Chapter Six
Of Wings and Hunting
Prophecy 723:
Trust is did earned by many deeds done in love, and yond cometh from the heart.
Fell was also in a good mood.
The book was coming together nicely. A stack of clean blank paper sat on the table in his backroom, next to a stack of paper covered in two written hands. The story was wild and not entirely true, but that was fiction for you. According to Caudery, it was also turning into a comedy. Fell didn't quite agree.1 They were making sport of religious traditions, he said. Not quite fair.
"It's theology," Caudery had corrected him."If people don't do their research, does that make it my fault? My fault they don't check?"
"No…" Fell replied, "but we're still misleading them. And broad is the gate that leads to destruction."
Caudery had grumbled. "Right. You're right. Whatever. Fine. It's still theology."
"Bad theology," Fell had said.
"It's a satire! A satire, Fell. It's poking fun at what people think is true, not actual truth. The true facts are hidden in amongst the fictional. They have to be found, they have to be searched for. They have to be wanted. If people look for it, they'll find it. The truth has to be wanted to be found, Fell. You know that. It'll be fine, you'll see."
"I suppose," Fell had replied, not at all sure he would see what Caudery meant. He didn't feel right about the Almighty's representation in their story. He'd talk to Caudery about it again. Also about the angels. Caudery seemed to know a bit about the celestial realms. More than most humans did. That made Fell a little… uneasy, he decided.
Fell saw the Bentley through the shop windows as it pulled up outside. Fell put away his reading glasses and got his hat. He'd be his usual self and forget about theology until after lunch.2
As it happened, Fell only waited until Caudery had drank a glass of wine and he was halfway through his soup.
"I still think we should change it," Fell said, putting down his napkin.
Caudery looked across the table at him like someone who has just had his train of thought derailed.
"Change what?" he asked.
"How we're writing it," Fell said. "God and the angels. In the book. It just feels a trifle unfair to me. Untrue."
Caudery let the waiter refill his glass. Then he breathed out through his nose. "Alright then, change it," he replied. "If it's really that important to you."
"You don't care?" Fell asked.
"Eh, not really. You want to be fair to the snob white wings, go ahead. I don't have any quandary with it."
Fell understood just enough about Caudery's slang to know he had just insulted angels. Fell felt himself begin to swell in indignation.
"There's no call to use odious names like that," he retorted hotly.
Caudery had drunk most of his second glass. "I'm just telling it as it is. Unless you want to contest the color of angels' wings?"
Fell really had nothing to say. All angels' wings were white, when they were in a form for the wings to be seen. He couldn't deny it. But to be called snobs…
"Not all angels are arrogant," Fell said.
"Really? And how do you know? Have you personally talked with each and every angel the Almighty created? Taken an inventory of all character traits and flaws?"
Fell of course hadn't.
"Angels don't have flaws," he persisted.
"Then what do you call Lucifer?"
"I try not to call him anything at all. Best not to focus on the Adversary too much."
"You're probably right." Caudery set down his empty glass and went to motion for the waiter again.
"I think you've had enough to drink," Fell said firmly.
Caudery decided it would be a waste of energy to argue. "Alright," he sighed.
After lunch, Caudery drove Fell back to the bookshop. He figured it would be a small sacrifice to let Fell have his way. If Fell wanted to paint all the angels as beings of peace, light and harmony, he could go right ahead and do it. Caudery hadn't met any angels who fit that description, except for Fell. 3
The two went over the manuscript with a red pen and marked all the places mentioning celestial beings. Soon the manuscript was full of red marks. Caudery didn't grumble, but Fell could tell he wasn't pleased.
"Are you sure you want to change all of it?" Caudery asked.
"Not all, but most," Fell said, crossing out a word with the pen.
"Alright," Caudery groaned.
Fell looked over his reading glasses at him. "Why do you care?"
"I don't care."
"Then how do you know so much about angels, if I might ask?"
"It's-s-s my job." Caudery waved a hand, lisping a little.
Fell's eyebrows frowned. "I thought you were a journalist."
"My other job," Caudery replied.
"Oh." Fell didn't pry any further. Something about how Caudery said other stopped Fell from asking more. It left a bit of tension in the air. Caudery broke it by bringing up another subject.
"We could adjust the main characters a little. Exaggerate them."
"How so?"
"Add more humor," Caudery suggested. "After all, the two of them really shouldn't be friends in the first place. They're complete and total opposites."
