His stomach in knots, he placed the sword to the side.

“Not a nice chat, I assume?” said Lydia, arms crossed a few feet from the bed.

He started. “How long have you been there?”

Smirking, she stepped over. “Long enough to see you squirm.”

A quivering groan escaped his lips. His life was over. “I did it, Lydia. I killed an innocent man.”

“Now, you don’t know he was innocent. Maybe he kidnapped children, tortured puppies for fun, or put the milk in his tea first.”

“What?” He blinked. “Even if that were true, I didn’t know that. It wasn’t even me. Except it was: the sword might have been in control, but it was still my hands that killed him.”

“The sword told you that, did it? Explicitly?”

“Well, not explicitly, but—”

“Hmph.” She ran a narrow eye over his bare figure. “Then it’s inconclusive. By the way, have you ever considered waxing?”

His mouth opened then shut, his eyebrows raised. “If that’s the kind of thing I have to consider, life ain’t worth living either way! And what do you mean, inconclusive; didn’t you look at the CCTV?”

She nodded. “Somebody beat me to it. The entire recording from that corridor is looped, and the boys down there seemed rather clueless. Your sword problem isn’t the only one.”

Standing, he swallowed painfully. “Maybe not, but it’s a big one. I’m a murderer and I need to turn myself in.”

With a hand on his chest, she frowned. “Absolutely not.”

He threw his arms out. “What do you expect me to do then, destroy myself with guilt? What about you two? I can’t just have you lie for me.”

She scoffed. “How is it any different from what you did for me?”

His face dropped, and he paused. “There’s no divine voice in the sky to wipe the slate clean?”

“No,” she said, tilting her head, “but there’s something else different, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Unlike me, this wasn’t your fault, Jack.”

“Manslaughter’s still a crime. Get outta my way.”

Clicking her tongue, she shoved him back down on the bed. “No. We need you. And like I said, we still don’t know that you did it.”

He bit his bottom lip. “I do, though; I can feel it.”

With a sigh, she turned to leave. “Get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning—and no admitting to crimes you have no memory of.”

“Fine.” He watched her go, his lungs juggling with his stomach.

Maybe she was right, and it had all been an unfortunate coincidence.

But he couldn't shake the empty feeling gnawing at him, or the phantom red staining his hands. There was no way he wasn’t the killer.

She could have been right on other counts, though: maybe he wasn’t innocent. He could have been working for the mysterious assassins.

Or he could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

One thing he knew for sure was the spearman and his backers were their biggest issue. They’d managed to pin his crime on them, but there would be a trade-off, and soon.

He lay back.

How was he supposed to sleep?

***

Before the sun rose, Jack donned one of the penguin suits and took his soiled clothes to the basement. The sword, of course, he left behind. He didn’t need more problems than he already had.

After an agonising hour of wandering through random rooms, he found the laundry, and was informed he could have just put them in the hamper at the end of his bed.

He returned to the top floor, eyelids heavy, and strolled down the hallway containing Oyster’s office. It was connected to his bedroom, so he rarely had reason to leave it.

The walls had been scrubbed, and any trace of stain was gone from the carpet; the smell of ammonia assaulted his nostrils.

Outside the office was Lydia, who took note of his attire and erupted into laughter.

“Are those mustard yellow trousers?”

Looking down, he went red. “All the others had holes in their asses.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Every single one.”

A voice interrupted from behind him. “Morning, guys— oh my God, what are you wearing?”

Doubled over, Hannah guffawed, a lighter shade of grey painting her face. She wore a thin hoodie flipped up, and a smile coloured her features.

“There wasn’t much choice,” said Jack, “it was this or flowery boxers, and I refuse to wear another man’s underwear!”

She gasped, covering her mouth. “Wait, are you telling me you’re commando right now?”

“No,” he said, expression solemn, “they’re inside out.”

“What’s inside out here is your brain,” said Lydia, tapping the sword at his waist. “What possessed you to bring this with you?”

His gaze crept downward. 

He should have expected this.

“I didn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Evidently, you did.”

“No,” he said, breath catching, “I left it in my room. Hold on.”

Turning his consciousness inward, he imagined himself scowling into the abyss.

Oi, he thought, what do you think you’re doing?

There was no reply.

I know you can hear me in there, you freak! Answer me!

He heard a sigh, but not in his ears. “We can’t have you forgetting me, can we? What if you run into danger and can’t defend yourself?”

You are the danger! You used my hands to kill a man, why would I want to carry you around?

“It makes no difference; we have already bonded. I reside within your soul, and there’s nothing either of us could do about it even if we wanted to.”

I definitely want to! What the Hell are you talking about, ‘bonded’?

“From the moment you picked me up, you have been my master.”

His heart stopped. Casting his mind back, he recalled the feeling when he’d first picked up the katana. At the time, he’d considered it a natural consequence of his drinking habit; now, he knew better.

Pale as a ghost, he turned back to Lydia and Hannah. “I’m f*cked.”

“You know,” said Hannah, “the readers don’t even remember that joke by now. You can probably just swear normally.”

Before he could retort, the door clicked, and a scaly head popped out of it.

“Good morning,” said Oyster, licking his eyeball, “would you come in for a moment?”

Leaving the door open, he retreated inside, and they followed. It was smaller than he’d expected, but still huge. Shelves filled with books lined every wall, and a mahogany desk almost as wide as the room sat before the window, a door in the wall next to it.

Between the desk and them were two tables surrounded by armchairs.

Oyster rounded the desk, sitting in a tall leather chair and steepling his fingers. In front of him was a sleek desktop computer, piles of paper, and the USB stick from the night before.

“Mr. Oyster,” said Hannah, catching his gaze, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but—”

“It’s quite alright.” He waved it away, expression imperceptible. “I have been informed.”

