The sun beat down, hot and strong, heat soaking into red stone. The sounds of idling nobility wafted from above, glasses of chilled ice getting passed around between musings and ponderings, the pop of a champagne bottle sounding out. Misutira swept her broom along the stone floor, before turning and splashing water onto the ground, trying to pin the dust down, while avoiding getting any on the crisp whites and blacks of her maid uniform.

She looked around, then raised her hand and concentrated, exhaling and twisting her lips around a torturous phrase, words that rippled through her being without her ever being aware of them, leaving a hole in her mind where they should have been. The wet dust obediently arrayed itself into a pile, momentarily limned with black shadows, before disappearing into the darkness of the dustpan. Misutira extended a hand, her nails painted bright scarlet, despite the murmurs from the other servants, twisting her fingers and trying to make the awkward gesture look flowing and elegant, like how Lady Janaxia would do it. More of the grit started to move together, forming into a clump of hair and dirt before flowing into the dustpan as well. She needed more practice, but that was certainly easier than doing it by hand!

From behind her, she heard a shocked giggle and spun around, holding the broom across herself, like how Semari had instructed her, angled for defence. Small eyes started up at her from beneath a mop of unruly black curls, a white mob cap doing little to keep it tidy.

‘You are a witch!’

Misutira sighed. ‘You, little Salma, were meant to be cleaning the library.’

‘It’s clean! Or as clean as it’s going to get. I don’t want to take out every book to clear out dust and some of them have bugs in! You can just magic them all clean, anyway.’ She waggled her fingers. ‘I didn’t think the rumours were true!’

Misutira sighed again. ‘I took you in to aid me with my tasks! Not so that you could spy on me.’

‘And I’m thankful.’ Salma stepped into sight, plucking at her too-big maid’s dress, sized for a petite adult, and too long and baggy on her child’s body, even with everything taken in and tucked up. ‘Although this place is spooky and weird. But everyone says that you’re a witch, and that the family that own this place are evil necromancers! There’s all sorts of creepy things around that I don’t want to touch. And the basement is full of ice!’

‘I’ve told you before not to go down there! It is no place for a child.’

‘But you could sell it and make a fortune! This summer’s crazy hot.’ She looked down, suddenly ashamed. ‘I, um, took some and sold it when I broke those plates, so I could buy replacements…’

‘Ah. I wondered how those had suddenly become newer. But you shouldn’t go down there.’ The entrance to Master Kinnevar’s apartments was locked and secure, but it would be inconvenient if the girl were to discover him and talk to anyone about him.

‘But you go down there! And sometimes for ages! Are you doing magical things’

Misutira drew herself up, staring down at Salma, who tried to stare back before her willpower melted away, and she looked down.

‘I’m sorry, Misutira.’

‘Please remember your etiquette, Salma. I am the head maid, so “Ma’am” would be more appropriate.’

‘Eugh, but there’s no-one else around! Everyone says that a devil-woman lived here before the angel killed her, everyone thinks I’m crazy for living here. And that you’re a witch.’

Misutira put the broom aside before stepping forward and stooping to give Salma a hug, putting the two of them face-to-face. She tried to supress the memories of being possessed and controlled, her doppelganger binding her to silence obedience, before being destroyed by Lady Janaxia, instead ruffling Salma’s hair.

‘I am not a witch. Although, yes, there was a demon here, but I can assure you that it was fully destroyed and will never return. Nor will I allow you to be harmed. So have no fear.’

Salma tensed before relaxing into the hug, her short arms reaching around Misutira’s waist. ‘…Thanks. For taking me in.’

‘There are many refugees now. Tales of blood and darkness stalk the land, and the heavens and earth both seem to be in disarray. But we have a job to do. And yours is to clean the library.’ She drew back, flicking Salma on the forehead. ‘Or I’ll lay a curse on you. Of no dinner! Now take that bucket and broom, and we shall go inside for lunch.’

Salma grinned, her mood restored, as she took the bucket, although she peered curiously at the dirt inside the dustpan, probably wanting to see if there was any evidence of magical power. Misutira picked up the dustpan, using her other hand to gesture at Salma to step inside.

As soon as she closed the heavy door behind them, all sound of the outside world was cut off, the air chill without warmth creeping in from outside. But she had no need of a candle to see – the shadows were no bar to her vision, and she strode ahead, listening to Salma straining with the bucket behind her.

