Chapter One

Of an Angel and a Demon

"Do two walk together unless they have agreed to do so?"

Amos 3:3

For the last two hundred years, there has been a certain bookshop located at the corner of a crossroads in London Soho.1 Most people hardly see the shop and merely pass it on by during the daily commute of their busy mortal lives. To those who did happen to notice the bookshop, they noticed two things.

Firstly, that the books housed in the shop were all old and very rare, often first or second editions with boring brown covers and no illustrations.

Secondly, that the owner was a rather odd sort of person. He dressed in the attire of something more fitting to a man of the past century, and always seemed to be irritated when a potential customer wished to make a purchase. Mr. Fell also gave the impression of being more interested in collecting books than in selling them.

This was quite true.

It was assumed that the family of Fell was an eccentric one and that the bookshop had been passed down from father to son until the present day.

This assumption is incorrect.

The antiquarian and second-hand bookshop of A. Z. Fell and Company had only had one owner since the day it opened its doors in 1800 and that owner was Mr. A. Z. Fell himself. Mr. Fell was indeed eccentric, but one shouldn't hold this against him. Mr. Fell wasn't actually human after all.

He was an angel.2

His real celestial name was Aziraphale, but for living on Earth among humans he had adopted his more subtle pseudonym. So, for the sake of honoring his wish of keeping a low profile, we will continue to refer to Aziraphale as Mr. A. Z. Fell until further notice.

Mr. Fell wasn't tall or short, more of an average height and of a pale complexion. His hair, which was a shade of light blond, made him look even more pale than he was. He was also slightly stout about the middle and his interesting choice in clothing often enhanced this.

On the summer evening our story begins, Mr. Fell was strolling along through St. James Park, blissfully pleased with himself. Under his arm he carried a leather bag. The bag was filled with books, in this case books of prophesy.

Fell exceedingly loved books of a prophetic nature, and a good portion of his shop was dedicated to them. Of course, very few of these books had any truth to their pages. That was rare unless God was involved. Even when He was, there was no instant guarantee the project would be taken seriously by anyone. Rarely did this happen. More often than not, they were thought to simply be witty writing.

Fell enjoyed the books regardless of their truthfulness or accuracy. The reason he was so pleased with the bunch he was carrying is because one of these books happened to be the one and only completely accurate book of prophecy in all human history. Mr. Fell knew a thing or two about history as he'd been on Earth since the Start. As such, he knew The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter was as unique as a book of its kind could be. He also knew there was only one copy in existence and it was under his arm in the bag.

What he didn't know, (or even suspect, as he could be somewhat naive, particularly for an angel), was the fact that the owner of this book had no intention of selling it. Another thing he did not know was at this moment he was being tailed by a couple of unsavory-looking characters. Mr. Fell had every intention of keeping the book. He had not meant to steal it, but his actions could be viewed as such, especially if a court case were to be made out of it. The book owner was intending to get the law involved, and was fully expecting to win the case. With Fell viewed as the felon, there was every reason to think the other side would win. Fell was terrible at defending himself.

Mr. Fell reached a place in the park where there where no other people around, just the ducks on the river. The men following him took advantage of the opportunity and made their appearance on the scene.

"Mr. Fell."

The angel stopped and turned.

"Yes?" he looked at the speaker quite innocently. Technically, he was innocent until proven otherwise.3

The man who had spoken to him was taller and tougher than Fell. This was an essential feature for when a person was meaning to use force on an uncooperative bookshop owner. And both men secretly hoped they would need to use force. Their job had been rather boring of late.

"Was there something you wanted?" Mr. Fell asked.

The man opposite him, a Mr. Houston by name, smiled. It was a smile which made Fell a little worried. And worried he should be.

"Yes, Mr. Fell. I believe you have something which doesn't belong to you."

Mr. Fell was confused and tried not to show it. "Oh? I do think you've made a mistake, my dear chap. Everything I have with me is my own property."

"Even the Nice and Accurate Prophesies, Mr. Fell?"

Here the angel faltered.

"Nonsense!" he protested. "I paid for the book fair and square."

"I think you might find yourself paying for it in more than one way," Mr. Houston said in a darkly entertained voice.

Mr. Fell stepped back and found his path blocked. The other man had crept up behind him during the conversation.

