“I can’t believe you faked a pandemic to make me come with you,” Regina muttered as we strolled down the bustling city street. “You couldn’t have waited until the end of my shift?”

It was growing overcast despite the heat, and the humidity in the air was right on the edge of condensing into rain. You could feel the tension in the atmosphere, a bubble of pressure ready to burst, and there was nothing supernatural about it.

“’Pandemic’ is a little extreme,” I pointed out, shoving my hands into the pockets of my trousers. “My fake personnel were following official procedure, after all, and more than likely there would have only been a couple of fake news broadcasts and public safety alerts before the whole fake blip faded back into fake obscurity. You should relax. Enjoy the night off. You’re still getting paid, after all. Am I a genius, or am I a genius?”

No answer. We walked in silence for a few moments. Snatches of conversation from the passers-by and snippets of audio from screens displayed in shopfronts revealed the Vatican attack was all that was in the public consciousness, even halfway around the world. It wasn’t every day a whole city got blown to ruin, let alone an entire country. Pope Grace I was featuring prominently on the broadcasts, accompanied by images of religious iconography and the types of sensationalist headlines you didn’t normally see on reputable news outfits. I paid it little attention. It wouldn’t do to give my observer further fuel for speculation.

My companion, too, appeared to buck the trend, torn between stealing quick glances in my direction and seeming to be lost in her own thoughts. Either way, the cultural backdrop washed off of her like water on oil. I let her ruminate, walking on autopilot. Neither of us had discussed where we were going and I was curious to see where it led me.

“You owe me answers,” she said eventually. “You owe everyone answers.”

“My agreement’s with you, not everyone,” I disagreed. “Not that I have any qualms about it. But people who spill divine secrets en masse tend not to have a promising future ahead of them where I work.”

“At… Providence?”

“You catch on quick.”

“Who else knows?” Regina asked, wrinkling her nose as a fat raindrop splashed onto it out of nowhere, the first of many.

“About me or Providence? If it’s me we’re talking, then that would be you, the upper levels of government, and a select cohort of the city’s police force.”

She gave me a look at the last one.

“My turn for a question, now,” I said, moving on. “Why is a genuine psychic working in a restaurant, and not consulting for the rich and famous? Say, administering horoscopes?”

Regina stopped, turned on her heel, and looked me in the eye. That fearlessness I’d witnessed during our first encounter had returned, sporadic in its appearances but no less remarkable. Apparently gods were less scary than unemployment these days.

“Horoscopes?” she began disdainfully. “You mean scams. Those things prey on people’s desire for labels. They’ve got no basis in reality.”

“Yeah, but they’re fun.” I grinned. “And more importantly, profitable. Seems to me that would solve your money problems.”

“A lot of things would solve my money problems,” she agreed. “And they’re either unethical or outside my control.” She pursed her lips. “Not an option. And the world has no need of people like me. I can’t predict the future or communicate with the dead, and that’s all anyone cares about.”

“So what can you do, then?”

“My turn first. Why aren’t you doing anything to help save the world? With all your powers, how can you stand by and do nothing and manage to sleep at night?”

I felt my eyebrows rise in spite of myself. I wasn’t usually the person people asked that question. More often than not, they were just relieved I wasn’t trying to con them or actively bringing about the end of days. “First of all,” I said, aware I was probably still being watched from afar, “I don’t have my powers. Number one rule of modern godhood. Get on the good side of those with power or lose yours. Durga, now -”

“I don’t believe you,” Regina said, shooting me a confident glance. The raindrops intensified into a shower, and she sidestepped under the eave of a corner shop, still open, a small outfit selling cheap home electronics, pausing to wait it out. She was still wearing her apron and took the opportunity to remove it, bundling it up into a tight roll on top of a stack of miniature toasters, before packing it into the satchel slung across her body. She wore all black underneath, an unembellished shirt and trousers. Without the emblem of her trade, it seemed to transform her from a downtrodden member of Singapore’s lower class – such as it had one – to someone who would have looked at home in any sector of society. I knew from experience that wasn’t an easy feat to pull off.

“Well,” I responded, floundering a little, “from a certain perspective, I suppose I do. I have immortality, limited diplomatic immunity and travel privileges. Although all the interesting places are restricted by management. And the more cynical among us -” here I made a not-so-subtle indication towards myself, “- might be inclined to believe that sightseeing, while nice, is a convenient concession to pacify the herd.”

“I’ve heard enough stories not to try to outwit you, Loki,” Regina said, folding her arms. “But I’m calling you out. You want to know what I can do? This. You and Durga both give off so much supernatural energy I can feel it from several blocks away.”

