this lyrics from “tammy fayr” by nicole dollanganger reminds me of undertaker.
“But it’s just how I get
With my Tammy Faye eyes
Blood on my clothes and my hands
I’ve done it again
You know you’ll just have to go bury this
In the garden and leave it till there’s nothing left
For me to find, when I try to dig it up
And bring it back to life”
Remember this handwritten little thing? Well, I finally got around to type it out so it’s easier to read it. I added a few things here and there, and, well, it will have multiple parts now! :D
Wherever he goes, she is there.
Because some demons will never leave you.
And even the dead can succumb to insanity.
Every of his days was built on certain basics: getting up, eating breakfast, starting to work. His daily basics had been the same for many years now, but that didn’t mean that he was bored, that he wished for a different, more adventurous or thrilling life.
After all, he greatly liked his work, and all the excitement he needed visited him in the form of a young boy and his black butler from time to time.
But even without those visits and forgetting the fact that he enjoyed his work, his life certainly wasn’t boring.
“Aren’t you excited that he will pay us a visit today? Of course, you are. You always are.”
After all, she was there.
She was sitting on his desk when he went downstairs to the parlour, her back facing him.
Sometimes, she was a child; sometimes, she was a young woman. But she was never an old one. After all, she had never lived to be older than thirty-six.
Today, she seemed to be around twenty.
“Say, Undertaker, don’t you wonder if he will come with only his butler again, or if he will bring more people with him? He rarely comes in a group, but it would be so much more fun if he did! Don’t you think so?” She chuckled. “Of course, you do. After all, I know what goes on in that restless head of yours.”
“Not even you can know what I think, Countess,” he replied, and Countess Cloudia Phantomhive turned around to him, smirking.
She had been beautiful when she had been alive; she was beautiful still – and her beauty would never fade because, for her, time stood still.
“Of course, I can, Undertaker. I am only a fragment of your imagination – my thoughts are your thoughts.”
Undertaker shook his head. “We’ve discussed that. You are a ghost, Countess.”
“We both know very well that ghosts don’t exist. Demons and Grim Reapers, yes, but not ghosts. It isn’t very healthy to lie to yourself – and to talk to yourself. It doesn’t matter if you imagine talking to me. After all, I have already established that I don’t really exist, that the only place I do is inside your mind. You are talking to nobody else but you.”
“You haven’t established anything.”
“Oh – really? Then, Undertaker, try to convince me, try to convince yourself that all I’ve said is wrong. That you weren’t thinking about the Earl’s visit, that you weren’t wishing for him to bring along more people – for him to socialise and live, and for him to let you be part of the life he builds.
“Convince yourself that I am not here because you still didn’t get over my death and are desperately holding onto my memory because you are too weak to let go.
“Try it, Undertaker, but keep in mind that you have already failed the moment you made me say all these things to you.”
Cloudia stood up and walked towards him. She raised her right hand to his face but didn’t touch it.
“It is time to wake up, Cedric,” she softly whispered, and Undertaker turned away.
And here’s the end of it! Hope you had fun with it.
Chapter Four: The Countess, Fearsome
“To make the deal complete, it was necessary to become someone else.”
London, England, United Kingdom ‒ January 2016
Originally, my plan had been to return to my lovely manor in the countryside after wrapping up the case with Ronan Parrish. But while I was having breakfast in my bed ‒ and watching The Descent Into Hell is Easy, it had gotten a bit too late yesterday –, my butler, Alfred Newman, came to me with a silver tray, carrying one single letter. Right after taking a glimpse at it, I knew that my stay in London would have to be expanded for an unknown amount of time.
I took the letter from Newman and read it, sighing that I had been right like always, and Her Majesty hadn’t just sent me an amicable letter. Was asking for a day off too much? But, of course, I couldn’t decline a request by the Queen. However, she had written that the completion of this case wasn’t very urgent, so I decided, after finishing breakfast that I would let it be for today at least and spend my time with something else.
“You are late,” Cloudia told him when he entered her private chambers through the balcony doors.
Last night, I had made a deal with an actual Grim Reaper. After we both had agreed to work together, the following conversation happened:
“We need a way to communicate,” I had said.
“I have two skull pendant necklaces which allow the wearers to communicate telepathically as long as they touch the pendant,” the Grim Reaper, Cedric Rossdale, had suggested with shining eyes. “I never got around to try them out ‒ this would be the perfect opportunity to finally get to use them.”
“Don’t Grim Reapers have mobile phones? I mean, you talked about googling people, so you have at least a computer.”
“We do have mobile phones ‒ we always get the latest smart phone models.”
“So why don’t we just exchange phone numbers? Or is the Grim Reaper telephone network wiretapped?”
“No, it’s not ‒ we live way too long to want to listen to boring and silly conversations 24/7. Would you like to be assigned to some kind of ‘Wiretap Division’ where you have to listen to Betty and Veronica’s ‘Did you see the latest Lagerfeld collection?’-or-‘Twilight is waaaay better than Hemingway’ -conversations for all eternity?”