"Oh dear," Fell mumbled. He didn't need to be held up by a pair of thugs right now. And thugs who were threatening him with bodily harm.

"Really, there's no need to be violent-"

Fell's words were cut off by a blow to his midsection. His hat flew off. Fell went down and the bag of books rolled from his grasp. Fell was dragged back to his feet. His head spun.

"Couldn't we just talk this whole thing over civilly?" Mr. Fell squeaked out while looking from one face to another. They both seemed to belong to the first attacker, Mr. Houston, but as everything was spinning, he couldn't be sure.

The reply was for him to be hit again.

Mr. Fell sank to his knees. "Bother," he said.

He was not a fighter. He had been in shape once, but over ten thousand years of enjoying earth's pleasures had taken a toll on his body, specifically on his gut. If he hadn't already exceeded his quota of miracles for the month, he could have smited the thugs on the spot. As it was, Fell was as helpless as any other human, though perhaps a little more so. He wasn't used to acting by his wits. In another minute he would be without wits altogether. He had enough awareness left to briefly think about how the situation really felt like something out of an American gangster film. He shouldn't let a few books get him killed, or rather inconveniently discorporated.4

"Alright! Alright! Take them!" Fell gasped, still on his knees.

Mr. Houston was all ready to finish him off, but paused.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"

This was a deep, smooth voice. It was a new voice, and not coming from one of the two hoodlums.

Mr. Fell looked up. All he could see of the new person was a vague, black outline.

"This is none of your concern, young man," said Houston from somewhere above Fell. His gruff tone might have struck fear into almost anyone, but not the newcomer.

"I rather think it is, since this is a public place and I am one of the public," said the smooth voice.

"Is that so?" questioned the other man, who was named Hemmings.

"I'd move along quickly if I were you," the newcomer replied.

Something then happened, something which Fell would have seen if he hadn't had his eyes shut while trying to catch his breath. A whoosh, like a flame being lit reached his ears. The attackers moved away from him and quickly left the scene without another word. Puzzled and blinking, Fell stared after them.

If his gaze hadn't been directed downwards a moment prior, he would have known why they had gone.

While smiling in a most unpleasant way at the hoodlums, the newcomer had held up his right hand, which, as if on command, had burst into a bright orange flame. Houston and Hemmings were wise enough to not tangle with things they couldn't explain. A freak phenomenon, supernatural, or otherwise, they decided to let the little bookshop owner alone and plead insanity to their boss. Whatever consequences might be in store for them were far better than being burned by a flaming hand.

The hand in question returned to normal before reaching down to help Mr. Fell up.

"Goodness," said Fell, getting gingerly to his feet.

"All in one piece?" the new voice asked him.

"Yes, I think so, just a bit winded."

Fell brushed grass off his jumper and camel-hair coat. Then he turned and got a good look at his rescuer.

He was a tall man of a slim build with tan skin and dark hair, possibly black, under a cockeyed fedora. He was wearing a nice suit and tie of the same shade as his hair that didn't match the deep blood-red of his shirt. A chain necklace that disappeared under his vest completed the look. Fell couldn't see the man's eyes because the man was wearing dark sunglasses, even though the sun was hidden behind the afternoon clouds. The face was broken by a thin smile.

"I really should thank you-" Fell began.

"Don't bother," the man said, shaking his head quickly.

"It was very kind-" Fell tried again.

"Don't mention it," the man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Really, don't. I was just passing through on a job."

"Oh."

Fell picked up his hat from the path, now rather sadly crushed. He sighed and glanced over at the ducks swimming by. They seemed to be watching with interest, probably hoping to be fed, as ducks usually are. The ducks in St. James Park can be quite the demanding sort. He should be getting back to his shop-

"Oh, the books!" Fell cried. "I forgot all about the books. Oh dear. They probably took all of them."

"Hold the thought," the man held up a finger. He bent near the hedge and pulled Fell's leather bag from under the branches. He held the bag out to Fell. "Is this what you're after?"

Fell stared at the bag, feeling suddenly quite speechless. He just stood there, one hand on his coat, hat in the other, mouth open. "Oh, my," Fell incoherently mumbled as he took the bag.

