Dance With the Devil

Involvment

"Let's get this straight. I am a detective. I work for Scotland Yard. If you do anything to offend me, you could find yourself staying overnight with us."

My voice rings out. The drug dealer looks up, startled. I stand at the end of the alleyway, my form silhouetted by the street lights behind me. My light blonde hair is gathered up in a high pony-tail, and although he can't see my sky-blue eyes, he can feel my glare.

"Who are you?" He calls, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes. A wave of disgust washes over me at his forsaken appearance, and I sneer back.

"Someone you do not want to cross, Cameron."

"How do you know my name!?"

"I told you. I work for Scotland Yard. Perhaps you've heard of Abberline?" I ask, walking closer. My black trench coat is buttoned up to my neck, hiding my short skirt and V-necked top. "No? Pity. He's my boss. I'm Skyland Greene."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Cameron demands. "Stay away from me!"

I make a disapproving sound. "Is that any way to treat a lady? Ah, but a lady I am not." Grinning wickedly, I take out a wicked-looking blade. Held lightly in my right hand, I approach the man, who backs away from me. "Such a disappointment. You are filthy and unclean. I suppose no one would miss you."

A minute later, blood is splattered on the pavement and I step back to survey my work, smiling. "There. Now, where to next?"

"Maybe back to the Reaper Institute," a voice says behind me. I turn, smirking at the new arrival.

"William, you missed all the fun. Where were you?" I ask, tossing aside my knife. Let the real Skyland Greene of Scotland Yard find the knife. I stole it from her, anyway, so it's engraved with her name, but now crimson stains the black hilt.

It's a practice of mine to use a real name as a cover for killing, and use a weapon of the person's just because. Unfortunately for the mortals, no one ever knows for certain whether the real person killed the victim, or if I did.

That's how I got the nickname Alias. I'm England, Scotland, and Ireland's top assassin. It takes a lot of connections to even contact me, let alone make a deal with me. I'm infamous for my ways of killing, not to mention.

And of course, the victim's blood always forms my contract seal. I mark them, then kill them. Nasty little habit, but I've grown fond of seeing the agony in my victims' eyes as they realize their soul now belongs to me.

 The knife falls just short of the building wall, and someone picks it up, but I don't hear it as I run towards Will. He opens his arms.

"I missed you," I confess, hugging him tightly. "That mission you got sent on took twenty-four hours too long. What was the holdup, anyway?"

"I know, my dear. I missed you too." Will strokes my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying his touch. For months now, Will and I have been on and off. The Reapers seem to think we'd make a great couple, and I'd be lying if I said I disagreed with them. I do love Will.

"So what was the damned mission?" I ask, sighing mentally. Another human is coming to check on his master, and I hate to break this moment. It's one of the better ones of my day currently.

"It was that stupid angel Angela again," Will admits. "I had to track her down again. This time, Ciel Phantomhive and his demon butler were involved."

"Did the little brat get kidnapped again?" I ask, drawing back. Will sighs, pushing his glasses up.

"I'm afraid so. Angela wanted to 'purify' him."

I make a face, turning. "That woman is creepier then Claude Faustus. What the hell does she want to 'purify', anyway? All beings have flaws, even her."