Chapter Five

Of Plants and Acquaintance

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue…"

-Proverbs 18:21a

Newton spent his day off at his mother's house. She lived just outside the bustle of the city in the suburbs. She was positively delighted to hear about his new jobs and asked for all the particulars. Newt had tried to explain about the witchfinder army without success. Mrs. Pulsifer was convinced her son had joined a cult.

"It's not a cult, Mum," Newt sighed after he'd tried to justify the army for the third time. "It isn't big enough to be a cult."

"But finding witches, Newt?"

Newt sighed again. He wasn't going to win. Best tactic was the change the subject. "I'm also working part-time in a bookshop. Just as an assistant."

Now this sort of thing Mrs. Pulsifer could understand.

"Oh? How exciting, dear! Do you have to run the til or anything electronic?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just deal with the books. No computers. No telephones. I'm not even sure if Mr. Fell knows what a computer is."

Newt went on to describe his employer in as much detail as he could over tea. He also talked briefly about the mysterious Mr. Caudery.

Mrs. Pulsifer listened with a great deal of interest. She had been worried about Newt for a while now. Losing his job as a wages clerk had thrown him into a depression. He'd never been able to hold a position for long, perhaps due to his lack of skill with all things electronic. Now he seemed brighter, more himself. She almost wanted to thank this Mr. Fell personally. Or at least bake him something. Little could she guess how much such a gesture of kindness would be enjoyed. Now if only Newt could find a nice girl, a really nice girl, she would have nothing else left to wish for. 1

"Does Mr. Fell have any other assistants?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't believe so." Newt shook his head.

"Are there any other shops nearby?"

"Well, naturally, Mum, it is Soho."

"I mean, what shops flank the bookshop, dear."

"Oh. Well, there's another bookshop, all really weird books, and a record store. She does sell plants and stones, too, though."

"She?" Mrs. Pulsifer was again hopeful.

"Yeah," Newt said, finishing his tea. "Don't think she owns it. Family run. I think she's just out of school, like me, according to Mr. Fell. I haven't met her yet myself. Mr. Fell says she's nice."

"Do you know her name?"

"Anathema. Anathema Device. Odd thing to name someone."

His mother agreed. "Though, it does sound kind of pretty."

"I guess so," said Newt. He'd not really spent much time in his life thinking about whether names were pretty or not. He did know his mother well enough to sense when she was about to turn match-maker, however.

"Well, I'd better be heading back," he said. "Work on Monday morning."

"Of course, Newt. Love you, dear." Mrs. Pulsifer hugged him tightly, much to his enormous embarrassment. "Do try and meet that Anathema for me. I want to know how she got her name."

"'course, Mum. I'll see what I can do about it. Bye!"

Newt freed himself from his mother's clutches and started his slow trip back into London. Going anywhere with his car was slow, but Newt was determined. The day when Dick Turpin died would be a sad day for him and he hoped it wasn't going to happen for a long long while yet. As long as there was still one company in Japan that would make parts for it, Dick Turpin would still run. As of yet, no one had asked Newt why his car was named Dick Turpin. He was okay with that, even if a little disappointed. He hoped someone would ask some day.

Monday morning found Newt on the trail of Anthony J. Caudery again.

Caudery was easy enough to find now. Newt just looked for the big black Bentley. It was usually somewhere near Soho. Today Newt was in for a surprise.

The Bentley took him to Mayfair.

Newt stayed a distance behind, watching with his pair of vintage spyglasses. Caudery pulled his car up outside a tall, shiny apartment building, the kind that was all steel and glass. Newt was close enough to see he had parked in a no-parking zone.2 Caudery didn't seem to care or even notice. He didn't seem to notice anything. For what felt like half an hour Caudery just sat in his car. He sat completely still, staring straight ahead with his hands on the steering wheel. He didn't move for so long that Newt actually thought he might have died.

Then Caudery stirred.

