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“Here.”
William threw something at Grelle from behind. She felt it hit the back of her head, heard it fall to the ground. She smoothed one gloved hand down her hair to realign any stray strands that may have been disrupted by the gesture.
“What ghastly garment is the Brass trying to make me wear now?” She asked, not bothering to see for herself.
“I thought you were an actress,” William deadpanned, “pretend you like it.”
Grelle turned in her swivel chair, pen still between her teeth, and looked down at the article at her feet as though it were a morsel of food that had slipped from the counter whilst cooking. After a moment, she lent down to collect it, still holding it away from her should it be too offensive to her tastes.
She looked at William. “This is a man’s coat.”
“And it doesn’t have a tear from a death scythe crudely sewn up the back of it.”
“It’s August. I don’t need a coat.” It’s been nearly a year, she almost added; but she was wise enough to bite her tongue on that matter—her time spent in the shadows of Whitechapel last autumn was still a sore subject between the two of them.
“Agent Sutcliffe—”
“Oh, snappy today, are we Mister Spears,” she laughed, stood, walked up to him. With her heels on and her head held high she could just about brush noses with him—so she did. “Need someone to loosen that tie of yours?”
“You’re coming with me on a recon mission in Germany.”
“Can’t they just put it through the mail? Or rather, do I get to know what kind of document is so important for two reapers to have to go in person to collect it?”
“No.”
Grelle pouted, fisted hands at her hips. If they were at home, William would have kissed her. As it was, he looked up and down the office before placing his hand on her shoulder and leaning in close to say:
“I’ll let you look at the files when we retrieve them; upper management is worried we’ll run into trouble and thought it best to send a pair of us to make sure everything went smoothly.”
“Must be important—I’m delighted.”
“But you’re wearing that coat.”
She lazily let her usual coat fall into her chair. Then, she took the new one and slipped it on, making a show of checking the fit, the buttons, the stitching before nodding her head and shrugging, “I’ll behave—at least it’s red.”
“My suggestion.”
“A mighty fine compromise, my love.” She stole a kiss just before he stepped away to return to his office.
After finishing their morning’s duties, they met at the entrance to the main building of headquarters, set to return together to their joint dwelling, a recent development in their relationship—if one could call it that—to prepare for their journey abroad.
Moving in together felt like a big step in the right direction to Grelle; but they had separate bedrooms, and Will hesitated to use any definitive labels.
They walked in silence, entranced by the drum of the sounds of midafternoon—leaves lightly rustling, larks singing in the trees, public houses packed to the brim for luncheon throwing wide their windows and doors to alleviate some of the heady air filling them under the summer sun.
Grelle proposed stopping for a drink, but she was shot down.
“Well, you go home if you like; but I think I’ll pop in for a spell,” she flippantly replied, shaking her house key in William’s face. “Or, we can meet at the station tonight.”
His jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed; he grabbed her wrist and started dragging her along the pavement.
“I think not.” His voice was stern, leaving little room for defiance.
Grelle tried to shake herself free, but his grip was like a vice. She raised her voice, but no one heard her through the haze of inebriation and sociality.
“What on earth are you doing, Will!” she called out, “how dare you treat a lady so roughly!”
More and more colourful insults and vulgarities spilled fourth as they approached their building. As Will slackened his pace, Grelle managed to regain enough composure to dig the heel of her boot into his foot. He only gripped her wrist harder in response.
“I thought this trip would be good for you—for us—but now I don’t think you deserve to come along with me.”
“ You deserve my death scythe in your face for daring to treat me this way.” She snapped her fingers as loud as she could right before his eyes.
He let her go, allowing her walk inside ahead of him. She jumped in the lift; he took the stairs.
He heard the sound of her getting ready, but did not see her. He knocked on her bedroom door when he was ready to leave. She did not respond.
He knocked again. Something was thrown against the door by way of reply. (He assumed it was her hairbrush from the sound it made as it fell to the floor.)
