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The end of the world is nothing to joke around about. The humans never understand – they keep making predictions to scare everyone, or to get money, or both. But this was the real end of the world, brought about by the real antichrist. And no one would suspect a thing – the antichrist looked like a perfectly normal human child. At least, that’s what Azirafell said.
Azirafell had been unlucky enough to receive orders about the antichrist, which included keeping an eye on him. Luckily, he informed Anthony, who devised a plan to try and influence the child so they can avert Armageddon, even if it took some persuading to get Azirafell to accept it. It seemed simple enough at first – they’d both get jobs at the Dowling residence and be a constant presence in little Warlock’s life; one for good, and one for evil.
Anthony had called the Dowling residence once he started his morning, asking if there were any job positions available. He was given a minimal list of options – only two, in fact. Just enough for their plan.
He drives over to his nursery with the sound of Freddie Mercury blasting out of the white Bentley, being careful enough to avoid hitting anyone but careless enough to still be driving well over the speed limit. His usual spot right in front of the store is open, so he parks and fumbles around on his phone as he walks over to the shop.
“Hello?” Azirafell’s voice says, tinny from the phone.
“Azirafell,” Anthony says, holding his phone in between his shoulder and cheek to unlock the door. “I called the Dowling residence this morning.”
“Oh?”
“There seems to be two positions available,” he says, picking up his plant mister. “A nanny and a gardener. Mrs. Dowling wants –”
“I call gardener,” Azirafell interrupts.
Anthony freezes in the middle of misting his plants. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I call gardener!” he repeats.
“Why would you be the one to be the gardener?”
“I have a book on plants. I know a few things.”
Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have… a single, solitary book. About plants. While I have this.” He gestures vaguely around his shop, even though Azirafell can’t see him. “And you want to be the gardener.”
“Oh, dear, I don’t want to be the gardener. I already am. As it happens, I called the residence this morning as well. Already sent my application over, with a small demonic intervention that makes anyone else's look terrible compared to mine.”
“Why would you do that?”
“What, instead of waiting around like you did? It’s a dog eat dog world out there, dear, you have to take the opportunities as soon as they arise. Besides, you’re much better with kids than I am. Remember Mesopotamia-”
“Do not use Mesopotamia as an excuse!”
“The kids loved you there,” he continues, ignoring Anthony. “You let them braid your hair, you helped me take care of them when you found I had snuck some on the ark…”
“Only because I said you did a fine job at thwarting me. There was nothing I could do at that point. Obviously.”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the phone. “Obviously. Well, anyway, you should send your nanny application in soon, before someone takes that from you as well. I have an appointment coming in; the man wants to sell me an old painting that’s been in his family for generations!”
Anthony sighs as Azirafell hangs up, tossing his phone onto the counter. He needed to do something to get the position as nanny, but that could wait until he’s finished taking care of his plants.
~~~
With the help of a small miracle, Anthony was the only applicant for Nanny. Even if there were more, they would have paled in comparison to his perfect application. Now, the only thing left was to figure out an appropriate disguise to go with his new alias. He expects Azirafell is doing the same, and offers him a ride to their first day.
When the day arrives, Nanny Ashtoreth pulls up in front of the pawnshop, pulling her pink skirts out with her to find the gardener.
“Azirafell,” she calls out into the shop, stepping over the magpie feathers littering the floor. He must have preened recently.
“It’s Brother Francis!” he calls, stepping out from the back in grays and blues, with knee-high brown boots, a black apron, and the usual magpie-esque tie.
“That’s a little tasteless, don’t you think?” Ashtoreth frowns, talking of both the name and his outfit. “Are those sunglasses?”
“A gardener isn’t supposed to look fancy. And I’m not going to scare the poor boy off, dear. But apparently, I need them to block out those ostentatious ruffles of yours.” He looks over the dress with disdain.
“They are not ostentatious! This is very stylish, mind you.”
“Sure, if you’re in the 1800s.”
“Like you have room to talk, fiend. Your sense of style has always been lost in the past. Also, I happened to base my outfit off of the most popular nanny in the world, to make myself more appealing to the young boy, so you can’t judge me.”
He nods. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure she had all of this… pink.”
“... you know that white doesn’t look good on me. Give me a break.”
“You just need something darker! Even your hat is too light. And no, I don’t mean the darker pink either.” He stoops down, picking two of his feathers off of the ground. “Come here, dear.” He beckons her close, going up on the tips of his toes to reach the bouquet in her hat. He tucks the feathers in gently, making sure they’ll stay. “There.” He sets back down on his feet, suddenly a mere handful of inches away from Ashtoreth’s face.
“Does it look better?” she asks, the tinted glasses on her nose making her eyes even more gold than usual.
“Stunning,” he breathes. He shakes his head to clear him out of his trance, brushing past her to the door. “Shall we get going, then? Don’t want to be late for the first day.”