“Hell, no.”
“See?”
“So we can just exchange phone numbers. Why don’t we do it then?”
“First of all, magical skull pendant necklaces are awesome.”
“You sound like a eight-year-old kid ‘Walkie-talkies are life,’” I interrupted him.
He ignored me. “Second,” he continued. “my mobile phone bill would get too high. Interdimensional calls cannot be cheap.”
In the end, he had given me a necklace with a skull pendant before Newman had finally arrived and we could dispose of Parrish’s corpse.
After carelessly throwing the Queen’s letter on my bedside table, I continued to watch the second episode of Shadowhunters.
In 2013, a movie adaption to the first book of Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series had come out. It had been okay, but the critics had hated it, and the producers had made the terrible mistake to change important plot elements. For example, the whole brother-sister-drama had been spoiled and demons could enter the Institute. Therefore, the fans had not been very fond of the movie too. The already announced City of Ashes movie had been eventually dropped and a TV series covering City of Bones again had been created instead, in hope to be more successful with it.
The TV series turned out to be terrible though. There were a few good points ‒ Matthew Daddario and Harry Shum Jr. were adorable, Luke being a detective was awesome, some scenes were quite cool, for example the first few minutes of the first episode –, but the bad points, unfortunately, predominated: The drastic change in Maureen’s character, Katherine McNamara’s and Dominic Sherwood’s hair ‒ they needed an appointment at a hairdresser’s as soon as possible –, horrible special effects, whatever Isabelle did in the first episode and her white dress, Raphael, Valentine’s lair in Chernobyl, some actors’ performances...
At least, the show provided a few good laughs. I should show it to Cedric Rossdale someday.
I preferred reading classic literature ‒ nobody could ever dethrone Charles Dickens in my heart –, but two years ago, I had started to read more actual literature. Some Middle Grade books, some Young Adults books. Cassandra Clare’s Shadowhunters Chronicles were one of my favourite YA books – I liked The Infernal Devices the most and could not await reading Lady Midnight which would come out in two months, or The Last Hours which would come out someday. 2018 or something.
After I had finished breakfast, watching Shadowhunters and reading the newest comments on my review, many book review, blog, I clutched my hand around the petite skull pendant and pressed, signalising the Reaper to come. Right afterwards, I got up, dressed myself in jeans and a flower blouse and went to the little library in my private chamber to wait for him there.
“I had work to do, Countess,” Cedric Rossdale, the Grim Reaper with the long grey hair, explained and closed the balcony doors which she had left open for him, even though it was cold and icy outside.
“Still, this is no excuse for being hours late,” she replied and blinked towards the big, heavy long case clock.
He covered his mouth with one of his overly-long sleeves and chuckled. “My, my, what a funny face you make, Countess. Even though I want to see this face more often, I promise to reap the souls of the dead faster.”
Cedric sat down on one of the large, heavy armchairs, covered in dark green velvet, in front of the chimney. Cloudia had assigned Newman to lit up a fire ‒ there were heaters in the room, but open fires had some charm during winter –, before she had opened the balcony doors, so she wouldn’t freeze to death while waiting for Cedric. She laid down the book in her hands ‒ The Battle of Life: A Love Story – and looked at him.
“I hope you are aware of the reason why I summoned you here?”
“I bet that it has something to do with our deal.”
“Exactly. A brain actually seems to be hiding inside that head of yours.” She leaned forward and smiled her mischievous smile. “If you want to take part in my investigations, in my life, you have to accompany me anywhere. However, because of my social status and the fact that I am of nobility, I can’t let you to be seen with me in public. Not like you are right now. So... ” Cloudia’s smile widened and she closed her eyes and tilted her head. “... today’s topic is to make you undergo a makeover and turn you into a fine British gentleman.”
“So I hope that Grim Reapers get at least basic education?”
After Cedric had agreed to do whatever she wished, Cloudia had started to gather some books from her various shelves. Most of her useful books were in the Phantomhive Manor and not in the townhouse, but the ones she had on site would do the work just fine.
“Before I became a Grim Reaper, I only went to school until I turned twelve,” Cedric told her after a while, and his words caused her to stop and turn around to face him.
“You were something else before becoming a Grim Reaper?”
He nodded and Cloudia frowned. He avoided looking directly at her. “Grim Reapers aren’t born. We all were humans like you before we became Reapers.”
“That’s interesting,” Cloudia said. “And how do humans become Grim Reapers?”
Cedric hesitated for only a blink of an eye, but she still noticed it. “They have to die first,” he answered her.
“Does that mean that every human becomes a Reaper after dying?”
He was strangely silent for a moment. “Only humans who died in a certain way.”
Even though, Cloudia wanted to know how exactly you had to die to become a Grim Reaper like Cedric, she knew that he didn’t like talking about this kind of subject. And because she didn’t want to displease him just now at this early stage of their cooperation, she let it be for the time being.
I would find out how Grim Reapers came into existence. I just needed to wait for the perfect moment to get this piece of information out of Cedric.
I couldn’t await it.
