Your Own Skin (Black Butler)

The Body Thief

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 though. 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.