Chapter Two

Of Friendship and Ducks

Prophecy 1072:

A book, together they shalt writeth, which tells of The End. False though it perchance, into motion events shall cycle and taketh their due course

In the occasion of this story, right and wrong are perhaps not as clearly black and white as Fell would think. For the question of whether or not he had made the correct decision by trusting Caudery, a relative stranger, has different answers depending on who you might put the question to.

If asked of Caudery, he would have smiled like a snake and replied with a question of "How much do you value your life?"

He didn't take any lives himself, but he was dangerous, though not in the way one might think.1 His associates would have laughed at the question, if they were the type who did laugh. They didn't trust him. After all, it would a funny old world if demons went around trusting each other, wouldn't it?

Fell's own associates were already displeased with him, never mind Caudery's appearance. Trust is a fundamental part of the angelic makeup, yet neither Michael or Seviline would be quick to say they trusted Aziraphale. Gabriel did, but of course that was his job. He believed that if everyone did his or her job, then the Great Plan would just keep rolling along smoothly, never mind the few wrinkles. Those could easily be ironed out later. He was unaware one of the major wrinkles in the fabric of the Plan was Aziraphale himself. Aziraphale, the antiquarian bookseller who was now a book writer, (interesting, Gabriel thought), and without their knowledge, had made the acquaintance of a being from the opposite side- a demon.

Fell wasn't fully in the light of what Caudery was. If his mind had been free of worldly clutter and noise, events might even now be taking another course. However, clouded as his moral compass was, Fell could see two solid points of truth in the darkness.

Anthony J. Caudery was not a normal human being, and whatever he was, he could be trusted.

Surprisingly, Fell was actually correct on both accounts.

The angel was extremely intelligent, even by Celestial standards. He just didn't know that the man was not a man, but a demon. This was just as well. For if collecting books was Fell's hobby, his job on earth was of a more serious nature. Underneath his calm and somewhat scatterbrained exterior, A.Z. Fell was a force not to be tampered with.

Fell was the very opposite of a fierce supernatural entity as he could be as he meticulously organized books in his shop. With an armful of books and his reading glasses perched on the top of his head, he had the look of a typical librarian. He was also muttering to himself in typical bibliographical fashion as he worked.

"The Odyssey… that belongs with myths and legends… Hymns of the Eighteenth Century, music, under religion and spiritual… Exorcising Demons and Evil Spirits for Beginners… well…"

There was a ding of a bell. The front door had opened. There were two front doors to the bookshop, and if both had opened, the bell would have dinged twice.

"Be with you in a moment!" Fell said without turning around. He removed his reading glasses from his head and perched them on his nose. He was trying to find a gap on the shelf for the hymnal without any success.

"Darn," he grumbled to himself.

"Nice place," remarked a voice at his elbow.

Fell nearly dropped the books. He twisted around. Next to him was a tall young man wearing a suit, dark glasses and a broad grin.

"Oh, Caudery." Fell relaxed. "I didn't know it was you. Why are you here?"

Caudery shrugged his shoulders in an effortlessly careless manner.

"I was in the neighborhood. Saw the sign as I was driving by and thought I'd just stop in. You were right about the hours. I read the paper posted on the door. Never heard of a shop that only opens on even Thursdays if the clouds are sparse and there's heavy rain falling."

"Ah, yes." Fell let himself smile.

He was rather proud of his unpredictable opening hours. It was part of his deep-laid scheme to keep potential buyers away from his books. Those who managed to brave the schedule had to contend with glowering looks from him and a potentially gloomy shop and damp, musty smells. Not that he ever really let his books and parchments reach such a state of disarray. He took special care of his library. It may have looked to be dusty and a mess to everyone else, but Fell knew exactly where each volume resided. It was very organized. 2

Fell's guest was noticing. Caudery had his hands in his pockets, and was studying the shelves above Fell's head. At least, Fell thought he was looking at the books. He really couldn't be sure of where Caudery's eyes were directed behind those glasses. Fell made a mental note to ask him why he wore them inside once he got to know him better. He wasn't one to pry into anyone's private affairs, (being very private himself), but he did have an incurable stroke of curiosity. Some might almost call him a snoop.

Caudery seemed to be very comfortable in the bookshop, if his easy attitude was anything to go by. He put his right hand on the shelf edge above Fell's head and leaned on it, his shadow falling over the angel, who was slightly shorter.

