Jack was happy. He whirled and twirled and killed and mobsters died all around him, and tucked back there, out of harm’s way, was Sabine, watching it all. He tried not to show off, honest he did, but every now and then he’d catch himself killing with an unnecessary flourish or making a hilarious joke.

Like after a quick disembowelling: “That took guts!”

Or after he tore out a throat: “That’s put an end to your singin’ career!”

Or his favourite, after he’d plunged his fingers into the eyes of a gunman: “Hey, you got somethin’ in your eye... oh yeah, it’s me!”

Hilarious, each and every one. He didn’t even have to look back to just know that Sabine was impressed.

Life was good for Springheeled Jack.

Sanguine rose up from the ground, snapped a goon’s neck and watched Kaiven and two other gunmen turn to him. “We’re just here for the bow,” he said.

“You shall not pass,” Kaiven thundered, raising his wand.

Sanguine lowered his head. “Please,” he said, “have a little dignity. There are mortals present.”

“Indeed there are,” said Kaiven, “and they will open fire if you take one more step. You are not leaving here with the bow. I don’t think my boss is ready to part with it just yet. Maybe if you come back in a few decades, after he’s dead...”

“This is disgusting,” Sanguine said. “Look at you, taking orders from a mortal. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Kaiven raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you’re one of them, are you? The sorcerers who believe themselves somehow superior to the dominant species on the planet?”

“No I ain’t,” Sanguine replied, “but I’d still never take orders from a man who couldn’t kill me in a fair fight.”

“What can I say? I like my job, and the pay is good. I’ve been living in a Temple for the last few decades. My bedroom was a cold cell with a bunk and a privy. You really think that’s any way for a grown man to live in this day and age? Now that I’m out, I have an apartment, and a jacuzzi, and a television that takes up an entire wall that is also a computer.