Fell took off his glasses. "I thought that was the point."
"That's what I'm saying. Dark and light. One tall, one short. One thin, one not so. Think of the differences between you and I. Devil's food cake and angel food cake. You and the Bentley. Or our music choices."
He got Fell to smile.
"I confess I still don't understand your interest in that group… what is it called? Something to do with royalty… Ah, yes, Queen."
"Exactly!" Caudery cried and smiled broadly as he laughed, displaying his sharp teeth.
Fell laughed as well.
They worked for a time longer, until the afternoon light had deepened and the streetlights started to turn on outside. Newt had closed up the bookshop and gone home. Fell noticed the change first.
"Goodness, is that the time?" He checked his pocket-watch, then squinted at the grandfather clock across the room.
Caudery checked his own watch. "So it is," he replied. He was somewhat reluctant to leave. He had an article to finish for his editor and was in no real hurry to do so. He'd much rather stay here with the angel and swap ideas.
Caudery got up, unfolding his long frame to his full height.
Fell shuffled the mess of papers on the table into a neat pile. "We did quite a lot this session," he said, pleased.
"Indeed." Caudery fished in his pocket for his car keys.
Fell followed him into the main bookshop. "I'm not-" he started.
Caudery looked at him. "You're not what?"
"I'm just not sure what to do about the archangels. They're… different than the other angels."
Caudery smiled. Feeling perfectly easy, it was here he made a mistake. The inner monologue of Crowley unconsciously became the verbal monologue of Caudery. Turning towards the bookshop doors he said, "I'm sure you'll figure it out, angel."
He didn't see the change come over Fell's face, or see him grab a book off the nearest shelf.
Before he hit the floor, face first, Caudery remembered feeling some hard and heavy object collide with the back of his head. Then he was out. The Bentley keys slide from his hand across the tiled floor.
Anathema might not have been nervous about tea, but Newt was. He wanted to make a good impression.4 He wasn't sure if he should wear a bow tie and good shoes or just go as he was, jeans, hoodie and plaid shirt. He wasn't sure what Anathema thought of him, but he knew what he thought of her.
Newt combed his fingers through his hair again as he stood on the stoop outside the building where Madame Tracy, Sergeant Shadwell and the Devices lived. He hadn't rung the bell yet. He was practicing his entrance speech.
"How do you do? I'm Newton Pulsifer, or Hello, I'm Newt, you must be Mr. and Mrs. Device? No, eh, Mr. and Mrs. Device, I'm Newt. I know Anathema from the bookshop. Well, sort of true…"
Newt was interrupted by the door being opened. Madame Tracy beamed at him. She wasn't wearing her usual makeup and fluttery robe. She was dressed in a comfortable top and a plain skirt with no flashy jewelry to be seen anywhere. She had on no makeup. Her hair was a normal color. If Newt hadn't known who she was, he wouldn't have recognized her at all.
"Hello, Newt! We're expecting you. Come in, do."
Newt didn't have a chance to say anything. She just ushered him right in and shut the door behind him.
"Mrs. Device was telling me we were going to have an extra for tea," she said, "but I had no idea it would be you, dear. Anathema told me. Now you go on in and I'll be along in a few minutes. I have some biscuits in the oven. Yes, that's right, the second door on the left."
Madame Tracy disappeared into her flat, leaving Newt alone in the hallway. Newt's nerves all of a sudden hit the ceiling. He could do this, he told himself. He went to the door. The neat little plate said "Device."
Newt swallowed and knocked.
He was greeted moments later by a woman who looked liked Anathema. She didn't have glasses, but she did have dark hair and the same warm brown coloring. She smiled, causing Newt to blush.
"You must be Newt. I'm Anathema's mother, Elisha."
She shook his hand and Newt mumbled something which he hoped was "Pleasure to meet you," but he really didn't know."
The Devices' flat was the very opposite of Shadwell's. They were of a similar size and layout, yet the Devices' was warm and homey. Most of all, it was clean. The walls were bright colors and decorated with paintings and mirrors. The carpet didn't look like you might lose yourself in it. And nowhere did Newt see a single newspaper. He relaxed. Music was playing softly in the background from a Hi-Fi.
Well, she was just seventeen
You know what I mean
And the way she looked was way beyond compare…
There was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Newt's gaze followed his nose and he saw Anathema. She was bringing a tray of cakes and buns to the table.
