Blanche stood under the steady stream of the shower, bracing both hands against the wall and leaning forward. She closed her eyes as the water pummelled her back and rinsed away the suds, appreciating the heat sluicing over her chilled skin after a brisk morning run.

She hadn't slept well the previous night, and what little sleep she did get was far from restful. There was too much running through her mind: the cases she left Marcus in charge of, her parents' banquet, Sebastian—Sebastian.

She felt his lips outlining her jawline, shivering as his granite fingertips traced along the hollow of her throat. She brought her hands to his chest in objection, but as if having a mind of their own, her fingers curled around the material of his vest.

"Detective."

Her eyes snapped open, and she shook the memory from her head. The kiss had blindsided her, coming from seemingly nowhere, and she had been wrestling with the subject in her head since it happened. Why did he kiss her? What prompted it?

And why did she kiss him back?

Blanche eventually shut off the water and exited the shower, drying herself off with a clean towel. Once she was dressed for the day, she started for the kitchen where she could hear the light clattering of pots and pans, as well as her brother's voice. Furrowing her eyebrows, she continued down the hallway, stopping just at the doorway to find Sebastian in the midst of breakfast preparation. Across from him, her brother and the earl were seated on the counter stools, talking over coffee.

"Well, good morning, Detective Bennett."

The butler's voice caused her to stiffen. His was the last face she wanted to see at that moment.

"Good morning," she said flatly.

Sterling rose and shifted one seat over. "I should let you two love birds sit together," he said teasingly. "We were just talking about you.

"Oh?"

She and the earl exchanged a look of acknowledgement, and swallowing her discomfort, she moved to sit between the two men. Her eyes locked with the butler's as he set a mug of coffee in front of her—black.

"All good things, I promise." Sterling grinned. "I was actually just about to ask if he wanted to come with us to see Miss Camille."

"Sure, why not?" Blanche mumbled, the dryness of her tone seemingly going unnoticed by her brother. She drew the mug to her lips and gingerly took a sip, the bitter taste coating her mouth. She managed not to grimace.

"Would you like some cream or sugar, Detective?"

She stiffened at the question. "No, thank you," she said, and although she wasn't looking at him, she was sure she could feel him smirking.

"Miss Camille?" Ciel raised an eyebrow. "Who's Miss Camille?"

"She's—"

"A con artist," she interjected before taking another sip of her coffee.

"Hey!" Her brother frowned. "You said you'd be open minded."

"I said I would go," she corrected.

Upon seeing his master's confusion, Sebastian started to speak. "I believe they're referring to the psychic medium, my lord."

"Psychic medium?" the earl echoed in confusion.

"Yes, exactly!" Sterling nodded. "I've had the appointment booked for months. She can predict the future, talk to the dead—she's suppose to be the best at what she does."

"You do realize it's all just smoke and mirrors, right?" she asked, setting the mug down on the coaster. "They're intentionally vague and make claims that could apply to anyone, then use your body language and facial cues to gauge whether they're on the right track."

"Cold readings," Ciel stated with a nod.

"Aw, don't tell me you're a sceptic too, Earl," Sterling said in playful protest. "God, you two really are perfect for each other."

The remark caught Blanche off guard, and she nearly choked on her coffee. She coughed slightly into the back of her hand, shooting her brother an unamused look.

"Perhaps so," Ciel said, his gaze lowering to his mug. "Or perhaps I simply don't understand the merit. What could the dead possibly have to say that the living are so interested in hearing?" He took a drink of his coffee before a wry hum escaped his throat, echoing against the ceramic walls of the mug. "As for predicting the future, I don't believe that one's future is set in stone. The paths we take are not always the same paths that are given to us from birth."

As he spoke, Blanche felt a chill. There was something about his tone that was strangely cold, and as she turned her gaze from the earl to Sebastian, she noticed a glint in the butler's eye.

Suddenly, Ciel's tone changed and through a pleasant smile, he said, "But it's more than likely skepticism. I've had my own experience with a fortune teller in the past, and the only thing they were able to tell me was my blood type."

—

"A brownstone in Harlem," Blanche mumbled as she ascended the front steps of the home, the earl and her brother following at her sides. She turned her head towards Ciel. "I guess it pays to be a clairvoyant." There was an air of sarcasm to her remark, and while he said nothing in turn, she could tell from the knit in his brow that he shared her scepticism.

"Shh. What if she hears you?"

"She's not a bat, Sterling," she said chidingly. " I promise you, she's not going to hear us through six inches of sandstone."

