8. Owls.
The shop was dimly lit and smelled very strongly of birds, and as they walked past the myriad of cages they were watched by glittering pairs of eyes, twisting round to follow them as they went by. The only sounds were quiet hootings, and the odd squeak and shriek.
Crowley sneezed.
"Ble-"
"Don't even think about it."
They browsed the shop, peeking at snowy owls and barn owls and eagle owls. Aziraphale became quite fond of a tiny little elf owl, but halfway through the bonding process he was startled by a horrible, sort of squelchy noise behind him.
Rushing over, he found a cage containing a dead owl, and beside it was a very guilty-looking Crowley.
"What did you do?" he demanded. The demon looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. Aziraphale decided that if he scuffed his shoe and said, 'Gosh, mister,' he was going to have to do something very drastic.
"It BIT me," sputtered Crowley, "And may have- I sort of glared at it..." He poked a finger into the cage and prodded the lump of lifeless feathers. "Suppose I put a bit too much into it."
Aziraphale muttered something unkind - but not obscene - under his breath. He opened the cage and lay a hand over the owl. A moment later, and the bird scrambled to its feet and hopped back up onto its perch, looking decided ruffled at having been dead, but no worse for it. Aziraphale closed the cage.
"Come with me," he said to Crowley, "and don't touch anything, again."
They made their way toward the middle of the shop, the owls around them silent and watchful, as if they were well aware of what had happened to their comrade and weren't interested in any repeat performances. Crowley kept close to the angel, and his hands in his pockets.
He waited quietly while Aziraphale made arrangements to buy the little elf owl he'd admired, and he produced a handful of wizard gold - 'Galleons' - that had somehow turned up in Aziraphale's robe pockets. Crowley lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Also," whispered Aziraphale to the shopkeeper, when he was certain Crowley couldn't hear, "have you got any, er, different owls?"
The man looked at him, oddly. "What do you mean?"
"Er." Aziraphale shot a look at Crowley, who was quietly tormenting a rather lovely barn owl. "Sort of... bad-tempered ones?"
The shopkeeper frowned. "We've just got the one," he said, and he led them to the rear of the shop, where there was a large cage containing a smallish but very imposing black owl, with red eyes. "This one's a nasty bugger. Sooty owl. Don't know how many fingers have been lost to him. Name's Vlad."
Crowley's eyes brightened - a soft yellow glow in the Emporium's faint light - behind his sunglasses.
"Vlad?" he asked."As in the Impaler?"
"The same."
Crowley grinned.
"We'll take him."
And Vlad the owl opened his beak and screamed.