He flung open the car door and got out, looking up at the apartment building. Newt saw him mouth something before walking up to the building. His finger hit the bell. As Caudery was fumbling with his keys, the door opened and a little old lady stepped out. Newt was too far away to hear what was said, but he could see perfectly well with the binoculars and was shocked when the old lady looked delighted to see Caudery. Newt was even more shocked when she enveloped him in a hug. Caudery seemed to be equally surprised, even though Newt couldn't see his face. His body language told him enough.

As Newt continued to watch, the lady took Caudery by the arm and steered him inside. Newt waited a moment before getting out of his car. He sneaked over across the street and wrote down the building number. He went down the list of names by the bell, stopping by one neat label saying "A. J. Caudery." Newt also wrote that down, trying to peer through the darkened glass of the lobby.

So the mysterious Mr. Caudery did have a flat after all. And in a very nice section of London, Newt noted. He wondered who the little old lady was. It seemed too unlikely to be Caudery's grandmother. He wasn't the kind who had a grandmother.

Newt puzzled a little more, then hurried back to his dented blue car, as it was being eyed with some distaste by the local residents.

Caudery had driven to Mayfair with every intention of not stopping. He wasn't going to stop. He was just going to drive straight through and see how things looked. This had been his plan.

His car had other ideas.

The Bentley automatically turned towards the street where it had parked for over thirty years. Caudery found himself once more going over the same familiar streets and pavements and soon there was the apartment building before him. Caudery slowed and pulled up on the double white lines. He had always parked there in the past, even though the lines were supposed to prevent just that.

The storm was comin', the sky was on fire, fear was in their eyes

Peter cried out, "We're all gonna die!"

oh, Lord, tell us why, he said…

Caudery couldn't look at the tenement. He couldn't even look at the sidewalk. He stayed where he was, engine running softly, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a choking hold. He didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous.

What if his flat wasn't there? What if everything was gone?

"Step out on the sea, just halfway to me, yeah" He said

"Step out on the sea, you can walk with me, yeah"…

Would he feel disappointed? Discouraged? He had already decided it wouldn't be there anyway, so he wasn't sure what he was worrying about. Perhaps there was one little spark of hope he wasn't ready to give up on yet.

Step out, step on the sea

Just put your trust in me

This is the place to be

The storm will end, you'll see…

Caudery breathed out after ten minutes and finally made up his mind. He shut the Bentley's engine off and got out. The building was only five storeys tall, but it seemed to loom over Caudery as he slowly walked over to the entrance. Without looking, he jabbed a finger at the bell, acting as if it might electrocute him. Then he searched for his key. He never found it.

The door swung open. Caudery saw a pair of lady moccasins. He looked up. There was the little old lady from the floor below his.

"Mrs. Alms," Caudery said.

Her weathered face was brightened by the warmest of smiles. "Anthony!"

She didn't let him say anything else before hugging him. Caudery wasn't expecting that and didn't know how to react.

"I wasn't sure if you were ever going to come back, dear," Mrs. Alms said, her arms around Caudery's neck.

"Er- I wasn't sure either," Caudery said from somewhere above her white hair that had the strong scent of lavender and rose. Caudery tried to untangle himself from the lady. "Do you know if my plants-"

"Oh yes, dear. I've been watering them every week. Do come and see."

She took his arm with a smile and Caudery was lead into the building. He saw enough of the lobby to know it was unchanged. The stairwell was the same, as was the landing outside his flat. Caudery swallowed. Mrs. Alms didn't see his hesitation. She unlocked the door and pushed him inside.

"I took care of the leaf spots, too," she said.

"Leaf spots?" Caudery repeated dubiously.

His plants knew exactly what he thought about leaf spots. And powdery mildew and especially black root rot. He wouldn't stand any of it. He'd told his plants so and acted accordingly.3 Caudery doubted if Mrs. Alms would talk to plants. She had always impressed him as someone who would sing to her horticulture and play them classical music.

Caudery sauntered down his hall with the lady not far behind him. The first plant he came in contact with was the rubber plant. This had a nook all to itself between the lounge and the office. It had become huge, almost filling the space and looked ready to attack visitors.

"What the…" Caudery exclaimed as he ducked the giant leaves. "What in Heaven happened to this?"

