent string of crimes involving thefts courtesy of the Italian mob that was still trying to get a foothold in the underworld. But Theresa had been following the man for an entire week and so far he hadn't done anything suspicious. She came back to the funeral parlor, clearly frustrated. Undertaker followed her upstairs to her room where she began pacing rapidly. "Having trouble with the case, deary?" Theresa looked up at him, still frustrated.

"I've been following this man for a week and still nothing. I'm beginning to think that he doesn't have anything to do with the thefts. But of course I can't tell Ciel that; he's convinced this man is the culprit and I don't want to let him down." Theresa gave an irritated huff and sat down at the desk. She rested her head against her hand as she ran her fingers through her bangs. She was getting nowhere fast. Undertaker came behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He leaned down next to her ear and spoke softly.

"You know, if you aren't getting answers by observing, you might want to try asking him yourself." Theresa turned and looked at him with an expression that read, 'are you crazy?'

"Are you taking about undercover work? That's incredibly risky."

"I know, but right now it seems like your best option. If you want to catch this guy you'll have to get close to him." Theresa muttered something under her breath as she shifted uncomfortably. "What was that?" he asked.

"I'm just not comfortable with getting… close to men. And I don't really know how to talk to people in order to get information out of them."

"What about when you were trying to catch the serial killer? I imagine you'd need some experience in flirting to get information."

Theresa scoffed. "The only people I had to talk to were drunks. It doesn't take much to get people like that to talk."

"Oh. Well it looks like you're going to have to learn how to flirt. Here, stand up." Undertaker pulled Theresa to her feet and moved her a few steps away from the desk. She raised an eyebrow at him as she crossed her arms.

"What are we doing?"

Undertaker grabbed her arms and moved them to her sides. "Not that. Crossing your arms makes you look closed off and not approachable enough. There, now you actually look a little feminine."

"Are you saying I'm not usually feminine?"

"Yes. Now, let's work on some body language for flirting. Turn your head away from me slightly and brush some hair behind your ear." Theresa complied. "Good, now you need to close the gap between you and your… target. Come a little closer and place your arm around my shoulder." Again Theresa did as she was told, starting to feel uncomfortable. But she knew Undertaker was right; if this was going to work she needed to know how to get information out of a person using feminine influence. "Don't put so much weight on your arm, you're trying to appear dainty. That's it. Now use your other hand and, gently, get me to look you in the eyes." Theresa took a deep breath as Undertaker looked away from her. She brought her hand up softly turned his head, letting her fingers trail along his jawline. Acting on instinct she leaned in closer, their foreheads practically touching. The whole time Undertaker said nothing, he just watched her practice. Theresa could almost see Undertaker's eyes behind his bangs; she reached up, about to move the hair away from his eyes when she stopped herself. 'You're getting out of line Theresa. Don't make things any more awkward.' Her hand moved down and rested on her hip.

"How am I doing?" Undertaker was broken from his trance. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Great, you're a natural." They pulled away from each other. "Although, a smile would definitely make things more convincing. But for now we should work on your look."

"My look?"

"Of course. We want you to blend in, so that means a change in wardrobe is a must." He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a lavender dress with a square neckline, A-line skirt, and three quarter length sleeves with no ruffles. He handed the dress, corset, and shoes to Theresa, who looked at them with a little bit of worry.

"Is this really necessary? I'm not overly fond of dresses."

"I'm afraid so deary. Now how about you try that dress on?" Undertaker left the room and Theresa put on the dress. It was snug around her waist and the silky material of the skirt swished playfully around her ankles; it was extremely uncomfortable. "Are you done?" Undertaker called after knocking on the door.

"Yes." The door swung open slowly and Theresa turned to look at Undertaker. He thought she was an absolute vision, but he could tell she wasn't secure wearing the dress.

"You look lovely my dear."

"I hope so, because this dress is really inconvenient. Honestly, how do women move in these things?"

"It just comes with practice." He walked over to Theresa and held her hand as she put on the shoes. They fit quite well. "Now, go ahead and try walking." Theresa took a few steps forward, feeling confident until her ankle rolled and sent her tumbling. Thankfully Undertaker was there and caught her effortlessly. "Are you alright?" he asked. Theresa quickly stood back up.

"I'm fine. I guess you were right about the practice." Theresa took the shoes off and set them on the bed. "Well, I guess that's everything I need for tomorrow. I better get some rest."

"Of course. I'll leave you alone then." Undertaker bowed his head and left the room silently. Theresa took off the dress and slipped into a nightshirt, which was actually just a shirt she stole off the laundry line at the Phantomhive manor. She guessed it was Bardroy's, first because of its length and secondly when she first nabbed the shirt it had reeked of smoke, a smell that took her a week to wash out. But it was comfy and nobody had complained that she had taken it. Theresa climbed into bed and fell into another dreamless sleep.

The next morning Theresa put on the dress and went downstairs. She was about to head out the door when Undertaker called her name. She turned around and saw him with something in his hand. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to catch you before you left." He handed her the object in his hand. "Here, I found you a pair of shoes with a lower heel." Theresa put them on, handed him the previous pair, thanked him, and headed out the door. "She's a sweet one, she is," Undertaker said to himself. 'But she'll never be yours,' said the voice in his head. 'No matter how nice you are, she won't return the affection.' Undertaker ignored the voice again, but not before the twinge of sadness that the voice brought hit his heart. He sighed; hopefully the next joke from the young earl's butler would bring some truly thrilling laughs.

