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The first thing Crowley became aware of was a loud ticking sound. The next was light. He opened his eyes and a barrage of glittery twinkles assaulted him.
“Wassat?” He mumbled sleepily, blinking and squinting behind his glasses.
A blur of white, beige, and teal came into view as his eyes continued to adjust.
“Mr. Crowley!” exclaimed the blur, before sharpening into the figure of Muriel.
He frowned and cocked his head at the lights as the heaviness of sleep slid from him. Focusing properly, he could see there was a thin, scraggly tree covered in bits of paper under the mass of twinkles. “What’s all this?” he asked in a confused tone.
Muriel looked puzzled for a moment “What? Oh this” Their confusion quickly transformed into excitement. “It’s called a Christmas tree? Some people came into the shop the other day, and they were all talking about something called Christmas! Of course, I didn’t sell them any books, just like you told me, Mr Crowley”.
“Just Crowley” he interrupted, but remained sprawled in the chair he’d been napping in for the last few months. “And I know what Christmas is, I'm just wondering what it's doing in here”. He glanced all around where even more bits of paper and ribbon hung, seemingly at random, throughout the shop.
“Oh, right, sorry. Um, Crowley. So, I was saying, they were talking about Christmas, and I remembered seeing that word in a book upstairs. Mr. Fell has a whole section on how to celebrate something called “holidays””, they made little quotes with their fingers, bobbing their head from side to side enthusiastically. Crowley transferred his gaze back to the chaos around the tree, and spotted 3 small parcels wrapped in brown paper and string sitting neatly under the scrawny greenery. He pushed down the urge to order it to be a bit less rangy. “Erm” he said, frowning in the direction of the tree “and what’re those?”
“Ah, you see, those are presents? It’s just something humans do.” Muriel flapped their hands a little and shuffled nervously over to the tree to pick up the smallest of the parcels. They turned, beaming. "This one’s for you.”
He frowned down at the little package they were holding out, making no move to take it. “Presents,” he repeated flatly. He tried to ignore the offering, “who are the other two for, then?” They continued holding the package, wiggling a little.
“Yes well, those are for Magie and Nina? Because they’ve been ever so nice to me, while you were …” the smile vanished for an instant. “Resting”, they finished quickly, giving him a worried look. Then the smile was back as if it had never left. “And I thought this “present” might help cheer you up!” They bent over a little, and set it carefully on his lap when he continued to make no move to take it. They took a hesitant step back, then hurried off to one of the back rooms.
He frowned down at the package in confusion. A moment later, Muriel returned with a glass of wine and a steaming cup of tea. They held the wine glass out to him, a hopeful expression on their face. “Just woke up” he half protested, but accepted the wine nonetheless. “You don’t drink tea.” He commented as they sat in a chair opposite him.
“Um, no, but I do like to look at it, and do you know, it has a lovely smell.” They closed their eyes, their smile becoming more relaxed as they inhaled the steam. Then they opened their eyes again and gave him a timid, almost expectant look. “Well done” he said, but the sarcasm was lost on them. They beamed again and nodded to the package still in his lap.“You're supposed to open it? That’s what humans do with presents, they open them.”
He sighed and drained his glass and set it on the side table, where Aziraphale used to set his tea….Quickly shutting off that train of thought, he unfolded the brown paper. Muriel sat forward eagerly as a long, thin, knitted scarf rolled out. It was a bright and cheery red, with silvery tassels. “Well, erm ” he tried to organize his thoughts, but they stayed stubbornly scattered.
“It’s a scarf, like the one you have, but red! You like red don’t you, Mr., ah, Crowley?” They quickly set aside the untouched tea and picked up the scarf, making as if to put it on him. “Hey now” he pushed his head further back into the chair, and took the scarf back. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do with it, but they were looking at him with pure excitement, just like….no, better not think about that either. With a sigh he put it over his head, flipped it into a loose knot, then gave them something closer to a grimace than a smile.
Muriel was practically glowing with enthusiasm. Suddenly, he remembered a bit about Christmas. “Well” he said “I suppose I should give you…” he patted his pockets absently, not expecting to find anything, when he felt more than heard the crinkle of paper in his left jacket pocket. He pulled it out, now completely bewildered. A creamy piece of parchment faced him, neatly folded, with just a letter C on the front, done in a lovely flourish. Suddenly, his hands were trembling, and he forgot all about Muriel, the scraggly tree, and the scarf. He fumbled open the paper and read:
“Dearest Crowley,
I trust this missive finds you well, and not too terribly distressed.
I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you, though I do hope you understand my reasons, now that I'm permitted to explain.
You see, when Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate prophecies came into my possession some years ago, as I'm certain you'll remember, I found a prophecy relating to me, and my hot cocoa going cold, if you can believe it. I was quite taken aback at first, but intrigued, I read on. To my amazement, there seemed to be a second prophecy concerning me.
""Past the endyng, shouldst my rede to thee be headed, I see but oon thyng. Yf my second bodements doon turn to ash, thanne must thee, Pryncipality, keep closed thy mouth, until the tyme comes to leave that whiche thou cherishes, say yea to that which thou woudst say nay, and nay to that which thou woudst say yea.
As I’m certain you are well aware, prophecy is notoriously difficult to interpret, but it seems that I am destined to abandon the bookshop at some point. I am writing this note in the unlikely event that I am forced to leave without explanation. I don’t know how I will get this note to you, in that most unlikely occurrence. Perhaps I will just slip it into your pocket, my good fellow, with you none the wiser! You’ve always said I was terrible at magic, but I will never retire the act completely!""
Your dearest friend,
Aziraphale”
“Mr. Crowley, um, are you alright?” Muriel's voice broke through the haze. Without looking up, he refolded the parchment and replaced it, very carefully, back into his left jacket pocket.
Timidly, Muriel asked “Did you like the present?”
He looked at her for the first time since he woke up. “It was the best damned present ever.” Then he smiled and chuckled with a little snort while he slithered up out of the chair. “Where’d you stash the wine?” he called over his shoulder, and sauntered into the back without waiting for an answer.