"Just a little fertilizer, dear." Mrs. Alms smiled.

"It's massive," Caudery muttered, staring over his sunglasses at the towering plant. The top of it just scraped the ceiling.

"Come see the rest," Mrs. Alms said.

Caudery followed her into the lounge and stopped short.

It looked like a hothouse.

All the plants were at least twice the size they had been six months ago. The many philodendrons were trees, the hostas had turned into bushes and he wouldn't have recognized the peace lily. It nearly dwarfed the sofa and had dozens of flowers protruding from it like white flags. All the plants looked healthy and happy. Caudery was stunned into silence.4

Mrs. Alms stood by and beamed proudly. "What do you think?"

Caudery fumbled around in his brain for some word to describe it. "Uh…"

"They were a bit timid at first," Mrs. Alms went on, "very slow to grow, but then they fairly exploded. Nothing a little Green Grow spray can't fix, I always say. A little bit of that and a Mozart recording do wonders."

"You're spoiling them," Caudery said, staring at a palm that had taken claim over his bookcase.

"We all deserve a little spoiling now and again," Mrs. Alms said. "Now, I'll let you get settled in, Anthony, dear. You know where to find me if you need anything."

"Thank you," Caudery whispered.

She patted him on the back and padded softly back to her own apartment.

For a time, Caudery was transfixed by his plants. He walked from room to room, only having eyes for the greenery. Many of the plants which had never flowered before were covered in blooms of every shade from white to pink to blue. Caudery found his old plant mister on a shelf beside the rubber plant. It still had water in it. Almost absentmindedly, he began spraying leaves. The plants cowered only slightly at his touch.

It appeared his absence had done some good. His garden had flourished under Mrs. Alms' tender care. Caudery traced a long finger over the steam of a waxy hosta leaf. Perhaps it was love that had produced this result. Caudery could scare his plants into health, he could put the fear of God into them, but perhaps it wasn't the only way to cultivate them. They had been beautiful before, but with love they were radiate.

Caudery sighed.

In the comfort and privacy of his flat, he finally took off his sunglasses. He would only allow himself to do so here. Nowhere else did he feel as safe, not even in the Bentley or the bookshop. If Fell hadn't been what he was, if there wasn't that celestial element involved, then maybe, just maybe Caudery would have let his guard down. He had almost forgotten on a few separate occasions. He was sure Fell had noticed and was only being too polite to say anything. 5

Caudery tossed his shades on the coffee table and sank onto his leather sofa with another sigh. It was a contented sign. For he was content. He smiled at the peace lily flowers bobbing lightheartedly next to him.

Caudery put his feet up on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Within no time at all, he was fast asleep.

Anathema found out Mr. Fell had someone working for him. She hadn't seen much of him, just enough to know he was young and wore glasses. That description could match half a million people in the city, Anathema told herself. She decided to satisfy her inquisitiveness.

While her mother was busy at the counter, Anathema slipped out of her family's record shop and headed to the bookshop next door.

She was in luck.

It was during opening hours, (Friday, 11 am, during warm weather, without rain), and she quickly spied the assistant. He was shelving in the myths and legends section.

At a closer range, Anathema noticed he was much younger than she had originally thought. His short ginger-colored hair stuck out at funny angles, giving him a slightly comical appearance. His glasses were so loose that he had to keep pushing them up his nose with a finger while trying to hold the books in his other hand.

The young man suddenly turned and saw her staring at him.

He dropped the books.

"Oh, um, sorry," he stammered.

"Here, let me help you." Anathema got to her knees and scooped up the books.

"Er, thank you," he said.

The young man blushed as she handed the books to him. His face wasn't anything remarkable. Anathema felt a little disappointed. She wasn't sure what she had been hoping for, really. He wasn't exactly handsome or plain, just ordinary. Even so, the eyes behind his glasses were a mesmerizing blue. Anathema liked those eyes. Very much.

She realized she was still staring.

"I'm Anathema, Anathema Device," she said, feeling it would be a good idea to stop staring and introduce herself. "My family owns the record shop next door."

She smiled and held out a hand, all nails brightly polished in a rainbow of colors.

