Angels do not sleep much, as a rule, but as I enter my seventh millennium on Earth I find I'm napping more. After the unpleasant visit from the Compliance, I tottered to my little Georgian red-plush couch at the back of the shop, and sat, just for a moment…
I dreamed of the nest, a warm and nurturing home. The nest was lined with white feathers, overlapping like the curved hull of a Viking ship, holding me in place, comforting me while I grew into my true form.
There was no mother bird, nobody to poke food into my starving mouth. I waited, huddling among the warmth of soft feathers.
Then a black beady eye peered over the edge of the nest, followed by a midnight feathered bird. In its red beak it held a wriggling worm, unfathomably disgusting. And although I was not of the same kind as this black-plumed stranger, I took the worm from him, and ate it, and it tasted of protection, and love.
...I awoke from a sleep born of pure emotional exhaustion. Unangelic sweat touched my brow, and I hastily mopped it away. I struggled to sit up, burdened by an unnatural weight - and found a pigeon on my chest, strutting and holding a rolled-up note in its beak.
Angel, the note read, you drink too much. When you sober up, stop bleating nonsense into the phone and start fleeing. I've heard rumours that the Compliance are about and I'm not eager to bump into them. Neither are you. Take a holiday. South coast is nice. The Blue Anchor, Brighton. Don't hang about.
The pigeon, relieved of its burden, exploded away in a clatter of wings and ripe grey droppings.
I sat up.
Destroy Crowley.
Watch as an eternal and/or infernal being tortured my humans.
Well, my choice was obvious.
I immediately set about procrastinating until the last possible moment. After all, what being is keen to meet their end? I spent the week tidying the shop, and considered finishing off the nice little bottle of red that Crowley had brought last time. Mind you, it had been through him at least once already, so perhaps not.
I stroked the pages of my bird book. Perhaps I would not sell this one. I liked it too much. I could keep it.
Instantly I imagined Crowley, sprawled on the Georgian couch in front of me, saying, "What, for the next five minutes until the Compliance turns up to kill you? Yeah, great plan."
"I won't die," I said.
"Oho. So, it's me for the chop, is it? Charming." In my mind's eye he lounged, with something of the raven about him: unreadable eyes - hidden behind glass - sharp angles to the body, a tendency to peck, peck, peck until the truth came out of you.
"I didn't say that."
"I never had you down as a torturer," he said. He shifted on the couch, stretching his shoulders, and I heard a rustle, like steel passing across black silk.
"Of course I'm not."
"So what's your plan? How can you save the humans and save me?"
"I don't know," I said truthfully, and the vision of Crowley, couch, and unseen wings vanished.
Every Compliance is a brutal mix of angel and demon. Strictly two angels, one fallen. In this way true impartiality is maintained. It gives the Compliance power over both sides, under the watchful eye of the Almighty. It can do whatever must be done.
I was under no illusion as to what must be done with me. I had failed in my duty, and endangered humanity with my laxity. I must be ended.
That monstrous figure … containing a melange of some beings like me and Crowley. Unthinkable. Eternity with your best friend is not all it's cracked up to be. I should know.
Nonetheless this creation myth offered useful information. A Compliance, terrifying though it is, held only as much combined power as one and a bit angels. Plus the remainder of demon of course, but good will always outweigh evil.
So I could fight it. I doubted that I could defeat it, but I could certainly reduce its power such that it could harm neither Crowley, nor the humans. I would overcome the angelic element - not for nothing was I once a gate guardian - and that would be enough to send it on its way.
- I hoped. In any case, it would be drained. Perhaps dead, though I would need to explore some very sinister corners of the internet to establish that, and that was more Crowley's area.
Between the two of us, Crowley and I could almost certainly defeat the Compliance. But working together would cement the accusation of betrayal. At present only I was under suspicion. If I left Crowley out of it, I knew he would find a way to wriggle off scot-free.
Which is why I had not returned his calls. Or his emails, or letters. He sent further pigeons, which I ignored.
This morning he even sent a beautiful peach-faced lovebird, but I stroked its coraline back, listened to its song, and set it free.