"Hello, Newt," she said.
Newt found he was staring again. "Hello, Anathema. Can I help with anything?"
Today she was wearing long earrings made of feathers that fluttered with her hair. They distracted Newt.
Anathema shook her head.
"Just need to get the tea and we'll be all set. You can sit down."
Newt sat in the chair she indicated and watched her dart around the table. Her movements reminded him of a butterfly.
Well she looked at me, and I, I could see
That before too long I'd fall in love with her…
When I saw her standing there…
"Almost ready?" A tall man walked in.
Newt immediately stood. This must be Mr. Device. Newt felt an impulse to salute and didn't. 5
Mr. Device noticed him. "Ah, Newton Pulsifer. I've heard a lot about you."
"Sir," Newt replied.
The man smiled. "Not sir, young man. It's Russell."
Newt shook his hand and relaxed again. He was slowly starting to feel at home.
"Are you from around these parts?" Mr. Device asked as they sat down.
"I grew up in Surrey," Newt said, "then we moved to central London after my father passed four years ago."
Mr. Device offered his sympathy. Newt thanked him and asked about the record shop. Mr. Device was more than happy to talk about his favorite subject and would have discussed music all night if he hadn't been interrupted by entrance of Madame Tracy.
"Hello again, Newt," she waved and placed a basket on the table, covered by a cloth.
"Ah, Agatha, will Shadwell be joining us?" Mr. Device said.
Madame Tracy shook her head. "I'm afraid not. The poor man is still laid up. His ankle, you know. I'll take him a bit of tea and cakes later, though."
Newt was stuck on the name Mr. Device had called Madame Tracy. Her name was Agatha? She was an Agatha? Newt hadn't spent much time speculating on what Madame Tracy's real name was, but Agatha wouldn't have been his first guess.
Even without her usual attire, Madame Tracy appeared to flutter as she busied herself helping Mrs. Device and Anathema. Madame Tracy talked the entire time. 6
"I've been a little worried about Mr. S," she said. "In such a bad humor lately, not that he's ever really cheerful, but he has been so irritable. Must be his injury. He can't go out and picket on the square with his sign and army jacket, poor dear. I've been doing extra baking in between work. Nothing like a good old-fashioned English meal to satisfy even the grumpiest of men, my dear mother used to say. She was a marvelous cook, Lord bless her. Always had a different pudding for each day of the week. I wish I still had her book of recipes, all handwritten, but my sister couldn't find it anywhere when we cleaned out Mum's things. I suspect my cousin Grete has it. She's my second or third cousin, never could recall which, and very artful. Some of Mum's old silver dishes also vanished about the same time, you know, but I'm positive I saw them in Grete's china cupboard when she last hosted dinner. Not that I want to accuse anyone, of course. You can always tell by the eye. Grete always looks like she knows something you don't."
Newt wondered what sort of eye he had. He had terrible vision, but he was fairly certain Madame Tracy was referring to something else.
Anathema brought in a final tray of sandwiches and tea was served. It was a pleasantly quiet meal, much to Newt's thankfulness. Even Madame Tracy drew breath long enough to eat before starting another conversation with Mrs. and Mr. Device in whispered tones.
This thing called love I just can't handle it
This thing called love I must get round to it
I ain't ready, crazy little thing called love…
Newt watched Anathema and blushed whenever she looked at him.
She smiled and asked about his job. Newt stammered and said it was interesting, working with books, if that's what she meant.
Anathema smiled even more and said of course that was what she meant.
"How is it working with Mr. Fell?"
"Well, um…" Newt didn't quite know what to say.
"Interesting?" Anathema offered.
Newt paused on the jam tart he was working on.
"More educational, I think," he said.
"Oh? In what way?"
"Well, Mr. Fell is so knowledgeable. You just ask him a question and he goes off."
Anathema was more than eager to discuss this, Newt could tell. "I think he's very intelligent," she said, "And probably a little crazy."
I gotta be cool relax get hip!
Get on my track's, take a back seat…
Newt couldn't disagree. Mr. Fell had to be a little crazy to associate with a person like Mr. Caudery, though that wasn't what Anathema was referring to.
"Did you ever wonder," she said, "about how Mr. Fell acquired all his knowledge?"
"Yes, I have. He must have spent his entire childhood alone," Newt said.
"Yes."