The young man looked at her hand rather nervously, blushed again, shifted the books to his other arm and shook her hand.

"H-hello, I'm Newt. Newton Pulsifer. I help Mr. Fell."

Anathema was sure she'd heard his name somewhere before. She just didn't know where right then.

"Have you been here long?" she asked.

"A few days, no- a few weeks. Er, one of those," Newt said, still looking very nervous. He dropped some of the books again.

Anathema searched her brain for a subject to extend the conversation. "Does this shop have anything on… prophesy? I've always been meaning to ask."

She got Newt to smile. "You've come to the right place," he said. "Mr. Fell has a very large selection of books on prophesy. Possibly the largest in the whole of the country."

"Really?"

This Anathema had to see.

Newt put down the books and led her to the prophesy section.

"This entire bookcase, both sides. And these shelves as well," Newt said with a sweep of his arm.

Anathema wasn't expecting to be impressed, but she was. She considered herself very well-versed on the subject of prophesy, and with her heritage, this was no surprise. It was almost automatic. Anathema owned far too many prophetic books to count and had read many more. However, she had no idea this many books and scrolls could exist in the world, let alone in one room.

"Mr. Fell must have started collecting a long time ago," she said, getting closer to the old leather and cloth bindings.6

"Yes, he probably did," Newt agreed.

Anathema remembered her thoughts about Mr. A. Z. Fell. She still believed he was older than he looked. No cosmetics or any kind of surgery could keep a man looking like he did. Anathema's blue-painted fingernail stopped on the spine of Lord Tilman's Later Predictions. Perhaps Mr. Fell was a warlock. He could be using dark magic to keep himself young. She was pulled back by Newt's voice.

"Is there a specific book I could help you find?"

"Well…"

There was always one book. One book she was on the search for, one book she spent countless hours on the internet researching and hoping to find.

"You wouldn't by chance have a copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter?"

Newt frowned, pushing up his glasses. "Nice and Accurate?"

"Yes. It's rare, very rare. Collectors have been willing to spent millions just to get a glimpse of it. As far as I know, there's only one copy in existence."

"Oh. I don't think I've ever seen it before," Newt confessed, "though I could be mistaken. Why is it called nice and accurate?"

Anathema tossed her hair, causing her dangling earrings to jingle. "The word 'nice' has multiple meanings. One of them is 'precise' or 'correct.'"

"And all of Agnes Nutter's prophecies are just that?" Newt asked. "Precise and accurate?"

"Yes. Very."

"Talking about predictions, are you, Newt?"

Newt visibly jumped. "Oh, yes, we are, Mr. Fell," he said to the bookshop owner.

Anathema hadn't seen him standing near them a moment before. Perhaps he had materialized out of thin air?

"How are you, Miss Device?" Fell smiled at her.

"Very well."

There was something very decidedly odd about the man, besides his agelessness and unnatural hair. Something almost occult.

Anathema put on her best smile.

"I was asking about a book," she said.

"Indeed?" Fell was all hers.

"Agnes Nutter."

"Ah, yes." Fell paused. "I would love to help you, but I don't have it, sadly. No one does as far as I know."

"That's too bad," Anathema said.

Fell seemed to be smiling in a sort of unnatural way. His smile looked strained. Anathema didn't see the hand Fell was holding behind his back. He had the fingers crossed.

The angel had just told a blatant white lie.

"Well, thank you all the same," Anathema said, watching Mr. Fell. His smile didn't falter, but it did seem to last a bit too long.

"Could I interest you in anything else?"

Anathema gave this some thought. She did want to linger and study these two some more. The assistant, Newt, was beginning to fascinate her.7 So she said the thing which was first-most on her mind.

"Do you have anything on the supernatural?"

Mr. Fell's eyebrows went up. "Of course," he said.

That anyone should be interested in the supernatural didn't phase Fell. It was only natural. Humans were spiritual beings by nature. What did surprise him was that both Newt and Miss Anathema should ask for books on the same subject within days of each other. It was almost….

Fell searched for the right word.

Uncanny. Yes, it was uncanny.

