By and large, Crowley didn't have much interest in wizards. They were usually humans who got enough power equivalent to that of a portable CD player against Crowley's abilities that were more in the category of a video iPod. In terms of them as potential targets for temptation, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. A very small barrel. A very small barrel filled with fish. It made for boring work and he usually left them to his co-workers.
But thanks to a drunken declaration from Aziraphale and a casual comment on his part, Crowley found himself inexplicably tied to one of them. And to this day it was hounding him. Crowley often lamented that this is what one got for showing a passing interest in wizards.
"Centuries now I've been sending down memos about Blackberrys. And TiVos. And online tax forms," Crowley complained. "But does the Home Office respond to those? No. Instead I get grief about this skull situation."
"We really shouldn't have put it off this long," Aziraphale countered. While the angel's tone was sweetly docile, after the day they'd just wasted in airline security and traveling, Crowley was ready to have it out with him.
The angel had refused to allow Crowley to just wave them through all that rubbish as he felt it wasn't fair to the other passengers. Traveling as a native had been a new form of torture. Crowley had taken notes.
"It's not our fault! This could have been settled centuries ago. Bloody wizards," the demon muttered as he maneuvered their rental car down Chicago's streets. Trust mortals to get all creatively nasty and bind the soul to a skull for all eternity. Crowley didn't know whether he should be proud or annoyed at the human race.
"They can be a volatile group," Aziraphale agreed.
Crowley knew the angel was being charitable with that comment. By nature, Aziraphale didn't look very favorably on those who practiced the occult. Though he did have a soft spot for the current owner of the skull. The angel was a sucker for people who stood fast against the face of adversity. Gave him some professional pride.
Pulling up to the right building, Crowley surveyed his surroundings. Unlike a bulk of the Midwest, he liked Chicago. Or rather, he was willing to tolerate it for a few days. He did enjoy how like England, the weather in Chicago could get unforgivably cold. And he was a fan of the cold. It was a great perk to not having a desk job at the Home Office.
Aziraphale eyed the sign that was clearly etched into the door's glass panes.
"Harry Dresden, wizard," he read out. "He's rather forward, isn't he?"
"He's a pain in my neck is what he is," Crowley stated. "So, what's the game plan?"
"Pardon?"
"Game plan. As in our plan. How are we going to do this?"
"Err…well…"
"I vote we go in, stun the wizard, grab the skull and scupper off. How's that?"
Aziraphale frowned. "It's a little…" he waved his hand, gesturing to find the right word.
"Effective? Concise? Brilliant?" Crowley offered.
"Inelegant," Aziraphale decided.
"You have a better idea?"
"I think we should go and assess the situation first."
"Assessing situations is what got us in this mess in the first place."
"All the same…" Aziraphale said with that look in his eyes that frustrated Crowley no end.
"Fine," he relented.
The angel brightened. "Shall we go in?"
"Hang on." From the depths of his suit, Crowley pulled out his cell phone, iPod, TREO and a small digital camera the thickness of a credit card. After dumping them all in the backseat, he padded himself down for any other electronics. Deeming himself technology free, he nodded. "Let's go."
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More often than not, Harry got a lot of customers who were about six Granny Smith's short of an apple cart. So he wasn't particularly shocked when the latest two potential clients who'd come through the door gave off strange vibes. There was nothing especially strange-looking about the two men. Other than that they looked a little like a study in contrasts. While one was blond, slightly overweight and wearing clothes that rivaled Harry's shabbiness, the other was dark, thin as a rail and looked like he'd walked off the pages of a men's fashion magazine, complete with sunglasses that he even wore inside the store.
"Would you like to take a seat?" the wizard offered. They sat down in unison, which was also a little weird. Granted, the blond was sitting neatly, despite his appearance while the other slouched down.
"You have a very nice office here, Mr. Dresden," complimented the blond who had introduced himself as a Mr. Ziraphale. He glanced admiringly at a few books Harry had shelved in the front. "Isn't it?"
"Wonderful," replied his companion who had introduced himself as a Mr. Crowley. He looked distracted as he gazed around the shop.
"Despite the frigid, unforgiving cold of outside climates, this remains a warm haven of safety," intoned Ziraphale, beatifically. "A very beloved sanctuary."
Harry gave him an amused smile. "I take it you two aren't from around here," he guessed.
"We're visiting from England," said Ziraphale, pleasantly.
"So what brings you to Chicago?" asked Harry.
"Business trip," Crowley answered, sullenly from behind his sunglasses.
"Oh, I do like that poster you have framed there," gestured the blond man. "Was the Astounding Dresden your father?"
"Yeah, he was a stage magician," informed Harry.
"Really? I rather dabble in a bit of stage magic myself," said Ziraphale, looking pleased. "There's a very fine trick with scarves that I know…" For a minute it looked like to Harry that Ziraphale was going to demonstrate his skills, but Crowley pointedly shook his head at him and the man gave an embarrassed cough instead.
"So," the wizard began, trying to steer things back to business. "How can I help you?"
"Well, Mr. Dresden," the blond man sat forward a little as he spoke. "My colleague and I have a bit of a problem. One might say we've…well, I suppose you can say we lost sight of something. That is to say, we've lost track of something," he amended.