If Mr. Fell had ever had a childhood, both Newt and Anathema thought at the same time. Mr. Aloysius Fell seemed the type of man who had skipped that time of adolescence and gone straight from infant to adult. Assuming he had once been a baby, of course, and Newt was in a little doubt. 7
"I think he's immortal," Anathema confessed over the platter of sandwiches.
Newt didn't feel as surprised at this statement as he thought he would. Anathema's wild theory sounded to him almost completely reasonable.
Crazy little thing called love…
"Huh," Newt said in what he hoped was an intelligent sounding grunt. He had a sudden desire to appear smart to the girl sitting across the table from him. Possibly this had to do with the fact that her father could be watching him at any moment.
"How did you arrive at this fascinating conclusion?"
Anathema almost laughed while drinking her tea. She spilled some.
Newt tried again, but speaking normally.
"Er- so, why do you think Mr. Fell isn't human?"
"I didn't say that," Anathema delicately put down her teacup, "but now that you mention it…" She grinned mysteriously, her eyes twinkling again. "I could tell you what I think."
Newt made sure he wasn't going to put his elbow in something and leaned gently towards her over the table. "Please do," he said, without realizing he was using the same phrase Caudery had.
This thing called love I just can't handle it
This thing called love I must get round to it
I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called love…
Anathema's grin spread from one side of her face to the other. She glanced down the table. Her parents were entirely engrossed in talking to Madame Tracy, oblivious to everything else. A UFO might have landed on the sitting room carpet and they wouldn't have seen it.
Anathema laced her fingers together. Newt looked eager to listen, forgetting his nerves for a moment.
"Well," Anathema began, "It all started last year…"
Although A. Z. Fell was out of shape and perhaps a stone heaver than he should be, he still knew how to take someone down, even when that person was taller and possibly stronger than himself.
Fell had no sword, club or rifle in his possession, but what he did have was books.
Old books. Old thick books. Heavy books with leather covers, books you could use to prop a door open. Books you could knock someone out with.
It was a book entitled Exorcising Demons and Evil Spirits for Beginners which had met with Caudery's skull. It wasn't the biggest of volumes in Fell's shop by any means. It had simply been the handiest.
When Caudery finally regained consciousness, he found himself sitting upright in a chair. It was Fell's desk chair. This was a rather Victorian one, with carved angels and gold accents.
Caudery shook his head, trying to recall what had happened. He remembered being hit with something and then blackness. On trying to move, he discovered he was tied to the chair he was in, firmly with rope at the wrists, ankles and two cords across his chest. Caudery blinked in the pale early light. He'd been unconscious long enough for the dawn to arrive. The chair he was attached to had been pulled into the very center of the bookshop, directly under the round skylight. With all the pillars that supported the roof surrounding him, it was like being in a coliseum. 8
Caudery was seated in a circle of light from the skylight above, the rest of the shop was cast in darkness, all the shades drawn down over the windows.
Everything was still. Unnaturally quiet. Caudery worked on letting his eyes adjust.
A voice quite suddenly broke the silence.
"So you know what I am."
The voice was Fell's, but it was a cold, ridged tone Caudery was unfamiliar with.
"Fell, what?" Caudery squinted into the dark areas around him.
Fell emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light in front of Caudery. Caudery was very grateful that his sunglasses had remained perched on his nose as his eyes widened. Fell held a book clutched in his hands, raised like a sort of shield. It was upside down, but Caudery could read upside down. He caught the word 'demons' easily enough before he focused on Fell's face. His eyes were narrowed, his face a mixture of very strong emotions.
For a moment Caudery was scared.
"You know," Fell said again.
"I know…?"
"You know what I am."
Caudery realized Fell wanted an answer. "I know you are of celestial origin, if that's what you mean," Caudery said, being extra careful not to hiss.
"So I am," Fell said, the book still held out in front of him.
Caudery wondered if he meant to hit him with the book or just exorcise him. He hadn't seen what the object was that had knocked him down, but a book seemed the likest of all weapons. Books could be very dangerous if wielded by the wrong hands. The back of Caudery's scalp testified to this.
Caudery clenched his hands nervously on the chair arms.
Why was Fell holding back?
He waited.
Fell spoke again.
"I am an angel, and as one, I know what you want."
Caudery couldn't resist raising an eyebrow. This was a new way of exorcising a demon. Caudery was going to milk it for all he could.
"Oh? And what might that be, angel?"