The kitchen was warmer, although that was at least partially due to the massive hole that had been broken through the wall and then never properly repaired, ill-fitting brickwork letting warmer air seep in, along with rays of bright sunlight. A cat was sprawled out on the table, enjoying the warm wood. It raised it’s head to look at Misutira, tail raising up to form a questioning and fluffy curve.

‘Have you been letting animals in again?’

It rose up, stretching it’s back and yawning at her, giving itself a shake before leaping away, squeezing through a small crack in the brickwork, somehow squishing itself through the tiny crack.

‘Hmm. I suppose they are better than rats. Although I would rather they stay off the table!’

‘Maybe you could make him your familiar? That’s what witches do!’

‘I’m not a witch! But the lady of the house was gracious enough to teach me a few minor spells. She is a very powerful and beautiful sorceress – she helped defeat the demoness that was troubling this town. And she’s paying for the both of us as well, so you should be thankful.’

A bell above the kitchen door jangled, harsh and abrupt. Misutira frowned – who could that be? She thought she’d managed to intimidate most of the merchants that kept trying to sell her things, or the beggars that came by hoping for handouts. There were no nobles in residence, so no offcuts of food to hand out! Just enough for her and Salma. And now maybe a cat, although it would likely fatten itself on the mice and rats first. There was no shortage of them scurrying around inside the walls, despite her best attempts at poison!

She walked back into the house proper, Salma staying close – she was unable to see in the darkness. Well, with just the two of them, it wasn’t worth lighting the place, and so Salma would have to learn to manage in the half-light and shadows. The bell chimed again, and she could dimly hear someone thudding on the door. She increased her pace, letting her long skirt swish around her ankles, trying to let the authority as the keeper of this place settle over her.

By the time she reached the front door, it was rattling in the frame, although the wood was thick and well-made, sufficient to defeat all but the most determined attacker. Salma was sticking close by, looking nervous, almost hiding behind Misutira.

While the door was rattling, she reached for the thick bundle of keys at her waist – she still didn’t know what some of them opened, especially the ones that glowed or changed shape depending on the phases of the moons. It turned smoothly in the lock, and she opened the door, letting warm air and bright light shine out.

In front of her were five men, all dressed in chainmail, with swords hanging from their waists. Their leader looked at her, squinting into the darkness and trying to see her, one hand on his sword-hilt.

‘Well, aren’t you a pretty thing! Didn’t think there would be anything nice here.’ He stepped forward, and she had to step back or be shoved by him. ‘We’re just here to collect a few things. Been sent by the owners to get some old family items. I hope for your sake they’re all here, otherwise you’re going to be in a lot of trouble, missy.’ He leered at her. ‘So you just sit here nice and quiet, and no-one needs to get hurt.’

‘Lady Janaxia has sent you?’ They seemed rough and uncultured – very much not the sort of people that Janaxia would associate herself with.

‘Who? No, Shamuth. Or at least he’s the one paying. To retrieve a few items. And since we’re here, then we might “liberate” a few bottles of wine from the cellars. I’m sure a place like this will have something nice. Why don’t you go and grab something for us? And maybe a little something for yourself as well?’

She drew back, wishing that she’d bought the broom with her, so that she could use it to try and block them.

‘This is the estate of Lady Janaxia! You may not enter!’

She stared the man down, noticing his scruffy beard, the faint lines of a scar down one side of his face, his hand tightening on his sword. Misutira made sure to settle her balance low, like how Semari had shown her, Salma still gripping tightly against her from behind.

‘Oh? You’re not going to cause problems, are you? Be a shame if we had to cut up such a pretty little thing.’ He glanced down, shouldering her out of the way and grabbing Salma, dragging her out from behind Misutira and lifting her off the floor. ‘Hmm, what’s this? A little squealer? Your brat, I suppose? Well, unless you want her nice and scarred, then you should go be a good little maid and fetch us some wine.’

He was holding her up with one hand, his other hand going to his waist to draw out a knife. Misutira hissed, tensing her hand up, then throwing her weight forward. Her fist slammed into his chest, with all of her force behind it, before she used her other hand to scratch at his face, blood-red nails scraping against his face, breaking his skin.

He dropped Salma in surprise, anger making his face flush red as he drew his knife.

‘Stupid bitch! Looks like someone needs slicing up. And then maybe we can have some fun!’ A trickle of blood ran down his face, a faint line of shadow connecting the wound to Misutira’s hand. Before he could attack or try and get his balance back, she attacked again, stepping forward a and slamming her feet onto the floorboards, using her bodyweight behind the strike.

