Jerking to his feet, Jack’s mouth twisted as he grit his teeth. “I know how this looks, kid, but you’ve gotta believe me: I didn’t do it.”

She nodded, her lips pressed tight. “It’s okay, all we need to do is find a phonebox—”

“This isn’t D*ct*r Wh*! I just told you I didn’t do it; I have no idea what happened, I was asleep.”

She scrutinised him. “I’ve never heard of sleepwalking murder before.”

With a whimper, he rubbed his arm. “It’s this sword. Rooney told me it was cursed, but I ignored him because I thought it was cool.”

“You think the sword did this?”

“Possession is sentient magical object one-oh-one!” He rubbed his forehead. “I should have expected this.”

Gasping, she said, “oh no, how terrible! I can’t believe you were attacked and they ran away after killing that guard.”

He exhaled, looking down at himself. The blood splatter was mostly concentrated on the right of his jacket, and caked over his hand. Scouting around, he noticed a camera at each end of the hallway.

“I don’t think we’ll get away with that one,” he said. “I might not have a choice but to—”

She sidled up to him, putting her face a hair’s breadth from his. “Lydia can control electricity, so the cameras will be no problem for her. Also, sorry.”

“What for?”

Winding her arm back, she lamped him in the face.

As a result of the quintessence pumping through their veins, vampires had a myriad of latent capabilities most didn’t bother with.

Why spend time unlocking and training them when they had so little use in civilised society?

Over time, though, it was natural some should start to develop. Strength, for example, is something one trains without thinking about it; from carrying the shopping home to holding the door shut while your landlord tries to break in screaming nonsense like ‘you owe me money’, anything could be a strength exercise.

Having become used to hauling a drunk Jack to his bedroom before she left for the evening, Hannah’s training had been more intensive than average.

The result was her punch snapping his head back, leaving him to stagger before regaining his balance. His vision blurred, and tears threatened to fall. A hot stone burned through his stomach.

“What the Hell was that for?!”

She shrugged. “Gotta make it look believable.”

Fingering his jaw, he winced. There was already a lump forming. “You know, underneath all that, you might just have the makings of an evil genius.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or not.”

Nervously, he eyed the bloody corpse. He couldn’t see the wound, and he didn’t want to touch it. “You’ve gotta get Lydia, and I have to report this. Who watches the door? We’ve just been attacked, we can’t leave him unguarded.”

“Stay here,” she said. “Get all hysterical when someone comes along to check—they won’t question you if you make them uncomfortable enough.”

A bead of sweat dropped down his neck. “I don’t think I wanna know how you know that, but okay. Come back straight away, please; me and my new weapon need to have a talk.”

Squeezing his hand, she strode away with a worried glance back.

He wiped his sword on his jeans; being they were already stained with blood, a little more made no difference. Replacing it in the sheath, he set himself to waiting.

He wasn’t waiting long.

The man from the front door, who had called them amateurs, halted several feet away and gaped at the scene. He was average height and stocky, with a neat brown goatee and a buzz-cut and a bulbous nose.

Before he could speak, Jack said, “oh, thank Christ. I’ve been waiting here since it happened; I couldn’t just leave the door, could I?” His words were rapid and breathy.

Shaking his head with a palm facing Jack, the guard said, “what? Since what happened? Why is Jenkins dead?”

Jack put his fingers on his temples, taking deep breaths. His panic was genuine, his stomach leaping at the deception—this went against his entire idea of justice.

But to prevent it happening again, he needed to understand it. For that, he needed to communicate with the katana, for which he needed time.

Hannah had bought it for him. She was a good kid; what was he making her do?

“The bloke,” said Jack, breathless, “the one with the spear. He sliced up your mate, got me good—” He pointed at his ballooning jaw— “then ran off.”

Lip curling, the guard bristled. “When? Where did he go?”

“Time has become meaningless to me, and through a Gate.”

Just then, Hannah trotted up to them, face dropping in surprise.

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“Oh my God, Jack, what happened? What’s with your face?”

He gulped. Even Sh*tner would have been more believable. “The spearman from the office came back. I need to clean up, I’m sorry.”

The guard waved him away, nodding in understanding. Hannah gave him an empathetic gaze.

It was time to meet the killer.

***

After finding her way to the basement, Lydia was shocked by its simplicity. Plain grey walls, cold steel floor, and an angular glint to every surface; it was as though she’d walked into a sci-fi movie.

The basement was just as expansive as the house, and she got lost in a laundry room that could have doubled as a sauna, but eventually made it to the monitor room.

It was a small cube, big enough for a desk and two chairs. The desk had three monitors atop it, each display filled by different images flicking between areas of the manor.

Sitting in the chairs were two guards. One was blonde and fat, the other dark and lanky—they both wore second-hand suits, and had the sickly pallor of one who hadn’t gotten enough sun.

The dark one turned to her, brow furrowed and lips parted. “Who are you?”

