"Is this an official statement?" the agent snapped, his gaze vacant.

The cop paused theatrically. He cringed and shoved me aside. "Very well, you may live... until the next time."

Rubbing my arm, I walked over to the agent in awe. This was the kind of man you could go to war with. What was his name again? Yes, Chris. I needed to get his office's address. One of the first things a man of means has to obtain is his lawyer's business card. It helps solve a lot of petty everyday problems, everything from falling victim to bumper crime to successfully discouraging police sharks.

"Thanks," I said.

He shrugged it off with a smile. "My pleasure. That's racism. Some hate Africans, others can't stand Jews. And this is a new trend, disliking perma players. They say the permas cause the economy to collapse by embezzling loans and siphoning off funds into the virtual world. They apparently become contract killers because they can get away with it. It's easy to blame those who have no right of voice. It's like with self-defense: you really shouldn't leave any enemy alive. Funnily enough, that gives you a better chance to avoid a prison sentence. So that's what turns virtual cops into digiphobes. Your unclear legal status drives them up the wall."

"I'm recording it, too," the cop said icily.

Chris smirked and nodded: like, he was welcome. Paper can't blush. "There is a 99.8% probability that my words can't be qualified as insulting a Virtual Police officer."

The cop growled. The agent grinned: he must have enjoyed annoying him.

I lowered my voice. "You don't seem to like them, do you?"

"Well, you know. We were two brothers. One was a lawyer—that's me, actually. The other was a typical underage bonehead. The lawyer once took on a case you may have heard of, David Cuffman Vs. New York Precinct #47. He was defending someone. First he received a couple of subtle warnings followed by an open-text threat. The lawyer was too young and too ambitious to see reason. Then his brother was arrested with nine grams of coke in his pocket. What a coincidence, don't you think?" he raised his voice turning to the cop who ignored him pretending he was monitoring the crowd.

"I had to give the case up," the agent went on. "I did manage to get parole for my little brother but I wouldn't have been able to save his backside from prison, that's a fact."

He fell silent, reminiscing.

"And then what?" I reminded him. His story seemed to be getting quite educational.

He smiled. "He couldn't attend the hearing. His body had apparently been hospitalized in a comatose state. One of those family dramas," he gave me a wink.

Curiouser and curiouser. I pointed a meaningful finger at the crowd and rounded my eyes in silent question. Chris grinned and nodded, pleased with himself. He was too much! I gave him the thumbs up, causing him to frown in puzzlement. Yeah, right, he wasn't Russian, was he? He probably didn't know this sign. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger, gesturing an OK. Now he understood it!

The cop stirred unhappily. "It's time."

Yes, of course it was time to start. The chat was boiling over with impatient customers. It wasn't a good idea to cross them: these were short-tempered people quick to pigeonhole you. I highlighted the clan chat. "Let's start!"

Cryl and Lena had all this time been mixing with the onlookers. Now they chose the first random pair of customers, checked their list and activated the dedication spell. The first flashes of light caused the crowd to shrink back, but then the freshly-baked disciples screamed with joy, attracting everyone's attention. The crowd surged forward, trying to get a glimpse of them and shower them with questions. The screams of joy promptly turned to half-smothered squeaks. A new dose of holy light saved my nearly squashed converts as the crowd abated, drawn to newer attractions.

The auction workers were screaming at the top of their lungs in the chat, begging those already served to leave the sacred zone.

With a faint smile on my face, I could almost physically sense my wallet getting ten grand heavier with every flash of light. I could almost see Macaria in her opalescent wrapper painting her eyelashes at a fancy dressing table in the Fallen One's once-ascetic bedroom. She froze, taking in the significance of the moment as her first followers started flooding in.

A portal popped open behind my back. I didn't think I'd pay any attention to it under the constant gun rattle of ins and outs. The familiar little bells made me prick up my ears. Talk about the devil. What if the goddess herself had decided to take a look at what was going on?

I turned and my jaw dropped. Okay, some transparent Greek robes were barely covering her body—I might have guessed as much. I didn't think the two gods had got out of bed before midday. But why did she wear makeup on one eye only? Was it my clairvoyance skills or was it the Divine Spark influencing reality?

She either didn't notice me or ignored me completely. Instead, she touched an onlooker's shoulder who stood with his back to her, apparently enjoying the little squabbles flaring up within the crowd. "Excuse me? Could you please tell me what's going on?"

The man glanced back. Appreciating the inquirer's appearance, he hurried to share the news, "It's a dedication ritual. They've all paid to become worshippers of the Goddess Macaria. Have you bought it, too? You think it's worth ten grand? Then you'd better move under that arch over there. You see, where those two priests are waiting."

Holy shit. It's possible that at least half of all world's secrets had remained secrets simply because no one had bothered to tell their owners the truth. Don't people just love to leak information? They just can't keep anything in, happy to tell everyone whatever they've seen or heard, with this proud I-know-it-all message.

I had a funny feeling the goddess wouldn't appreciate my clever money-making idea. Well, I couldn't have been more right. She squinted, her eyes fast becoming slits. Her nostrils flaring, she swung her head round, looking for the culprits. I stepped aside, concealing myself behind the agent's back. He looked at me, puzzled, then traced my stare back to its source and tilted his head in the most ironic manner. The goddess was bursting with fury. The crowd around her was dissipating, pushed away by a strong wind borne from her slim frame. Even the sight of her weightless robes fluttering in the gusts didn't challenge anyone to make a pass at her, so strong was the pressure forcing them to stumble back over each other.

A mini portal flashed. In a swirl of opalescent snow, the goddess teleported to the center of the square, hovering high above it. Her legs were amazing. The Fallen One was one lucky guy.

The crowd stared up, enjoying a miracle and a free striptease show. Then the goddess' voice thundered down making them duck and cover their ears,

"Sentient beings of all races! I, Goddess Macaria, now tell you that from now on, a sincere prayer is enough to become my follower! And so be it!"

The earth shuddered. The world around me quaked as the new law of magic elbowed its way past the universe's unyielding constants, making itself at home.

I must have been the only person who, instead of admiring the goddess' voluptuous charms, peered hard at her young face praying she didn't hurt herself. Indeed, two red streaks showed from her nose, threatening to ruin her snow white robes. Her eyes rolled back.

I slammed the Appeal to Gods button. Macaria needs help! She's strained herself!

"I can see that," the skies rustled.

Already the goddess had lost control of her levitation and began sliding down onto the paving stones when a portal noiselessly opened under her feet. With a flash, Macaria was gone. The Fallen One had made it just in time. I don't think anyone realized what had just happened. Dumbstruck, people stared at each other, at the now empty sky, at the few colored snowflakes floating away in the wind. Flashes of bright light enveloped the crowd as some of the smartest disciples checked their dedication gift.