“After being reborn, I had to attend the ‘school’ in the Grim Reaper Dispatch for a while,” Cedric continued while looking directly into the fire in the chimney. “A lot of people who are reborn as Reapers cannot read because of their past, because they, for example, lived in great poverty as humans, so they have a special system to educate new Reapers. A Grim Reaper, who isn’t even able to read a Death Book, would be useless after all.”
“So you can read and write. What else have they taught you?” Cloudia questioned him further. It was fairly interesting to get to know more about the society of Grim Reapers.
“Maths. History. Geography. Foreign languages. Dead, ancient languages. Science. Actually everything human children learn at school.” Cedric suddenly chuckled and stopped being so serious and started being Cedric again.
“Come to think of it ‒ in the last five years in which I’ve followed you, I never saw you sitting in a class and learning with other children your age. Don’t you go to school, Countess? You’re just a kid after all.” He giggled. “Kids should be in school and not murdering people.”
Cloudia scowled at him and he looked up at her, the fire being reflected in his glasses.
“Male Phantomhives attend Weston College,” she informed him. “It’s a prestigious boarding school in the area around London which is only for boys. Female Phantomhives are sent to Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies. Even if I am the current family head, I cannot attend Weston College like my predecessors as I am a girl and not willing to play being a boy for seven years while going for puberty and sharing a room with other boys. Therefore I should actually go and study at Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies, but because it’s also a boarding school and too far away from here to go there and come back home every day, I cannot attend this school either. After all, my mother isn’t able to lead the household in her current condition, thus I cannot leave her and the manor alone. Therefore I am home-schooled. I briefly went to a grammar school last year for my GCSE though, and now I attend some classes from time to time because of my A Level.”
Laughing like a lunatic, Cedric fell down the armchair and onto Cloudia’s lovely Chinese carpet.
“Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies! I can’t hold it! That’s too much! Hahaha!”
She sighed.
If he weren’t helpful in any way, I would have shot him by now and hung him over my chimney ‒ like Mr Crabs had threatened to SpongeBob and Patrick he would in this one episode of SpongeBob SquarePants, I would hang Cedric’s head and not his buttocks though –, before continuing to read The Battle of Life: A Love Story while drinking Fortnum & Mason tea. I had gotten it last week from this marvelous Fortnum & Mason shop close to Piccadilly Circus. Of course, on my way there from Piccadilly Circus I had stopped at Waterstones and Hatchards to get myself a couple of new books. These bookstores were just too wonderful not to stop for. Also, nothing was better than new books and new tea.
“Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies! What a horrible name! Bwahahaha!”
Cloudia kicked Cedric and sent him flying towards the armchair’s heavy legs.
“Stop this nonsense,” she ordered him while looking down at him. He was lying all messily in his black suit which was slightly too large for him in front of her feet and blinking up at her. His glasses were inclined on his nose.
“My, my, Countess, don’t you think that the name of this school is nothing but hilarious? Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies! What a joke!”
Cedric continued rolling over the expensive carpet, and Cloudia was reminded why she had thought of him as a maniac upon their first meeting.
Actually, the name was really hilarious as it was utterly ridiculous. I couldn’t believe that the girls who were born into the Phantomhive family line had to attend a school with such a name. But, of course, even though it was honestly funny, we, I, didn’t have any time for that kind of stuff.
“Snitchey and Craggs had each, in private life as in professional existence, a partner of his own. Snitchey and Craggs were the best friends in the world, and had a real confidence in one another; but Mrs. Snitchey, by a dispensation not uncommon in the affairs of life, was on principle suspicious of Mr. Craggs; and Mrs. Craggs was on principle suspicious of Mr. Snitchey.”
Because Cedric was still laughing on the floor and seemingly didn’t intend to stop in the foreseeable future, Cloudia had decided to spend the time until he would calm down in the best possible way: with continuing to read The Battle of Life: A Love Story.
“‘Your Snitcheys indeed,’ the latter lady would observe, sometimes, to Mr. Craggs; using that imaginative plural as if in disparagement of an objectionable pair of pantaloons, or other articles not possessed of a singular number; ‘I don't see what you want with your Snitcheys, for my part. You trust a great deal too much to your Snitcheys, I think, and I hope you may never find my words come true.’ While Mrs. Snitchey would observe to Mr. Snitchey, of Craggs, ‘that if ever he was led away by man he was led away by that man, and that if ever she read a double purpose in a mortal eye, she read that purpose in Craggs’s eye.’”
She had just finished page 19 and started page 20. While waiting for Cedric to arrive, Cloudia had read and finished The Chimes, another novella by Charles Dickens, but this time from the year 1844; and because he had arrived when she had just read the very first sentence of The Battle of Life: A Love Story (“Once upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fierce battle was fought.”), she hadn’t arrived that far in the story. Also, even if she had resumed reading after Cedric just wouldn’t stop laughing, Cloudia didn’t get too far either as it was quite hard to read while someone was rolling on the floor and laughing like a psychologically unstable person ‒ and this directly in front of your own feet. Then, finally, Cedric calmed down.
