The first step of Aziraphale's new plan was to head off to the library. Cosmetics could only do so much; he had to improve what was in his head, and that took a textbook. Besides, he had been wanting to check out the campus library soon anyway; the thought of that many books just waiting nearly had him skipping class to read them… but that wouldn't have been serious, so he had waited. Now, however, he had the time to visit without losing any points with Gabriel.
The doors to the library were large and thick, dark brown wood stained to a near-black color. The golden door handles were cool in his grip, the heavy doors opening easily despite their weight, swinging open to reveal a sight that stopped him in his tracks with amazement.
The library was, short of another word, stunning. Even from what little Aziraphale could see from the entrance, it was massive; two huge staircases flanked the entrance, leading to at least a second level, and the hallway in which he stood split off into three different directions. One led to the circulation desk, but the other two diverged to reveal walls positively covered in books, with more lying on every available surface. There were long tables stretching out into the rooms, lit with soft light from green banker's lamps on the polished wood. The hush, unlike that of the halls outside, was reverential, sacrosanct. Even the buzzing of fluorescent lights ceased, replaced with a quiet, seemingly impossible sound of silence. In short… it was home.
The circulation desk was large and spacious, but only in theory. In practice, the sheer number of book carts and boxes, shelves and piles of loose books, and the sheer quantity of just paper sprawled out across it made it look more like a nest or a sty than a workspace. He couldn't see any workers behind it, so he stood in place, whirling in an attempt to figure out which direction he should take.
A voice - female, and American-sounding, but with an elegance, an eloquence to it that Aziraphale hadn't expected - sounded from somewhere nearby, though he couldn't place where. "Can I help you?"
It took several long seconds for Aziraphale to realize that, tucked away behind the desk and about three teetering stacks of paper, was seated a young woman. She had long, dark hair and round glasses, her face thin and set in an expression of resolute determination. From what little Aziraphale could see, she was not the typical librarian; her outfit was, much like Aziraphale's, something out of an old-fashioned piece of classic literature, with a flowing skirt and a blazer that felt like authentic Victorian.
"Hello…" Aziraphale smiled and walked closer, rifling through his pockets for the paper Crowley had given him before reading the name on it. "Might you be… Anathema, by any chance?"
She nodded, expression guarded. "Yes."
Aziraphale's smile widened. "Lovely." He returned the paper to his waistcoat pocket, stepping even closer before realizing he didn't have a clue what to say. "Crowley sent me?"
Something seemed to thaw in the other woman's expression, an almost-smile flitting across her face. "I see. What do you need?"
"A textbook for Professor Morningstar's class… Agnes Nutter was the name, I believe."
Anathema nodded solemnly before reaching under her desk to pull out a large box. It had clearly been used to ship things - the mail sticker was still visible on the cardboard, sliced jaggedly but with the words "Nutter, A. Textbook" visible in black ink - and was nearly empty.
It was, evidently, more than nearly empty, as she straightened after a second, tossed the box over her shoulder, and shook her head with a frown. "I'm afraid we're out." She kept watching him, eye appraising.
He tried to ignore the familiar feeling of judging eyes on him as he nodded, resigned, and started to step away. He kept his voice light despite his disappointment as he said, "Well, thank you, my dear. I shall be returning soon to check out your lovely library. Until then."
"Wait!" Anathema's voice was harsh and urgent, effectively stopping him in his tracks and convincing him to turn around. "We're out of the school's books, but..." She paused, breaking off and looking him over one more time. "Crowley sent you?" He nodded. "Why?"
Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it again just as quickly. Why had Crowley sent him? It wasn't as though he'd been the kindest person to Crowley - indeed, he'd shut him down quite rudely based on context clues from a conversation he hadn't even heard completely - and Crowley barely even knew him. They'd just met, yet he was going out of his way to help. The best guess he had was the startled amusement at Aziraphale's explanation for why he hadn't done the reading, so that was what he ended up saying. "I… well, I suppose because I said I'd given it away? I think that might have… maybe…" He trailed off, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know, I'm afraid."
He couldn't quite bring himself to look up at first, but, by the time he did, Anathema was actually smiling, something akin to warmth in her dark eyes. "Of course he referred you to me. If you told him that, I'm surprised he didn't give you his own book." She paused, then muttered something under her breath that sounded vaguely like "Unless he doesn't have one," though Aziraphale couldn't quite make it out to be sure because she was in the process of sticking her head under the desk and rifling through the boxes down there.
Eventually, she straightened, a little bit of dust in her hair and an old-fashioned chest in her hands. Aziraphale didn't have the best glimpse of it, but what little he could see nearly floored him; he would almost swear that it was an actual antique. The edges were rough and slightly jagged, nicked in places as though cut with less precise tools than were available in modern times. The lock was clearly heavy and old, slightly tarnished with age but no less strong. The few carvings he could see looked hand-done, slightly rough but pretty and precise in a way that told of care in the craftsmanship, not machinery. Even the wood seemed old, not painted or stained so much as dark by nature.
Anathema opened the lock with a click of an iron key and sent the lid open with a flourish. Aziraphale couldn't see what was inside, so he simply waited patiently for her to finish, watching attentively as she removed a green book before relocking the chest and replacing it on the floor.
She straightened, book clutched to her chest and eyes squinted at him from behind her glasses. Eventually, she nodded briskly and thrust out the book, pushing it into his hands. "You can use this."
Aziraphale looked down, glancing over the book. He didn't look long - just long enough to get a glimpse of an old-fashioned cover, gold lettering embossed on green with shining precision - before he looked back at Anathema, a wide grin on his face. "Thank you ever so much, dear girl!"
She shrugged once, a small enigmatic smile on her lips. "You're welcome, but that's unnecessary. I'm thinking it was meant to be." With that, she took a slight step back, spreading her arms to indicate the library. "And you're always welcome to return. If you ever need anything, I'm here. A friend of Crowley's is a friend of mine." Then, she turned away, disappearing amid the stacks of paper and books.
The thrill of ecstasy that had run through him at successfully getting a copy of the textbook died slightly at her final sentence, immediately replaced by the sickening wrench of guilt filling his gut. What right did he have to call Crowley his friend? To take advantage of his connections after being so baselessly rude? But he pushed that away as best as he could, rationalizing it. After all, Crowley was Morningstar's TA; it was his job to help the students, regardless of who needed the aid.
Guilt slightly appeased, Aziraphale slid the book into his bag and set off, his step just a little jauntier. Step one was done… On to step two.