Falmouth. A dark and stormy night. The best suite in a Victorian shoreside hotel. Aziraphale and Crowley have performed a minor miracle to transport their dressing gowns from the Mayfair apartment, Crowley now arrayed in the snake pattern jacquard silk with deep red lining, Aziraphale in the sinfully cozy lavender tartan flannel with gold velvet lining. Seated on the couch facing the large windows with the ocean vista, they've nearly polished off a bottle's worth of Tarquin's gin martinis to accompany the iced platter of oysters, of which now only the shells remain.

Crowley, can we close the drapes? The clouds have obscured the moon, so there's not much of a vista.

Yep. No sense making things easy for that devil DeeDee.

He flicks a finger, and the drapes close.

She won't do her party trick of going through walls, do you think?

Not unless she wants a minor smiting.


Outside on a window ledge, DeeDee grimaces and levitates back down to Manny waiting on the ground.

What were they doing?

Eating oysters and drinking.

I've never eaten an oyster. Have you?

I've never tried a raw one. They look like a gob of spit. But they're pretty good fried. And you can get them smoked, in cans.

Crowley says we'll be here for at least a week. Wanna go look for oysters tomorrow?

I think we should. If Crowley's eating them, it's probably an Earth experience worth having. He usually just drinks.

Hey, look. Jin's following Eric and his angel along the shoreline walk.

Looks as if they're heading for that ramp down to the beach.

What on earth for? The waves are coming in fast. The café is closed.

The moon just came through the clouds. Maybe they're trying out that human thing.

What human thing?

Walking on a beach under moonlight is considered romantic.

Huh! Satan's sins. . . . Let's go sit under some shelter on the Terrace and smoke a joint. We can keep an eye on Crowley's room and the entry from there.

Sure.


Back inside the suite, Aziraphale is taking the final sip of the last cocktail. He's sitting, as usual, with knees primly together. Crowley, as usual, is doing his Barberini Faun sprawl, fitting it as best he can onto the small sofa, one arm around Aziraphale's shoulder, martini glass in his other hand. He flicks their empty cocktail glasses onto the little table they've moved in front of the couch. Then another finger flick to push the table farther away across the polished marble floor. Grasps a tasseled end of the twisted silk waist cord to Aziraphale's robe, slowly pulls it as if opening a lovely present.

Now then. I could use some petting.

Of course, my dear.

A delightful quarter hour ensues. They're seriously getting down to business when DeeDee bursts through the window wall.


Twenty minutes earlier. Eric and Hekla are walking hand in hand along the shingle beach. The tide is incoming, whitecaps are churning over the pebbles. A full moon glows eerily behind ragged clouds.

I used to love walking along beaches at night. The sound of waves is very soothing. Did you know, sometimes when walking on sandy beaches your footsteps will glow blue?

You're kidding.

No. Something in the sand lights up when you step on it.

Eric gets out his phone, does a Google search.

You're right! Look at this. Says it's small creatures in the sand. Wow!

Hekla is busy looking at Eric's phone, and does not notice the sudden appearance on the beach behind them of a tall, slim Asian with glowing orange eyes. But Eric sees the apparition, and cries out in terror.

Lord Beelzebub!

He attempts to step between the demon and Hekla, but is brushed aside as if he were smoke. Falls to the ground. Struggles to get up, but a glance from Beelzebub freezes him as an anguished statue in mid-crouch. Beelzebub effortlessly grasps Hekla's wrist, wrenches the angel's arm behind her back. Breathes a gout of fire and Hekla's clothing turns to ash. Swiftly, the demon places her hand at the base of the angel's spine. Hekla spasms and screams, her cries drowned by the roar of the waves. When Beelzebub senses the angel is near discorporation, she releases her. Hekla falls limp upon the shingle. Beelzebub vanishes.

Jin comes running up as Eric, no longer paralyzed, crouches over Hekla. The angel struggles to push herself up on her forearms, but collapses.

I'm weak. My strength is . . . gone.

An incoming wave hisses up the beach and its leading edge trickles around them. Hekla shudders at its icy touch.

Eric. I'll help you lift her.

The two disposable demons roll Hekla over. Jin lifts her shoulders, Eric her legs. They drape the angel over Eric's arm and shoulder more like a sack of grain than a damsel in distress. Jin brushes off the beach gravel, snaps her fingers to magic a pair of black jeans, a hoodie, and trainers onto the angel.

Sorry everything's black. It's all I know how to do.

Jin notices Eric's phone lying on the beach, reaches down and pockets it. They trot off back to the hotel. Just before entering the grounds, Hekla murmurs:

Put me down. Just hold me up and help me walk.

DeeDee and Manny spot them coming, race to join them. The little group escorts Hekla up the entry stairs, the night doorman opens the door for them.

Does Miss require medical assistance?

Oh no. Just a fall on the beach. I'll be all right.

Our staff can provide acetaminophen, if you think it would help. Simply ask at the desk.

Thank you.

Once inside, Eric again scoops Hekla into his arms, this time carrying her in a more ladylike fashion.

The night porter and doorman exchange glances. The porter walks over.

Strong lad, that.

They go out for a quick smoke on the door step.


Back in Aziraphale and Crowley's room.