"Could I offer you a lift anywhere?" the man asked, gesturing across the park. Fell could just make out a large black car parked there.

"I- I think I'll be alright now," Fell managed to say, gripping the bag like it might vanish into thin air at any moment.

The man nodded. "Keep away from rogue booksellers, Mr. Fell. You'll come out alright. Ciao."

The man tipped his hat and sauntered off down the path.

The angel stood still for a moment, staring at the ducks who stared right back at him, noisily questioning if he had any bread. Fell didn't see them. He wondered how the stranger had known his name. He was of course forgetting that it was stamped on the front of the bag directly under the handle. Considering what he had just gone through, his bewilderment wasn't exactly surprising.

Mr. Fell collected himself and continued walking. The ducks quacked angrily at him. Fell turned around once at the sound of a screech of tyres on the pavement. A large vintage black car was zooming past the park at an extraordinary speed. The driver wearing dark glasses didn't take his gaze from the road.

Somewhere in the back of Fell's mind he was vaguely sure the wheels of the car had been industriously clamped minutes before.

Anthony J. Caudery was the man of the sunglasses driving the vintage car. It was a Bentley, 1934 sports saloon model, in black and pewter gray; purchased brand new and was still in perfect working condition. It had to be, as its owner wouldn't have let it be anything else. Caudery was driving the Bentley much faster than he should have been, but he wasn't aware of it. He always drove fast. The speedometer was registering at a hundred and five miles per hour and this wasn't the highest of speeds it had gone in ninety years. It had once hit two-hundred and nine.

Caudery stuffed a CD into the cars stereo deck5. The case tossed on the passenger seat labeled the disc as Tchaikovsky, but oddly enough the music itself as it began to play featured heavy bass and vocals by Freddy Mercury. As every disc or tape left in the car would turn eventually into The Best of Queen after two weeks, this wasn't bothering Caudery in the slightest.6

It was the bungling man with the books that was bothering him. He had seemed familiar, though Caudery wasn't sure how. He thought he recognized the curly whitish-blond hair, something about his face maybe, or that sizable tartan bow-tie. Perhaps they had met at some point in the distant past.

This was entirely possible, as Caudery had been on Earth for the same amount of time as Fell. Caudery's real name was Crowley, and though he was also of immortal stock, he wasn't an angel.

He was a demon.7

Is this the real life, is this just fantasy
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…

Caudery's thoughts slid from Fell as he began to ponder the more pressing question of where he could get another Spathiphyllum, or peace lily. His previous one had met with a rather untimely end.

Perhaps the peace lily wasn't really so important, but he didn't want to dwell on Fell. Rescuing people wasn't supposed to be his line. He could get in very big trouble for doing that sort of thing, and he had in the past. He needed to either stop being kind or continue elaborately disguising his reports to Down Below.

Because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me…

If the demon had been aware that he had just rescued an angel, and could even imagine the consequences of it, the rest of his day would have turned very dark indeed. Darker than the blackest heart of Hell.

But, luckily for Caudery, he didn't and spent the twilight hours happily speeding his way through London and listening to The Best of Queen.

Besides his intense love of books, Mr. A. Z. Fell greatly enjoyed good food. He'd also grown rather fond of the planet Earth and its mortal inhabitants.

Humans had been made by a creative God, and as such, had a tendency to be creative themselves. Sometimes this flair had rather ugly results including the guillotine, Atom bombs and nuclear warfare. Born into a once perfect world corrupted by evil and darkness, humans seemed capable of more horrors than Mr. Fell's angelic mind could have ever imagined possible.

However, in the midst of of all this, beauty and light could still be found. Even if it had slid downwards, the world was a place of endless amazement. The sun rose new each morning, the moon and stars illuminated the night. Birds sang joyfully, the seasons changed, flowers bloomed to brighten spring gardens.

It was really all rather lovely, according to Mr. Fell. Especially the people. Those clever and smart people who invented electricity, built cities, painted masterpieces and composed music. And had created so many culinary delights that Fell had yet to try even a third of them all, or even to explore all of the restaurants and cafes in London. Even after ten thousand years, he had quite a ways to go in that direction.

A bit of a worldly view had gotten its hold on Fell and his angelic peers were well aware of it.

