A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. Ten months. Ten months. So sorry for leaving you all for so long! But goodness! I come back online to find that I have 104 reviews for this story. Thank you so much! All of you! This is my first story to reach the 100+ benchmark! And thanks again to all those that sent me messages, encouraging me to get off my lazy butt and finish this new chapter. So without further ado, I hope that this chapter may meet your expectations.

And again, thank you all so much for all the encouragement.

"Howard S. Redcliffe," Undertaker murmured, elegantly swirling a black talon in his tea.

"You mean that man who just stomped out of here?" Astrid asked from the other side of the shop. "Not a very jovial fellow, is he?"

Snorting lightly, Undertaker took a sip from his beaker. "Indeed. And I'm afraid that that unruly nature of his will soon land him in this shop."

Blowing a strand of bronze hair out of her face, she rolled her eyes slightly in his direction, "What makes you say that?"

"Simple. He has been in contact with the culprit of the Crippen case…. And I would have to say that that was a lovely alliteration there, don't you think?"

"I'd say that you're being perfectly incoherent today," she grumbled, rearranging a few items in front of her. Hearing the clanking of empty bottles from her direction, Undertaker lifted his head up and tilted his head slightly.

"If I may ask Miss Astrid—"

"You may."

Taking a moment to chortle a bit, he then said, "What precisely are you doing over there? If you wanted a better look at my specimens, you only had to ask."

"I'll keep that in mind, should the need ever come. But at the moment, I'm more preoccupied with the dust that's attempting to suffocate me."

"That's because you disturbed it!"

"Is there anything is this shop that can be disturbed?" she sighed, pushing up the grimy sleeves of her plain dress. "I swear, it's a miracle anyone has enough courage to even enter this place."

"What can I say? It's home sweet home," he replied, "Besides, it hasn't discouraged any business yet. Well, none that I know of at least."

"Yes, yes. You're a man of very simple tastes. All you need are some kidneys and coffins, and you could live quite happily," Astrid laughed as she wiped the dust off the shelves with one of the few clean rags.

"And now it seems I even have my own maid to take care of anything I don't care to!"

"Don't go teasing me when I'm doing you a favor! Cleaning's a habit I picked up from my mum, if you would like to know."

"Ah yes, that's right. Your memories should be as right as rain by now. Care to tell me a bit about your mother, dearest?" Undertaker asked, perching his chin on tapered fingers.

"If you insist," she said, rolling her eyes, "My parents are one of the oldest tales in the book. Noble lady meets dirt-poor man. Lady marries man. Lady's parents disown her, leaving her without family or money. Lady and man work themselves to the bones, and eventually die of illness. I'm pretty sure I was born somewhere in the middle. But thankfully, because of her upbringing, my mum was able to teach me how to read and write before she died. Saved my skin quite a few times."

"I can imagine. But I must admit, I am curious to know what happened after your dear parents passed away."

"Well, we had all lived together in a one-room flat above a butcher's shop. That same butcher was our landlord, and once he found out that I couldn't pay the rent myself, he promptly threw me out." Lightly grazing her fingers over a glass beaker, she continued, "I had just turned fifteen."

Giving a small whistle, Undertaker said, "At least it didn't happen at a younger age." Then quickly adapting his more casual persona, he cackled, "If it had, I might've seen your pretty face far sooner in one of my lovely coffins."

Ignoring the light flush that came to her cheeks, she smirked, "Do you use that line on all the young ladies that pass by?"

"Only the ones that catch my interest," he replied without skipping a beat. "And you, m'dear, are an absolute conundrum."

"Why thank you," Astrid said, giving him a mock-curtsy. "And now, with your leave, I shall depart from your delightful presence for a spell."

"Tired of me already, are you?"

"Mmm, your occupation as a mortician can only interest me for so long." Giving him a small wave as she approached the doorway, she called out, "I'll be back in a bit, I just need some fresh air is all. And last time I was out, I heard a lot of people are talking about this bakery run by the… Fortesque family?"

"Eh, sounds familiar. Probably had something from there before."

Rolling her eyes, Astrid turned back toward him with her hands on her hips. "And here I thought you made everything yourself in your own little bakery," she said, gesturing to his biscuits.

"Yes, well, it never hurts to contribute to the economy of our dear England."

"If you say so," she chuckled, pushing the door open.

"And Astrid?"

"Hm?"

"I don't say this to many, but your strength is admirable. Take care to maintain it."

"Er… of course! Naturally!"

Chortling lightly at her confused expression, Undertaker walked toward the back room of the mortuary. Standing before the bookshelf of records, he swept elegant, spiderlike fingers across the spines of the tomes. He eventually settled on a thick, crimson volume and promptly made himself comfortable on his dusty couch before flipping the book open.

"Psssst! … Psssst!"

"Hm?" Flicking her eyes across the alley, Astrid shrugged nonchalantly. It had probably just been her imagination.

"Psssst!" came the voice again, "Pssst! Astttrid, you slow-witted… lassss! Over… here!" Looking behind her once more, Astrid was able to glimpse a flash of fabric skirting around the alleyway before the stranger disappeared. 'That voice…' she thought, 'It sounds awfully familiar… Emory?'

Now, Astrid was not a stupid woman, but that scoundrel of a man had saved her skin more than once when she was still new to the streets of London. Dashing off around the corner, Astrid quickly came across a huddled figure clawing at his thin coat.

"Emory! What are you doing here?" Astrid murmured hurriedly, "Isn't the Yard still searching high and low for you!"

"Eh, if they… haven't caught me b'forrre, they won't… 'atch me nnnow," the older, graying man grunted. "Erm… But what I… mmmeant ter say wassss… Where 'ave you been 'iding yourssself?" His cloudy, brown eyes flickered uneasily across the alley with each word. With shaking hands, he managed to pull out a small liquor canteen from underneath his frayed coat. However, despite his desperate gulps, the liquor seemed to do little for his nerves. In fact, more ended up on his matted beard than in his mouth.

Sniggering lightly, Astrid said, "What's the matter with you, old dog? You're barely ever this jittery. One might think that you've seen… a…" The words slowly died in her throat as a familiar shadow began to stretch itself on the wall before her.

"A ghost?" the figure cackled as he stepped out from the brick and lightly closed his fingers about her throat.

"Greaves?" she sputtered, amidst her gasps for breath.

"Ah, I see that that blathering fool has already seen to my introduction. My deepest apologies for forgetting my manners last we met," Richard Greaves purred.

"Emory," Astrid gasped, "Don't just stand there like an idiot! Do something!"

"Oh, that drunkard?" Greaves chuckled, "I found him rotting behind a tavern with a knife in his gut this morning! He's been dead for hours, m'dear." As if to demonstrate his claim, Emory crumpled limply to the floor at a sharp flick of the shinigami's wrist. Although she winced at the wet slap of flesh hitting the ground, Astrid felt no remorse at Emory's demise. He was lucky enough to live as long as he did.

However, in a portion of the instant she was distracted, she felt a jagged blade slide between her ribs. "Now, how's about you come on a trip with me out on the briny sea, m'dear?" the voice hissed in her ear.

A/N: And with that, I shall endeavor to bring you the next chapter as quickly as I can! 'Til next time!