“By the way, what are you reading, Countess?” he wanted to know and sat himself up.
“A Dickens novella,” Cloudia told him, put a bookmark, which her cousin Cathleen had made her when they were just little children, in-between the pages and laid the book down a side table made of dark wood.
“I hope we can finally resume our lesson? We lost plenty of time and have a lot of work to do.”
Of all the Grim Reapers I could have encountered, it had to be the one who would burst into laughter because of every tiny thing.
Of course this could have only happened to me. But because I had proposed the deal, I had to endure it.
Also, I was the Countess of Phantomhive – a laughing Grim Reaper should not drive me crazy even though he was annoying as hell.
“Letting you take a test would swallow up a lot of time, which we simply do not have, so we skip it and go directly to manners and etiquette.”
Cloudia signalised Cedric with a hand wave to sit down at her work table, while she put out some crockery and cutlery, which she had borrowed from the kitchen before Cedric’s arrival, and lined them up neatly on the table in front of him.
“It is quite impossible to avoid dinner or tea parties when you are my associate. Even if we are living in the 21st century and there is no such thing as a ‘Season’ anymore, some high society people and nobles still like to think there is,” Cloudia said. “Which means that you have to be aware and able to implement the rules and manners for meals. Or don’t Grim Reaper have to eat?”
“We have to,” Cedric informed her, eying the strange set-up suspiciously. “Grim Reapers have to eat, sleep, use bath rooms... We are basically like normal humans, only immortal and with enhanced speed, power and endurance. Which means that not even we can watch Netflix 24/7 without dying of starvation, dehydration or due to an explosion of our urinary bladder.”
Cloudia sighed. “Whatever. At least, you don’t have to learn how to pretend that you’re eating.” She picked up the spoon on the far right side and smiled brightly. “Let’s get started. Silverware is to be used from the outside in, but first of all, I want you to become familiar with the individual parts of the basic table set. This, for example, is a soup spoon...”
After teaching him the names of all different parts of the table set, how to use them properly and how to actually eat effectively with this knowledge, I continued to teach him the rules of picking up food and everything else Cedric needed to know about formal dining.
Then, I worked on his way of walking. He walked without any grace, and then his back wasn’t even straight. I piled the books I had taken from my shelves earlier on Cedric’s head, amused myself with his failure to keep them at place and subtly took a video of him when he wasn’t looking. It would definitely get a lot of clicks on YouTube, and thus it was brilliant blackmail material.
After he finally managed to walk properly ‒ unbelievable that he couldn’t even do that! – I let him sit down the armchair again as we now had to discuss other important aspects.
“Your clothes,” Cloudia started without making a friendly, appeasing introduction.
“What’s with my clothes?”
“Have you never realised that they are just too big for you? You’re basically a blade of grass where a towel was thrown onto. I hope you never thought, that you could accompany me to high society social events and gatherings with such monstrosities you call clothing.”
Cedric grinned cockily. “Then I will have to lie.”
“You are a rather painful creature, aren’t you, Cedric Rossdale?”
“You are a rather stern and serious being, aren’t you, Cloudia Phantomhive?” His grin widened. “I hope you know that I don’t have any other clothing which doesn’t look like the outfit I wear today.”
“Didn’t you wear that yesterday already?”
Cedric held his belly in laughter. “You’re so hilarious, Countess! Even though you seem to be a sadist with making me remember all these spoon names and letting me balance all these heavy books, I think I made the right choice in agreeing on your deal. You frequently give me a reason to laugh! Of course, I didn’t wear this robe yesterday! It possesses a totally different shade of black ‒ ‘A Totally Different Shade of Black’ would be a great book title if this James bimbo ever decides to get herself a swimming pool out of gold through publishing another ‘50-whatever terribly unsatisfied woman with a terrifyingly low IQ writes like a twelve year old kid who just got into puberty’-bullshit load – than the one I wore yesterday! That you don’t even know that, Countess! I’m disappointed! Guehehe.”
Cloudia sighed.
I was Cloudia Phantomhive, the Countess of Phantomhive. I. Would. Not. Turn. Mad. Because. Of. This. Laughing. Maniac.
What he had said about E.L. bimbo James was hilarious though.
“Very well. So you don’t have anything better to wear,” Cloudia said while Cedric whipped away some tears of laughter.
“I hope you don’t suggest to take me shopping. I’m not very fond of shopping.”
“Never heard of online shopping? We go through a few websites ‒ Amazon, Zalando and stuff – and get you ‒ and me – some clothes in a couple of minutes without having to leave the townhouse. It will take a while to arrive though, so we have to find you something else in the meantime.”
Cedric sighed. “Why do I even have to get new clothes? Humans are also running around in suits.”
“But not in suits who are too large for them and not all the time. You simply cannot wear a suit for every occasion. Especially not just black ones. Or do you want to tell everyone you’re a witch from Hooky, a member of the Men in Black or MI5?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I hope you’re aware that I can break our deal every time, Countess.”