"S-s-so," Caudery said with that slight hissing lisp of his, "do you come here often?"

Fell almost dropped the books again. "Naturally, I do," he uttered in confusion. "I own this shop- it's, this is my bookshop! My name is over the door, Caudery. Why, you, you walked past it!"

Caudery was grinning at him. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" Fell cried, unable to illustrate his point with his hands because of the books he was struggling to keep a grip on in his flutter.

He was flustered. Surely it was obvious? The bookshop was in his name and Caudery had to know that. He was certain he did. Fell's pair of reading glasses slipped down his nose as Caudery began to chuckle.

"Of course I know the shop's yours," he said. "I'm teasing you. It's… my way of being friendly."

"Oh," Fell said.

Fell wasn't used to being part of a joke. Usually he was the joke, or worse still, the one being laughed at. He did have a good sense of humor, but hadn't had much chance to exercise it. The other angels did not consider levity as being a part of the virtues. Fell had never understood why.

For a moment, Caudery was sure he had offended the bookshop owner again. He stepped back, removing his hand from the shelf by Fell's head. He wasn't big on apologizing, really wasn't his thing. He ran his tongue over the sharp teeth in his mouth. He could do really weird things with his tongue, and it was also the reason why he occasionally hissed.

"Your book," he said finally. "Done any work on it since yesterday?"

The question had a positive effect. Fell's face brightened.

"I have an outline! It's loose, nothing solid, but it is on paper. I- I can show you if you'd like."

"Please do."

The angel set down his pile of books and led the way through the rows of shelves. Like all bookshops, Fell's had a back room, though instead of housing the rarest and most expensive books or the kind most people preferred to purchase discreetly, Fell's back room was set aside for his own personal use. If the shop was really just a place to store his vast library of books, (which it was) then the back room was his home on earth. Fell knew people liked to entertain friends at home, and concluded he should do the same. He hadn't had any friends to entertain before, and even though he and Caudery had only just met, they already felt like old acquaintances.

This unsaid feeling was mutually shared by Caudery. Besides potentially embarrassing himself, he found this A.Z. Fell remarkably easy to talk to. He just hoped he could make it through one conversation without getting tripped up.

"Please come in," Fell said, switching on the light.

Fell's back room was as eccentrically decorated as the rest of his shop. Mementos of the centuries resided here, from statues, old wooden trunks and Chippendale tables to a roll-top desk cluttered with papers and Fell's old felt top hat perched on a lamp. Antique paintings in gilded frames graced the few walls which were not bookcases. There was one large tapestry taking up wall space behind a sofa. It featured an angel with a flaming sword and a serpent in a tree.3

Caudery's eyes lingered momentarily over the tapestry as he took in the room.

The whole space looked well lived in and was a lot homier than anything he was used to.

Fell drew up two chairs to a round table and offered him something to drink. Caudery declined the tea and accepted the alcohol. He liked hard liquor, but a good wine wasn't something to be passed up.

"Oh, I have your hat," Fell said, going over to his desk. "You forgot it at the cafe."

Caudery took it from him. "Thank you. I'm always forgetting my hats at restaurants. Not sure why I wear them, actually." He tossed the fedora on the table.

Fell got out a wine bottle and poured two glasses, then placed a whole stack of papers on the table next to the glasses.

Caudery took a gulp of wine. "That's your outline?!" he cried.

Fell blushed a little as he nodded. "It is very very loose. Just some thoughts thrown down on paper. Nothing more."

"Nothing more," Caudery mumbled, wineglass in hand, eyeing the stack. He was vaguely wondering just what he had gotten himself in for. 4

Caudery and Fell each finished a glass of wine before attacking the papers. Caudery felt like he would have liked a second or even a third glass, but wasn't about to ask. After he drained his wine, he pushed the glass aside.

"Alright, throw 'em at me," he said.

Fell blinked. "Pardon?"

"Story. Outline."

"Oh! Yes, well, as I said, it is a bit rough. Not perfect…"

"Most things aren't at the beginning," Caudery drawled.

"Ah, true. Very true."

Fell seemed a bit lost for words. His hands were folded in front of him while he looked at the paper stack questioningly.

Caudery gave in.