Fell turned deep scarlet when Caudery called him "angel."
Caudery swallowed. This wasn't looking like it would end well.
"Wings," the angel finally spat with fury in his eyes.
"Wings…?" Caudery repeated in confusion.
"You're after my wings," Fell said.
"Wings?!"
Fell went on. "They always want them. The occultists, rabid spiritualists, those false religious cults. All after power and immortality, thinking trapping an angel will help them achieve their goal. Each and every one of them are stupid and foolish, but the worst of them all, the very worst-" Fell's face reddened even more "are the wing hunters."
Caudery stared at him.
What Fell had just said was by far one of the most absurd things his ears had ever heard. Wing hunters? He'd heard of head hunters certainly, but wings…
"You think I'm after your wings." Caudery had to work hard to keep his voice level and his face emotionless.
"What else?" Fell said.
Caudery shifted in the chair, testing the ropes. He was very tightly bound. The ropes felt like they burned his skin when he moved. Angelic rope, then.9 Caudery decided to play along with Fell. If he was going to die, he had nothing to lose.
"Since I am literally a captive audience," he said slowly, "may I ask with whom I am speaking?"
Fell drew himself more upright. "The Principality Aziraphale; guardian Cherub of the Eastern Gate."
"I see," Caudery said smoothly. "And you think I want your wings."
The angel nodded slowly. "As a Principality, I have particularly exquisite wings." He said this with a touch of pride.
Caudery tried to move again. The bindings cut into his wrists and ankles. "Alright," he said. "If you really are a Principality, then show me. Show me your wings."
"Very well," Fell replied. He brought the book close to his chest and bowed his head.
There was the sound of the back of his coat tearing, then two pairs of full wings spread over him and another pair unfurled below, brushing the floor. The wings were large and well-groomed, the feathers a dazzling white, as of pure snow, almost too bright to gaze upon. Eyes rimmed each wing, from top to bottom, silvery celestial eyes. The wingspan reached beyond the edges of the circle of light and was, by any standards, grand. To complete the image, a silver-gold halo appeared above Fell's curly head, also surrounded by eyes.10
Caudery was impressed. He hadn't meant to be, but he was. It had been a while since he'd seen wings like these and he had to admit, they were rather exquisite. At any rate, they were far more impressive than his own wings. But he didn't say so. Fell was in a murderous state and Caudery kind of wished to get out of the shop alive. So he didn't let his face show anything, neither fear or admiration.
"Yeah?" Caudery said casually. "What about them?"
Fell, who had stepped closer to Caudery, again holding up the book, hesitated.
"They're nice wings, but not good to me," Caudery continued, truthfully. Though not up to the same standard, he already had wings of his own. He didn't need anyone else's.
The book Fell was gripping was less than three feet from Caudery's face. Fell's expression was still angry, but less decided.
"So… you're not here for my wings?" Fell inquired.
Caudery slouched in the chair, despite being extremely uncomfortable. "Why would I want your wings?"
Fell was slowly losing some of his fierceness. "I… really don't know."
"Would I spend months in your company working on a book if I was really after your wings?"
"Well…"
Fell was starting to look bewildered. Caudery had to hold back a smirk. A bewildered angel with six wings and a halo was a very funny sight to behold.
"Now that we've got that out of the way, would you mind untying me?" Caudery indicated the ropes holding him. "This isn't the most comfortable position."
"Oh, um…" Fell stammered. He turned color again, but from embarrassment, not anger. He fumbled with the book, stuck it under his arm and undid Caudery's bindings. The ropes fell away with a touch.
Caudery got to his feet, rubbing his wrists. Fell took a step back, perhaps worried about Caudery's reaction. But Caudery didn't seem to be upset at all.
"Was the chair really necessary?" Caudery gestured. "I mean, you could have just asked me!" His voice faltered and he ended up laughing.
"You're not upset with me?" Fell asked softly.
"With you? No. Just your methods."
"So you're not a wing hunter."
"Hell, no. I think we've established that by now, Aziraphale." Caudery was grinning, that sharp-toothed grin of his. He wasn't angry.
"Er, just Fell, please, if you don't mind," the angel muttered.
Caudery grinned. "You can put those wings away now."
Fell smiled awkwardly. The wings folded and disappeared, along with the halo.
"You can relax," Caudery assured him.
The angel looked wretched, the book in his arms still upside down.