“Right, of course.” She lifts the edge of her skirt and follows him out the door.
~~~
Ashtoreth was surprised to find that the boy didn't seem to be evil. It could just be that she’s always had a soft spot for kids, but he appeared over-enthusiastic to do arts and crafts with her, and to sit down and watch the Golden Girls when a new episode aired, and to bake treats with her. She could see the slightest spark of evil when he was out with Brother Francis, romping around in the fresh mud, or digging up the flowerbed, or terrorizing the neighbor's cat. But, all kids were like that. They have the spark of good and evil in them, and as they grow, the impressions they gain through the years can either keep those sparks the same, or let one of them sputter out while the other takes over.
“Now, let me pour the batter into the pan, and then I’ll let you lick the spoon.”
“Okay!!” Warlock lets go of the spoon he was stirring with and drops back down on his heels, stepping off of the stool to let Ashtoreth take the bowl of brownie mix and smooth it into the pan. She drops the spoon into Warlock’s outstretched hands, pulling her skirts out of the way as she opens the oven and sets the brownies inside. She makes sure the light is on after closing it and sets Warlock’s stool in front.
She turns to start cleaning up as Warlock sits on the stool, watching the brownies through the clear oven door. “Do you fink Bwother Fwancis will wike them?”
“I’m sure he’ll love them, dear. Now, is there anything else you want to bring on our picnic?” She pushes her sleeves up to not get them wet as she starts cleaning the bowl out, the gold snakes that twine her forearms glittering in the sunlight coming through the windows.
“Chocwate!”
“Okay, I can bring some chocolate.” She looks down at him over the rims of her glasses, saying, “But what did I say about making sure to eat healthy too?”
He frowns with the spoon in his mouth, pulling it out to say, “Strawbabies!”
Ashtoreth smiles. “Strawberries it is, dear.”
Once the mess has been cleared, the brownies are finished, so she sets them out to cool as Warlock helps her prepare the picnic basket. He finds a blue tartan blanket for them to sit on, and adds in a few juice boxes. Ashtoreth adds a bottle of wine and two glasses, as well as the food, before folding the blanket and placing it on top. She loops her arm through the basket and asks, “Are you all ready to go?”
Warlock nods furiously, and as soon as she opens the door, he runs out into the yard. Ashtoreth picks up her skirt and follows slowly after him, searching for the gardener.
“Bwother Fwancis! Bwother Fwancis!” he yells, racing over to the hedges. “We made bwown sqwares!”
“Young Master Warlock,” he greets. “I hope you remembered what I said?”
Warlock stops, confused. He furrows his brow as he thinks, before saying, “Messing up the bwown sqwares is not nice,” he pouts. “Then they don’t taste wight, and I want to enjoy them!”
“Looks like the child thwarted your plans, fiend,” Ashtoreth smirks. “You can’t get a kid to mess up something he expects to eat.” She spots the bouquet of pink flowers in his hands. “What are those for?”
“Oh, I pruned the flower bushes today and wanted Warlock to see that you can be in control of all life, it’s not just other humans.” He rubs the back of his neck and says, “I also thought you’d like them?”
“I know a beautiful vase I can use; they’ll really brighten up the kitchen.” She smiles and says, “Shall we?”
Warlock latches on to Francis’ hand, pulling out his phone as they start their walk down the street to the park. He’s still carrying the flowers too, as Ashtoreth has her hands full with her skirts and the picnic basket.
They set the blanket up under the shade of two great oak trees right next to the small playground. Warlock runs off to the slides as Ashtoreth settles down on the blanket, Brother Francis next to her.
“He’s oddly normal, isn’t he?” Ashtoreth says, watching Warlock climb up to the very top of the structure.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. It just means our plan is working, right?”
“I guess so.” Their hands brush against each other on the blanket as Ashtoreth readjusts her dress before moving it to the bouquet. “You said you cut these from the bushes in the garden? I’m surprised they look so good.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She glances over at him, unimpressed. “I really don’t think I need to explain myself, do I?”
“Oh, I really think you do. Is this your way of insulting me because you still haven’t forgiven me for taking the gardening position?”
“No, it’s certainly not that. Have you not looked at the garden lately? Even the grass is doing terrible. I really don’t know how the Dowling’s haven’t thought of firing you yet!”
“You’re just jealous. There’s nothing wrong with the garden.” He crosses his arms and watches as an older kid pushes Warlock off of the slide.
“Whatever you say, fiend.” Her attention is drawn to Warlock, who is now running over to them, crying, with a scraped knee. “Oh, dear, what happened?”
“He pushed me,” he cries, sitting down between the two.
“Come here; let me help.” Nanny gently covers his knee with her hand, willing the skin back together. “There! All good as new.”
Warlock sniffs and wipes his nose with his sleeve – something Brother Francis told him to do on the regular.