Perhaps they were uninformed as to just how much influence the centuries had had over Aziraphale, (his real name, remember), but they knew he valued his Mozart, fine wines and sushi a mite more than an angelic being should.

The archangels had been keeping an eye on him for some time, and though not exactly worried, they were not easy. A meeting had been called between Gabriel and his associates to discus the performance, or conduct of Aziraphale.8

"Perhaps a change of assignment is required?" suggested the archangel Michael. His words were met with Gabriel shaking his head.

Gabriel was in charge of the meeting and as he was a Messenger, and of high standing in Heaven, had a commanding presence. Sometimes he was referred to as domineering, which he very often was. His position had somewhat gone to his head. He thought of himself as something close to perfection. He was also wearing a perfect suit, of a silver lavender hue, literally made just for him. He liked nice suits.

"Aziraphale is a Principality," he said, "in fact, the only Principality with an assignment to Earth. Having been there since the Beginning, he's the only Cherub who is properly equipped for the job. It would be a trifle unfair to put another in his place, too unjust to the replacement."

"That could very well be the problem. Maybe he's been down there too long," Seviline, another archangel said.

"Hmm, yes, it could be," Gabriel mused.

"What does the Almighty say about him?" Michael put this to Gabriel.

Gabriel clasped his hands behind him.

"The Almighty has assured me everything is going according to plan."

Gabriel tried to sound absolutely in control as he said this, but even his angelic peers were not fooled by his routine smile.

"The usual answer," Seviline said simply. She always said things just as they were. It was her nature.

"Mmm, yes," Gabriel admitted. "However, I did receive permission to investigate into the matter of Aziraphale, if desired."

The other angels smiled. This sort of task was more their department than Gabriel's.

"Of course." Seviline continued to smile.

"Will you be accompanying us, sir?" Michael asked.

"No, I have a message to deliver in the American region. Somewhere out west. Wouldn't be back in time. I'll leave it up to you and Seviline. Keep me informed."

The two archangels nodded.

"Good."

Gabriel gave them his angelic smile and went off on his job, fully trusting the task of Aziraphale to the capable hands of Michael and Seviline. The pair gathered what information they had and headed off to England.

Mr. Fell was busy indulging his gastronomic inclinations at his favorite cafe. It was a very small establishment which he frequented on a regular basis, within very easy walking distance from his bookshop. At this moment, he was enjoying crepes with fresh cream and fruit and a cup of tea. The crepes were not the same as those you could get in Paris, but very like in his opinion.

He had a novel with him.

Fell usually didn't go in for crime novels, or much of the fictitious sort, especially nothing in regards to death, blood and killing. This was something new he was trying. If he liked it, he might try more.

Secretly, he was attempting to to forget about the skirmish at St. James Park of the previous evening. He'd been so flustered that he had gone straight back to his shop and locked the bag and the books in his old safe. There they had stayed, for he really didn't have the energy to look them over.

So now he was eating crepes and drinking tea on a rainy London afternoon.

Fell took out a pair of reading glasses, (which he didn't really need, but they made him feel scholarly), and turned to the novel's title page.

Fell had only gotten as far as the first paragraph of chapter one when he suddenly sensed he was no longer alone. It was a sort of sixth sense he had as an angel.

Fell casually glanced over his glasses to the reflection in the windowpane beside him. Two figures had joined him at his table. Fell decided to be calm and inviting, even though he wasn't in the mood for such company.

He put on a smile and looked up from the book.

"Why, Michael, Seviline! What a nice surprise."

The two other angels did not return his smile.

Michael wore a formidable frown. "Aziraphale," he said.

Fell's smile faltered slightly. This didn't have the feeling of a friendly visit to it. He took off his glasses. "To- to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" he asked.

Michael crossed his arms over his pale gold suit. "We have heard some interesting news about you, Aziraphale. Slightly…. disturbing news."

Fell looked from one discontented face to the other. "News?"

"Possibly just hearsay," Seviline said in a most unconvincing way. Her eyes alighted on the book. "…or possibly not."

She reached over with an elegant hand and plucked Fell's book off the table. Fell made a slight move to snatch it and failed. Seviline began to read the dust jacket.9

"My, my," she said.

Fell's cheeks warmed.

Seviline passed the book to Michael.