He quitted the flat alone, prepared to take on the mission by himself.
She met him in the mortal realm, at Saint Pancras Station, a minute before the train was set to depart.
They took the train to Dover, the ferry to Calais, then another train and another until they at last reached the south of Germany. On the last leg of their journey, they heard people talking about a local superstition—the curse of the Werewolves forest.
“How intriguing,” Grelle laughed as she and Will stepped off the train at last. It was the first time she had spoken since the afternoon.
If Will ever found her incessant chatter bothersome, he suddenly felt her silence was far far worse.
“Do you think Werewolves could be real?”
”I trust what I can see,” he replied, making a conscious effort to not sound as annoyed as he felt, “and what I see is that this Forest of Werewolves is where we are meant to meet our point of contact.”
Grelle clapped her hands. “This should be fun.”
The documents they had been sent to retrieve were the Life Files of two humans who had been scheduled to die, but whose lives had been extended by supernatural intervention: that is to say, because of a Demon—and none other than Sebastian Michaelis.
Thus, as Sieglinde Sullivan and Wolfram Geltzer made their way to England with their new little friends, so did William and Grelle, along with these files. Fascinating indeed.
“Maybe we should stop for the night—I hear Baden Baden is nice.”
He tripped her; she complained:
”I’m sure that devilishly darling Sebastian would have taken me up on the offer.”
“He would absolutely not,” William bit back without so much as looking at Grelle, “we are to return to London promptly.”
Naturally— Grelle rolled her eyes.
“Ok, Mister Spears; what gives?” Whence they boarded the train home, the interrogation finally began. “You don’t get to treat me like this and expect to make it out unscathed!”
“If this is about this afternoon–”
“What else would it be about?”
William sighed. “I didn’t want you getting distracted. Have you already forgotten what a tight leash upper management wants me to keep you on? I’m looking out for you.”
“You can do so in a way that won’t bruise me.”
He took up her hand, pushed her sleeve up ever so slightly to kiss her wrist. “You’re fine.”
She pulled her hand back, trying to hide her flattery as she said, “well, that’s only because our bodies heal so quickly. If we were still mortal, I’d have bruises for days!”
He cupped her check, and she scowled back at him. She turned her face away, ready to rebuff a kiss that never came. William was arrested by the sound of the train whistle, and looked outside to see if he could tell which stopped they had reached. Some old stone buildings came into their view; and he stood, offering a hand to Grelle.
“We’ven’t reached our transfer yet, have we?”
“Not our transfer back to London; I sent a wire before we boarded—it’s late; I asked if we could spend the night on the continent. For some reason, they agreed.”
The sign at the station read: Baden-Baden.
He left her off the train first; and she looked over her shoulder with a flirtatious wink.
“A night and no spare clothes—are you trying to get me into bed with you, Mister Spears?”
William pushed her along, adjusting his spectacles in an effort to hide the way she made his cheeks burn. “Don’t be vulgar! I was going to buy you something.”
“Showering me in gifts like a proper husband?”
“Something like that,” came his mumbled reply.
To the shops they went. They found a lovely spring to settle into, soaking away the stress of their unending work; and they found a beautiful hotel on the edge of town that could take them for the night. Will requested one room; Grelle confirmed that one bed would be just fine.
They changed into their new nightclothes with their backs turned away from each other; but once under the bedclothes, their eyes remained locked. She was his beacon; he was her home.
In but a moment, his lips were on hers, on her cheek, on her neck—hands slipping lower, teasing the hem of her nightdress as he pulled her atop him. He wanted her to be in control; he wanted to devour her.
The most marvelous sounds emanated from her parted lips, still stained with rouge, the barest breath against his own. Their noses brushed, their eyes found one anothers. Her cheeks glowed the palest pink, enticingly sweet. He kissed each one.
“You are perfect, Miss Sutcliffe,” he said ever so softly, a dulcet prayer, “please don’t ever change.”
“I assure you I have no plans to.”
She laughed into his embrace.