I stood in my kitchen, already so tired and used up I would have lain down in a coffin if that was all that was available ... and considered the brown-paper parcel on the table before me. Suzie came in from the hall and joined me. She slipped an arm round my waist, and I kissed her absently on the cheek. My Suzie, also known as Shotgun Suzie, also known as Oh Christ It’s Her, Run. My tall blonde Valkyrie in black leathers, a bounty-hunter who always brings them in dead because there’s less paper-work that way. My love, my life, my reason for living, who had dropped the biggest bomb-shell into my life in years by accepting this appallingly significant parcel ...

I moved away from Suzie and walked slowly round the kitchen table, studying the sword-shaped package from all angles. It stubbornly refused to look like anything except a bloody big sword. I had absolutely no intention of touching the thing just yet. Suzie looked at me curiously but said nothing. She could tell I was working. Solving problems is what I do. I leaned over the kitchen table, examining the brown-paper parcel from hilt to point. There were no stamps anywhere, and no address—only my name, in perfect copper-plate. Which meant the parcel couldn’t have come by regular post. It had to have been delivered by hand.

“When did this arrive?” I asked Suzie.

Her ears pricked up as she caught the seriousness in my voice. “Two, three hours ago. I heard a knock on the front door, looked out, and there it was. Leaning against the wall. At first I thought it must be for me since it’s so obviously a weapon; but then I saw it had your name on it, so I put it on one side for you, for when you got home.”