Fell's coloring deepened from pinkish to crimson.

"I see it isn't merely rumors," Seviline said. "You've become overly fond of Earth, Aziraphale."

"Um, well…"

"I'd say you are putting it mildly, Seviline," Michael said pointedly, slapping the book down on the table, rattling the teacup and saucer.

Fell flinched.

"You might be in danger of Falling," Michael stated.

"That's a bit harsh," Fell protested. "As I am to be living here among humans, I can see nothing wrong with enjoying myself a little. I am still doing my job," he retorted quickly. "Just keeping up appearances, you know."

"I see," said Seviline coldly.

There was a squeak of a chair leg against the floor tiles as someone sat down at the table behind Fell.

Fell was feeling troubled, but was also practicing giving his stern look to the angels opposite him.

"Was there anything else?" he asked pettishly.

They did not reply. Instead, a voice he had heard only the day before said, "Hello again, Mr. Fell."

Fell turned around in his chair. Sitting at the next table was the dark-haired young man in sunglasses who had rescued him from the thugs. He was still wearing the same pair of sunglasses. And the same suit with the chain necklace.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said pleasantly with a grin showing off teeth.

"Ah, yes. Indeed," Fell said. He darted a glance at Michael and Seviline. They were regarding the intruder with suspicion.

"And who might you be?" Seviline's voice was cold.

The man raised an eyebrow, but replied calmly, "Caudery. Anthony J. Caudery."

"And your association with Azira-" Michael began and Fell quickly cut him off.

"Books, Michael. Books. He helps me with my books."

Fell shot a desperate look at Caudery, who took the hint.

"As a matter of fact," Caudery said, leaning back in his chair, "Fell was thinking of writing a book of his own. He asked for my collaboration."

He had an arm draped carelessly over the back of his chair as he gave the angels a smile. Fell decided he liked him right then and there. If nothing else, than for standing up to Michael and Seviline. Anyone who could do that with style got top marks.

The two archangels gave Caudery what Fell could only classify as a withering glance of Almighty Mistrust. The man was not to be intimated easily. He continued to smile devilishly.

"Alright," Michael said finally. "We will speak to you again at a later date, Fell."

Mr. Fell nodded, trying to look very meek and humble and not smug. He felt rather like an animal who had just escaped from a locked cage.

"Of course," he replied sweetly. "Do stop in again sometime soon."

He hoped the sarcasm in his words would be missed. Seviline at least was too busy watching Caudery to notice.

"Good," she said as she and Michael stood.

Caudery tipped his hat slightly in their direction. The gesture was not returned.

Fell let himself breath a sigh of relief when the door of the cafe closed on the archangels.

Caudery took off his hat and tossed it down on the table. "If you don't mind my saying so, not a very pleasant set of visitors."

Fell made sure the other angels had vanished from view before he replied. "Yes. They can be." He picked up his tea.

"Do they always treat you that way?"

Fell paused to think. "Only on occasion. They have a lot on their minds. It… it's their job."

Caudery shook his head. "Sometimes I think working for someone else for a living isn't all it's cracked up to be. There's always someone who isn't satisfied."

He turned away to give attention to the waitress. Fell worked a bit more on his now cold crepes.

"Well," he said, when Caudery was finished, "I suppose that now I need to start writing a book."

Caudery chuckled. "S-s-sorry about that, Mr. Fell. Just came to me."

Fell heard a slight lisp in his voice, where the s sound almost turned into a hiss.

"No harm done," Fell said. "Actually, it was an idea, a- uh, well, a notion I had thought of once, the idea of becoming a writer."

"Really?" Caudery partly smiled. "How fascinating. If you're willing to tell me about it, I would be willing to hear more about it, Mr. Fell."

"Oh, well, thank you, Mr…" Fell trailed off as he embarrassingly realized he had forgotten his name.

"Caudery. Anthony J. Caudery," said Caudery, extending a hand cordially towards Fell.

Fell shook it. "Aloysius Fell. Please join me."

Caudery picked up his tea and hat and took up the invitation, occupying the chair across from Fell.

"This certainly isn't how I pictured the week unfolding," Caudery remarked. "And not how I imagined making a new acquaintance."