Cloudia leaned forward to him, a wicked smile all over her face. “You agreed on the deal, knowing very clearly who I am. You followed me in the past five years, therefore you’re aware of my social position. I am not an ordinary citizen. I am the Watchdog of the Queen. I am a Countess. I am of nobility, and I am rich ‒ I own a very large porcelain company, goddammit. And nobles and rich people are very, very fond of social gatherings. Because I am also part of the high society, I am obligated to attend some of these gatherings, although I’m not very pleased about it.
“Our deal contained you accompanying me during my investigations. And if my investigation leads me to such a gathering, you have to bring a certain degree of decency, manners and grace along. Also, I cannot walk around the streets with a man who wears sack-like clothes and doesn’t even know the basics of the fine etiquette, and therefore, I cannot investigate with someone like that by my side. It would damage my reputation. It would ruin the facade I worked so hard to build up over the past years. It would hinder my investigations.
“This deal is a deal to help the other ‒ not to ruin them! You knew absolutely well what would await you if you took the deal ‒ and you still did it. So just stick to the conditions of our bargain.”
Her smile grew wider.
“Also ‒ I don’t know why you agreed on my deal as you’re a supernatural creature after all. But I know that you certainly have a reason. And whatever this reason was and still is, it has to be something so big, so important to you that you simply will not end our bargain right now. After all, this reason let you make a deal with me ‒ a mere human, the head of the Phantomhives.
“So, if you want, if you dare, to threat me again, please do so in a way which builds up on a less obvious lie. If you truly want to work with me, you have to become more sneaky.
“And now ‒ let’s continue, Grim Reaper.”
“I know that you dress up like a man on occasions ‒ but why exactly do you possess clothes for males, which are too big for you?”
I had given Cedric an outfit of mine I thought he could fit into. It wasn’t the newest piece of cloth, but I had only worn it once, so it was still in a formidable state, and due to its fine fabrication and colour scheme absolutely acceptable to wear at all times.
And, naturally, I had been right: Cedric fit perfectly into the clothes as if they had been tailored just for him.
“It’s an old story,” Cloudia answered and watched Cedric how he looked at himself in the mirror as he was looking at someone entirely different.
“One year ago, I received a request from the Queen to investigate a certain person. After I found out that he was illegally creating crystal meth in his basement, I had to eliminate him and his supporters. It wasn’t a difficult thing to do. Just before I eliminated the last of them, he managed to grab my phone and destroy it ‒ only to be shot in the face the moment afterwards. Newman was waiting for my call but without a mobile and money for a telephone cell, I could not call him. And these stupid junkies didn’t even have a phone and I really did not feel like searching for their mobiles on them, so I decided to go to Newman’s waiting point. My clothes were dirty and partially covered in blood though, so it was quite hard for me to walk around without anyone noticing it. At least it had already been dark outside and I wasn’t in the center of London. However, it was November and without a proper coat ‒ I left mine in the junkies’ basement as it was too soaked in blood –, I could have frozen to death.
“Fortunately, I came across a little tailoring. I broke into the shop, and changed into some dry clothes. But because I was in a hurry ‒ nobody should catch me after all; also I had to go to Newman as fast as I could or someone could have gone into the basement and found the corpses and the meth and run away with it or something like that –, I just took clothes which fit together and didn’t check their sizes. I disposed my own attire and went to see Newman, so he could drive me to Scotland Yard.”
Cedric chuckled. “My, my, you gave me a stolen outfit!”
“But it fits you, and you do not look particularly horrible in it, so you can use it until we have time to get you some more clothes. You need a lot of attire, if you’re with me. Also, I left money in the tailor’s shop for the clothes.”
Cloudia rose from her emerald-green armchair and walked towards Cedric. She touched his hair. “We need to comb it. Have you ever thought about cutting it shorter?” She chuckled. “You could be mistaken for a hippie after all.”
If she let her black hair, which was usually in a braid or a high ponytail, fall loose, it would be around as long as his.
He firmly shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I like it as it is right now.”
She nodded. “Then you have to comb it neatly, and arrange it into a ponytail with a ribbon which you tie into a bow. You will look more classy like that. It’s also good that you have black glasses with a thin frame. They will harmonise nicely with all colours, so we don’t have to worry about that.
“Now, please sit down again. Before Newman comes and tells me that dinner is ready, we have to discuss a few other things.”
They sat down in front of the chimney again. The fire inside was still dancing and trying to escape from its prison made of stone. It had shrunken a while ago, but Cedric had lit it up again, so the fire could continue its struggle.
“We need a new name for you,” Cloudia said straightforward. “A new identity. If you have already lived once under the name of Cedric Rossdale, you could be tracked by my enemies and some nasty people who become suspicious of you. It would cause too much trouble if anybody found out that you actually died once. Also, if you take upon a new identity, it’s easier for you to get accepted into the high society. We could come up with a fake title, a fake background and lineage for you, and say that you come from far away and didn’t inherit the title or wealth until a while ago. They will believe that, and if they try to track you down under this false name, they will only find the lies we have positioned in front of their feet. Like that we wouldn’t have to rewrite the history of Cedric Rossdale, but to create someone entirely new. And this would certainly be easier.
