“No you won’t,” she stated.

“Oh, I will.”

“No,” she repeated. “You won’t. You think I don’t know you live here? I told you, I can sense you a mile off. You think I wouldn’t recognise the same presence that’s been wandering in and around the city for half a decade? Albeit not as strong. I can even pinpoint your exact apartment building.”

My jaw dropped open a little, even as alarm bells rang in my head at the mention of the disparity in energy strength. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“No! I’ve been investigating. When a new deity moves into the neighbourhood, it’s only prudent to find out if they’re causing trouble. From a safe distance.”

It accounted for her specific interest in me at the restaurant. Not some misguided crush, after all, but the mark of someone who knew more than they’d been letting on from the start. “You have,” I exclaimed delightedly. “Aren’t you just full of surprises! I expect you fancy yourself some kind of local guardian, then.”

Her cheeks reddened. “A guardian would get themselves killed. Do I look like an action hero to you?”

“Because as we all know, one’s prowess in battle is dictated by their appearance,” I intoned dryly. “Try and get that out of your system before you jump into a career in paranormal investigation.” Leaning back, I rested the full weight of my body against the hairdryers, wedging them between my back and the window. “And I suppose you just keep all this juicy information to yourself, do you? No little close-knit bubble of contacts who are also in on the secrets of Singapore’s supernatural underbelly?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t tell you,” she replied. “Bud nipped, remember?”

“Hmm. Indeed. Not that it matters if they get their hands on you. Word of advice: sell out fast. The more uncomfortable a request makes you, the quicker you should action it. It’ll save a lot of hurt in the long run.”

She turned back to face me with a look of disgust. “That’s vile. You should be ashamed.”

“That’s how you survive,” I corrected her. “People who ask you to do distasteful things to others aren’t likely to think twice about doing them to you, or people you care about. And I’m sorry to say they’re probably going to get what they want regardless. Trying to be noble is only going to make things worse.”

“You’re wrong. History has proven over and over you have to take a stand against injustice, or it has free rein to continue unchecked.”

She wasn’t wrong, although justice was very much a subjective concept, and there was a time and a place for displays of heroics. “History wasn’t dealing with gods,” I pointed out as the rain intensified, splashing down through the still air with renewed vigour. A trickle of water snaked its way across the concrete towards the soles of my boots. I could see movement from inside the shop as the staff weighed up whether to bring their display goods back indoors, but I got the impression they were waiting for us to leave. “Psychic or not, you’d be like an ant trying to stop the boot from coming down,” I continued. “Be smart.” With the surveillance in play, I couldn’t reveal what I really wanted to say – that if she played her cards right, she might be able to make some difference from within.

Regina creased her eyes shut tight, frowning. “The gods are your enemies, not mine.”

“They’re not mine, either,” I said. “With a few key exceptions, admittedly. People are people, no matter how much power they wield. It’s the rampant authoritarianism I can’t stand.”

“The same authoritarianism you just recommended I go along with?”

“Ah, touche.”

“Fine,” she said, opening her eyes again. “How does one worship you?”

“You’re changing your mind?”

She looked at me askance. “Don’t pretend this wasn’t your plan all along.”

“Guilty as charged,” I bluffed, still somewhat bewildered. Sometimes my reputation could be useful, if not enlightening. “As for the worship, your word’s good enough. I’ve never gone in for sacrifices; who needs a bunch of useless crap following them around? Unless you want to treat me to that kopi sometime.”

“Then I give you my word.”

“I accept. And congratulations on your immediate promotion. I’m making you my P.A.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you want legal protection or not?”

Another holdover from pre-Providence days. Much like the task system continued to filter requests from followers through to the relevant people, staff were also allowed to keep a limited number of personal retainers. Like everything else, the positions had been rebranded in line with the company ethos, pasting a bland corporate veneer over roles once associated with mysticism and grandeur. A concession to quell internal uprisings, while dispensing with everything that sounded appealing about the tyrant’s potential rivals. Shamans and priests were positions of honour and power; secretaries just got lumped with paperwork.