"Alright. Shall I?"

He reached a finger towards the papers.

"Indeed, do," Fell said with audible relief.

So with some trepidation, Caudery took the first sheet off the pile. He went to remove his glasses, then thought better of it and left them on. He had only known Fell for forty-eight hours. He wasn't about to reveal his eyes to just anyone until he was more certain of them. 5

Fell noticed the averted gesture but was too polite to remark on it. He was feeling a bit nervous. Angels shouldn't get nervous of course, but most of them were not suddenly turned into aspiring authors either.

While Caudery read, Fell refilled the glasses. As Caudery's eyes were on the paper in front of him, he didn't notice how the wine bottle remained full, even after the pouring. Seconds passed, Caudery was done with the first page and onto the next. He was a fast reader and was through the whole pile quicker than Fell would have thought possible. Fell's glass of wine sat untouched as he watched Caudery finish the last sheet, empty his own glass and sit back. Fell wanted to voice his questions and couldn't remember how to string a sentence together. He managed one word.

"Terrible?"

Caudery grinned, tapping a finger on the side of his empty glass.

"Actually, no, Fell," he said. "I'm nowhere near an expert, but I'd say it holds promise. The idea's original anyway, which is hard to do these days. Nothing new under the sun."

"King Solomon said that," Fell said with some surprise.

"I know. I was the- er, can I make some suggestions?"

"Of course! We are collaborating after all." Fell raised one plump hand heavenward and smiled. "It was your suggestion to begin with."

"Yeah. Um, what sort of backdrop did you have in mind for this tale? What event will precede the story? What problem causes the main characters to meet? An angel and a demon aren't just going to decide to have a drink one afternoon you know."6

Fell laughed. He of all people knew things like that didn't happen anymore than cats could sprout wings and fly. He had, however, been reading the book of Revelation recently.

"I was thinking the end of the world."

Caudery's eyebrows appeared from behind his dark glasses. "So, Armageddon, eh? Well, that ought to make for a good plot anyway. Enough solid facts to use and just enough room to play around with. You should have a lot of source material starting in your bookshelves out there. Good beginning point, Fell."

If the angel had been capable of looking smug, he would have. Instead, he merely smiled and sipped his wine.

Hereafter, the pair proceeded to met two afternoons a week to work on the book. Sometimes they shared wine in the back of Fell's bookshop, or met up in St. James Park on a bench watching the ducks in the duck pond. Fell got into the habit of bringing something with him to fed the ducks, who showed their appreciation of this by pestering them even more.

Gradually, Caudery and Fell began to discuss topics which didn't always have anything to do with the book or Armageddon. The stack of papers for the story continued to grow, but so did their relationship. Though they were the very polar opposite in many ways from temper to attire and manners, the two were gradually finding they had rather a lot in common. Perhaps it was the enjoyment of a good bottle of Chateau Lafitte 1875 or simply each other's company. At any rate, this casual acquaintance was turning into something both could only call friendship.

Caudery brought the matter up one afternoon as they sat in a cafe having lunch.

There were a few notebooks on the table, but these had largely been ignored for the last half hour. Caudery's hat was resting on them.

"That was scrumptious," Fell said. He was just finishing his slice of devil's food cake. He didn't care for the name, but found the deep, rich chocolaty goodness to be entirely worth the temptation. 7

Caudery hadn't eaten his dessert yet. He seemed to be wholly occupied in watching Fell eat.

"I've been thinking," Caudery said.

"Mmm?" Fell was covetously eyeing the untouched slice of angel food cake in front of Caudery.

"Would you say that we've become… friends?"

Fell looked up at him.

Caudery's expression was neutral.

"More or less, I suppose we have," Fell said.

"You've never asked me what I do for a profession, or how I spend my spare time," Caudery remarked, arms folded on the table.

Fell looked affronted. "It's really none of my business," he protested. "I mean, as long as you're not wanted for murder with an ax or anything similar to that, it makes little difference to me."

Caudery smiled. "Not an ax murderer," he said.

"Good." Fell smiled back. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a journalist, actually. Freelance mostly. Sometimes work for the Times."

"Ah. That's why you're so good with words."

Fell stole the angel food cake. Caudery made no move to stop him. Caudery was biting his lower lip in deep concentration. He finally spoke again when Fell was over halfway through the cake.

