By day, the Saint-Chapelle is one of the true wonders of Paris. It’s panoramic stained-glass windows fill the chapel with a spectacular kaleidoscope of colour and light. By night, the wonder of the Sainte-Chapelle is subdued. Though dramatic when seen by candlelight, without sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, they upper chapel does not take the breath away. On one particular night, however, the staff sweeping the floor of the upper chapel found themselves with their breath suddenly and unexpectedly taken away in shock.

They gasped at precisely the same moment as the shirtless, lilly-white body of a man, wearing only a pair of leather pants, heeled boots and sunglasses of all things, appeared in mid air and fell to the chapel floor.

That might have been the most shocking thing that had ever occurred within the chapel if the falling man had not, at the moment he hit the wooden floor, also shouted out, in pain, at the top of his voice: “Fucking hell!”

Rolling onto his side, Crowley curled into a tight little ball and hissed breath through clenched teeth. Travelling through the Umbra was never a precise art, but he could usually at least land a little closer to solid ground - and on his feet, rather than on his arse. His sunglasses slid down the length of his nose, hanging awkwardly off one ear. Blinking, his bead-black eyes met the uncomprehending gaze of the chapel janitor.

"Well, this is.. awkward."