The psychology worked – you saw fewer retainers every year. Though a large part of it was also their tendency to go missing if their loyalty to their sponsor crossed the line into sabotage against the tyrant. Based on our conversation just now, however, I saw little chance of that being an issue for Regina.

But Providence did love its rules, and occasionally they could be used to work in my favour. Regarding my retainer, my authority trumped that of Providence, which meant no forced service requisitions. It wasn’t a long-term solution – there were appeal processes and contingencies designed to oust anyone the company deemed unsuitable – but unless the executive team got involved directly, it bought us some time.

“I do,” she said, and looked away over her shoulder, back out at the rain. “If you’re good for the money, I suppose it’s only fair I schedule you a few appointments. If I ever find out you’ve been lying about all this…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I said, turning back to the displays of electronic goods and skimming the labels, sizing up bulk and weight. “It’s in my interests to keep you away from Providence.”

At this point, it seemed unwise to push my luck and push for a place to stay for the night. If Regina was keeping other secrets, intruding further into her life would risk exposing them to Providence, not to mention scaring her into backing out of our arrangement. As it was, this little excursion had given me more than I’d bargained for and, annoyingly, would have given Odin’s underlings more of a reason to keep my activities on the radar. At least it had nothing to do with the Vatican.

My phone had been unusually quiet since the end of my shift, too, which meant word must have gotten around about the surveillance situation. With luck, Grace would be project managing everyone into position, or at least keeping an eye on someone else who could. As soon as I had a chance, I needed to check in with Mayari and coordinate plans.

Time for Plan B. Stopping at the stack of toasters, I helped myself to the top layer, wrestling boxes off the top until I ran out of hands, space and balance to carry any more. The stack obscured my vision, but it wasn’t important.

I began to walk.

“Wait.” The sound of Regina’s accusatory footsteps caught up behind me, changing timbre as the path transitioned from dry to sodden. “What are you doing?”

I craned my neck around the tower to look at her properly. “What an odd question. I’d almost think you’d never seen someone liberate a stack of poorly-manufactured toasters before.”

“You can’t do that!”

“And yet here we are. If anything, it’s a little too easy, given the owners haven’t noticed yet. Let’s fix that.” Raising my voice, I glanced over my shoulder and called out towards the shop entrance. “Hey, shop? I’m stealing your toasters!”

“Oh no,” Regina muttered, keeping pace with me. “Put them back.”

In answer, I kept going, stealing furtive glances over my shoulder every few steps until finally a head poked out from the shop door, locked onto me, and stammered out a protest. I picked up the pace, even as Regina leapt away from me, hands raised to signal her lack of involvement.

Other nearby pedestrians, previously minding their own business, started to cotton on that something was amiss, took a second look at the slowly departing collection of toasters and the place they had come from, and began to exhibit the sorts of uneasy signs of comprehension you saw on people who were perhaps eighty percent sure a crime was being committed, but didn’t want to be the one to step forward in case the truth fell down somewhere in the other twenty percent. A quick glance around confirmed there were at least three people literally poised on the balls of their feet ready to jump into action but waiting for someone else to make the first move.

Oh, Singapore. It was nice to live in a city where, unless you walked out into the road and blocked oncoming traffic by spelling out ‘these are stolen toasters’ with boxes of stolen toasters, people were willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

With an exaggerated sigh, I walked out into the centre of the road, built myself a tiny platform out of the boxes, and sat on it.

That did the trick.

When a bedraggled-looking police officer arrived a couple of minutes later, her shoulders slumped in recognition. She pushed past the gaggle of bystanders and waved them away even as she drew out a pair of silver handcuffs and clasped them over the wrists I’d been holding out in anticipation.

“I knew it had to be you, Sørine, as soon as they told me a scrawny European was stealing toasters. Have you ever considered not causing trouble?”

