Chapter Text
Sometime Before the Failed Apocalypse
The man in the black overcoat and fedora was leaving Aziraphale’s bookshop just as Crowley eased the Bentley up to the curb. With a friendly tip of his hat as he noticed Crowley unfolding himself from the driver’s seat, he headed further down the street to where his own expensive car was parked. Crowley immediately didn’t trust the man. He nodded coldly in return, narrowing his eyes unseen behind his dark glasses.
“Aziraphale, who’s that guy who just left?” Crowley asked as he shoved his way through the now-locked door with a thought.
Aziraphale, used to Crowley’s many rude entrances, barely looked up from the list of rare books the dealer he had just met with had left in his possession. “Manners, my dear.”
“Hi, Aziraphale. Who was the prat in your shop? Surely not a customer.” Crowley waited for the long-suffering sigh and was not disappointed.
“That was Mr. Randolph, another rare book dealer. You know I’m helping Michael track down dark magic books that have ended up back in circulation before someone tries something extremely stupid and we have a mess on our hands.”
“You shouldn’t have said you’d help out. You’re not part of Michael’s department and don’t need to jump when he asks you to. I wish you’d remember that. But, I’ll laugh if Gabriel ends up having to come down here on clean-up crew.” Crowley practically fell into the ancient wingback chair sitting off near the window where Aziraphale could take advantage of the sunlight if he chose to read out in the bookshop itself instead of hiding in the backroom. He swung one long leg over the arm in a casual manner.
“That comment wasn’t necessary.”
“Couldn’t resist. I’ve never seen anyone more married to his desk job. You know . . . you are acquainted with someone who’s sensitive to occult energy if you’re in need of some help.”
“Thanks, my dear, but this is a mission. I’d probably better do it myself.” Aziraphale had a fountain pen out and was circling a couple of titles on the list in front of him.
“Have it your way, but you are aware what those kinds of books can do to an angel? Some of them are straight out of Hell’s library. So, are we going to lunch or what?” Crowley had sidled up to the till so he could lean against it, elbows propped against the counter, totally ignoring the list of circled titles lying in front of the angel.
Aziraphale glanced up at him with a nod, “Let me get my coat.”
Crowley took a surreptitious glance at the list while Aziraphale was in the backroom. Three of the titles were enough to chill even his demonic blood. An angel could not hunt those down alone without putting himself in extreme danger.
They chose a little bistro off the beaten path in Covent Garden that Aziraphale had become very fond of for its great desserts. Right now he was in the process of finishing off Crowley’s since the demon showed little interest in doing that himself. Instead he sat sipping his coffee without commenting on how Aziraphale’s fork was invading his plate.
“Ssssssso, about this mission of yours. What do they expect you to do exactly?” asked Crowley in a manner he hoped was casual.
“Drop it, my dear. Michael has faith in my ability to handle it.”
“Yeah? That doesn’t count for much because Michael, while really good at pushing Fallen angels off into the Pit, has no idea how serious tracking down honest-to-goodness occult books can be. Especially if they came off of Hell’s bookshelves.”
“I’m just going to have to trust that he knows what he’s talking about and do my best.” Aziraphale popped the last bit of dessert in his mouth.
“Quit with the martyr act. The last time you were actually martyred was the early thirteen hundreds.” Crowley indicated to a passing server that he’d like the bill.
“Yes, and if I recall correctly that was because of the stupidly foolish thing you did.”
“I said I was sorry. Look, we’re getting off the subject here.”
“No. I’ll take care of it. It’s my mission and I can’t risk having you involved if Above happens to be watching. They may acknowledge my existence, lowly Earth-dwelling angel that I am, when they need something, but they will not tolerate yours at all. End of discussion.” Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s hand away so he could slip a credit card on the small tray holding the bill for their lunch.
“Paying for lunch isn’t going to make me forget about it. I’ll be here when you come whining to me that some sinister book you touched left you cursed, ok?”
~*~*~
Two months later, Crowley was comfortably ensconced in that antique wingback armchair, leg swinging off the side, playing some inane app on his iPhone when Aziraphale walked in with a wrapped, rectangular package in his arms.
“Why don’t you just move in? You spend so much time here,” he muttered irritably upon seeing who was occupying his chair.
“A spellbook?” The chair’s occupant decided his best course of action was to ignore the barb if he wanted an update on Aziraphale’s mission.
“Yes. It’s the last of the ones my local book dealer connections can get dig up for me. It cost quite a lot, but it’s worth it to get it out of circulation.”
“Why do you bother? Just take them. Some of them are very dangerous. I’d think that would override your overly-developed sense of morals. By the way, that one’s full of minor spells that really can’t cause harm. They draw on the user’s own powers and since humans don’t have magical reserves like we do, they can’t do a thing with them. You should be out hunting the ones with spells that tap into ley lines. Some fool will end up doing that and fry himself in the process, maybe even every living thing around him, too.”