Anathema settled in an overstuffed armchair with an appropriate volume to read as provided by Fell. Newt went back to stocking shelves, but he stayed close enough to watch Anathema as he worked, which made Fell frown.

However, he had other things to worry about. Like how he had just told a lie. A small white lie, but still very much a lie. A lie was an untruth, no matter how large or small. And Fell had never told a lie before in his whole life, never in over ten thousand years.

He didn't know what to do. Fell paced up and down in his back room, tracing the old worn grooves in the rug in his patent leather shoes.

He supposed he should add it to his next report to Gabriel. He had no idea what it should be categorized under.

A misstep?

A transgression?

Failure of proper conduct?

Those all sounded a bit extreme. A misdemeanor, maybe.

A sudden thought occurred to Fell.

He could just leave it out of the report altogether. He could simply not say a thing about it. Fell was religiously truthful in his reports. Leaving something out had never occurred to him before. It was entirely new. It was scandalous!

Fell shook his head. He couldn't do that. It would be lying. Of course, he had just lied already. Once more wouldn't hurt, would it?8

Fell stopped, the gears in his brain working hard. His angelic nature was putting up a stiff fight. Morals and ethics were waging war. He continued to pace until the grandfather clock in the bookshop struck the hour. In the end, Fell did nothing and left his report the way it was.

No one was the wiser.

Newt was smitten. There was no other way to say it. Newt had always been shy, and around girls he'd been lost. He'd never known how to act around the opposite sex and usually ended up blushing pink and stammering until the girl walked away.

When Anathema had walked up to him, Newt didn't know what to do again.

First of all, she was pretty. Very pretty. Not the usual kind of beautiful, but they do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Her nose and ears didn't quite match the rest of her features, but her dark curly hair framed her face nicely. Newt noticed her bun had a pen and paintbrush in it. Her eccentric style extended to her clothes, which consisted of an over-sized jumper, mini skirt, (in practical black), and ankle boots. Her brightly colored fingernails, large glasses and hoop earrings didn't match in any sense, but on her it oddly worked.

Newt wasn't any judge of beauty, yet to him, Anathema Device was beautiful. Then she had smiled and Newt was a lost man. He wasn't sure if he even remembered his own name. He blushed, dropped the antique books he was trying to handle carefully, babbled like an idiot and dropped the books all over again.

Anathema was either used to boys acting strangely around her or she chose not to notice. She was kind enough not to mention Newt's clumsiness and helped him with the books. After she was settled in with a book in one of the shop's various armchairs, Newt tried to continue working and failed. He couldn't help watching her. Even while reading, she was fascinating to watch.

Instead of going back to his flat during his lunch break, as usual, Newt found his feet wandering towards Mystical Vinyl. He hid in the rows of CD racks and tried to blend in.

Anathema was too busy assisting customers and working the counter to notice him at first, but after seeing Newt come in for the third day in a row, she began to suspect something was up. He'd been hanging around the hard rock albums without looking at any of them. And he didn't have the look of a hard rock fan at all.9

"That boy has been in here every day this week," Anathema's mother remarked, writing up an inventory list on Thursday morning. "I wonder what he wants."

"I think he wants to talk to me," Anathema admitted sheepishly.

"Oh?" her mother smiled. "Do you know him?"

"He works for Mr. Fell," Anathema explained.

"Why don't you go talk to him, then? He reminds me of a lost puppy."

"He's just a bit shy, Mum."

Anathema's father arrived from the backroom with a stack of fresh vinyl albums and CDs, all wrapped in plastic.

"Who's a bit shy?" he asked.

Anathema repeated the conversation, to which her father replied, "Why don't you ask him to tea? We can always use a new face at table."

"Dad, I hardly know the man! He could be someone really unsavoury."

"No better time to find out, love," Mr. Device smiled.

Anathema sighed. He was just as bad as her mother.

"Besides," Mrs. Device put in, "I doubt Mr. Fell would hire him if he were a delinquent."

"Quite." Mr. Device handed Anathema a stack of CDs. "Go and attack."

"Okay," Anathema sighed.

