A geas changed everything.

For a start, it meant that very little coming out of Yun-Qi’s mouth could be trusted, at least not until we knew the specifics of what his taboo entailed. And words were just the start of it. There were as many varieties of geas as there were hairs on a person’s head, and from what we’d seen so far, I was guessing this was towards the more powerful end of the scale. A weak geas was easily outmaneuvered, the symptoms easy to identify. Tics, distinct patterns, verbal or physical breakdowns, glaring loopholes allowing secrets to be spilt under specific conditions.

We were looking at at least the next tier up; prohibitions governing not just information but also behavior. Not dissimilar to our pact, in fact – the key differences being that the Vatican Concord had been voluntary and the conditions beneficial. A geas was rarely either.

This one didn’t possess complete control, or Yun-Qi would never have gotten as far as he did, and the mere concept of seeking aid would have sent him scurrying in the opposite direction. Small mercies. But that didn’t mean it was any less dangerous, and not just to its victim.

Very powerful geasa could reach beyond their targets and influence reality in order to protect their taboos, and could be a threat to be reckoned with even for a god. If we were up against one of those, just recognising it for what it was might be enough to allow it an in. If you weren’t careful, the worst ones could spread like infections.

It all depended on the specifics of the taboo and the type of geas, and it was evident we were dealing with one designed for at least some basic safeguards against discovery.

Just not enough.

“Well,” I said eventually, not taking my eyes off Yun-Qi, “That’s certainly interesting. Let’s abandon that line of questioning for now and focus on the more pressing issue, namely educating our new grumpy troglodyte on the ways of the future.”

“Indeed,” said Tez, looking eager to get out of there as soon as possible. With a wave of his hand, the room rippled and distorted, fixtures and panels disintegrating and being replaced by something new, along with all my books.

“My collection!” On reflex, I snatched up the closest pile to hand and exerted my own power over it, even as the rest exploded into a shower of loose pages before vanishing into a cloud of fine dust. I attempted to whack Tez with a copy of Advanced Yoruba, but he simply stepped aside in that infuriating way only a seer could manage.

“You can replace it,” he said.

I hugged the remaining three books to my chest. “Don’t worry, my babies. You will be avenged.”

Yun-Qi made a nervous noise as the room continued to vomit out whatever passed for its internal organs around us. “They… aren’t really your children, are they?”

Tez rolled his eyes. “I pity the idiot who tries to use shapeshifting against that family. She’s just annoyed because she has to go and find replacements.”

“Damn right,” I said. Maybe I could fob off the job onto Tru. Or the pope. There wasn’t an afterlife for the demons to lord over, after all - they would need something to do. I still wasn’t sure what Lucy expected me to do with his personal demon entourage, but I could think of worse things than having them complete all my tedious chores.

“Think of it as incentive to enter the twenty-first century,” Tez said with a grin.

“You do not get to lecture me about digital technology,” I told him, remembering the spacesuits.

The room ground to a halt with a lonely clatter as the last floorboard fell into place next to Parvati’s foot. Compared to how it had been before, the place was unrecognisable. The cheap walls had been replaced with smooth wooden panels in deep brown, as had the floor, and the ceiling hung with beams of alternating heights in the same material. Ornate inscriptions in gold trimming detailed the upper half of the walls. A forest green rug covered most of the floor, and where the kitchen had been was now only a low platform bearing a mattress and cushions draped in silks and satins also in varying shades of green. It was a vast improvement over my old bed, which had itself been replaced by another mattress, smaller than the first but no less lavish. The lights had flickered off the moment the renovation had begun, and had stayed off. I walked over to the light switch, which now resembled a tiny lever of polished brass, and gave it a flick. To my surprise, it still worked, flooding the room in a warm orange glow.

Parvati approached the bed on the platform, pressed down with a palm, and nodded at Tez. She proceeded to sit down on it, one leg crossed over the other, and addressed the room.

“She says it will suffice for now,” Yun-Qi translated, swallowing as he gawked at the new surroundings. “If you’re not back within forty-eight hours as promised, Durga will be gone forever.”

“You’ll find all the supplies you need in the cupboards,” said Tez, pointing towards the back of the room. “Food, cash, toiletries, and so on. If you need anything else, you should give us a call.” He handed over a slip of paper I was fairly sure hadn't existed a moment ago. “And now you’re on your own. Shorty and I are leaving.”

He reached down to deliver me a pat on the head. I let myself be carried along. The temperature plummeted as we emerged into darkness, and I found myself adjusting for both factors on autopilot. My old reflexes were starting to come back to me a bit; my fears it would take a while to readjust proving unfounded, although I still had a way to go.

The log cabin we were in was not much larger than the Singapore apartment, though the ceiling was much higher, sloping upwards from the floor to a sharp point in a perfect triangle under which an overhang rested, forming a compact second storey. One entire side was made up of glass, overlooking an impressive valley carpeted in snow-capped firs and birches and bordered by mountains on all sides. That, the temperature and the time of day placed us somewhere in North America. Canada, most likely. It was a clear night and the sky was ridden with plentiful stars, in between which faint flickers of an aurora danced like indecisive ghosts.

