You Can't Spell Spy Without Q

Author's Note: The title is a James Bond reference.

Being a spy is a dangerous lifestyle.

You can't always be wandering around armed to the teeth in enemy territory if you are supposed to look like an innocent, doe-eyed maid. Granted, I've been known to bring a few of my specialty cleaning supplies. A broom can be more than just a staff. Break off the casing and there is a slender sword within. Or there is my duster that doubles as a fogger. Of course if I set it off when dusting I've just doubled my work.

That's why when I'm back at the castle, between assignments, I find myself in a far more dangerous place than any Gwendal has ever assigned me to—Anissina's laboratory. She makes those little gadgets that keep me in one piece even if the prototypes usually have the other residents falling to pieces.

Remind me to tell you about the time Doria accidentally found the poison goblet-kun sometime. Gunter's tongue was green for a week.

Anyway, last time I got back I had a few burns on my hands from the quick heating serving tray-kun, and I was hoping the inventor could work a few more of the kinks out on it. It had gotten the target's tea to nearly boil which was a great distraction when I threw it in his lap, but I like to keep my hands dainty, so the handles still needed some work.

Now, kids, this is the part of the story where Yozak makes his fatal mistake. I got to the laboratory door and I opened it. Always knock. Always, always, always knock. Especially if it is to a lady's room. And most especially if that lady happens to be just a little intense.

So, the door is open, and I'm standing inside looking right at the biggest, saddest pair of bright blue eyes you've ever seen—complete with tear streaks on the cheeks.

Honestly, I wanted to run. The thought of Anissina letting down her guard enough to cry was alarming to say the least. Gunter? At least once a day. Gwendal? Wouldn't surprise me. Anissina? Something very, very bad was happening, and if I stuck around that very, very bad thing would probably be happening to me.

But I couldn't run. I'm a gentleman. And the door was already shut behind me.

I tried to ask her what was wrong. I say that I tried to ask, because it is difficult to ask a question when your mouth is pressed up against someone else's.

The next thing I know, my back is against the wall and I can hear things clattering off onto the floor from the impact. I said a silent prayer to the Shinou that none of it was going to melt me or change me into a duck. My hands were on her hips and her legs were wrapped around mine and her arms were around my neck. And her mouth was attacking mine like it contained lost treasure and she was determined to get at it first.

If I've learned one thing in my time as a spy at Blood Pledge castle it was that you can't say no to Anissina. Oh, you could say it, but it was a lot like telling the sun not to rise or the tides not to change. She wasn't just a noble woman. She wasn't just an inventor. She wasn't just a mazoku. She was a force of nature, and she would not be denied.

And, to be fair, those ugly dresses of hers cover a body that felt pretty damn good pressed against mine. Soon we were dress up, pants down, and getting to know each other in new ways. I'd tell you more of the details, but remember, I'm a gentleman. And I'm a little afraid she'd kill me.

I still don't know what caused the tears or why jumping on her friendly, neighborhood spy felt like the right solution. The only things I really learned about her that night were that she is stronger than she looks. Actually, she's stronger than Gwendal looks for that matter. Her pale thighs look nice with my red palm print on them. She should wear her hair down all the time. And when she is finished with something she just moves on to the next task at hand. Well, maybe I already knew that last one, but I didn't figure it applied to everything. I was wrong.

After she pinned her hair back up, she showed me a hand-held explosive that looked just like a shampoo bottle. I told her about the tray, and then I was on my way. Another mission completed successfully.

The moral of the story? Being a spy is a dangerous lifestyle, but it has its rewards.