#beefisgood

☏ - I wish we’d talk more✌- I want to get to know you☺ - I want to be your friend＃- I want to thank you

The young earl paused, scrutinizing the contents of the letter. It was quite odd for such sentiments to cross his desk, particularly from someone other than Elizabeth or Soma. Ciel picked up his quill.

How kind. While my time is quite valuable, my butler would be more than happy to pencil you in for tea.

He paused, considering his next words with some care.

I will not promise friendship, but I always appreciate forging new ties in the business community. I look forward to making your acquaintance.

“What are you doing here?” A policeman blocked the entrance to a derelict hovel.  “This is no place for children.”

“I’m here to examine the remains.” Ciel gave him a dark look. “If you have to ask who I am you don’t have enough authority to stop me from entering. Stand aside.” The middle-aged policeman blinked, clearly taken aback by his attitude. Taking advantage of his silence, the earl gave his butler a sharp look and pushed past the man, entering the structure. It was old and smelled of rotten wood despite the chill air. There was something else, sharp and vaguely sweet—the first hints of human decay. Ciel could feel Sebastian’s eyes on the back of his neck, waiting for him to lose his nerve, to prove his weakness. He wouldn't.

Following the footprints left by the police, he made his way down a set of rickety stairs into the basement of the structure. The smell grew steadily stronger and the young earl had to fight to keep himself from covering his nose. This was nothing. He had seen much worse. Repeating those words to himself like a mantra, Ciel stepped off the last step and entered what must have once been a large wine cellar. The walls were spattered with red, awful visceral remains scattered across the stone floor. Ciel’s eyes widened slightly. He felt a sour taste in his mouth as he looked away from the gruesome sight, feeling sick despite his resolve.

“Earl Phantomhive…” Sir Arthur Randall frowned, a clear look of ire on his lined face. “This is highly irregular. We haven’t even finished out initial report.”

“If you have a problem with my methods, take it up with Her Majesty.” He muttered, pulling the notepad from the aging man’s hand. Minimum of five, possibly six victims…one of which seems to be a child…obvious ties to occult practices… Ciel saw something on the page and looked up. A mark, not entirely unlike the seal he bore on the iris of his right eye, was burned into the ceiling, scorched ash adding a smoky musk to the already vile mess below. Ciel’s breath hitched in his lungs. If this was what he suspected…The young earl gave his butler a cursory glance, but as usual, he failed to glean any information from the insufferable smile grafted on the demon’s lips. “Did you remove any artifacts?”

“No.” The aging policeman grumbled, snatching the notebook back from the young earl. “As I informed you, we have barely scratched the surface of the investigation. If you must be here, do try not to disturb police proceedings.”

“If I had any faith in your proceedings, I wouldn't be here in the first place.” Ciel snapped, starting to feel mildly lightheaded. Carefully stepping over a grizzly pile of red slime, he removed his cloak and handed it to Sebastian.

“Are you alright, young master? You look rather pale.”

The slight  tone of amusement in the butler’s voice made the young earl’s jaw tighten, his eyes briefly flicking up to check the taller man’s expression. “I’m fine.  Stop asking asinine questions and help me look for evidence. I don’t want to touch anything.”

If this was the aftermath of a successful summoning, Sebastian would know, but as far as the police could tell no one had walked out of this room alive. One of the neighbors—no doubt hoping for a reward—had reported smelling smoke, which had led the Fire Marshall to discover this mess. Ciel’s eyes cast over the odds and ends scattered across the table. Most of it was cliché stereotypical junk: a skull with candle-wax dripping down over its cheekbones, a few silver daggers, a mortar and pestle, and several inverted pentagrams. But there were a few things that might be a bit more sinister: an array of devices that had most surely been used for torture, a jar of human fingers, and a series of bloodstained tomes, one of which caught his eye. The emblem of a dove hovering over a crown was pressed on its cover, along with a name. Albert Langsley….the name triggered a vague memory—his father discussing something in earnest with a portly man. Something involving the name Langsley…