Silence filled the air at this pronouncement. Ilsa stared triumphantly at Caedes; Caedes stared blankly back at her; Yaaroghkh was eating a cookie.

“Well?” Ilsa prompted.

“Well water.” Caedes intoned. “Or well-baked? Well-washed well carvings.”

“You- you do know I’m being serious, right? Your girlfriend is going to die.”

“That you sent assassins to kill her in no wise necessitates that she will die.”

Ilsa spit. “Please. One mortal girl, fighting a half dozen cultivators of the Second Circuit? Don’t make me laugh.”

There hadn’t been much tension in Caedes; but what little had been could be seen to flow out of him at these words. He chuckled. “Why do you think she’s a mortal?”

“Because you’re a demonic cultivator - and we don’t share secrets.”

“Not even with the ones we love? The very idea is ludicrous.”

“Of course the idea of sharing anything with the ones we love is ludicrous. You’ve wasted enough of my time without telling me the obvious.”

“Perhaps. You’ve never abandoned yourself to another, so I can’t expect you to understand the delight it brings, but I would rather she have those techniques than myself. Besides,” and here his smile turned vaguely foolish, “she’s just obsessed with her swordsmanship. So I could never keep something that might improve it from her, you know?”

“You’re not joking, right?” Ilsa asked in disbelief.

“Of course I’m not. Why do you think I wear these?” Caedes pointed out reasonably, shaking the lapels of his embroidered suit as he proudly remarked: “She says it makes me look more mature.”

And all of a sudden Ilsa realised she’d been wasting time arguing with a fool. Tired of seeking verbal ripostes against those too addlepated to understand, she drew her sword with a flick and lunged.

***

Cindy was practising her form for the ninety-ninth time that night, her very self focused on the blade. She had forgotten - with great difficulty - the report that had come across her desk from the Ministry for Organised Crime earlier that afternoon. It had been filed by Anna, the secretary of Das Gleiche, early that morning, and explained in excruciating detail what the corporation intended to do to her beloved. (The City of Tombstones had decided long ago that it was easier just to have people file their misdeeds so they could be legally recorded, rather than criminalise and try to arrest them.)

But she would not focus on that yet; it would wait for later. For now there was nothing but the sword, and her feet, and her breathing.

And the noise of somebody else, slowly clapping his hands. She flicked her sword, turning to face her uninvited guests. There were six of them, ugly blokes with lumpish muscles and potato-like faces. They wore form fitting, full grey suits, not that they made them look good, and had clubs in their hands.

Cindy sighed. What was the point of being fabulously wealthy if you couldn't even have your own private, sound-proofed dojo, free from the interference of meddlesome strangers? (Well, other than the limitless supply of tasty, handcooked meals. And the ability to buy clothes which were both cosy and spiffy. And the crystal wine glasses - she liked those. Oh, and the pony.)

All of a sudden she felt a rush of gratitude.

"Okay, so maybe there's more to life than private dojos," she mused.

The leader of the thugs - a hideous man with a nasty scar running across his face - froze in the middle of delivering his villainous narration. He'd been sneering and mocking since first he'd come in, and had mistaken the intense look of concentration on Cindy's face for concern. Now he wondered if she had heard even a word of his carefully scripted speech.

"Did- did you hear anything I said?"

Cindy suddenly realised she'd been rude - even if they were uninvited guests, it was still her duty to play host - and began apologising profusely. "My most sincere apologies, I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere for a moment. You said you're with the Girl Guides, yes?"

The lumpish brute - his name was Earl - looked at his huge, muscle-bound, hulking colleagues, and then stared at the slim girl in front of him in complete bewilderment. He hefted the brutal club in his hands; a tuft of hair was still stuck to the end. "Why ever would we be with the Girl Guides?"

"Well, I didn't want to assume-"

"We're here to kill you." Earl said, in a matter of fact but vaguely bemused tone.

"Oh, but you can't be," Cindy said reprovingly.

Finally, Earl was on ground he knew: the girl couldn't believe she was about to die, and was in denial.

"But we are. Prepare yourself, for today we will end you."

"You didn't file a report for that," she observed, her tone suddenly caustic.

"Yes, I expect your- wait, what?"

"A report. You're supposed to file a report when you commit a crime - and while there were fifteen extortions, sixty-seven briberies, thirty-six cases of fraud, nine cases of gross negligence, and two instances of perjury registered for today, the only violent crime was scheduled by the university Student Union, and that was the assault of three elderly people and two small children. Since you are not students, and I am neither elderly nor a child, that means that this is an unregistered crime."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The man looked a little flustered. "Right, but we're criminals, and-"

"Committing a crime without filing the appropriate paperwork is against the law," Cindy clipped, her voice terse, her eyes burning with righteous indignation. (She did not, however, allow her pitch to turn strident: Caedes found that grating.)

"But you know that's sort of the point of crime, so I really think you're being quite unreasonable," Earl said, looking around for support, his hands placating.

"It is all very well and good to assassinate the mayor's daughter," said the mayor's daughter, "but you must file your paperwork first."

*** Several days prior ***

Yaaroghkh watched Caedes writing like a madman. The man had told him he would help find the villains who had orchestrated the assault on Christmas, which was wonderful news, but why did he say he had to file paperwork first?

"Can this not wait another day or two?" He asked.

"No; I have a friend who really doesn't like it when I forget my filing - and anyways, this needs to be done now if we want to make the Ministry for Organised Crime's Express Line."

Yaaroghkh shrugged. He supposed it wasn't just Santa who made a list and checked it twice.