"About the day we met-" he stopped.

"Yes?"

"Well… er… there's something you should know."

Fell waited. He thought he was prepared, but he wasn't.

"I'd just gotten out of prison. That very morning in fact."

Fell stared at Caudery, momentarily forgetting he had a forkful of cake in his mouth. Caudery's dark glasses were looking down at the table. His face had changed color from the regular shade of tan to a heavy crimson.

Fell put the fork down and swallowed.

"Prison." He said like it was a foreign language.

Caudery flinched.

The angel felt a jolt of sympathy at his discomfort. He naturally wished to respect Caudery's privacy, yet at the same time he had a profound desire to know more. His curiosity won out over politeness.

"Why were you incarcerated?" he asked gently.

"Ngk." Caudery shook his head.

Oh dear.

Fell was all of a sudden concerned. "Was it that bad?"

"Reckless driving while intoxicated," Caudery said, deliberately pronouncing each word slowly as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Oh." Fell's gaze dropped to the glass of wine by Caudery's elbow. "Were you in for long?"

"Six months."

"Seems a bit much for a DUI charge," Fell observed.

"It's OUI, Fell. Operating under the influence. Funny thing about the matter, though. I didn't have a record when the bobby stopped me. Haven't ever gotten a speeding ticket or any kind of warning before. Then this whole list seemed to magically appear on his computer, just like that." Caudery gestured with his hand. "Almost supernatural."

"An act of God?" Fell offered, puzzled.

"No. Definitely not an act of His. More like something demonic. But since I'm out, I really shouldn't be complaining. It wasn't actually Hell after all."

Fell stared at him. "I should hope not," he said.

Caudery nodded. "I'll get this one. See you Thursday?"

"Thursday."

"What do you think of the bookseller next door?" Caudery asked nonchalantly.

Caudery was looking over a shelf of vinyl records in the record shop located to the left of Fell's bookshop. It was a small shop, stuffed to the brim with albums, tapes and CDs of all sorts, from the classics to 70s hard rock and obscure no-hit artists from the past century that no one had ever heard of.

The record shop bore a striking resemblance to the bookshop in many ways, but was free of dust and the person behind the counter was a young lady with large round glasses and an even bigger up-do of curly dark hair. Even her earrings were large, perhaps in competition with her hair. She was leaning on the counter as Caudery talked to her.

"What do I think of the bookseller?" she repeated, tapping a long blue fingernail on her chin. Her nails were all painted different colors.

"Mr. Fell is nice, but very odd," she said.

"Oh?" Caudery asked. "In what way?"

"I really shouldn't gossip," Anathema Device smiled, her bright eyes dancing mysteriously.8

Caudery gave her a smile back, though he had to admit she scared him a little. He was pretty sure she was a witch, or at the very least spent her spare time gazing in a crystal ball.

"I wouldn't dream of repeating anything," Caudery said smoothly.

Anathema leaned forward. Caudery put the Ventures album down.

"My father said he once met the former owner, Mr. Fell senior, and from what he told me, the current Mr. Fell is the spitting image of him. From his voice and book-hoarding habits to his clothes. If I didn't know any better, I would say that both men were the same Mr. Fell."

"Really?" Caudery faked surprise.

"Well, for one thing, he's always looked not a day over forty," Anathema continued. "I've lived here for most of my life. He's never changed. And I'm fairly certain his hair color isn't real. I mean, how many people do you see with white blond curls?"

"Not many."

The girl smiled.

"Is there more?" Caudery stopped pretending to read the album sleeves.

"I can tell you what I think."

"Please do."

Anathema glanced coolly around the shop to see if any other customers were within hearing range. A teenage boy and his bored girlfriend were far enough from the counter to not be a worry. Caudery doubted if the old lady with the dog by the concerto section could hear a speck without her hearing aids.

"Three things." Anathema held up her fingers, the nails each a different somber colour. "First, Fell is a native Brit. I thought he might be American, but his accent is too strong. Very London.

"Second, he's very intelligent. You wouldn't think so, the way he blunders about. But he knows so much about books and history. He once talked non-stop on the wisdom of ancient Rome, I had to make up an excuse to leave. I'm not saying it wasn't fascinating, mind you, just not my thing.

"Third, he's definitely gay, gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. I'd definitely bet my life on the last one."