"Neither had I," Fell admitted with a comical smile.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was curiously feeling very comfortable around Caudery. Caudery was sincere. Fell had an instinctive gift for knowing when people were trustworthy. 10

"How did the books fare?" asked Caudery.

"I don't know, to be honest," the bookshop angel said, finishing his last strawberry. "I was trying to forget yesterday."

"Entirely understandable," Caudery said kindly, sipping his tea. He must have noticed Fell's book on the table, as he picked it up. "Ah, Agatha Christie," he said.

"Yes," Fell replied, hoping his face wasn't red again.

"How'd you find it?"

"I haven't read anything of her work, actually."

"You'll like it. She's up there with the best at weaving a good murder. The final conclusion is always a surprise, I find."

"Really?" Fell brightened.

The book was set gently down, much to Fell's appreciation. Anyone who treated books with care was bound to be a little bit good.11

Caudery had a question. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Fell, just how did you manage to get yourself tangled up in that mess in the park?"

Fell couldn't help coloring this time. "I fear it's my love of books. Sometimes my… judgment isn't always what it should be. If I hadn't been so engrossed, I would have noticed something was off, that it felt wrong."

"A bad feeling in the air?" Caudery suggested.

"Er, yes."

Mr. Caudery nodded, while Fell briefly wondered why he still had those sunglasses on. Perhaps it was something the younger generation of humans did. To 'look cool' as Fell thought the phrase was. He did recall dark shades being popular in the 1970s, but he really wasn't up to date on the latest anything. When the angel managed to to get his mind anywhere near the twenty-first or twentieth centuries, he always gravitated towards the 1950s, particularly the fashions of that era.12

The young man at present sitting at the same table as him gave Fell the impression of caring about his appearance, if the pressed black suit and tie, neat red shirt and necklace were any indication. His dark hair was also smoothly slicked down, though loose around his face. The chain necklace, Fell supposed, must have some sort of significance, as he didn't think chains went well with suits.

Fell seemed to remember seeing the black and red combination before, sometime in the past. He was just not sure exactly where. An image of a snake kept coming to his mind. He didn't know why.

"What was that book idea of yours?" Caudery asked.

"Oh, it was silly," Fell said.

"I'd still like to hear it."

"Well…" Fell paused.

Caudery encouraged him with another smile.

Fell twirled his fork on the empty plate.

"It's about an angel and a demon."

There.

He had said it.

Here both Caudery's eyebrows went up. "Really?" he said. "That's novel. Hereditary enemies of course."

"Oh, yes, of course. I was thinking of them being ancient inhabitants of Earth from the Beginning."

"So… they've become more or less native?" Caudery suggested.

"In a way." Fell smiled.

The idea sounded less absurd out loud than he had thought it would. After all, it was sort of autobiographical. He, as an angel had been on Earth since the Start. And, as according to Michael and Seviline, gone native. He didn't believe there was a demon out there who'd been on Earth for as long as he had. He would have spotted it.13

Little did he know that Mr. Caudery's questions were not merely of a casual interest. Caudery didn't portray any unusual emotion, just easy conversation. If he hadn't been wearing the sunglasses, Fell would have seen Caudery's eyes flash. Not in anger, but in slight worry.

No one knew about him being a demon. He wasn't sure exactly who or what this Fell was, but he decided he should find out. The words celestial and ethereal kept surfacing in his mind. Fell was not a regular human being, no matter how he tried to be.

Caudery could spot another immortal being from miles off. Fell didn't seem like any he had encountered before. More Earth, less Heaven- or Hell- as it were.

Of the two others who had been at Fell's table when Caudery had entered the cafe, he had a very clear picture. He'd know those regal faces and perfectly-pressed suits anywhere. The silver wing pins on the lapels hadn't been needed. They had the word 'angel' written all over them, and quite possibly archangel at that. He remembered their kind. Unpleasant and superior to everyone else except for the few they deemed worthy to associate with. Where this Aloysius Fell came in was yet to be determined. And Anthony J. Caudery was determined to find out the answer.

Caudery composed himself. Fell wasn't going to discover what he was unless he let his guard down. Caudery ran a long forefinger under the chain necklace, slowly, in a sort of serpentine way.

"Fascinating," he said to Fell. "Your idea. Have you expanded on it or written anything?"