And attack Anathema did, though she was a bit more subtle about it than her parents. She unwrapped the CDs one at a time and began to shelve them, slowly working her way down the rows until she was directly opposite Newt. Only then did she pretend to notice him.

"Hello, Newt."

His face changed color and he almost dropped The Best of Queen album he was holding. "Oh, hello. Anathema."

"You've been in here a lot lately," Anathema observed.

"Yes… it's a nice shop," Newt said.

The CD in his hands looked ready to take a plunge to the floor. Anathema reached over and took the CD, putting it safely on the shelf where it belonged.

"Is there anything you would like?" she asked.

"Well…"

"If we don't have something in stock, we'd be more than happy to order it," Anathema recited. "We get free overnight shipping."

"Actually, I was kind of hoping I could to talk to you."

"Really?" Anathema worked on acting completely surprised.

Newt continued to blush. "Yes, um, I was wondering if maybe you would… well, like to…"

Anathema felt that she needed to rescue him from his embarrassment.

"Would you like to join my family for tea? It's just the three of us and a few friends, but we'd be more than happy to include you."

Newt looked about ready to faint with relief. For a moment, Anathema worried he might really faint. He didn't.

"Tea would be delightful," Newt said. "Do you live above the shop?"

"We rent it out. No, we're over in Westgate."

"Oh!"

"Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, I go there every morning. Sergeant- that is, um, my other job, yes, I do know where it is."

Anathema tried not to smile at his stammering. It made him look kind of cute, like a little boy.

"Tomorrow at six," she said.

"Tomorrow at six," Newt repeated.

"Just ring Miss Tracy's bell. She'll show you in."

"She always does."

Newt gave Anathema a lopsided grin. He glanced at his watch and realized he was fifteen minutes late back to the bookshop from his lunch break.

Anathema shook her head after he dashed out. She finished putting away the new CDs and went over to the corner with the houseplants, deliberately avoiding her parents, who were watching her from behind the shop counter.

They would meet Newt tomorrow. At tea.

She picked up a watering can, going around to the various potted plants, testing the moistness of the soil with a fingertip.

Part of her was wondering why she had given in and asked the awkward young man over. It was bound to be a disaster, if he was as clumsy around other people as he was around her. It could just be that he was awkward around girls. It could be just that.

Anathema decided she would just have to wait and see.

Caudery was in exceptionally good spirits.

He hadn't realized how important his flat was to him. As he had told Fell, he didn't really consider it a home. True, it had a bedroom, a kitchen, lounge, office, bathroom and a living room. He did sleep in the bedroom, he did work in the office, and he did lounge in the lounge.

But he didn't really live there. It was just a place to to go back to. And now he could go back to it again. He could wear a new suit. He could change his sunglasses. He didn't have to keep those plants in his car anymore. He could add his new albums to his music collection and not let them all turn into Queen. He could read through his novels again. He could sleep on a soft bed again, not on leather seats with a hard car door for a pillow.

Caudery relaxed. He let himself smile and hum as he fixed a cup of coffee in his kitchen. The early morning sun was reflecting off the white walls.10

It was a good day. Caudery had slept well and long. He hadn't bothered getting dressed yet. He was in his shirt sleeves and shorts. He also hadn't put on his sunglasses.

Caudery took his mug of coffee to the lounge. The plants didn't seem to really notice him. The shivering was less. Caudery hadn't scolded any, as he hadn't seen as much as a discolored leaf anywhere. So far so good.

Caudery made himself comfortable and watched the sun rise over the city. His lounge had one wall of windows on the eastern side. The light slowly crept up over the buildings and spread into the room around him.

Caudery sighed, enjoying the warmth.

He didn't like London per-say, but it was where he was for now. The countryside would be nice. Somewhere with green grass, trees, open fields and expansive skies. The city had none of these. The advantages were the shops and the parks. He could do without the noise, traffic and people. Caudery liked humanity for the most part, but it was the people he couldn't stand. People who could be so wonderfully kind and horribly evil in the same breath, bless their fellow man with their lips and curse their Maker in their hearts. It was unbelievable, yet sadly true.

