On that sunny Friday afternoon, a glamourous woman strolled into Blaze’s office.

She leaned across the desk and said in a soft and enticing voice, “I want to hire you. Some Lucy-come-lately has stolen my crown.”

Blaze leaned back to get some personal space. He picked up a pen while trying to keep his eyes towards the client’s face. “Can you describe the crown?”

The woman sat on the desk and leaned towards Blaze. “I am officially London’s most dangerous lady,” she said. She playfully took Blaz’s tie and pulled him closer. “It has been this way since the guild of succubi moved here in 1678. I want to know what lady could possibly be more deadly than I.”