“Now, Warlock,” Brother Francis interrupts. “What have I told you about these kids? Survival of the fittest. If you don’t push them first, they’ll just keep pushing you around.”
Ashtoreth purses her lips in disdain at this advice.
“It’s kill or be killed out there, remember that.”
“Is that why the pwants are dying?”
Ashtoreth coughs into her elbow as she stifles a laugh, earning a glare from Francis.
“How about you go back over to the playground?” he tells Warlock, and the boy runs off again. “Don’t you dare say I told you so.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” She pulls the two glasses and the bottle of wine out of the picnic basket. “I do believe, however, that you owe me an apology?”
“No. Not happening.” He takes the glass she offers him and pulls a brownie out of the basket.
“Come on. Say you’re sorry, and I’ll help you fix the garden before Warlock goes saying that to his parents.”
“I don’t need your help. I can get by on my own.”
“With your single plant book? Look at how far that’s gotten you.” She sips her wine as she stares at him, a satisfied little smirk on her face.
“Okay! Fine! I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He glares at her. “I’m sorry for assuming you were jealous.”
Satisfied, she leans in and kisses his cheek. “There’s a dear. Now, once Warlock is in bed tonight, you tell me everything you’ve been doing wrong, and we can bring the garden back from the threshold of death.”
Francis stopped listening to her, however, instead gently rubbing the spot where she kissed him.
~~~
“I’m not doing this.”
“You are.”
“No–” Ashtoreth cuts him off as she pushes him down into the chair.
“I made this powerpoint so I can stop spending my nights fixing your mess. You will sit through it. You will learn.”
Brother Francis sighs, sliding into a slouch on the chair.
The pair were in the shed, where Ashtoreth has set up a projector and a screen to take Brother Francis through the dos and don’ts of gardening. They figured it was late enough and out of the way, so no one would interrupt them.
“First things first. You can not feed them human food. Yes, human food decomposes. But it takes at least a month for most food to decompose. You can bury the food in the dirt, but it would be better to get proper fertilizer, as that will work right away.”
Francis puts his head in his hands as he groans.
Ashtoreth changes to the next slide. “Water is something that plants need. There is such a thing as over-watering and under-watering though. If it’s been really dry, give them some water. If there’s been a lot of rain, wait until the soil dries out.”
“Do we really have to go through this?”
“Are you going to keep killing the plants?” she retorts.
“I’ll just – use some kind of demonic intervention or something, I don’t know.” He throws his hands into the air in his exasperation. “I really don’t know that I can handle another explanation of the water cycle from you.”
“Good! That means you’re learning.”
“Yeah, learning how much of a pain you are. Remind me to never get on your bad side. If this is passive-aggressive, I don’t want to see aggressive-aggressive.”
“As long as the plants stay healthy from now on, I’ll get off of your case for it.” Her eyes twinkle. “But if I see another dried up rosebush, you’ll have an entire collection of plant books to deal with.”
“What an – odd threat. Is that the best you can do, dear?” he teases.
Ashtoreth huffs and turns away, starting to take down the projector before giving up and making everything disappear with a snap.
“Actually, while we’re here, can we talk?”
“Is everything okay?” she asks, turning back around with a concerned look at his sudden change of tone.
“Not sure.” He rubs his cheek gently. “Human feelings are hard to sort out sometimes. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“That depends. Some are easier to spot than others.”
“What about love?”
“Love?”
He nods. “Mhm. I – I think I’m in love.”
Ashtoreth miracles another chair next to Francis and sits down, daintily placing her hands in her lap. “I think I’m in love, too.”
“Oh, really?” He gulps, trying to get rid of the hopeful feeling spreading through his chest.
“Mhm.” She continues on. “He’s a brilliant man, but is very dense at times. He can get on one's nerves very easily. But that doesn’t mean I like him any less. He tries so hard to be villainous, but there’s the tiniest spark of good in him that stops him most of the time. I’ve never known anyone quite like him.”
“He sounds – wonderful.” He tries not to let jealousy invade his tone.
“Did I say dense?”
“Mhm.”
“Just making sure.”
After a brief moment of silence, Francis says, “Mine – she’s beautiful. Stunning. Always has been, ever since I first saw her. She’s smart, and kind, and…”
“Mhm,” Ashtoreth says, leaning in closer.
“It’s you,” he breathes, not able to hide it any longer.
“Mhm,” she says again, closing the distance and pressing a tender kiss to his lips.
Francis pulls away a few seconds later, shock filling his face. “Wha – bu – that guy–”
“Completely, utterly dense, I tell you.” She leans back in for another kiss, sealing her love into it to show him he is the one she was talking about. Once Francis finally understands, he melts into the kiss, pressing back just as hard as she is.
A loud creak startles the two of them apart and they look to the door, where a shocked Warlock stands in his dinosaur footie pajamas. They all stare at each other for a few seconds before Warlock runs away, yelling, “Mommy, Bwother Fwancis and Nanny are kissing!”