“Don’t you agree, my dear Undertaker?”
Cedric frowned. “‘Undertaker’?”
She shrugged. “Aren’t you one?”
“I’m a Grim Reaper, Countess. I’m not an Undertaker at all.”
“But don’t you think that Grim Reapers and undertakers are quite similar? The work of both starts when someone dies after all. And both hold the responsibility to bring a living being to a rightful and peaceful rest. Another similarity is the fact that both get to work because of me. Also, I think the nickname ‘Undertaker’ suits you quite well, doesn’t it?”
Cedric leaned back. In his new attire ‒ the dark trousers, the polished black shoes, the starched white shirt and the dark blue waistcoat – he actually looked good. Like a grey- and long-haired version of Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Finally, Cloudia was able to see his figure which was so, so thin and fragile-looking. But because he had been able to lift a huge scythe and she hadn’t been able to free herself from his grip yesterday, and because he had told her that Reapers were physically stronger than humans, his outer appearance was nothing more than deceptive. And you had to be deceptive to survive the life of a Phantomhive.
“So – how should we name you? What title should we grant you, Undertaker?”
I didn’t like calling him “Grim Reaper” at all. But if he just called me “Countess,” I guess “Undertaker” should work just fine for him. Also, I liked the sound of it. Undertaker. It was a much nicer word than “mortician,” even though “Mort” ‒ like the mortician from UndeadEd! – would have made a good nickname too.
Cloudia tilted her head, an idea appearing in her mind. “What’s your middle name, by the way? I know it starts with a ‘K,’ but I don’t know the full name.”
“It’s ‘Kristopher,’” Cedric told her and she smiled.
“Then we have a first name for you, Kristopher...” She thought for a moment. “... Underwood.”
He frowned. “‘Underwood’?”
“It’s the most similar name I could think of to ‘Undertaker,’ and I think that both names fit perfectly together. Kristopher Underwood. It’s sounding like the name of someone important, but it’s not too extravagant simultaneously. It’s perfect, don’t you think, Undertaker?”
Cedric gazed at Cloudia and folded his arms in front of his chest. “I guess it works,” he said after a while. Then, he started to giggle.
“You’re someone who has to plan everything frantically in detail, aren’t you, Countess? Manners, clothes, name. You’re just hilarious.” More giggling.
Cloudia ignored his remark. “Fantastic. And now, a title! What title of nobility do you want to have? You don’t necessarily need a title as we could make your alter ego just ridiculously rich, but it’s much nicer that way.”
“Viscount Kristopher Underwood,” Cedric tried. “Marquess Kristopher Underwood. Baron Kristopher Underwood. Hm...” He giggled and covered his mouth while doing so. However, this time, he couldn’t do it with his sleeve and had to use his hand.
“Duke Kristopher Underwood sounds quite good.”
Probably, he just wanted to suit a noble rank above mine.
“Very well,” Cloudia said. “This is settled then too. I will work on the rest.” She stood up and went to her desk. She opened one of the drawers and took out the letter from this morning. The red wax signet was already broken. Cloudia handed the letter over to Cedric who took it with a raised eyebrow.
“The last topic for today: Queen Elizabeth gave us our first assignment as a team today. We will start investigating tomorrow, so please, do not be late.”
Part 3 in which Modern!Cloudia is more of a geek/dork than Victorian!Cloudia and that’s something.
Chapter Three: The Countess, Making Deals
“If she could get her advances out of it, she loved making deals.”
London, England, United Kingdom ‒ January 2016
As soon as the man finished speaking, he started to laugh hysterically.
Such a weird person.
Cloudia was staring at him in disbelief due to the words he had just spoken before bursting into laughter.
“‘Grim Reaper’?” she repeated sceptically in a slow manner. “The ones with the scythes? ‘Death, also known as the Grim Reaper, The Destroyer, The Hooded One, The Angel of Death, & The ‘God’ of Death, etc. is a common element in human cultures and history. Death is an iconic character throughout the world and is famous for the ‘Death Touch.’ As a personified force it has been imagined in many different ways. The popular depiction of Death as a skeletal figure carrying a large scythe and clothed in a black cloak with a hood first arose in 15th century England, while the title the ‘Grim Reaper’ is first attested in 1847.’ The personification of death according to Wikipedia?”
“Well... Since the 19th century, it has become quite popular for Grim Reapers to get a custom scythe which can be in a form of various things. Mostly, they pick special gardening tools like chainsaws, pruners or even lawn mowers,” he replied scarily serious, and Cloudia sighed deeply.
“A lunatic,” she murmured. “I really do not have any time to handle that kind of thing.” Cloudia turned around and was about to go and find Newman as soon as possible, so she could finally wrap up this case and return to her comfortable townhouse, when the man suddenly caught her by the arm.
“Where are you going?” he asked her, his green eyes shining behind his glasses.
