I shifted into mosquito form a split second before a blaze of white light punched every shadow in the room into oblivion, taking cover upside down on the ceiling. Arguably the better course of action would have been to skedaddle, but curiosity was getting the better of me and leaving demon-Grace to deal with the boss alone seemed unnecessarily cruel.

Providence’s chief executive was left behind in what had to be the world’s most disappointing afterimage. Without his executive team backing him up, Yahweh wasn’t particularly imposing. In the physical looks department, he appeared about sixty years old, a far sight more venerated than most of his underlings, yet with an undeniable hint of vanity. He sported a trim figure and neatly-shaven beard, and wore an all-white suit bearing the hallmarks of hand-crafted tailoring rather than something that had been conjured into existence. Like Lucy, his ethnic resemblance was hard to pin in the context of the modern world, which wasn’t surprising given his age. Give it a few more thousand years, if humanity managed to survive that long, and most of us would also look like relics from a bygone era.

“My Lord,” Pope Grace demurred, pushing himself into a seated position with his left hand after a tug with the right one failed to free it from his robes. “You came in person.”

Yahweh looked from where his servant lay in the centre of the obvious ritual circle to the blood-soaked altar and back again, an expression of mild hurt on his face. “My son, it wounds me when my own mouthpiece resorts to dark sorcery.” His face seemed sombre, but there was something dangerous running under the gentle cadence of his voice. “What is all of this foolishness? I am the Lord God. You honestly thought a trifling dissuasion spell would hinder my omniscience?”

The image of his body flickered and reappeared seated in the throne up on the stage, where he immediately seemed much more comfortable. Since his appearance, a weighty, suffocating energy had filled the room, no doubt his power at work. Anyone who had ever worked on Helpdesk had a good idea how it functioned, since Yahweh’s ability powered the task management software. I did my best to keep my thoughts neutral and detached, a difficult task when something this important was happening in front of me, but critical for reasons of self-preservation. That he hadn’t called me out yet seemed to indicate the pact was holding, registering my presence as nothing more than an ordinary insect in the localised reality slice his power captured, but there was no reason to tempt fate more than necessary.

Grace floundered under the pressure akin to a lost, abandoned duckling. Placing the stem of his crosier on the ground, he levered himself halfway to standing. “It looks bad, yes, but -”

“My child,” interrupted the tyrant, “it appears in my compassion I have allowed you too much freedom. I have allowed you your quaint distractions. Your choice of reading matter from the forbidden Vatican library is of little concern to me. Popes have always had their vices and amusements. But really, Grace?” His lip curled slightly. “You consort with my wayward son? You? I elevated you above all other mortals and this is how you repay my generosity?”

Which wasn’t how popes came to power, but never mind accuracy.

“Forgive me, Lord,” Grace said, tugging distractedly at the hand tangled in his clothes. “I am an old man. I must be getting confused in my old age. Perhaps it is finally time for me to step down as -”

“No.” The word was said quietly, but it sounded with the weight and finality of a jail door closing.

“Please, my Lord -” the old man appealed. For someone like Grace, I knew how badly he wanted out if he was prepared to stoop to begging.

“Your next task will be an opportunity to re-establish your loyalty,” said the tyrant, moving on as if Grace hadn’t said anything. “I’ll send one of my team around in the next few days to brief you on the details. Oh, and I’ll need you to burn the books in the forbidden library. I can’t have you poking around in any more of these silly arcane mysteries. For your own good.”

Grace’s eyes widened as he made another failed effort to pull his hand free of his robes. “Destroy all that knowledge? That’s - I don’t think I could bring myself to do that.” I could tell he had just discovered the personal meaning of blasphemy.

The tyrant looked puzzled. “I command it, my child. You have no choice.”

Even in the face of absolute power, Grace couldn’t quite shake the attitude. “There’s always a choice,” he snapped, his voice suddenly angry and sharp. “Even when the options are cruel and distasteful, there is still a choice. That’s what free will is all about, after all.”

There was a moment of pure, absolute silence. Grace’s face betrayed that he knew he had made a terrible mistake.

Yahweh’s eyes narrowed.

Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

An earth-shattering bang exploded somewhere above us, rocking the secret chamber hard enough to make the walls shake. The vibrations in the ceiling dislodged me from my perch, and I spiralled downwards a little in a tangle of wings before recovering and regaining my purchase. Dust rained down from the ceiling in trickles, and a few small pieces of stone flaked free and clattered to the floor.

“What have you done?” Grace exclaimed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling in a futile attempt to assess the extent of the damage. “There are people up there!”

“Not anymore,” said Yahweh.

“Everyone up there is faithful to you,” spluttered Grace, horror plastered all over his face. His free hand was clenched around the crosier hard enough to turn the knuckles white. “You’re blowing a hole in your own followers.”

“You of all people should know how flimsy that devotion is,” said Yahweh, sniffing and brushing dust from his impeccable suit. “Belief is less important than results. And a malicious attack against the church usually gains me a net increase in followers. What does it matter if we lose a few in the process? You people breed like rabbits anyway.”

I’ve got to let this one go, Apollo had said only minutes earlier. Had he really been talking about diplomacy in Africa, or… this?

Closing his eyes and steadying himself against his staff, Grace took a long breath. When he opened his eyes again, the defeated expression he wore made him look ten years older. “You win,” he admitted. “I won’t try to leave again.”

