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"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I yelled loudly as I walked into my bedroom for the first time following a lengthy leave from the estate. I hoped Calvin would hear me, although I knew that even if he did he probably wouldn't bother to emerge from his slumber regardless of the stink that I made above him. "It's everywhere, Calvin! That won't just come out of the ceiling like any other stain, you know!"

Predictably, no stirring was heard from within the subterranean chamber beneath the mansion's ground floor. It was then that I knew for certain that my roommate was in fact a total dickhead.

Even though he was a hundred years my senior, I'd thought that we'd acquired a certain intimate bond as semi-solitary vampires living in a mostly mortal region, however it seems that he thinks so little of me that I am now relegated to the one-man maid cleanup crew of my own godforsaken bedroom! Oh, how he riles me so! I would never sully his coffin room with such an assorted spattering of blood and entrails like he has me!

Still… my rent has already been paid up for the next eight centuries, and I am determined to make this work… I just need to find some common ground... Perhaps Calvin enjoys Lego also!

When I walk through the door, everything seems normal. The kitchen is messy – but no more than usual. The living room is covered in cheap throw pillows and dog hair. April's bedroom door is ajar; I peek through and see my roommate passed out on top of her unmade bed, snoring. I roll my eyes and open the door to my own bedroom.

That's when I see that my bed is covered in blood. Covered might not be the right word. More like soaked. Blood drips steadily from the bottom of the mattress and the corners of the comforter. There's so much of it that the air tastes bitter and metallic when I take a breath.

Daisy Mae, April's tiny chihuahua, is curled up in the middle of the blood-soaked bed, sleeping peacefully. The pink bow on top of her head is askew and stained red.

Not again.

“GODDAMNIT, APRIL!” I shout, storming over to her room and kicking the door wide open. It bangs against the wall and April wakes up with a start. Her room doesn't smell like blood; it smells like alcohol. Somehow, that's even worse. “I told you not to put your hellhound in my room!” I yell at her. “She had lunch in my bed again!”

“But I needed mine for sleeping,” April groans. She snatches a pillow and plops it over her head.

I snatch it right back off and throw it at her. “So do I! We talked about this!”

“She doesn't even leave any bones,” April complains.

“No, just an entire lake of blood that's dripping out of my mattress! It's worse than ever!” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It doesn't really work. “April,” I say through my teeth, “you cannot keep an actual hellhound as a pet. It's not working out.”

“But she's so cuuute.”

“I hope she bites you,” I say savagely. “That's it. Good luck paying the rent on your own. Maybe the cute hellhound can chip in.”

“Where are you going?” she demands as I head for the door.

“I'm gonna pack up my underwear,” I snap, “and then I'm gonna go live in a van down by the river.”

There are three things you need to know about cursed objects:

1. They're cursed: bad things happen to the people they target
2. They're high-quality: no one would be lured in by a cursed mirror unless it was also a nice mirror
3. They tend to have quite specific targets: this necklace chokes unfaithful wives, this axe injures woodsmen who cut sacred trees, etc.

What I'm saying is, if you know that a particular cursed object doesn't target you specifically, then what you've really got is a very cheap, very high quality item.

So that's what I do. I have a flat that is much, much better furnished than I should be able to afford on a bartender's salary. I have a full matching (cursed) set of crockery, velvet (cursed) drapes, and an opulent, gilt-edged armchair that is both over-stuffed and absolutely lethal to anyone who likes jazz. Personally, I'm an EDM guy.

I spend my weekends antiquing, looking for any items with a missing or mysterious history. Anything that's sold a little cheaply, by a dark-eyed man with a pointy beard. Anything that got sold the week before to a hobbyist, but that's now part of an estate sale. If you know what you're looking for, cursed objects are everywhere.

Of course, finding them is just the first step. The next step is a lot - a lot - of research. You need to be absolutely certain that it won't target you. Benny - that's the guy who got me into this game - lived like a king for years, and then died the same day he got his final item: a silver pair of scissors.

The scissors themselves were fine - they stabbed frenchwomen who whistled, and that wasn't a good description of Benny. The plastic bag they were sold in though? Smothered litterers. Cursed items tend to clump together, and it's a good idea to investigate every little bit.

Once I've investigated though, once I've found an available item that's not a danger to me, then I'm good to go. £200 for a shoe rack that breaks the ankles of people in riding boots? Bargain. £50 for a set of crystal glasses that shatter opera singers? A steal. I live the life Riley wishes he could (literally - I own a nutcracker that wishes to do the obvious to anyone named Riley).