This line of conversation was turning out to be less than ideal. Of all the people I could have sought out, I’d somehow ended up with the one who could end up revealing my true status under watch. The pact wasn’t going to help me out here; my powers had nothing to do with the existence of the Vatican Concord. I had to wrap it up before things got messy.

“Sure. I am still a god. Depending on how you define these things. Doesn’t make me a useful one. It’ll be the immortality talking.”

“You think I haven’t seen immortals before? They might not have walked into my restaurant while I was on shift, but they’re around. Diwata, angels, djinn -”

And there it was. My excuse. “I’m going to stop you there,” I said, holding up a hand. “Since you seem like someone who cares about ethics, there’s something you should know. Three things, actually. One - angels are creepy as hell.” Except Lucy, of course. “Two, lesser immortals are something of an endangered species these days, and only becoming more so. Your ability to identify them is extremely valuable to a certain kind of person. And three, we are being watched, so unless you’re morally on board with them becoming more endangered, I would nip this topic in the bud. It may already be too late.”

Sudden alarm crossed her features, her shoulders tensing. “Who’s watching?”

“Providence. Someone else causes a disaster and I’m suddenly on the watchlist. Not that that’s a significant departure from normal.”

“Your bosses? Other gods?”

I shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you exactly which ones. But if you want someone to blame, they’re probably a good starting point.”

Fists clenched, she turned aside, pacing down the length of the shopfront. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“How was I supposed to know you would turn out to be psychic?” I answered, stepping out of the way. “You’re not exactly a common bunch. The moment I knew, they knew.”

Regina stopped a few feet away from me, her shoulders rising in the golden shop light filtering out between stacks of silhouetted goods, as she drew in a deep breath. “So what are they going to do? Now that they know.”

“I couldn’t say,” I said with some gravitas, keeping my distance. “It depends who’s listening and what their agenda is. If you’re lucky, it’ll be someone sympathetic who’ll stay mum.” I emphasised this last part as a not-so-subtle hint to the person in question. “Some of my less scrupulous colleagues might try to keep you for themselves and blackmail you into becoming a personal agent. Honestly, you could do worse. Most likely, though, they’ll see an exploitable resource and put you to work bringing in any supernatural beings who stray out of line. Or whom they just don’t like. Or they might just decide to kill you.”

There was no movement from her end for a few moments, but then she turned to face me, drawing in a somewhat more shaky breath. “Goddammit,” she cursed under her breath. “I’ve been so stupid. Don’t get me wrong,” she added, louder, pointing a finger at me, “I still blame you. But I should never have approached you in the first place.”

“Hmm. Better me than someone else,” I argued. “I’d rather not side with the people who want to eliminate what’s left of the competition. That puts us on the same team.”

“You? But you -”

“The narrative you’ve heard isn’t what you think it is,” I interrupted firmly. “But we don’t have time to go into detail. You’re lucky I got to you first, and lucky the fuddy-duddies monitoring me are hamstrung by their own bureaucracy. I can provide you a safeguard of sorts in the short term, but the sooner you make a choice, the better your options.”

She stepped back towards me, the light dusting of water droplets coating her head and shoulders glittering in the shop light. “And what choice is that?”

“What I was proposing you do anyway. Become one of my worshippers. Wasn’t planning on it being quite so rushed, or in front of a stack of discount hairdryers, but it’ll grant me certain special dispensations here I wouldn’t normally be able to draw on.”

“And how can I trust a word you say?” she hissed. “Especially after that scene at Top Arrow.”

“Obviously you can’t,” I conceded, grinding my teeth together in frustration. “Fine. You want to be stubborn? Keep on as normal and don’t blame me if they come for you. I’ve offered you the opportunity; you’re welcome not to take it. I don’t want worshippers anyway.”

So much for tonight’s plans, and just when it seemed to have been going so well. The discussion hadn’t been a complete waste – without meaning to, my stumbling onto a rogue psychic might serve to divert the monitoring to a new target. Though I doubted it.

All this effort to secure a place to sleep for the night wasn’t worth the hassle; there were other options. But it galled me to lose someone Providence might later be able to weaponise against me.

I sidled up beside the waitress, not attempting to reach out. She had turned away again, grim-faced, staring out into the rain as better-prepared pedestrians strolled past carrying umbrellas. “On that note,” I informed her, “unless you have any further questions, I’ll be taking my leave. For good. Any last berating you want to get in while you have the chance?”