I fixed her a smile. “It’s nice to see you, too, Neetu. I’ve given it plenty of consideration, thank you. How’s the fiancé?”

“Oh, you know, fine. Still trying to find new clients and struggling with it. Neither of us have the time or inclination to invest in a proper marketing budget, and we’re paying the price.”

“I hear you,” I said, shooting her a sympathetic glance. “I’d offer you some consolatory kitchenware, but it seems to have been taken out of my hands.”

The officer made a valiant effort at keeping a straight face. “I’m not sure a toaster is really the best solution to long-term job insecurity.” She pulled me aside and spoke in a low voice. “It’s only a few days until the new year, and I’m busy enough already. Don’t make me deal with the paperwork.” She coughed a little.“The shop has its goods back and they’re willing to overlook it, despite the fact they’ve been rained on and slightly squashed.”

Now that the initial crowd had dispersed, she took out a key and made to unlock the handcuffs. I pulled my hands in, away from her grasp.

“Actually, an isolated jail cell could be useful,” I said. “There’s a nasty outbreak of measles going around, haven’t you heard? Quite virulent. Best stay away from people until it blows over. Besides, it’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve had any food in my stomach, and unless your summer menu has changed lately, I could use a salad.”

Neetu brought her palm towards her forehead and held it floating there, not quite touching, for a moment. “Okay. For the last time, you can’t use the police force as a soup kitchen. You have a job. For quite an influential company, if I remember the records.”

I rolled my eyes at the Marketing spin.

Regina was staring at us wide-eyed, a hint of accusation in her expression. I decided to let her in on the conversation and waved her over with both hands, limited somewhat in my range of movement by the handcuffs.

“Regina, this is Sergeant Neetu Saha. Most underrated officer in the force and one-time nationally-ranked pole vaulter.”

The former looked from me to Neetu, before gingerly shaking the latter’s hand. “I had nothing to do with this,” she declared.

“Of course you didn’t,” Neetu acknowledged drolly. She adjusted her cap, wiping off a row of hanging water droplets accumulated on the brim. “You’re a normal person Sørine dragged into a needless, embarrassing drama. You’re not the first. Or the tenth. We’re not going to hold you accountable.”

A fleeting query passed across Regina’s face as she heard the sergeant use my official alias, and I confirmed it with a quick nod. Not in the loop.

“I mean, you should really arrest me in front of the impressionable youth of today,” I remarked to Neetu, nodding towards Regina. “I can’t imagine what they’d do if they thought corporate interests were paying off national law enforcement.”

The sergeant narrowed her eyes at me. “I hope you’re not suggesting there’s corruption within the ranks.”

“Oh, it’s not a suggestion,” I clarified, smiling.

Regina, for her part, was looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else. Best move this along. “We need to discuss how you’re going to get a task into Helpdesk,” I reminded her, gesturing for her to hand over her phone. “We’ll probably need to set up some kind of appropriately traumatic scenario. Have a think about your deep-seated fears and insecurities and we can try and brute force this thing.”

“This sounds like an objectively terrible idea,” Regina said crossly, although she did give me the mobile.

“I see you’ve met Sørine,” sighed Neetu. “Take my advice and don’t get involved. If you’re done, I believe we have a cell waiting.”

I grinned. “It’s only terrible if it’s wrong.”

“One day,” she said, “I’m going to be able to actually put you away. You know that, don’t you? You won’t have diplomatic immunity forever.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said, returning the phone.

“Everyone’s luck runs out,” she said, tapping on the handcuffs. “Even yours.”

“Until then, I’ll just avail myself of your food,” I replied, making my stomach growl. “Are Tuesdays still salad night?”

“Ugh,” said Neetu.

“I’ll just show myself to the station, I guess.” I turned to Regina. “Call me tomorrow after checkout hours. Concierge will probably hold onto my phone until then.”

The police officer just stared at me for a moment, then shook her head, biting her lip. “There are no words,” she said to the off-duty waitress, and led me away.