“No, I don’t believe you will,” said the tyrant, studying him. “We have the rest of your life to find out if you’re worth the investment. Of course -” he gestured around the room, where dust was still raining from the ceiling, “- that might not be very long.” He pointed at one of the far corners of the chamber. “That spot is the most structurally sound. Although… a pity this place isn’t public knowledge. That’s going to make it hard for the search and rescue teams. Especially since all your guards who knew the secret died in the flames.”

And with that, he was gone; one moment seated in the golden throne, and the next, not. The oppressive weight in the air lifted. It took a second or two for Grace to process the absence, but once he did, he let out a bellow belying his seemingly frail constitution and hurled the crosier at the throne. It missed, slammed into the stone wall behind, and bounced off with a clang. A passing aspect of surprise flashed across his face, but he didn’t let it distract him from turning his attention to his right hand, straining to pull it free.

It tore only partially clear with a loud rip, large segments of white fabric clinging to the hardened sap with a determination rivalled only by their commitment to staying attached to rest of the papal regalia. Grace’s efforts to separate it out only served to make his outfit more ragged and wrinkled, until he threw down the handful of fabric in distaste.

The distant scent of smoke was already filtering through into the chamber via some undiscovered air vent. It was in my interest to find out what was happening upstairs. When I tried to warp through to a good vantage point, however, I felt myself unravelling with agonising sluggishness into what I could only describe as nonexistence, feeling the fabric of my body begin to degenerate piece by reluctant piece. Chances were it was only a slowed-down version of what always happened, but I put a stop to it anyway.

If this was the state my powers were in, the pact must have taken quite a battering. Considering it had the threat of the tyrant’s power to contend with, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But Tez had been right – as a litmus test, it did the job. That my powers were still being interfered with after Yahweh had left could either mean his attention was still on the issue – which was likely – or it was possible the pact just needed a certain amount of recovery time. Lucy would know. It was probably written in the contract fine print.

A quick getaway was out of the picture for now, then.

I stuck to the safe option and alighted back on the floor, shifting back to human. This also took time; a good twenty seconds of it, and needed much more of a continual push than usual. Grace spotted me around about the halfway mark, and was treated to the eyeful of unfurling nightmare fuel. He stared at me in frozen horror until the transformation was complete.

“You,” he said weakly, when it was over. I’d chosen the form of one of his guards this time, the obstructive redhead, but from the way he addressed me it was clear he understood who he was really talking to.

“Yes, I’m not at my best at the moment,” I confessed, double-checking I hadn’t missed anything. “They can’t all be beauty days. Anyway, looks like I’m going to be your fire warden for today. I don’t suppose you built this little bolthole with an evacuation plan?”

My words seemed to jog him out of his shock. “You saw what he did, didn’t you? He’s crazy.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” I said, climbing to the back of the stage and picking up the crosier. “Crazy is better than the alternative. Here.” I tossed him the staff.

He flinched as it flew towards his head, but caught the projectile even as he ducked out of the way in a display of spry reflexes no doubt helped along by his new demonic status. “You see why I’ve got to get out.”

“I’d sit tight,” I advised, already heading over to the door. “If it’s not you he’s baiting around, it’s just going to be some other unlucky sap, and you’re more useful as a double agent. Meanwhile, you’re in a bit of a spot with your divine relations. May as well enjoy your prime viewing position; it’ll make the vengeance that much sweeter.”

The pope’s mouth set in a grim line. “What about our deal? The job? You said you’d give me what I wanted.”

I floated my hand in a ‘so-so’ motion before punching the door trigger. It was quiet out there. “Well, give or take.” I glanced back over my shoulder. “I think we can both agree it’s hard to be an asset to the anti-Providence league from the safety of a beach in the Cayman Islands.”

“Now, wait a minute. This is your agenda. You can all jump around and turn into abominations that look like they should have been aborted long before birth -”

“That one’s just me,” I corrected.

“- but what am I going to do? You think I can take on that? Do you see the problem here?” He made to wring his hands and was prevented by the mess of resin and fabric. "This is a nightmare. A nightmare."

I stepped back as the door slid back and swung out, revealing a dark and empty corridor. The crowd of guards and contractors was gone, replaced by a sight straight out of the set of a suspense film. The explosion had short-circuited the tunnel’s interior lights, which wasn’t a problem for me, but meant Grace would be going in blind. The smell of smoke was much stronger out here and, while not overpowering, was indicative of a much larger problem elsewhere.

“For a start,” I informed him while I waited for my senses to sharpen, “you’re not mortal anymore. We just gave you the eternal life you wanted. Of course, that all flies out the window if you go and get yourself stupidly killed, which is one reason you might want to try and stay on Yahweh’s less destructive side.”

Two-thirds of the way down the main tunnel, a plume of dust and smoke was billowing down from a gaping hole taking out a large segment of the wall and ceiling. Rubble spilt through in a landslide formation blocking off access to the main exit. Weak light filtered through the dust and debris to the tunnel, but not much; a mixture of daylight and orange-hued fire. Sirens and assorted alarms blended together into a jumbled whine faint in the distance. Closer to home, ominous creaks and cracks sounded all around us. It didn’t bode well for the future of the grottoes.

Grace wasn’t responding. I checked back on him to find he’d scooped up one of the candles for illumination and shoved it into the sticky hand, where the resin’s adhesive made up for the lack of manual dexterity.

He was also staring at me with his jaw open.