"Uh huh," said Harry, slowly. "And you want me to….find this something?" he guessed.
Ziraphale gave him an affable smile. "Well, the funny thing is, Mr. Dresden-"
"I don't suppose you have any tea?" Crowley cut in. He was half staring at something behind Harry to his left.
"Uh…tea?"
"Yes, tea," Crowley persisted, ignoring the glare he was getting from his companion. "We're very British and you know…desperately wanting some tea."
"Um…sure," offered Harry, rising from his seat. "But I only have-"
"Whatever you have is fine," Crowley said.
"Okay, be right back," Harry said, moving down the hall toward his kitchen.
"Take your time!" Crowley called after him. "Make sure to give the water plenty of time to boil. Makes for a good strong cup."
As he moved back, the wizard casually touched a wooden beam. Invisibly to the naked eye, the protective wards of his apartment pulsed and strengthened.
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The minute Harry was out of sight, Crowley got up and hurried over to the desk where he'd spotted the decorated skull.
"What are you doing?" asked Aziraphale.
"Keep your voice down," Crowley ordered. He scrutinized the bones. "He's not in here. But I think we just grab the skull and…he just comes with it."
"Crowley, don't even think about it!"
"What?" demanded the demon.
"Put that down," the angel commanded in a loud whisper. Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale reached over and plucked the skull from his hands.
"We don't have time for this," hissed the demon, grabbing the skull back. "Look, he's making the tea, let's just go."
"We agreed we were going to assess the situation."
"I've assessed. I've assessed the skull is here. I've assessed we can take it. Assessment over. Let's go."
"We need to give an explanation," Aziraphale insisted.
"Like WHAT?"
"We're not going to steal from him," the angel stated firmly, yanking the skull away from the demon.
"Are you kidding me with this?" hissed Crowley, snatching it back. "You're honestly going to play Keep Away?"
"If need be," the angel declared, grabbing at it again.
"Aziraphale, stop messing about!"
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Harry was tossing a few tea bags into the pot when Bob stepped through from the wall.
"Harry, it might interest you to know that there are two gentlemen out in the storefront manhandling my skull," informed the ghost.
Harry peered around the kitchen corner to see his two clients playing a very intense game of tug o'war with the skull. If the wizard didn't know the bones were well guarded by protective shielding, he would have been concerned. The sight of the two arguing was also a little mesmerizing.
"Are you going to do something about it?" asked the spirit.
"I thought I'd let them wrestle for it a little longer," said the wizard, pouring the steaming water over the tea.
"Why thank you," Bob replied, sarcastically.
"Relax," Harry assured. "I activated the wards around the house. There's no way they'll be able to leave the store without getting a serious shock." While the tea seeped, both wizards leaned over and watched as two clients up front finally put the skull back down on the table and were now arguing in furious stage whispers. "They're a little strange," Harry commented.
"I suppose it was their unhealthy interest in my skull that tipped you off," guessed Bob, rolling his eyes.
"No, it's something else. I can't quite place it. The blond one's kinda funny."
"Funny isn't exactly the word I'd pick," said Bob.
"They don't seem dangerous, though."
"Yes, and one can certainly depend on your intuition. That keen eye you have for personality assessment has served you so well in the past," Bob replied, sardonically.
"Good point." Harry grabbed the tea pot and made his way back to the store front. As he did, the muffled bickering became clearer and clearer.
"You really do always insist on getting your way, my dear," said Ziraphale, peevishly.
"Excuse me, did I or did I not let you make us suffer through that Heathrow security check? We could have breezed through but SOMEONE had to be proper."
Harry wondered if 'colleagues' was a British colloquialism for 'old married couples.'
He set the tea down on the table with a discreet clack, which broke the two from their argument. "Tea's ready," Harry declared, cheerfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Dresden. Most kind," said Ziraphale, trying to look demure after being caught arguing.
"So how about you tell me why you two have an interest in that skull while you sip your hot beverages?" suggested the wizard.
"Err…what?" asked Crowley, attempting to sound innocent and failing on every level.
"You heard me," said Harry. His voice remained pleasant, although there was a distinctly colder tone threaded within. Ziraphale and Crowley gave each other side glances.
"Maybe we should just go," Ziraphale suggested.
"Maybe we should go back to my original plan," Crowley countered. He stood a little straighter and seemed for the first time to really face Harry. And it was then that the wizard felt a real sense of something ominous looming in front of him. He was mentally calculating how long it would take him to summon his hockey stick over when Ziraphale grabbed his companion's arm.
"Crowley, not here," he warned. Holding fast to him he started to pull the protesting man toward the front door.
"Sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Dresden!" Ziraphale called quickly over his shoulder. "We'll be leaving now."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Harry started to follow, but made a quick detour to grab his hockey stick. He waited for the protective wards to give a warning shock as the two approached the door. But when Ziraphale touched the door knob, nothing happened other than the door swinging open for him, banging on the other side.
"My apologies again," Ziraphale threw over his shoulder as he shoved Crowley and himself out, leaving Harry gaping at their uninterrupted exit. The front door closed and Harry felt a pulse of energy re-establish itself. The wards were back in place and working.
Harry patted his intuition on the back for failing him yet again.
THE END