Crowley returned his attention back to his mobile where he was deciding what plants would provide the best defence against attacking zombies. Aziraphale just stared at him with a look of surprise in those sky blue eyes of his.
“Occult being, remember?” Crowley grinned like a Duke of Hell who had just corrupted a soul. “I could smell it as soon as you brought it in.”
“Fine, you can help. Michael’s started breathing down my neck about this project since my progress has been slow.” Aziraphale shoved a list of titles written in his neat copperplate writing at Crowley.
Crowley took the list, looking it over like he hadn’t snuck a peek at it a while ago, the grin slowly disappearing from his face as he read some additions made by Aziraphale. “Some of these are very serious books indeed. You could summon demons with them. Never a fun experience, but beside the point. Unleash an incurable plague on the human race. Control hurricanes. And some are not books an angel can safely touch. You’ll end up cursed, or discorporated, or worse. You need me if you want to get rid of them.”
“How am I going to explain your presence when Michael is watching me so closely?”
“Well, I was thinking we act like I’m being a pest who’s following you everywhere just to figure out what you’re up to”
“Or Plan B, I discorporate you so I can do this mission in peace.”
“Are you going to do it in my sleep again or do I get to watch this time?”
“Be serious.”
“You’re the one advocating murder. Very angelic.”
“You’re immortal, it’s not like it would actually be a homicide.”
“Let’s go with Plan A. I’ll follow after you. It’s less messy and involves no extra paperwork. Not like I haven’t done it before.”
“I know.” Aziraphale’s reply was a bit chilly.
Crowley strolled over to the till where the wrapped book sat. “Can I see what you got?”
Aziraphale gestured to him to open it. Crowley carefully undid the tissue paper surrounding the rather plain-looking, slim, ancient book. Little decoration beyond some tracings of vines around the edges of the covers was apparent, but to Crowley’s demonic vision it fairly glowed with ominous sigils. Overkill, really. It did not give off much of an occult feeling as he brushed his fingers across it, therefore; he was right about it being a minor spellbook of little consequence. This book was the equivalent of a small fish in a large pond. Still, he figured one couldn’t be too careful with such things.
“Are you going to destroy it?” he asked.
“I probably should even if it isn’t that harmful. Just to be safe.”
Crowley gazed thoughtfully at the book on the counter. “Can I try? If I can’t do it, you’re going to have get some holy water.”
When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley made him step back into the doorway to the backroom. Carefully he laid the book on floor of the bookshop well away from any of the wooden shelves laden with those ancient, dry tomes that would burn in an instant. Next he made several complicated hand gestures over the book as his eyes became sinister, glowing red behind his designer sunglasses. The book flared up almost immediately with a threatening, unnatural, crimson fire, turning to ash in mere moments. Crowley waved his hand over its remains, sending the fire away again. The ash only smoked for a few seconds before becoming completely inert.
“Good. It worked. If you can’t get ahold of holy water, then I can destroy them.”
“Was that hellfire, Crowley?” huffed an irritated Aziraphale. “In my bookshop?”
The demon pushed his sunglasses up on his bright auburn hair so he could rub eyes screwed tightly shut. The pain from producing that small amount throbbed like a localized migraine. “Listen, I don’t even like calling the stuff up because it gives me one nasty headache, but I had to find out if it would destroy an occult book. The more options we have to get rid of them permanently the better, don’t you think?”
“Ok. I’m sorry. Now, what do we do with it?” Aziraphale was peering over at the small mess, keeping his distance like one would a venomous snake with a bad temper.
“It’s safe now. No different from me touching a surface holy water evaporated off of. You can sweep it up, no problem. Or vanish it if you want to take the lazy route.”
It immediately disappeared.
“Do you have any idea where to look for the rest of them?” asked Crowley as he resumed his usual position in the chair by the window.
But Aziraphale was distracted by the sudden appearance of a blinding blue-white light and melodic twang between Crowley’s position and the front door. Panicked, he shot the demon a wide-eyed look a split second before Crowley blessed and vanished from the chair, leaving behind only his mobile. A brilliant green tail disappeared beneath the nearest bookshelf.
Aziraphale pulled his eyes away from the demon under his bookshelf just in time to see Gabriel step out from the circle of light carrying a rather large, white folder. Aziraphale did his best to put a pleasant smile on his face. He wasn’t due for a review on the project yet, was he?
“Nice to see you, Gabriel. It’s been a while since you’ve been down.”
The Archangel of Communications nodded pleasantly in return. “Good afternoon, Aziraphale. How’s your project for Michael coming along? I think I might have some information here that could help you out. Is there somewhere we could sit and talk?”