As one, their eyes shot wide. How? He hadn’t left the room all night.

“I shall compensate his family.” He pushed the stick forward. “You asked yesterday why I’m being targeted, but we were interrupted.”

“What about all that time you were locked in here?” said Hannah.

His gaze shifted away. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Online dating.”

Jack almost exploded. “Get your priorities straight! There could be someone on the staff in league with them, and you’re busy trying to get laid!”

Oyster huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, all of my staff have thorough background checks. That includes you, by the way, Mr. Trades.”

He clamped his mouth shut.

Smirking, Lydia eyed him. “Please, do tell.”

“What is on this drive could change the lives of billions of people,” said Oyster, holding it up. “Supply chain issues, disaster evacuation, all could be made into child’s play.”

He furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“A Gate. More specifically, the runic circuit required to create one without a bloated team of mages.”

Eyes widening, Lydia frowned. “That sounds like something that would be highly coveted.”

Oyster nodded. “Which is why the project has been kept top-secret—only myself and the runesmiths who designed it are aware.”

“Looks like you’ve sprung a leak somewhere,” said Jack. “You think one of your rivals hired the guy?”

“But how would they find out?” asked Hannah. “How many runesmiths are there?”

“Two,” said Oyster with a hard stare, “and they staked their careers on this. They wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise it, of that I have no doubt.”

Lydia leaned on the back of an armchair. “In that case, who would have the resources to be able to find out?”

“And hire a Sidhe assassin,” said Jack. “The weapon, the way he moved… It was uncanny.”

Oyster’s scales seemed to droop. “I fear this may be a lot more than mere corporate espionage.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “The newest players in town, Unsee Incorporated.”

Scoffing, Lydia said, “what a nonsensical name.”

“Yes, I rather agree; a bit on the nose given they’re run by the Unseelie queen.”

Jack’s blood ran cold, evacuating his face in search of warmer climes. “The hazard rate just went up. Do you have anyone who can investigate them?”

Oyster snorted. “Naturally I already have spies keeping an eye out, but they’ve seen nothing untoward.”

His legs lost their tension, and he wobbled. “That means nothing; illusion is like breathing to Mab!”

“I can send my cousins,” said Lydia. “They’d be able to detect any illusions in the area. Or any Gates.”

“Please do.” Exhaling slowly, he stroked his beard. “So what next? Do you go public before they can take it?”

“I’ve scheduled a meeting for tomorrow, where I will reveal it to the board. Until then, I wish you to understand what you are protecting—not me, but this drive.” Oyster held it aloft.

They nodded, but Hannah squinted. 

“Why not today?”

Puffing his chest, he grinned. “I have a date tonight.”

Words failed them.

***

The day passed uneventfully, Oyster either preparing for his meeting or his date. When evening came, a car took them to a glitzy hotel along the city centre promenade—they had a different driver, and Jack was relieved to feel no urges.

His sword said nothing.

Lydia’s cousins had found nothing.

On the sixth floor, the restaurant looked over an endless horizon, glittering stars illuminating the roiling waves. The place was decorated in red and pink, with round tables and cushioned chairs and a long bar; each table held a candle, lending a warm and cosy atmosphere.

“Testing, testing, two-three, over,” said Hannah’s voice in his ear. They had acquired radios and earpieces from Oyster’s security.

“That’s the fourth test,” said Jack, fingers twitching. “I’m pretty sure it works.”

“You forgot to say ‘over’, over.”

He didn’t dignify her with a response.

Standing next to the bar, a white door swung open beside him, a red-faced waiter striding through. Lydia was on the door to the hallway, at the other end of the bar, and Hannah watched from the other side of the room.

Oyster was only a few tables from him, deep in conversation with a mousy, brown-haired woman whose smile made her look like a rabbit. If he recalled, her name was Leigh.

They were laughing, which was a good sign. Probably.

Voices penetrated the door next to him.

“Listen, Brian, you cook it how I tell you or you’re out!”

“Do you wanna do it then, Tony? No, didn’t think so; now fuck off or I’ll be serving your head on the menu!”

He sighed, noting that a waiter was delivering their first course: French onion soup.

There was a protocol for this, wasn’t there?

Striding over, he ripped the spoon from Oyster’s hand, drawing a perplexed expression.

“What are you doing?” asked the lizardman.

“Testing for poison,” said Jack, breaking the cheese and pulling out a hefty spoonful of the food. He ate it, and it danced on his tongue.

Savouring the flavour, he ignored Oyster’s glare.

“Well?” said Oyster, voice rising, “is it poisoned or not?”

“Can’t tell.” He picked up the bowl, throwing the rest down his throat.

It scalded his mouth, but it was worth it—earthy and cheesy, with just the right amount of pepper.

Oyster sputtered. “That’s my dinner, you imbecile!”

Giggling, Leigh reached across and caressed his hand. “I think he’s doing a good job.”

Suddenly, he felt an urge to smash the woman’s head through the table.

Oh, are you possessive, as well? Give it a rest!

Before Oyster could complain further, the waiter returned with a large, covered platter.

Setting it down, he removed the cover and said, “the main course for our esteemed lizardman guest, a whole pig’s head.”

The sweet roasted aroma filled his nostrils, and he gawked.

Half the description was accurate.

“That’s just Tony, isn’t it?! Even if Brian’s had enough, he can’t serve this to people!”

The waiter shrugged. “They don’t seem to mind.”

Leigh carved an ear off the head with a smile, poking at the eyes. The head’s expression was one of shock.

“Don’t just eat it like it’s normal!” 

“Such delicious anger.”

A fire welled up inside him, and before he knew it, he’d drawn his sword.

“Let me soothe it for you.”

He swung it straight down at Leigh’s head.