Inside, the space was simple, but modern and well-designed. I was pretty sure Tez had found this place rather than created it. The furniture was used and there was too much dust. Some rich person’s neglected holiday home.

A classical chaise lounge in blush pink faced the window and Tez sat on it, resting his head on the rise. He crossed his arms around himself, fingers tucked into the opposing armpits. A small dust cloud puffed up around him from the disturbance. “Enough delays,” he announced, shivering. “I want my payment now, before that thing has a chance to get its hooks into one or both of us.”

I cocked my head at him. “You see that happening, do you?”

“No, but if it disrupted my vision once, it can do so again,” he answered. “We don’t know what triggers it or how far it reaches, and it looks like it’s going to be a task and a half finding out.” He paused. “I don’t like it. The smart thing to do would be to kill him and be done with it, but I already know you’re going to say no.”

“This is bigger than just him,” I reasoned. “Remove Yun-Qi and you remove our best lead. I don’t have easy access to resurrections, do you? Not even Shitface has that kind of privilege.”

He raised a finger and wagged it at me. “The fact you say that makes me think it’s already gotten to you.”

“Could be,” I remarked, not disagreeing. I’d certainly been at the centre of enough weird recent events to put it high on the list of plausible explanations. “But even if that’s true, I’m interested in tagging along for the ride. He’s important, and I intend to find out why.”

Other than the death of the victim, the best way to disable a geas was to find out what its conditions were. Most of them came with built-in protections preventing the victims from divulging the details, and Yun-Qi’s was obviously no exception.

“Do we really need to know? The idea of having to deal with you in the grip of a malevolent geas isn’t a comforting one.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” I said. “Evading responsibility is what I do best. Or so people keep telling me.”

“Not if you aren’t aware of it,” he observed, then kicked his feet up. “And don’t think I’m letting you get out of my payment, either. Chop chop.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” I complained. I was still holding my surviving books, and sent them packing to my new apartment where they could be safely abandoned on a new patch of carpet. Noting Rap Boy’s rune was present, I aimed them straight at it. “Very well.”

I shuddered into a new form, a mirror image of the god in front of me except for a certain golden bangle, latest hipster parody outfit and all, and flinched at the abrupt pain that came with the transformation. The bulk of it was centred around the place where my lower leg intersected with the glass foot in a jagged border of glittering obsidian and diamond running up the calf in places like crystalline veins. The stump appeared to be fused to the prosthetic, but in reality it was held in place by a large corkscrew down the centre supported with several internal clasps. Elegant and striking, but I could have done a much better job on the integration.

I turned my attention to it, dispelling my shoes and socks for a better look. Moving the foot wasn’t a problem by virtue of who I was, but the glass was stiff and cold and clacked on the cabin floorboards when I wiggled the toes, and I’d seen Tez in action enough to know that he wore it like he’d woken up kicking with it in the cot. I could copy just about anything physical, but I couldn’t replicate powers. If I could, I’d have been the most powerful individual alive.

In addition to the pain, I could feel a distinct sense of wrongness festering around the stump. The flesh may have healed, but the ghost of the damage remained, a lingering echo. A divine scar.

I was familiar with the story. This wasn’t just any wound, but a bite inflicted by a powerful primordial creature back when Tez had been busy creating the world in the fuzzy era. By all accounts the beast had paid for it, but the impression it left was permanent. Our regeneration didn’t work so well when the injury had been inflicted by another immortal, a fact I knew all too well.

The wrongness persisted even after I turned off the nerves feeding in the pain. A low stool appeared next to me courtesy of Tez and I made use of it, resting the glass ankle on my other knee.

“It’s a shame,” I mentioned. “In some ways it’s a downgrade. This thing’s a work of art, and changeable, to boot. Seems like a waste to give it up for skin and bone you end up being locked into.”

The look he shot me was unimpressed. “You’re free to live with it if you love it so much. I’m done.”

“What’s a little beauty before comfort? No?” I sighed, changing the foot into a regular bland one. The sense of wrongness lingered a little after the shift, sputtering out in stages, but ultimately failed to outstay its welcome. A quick flex of the toes and roll of the ankle showcased the fact it was all working as expected. I grit my teeth as I made the necessary adjustments for the extremity to become a self-sustaining unit. “Case… in point.”

A quick tug was enough to wrench it free, and I pulled a face even as I grew an immediate replacement. Just because I could leave a trail of body parts behind me didn’t mean I liked doing it. Unless there was enough humour to be gleaned from it, in which case my chances of being persuaded rose somewhat higher on the bell curve. Between this and the heart, I’d have to watch Tez didn’t start mistaking me for a disposable organ dispenser.

I gave the foot a small heft and thrust it towards Tez’ face. He intercepted it before he had a chance to end up with his own toes on his cheek, accepting the offering with cool indifference.

“That’s half the job,” he stated. “Now you just need to deliver the rest.”