Aziraphale gestured towards the backroom. “In there. Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll go lock the door so we’re not disturbed.”
“Thank you.” Gabriel disappeared into the room behind the till while Aziraphale made his way to the front door via a route that took him past the bookshelf Crowley was currently concealed under.
Crowley, go hide under the till. I want you to hear this, he sent in the demon’s direction.
No problem.
Aziraphale bustled into the backroom. “I’m sorry about the mess back here. I was doing some cataloguing. Can I get you some tea or anything?”
“No thanks,” Gabriel had settled himself upon the old couch, spreading contents from his folder on the coffee table in front of him. “It’s great you’ve picked up local Earth customs and perfected your disguise as a second-hand bookseller, but you really don’t have to go to such lengths for me.”
Aziraphale tried to take the compliments for what they were even though they very much felt backhanded. Gabriel did mean well. He just spent little time on Earth and even less around Aziraphale.
Gabriel, for his part, found Aziraphale slightly weird. He had no fashion sense, was such an introvert it sometimes took a miracle to pry him out of that bookshop to do good deeds -- plus keep an eye on that demon -- and if his love for food and collecting materialistic items like books was any indication, he had gone native some time ago.
“I know you sometimes cross paths with that demon, but when it comes to this project, under no circumstances do you allow that snake to tempt you into giving up anything I say you, ok?”
“I won’t tell him a thing,” Aziraphale dutifully replied, which wasn’t a lie since Crowley was out listening to everything first hand.
Gabriel was staring intently at his paperwork, spread out in a neat, organized manner that made it extremely easy for him to locate any one article he might want during his discussion with Aziraphale. Efficiency was next to godliness in Gabriel’s opinion, plus the sooner they got this entire, regrettable business over with, the sooner they could go back to the business of thwarting their sworn enemy. They would all still be enjoying a blessed existence in Eden instead of pushing papers in celestial offices if it weren’t for Hell’s (and Crowley’s in particular) antics.
Why Aziraphale would choose to carry on a conversation with that snake there at the edge of Eden rather than smite him on the spot was something nobody else could quite comprehend. That Principality was definitely different, that’s for sure. But he did have to admit the demon proved to be quite lazy after that, choosing to cause minor mischief such as tying up mobile networks and causing traffic jams. That wasn’t exactly proper demonic behaviour. Maybe it was just all part of the Plan that he not end up a smoking crater with his spirit rushing back to Hell, but stationed to Earth instead. Hell could have easily sent up one of the more evil-minded and motivated members of their ranks.
Crowley would have just laughed at Gabriel’s opinion, then lumped him amongst the fourteenth-century minds running Hell who didn’t have the ability to understand how little annoyances kept thousands miserable for an entire day or how irritated humans tended to spread it around with a rather large shovel.
“Thank you. You can’t be too careful when it comes to occult dangers. That demon may not be the most demonic of that bunch, but I still wouldn’t trust him not to cause trouble anyway,” Gabriel replied in his smooth American accent. “We’ve managed to track the locations of a few of the more problematic books. I can give you information on them.”
I never did like that tosser.
Aziraphale pointedly ignored the voice in his head. “Oh? Well, that’s great because I’ve only been able to locate a handful. I’ve taken most of them to Michael to destroy. He didn’t want to take any chances since some contained spells that could hurt angels. The latest was a minor spells book that was mostly harmless. Still, it didn’t need to be out there, so I made sure it was destroyed.”
Getting the cursed ones had been an adventure. He had had to have them mailed to him, then once received, carefully levitate them into a silver box covered in sigils meant to keep the curse from harming him. Only then could he pick up the box and deliver it to Michael.
Gabriel picked up a couple of sheets of paper. One was information about an ancient occult book that surfaced recently. The other was a map of its location in the United States.
“There are only three still out there that will cause serious trouble. The rest are spellbooks humans can’t do any harm with, but we should seek them out sometime. It’s just better that information isn’t out there to give them ideas. I’d go after this one first since it’s the furthest away and the most urgent to retrieve. The second one is in Germany and the third we’ve tracked down to Ireland in an isolated cave. Nobody’s come across it yet from what we can tell, so it can just keep sitting there a while. The Seraphim put warding spells on the area to keep humans away, but the book tried to attack them when they attempted to retrieve it. It senses their powerful magic. We’re hoping you have better luck since you’re in a human body that dulls your aura somewhat. The one in Germany is in a museum and the one in the States is set to be auctioned off in two months’ time from what we’ve heard.”
Aziraphale took the papers, scanning over the information on the books, which made him shiver involuntarily. One could summon the most powerful demons in Hell to do one’s bidding, unleash incurable plagues and a variety of other evil doings with the spells in them, provided one did it correctly. If not, the ley lines would not only incinerate the spell caster but everything within a several mile radius.