Sterling rang the doorbell, and they waited. Standing there, she felt a cold breath against her nape, and she looked over her shoulder to find no one there. Her gaze fell to the black rental car parked on the street, the tinted windows and cloudy skies obscuring Sebastian's form as he waited in the driver's seat. He was nothing but a silhouette, but she could tell he was watching her.

He ran his lips down her throat, and she unconsciously tipped her head back to give him better access. His teeth grazed her collarbone, making her suck in a quiet gasp.

Light footsteps could be heard approaching the door, and Blanche turned her attention back ahead as they were greeted by an elderly woman. She smiled at them, her face framed by shoulder length salt and pepper curls, and a pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. A string of vibrant multicoloured beads hung from her neck, and her thin wrists were adorn in an eclectic melange of bracelets. Despite her slightly eccentric clothing, she appeared quite normal and not at all like what she had imagined a 'psychic medium' would look like.

"You must be Sterling," she said, stepping aside to make room for them to enter. "Please come in."

Entering the home, Blanche could detect a strange odour permeating the air. It was earthy and herbaceous, with an almost skunky undertone. Her eyebrows furrowed, a bit distracted as they went through brief introductions, and as she shrugged off her coat, the woman seemed to notice her expression and chuckled.

"Not to worry, Detective. It's only sage."

Blanche blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The smell," she elaborated. "I was burning sage to cleanse my home, but the smell does often get mistaken for marijuana." She walked towards the next room, expecting them to follow.

"See? I told you she was the real deal," Sterling whispered as he hung his coat on the coatrack. "How else would she know you're a cop?" he asked before following the old women.

As they hung their coats, she and the earl exchanged a look of leeriness. Sterling had already been convinced of this woman's abilities, but having entered this encounter with a healthy dose of scepticism, it would take more than just that to sway them. As far as she was concerned, the woman hadn't said anything that couldn't be dug up from a quick google search.

The next room had a small round table positioned at the centre, to which Blanche was almost surprised by the absence of a crystal ball. Sterling was already seated across from the woman, an eager smile on his face as she began the reading. Blanche crossed her arms and remained standing, not wanting to interrupt them, the earl standing next to her in observation.

"I can see you're a traveler."

Blanche nearly scoffed at this statement. It was the middle of December and Sterling's skin had been burnt into a deep copper red—not to mention the Saint Christopher medal that hung from his neck. It didn't take clairvoyance to tell anyone that her brother had been overseas.

Sterling marvelled for a moment before the woman continued, and as Blanche had expected, the supposed medium was vague. She spoke of his career and how he would find success in it, however, not to the same capacity as their parents; she mentioned how Sterling would eventually meet his 'soulmate', the very word eliciting a faint hum of amusement from the earl.

Blanche glanced over at Ciel with a thin-lipped smirk. Her sentiments exactly.

The woman seemed oblivious to their exchange as she delivered the reading, each statement met with her brother's wonderment. A few times, her eyes flicked to Blanche, looking distracted and concerned. After a short while of this, she suddenly paused mid sentence.

"A presence has attached itself to you," she announced, her gaze now fixed solely on Blanche as she rose from her seat. This caused her brother to look at her in confusion.

"A presence?" Blanche asked, shifting uncomfortably as she felt everyone's attention shift to her. "What is that suppose to mean?" She forced an awkward smile, unsure of how to respond to the situation.

Usually when people made such outrageous statements to her, it was due to mental illness or drugs, and she was arresting them.

"Like a ghost?" Sterling asked excitedly.

"No." The woman shook her head, slowly making her way towards Blanche. "Something inhuman. Something dark."

"Like the devil?" The words slipped her mouth in a nervous chuckle.

"Not the devil," Miss Camille answered grimly. She was staring at her, but it looked as though she was staring right through her. "Something is attaching itself to you—something evil—something deeply sinister." Her brows knitted together, and she reached a hand towards her. "What is its name?" she muttered under her breath, seemingly more to herself.

Blanche instinctively took a step back from the woman, and it was then that she felt a small weight on her shoulder. She glanced down to see Ciel's long, steepled fingers resting on her shoulder, his black nails contrasting against his milky skin.

"That's enough," Ciel said in an almost commanding tone, and as the woman's eyes fixed on him, it was her turn to step back. "Sterling, we'll be waiting in the car." His hand moved from Blanche's shoulder to firmly take hold of her hand, and before her brother could so much as utter a response, he pulled her towards the front entrance—much to her relief.

"You need to figure out its name," the woman called as they hurriedly grabbed their coats. "The only way to get rid of it is with its name!"