One downside - a minor thing. 'Ownership' is a loose concept to cursed objects. Often 'being nearby' is enough to trigger them. So just like I carefully research my furniture, I have to research my friends as well. Can't invite Emily over, her dad's a fisherman. Game night with Toby can work, but only if we play the modern version of Cluedo, and keep the old one weighed down with (very heavy) books. My dad - plays the saxophone - hasn't visited in years.

No one is infallible. Sometimes, just like Benny, I make a mistake. Not, so far, with as personally-dire consequences as him, but I've had my share of upsets. Had to give statements to the police once or twice - no idea how it happened, officer. Had to bury a body a time or two, when it was too hard to explain.

And that brings us to today. To arriving home after work to discover my flat half-cleaned and my new cleaner half-eaten by my (sinfully soft) four-poster bed. I wouldn't have thought that Ms. Pettigrew (mid 30s) was a virgin princess of the Romanian blood royal, and I can't imagine she was aware either. Every day is a learning day.

Tonight will not be an early night. I have a lot of cleaning-up to do, and now only the severed arm of a cleaner to help out. Still, it's a small price to pay. It is an extremely comfortable bed.

"Successful mission" I grin.

"You sure enjoy being a thief, huh?" Harleen giggles.

I give her a playful punch on the arm. "Does it count as stealing when we're retrieving stolen goods?"

"Least we got a cut" Farjoh chimes.

Everyone looks at him. "We didn't get a 'cut', this was simply our payment for the job" I state firmly.

"Dargo's right" Sprax concurs. "We're adventurers, available for hire, not bandits."

"Wait." Lariot leaps forward. "Something... something's wrong..."

"How can you tell?" Harleen walks next to him.

"I can sense it. I can hear the evil whispers." Lariot continues forward cautiously. The rest of us follow.

I spot something on the ground. I pick it up. "A tuft of fur. The softness and weight, along with the colouring, indicates this is from a deer. I see a bit of red. Must be blood." I glance at my team. "Someone been hunting here?"

"No. If it were a simple hunt, I wouldn't be so wary. The whispers are coming from the building." Lariot enters the sleeping quarters. A loud gasp grabs our attention. "You all need to see this!"

We all dash in. I almost collapse. On my bed, is blood. A lot of blood. I slowly walk over, examining it. "More tufts of fur. Soaked through completely." I look at the fur in my hand. "Someone brought a deer inside, cut into it, and covered my bed in its blood. They're sending a message." I turn to Lariot with terrified eyes. "Whoever did this... wants me dead."

"Dargo, please, don't panic." Lariot uses his calming voice. I focus on him. "You're safe. You're safe."

I whisper the words to myself. I smile. "Thank you. I needed that."

"We need a new base" Sprax declares.

I hang my head in shame. "I'm sorry..."

"Oh, don't worry, this is the third time this year! People are always trying to kill us! Lead the way, Sprax!" Harleen gets behind him, and he starts walking.

I know it's no use trying to separate myself, so I follow along, hoping I don't cause more trouble.

We spend a couple hours walking until we reach our destination. A slightly smaller area with its own 'training ring'. No building for sleeping, makeshift tents are set up instead. "Miss this one! This is really a good area to spread my wings!" Farjoh smirks, before becoming an eagle.

"We have several places around the city. When we get targeted, we move to another base. Here's our new location until we're found again." Sprax gestures Lariot and I to follow into the base proper.

I linger slightly, staring out at the city. "Someone's after me" I mumble. "This is why I don't make 'friends'." I follow the pair, contemplating what to do...

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

This story is a part of my series, A Thief's Honour. Please check it out!

"Oh, not again."

Hespin sighed heavily and glanced up at the ceiling of his apartment. Sure enough, there was a massive crimson stain once again spreading out from underneath the new paint.

As a general rule, the cult living in the suite upstairs didn't cause too many problems. Their members were tidy, polite, and even kept their chanting sessions at low volume so as not to disturb the neighbors. The monthly blood sacrifices though, were an entirely different story.

For one, there was the livestock. As far as Hespin could tell, their dread god Magroseth required the blood of a virgin male on the eve of the full moon and to satisfy this requirement, the cult of Fate's Bane had resorted to using a virgin angus bull. Precisely HOW they determined said bull was virgin, he had no idea, but Hespin most certainly was not interested in finding out.

He was just glad to have an affordable apartment. The laundry expenses were somewhat excessive, but on the whole it was the best deal he could find.

Trying hard not to breathe through his nose, Hespin loaded his now-drenched sheets into a plastic-lined hamper and headed downstairs for the trip to the laundromat.