Demon Crowley! Beelzebub appeared and tormented Hekla! You must come!

Like Heaven I must. She left Hekla incorporated, did she?

Yes.

Well then, just let her rest. She'll get over it.

Really, Crowley.

Aziraphale snaps his fingers. He and Crowley are once again attired in their robes, this time with slippers as well.

Lead us to your room, DeeDee.

Crowley snarls, but joins Aziraphale and stalks alongside him as they navigate the corridors to the family-style room lodging the disposable demons. Hekla is on the bed in the "parents" room. Crowley pushes ahead, rolls her like a log onto her stomach, snaps his fingers to vanish her clothing.

Really, my dear.

Aziraphale snaps his fingers and Hekla is clad in purple silk pajamas. Glaring at Aziraphale, Crowley lifts the shirt tail and pulls the bottoms down a bit to reveal a red pentacle burn mark just above Hekla's tailbone.

Aha. Beelzebub delivered.

He taps the mark with an index finger.

Smarts a bit, does it?

Ow! Yes. I hurt all over.

Aziraphale passes his hand over the mark, then up along Hekla's spine.

Ohh . . . . The pain is gone now. Thank you, Aziraphale.

Crowley growls:

You really ought to thank Beelzebub. This mark protects you from demonic Hell Fire. Aziraphale sports one just like it.

Manny, Jin, and DeeDee crowd around to look.

Wow.

Aziraphale takes Crowley's arm.

Crowley, shall we return to our room?

The two senior supernatural beings exit. Jin, Manny, and DeeDee regard Eric.

S'pose you two want to be alone?

Yeah.

See you at breakfast.

The three disposable demons head for the sitting room.

That angel's pretty toned. She looks like one of those human dancers at the Royal Ballet.

A ballerina?

Yeah.

And just when did you go to the Royal Ballet, Manny?

Every day. Way more fun than driving a cab. They're closed now, though. Thanks to the plague.

Manny magics a bottle of Tarquin's shoplifted earlier in the day.

Some dance practice and this, you think?

They do think so.


Back in Crowley and Aziraphale's suite. They walk into the bedroom. Crowley doesn't wait for Aziraphale to disrobe and climb into bed. Instead, snaps his fingers so they're both nude, grabs the angel and flings the both of them atop the covers. Wrapping his arms and legs tightly around Aziraphale as if he's afraid the angel will be taken from him, he rolls and thrashes atop the bed – demon atop, angel atop, demon atop – morphs into his python form with coils tightening around the angel and rolls about some more . . . human . . . snake . . . human . . . snake . . . Aziraphale forces himself to relax, and Crowley ceases rolling about, morphs back to human and comes to rest beneath the angel. Aziraphale levitates the both of them a bit, encircles Crowley in a tight hug, holding the demon's arms against his side. His lips brush Crowley's ear.

I'm here, Crowley. I'm here.

After a long while Crowley ceases his rapid shallow breathing and his eyes become focused and present.

There's nowhere to run, Angel. They can find us anywhere.

Demons, perhaps. I doubt the Heavenly Host has a clue.

They'll figure it out eventually.

How did Beelzebub know?

The disposable demons. They must report to her.

Oh. Of course. Still, I fail to see how Michael and Gabriel could find us. What with Adam's blocking of their Earth observation system.

Crowley looks thoughtful for some moments. Then:

Aziraphale, I think we should continue the week here. Then send Eric and Hekla to Ammun's apartment in London. Let him and Uriel be responsible for babysitting. Instead of us.

Aziraphale grins at the thought of Ammun's consternation.

Have I told you recently how much I love your demonic guile, Crowley?

'S bout all I have going for me. Never could get into the pain and torment business much. Aggravation and annoyance are about all I can work up to.

You haven't lost your touch on that score. You've been tweaking Hekla ever since we first met her. Imagine how incompetent that makes me feel. Years of close association with a demon, and he still has all of his old bad habits intact and in working order. I'm a total failure as an angel.

Thank Satan for that. Have I told you recently how much I love your refusal to be a self-righteous dick?

"Prevaricating bastard" is the term of endearment you seem to favor.

M'yes. Describes you to a T.

And I wouldn't feel too sorry for yourself about being merely aggravating. I very much doubt you are surpassed in your talent for temptation.

You say such sweet things, Aziraphale. Might I tempt you into giving me a massage?

Aziraphale gives him a peck.

Temptation accomplished.

The massage ends exactly as one might suppose. They don't come out of Divine Ecstasy until long after breakfast.


Late morning. The disposable demons' room. They're out and about with Crowley and Aziraphale. The housekeeper enters, expecting the worst after the night porter's note about possible drunkenness and partying going on last night. What she finds instead is a spotless room, the beds all made and taut, only a pair of purple silk pajamas and a lone empty gin bottle on a table betraying that anyone was here last night at all. She goes into the bathroom, notes the unused towels and toiletries. The robes in the otherwise empty closet are still in on their hangers. No luggage? Peers under the beds and decides it's pointless to mop, and equally pointless to run a vacuum over the upholstery. Checks the empty waste baskets. Shrugs, leaves. Not your average bunch of students. Not by a long shot. Weird, to say the least. Not that she's complaining, mind you.


Why is Beelzebub now Asian? Chapter 44, Transformation