"Not a word," Fell said with a sigh. "Lacked the courage to."

"Why courage? All it takes is the act of putting a pen to paper or quill to parchment."

Fell's face seemed to take on a transformation. "Goodness, so you're right." He put his fork down, a look of decision settling over him. "I'll start today. Good. Well, I'll be damned."

He was smiling sort of curiously to himself.

Caudery couldn't help but feel the irony in the statement.

"It's not that bad, once you get used to it."

He was neither serious or joking, but grinning at Fell.

Fell's smile vanished instantly.

"I never joke about that sort of thing," he said, his voice having taken on a tone of arched politeness.

Caudery became serious. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to offend you."

"No, no, I'm sure you didn't," said Fell, who very clearly was offended. He was fumbling around for his reading glasses, which he had already put away in his pocket.

Caudery knew better than to overstay his welcome.

"Right. I'll be off," he said.

He adjusted his sunglasses and stood, picking up his hat. Fell caught his sleeve.

"Hold on. Let me- this is where you can reach me, though opening hours are often unpredictable."

Fell had out a scrap of paper and a pencil. He scribbled down an address and telephone number and handed it to Caudery.

Caudery put the hat down and studied the paper before tucked it away. He smiled again at Fell.

"Excellent. I'll be in touch."

He vacated the cafe, leaving Fell with his novel, wondering if he had just done the right thing.

1 Historical note: Crossroads were a typical spot for public hangings and witch burnings. Why the bookshop was built on such a place is currently unknown.

2 Not a financial backer of plays, or someone with angelic qualities, (though Fell has been both), but as in a real angel, a spiritual being created to serve God and minister among human beings.

3 Though true, this is not how any court works, either earthly or celestial. Fell had gotten himself in trouble before, and should remember this information, but his memory is often short.

4 Being a spirit meant Fell did not normally have a body. He had been assigned his current body or corporation for his work on Earth. As it was a human body, it was possible for him to lose it. Getting another corporation was no easy task and Fell dreaded the thought. Explaining just what had happened to his last body would be embarrassing to say the least. It would be awkward to admit he'd been terminated over some books.

5 A Bentley of this make was not manufactured with a CD player, tape deck or even a radio. A radio had miraculously appeared in Caudery's days after he bought it. A tape player had arrived in the late 1960s and was changed over to a duel compact disc and tape deck in the early 2000s. Caudery hadn't thought of adding speakers.

6 Whether or not this was a curse, an extension of demonic influence or simply of the Bentley's own creation is so far unknown.

7 The exact opposite of an angel, a demon is a spirit that was once an angel, but fell from heaven with Lucifer when he left his original position, deciding he wanted to be like God. A fallen angel or demon works to trouble humans, and thwart the plans of God.

Except for one demon.

8 Who was spending more time running around the city purchasing books than he was in preforming miracles. And the few miracles Aziraphale had done were not what any of the other angels would call spectacular. Why an angel should need to miracle up a season ticket to the Albert Music Hall was beyond any of them.

9 The title of this particular mystery had the word "murder" in it and the summary inside the cover flap mentioned not only death and murder, but also how the victim had been killed. Seviline and Michael were not amused.

10 Naive as he might be, Fell's intuition had always been correct. Seeing the future wasn't something he could do, but he could read people. He had known when kings had a tyrannical streak, when saints were really saints or villains in disguise. Even when a stranger was trustworthy. Without knowing exactly what that stranger was.

11 A nice thought, but sadly not always true. There have been many unpleasant people throughout history who loved books. But very few people who hated books were any good.

12 Fell had a strange and unexplained passion for pink and gray tartan. He expressed this by wearing a tartan bow tie and patterned jumper. He didn't understand why everyone else didn't wear tartan, too.

13 One of Fell's downfalls was his pride, especially when it came to demon-hunting. In his defense, the one demon he had missed, the demon who happened to be sitting at the very same table as himself, didn't give off the same fiendish ambiance as his fellow damned spirits, making him harder to decipher. Even Michael and Seviline hadn't sensed what Caudery was. And they were archangels.

Notes:

Credit for Bohemian Rhapsody belongs to Queen and Freddy Mercury.
All Scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.

watch?v=yk3prd8GER4