Caudery reached over and took the book from him and put it back on the appropriate shelf.
"Come on, just to prove I'm not upset with you, I'll take you to the Ritz. My treat."
Fell was fiddling with his fingers. "Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm not angry or the Ritz?"
"Both."
"Completely sure, Fell."
Caudery gave him a genuine smile. The angel smiled back faintly.
"Come on, get your hat," Caudery insisted. "I'll even drive slowly."
Fell plucked his hat from the hat stand, fixing the split in his jacket at the same time. Caudery held the shop door open for him, locking it after him. Newt Pulsifer was just walking up the sidewalk to the shop. Fell spotted him.
"Be back at eleven, Newt!" Fell called to his assistant. "Take care of everything."
Newt was too startled to reply and just stood there on the pavement, staring.
Caudery was as good as his word: he drove normally all the way to the Ritz.
Hastur was at his desk, tapping a long dirty finger on a stack of parchment. He was not happy. Not that Hastur was ever happy. His kind never were. Happiness is not part of a demon's job description. He was also not satisfied.
The parchment he was glaring at was an annotated report on Caudery- aka Crowley- mainly his behavior over the last several months. There were portions of the reports Hastur wasn't pleased with.11
Caudery was up to something. Hastur didn't like it when someone had an ace up their sleeve without his knowledge of it. Hastur knew Caudery. He knew he wasn't going to do Hell any favours. Caudery always needed that extra persuasion.
Hastur watched some black slimy ooze drip from the cracked ceiling to the floor. He didn't bother doing anything about the spill. Something was always leaking down here. The Devil didn't care. All he cared about was the conquest of souls and the three T's: Trouble, Torment and Tribulation. His main goal was to corrupt the Earth and its population as much as possible. Hastur's goal was to spread as much trouble and torment as he personally could. That extended to his fellow demons as well as well as human beings.
Hastur took the stack of parchment and shoved it to the floor. The sheets landed with a splat in the dark, murky water and burst into flame.
It was time to pay a call.
On Mr. Anthony J. Caudery.
Caudery wouldn't be expecting him and Hastur was going to give him an unexpected and unpleasant surprise.
Caudery was whistling again. The Ritz had been a success. He'd managed to cheer up Fell, who had continued to ask if he was upset on the ride to the Ritz, during the meal and on the way back to the bookshop. Caudery had finally had to tell him to shut up, though he did so nicely.
After the initial jolt of fear, Caudery had found the situation to be extremely humorous. He couldn't help laughing even now. That Fell had thought he was a wing hunter, of all things. It was just so funny. And poor Fell's distress had made it all the more funny and as much as Caudery had reassured him, the angel had worried.
"It won't look so bad tomorrow," Caudery said. "Eat your dessert and forget about it, okay?"
"Okay."
Fell polished off the cake and his tea. Caudery had dropped him off at the bookshop in a better place. He might continue to fret, but Caudery at least was confident that Fell wouldn't spend the night calling himself foul names.12
Newt was humming. He was feeling rather good and he wasn't thinking about books, or his job. He was thinking about Anathema Device.
Tea had gone better than he had anticipated. Anathema's parents must have liked him because he'd been invited back to tea again. Newt had saved up enough courage by the end of the evening to finally ask Anathema out to lunch. She had surprised him by saying yes. Perhaps she liked him? Newt couldn't imagine why. Her smile certainly hadn't been his imagination, nor the firm shake of the hand Mr. Device had given him.
"Hope to see you again, Newt," Mr. Device had said. And he had meant it.
Mrs. Device had wrapped up a basket of scones and cakes and insisted he take them.
Newt hadn't minded Madame Tracy fluttering about and telling him how handsome he looked in his bow tie and plaid shirt. After listening to her talk for an hour, Newt had discovered she wasn't quite as strange as he had thought. She really didn't seem like a medium, with her long eyelashes and flowing robes. Newt decided that it must all be for show. She would either attract spirits or scare them away. But he liked her all the same, even though he knew Shadwell would disapprove. Shadwell disapproved of pretty much everything, so Newt didn't think much on it. He just thought of Anathema.
Newt wasn't paying the amount of attention to the books in Fell's shop as he should, and as a result, shelved two volumes of history in the music section and put a book on philosophy in with the religion books.13
Fell sighed and quietly put the books in their correct places.