In looking at the world, Caudery was often amazed anyone had any faith left. Faith in God, faith in each other, faith in anything. His own faith had been lost a long time ago. His faith in humanity, that is. He still had faith in God, but for everything else in the universe it was gone. The world was a sorry affair. He saw this very clearly, much more clearly then the people did and perhaps a bit more clearly than Fell did.

Caudery could be distracted by Earth, he could be influenced by it, but he could not become a part of it. He was and always would be part of the spiritual realm, no matter how much he liked this blue and green backwards planet.

Caudery finished his coffee.

His gaze went from the sunrise to the jungle of plants he was sitting in the midst of. He'd removed the plants from his car earlier. They seemed to be relishing the company of the other fauna, if plants could feel such emotions. The fern was on the desk, already looking bushier and fuller. The peace lily was next to the monster, making it appear even larger in comparison. Caudery vaguely supposed he should prune it at some point. Cut away the bad to let the good grow in. Caudery eyed the pruning shears on the desk beside the new plant mister.

He got up and got more coffee instead.

The doorbell rang.

Caudery freaked out.

The coffee mug landed in the sink.

Instinctively, Caudery changed his shape. Skin and hair became scales and a snake quickly slithered across the counter and coiled himself behind the coffee maker.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a tap on the door and an old lady twitter of "Hello, Anthony, dear? Anyone in?"

Caudery hissed to himself. He was an idiot. The black and red snake wiggled out from his hiding spot and Caudery in human form climbed down off the kitchen counter. He retrieved his mug and took a gulp of coffee, then met Mrs. Alms in the hall. She was holding a plant in a pot.

"Good morning, Mrs. Alms," Caudery said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I, er, didn't know you were up at this hour."

The lady smiled. "I'm an early riser, my dear. Habits are hard to change when you get to be my age."

Caudery smiled back. "I'm sure."

Mrs. Alms had more to say. "Oh, I seem to have gotten you out of bed."

Caudery realized what she meant, his eyes glancing down at his minimal wardrobe. "Oh, no, I, um…"

"No worries, dear. My Frank used to be the same way. I should have given you fair warning."

Caudery smiled at her awkwardly. "I wasn't expecting anyone so early. What have you there?" he pointed at the plant. It was a small philodendron.

"Oh! This is Bartholomew."

Caudery blinked.

She names her houseplants?

"Bartholomew…?"

"Yes. He's the poor philodendron you gave me last year. The one with the yellowing leaves and drooping stems, remember? He's flowered three times. I just trimmed him and transplanted some cuttings. They've really taken off."

"Really?" Caudery was having a hard time getting past the name.

The old lady laughed at his puzzlement. "Here I am prattling on," she said, "And I'm sure you have things to do. I just wanted to give Bartholomew back."

"Back?"

"I think he'll do much better up here. My sitting room is so full from all the other plants you've given me in the past, Anthony, I'm running out of room!"

Caudery hoped his other plants didn't hear that.

"Here you are then, dear."

Mrs. Alms handed him the philodendron. He took it and stared intently at it. It was hardly recognizable as the spindly twig it had been twelve months prior.

"Um… thank you."

He looked back at her to see she was studying his face.

"It's nice to see you without those dark glasses," she observed.

Caudery froze. His glasses. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses.

"Such an unusual color," Mrs. Alms continued, "but you shouldn't hide them. They bring out the copper tones in your skin. Rather handsomely, I think."

Caudery felt heat rush to his cheeks and he found himself stammering.

"Er…"

Mrs. Alms didn't notice. "Bye for now, dear. Remember to fed Bartholomew every other week."

She gave him a smile and a wave and was gone.

Caudery was stunned.

His eyes hadn't frightened her. He couldn't understand it. His eyes always bothered humans. The inmates and guards at the prison, for example. Caudery shook his head. Then he held up the potted plant.

"Listen here, Bartholomew," he addressed the plant. "You've had a nice pampering with Mrs. Alms. You've gotten watered, trimmed and fed until you've become fat and lazy. That treatment isn't going to continue. It's over as of now. And you're going to stay green and growing."