“Lydia Blackwell,” she said, filling every word with self-importance. “I was hired to do your job for you.”

Their noses twitched, but they remained silent. She basked in it. For the first time, a door had opened not for her name, but for her achievement. Even if that achievement was limited to saving Jack’s life.

She didn’t believe he would kill a man for no reason; he wasn’t that sort of person. He wouldn’t let a cursed sword wrest control of him, either.

If not for his unwavering conviction, she would still be in the midst of administering the apocalypse.

“You’ve been watching all night, have you?” she said, peering down her nose.

The fat one gulped. “Since the shift started, yeah.”

“And yet, neither of you has managed to notice the situation outside of your employer’s office?”

He grabbed a mouse and clicked, enlarging one of the frames to full screen.

It showed Jack sitting against the wall asleep, a far cry from the messy scene Hannah had described.

“Show me the last hour,” she said.

The dark-haired one sighed, pressing a few buttons and rewinding the video, before setting it to play at accelerated speed.

It began with them leaving Jack, followed by him slumping down and going to sleep. After that, nothing happened.

She frowned. “Oh, I suppose they think they’re clever.”

Somebody was playing games with them.

***

They had each been given a room around the corner from Oyster’s, so his blood-soaked trek was a short one.

He flicked the light on.

It was bigger than his office, lavishly furnished with red carpets and purple cushions. A four-poster bed stood in the centre, with a wardrobe and chaise along the wall opposite; the tapestries covered these walls, too.

He scrubbed himself raw in the en-suite, where a full-sized hot tub found him doubting his priorities.

Nevertheless, he returned to the room, searching through the drawers and wardrobe for clean clothes.

All he found was a boatload of the same expensive suit: white shirt, red tie, grey blazer. Only the trousers had a selection, between two colours: black and mustard yellow.

Sighing, he resolved to meditate in his boxers.

He sat cross-legged on the silken sheets, sword resting on his lap.

Meditation was usually the key to these things; whether it be through the inner world or some kind of telepathic communication, there was always a way to reach sentient objects.

Or so the stories said.

The air shifted.

A chill ran over him.

He opened his eyes.

An infinite void surrounded him; not a void of space between matter, as is common in the universe, but a true void where nothing existed at all. There were no stars, no light, no air.

Upon realising this, he panicked, scratching at his throat as he held his breath. Breathing in a vacuum was bad, right?

He felt the unconscionable urge to dig a hole and pull it in after himself. He was in his own mind.

He didn’t need to breathe.

Something chuckled.

In front of him, a figure unfurled itself. It was vaguely humanoid, but its form remained undefined—as though a shifting mass of darkness had one day decided being all-encompassing was exhausting, and it should see what all the fuss over physical form was about. Before, it had blended in, but it rippled with laughter.

“It’s ever so dark in here, isn’t it?” The voice came from the figure, but it seemed to echo from every direction, surrounding him.

Without him blinking, everything changed. He now sat on an outcropping in a vast expanse of rocks. Some were big, some small, and some would tower over even the greatest skyscraper. Plateaus painted a canvas of the horizon, jutting from the endless stone landscape.

Grey clouds threatened to burst in the sky.

The figure sat across from him, shadowy features offset by the pure white of its teeth.

Jack felt his guts trying to fall out. “Um, excuse me, but would I happen to be speaking to the cursed sword right now?”

“That is correct.”

Shuddering, he gripped the rock. “Definitely terrifying enough.”

“Is that so? My apologies.” In a flash, the figure disappeared, replaced by Lydia.

The chestnut hair, expressive eyes, and deliciously thick legs.

His heart sped up.

“Is this better?” Even the voice was perfect, her tone exactly matching Lydia’s practiced condescension.

“No,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

She giggled, skipping over to him. “This is your head, where I now reside. You can lie to yourself…” With a toothy grin, she pushed her face into his. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Recoiling, his nose wrinkled. “This is way too weird.”

“As you wish,” she said, transforming again.

What stood in front of him was a woman of mountainous proportions, at least twice as big as him—raven hair flowed back in a high ponytail, and she wore revealing plate armour that left him wondering what the point of it was.

Her features weren’t something he could describe. To him, it was just the hallmark of beauty captured in a single face. He had no words.

“This I know you’ll like,” she said, her smile sending shivers through him. Then, she shoved him off the rock, pouncing on him.

She leaned in and whispered, “you call me cursed, but I remember no curse. I remember nothing but my purpose. To cut.” Backing off, she smirked wickedly. “I require a master to wield me, and you’ll do perfectly.”

His breath hitched, and his gaze ran away from hers. If this was a battle of wills, the manner of his defeat had not been valiant; rather, he was the lame horse limping to its final finish line.

“Why kill the guard?”

She laughed. “Do you ask a leopard why it savages its victims? Do you ask the fire why it burns all before it?” Her nose twitched. “I thirsted for his blood. What more reason should a blade need?”

His lids shot open, cold sweat erupting from his pores.