A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield. Chapter 11. Angst

1. Aziraphale and the three kids are taking in the online news bulletins of the gigantic explosion at The Tadfield Manor training course. Hordes of emergency responders are . . . responding. Rumors of a terrorist attack. Or perhaps an assassination attempt. Adam had already messaged them:

It was awesome! The angel and the demon were in the helicopter when it blew up! Everyone is all right. I'm on my way to the bookstore.

Adam bursts in the door.

Aziraphale senses something is amiss.

Adam! Where is Crowley? Why isn't he here? When did you last see him?

I stopped along the road so Crowley and I could change places. We had my bike hidden in the ditch. Then he took off like a drag racer. I rode here on my bicycle. I thought he was coming here, too.

The three kids give one another surprised looks as an implication registers. Adam was driving the car? The Bentley?

The angel suddenly has a queer feeling that Crowley might . . . not be on Earth?

If you three will allow me, I will change clothing and await Crowley in my back room.

The kids see his expression and nod uneasily. Pepper speaks up:

Let's all go back to Madame Tracy's.

Aziraphale is looking numb and not present.

Mr. Aziraphale, will you be all right if we wait across the street?

Oh. Yes. Thank you. I'll be fine . . . quite . . .

The Them gather their gear, roll their bikes across the street and park them. Wensley carefully locks his. They enter the tea room, casting concerned backward glances toward the bookshop.

Aziraphale turns the front door lock and walks slowly into his back room. Abstractedly waves a hand to send his burnt clothing into a pile near the waste basket. Robes himself in his tatty old cut velvet dressing gown. Sinks into his armchair, hands in his lap. An observer seeing him would think him carved from ice.

2. Crowley leaps from his car as it's still rolling to a stop along the curb in front of The Main Office. Half flies down the escalator to Hell. Literally. His wings are extended, but they're not feathered. Not bat wings. Crowley was around long before bats evolved. Pterosaur wings, with razor claws. Demons shriek and fall and scatter as he runs through the corridor to Beelzebub's office. Word of the Holy Water incident has gotten around. There's a brief Whoompf of flame from the lintels of the massive carved ebony portal to Beelzebub's office as he plunges through. No doors – Beelzebub believes in Management by Walking Around, and an Open Door Policy. Of course no demon has ever, ever been so foolhardy as to take advantage of that last option. Until now. Crowley launches himself across the floor to Beelzebub's fuligin desk, half flying himself across it as he reaches out and drags her to him by her lapels.

Where's Hastur!

There is a brief crackling snap and flare of flames from Beelzebub's hands as she casually brushes Crowley's claws from her lapels and an invisible force seems to shove him back off her desk. He staggers and stands unsteadily as she smoothly slides back to her side.

Dizzcorporated. In chainzzzs. I am going to feed him to Luzzifer.

Wha- . . .

He went rogue. (Pause, as her stony stare continues.) No one diszobeyszz me.

The two demons regard one another. A match stuck into the shimmering air between them would ignite. Several of Beelzebub's halo of flies make that mistake and drop to her desk like burnt raisins.

Get the fuck back up to Earth, Crowley.

Crowley's wings vanish. He extends his arms in a respectful courtly bow and backs out the door. The only demon ever to emerge from Beelzebub's office in recognizably the same shape as it went in. Once back in the now empty corridor he turns and races full tilt back to Earth. Get the Hell out in case she changes her mind.

A Disposable Demon's horns appear at it peeps around the corner at the fleeing Crowley.

3. Aziraphale is hunched over in his armchair, hands clutched together on his knees. His wings are out, but not extended; instead, folded about his head and shoulders, shells to shield him from a waterfall torrent of grief. Feathers trail limply on the carpet. He looks somewhat translucent and shadowy. A noise out front. The Bentley's engine. Aziraphale sits up, his face alight with desperate hope.

Crowley bursts into the room. Raven wings flare out to push open Aziraphales's snowy wing shell.

Angel! I didn't think! Forgive me!

Crowley half falls to his knees before Aziraphale, but the angel rises from his chair and catches him. Grabs a handful of Crowley's hair and turns his face up toward him.

Nothing to forgive, Crowley. I love you.

They tumble to the carpet in frantic embrace. Various things fall off shelves.

Winch in your wings, Angel.

Clothing and wings vanish. The two angels stiffen as if in seizure, so locked together in passion they could be trying to dissolve into one another. Divine Ecstasy. Powered by an immortal love.

[Hang on. One more chapter to go]