Out on the streets of London Theresa headed to the house where her target had taken up residence. She knocked briskly on the front door and took a deep breath. A maid answered the door. "How can I help you miss?"

"I'm here to speak to the man of the household on an important business matter." The maid asked Theresa to wait for a moment while she fetched her master. A few minutes later the man Theresa had been tailing came to the door.

"State your business," he said curtly.

"Good morning sir. I represent one of the new export companies in Whitechapel and was sent here by my supervisor to inquire about establishing a deal for trade in Italy." The man looked her up and down before he nodded his head and invited Theresa inside. She followed him to a room that she assumed was his office. He took a seat behind a desk and motioned Theresa to sit in a chair on the other side. She sat down and he placed his chin on his hands. "Well, why don't you tell me what you will require from my boss in order to do business?"

He launched into a whole business speech that bored Theresa half to death. Through the whole thing he didn't say a word that hinted at him being connected to the Italian thefts. When he finished talking Theresa stood up and walked behind the desk. "That's all fine and dandy, but you should know I find this rather boring." She placed her arm around his shoulder and tilted his head to look into her eyes just like she had practiced yesterday. "I'm so tired playing the errand girl, and I was thinking maybe," she sat down on his lap, and he didn't object and she leaned in closer, her voice going to a whisper, "Maybe you could offer me something more… exciting." The man brushed some hair behind her ear and smiled coyly.

"That sounds very intriguing, except for the fact that you're a spy!" he seized her by the throat and threw Theresa onto the desk. "Don't try to deny it, I knew who you were the moment I saw you. Your hair is a dead giveaway; so white, so distinctive. You've earned quite the reputation working for the Phantomhive brat. You always show up before the Guard Dog flies in and ruins everything, like the first few snowflakes before the blizzard. Well, this will be the last storm you start." With his free hand he opened a drawer and pulled out a rag. Before she could scream for help he pressed the rag against her mouth and nose, forcing Theresa into unconsciousness.

When Theresa awoke she was in a different room than before. Her hands were bound behind her back and she was sitting against a cold stone wall. The lighting was dim, the faint glow from an undetermined source just barely enough to allow a regular person to see. Theresa's reaper senses kicked in when she heard footsteps approach from a distance. The man from earlier rounded the corner followed by three other men, one of whom Theresa recognized as a suspect in the recent thefts; he hadn't been apprehended because his alibis were flawless. Two of the men grabbed Theresa's arms and brought her to a kneeling position in front of the other two. "Now little miss, you're going to give us some helpful information, or we'll be forced to use more uncivilized methods."

"Sounds tempting, but I think I'll pass." The man growled and slapped Theresa across the face. It should have only stung for a moment, but he grabbed her face right where he had slapped it, making the sting linger.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Give us the key to bringing down the Earl Phantomhive now!" Theresa responded by spitting in his face. He lunged back and wiped his face off. "Fine then, have it your way. Boys, do your worst." He walked out, along with the other man Theresa recognized. The two lackeys released Theresa's arms and walked around to look her in the face.

"This'll be fun." The beating that followed was only tolerable for the first few punches. Normally she wasn't treated like a woman, but then she was being hit like she wasn't even a human. They used brass knuckles, whips, they even threw her against the wall. But she never screamed, not once, because she knew that was what they wanted; they wanted her to break. Blood dripped from several thousand cuts on her body, her head pounded, and her dress was torn everywhere. An hour later she lay on the floor, sprawled pathetically against the cold stones. The two men grinned at her evilly. "I think we've done our worst Alfonso. Let's go get the boss."

"Not quite," said the man dubbed Alfonso. He crouched beside Theresa and lifted her chin. "She's not broken yet. There's one more thing we can try." His hand released her chin and slid along her neck down to a rip in her dress along the neckline. He played with the rip a little bit, letting the frayed fabric dance between his fingers.

"Alfonso, we can't. That's not part of the job."

"Ah who cares? Toni said to do our worst, so that's what I'm gonna do." He turned back to Theresa, and she saw the lust forming in his eyes. "Now, try not to struggle bella." He ripped the dress open to her waist, exposing her corset. Alfonso sat her up and knelt behind her, letting his hands travel slowly across Theresa's body. He pulled one of the sleeves off and exposed her bare shoulder, which had several cuts and bruises. "See isn't this nice? You look so ravishing," he said mockingly. "I wonder how deep the cuts we've made really go; let's find out." He kept one hand wrapped around her waist as the other reached for the corset's lacing. Theresa gave a half whimper, which only made Alfonso grin wider.

"Uh, Alfon-"Alfonso turned to see why his companion stopped mid-sentence. He saw his friend crumple to the ground in a bloody heap.

"What the-"Theresa was thrown carelessly to the ground as Alfonso stood to investigate. She had trouble seeing what was happening from her current position; all she saw was Alfonso fall back down just as quickly as he had stood with his chest covered in his blood. Theresa felt someone come behind her, cut the straps on her wrists, and help her to her feet. As she stood the blood loss from her injuries caught up to her. Her head swam and she fell against her rescuer, whose identity was still unknown to her, as her vision went black.