He staggered backwards, the back of his head smacking against the wall. She kept pushing forward, spreading her hand against the chest, feeling something warm and soft flutter against her hand. She felt the warmth ripple up her arm and pulled her hand back. Shadow trailed around her hand, forming itself into a dark line, a simplistic outline of a sword with a plain grip.

She thrust, sinking it into the man’s chest, his armour offering no resistance against the spectral blade. He gasped, his body going limp and the light in his eyes fading, as she withdrew the blade, holding it angled across her body.

‘Lady Janaxia has set me the task of guarding this house. And while I stand, you shall not enter.’ She kept her tone light and courteous, despite her words, before gesturing with the sword. Just as Lord Kinnevar had said, it was light in her hand, an extension of her will, lethal and dark.

Black shadow streamed out of the man’s body, forming itself into a wraith-like shadow, a roughly humanoid form topped with two hungry red eyes. The other fighters were looking shocked, scrambling for their swords.

She gestured with the shadowy bladed, feeling a mental connection to the wraith. It had a cold and burning hunger, but was slaved to her will.

‘Kill!’

It slid forward, part of it’s body moving through the wall, ghostly arms outstretched. Steel scraped as swords slid from sheaths, one of the men swinging at the wraith. His blade passed through it, disrupting it’s shadowy body, but not enough to destroy it. Fingers, dark and vague, stretched out, fading into the man’s skin. His skin started to turn grey and pale, and Misutira took advantage of his confusion, attacking with her magical blade.

It was quick and easy to lunge with, and she dropped low, stabbing forward into his chest. It slid through and she twisted it out the other side. He wasn’t yet defeated, but was swaying, looking silk and grey. Now she was in the middle of them, and swayed backwards to avoid a clumsy sword-strike. Now she was in close, it was easy to kick out, a smooth line from her hip, using as much of her strength as possible to drive her foot into one of their legs, just beneath the knee. It was a good, solid strike, making the man stumble.

Misutira backhanded him in the stomach and then grabbed the scruff of his neck as he bent over, dragging him forward and tossing him towards another of the attackers. That tied up two of them, and gave her an opening to attack a third. He tried stabbing at her, but she was faster, weaving around his blade like how Semari had shown her, getting into his reach.

She slammed her head forward, catching him in the nose with her forehead, feeling cartilage splinter, then stabbing with the sword, straight into his stomach. She drew it upwards, feeling a slight shock of resistance as it passed through his heart. He groaned, sagging downwards, and then Misutira felt a surge of pain down her arm. One of them had managed to recover himself enough to stab at her, slicing her arm, leaving a bright sear of pain and blood down her arm, slicing through the sleeve of her uniform.

She growled and twisted her arm around, slicing back at him. There was no resistance as the blade cut into him, a warmth flowing through the darkness. The human-mist of the wraith-creature flowed forward, surging over the man. How it attacked she wasn’t sure, but the man gasped and withered, his flesh drawing tight before he sank down to the ground.

The others were starting to panic, not moving with any organisation – a flick of the wrist dispatched one, her blade passing across his throat, as the wraith finished another.

The last scrabbed back into the street, fear burning in his eyes. Misutira stalked towards him, her footsteps light on the ground.

‘I think it would be easiest if you don’t report back. Although I suppose there will be others – well, I suppose there may be a lot of disappearances. Now you may feast.’

The shadow flowed over him, lines of red energy flowing from his body into the black shadow – it seemed heavier now, a more solid presence. She could feel a connection to it, a presence at the back of her mind, steady and constant. A maid from the house opposite was looking at her, shock and terror on her face, a dropped bucket of water flowing down the street.

Misutira met her eyes and smiled. ‘My apologies. I will dispose of this.’ She grabbed the body by the ankles, the shadow-sword vanishing as soon as she opened her hand and started dragging it inside. Lord Kinnevar’s outer chamber should suffice to keep them from rotting, and perhaps he could do something with them? And now it seemed as though she had an obedient guardian as well! She looked around, seeing the shadow slinking back inside, visible only as two red dots.

Salma ran towards her, wrapping arms around her in a tight hug, burying her face in Misutira’s apron.

‘If you could help me move these? Before they cause a problem.’ Or any of the neighbours complained! Although Salma was small enough that even with her help, it took several trips to get the bodies inside, back into the comforting and embracing darkness.

‘I knew you were a witch!’