***

Earl was about to argue the point, when it occurred to him that she was about to die anyways and therefore the winner of this dispute really didn't matter. He levied his club.

"Enough. Your boyfriend has angered Das Gleiche, so the higher ups have sent us to ensure you suffer prior to his death, Mayor Rella’s daughter, Cindy Rella.”

Cindy stroked the part of the air that would be a magnificent beard, if she were a man with a magnificent beard, and narrowed her eyes. “Hmmm. I’m honoured to have been made the centre of such a villainous plot, but I’m afraid I must decline: tomorrow is mashed potatoes night, so I’d rather not die today.”

Earl motioned to his men, and they sprinted around her at speeds faster than the mortal eye could track. He felt a little bad for the poor girl - she hadn’t a chance in hell of winning - but he supposed if you had to die, at least being killed by cultivators meant you died quickly.

They circled around her in a spiral, one of them coming in for the kill. There was the flash of light and a thwack, and the stunned cultivator stared at his blocked club. Then he stared at his chest, and the torrent of blood which was gushing out of its centre. Then he collapsed, his dying words a muttered complaint about how he’d been using his body strengthening technique at the time.

Cindy was already dancing back, her sword held out in front of her chest in breve. She hadn’t expected the cultivator to die from the first play in largo, and was uncertain as to whether he was just really weak, or if he’d been taken by surprise. Likely the latter, as even a dunce could react to a single block and thrust.

A second cultivator was coming from the side, club raised. She turned in a mezzo volte, feet steady, maintaining her structure. The pair met in the middle of the dojo, and she was disappointed to see that he was thrusting with only his upper body. She met his club halfway, smashing into it as she turned with her hips. The hunk of wood slammed onto the floor, at which point she stomped on it, creating a fresh supply of matchsticks. The cultivator had no time to react to this, however, as her blade was already flying towards his neck.

She stepped back, keeping space from the corpses (they might mess up her footwork). This confirmed it: surprise may be hapmering, but the crux of the issue was a lack of skill. The third play of largo, really? Who fell to that? The remaining four cultivators stayed out of measure, watching her warily.

“What was that?” Earl said, stunned.

“That? That was a demonstration of the principles of true time. You would be vastly superior swordsmen if you learnt them,” Cindy replied, her smile sweet and her voice sincere (she didn’t hold with gloating - it was unladylike).

“What? No, not that - the winged halo that surrounded you. It was golden qi, and it…” was far stronger than his own, he was going to say, but his voice failed him. Why had the executives sent mere Second Circuit cultivators to deal with someone who must have been Third or even Fourth Circuit? And with such a pure orthodox aura, to boot.

"Hmmm? Yeah, I'm a cultivator. Caedes taught me." And she stuck out the tip of her tongue.

"But he's a demonic cultivator." Earl's confusion was justifiable. It wasn't only that Cindy was an orthodox cultivator, but that she had perhaps the most radiant qi he'd ever seen, unfurling from her back with the wings of a phoenix. As it appeared the distinct sounds of the piano could be heard in the air, and he'd smelled roses. Roses. Could qi even smell?

"Yes. And he's taught me everything I know - I've just been practising demonic cultivation orthodoxly."

Earl said nothing. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Cindy also said nothing. The truth was she was too pure to ever have demonic qi, but she was too modest to even realise this. ("See? Practically perfect in every way," Caedes said, as if it was his accomplishment.)

“But…why?” Earl finally managed, as he started to back up towards the door. Killing a girl was one thing; killing a girl two whole realms above him was quite another.

“Why? It’s obvious. He's my amaranthine - I want to spend as much time as I can with him, and support him in everything he does, so of course I had to learn cultivation,” Cindy replied matter of factly. “Besides, do you even know what cultivation does to the skin? Sure, Caedes would love me no matter how I looked, but that’s no excuse for not doing my best.”

At this point Earl decided he was far enough away to make a break for it, and with a cry him and the surviving thugs started to run.

Cindy shook her head. She hated having to lunge - it was bad form - but sometimes you had no choice. With a hop and a skip she gracefully leapt across the room, her ballet lessons still engraved in her body, and daintily skewered one of the would-be assassins from behind.

Earl kept running. Ahead of him one of his subordinates had reached the dojo door- was opening it- and then was falling, a phonebook impaled in his skull.

Standing at the doorway was a plain looking secretary, pushing up her glasses.

Earl's jaw dropped, horrified, as he took in every detail of the girl and her physiognomy.

"Is that the Heavenly Divine Immortal Disco Soufflé Body? But they only come into existence once every six millennia!"

"No," said the girl with the impossible physique, "it's a phonebook. And really quite an ordinary one - I have a dozen others just like it."

There was thud behind him as Cindy took out his last colleague, and Earl collapsed on the floor in despair. “Please…don’t…spare this weak one.”

Cindy shook her head, keeping her poise.

“You said yourself you’re with people who want to slay the love of my life, so I’m afraid not. For my sake, I might have shown you mercy; for his sake you will have none.”

One, two! One, two! And through and through, her normal blade went snicker-snack! She left him dead, and with his head, she went galumphing over to the secretary standing six feet away.

The girl - who must have been within a year of Caedes - was cleaning her glasses. “I see that elder brother has found himself in yet more trouble.”

“He’ll be out of it soon enough,” Cindy remarked, with complete faith in Caedes’ abilities. The secretary glowered.

“Perhaps. Still, after he rescued me from the Dying Tiger Sect, he should have settled down with you. I will never understand what he’s thinking.”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid. But soon. Send him this, with a note informing him he owes me one,” and she looked over the bloodied, corpse-ridden dojo. “As for us, we have work to do.”