Chapter Text
Crowley sank deeper in the bookshop couch with a groan. "Must you play Beethoven?"
Of course Aziraphale didn’t hear him. How anyone could hear someone speak let alone hear oneself think over the decisive opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony? "You do know that if the Viennese authorities weren’t so clueless there probably would never have been a Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, or Tenth symphony.” Aziraphale heard him anyway.
"Really, dear boy, he only wrote nine. And why would the authorities even care?"
"Because that symphony is full of French Revolutionary songs—like what they would have been singing if you’d had your head chopped off."
"I do remember the revolutionaries being a little exuberant, but Beethoven didn’t even like that Corsican."
"Bonaparte, Angel. And Ludwig may not have liked the man, but he did approve of the ideals of the Revolution. I spent several days with him in 1804. Tempted him into using several songs in that symphony. The ones about liberté and fraternité in particular. Wait a minute, is that coming from MY phone?"
"Of course it is. Maestro Gardner makes it sound like it did for its premiere. It’s sad really, but modern recordings don’t play well on my gramophone." Crowley knew Aziraphale thought music miracled to become a 78 record just didn’t sound right.
He should never have introduced Aziraphale to his phone. Or maybe he should just get the angel his own. Aziraphale wandered to the back and out of sight. Crowley sank deeper into the couch and groaned again. Life might be good after the Not End of Days, but after three weeks he had rather hoped that…
Whatever he hoped for was drowned out by someone incessantly knocking on the door of the bookshop—and not in tempo with the music.
"Can you get that, dear boy," Aziraphale called out from the back. "Tell them we’re closed."
"Of course, Angel," Crowley muttered softly, deciding to not yell over the music.
He grabbed his glasses, slunk over to the door and threw it open to almost get punched in the chest by the well dressed Indian gentleman.
"I’m sorry, we’re…"
"Is this the bookshop owned by the angel who sells other men’s books? I’m Giles Baddicombe from…"
Crowley stopped himself from staring at the man and interrupted him. "I suppose it is. Why are you here?"
"Really, it’s quite a remarkable reason." Mr. Baddicombe handed Crowley a carved leather box. "This is the second one of these I’ve delivered this month. They had been in the firm for years, and before then our founder’s mother’s firm. Before that they had been kept by the Pyewacket family for two generations and before that…"
"Yes, yes. But why are you here today, on a Sunday?"
Mr. Baddicombe handed Crowley a letter in an elegant script. From the mid sixteen hundreds by the look of it. He tucked the box under his left arm and opened the letter. This letter and box beith for the angel who selleth other men’s books and the demon he loveth. Crowley sputtered slightly, but tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. It had to be from that Nutter woman.
"Well, I have delivered the box."
"Aren’t you even curious about what’s in this box." Crowley instinctively slipped into temptation mode.
"We all are, but after the last time, I will take no more of your time. Have a good day, sir." Mr. Baddicombe practically ran down the sidewalk.
"Interesting." He held the box in front of his face and studied it.
"What’s that?" Aziraphale asked from behind him.
"I have no idea. Some human handed it to me. It’s for the angel who sells other men’s books." He wouldn’t mention the rest of the sentence. Aziraphale paled even while he danced (well danced as much as an Angel danced).
"It’s from Agnes Nutter. She used a similar phrase in her book. You don’t think she wrote another book of prophecies? Why did we get it and not Anathema?" Aziraphale reached out and Crowley placed the box in his hands, as he growled. More prophecies, just when everything was, at least maybe, going not badly.
Aziraphale studied the box for a good minute before carrying it almost reverently to his desk. "Exciting, isn’t it."
Exciting as in, oh what was that human expression, something about teeth pulling, but Crowley was more worried than excited. Why would that Nutter be contacting them now?
"Why did she send this to us, not Anathema?" Aziraphale asked again.
"That human lawyer said something about delivering another box earlier."
"Oh." The Angel’s excitement was palpable as he started to lift the lid. He stopped when Crowley placed his hand on top.
"Think Angel. Do we really want to know what is in that box?"
"Obviously we do."
"Obviously?"
"You said that Heaven and Hell still want their war. What if she tells us how to prevent that." The Angel’s smile wavered and he frowned. "Wouldn’t it be better to know now so we can plan, rather than when Michael shows up an hour before it starts to conscript me? I have no desire to fight in any war. Do you?"
Crowley pulled his hand away. "No." Aziraphale didn’t look anywhere near as excited as just a few minutes earlier.
They both were silent as the angel reverently pulled the manuscript out of the box.
"Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Concerning the World That Is to Come," Aziraphale said. "Ye saga continues." He reached into the top right hand corner of his desk and pulled out his white cotton gloves. Crowley opted to not comment about them not being necessary.
"The Great Beast and the Lesser Beast shalle a normal life to live after claiming his Own. Yette those who would destroy still want. The nations rage, and your wrath hath come. I tell ye the time draws nigh for judging the dead, and for rewarding your servants thee prophets"
"Isn’t that straight from Revelation?"
"Close, depending on what version, the Greek version can be translated…” Aziraphale stopped, shook his head, then returned to the topic. “Is she prophesying the Second Coming?" Aziraphale stood straighter. "If her prophecies are nice and accurate, maybe there is still a chance to talk to the right people."
"There are no right people, Angel. It’s still just us and humanity versus them." You had to have learned that this last time. Crowley wanted to shake Aziraphale and hope the Angel had learned that.
"No, I suppose not. Maybe the lesser angels and demons aren’t as…"
"They are as brainwashed as the rest."