The plant was beginning to shudder, its leaves trembling.

"You are going to be healthy," Caudery pointed an accusing finger at the philodendron like it was a pet who had just messed on the carpet. "I don't want to see any spots, any brown, or any wilting, understand me? And I don't want any gossip spreading about where you've spent the last year. I will not have an insignificant little pipsqueak like you ruining my image. Because if you do, I will know about it. And I will kill you."

The plant was shaking in fear. Caudery was pleased. He could still strike terror into the leafy hearts of fauna. Excellent.

The quivering philodendron went next to the tall rubber plant, making it look very small and insignificant. After a few minutes, the rubber plant was also trembling.

Caudery felt very pleased by this and grinned to himself as he turned away. He had a report to read. A report on A. Z. Fell.

A snap of the fingers and Caudery was fully dressed and his hair combed and slicked down. He scooped the sheets of paper off his desk. He had a feeling the report was written by that young Newton Pulsifer. He couldn't see Shadwell going to all the trouble of trailing someone, let alone writing about it. He wasn't the type.

Caudery sat down with his now cold coffee and read. There wasn't much in the report that he didn't already know or hadn't figured out himself, but it was amusing. More amusing than he would have thought.

Most of the report was about food, where Fell ate it and when and the rest was related to books. Caudery couldn't be surprised, but he had to chuckle. The way the author described the events in the report was hilarious.

From the little cafe to the Ritz, he had followed Fell to almost every restaurant near or in London Soho. Caudery could just picture Newt in some bushes with a pair of binoculars watching Fell enjoy a good meal.11 Newt was wasting his time, but Caudery wasn't about to stop him. If all he did was provide him with humorous reading material, that was enough for Caudery. Working in the bookshop would probably prove to do Newt some good as well. Newt had to look of a literature-deprived puppy who could use some enriching.

Caudery finished the report with an audible laugh, startling the houseplants. Ah, yes, he was in such a good mood it almost seemed wrong. Caudery stretched his limbs. Today would be a good day. Yes, he would tell the angel today. Caudery tossed the report aside. He picked up his keys and sunglasses. The Bentley was waiting at the kurb as always. Caudery got behind the wheel with a smile.

Sometimes grace truly was a mystery.

1 Newt had always been nervous around girls, even when he was little. And his mother's repeated attempts at getting him to meet some nice girls hadn't helped matters.

2 No parking zones meant not a thing to Caudery. Neither did traffic signals, red lights, parking tickets or tolls. These were things which happened to other people, not to him.

3 Talking isn't exactly the correct word for how Caudery addresses his houseplants. Others might call it stern lecturing, shouting, or politely nasty speeches. Basically, he threatened them with physical harm if something should go wrong. And if they were dying? Well, then said plant might just disappear and never be heard from again. The plants lived in constant fear of this unknown fate. Better to be terrified than dead.

4 Beauty had that effect on him. Deep inside, Caudery loved beautiful things of the natural world, beauty created by the hand of the Great Creator. Plants were just one of them.

5 He was being polite, but Fell did have to forcefully restrain himself. His damned curiosity was almost ready to kill him.

6 He began exactly when the first written scrolls came into being. Fell would have taken the original stone tablets inscribed with the ten commandments, (the first set which Moses broke) but he had no means of storing them and he was pretty certain the Almighty would have been displeased if he had kept them. So he had controlled himself.

7 And when something caught Anathema's attention, she studied it with all the energy she had. Whether it was a subject, a book or a person.

8 Oh yes, it very well could. A lie can save a life or cause someone's death. Words are powerful things.

9 Newt's taste in music ran along the lines of classical rock and old pop. He surprisingly would have liked Caudery's collection.

10 Caudery's entire apartment was white. Everything was bright and almost celestial, the complete opposite of his hair, the Bentley and the clothes he wore. Odd combination for a demon, you might say. Makes one wonder, doesn't it?

11 Which is exactly what Newt had done, until enough people had given him strange looks and a police officer suggested he move along.

Notes:

-All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.

-Credit for Step Out On The Sea belongs to Lighthouse.

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