I didn’t know why, but these eyes... they seemed oddly familiar to me. As if I had seen such a pair of eyes before ‒ a pair of eyes with a strange yellowish green colouring.
I couldn’t properly define the odd feeling, which came over me when I looked into his eyes. But somehow, my head started to hurt because of it.
Of course, I dissembled the slowly growing headaches.
Cloudia glared at him. “Why should I tell you? This conversation has already reached its conclusion. Go back to the asylum you’ve escaped from and have a nice day, stranger. And if you do not let me go immediately, I will call the cops and let you be thrown back into your asylum. In case you’re actually a rapist or a mugger or some other criminal, they will happily throw you in a nice warm cell.” She wanted to free herself from his grip, but he held her tightly.
As the Watchdog, she had been trained to wield weapons and taught in different martial arts. Therefore, while looking slim and fragile, Cloudia was quite strong for a woman and could even fight against a taller man without many difficulties. However, she just couldn’t free herself from the grip of this man. No matter how much power she put into her attempt to free herself, Cloudia just couldn’t move the arm he held.
He’s ridiculously strong, although he looked like he would fall and break if the wind blew a bit too intensely.
“Let. Me. Go,” Cloudia hissed.
He giggled. “You should see your face ‒ all serious.”
She sighed.
Never in my life I had met such an annoying man before.
“Whatever you want from me, tell me right now or just stay quiet and let me go,” Cloudia demanded.
“Well... you called me a ‘lunatic,’ a ‘rapist,’ a ‘mugger’ and ‘some other criminal’ after I’ve told you what you wanted to know. I do not like it when other people call me names,” the man replied with an amused tone, which didn’t really fit together with the words he had just said.
“People who claim to be ‘Grim Reapers’ just cannot be anything but lunatics ‒ or people who thought of a terrible new way of confusing victims before attacking them. At least, you did not claim to be a Cthulhu and put your ridiculously long hair in front of your face and stated that it were tentacles. Now let me go, or I will not go easy on you.” Cloudia scowled at him.
He giggled again. “You always present yourself as omniscient, but in the end you’re just like the others. Unknowing. But because you are such a funny person, Countess, let me give you a special service.”
He let go of her arm and stepped back in the blink of an eye. Before Cloudia could react, the man put out a gigantic scythe seemingly out of nowhere ‒ a grin running all over his face.
“Well... even though most Reapers have a special custom-made Death Scythe nowadays, I stuck to the old-fashioned type,” the man told her with a wholeheartedly laugh.
“Judging from the expression on your face, Countess, I would guess that you are, at this very moment, considering to be a lunatic yourself.” He grinned widely.
There he was standing ‒ with a Death Scythe in his hands which was covered in bones like a present in ribbons.
I just couldn’t take off my eyes of this eerie beauty.
“So you actually said the truth,” Cloudia said slowly, so she wouldn’t triple on her own words or even stutter. She never stuttered. Also, she never tripled. She was far too graceful and eloquent to allow such things to occur.
“Of course, I did,” the man, the Grim Reaper, replied and put back the scythe wherever he had taken it from ‒ perhaps, he possessed some kind of Hyperspace Arsenal or his scythe was his very personal Hyperspace Mallet or, well, a Hyperspace scythe. “After all, I have no reason to lie to you.”
“But also you have no reason to tell me all these things, or even show yourself in front of me too,” she said, making him giggle again.
“You’re right, Countess. I have no reason at all.”
I had no idea what I should think of this man ‒ this Grim Reaper with the long silvery grey hair which he kept in a high ponytail, the yellowish green eyes behind his glasses, and the black clothes which were a bit too large for him. This giggling and laughing and grinning Grim Reaper.
Wasn’t it ironic that Grim Reapers represented death itself, but the one I faced was gleaming with life?
Hell. Poetry and literature classes had really left a mark on me.
“Well...,” Cloudia started, an idea manifesting itself in her mind. “As I know it... Grim Reapers possess some special kind of journal...”
“You’re right.” The Reaper sounded amused due to the fact that she knew that even though she had quoted the entire first passage of “Death (personification)” on Wikipedia earlier. “The journal you mean is actually the Death Book. It contains the death dates of people. However, it only holds the death dates for the next year. It would be far too big and heavy otherwise. But, a book, containing all death dates of every living person and the dates of the already deceased ones, does exist, but it isn’t given out to regular Grim Reapers. It can be found in a highly classified section at our headquarters. Only authorised personnel is allowed to wander around this section.
“There are also different Death Books for different regions. The Welsh Reapers have different ones than the English ones. And even in-between England there are different Death Books, covering the ones who will pass away in a certain region in the following year,” he explained to her. She raised an eyebrow.
Why exactly did he tell me all this? Wouldn’t it have been enough to say “The journals you mean are called ‘Death Books’ and contain the death dates of people”? Or did he fear that I would ask him all this things nevertheless, and wanted to answer me as soon as possible?
He was indeed odd.
What if there were also asylums for Grim Reapers? And he was one of these insane Reapers?