Crowley had very carefully never admitted to himself that he didn’t like seeing the Angel sad. The last few days before the Not End of Days, he’d tried to drag the Angel away from Earth and everything. Not that there had been anywhere to go that would do more than delay the ineffable plan. Except Agnes had known. "If the ineffable plan is…ineffable, how did Agnes know it?"
"Oh." There was a long silence, then Aziraphale shrugged. "Shall we?" He motioned for Crowley to pull up another chair and they started to read.
The book, okay, manuscript (Aziraphale would have harrumphed if Crowley called it a book) made less sense than her first book (and that had been an actual book). Maybe that was because by the time Aziraphale had read it, most of the first book was history. This new book (manuscript) made no sense, like the letter in his pocket. Did Aziraphale really love him? Now that they were free, maybe they were free to find out?
"We need to find Anathema," Aziraphale said in a seeming non sequitur to the thought in Crowley’s head.
"Ngk."
17 October 2019
"Hey, Angel! I found her."
Aziraphale, who had been buried in the manuscript copy grunted, but didn’t look at Crowley. "Found who, dear?"
Crowley sputtered at the endearment. "Book Girl. Nutter’s great great great something granddaughter. She returned to the colonies a couple of weeks ago."
"States, dear. They haven’t been a colony for two hundred or so years. Have you contacted her?"
"I figured we should do it together. Let’s see if it is two in the afternoon here, that means it is midnight over there. Are humans awake at that time?"
"Double check that time, I think it is closer to seven. I’ve figured out a couple of the prophecies. Making copies was a nice…good…um a workable solution. I don’t feel any guilt writing on the copies." Aziraphale sighed. "But it is so much more satisfying to handle the original. The smell is so…"
Crowley tuned him out, it wasn’t the first time the Angel had waxed lyrical about how old paper felt and smelled. He opened Skype and entered the number he’d found. He’d already emailed her, reintroduced himself, and had felt her sigh, mainly because it had taken her two days to return his email and agree to the Skype call. Normally humans didn’t remember them, but Adam must have done something: Book Girl had remembered him.
Just a year ago he would have just called her and not worried about any time differences. The Angel was a bad influence on him. A demon being polite? Well, sort of polite.
Of course she didn’t answer. "I don’t know about these Sky thingies. Are you sure they actually work?" Aziraphale asked.
"She may be busy."
"Maybe I should write to her. A well written letter on a nice parchment is a much more polite way…"
"It would take at least a week for a letter to get to her and another week for her answer to make it back here." Crowley sighed. He should have expected the Angel’s commentary on technology. He might be willing to listen to revolutionary music on a cell phone, but he was not ready to accept the marvelous inventions of the 20th century, let alone the 21st.
"So, which prophecies?" Crowley asked.
"Sorry, which prophecies?"
"The ones you figured out." He was surprised when Aziraphale’s face turned bright red. Interesting.
"Nothing really important."
"Nothing? Why are you blushing?"
His phone started to sing. Or rather it was announcing an incoming call.
"Is that her?"
"Hello," Crowley said.
"Demon," a woman’s voice said pleasantly. "She sent you a copy too."
"Yes. You don’t seem surprised."
"I’m not. Don’t spread the word, I burnt my copy. I am so tired of being a descendant…"
"You want your own life? I get it. How’s lizard boy."
"Fine. Newt’s back in Dorking."
"Crowley," Aziraphale said at his shoulder.
"Hi. You’re the Angel from the airfield. You two finally got together!"
Crowley sputtered. "No. Just friends."
"Yes, friends." Aziraphale was even redder than earlier. "And don’t worry, so far none of the prophecies seem to be about you, I think."
Anathema chuckled. "I’m not sure I like the sound of that. But what do you need from me then?"
"Your expertise. I only had the original book for a couple of days, you had it for years. I’m…We really hope that you would be willing to help us."
She sighed. "The End of the World, again?"
Aziraphale took the phone from Crowley. "I’m afraid so. Thwarted now, a second attempt be certes soon upon ye. Goode and Eville joineth together bringeth the ende what sharl stop the ende.
She sighed again. "That sounds like Agnes. The Second Coming? Might explain the shit happening in the world. But doesn’t that involve Jesus?"
"In theory," Crowley said. "Can we send you a copy?"
"Yea, I’d rather expected this. I just found my life as me, I’m not ready to accept the end. You might want to bring Newt in. He has a cell phone now. That supposed tech curse seems to be gone. He was rather good at this prophecy reading shit." She blushed. "I’m sorry, I forgot I’m speaking to an actual angel."
"That’s all right my dear girl, I’ve been around him for centuries."
Crowley grabbed the phone back. "Ignore him. I don’t swear…too much. I'll Email you a copy and…"
"I’ll contact Newt."
"You’re not together?" Crowley asked with, what he hoped was a wicked grin. He figured he hadn’t succeeded when she just chuckled.
"Just friends. Great sex and saving the world does not a relationship make. We still chat on Saturdays."
"Thank you for calling," Aziraphale said. The screen closed. "Well, that was better than waiting two weeks for a reply."
"Hmmm?" Crowley tapped the screen a couple of times to send a copy of that damn manuscript to her. "She’s right. The Second Coming could explain all the shit in the world."
"Do watch your language, dear. I’m still an angel."
Crowley stared at the angel’s backside as he went back to his desk. Was Aziraphale flirting? No, he couldn’t be. He wondered if the angel even knew how.