"Don't gamble your life, Miss Device," Caudery said. "The results won't be pretty."

Anathema rang up the select albums Caudery had decided on. Her nails clicked over the keys.

"I haven't been able to get a fix on his aura," she said. "The shop walls are too thick around here. And he usually stays inside."

She dropped the CDs in a bag with the sales slip.

"When Mr. Fell does leave his shop, he doesn't often walk by our windows. All I can say is his aura is very unusual. Almost unearthly."

Anathema adjusted her glasses with a mystical expression. Caudery decided to beat a swift retreat before she had the chance to study his aura.

"Thanks for the help," Caudery said.

Anathema Device wasn't actually a witch, though she might like to think of herself as one. If asked, she would reply "occultist."

In truth, Anathema did very little that could be classified as witchcraft. Her mother wasn't a witch, either. They didn't have a cauldron in the fireplace bubbling away with green steam. Mrs. Device didn't keep jars in her kitchen filled with odd things and stuck with labels saying Eye of Newt or Whiskers of Rat. The Devices didn't raise spirits or have cats with silly names. Part of the music shop was taken up by healing stones and houseplants, but that could hardly be called occult.

Anathema was slightly psychic and had the aforementioned ability to be able to see other people's auras. She got this ability from her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother's side of the family. Depending on what a person was feeling, the aura or the halo of light could be faint and wavy or extend several inches around the person's body and be shining brightly.

The color also told Anathema a lot about their well being and temperament. It could even tell her if the person was human or not, though she hadn't encountered many non-human persons that she knew of. Two was the exact number, but she had only caught a glimpse of Fell's and for the other she hadn't stared hard enough.

It was fortunate for Anathema that she hadn't seen Caudery's aura. The sight of it would have terrified her and sent her hunting for the fastest way to trap a demon.

Besides being not a witch, Anathema was also a direct descendant of Agnes Nutter.9 Agnes' book had been the most prized possession of her family and was faithfully studied and read by all except for Anathema.

The book had been lost by a scatterbrained relative fifteen years ago. Anathema had never actually seen the real book. She only had the annotated note-cards. She was still searching for the book. Little did she know the book in question was less than thirty feet away from her shelf of soul music, locked in a certain bookshop angel's strong box.

Caudery sat in his Bentley listening to one of his newest purchases. It might not be long before it became The Best of Queen like the rest of the CDs in the car, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Try to see it my way

Do I have to keep on talking until I can't go on?

He was pondering the case of A. Z. Fell.

Fell was doubtlessly an angel. Caudery was positive on that now.

First by his own convictions. And Fell's touch. Caudery rubbed his fingers on the palm of his hand. Only angels had a touch like that. A touch that stung.10

Then there were those conversations with him and things that Device girl had hinted about.

We can work it out
We can work it out…

Fell was rather smart. Caudery had noticed that by the books in his shop. It took a good mind to know the difference between a genuine first edition of Dickens and a clever ripoff.

He was British, but Caudery sensed that like himself, Fell had been born, (or rather created) elsewhere. He was almost too British.

As to being gay, Fell was no more gay than Caudery was. As a spirit, he was sexless. He just happened to have a male form. Plenty of demons and angels assumed either male or female form when they were assigned a body. It didn't freak the humans out as much as a disembodied spirit. Since he was a spirit, Caudery did not possess what makes a being sexual. He hadn't been made that way. Being a demon was enough of a job without unneeded distractions. Earth was enough of a distraction in of itself.

That led back to Fell and the bookshop.

Anathema had mentioned something very tell-tale, very significant in this case. No father and son looked as much alike as her father had claimed. The old tintype Caudery had unearthed during hours long research had proved it. The stout gentleman in top hat and bushy sideburns standing proudly in front of the then new bookshop was Fell. Even twins wouldn't have been closer. Fell had been alive in 1800 and didn't look a day older. He was immortal. Not only immortal, he was an angel. It was the only logical explanation.

Caudery found himself to be more than a little disappointed. He had hoped Fell was just an above ordinary human. Humans weren't harmless, but far less trouble than the Others.

Think of what you're saying
You can get it wrong and still you think that it's alright…

And so a Celestial wrench was thrown in.

They were enemies.

Angel and demon.

Caudery sighed.

No getting around that roadblock.