“So you’re telling me that the one you have is all about the dying people in London and surroundings?”
“Exactly. And most of the cases I have to investigate are in the book because of you,” he pointed at her with his long index finger.
“As the Queen’s Watchdog, you leave quite a pile of bodies behind you, Countess. However, even if the book contains the causes of people’s deaths, it doesn’t contain the murderer, or even the location, or the reason why they’ve died due to that cause. So, I have a rule: Always stick to the Countess first.” The Reaper chuckled.
Now, it was her turn to grin as her plan was beginning to get a shape.
“Well, Mr Grim Reaper,” Cloudia begun. “When you have to follow or watch me anyway ‒ why don’t you just accompany me?
He blinked at her in shock, which amused her because he had never displayed such an expression in front of her before.
“You could stay by my side while I do my work, so you can be certain that the people, whose souls you have to collect, will really be my victims or not. It would make your job a lot easier, don’t you agree with me on that?” she continued. The light illuminated her face when she put on her mischievous smile.
“Also, you could tell me the names of the ones who will die, making my work easier too. We could help each other in an absolutely fantastic way.”
“I don’t think that will work, Countess,” the Grim Reaper said, his face suddenly dead serious. “Reapers aren’t allowed to interfere with life and death. And seriously ‒ the Grim Reapers who studied law once can be quite annoying when it comes to these things.”
“But you do not interfere with life and death at all!” Cloudia replied. “You don’t have to save someone, you don’t have to kill someone. All you have to do is collecting souls. Therefore, you would just do what is expected of you anyway. Collecting souls.
“And if you had truly followed me while I was executing my duty as the Queen’s Watchdog, you should be well aware of the fact that I would never save any of my prey. If you agree on this deal, you would just tell me, if the name of my current suspect is listed in the book, so I wouldn’t have to waste time on other possible suspects. Of course, I would still have to collect evidence which I could present the Queen. Then, I would kill the culprit and you can collect their soul. I wouldn’t save him or her, you should know that, Mr Grim Reaper, so everything will be fine.
“You could help me with my work. I could help you with yours. And none of us would break any of the rules of the Grim Reapers. None of us would ever interfere with the contents of the Death Book, if you are still not convinced of this I could also get a written contract made we would both sign.”
She stepped closer to him. Even with high heels, he was a head taller than she, but Cloudia still managed to look dignified while looking up at him to see directly into his face. “I may be wrong, but from what I have seen of you in the last few minutes, I would guess that you cherish a good laugh? Also, didn’t you say that the Death Books do not contain the reason for the people’s deaths? And wouldn’t it be fun to actually participate in my investigation rather than only observing it, and get to know better the reason for their deaths?
“Another reason why a contract between us could be beneficial: I may be mistaken, but isn’t it part of a Grim Reapers work not only to collect souls, but to judge them? And wouldn’t it help you a lot to see for yourself what kind of person the one was you have to collect the soul of?”
Concluding, Cloudia gave him a bright grin.
“I must disappoint you, Countess,” the Reaper replied with a grin as bright as hers. “Judging souls in the 21st century is as simple as making toast ‒ people put their entire lives in social media platforms for everyone to watch. You cannot even imagine how funny it is to google a future death candidate, only to find out through their Cinematic Records that most of their ‘cool and amazing life full of adventures and parties’ was fictional.”
She scowled at him. “It’s still not as exciting as first-hand experience.”
The Grim Reaper was silent for a moment, which genuinely surprised and pleased her at once. “I have a question,” he said after a while. “What if the name of one of your family members appears in the book? Or of a friend?”
“I wouldn’t save them too,” Cloudia answered without hesitation, her voice steady and serious. “The death dates in your book seem quite definite to me, so I couldn’t do anything anyway. I see no reason to try something utterly hopeless or pointless. It would just waste time I simply do not have.”
The Grim Reaper seemed to actually consider her suggestion, and Cloudia smiled even wider at this thought.
How wonderful it would be if I had him by my side! Everything would be easier! And I wouldn’t get bored while executing the Queen’s will with him by my side, as I would finally have someone to talk to during the investigations!
Also, I wondered, how much fun it would be to extend my act on one more person? Fooling society even more?
Besides.. whatever he said, he just had to have a reason to show himself in front of me.
And I was curious to find out what this reason was.
“I agree on the deal,” he declared after a while of silence. Cloudia’s smile shone as bright as the full moon over their heads.
“Thank you. Then we’re colleagues now. So... I guess that you could finally tell me your name, or do you prefer me calling you ‘Mr Grim Reaper’ until the sun engulfs Mercury, Venus and perhaps Earth after she became a Red Giant? Or, are all Reapers nameless?” she wanted to know.
He looked away, the contours of his face were lit up by the silver light, making his somehow distressed face even more obvious.
“My name is... Cedric K. Rossdale,” he answered her in a whisper.
Cloudia held out her hand with a wicked grin. “Very well. So the deal is done, Cedric K. Rossdale.”
Cedric took her gloved hand and smiled. “Very well, the deal is done, Cloudia Phantomhive.”
