London. Savile Row. Crowley, DaJi, and Eric enter a bespoke tailor's establishment. The receptionist is thin with closely cropped platinum hair. Luxurious matching eyebrows. Eyes of palest blue. High cheekbones under dark toffee skin. Wearing a simple cream jersey cowl-neck tunic dress with a belted waist, that drapes over a bosom that could either be very small breasts or nice pectoral muscles. Eric fumbles the portfolio he's carrying for Crowley, cannot tear his gaze way. The receptionist, however, visibly tenses in fear.

Relax, angel. We have an appointment. Anthony J. Crowley.

The receptionist taps an iPad and rises behind the desk, stands as if unsure of which direction to flee. A smartly dressed woman emerges from the back.

Good morning, Mr. Crowley. My name is Alexandra. I am our women's cutter.

Pleasure to meet you. May I introduce my assistant Ms. Ji Da-hye. We will be requiring some things suitable for a warmer climate, as we plan to post her to Shanghai.

Daji has ditched the scruffy all-black street look, now appears to be a member of an Asian boy/girl band. Bright red hair in a short boyish cut. Slim black Italian cut suit with a chartreuse silk shirt. Silver fox fur muffler. Extremely cute.

Welcome, Ms. Ji.

Please call me "Daisy."

If you will come with me, Daisy, we will discuss your styling requirements, fabric selection, and take your measurements. By your leave, Mr. Crowley.

Very good, Alexandra. I leave Daisy in your capable hands.

During this exchange Eric's gaze has remained fixed on the receptionist, whose gaze has been fixed on Daji.

Eric? Time to go.

Eric snaps to, nods to the receptionist (who doesn't see him because she's still staring at the doorway through which Alexandra and Daji exited), briskly dashes over to hold the door open for Crowley.

Same location. Early evening. Eric slips through the door, approaches the receptionist and bows deeply, sits in one of the small leather armchairs near the desk, hands clutched in his lap.

Hi. My name is Eric.

You are Mr. Crowley's assistant. A demon.

Yes. But please don't be afraid of me. I'm just a disposable demon. I can't hurt you. Can you tell me your name?

I am Angel Hekla. What is a disposable demon?

We're . . . clones, I guess you could say. We do all the drudge work in Hell. And get discorporated all the time. Disposable. Like rags.

How awful. I've spent a thousand years as a sweeper, myself. My last Earth assignment ended badly. I requested a position in housekeeping. Sweeping is very relaxing. And you get to see all the departments in Heaven. Nobody pays any attention to you.

That's sort of true in Hell, too. You get to go everywhere. Except there's probably a lot more dirt to sweep up. And getting discorporated sucks. Why are you on Earth now?

An angel named Sandalphon was demoted to housekeeping. He began to pester and bully me. I could not escape him. So I requested an Earth assignment, and they placed me here. It has been very peaceful until today.

What happened today?

You three demons walked in. I was very frightened.

You know who Demon Crowley is, don't you?

The angel looks around as if afraid, then whispers:

The owners of this shop are impressed because they think he is a very rich human. In Heaven, however, he is reviled as the seducer of the Principality Aziraphale.

I think "lover" would be a better word. Demon Crowley is very protective of the angel. They are kind to each other.

Everyone still talks about the explosion in the main lobby.

That was something, wasn't it. I say, are you free to go to tea? Or supper?

The Demon Daisy has already asked me to join her for dinner in Chinatown. She will be stopping by when the shop closes.

No! Her real name is Demon Daji, the Fox. She is cruel and treacherous. You must not fraternize with her!

She says she has repented her evil ways.

Satan's sins, you surely don't believe that?

We angels are always encouraging of repentance and restitution.

Eric stares at Hekla for an uncomfortable long moment. Then:

You have a crush on her, don't you.

The angel's dusky skin darkens.

I am an angel. I cannot lie. Yes. I feel drawn to her as a magnet.

Or a moth to a flame.

A tailor enters from the back. Eric jumps up to leave.

I must go. Please beware Daji, angel.

He fades out the door like an exiting shadow.

London. Night. The rooftop of Crowley's Mayfair flat, upon which a small helicopter is parked. Eric and London DeeDee are seated with their legs hanging over the edge, gazing over the illuminated buildings across and below.

I couldn't tell if she was male or female. She has a gentle, soft voice. So I think maybe female. Not that it makes any difference.

I thought you were attracted to that nice plump young human in Tadfield?

The two Erics she is working with like her. I thought I did, too, until I met Hekla. Hekla is so beautiful. And she is a celestial being. Not a human.

She really has a crush on that horrid Daji?

Yes. It can only end badly. I just hope she doesn't get tormented. Or discorporated.

I think you have a crush on her.

I don't think it's a crush. I think I'm in love.

That's what they all say. It is a common situation in human dramas. Those who are infatuated always think they are in love.

Well, what's the difference?

I'm not really sure. I only know what I see in the movies. Something shocking usually happens to end an infatuation. Murder. Betrayal. Stuff like that. Suddenly the infatuated person realizes that they have been foolish.

Satan's sins. I wonder if Crowley would permit me to shadow Hekla.

Doubtful. We DeeDees could do that for you, though. There are still a couple of us left in London.

You'd better get his permission.

He's already suggested it.