Caudery had been enjoying the developing arrangement. Fell and he got along, and even when they argued, Caudery didn't care who ended up being right or wrong. Unless it was a point of theology. Theology was a favorite subject of his and at any rate, he did like to be right sometimes.

Life is very short and there's not time

for fussing and and fighting, my friend…

At any rate, it was better than sleeping in his car and trying not to worry about Head Office's silence. They were making him nervous, which was exactly what they wanted.

A worried demon is more likely to be willing to obey than one at ease.

The music on the Bentley's radio suddenly cut out and a voice was speaking directly to Caudery.

HELLO, CROWLEY.

Caudery gulped. "Er, hi. Who is this?"

HASTUR DUKE OF HELL. I'M SURE YOU REMEMBER ME.

"Uh, yup."

It was a bit tricky to forget the face who had laughed at you while he discorporated you simply for the fun of it. And it hadn't been the first time Hastur had done it either.11

"What's up, Duke Hastur?" Caudery had to keep his voice calm.

WE WERE ALL WONDERING HOW YOUR LITTLE HOLIDAY IN PRISON WAS.

Caudery felt a jolt of anger rising over his fear. "That was your doing?"

NOT MINE PERSONALLY, CROWLEY, BUT I DID ASSIST. HOW WAS IT TO BE POWERLESS? TO BE A MERE MORTAL? HOW DID IT FEEL?

"Delightful," Caudery said with teeth clenched. "Ever fancied trying it?"

DON'T TRY AND BE FUNNY, CROWLEY. I DO NOT LIKE JOKES. NEITHER DO THE POWERS AT BE. YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT, CROWLEY AND I WILL NOT ELABORATE THE POINT. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

"Yes, Duke Hastur."

GOOD. WE WILL BE WATCHING YOU.

"Yes, Duke Hastur."

AND DON'T PATRONIZE ME, CROWLEY. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, YOU SNAKE. I NEVER FORGET.

"I am sure you don't."

Caudery was about ready to yank the power dial off.

WATCH YOURSELF, CROWLEY, Hastur warned as Caudery's hand edged towards the dial. DON'T PROVOKE THE DARK COUNSEL AGAIN. THEY WILL NOT BE SO… LENIENT AS I AM. UNDERSTOOD?

"Understood, Duke Hastur."

GOOD. DO NOT DISAPPOINT US AGAIN.

Caudery hit the dial. He sat still for a moment with dilated eyes behind his glasses and very husky breathing. He'd done it again. He wasn't sure how, but clearly someone had gotten wise to those reports he'd been sending Down Below. He wondered which one they'd picked up on.

The Rein of Terror?

World War Two?

Television game shows?

Not that it mattered. They would probably gather all of those reports and try them on him one at a time, then all at once. A thorough cross-examination complete with a few painful prompts thrown in to motivate him.

Caudery scrambled out of the Bentley, slamming the door uncharacteristically. He walked to the park, taking care to step on all the cracks in the pavement. He was anything but superstitious. He just didn't care.

The ducks swam over and flew up on the shore, crowding around him, recognizing him as the other half of the bread-giving duo, even without the short angel at his side.

"S-s-scat," Caudery hissed, kicking the ducks.

The ducks quacked angrily and pecked at his snakeskin boots. Caudery sat down on the damp grass. A drake grabbed at his sleeve indignantly.

"S-s-sorry," Caudery sighed. He miracled some bread out of his pocket and began tearing it up into little bit-size pieces.

The ducks instantly forgave him. Caudery let them waddle over him and pull at his tie and suit jacket. He tucked the chain necklace under his shirt after the drake tried to yank it off.

Caudery was speculating if he should tell Fell about what he really was. It was possible the angel already knew, angels could see auras and sense evil after all, but if Fell did know, Caudery found it odd he hadn't said anything. Some of the suggestions Caudery had made for the book were, well, suggestive.

Most of these were related to the character of the demon, Signol by name. Fell was all for writing him in the traditional view of demons, and Caudery said maybe he should have a more human appearance, like the angel character, named Eliyahu. Less horns and bat wings.

"But demons are normally without bodies," Fell had said. "When allowed one, they usually look as far from human as you can get. Er, so I've read," he added sheepishly. "Unless they possess someone else's body of course."

