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In the opulent residence of the American Ambassador, Aziraphale, disguised as the gardener Frater Francis, had just come into the lavish living room to warm up a little at the fireplace. Ambassador Dowling was at an appointment, while his wife was at some welfare event, both gone for a few days. As so often, they had just left their five year old son Warlock in the care of his Nanny Ashtoreth.
Of course, Aziraphale knew that Nanny Ashtoreth was really the demon Crowley. Lounging on a couch, they were beautiful as ever, their features softer than when Crowley appeared as a male, their auburn red hair in soft curls, wearing a tight, elegant black velvet dress, every inch a lady. They looked more as if they were going on a date night than babysitting.
Warlock was sitting at the window, looking out at the rain with a frustrated look on his face. “When will it snow already? I want to build a snowman.”
“Oh, soon, I think,” Nanny Ashtoreth replied with their soft voice.
“But when?” Warlock complained. “It didn't snow last year, it didn't snow the year before… I have never built a snowman!”
“Oh,” Nanny Ashtoreth said, an emphatic look on their expressive features. Despite being a demon, Ashtoreth/Crowley definitely had a soft side.
“Dear Master Warlock,” Aziraphale/Frater Francis said, “it never snows in the UK. And if it does, the snow doesn't stay, hardly enough for a snowman.”
“That's not fair!” Warlock called.
“Life is not always fair,” Nanny Ashtoreth said. “Come, Warlock, it's time for you to go to bed.”
“Will you sing me a lullaby?” Warlock asked.
“Of course,” Nanny Ashtoreth replied.
Aziraphale/Frater Francis smiled, as they left the room. While he walked to his flat in the employee wing, Aziraphale thought of their arrangement. They had both applied for a job in the ambassador’s household half a year ago so each of them could influence the Antichrist, one for good, one for evil. The plan was to cancel each other out, so that Warlock would grow up to be an ordinary child. But Aziraphale was not sure if Crowley was always as bad an influence as they pretended to be.
Aziraphale had only seen Nanny Ashtoreth talking in a friendly manner to the boy, and they read him stories and sung him lullabies… There could be nothing wrong with it.
In his small flat, Aziraphale miracled himself a cup of tea and sat down with a good book. On his free days he retreated to his bookstore, but most of the time he spent the nights here, reading. Sometimes Crowley came over with a bottle of wine, or he went to their rooms.
A few hours later, Aziraphale looked up from his book. Glancing at the window, he saw that it was snowing. Big white snowflakes.
Amazed at the sight, Aziraphale stood up and went to the window. Looking out, he saw that the ground of the park was already covered in snow.
“Crowley,” he whispered, a smile brightening his face.
***
The next morning was a Saturday. Aziraphale had slept a few hours, and now, having a breakfast of croissants and tea, he was gazing out of the window. Warlock and Nanny Ashtoreth were already in the garden, where the snow was one, maybe even two feet high, and Warlock was wearing warm snow clothing.
Nanny Ashtoreth’s long, tight, black coat, brimmed with fur, seemed to be designed more to look good than to keep them warm. Their black, high heeled leather boots accentuated their slender lower legs, while a hat was supposed to shield their hair from the snow. Of course, the dark glasses were not missing. Aziraphale smiled, deciding to join them outside.
A few minutes later he was dressed in a coat, scarf, gloves, and warm winter boots.
Smiling pleasantly, he walked to them. “What a miracle, Master Warlock,” Frater Francis/Aziraphale said, “Yesterday you said you wanted to build a snowman, and today it snows.”
Warlock beamed at him. “It's great! I went to Nanny's rooms and woke her up as soon as I saw it.”
Nanny Ashtoreth looked much less thrilled than Warlock. They liked to sleep.
“We should thank the Almighty for letting it snow!” Frater Francis said piously.
Nanny Ashtoreth snorted. “The Almighty has nothing to do with it.” Then they looked the gardener up and down. “As you see, we have already formed some big snowballs.” There were really a lot of snow globes already, enough to form at least five snowmen. “Now we need someone big, someone strong to help us stack them.” Their voice turning even more flirtatious, they added, “You look like a vigorous fellow…”
“Certainly, dear Ashtoreth,” Frater Francis said. Inwardly, Aziraphale was shaking his head. Crowley was always such a flirt when they presented as female.