He wasn't about to reprimand Newt for being in love. After all, the boy was only human. It wasn't his fault that he had fallen for the girl next door. Anathema seemed to be very nice, but Fell wasn't going to base an opinion just on appearances. Some of the most villainous of people in history had been of the kind and friendly nature until one of them had poisoned her husband and another had run her man through with a sword. Nice girls weren't always nice girls. 14
As his employer, Fell felt a certain amount of responsibility for Newt, a need to look after him and prevent him from making harmful mistakes.
Fell hadn't the least idea what it was like to be a father, as his inclinations had never run down that avenue, yet he did feel a sort of paternal regard for the young man. Perhaps it was Fell's angelic nature shining through or a vague notion that Newt slightly resembled what the angel would have been like in his youth, had he been human.
When Anathema came into the bookshop next, Fell watched her closely from around the poetry bookcase. She didn't give off any negative vibrations. Her attire was a little odd, perhaps a little too artistic for Fell's taste, but nothing bad.
Anathema went up to Newt and asked if she was on time. Newt, after blushing various shades of pink, said she was and complemented her on her earrings. They were big, with fringe. Anathema smiled and Newt was lost for words.
Fell watched them leave, keeping his station behind the bookcase. He didn't notice the person behind him until they reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.
Fell jumped and turned to find Caudery grinning at him.
"What are you hiding from, Fell?" Caudery asked.
"H-hiding?" Fell stammered, "Why would I be hiding in my own shop?"
"Still afraid I'll steal your wings?"
"No, of course not!" Fell's face turned a shade of strawberry ice cream.
"Oh?" Caudery cocked his head to the side. "Was it spying on your assistant, eh?"
"Er, no, why would I do that?" Fell sputtered.
"Search me," Caudery said.
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," Fell said, straightening his bow tie and trying to look as dignified as possible.15
"It was just a figure of speech," Caudery said flatly.
"Oh." Embarrassment began to creep over Fell.
Caudery dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "It's a nice day, so let's forget about the book and go for a walk. We can drive to the park."
"Um, I'd rather walk," Fell admitted, his stomach threatening to do a flip at the mention of the car.
Caudery grinned, not seeming to care one way or the other.
"Suit yourself."
1 The angel's idea of comedy veered towards the Shakespearean variety. He wasn't so quick on any other sort, be it modern or of the subtle British humor variety.
2 Fell was terrible at remembering things he should remember and forgetting things he shouldn't worry about.
3 As a demon, Caudery had found himself on the wrong side of more than a few avenging angels. And angels at war with the adversary, and angels on missions of destruction were anything but peaceful and harmoniousness. They could be dreadfully frightful creatures to behold. And a demon knew this better than most.
4 Which so far, he had not succeeded to do.
5 Unlike Sergeant Shadwell, Mr. Device had actually been in the military.
6 Madame Tracy's real talent was her voice. According to Anathema, she could talk the fleas right off a dog.
7 He was correct, as angels had never been babies. They had been created just as they were, though some had once been thinner and less in love with food and books than they were at present.
8 Caudery had been in the coliseum in Rome back in its heyday and it had not been a pleasant experience for him. He had been the entertainment, along with some lions. It was a very unpleasant experience.
9 As such, Caudery could only free himself from them by discorporating himself. Painfully. Letting Fell exorcise him would be quicker and less traumatic.
10 Eyes that had no visible pupil or iris, just a pure silver-white. However, these eyes could see as any other eyes and saw things mortal eyes normally could not, including auras.
1 1Well, make that the whole report. He was never pleased with Caudery's reports. They were too elegant for him. A demon's report shouldn't sound like an angel wrote it.
12 Though he might spend the twilight hours pacing the worn rug as he worried, just without any dirty language involved.
13 A perfectly natural mistake for a young man who can only think of the girl he's just fallen in love with. Most people wouldn't have noticed the misplaced books in a shop like Fell's. Except for Fell.
14 Unless you're using the other meaning of the word nice, the often forgotten meaning. "Foolish, ignorant and dissolute" are just a few of the words which nice can mean, and not one of them is very nice at all.
15 Taking Caudery quite literally at his words, as he often did. Fell always took expressions to mean what they said. Even when they were meant to mean nothing at all.
Notes:
-All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.
-Credit for I Saw Her Standing There belongs to the Beatles and Paul McCartney and John Lennon.
-Credit for Crazy Little Thing Called Love belongs to Queen and Freddy Mercury.
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