Caudery had nodded, fingering his close to empty glass. Fell had become very strict about the amount of alcohol he gave him, after hearing about the reckless driving. This was fair, though it took quite a lot of wine to get Caudery drunk.12

"I'm just saying, readers will be more likely to connect with a character who has a relativity human appearance to him," Caudery went on. "Just hint at his demonic nature, don't blast it with trumpets."

"How?" Fell had gotten out his pen and leather-bound notebook.

"Well… take the clothes. The angels in this tale are wearing suits of pale, Celestial colors, something like yours minus the tartan and the jumper. The demon could wear something with more somber colors; dark but not too menacing."

"Perhaps similar to yours?" Fell had asked innocently.

"Hmm? Sure, I guess. Black and red always work."

"No horns, or wings then." Fell was scribbling with the pen.

"No, no horns."

"Tail?"

"No."

"Weird feet might work," Fell said. "Hooves or claws. Or weird eyes. Some sort of animal?"

Fell had looked up, causing Caudery to adjust his glasses.

"Eh, yeah, that'll do," Caudery had said. "Could try a goat. Some type of bird. Cat. Maybe… a snake?" he almost hissed the last word thoughtfully.

Fell had jumped on it. "A snake would be perfect! Serpents are cunning creatures, much associated with evil and tempting in mythical lore."

"Tempting, yeah." Caudery was feeling uneasy.

"What color eyes do serpents have? I can't recall."

"Er, pretty much any color. Brown, gray, black, gold, orange or yellow. Sometimes they don't even have slitted pupils-"

"Yellow would be a good surprise. He'd have to hide them…"

Caudery swallowed. Fell poked at his reading glasses thoughtfully with his pen, then his eyes darted to Caudery's dark glasses. Caudery had mentally told himself to calm down.

"Sunglasses?" Fell quipped innocently.

"Sure." Caudery forced a smile.

Fell continued to stare at him inquisitively, as if to ask Caudery another question. He seemed to change his mind and wrote down some more notes in his book. Caudery had then vowed silently to be more careful.

Caudery threw the last crumb of bread to the ducks. He would tell Fell. He would tell him, when the right time came.

Notes:

Credit for We can Work it Out belongs to the Beatles and Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.

1 Everything has the potential to be dangerous if handled incorrectly, even the most unlikeliest of objects or candidates. A potato can break a toe if dropped from a height. In the wrong hands, a book can become a deadly weapon. A normally peaceful snake will bite if threatened. And a pacifist provoked can be a coveted ally or a perilous enemy.

2 Fell hadn't gone as far as to put bar codes on the books' spines or use the Dewy Decimal system, but every shelf and bookcase was clearly labeled. Some books had paper tags attached to a string listing the author, publication date and how many copies were still in existence.

3 This was an old tapestry from a medieval monastery. The angel looked vaguely like Fell, though slimmer and without wearing any tartan. The snake was black with a red underbelly.

4 Little did Caudery guess just what he'd gotten into. Nether did Fell. A mess of Celestial proportions.

5 Caudery didn't merely wear the sunglasses as a fashion accessory. He wore them for another reason. To conceal.

6 Even though this is exactly what is already happening, without the knowledge of said angel and demon.

7 Caudery had introduced him to the cake. Fell hadn't truly needed any tempting to try it.

8 When anyone says this, they really mean that they will happily gossip with a little encouragement. Anathema is no different. She never said anything bad about people on purpose, but she did like to talk. And Caudery was ready to listen.

9 Who was also not a witch, though historians might very well disagree on this. Evidently being able to predict the future is enough to get yourself labeled as a witch. Especially in seventeenth century England.

10 Fell's touch would never harm a human, but it was unpleasant to a demon. Think of placing your fingertips on the side of a hot metal pot filled with boiling water and holding them there while counting to ten. That is what Fell's touch felt like to Caudery when they had shaken hands.

11 Hastur liked to do things like that to Caudery. It was one of his personal joys. Not that Hastur got any joy out of life, but if torturing the lesser demon could be considered fun, Hastur enjoyed it for all he could.

12 It takes a large amount of alcohol for a spirit to get intoxicated. Easier for a demon than an angel, as the Fallen have lost some of their self-command, but still more difficult than it is for humans. Usually after about five or six bottles, the world started to look a bit hazy.