“If I may be candid,” said Aziraphale. “These books are dangerous for Hell as well. Am I going to be going up against demons to get my hands on them?”
Gabriel shook his head. “As far as we know they’re unaware they’re out there. But if you can possibly get information out of that snake without giving away your mission, you’re welcome to try. I’d just like you to make plans within the next week to go after that book in the States before it’s sold and disappears again.”
‘That snake‘. . . Hiss, hiss. Love you, too, Gabe, said Crowley sarcastically in Aziraphale’s mind. I haven’t heard a thing about those books, myself, except from you. Hell has its share of horrible gossips who can’t keep confidential information to themselves. I would have found out by now if my people were hunting them down, too.
“If I run into him, I’ll see what I can do,” replied Aziraphale noncommittally.
The rest of the visit went over the information Gabriel had about the books and their whereabouts, giving Aziraphale some clue on where he would find them and how dangerous they were. The entire time he could feel Crowley in the back of his mind, impatient, like the mental equivalent of him sitting there fidgeting. It wasn’t just the confinement behind the office supplies on the shelf that was getting to Crowley, it was about the books. But Crowley kept quiet and only listened. His behaviour was starting to cause Aziraphale to worry when Gabriel finally announced his need to return to his office.
Crowley wandered the backroom not two minutes after Gabriel disappeared into the tunnel of blue-white light, heading immediately for the liquor cabinet where he grabbed some brandy and two glasses. Setting them down on the one part of the old, scratched table that was not covered with papers, he wordlessly asked Aziraphale if he wanted some then filled both glasses. He handed one to him.
“I hate having to shift. It is so disorienting to go from one species’ shape and senses to another’s,” he commented as he collapsed on the couch flipping his sunglasses on to the bookshelf behind him as he did so. He patted his jacket pocket having forgotten that he abandoned his mobile on the chair in his rush to get out of Gabriel’s view. He held out his hand and it appeared with a slight pop. Stuffing it in his pocket, he felt complete now that it was back where it should be.
Aziraphale allowed him to settle a bit, nursing his drink in companionable silence before getting to the subject on his mind. “You’re nervous about these books.”
“Of course I am. The one in the States sounds bad enough, but the one in the cave?” Crowley rolled his eyes. “They’re possibly turning you into their sacrificial lamb. Seraphim can’t get near it. What makes them think you can? Just because you have a human body? Bloody ridiculous. Good thing you have me.”
“Crowley?”
“Yes?” The demon was staring intently into his diamond-patterned glass with a splash of brandy left in the bottom.
“I was thinking. You created hellfire.”
“Demons can do that.”
“Lesser demons can’t without draining so much of their power. They’re useless for a day or two. You just got a headache.”
“Yeah?”
Aziraphale paused a moment, then decided to plunge forward anyway. “You’re more powerful than you let on. A demon’s power level is based on what the particular Choir the demon was in before they Fell. What were you?”
“A gardener. Why do you want to know?” Crowley’s facial expression was taking on that “don’t go there” look he got every time Aziraphale tried to bring up any of his pre-Fall history.
“Because I’m trying to figure out your interest in my mission to find occult books. Normally you don’t seem to care too much if a few humans do stupid things. What is it you call that?” Aziraphale paused to try to recall the exact wording. He never was good at remembering Crowley’s turns of phrase. “Herd thinning?”
“Thinning the herd,” Crowley corrected, nose deep in his mobile and whatever app he had happened to decide to start playing. These days that was his standard method of showing he wasn’t interested in pursuing a particular line of conversation.
“Choir?”
“I forgot.”
“No, you didn’t. Do you want me just to guess? If you’re not joking around about the gardener thing, then I’d say Virtue. They are the ones who were charged with developing all matter of scientific and natural phenomenon. If your job was to take the plant life idea and run with it, it would explain why you’ve been so skilful in horticulture for as long as I’ve known you,” Aziraphale explained before taking a deep breath in advance of continuing to march on into territory that just might cause Crowley to erupt like Vesuvius the last time they were in Pompeii. “That would put you two Choirs above me and in a good place to keep me for accidentally discorporating myself or something while trying to deal with occult magic. They’re misinformed, aren’t they? This mission is out of my league.”
Crowley got up, slid his sunglasses on and stalked out without uttering a word to Aziraphale until he got to the front door. There he paused to say, “I don’t have to explain my motivations or angelic history to you. But my offer to help still stands and I suggest you take it without the added commentary. You’re going to need it.”
The bell above the door tinkled and the bookshop became quiet. Aziraphale threw his arms up in frustration. Why did that demon have to be so stubbornly mysterious?