Aziraphale pretended to struggle with putting the big snowballs one upon the other. In reality, it was easy with his angelic strength.
“Now they need faces! And some clothes!” Warlock called enthusiastically.
Aziraphale felt cold. He didn't like to go outside during the winter, so he said, “You know what? I'll make us a big pot of cacao, and later we’ll drink a cup together and eat some biscuits. What do you think?”
“Yeah!” Warlock cried. His face lit up with joy. Probably a great day for him, enough snow to build a snowman, and the prospect of drinking cacao and eating biscuits later.
***
This time, Aziraphale made cacao the human way, not miracleing it. He had chosen to use the small kitchen in the employee wing. It was cozier than the main kitchen (which was hardly ever in use), the walls painted in a friendly yellow tone, with vintage style cupboards.
Quite content with the start of the day, Aziraphale was humming a melody. Crowley was so awfully nice to little Warlock. They had changed the weather for him, even though Crowley didn't like snow. Snake that they were, they preferred the warmth, lying literally curled up in front of a fireplace, listening to the fire crackling, but certainly not building snowmen outside. Yet they did exactly that for Warlock.
Of course, Crowley, or Nanny Ashtoreth, would say they only did this because Warlock was Satan's son, but they couldn't fool Aziraphale. The only reason they had made it snow was because Warlock had been sad that he had never built a snowman.
The cacao was finished and Aziraphale did a small miracle to keep the pot right at the perfect temperature. Then he put on his coat again to step out and invite the Antichrist and his demonic Nanny in. And to take a look at the finished snowmen, of course.
Plodding through the snow, Aziraphale reached Warlock and Nanny Ashtoreth.
“Frater Francis,” the boy called, a huge smile all over his small face, “Nanny Ashtoreth can build the coolest snowmen!”
Indeed, the snowmen looked almost like snow sculptures, but…
“Ashtoreth, those are monstrous!” Frater Francis exclaimed.
One of them had two heads with frightening coal eyes, the mouths full of sharp teeth. The next one had four arms, which were raised threateningly above its head, the face as fear-inspiring as possible in a snowman. Another one was lying on the ground, stabbed in the chest with a branch. Aziraphale wondered what they had used for fake blood, as it looked quite real. The fourth one was just trying to strangle the last one with its branch-arms, the coals in its face arranged in a way that made it appear to be in a rage, while the last snowman was clearly in distress.
Nanny Ashtoreth watched his horrified expression with an amused smile. “Much more interesting than the usual snowman, don't you think, Warlock?”
“They are so cool!” the boy replied, beaming.
“Master Warlock!” Frater Francis said, “What will your parents say when they see that you’ve made these… horror snowmen?!”
Warlock shrugged, wearing a sad look. “My parents don't care what I do.”
Aziraphale gazed at the demonic Nanny. Their smile had vanished, exchanged for a sorrowful expression. “Come, my dear,” they said, “Frater Francis has prepared cacao and biscuits. Let's go inside, before the cacao gets cold.”
Warlock smiled again. “You two are the best!” he said. “Why don't you get married and adopt me?”
Aziraphale/Frater Francis laughed nervously. “That would be…”
“The marriage of Heaven and Hell,” Nanny Ashtoreth said.
***
In the employee wing kitchen, they shed their coats, scarves, and gloves, sitting down with mugs of warm cacao. Nanny Ashtoreth opened a bottle of whiskey and poured a good shot into their cup.
Warlock looked curiously at them. “Nanny, why do you always pretend to be bad?”
“I don't pretend,” they answered stiffly.
“You told me living things are there to be stomped upon,” Warlock said. “But when I was afraid of a spider in my room, you took it on your palm and put it outside. Why didn't you kill it?”
“I like spiders,” Nanny Ashtoreth replied. “They eat other insects.”
Aziraphale smiled. The boy was clever; even at five years he realized that his Nanny was not as evil as they pretended. The angel, meanwhile, had known Crowley for 6000 years, and it had taken him much longer to realize that the demon was, deep inside, really a good guy.
Sipping from his cacao, Aziraphale was sure he would have a great time raising the Antichrist together with Crowley.
The End