Chapter One
London Present day:
It was not a nice day. It had not been a nice day for some time. It had been very grey and stormy for almost half a year. The locals were becoming increasingly annoyed and could be heard telling one another that this was a bit much, even for London.
Crowley was the cause of this gloom, but he wasn't doing it of his own accord. It was just happening around him. The Bently was on its best behavior, and the plants that had been almost forgotten were on high alert lest they suddenly become interesting again.
Crowley had quietly sauntered by the bookshop at least once a week at first, and now it had become a daily habit, but Aziraphale was not there. He was not puttering around the shop waiting on Crowley so they could head out to luncheon at some new quaint restaurant he had found. Not pouting at his desk over a minor spat they had had. No, damn it all! That fussy Angel wasn't sitting at his desk where he should be.
Instead, Crowley stood looking in the window at a 37th-class recording secretary for Heaven. Crowley had been receiving annoying "miracles" almost daily from the interloper now residing in the bookshop. It was cute, really; she was trying to get him to come by and talk to her. Muriel seemed to have no idea how difficult it would be for a 37th-class angel to perform a miracle on him. She was probably struggling with the odd complexities of a newbie on Earth and wanted a friendly face to talk to, even if that face belonged to a demon. Besides, she may have some information about Aziraphale, and Crowley was tired of waiting.
Muriel looked up from her book and saw a lean, darkly-clad demon standing outside, staring at her behind his dark glasses, and she immediately brightened up and cheerfully waved at him. He suddenly wanted to ignore her to run away and pretend she hadn't seen him, but she was beckoning him into the place he loved best in the world, and his willpower, which had taken a beating for the last six thousand years or so, curled up inside him and fell asleep. He walked inside.
"Hello!" She said brightly, "I was hoping you would stop by. I have a letter for you". Crowley caught his breath, and for a split second, a hint of a smile flitted across his face. Aziraphale had written to him. She stood up and cheerfully delivered the envelope with the friendly dedication he thought of either a well-trained golden retriever or a 37th-class angel. He eagerly opened the envelope only to discover it was not the anticipated note from the Angel but a disappointing and out-of-date advertisement for a plant sale. His shoulders slumped. He was going to have to regroup and come back tomorrow. He mumbled thanks in her general direction and turned to head back outside to his Bently.
"Mr. Crowley, can I speak with you about a private matter?" she asked. He sighed; what idiotic notion had she gotten in her head? He thought. For some inexplicable reason, Crowley felt sorry for her. He knew what loneliness was, and he could smell it on Muriel. Crowley sighed and turned back toward her. "Sure, go for it", he said. "Well, I… I've been reading a lot and have learned a lot, so much really, about humans and the Earth...Still, I wouldn't say I like tea, but I do know how important it is to everyone," and she held up a copy of a Douglas Adams book she had been reading. "Yes, so what's your question?" Crowley interrupted her. "Well, Last week, I read several books that I learned later were private, and I want to know if you think the Supreme Arch Angel will be angry with me about it?" Crowley scoffed angrily, "Supreme Arch angel, indeed. How stupid. What a stupid title for Aziraphale!"
Muriel looked very nervous, and Crowley realized that he should calm himself. Less for Muriel's sake than his own. "Did you sell the books?" Crowley asked. "No! No, of course not. I just read them," Muriel interjected. "Then what's the problem? He won't care as long as you don't sell them." He answered. "But they were private… will you be mad at me then?" she almost whispered. "Why should I... be mad at you... for reading a book... in a bookshop? You need to try and get out more. Heaven did a number on you. Too skittish." He replied testily. "Well," Muriel said, "you tend to get grumpy." "I don't care!" Crowley almost shouted, "Read whatever you want!"
Crowley turned and strode toward the door. "What if the book was about you? " Muriel asked timidly. He froze in his snake-skin boots as the words she said sank in. What book would have him in it? He thought. And suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of her before she could say another word. He was peering into her eyes, glasses off. "What book about me is in this bookshop?" Crowley queried her. Fear and excitement mingled in his voice, and Muriel did not quite know how to answer him. She stood dumbstruck, looking at his eyes as they blazed a brilliant yellow. "I, well, um… let me show you."
Muriel scurried over to a long table set up against a back wall. It was scattered. With what looked like beautiful commonplace books, from very old and yellowed with time to fresh, clean white sheets, all had long cursive strokes filling the lines and cheerful, clever little doodles illuminating some of the pages. Crowley smiled. He knew the hand that wrote these words, and for the first time in months, he could sense Aziraphale's presence. He briefly forgot about Muriel and began reading one of the open books.
"Dear Diary, you will never guess what happened today. Crowley helped me with a very tricky problem, and I'm still floating on air. I am glad his head office was none the wiser, but I always worry. Ever since the incident with the laudanum (which he still refuses to speak about, even with me), At any rate, I've invited him over to thank him properly with several bottles of Chateau Haut Brion, which was a very expensive miracle. I can tell you that I had a great deal of explaining to do upstairs, but it was well worth it because Crowley will be so happy when he sees the bottles. I don't know what I would do without him!"
Crowley slammed the book closed. That last line was... what was it? A lie. He thought. He remembered that Muriel was still in the room and turned to her. "I see what you mean about the problem," he said, "but just don't tell him you read them, and he'll never know. Anyway, he'd forgive you if he did find out." Crowley spat those last words at her. "So, you aren't angry with me, then?" "No, nothing to write home about, is there?" "Well," Muriel pulled out a book from behind her back. There's this one too."
The book was new and thin with a snakeskin covering. "What's this?" "I, well, in my defense, I didn't know that diaries were private." Crowley looked at her with renewed interest. What could be in this book that was somehow different? He grabbed it from her hands and opened it to the first page. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back into a chair as the words he was reading collided with his mind and his very broken and damaged heart.
"Dear Diary, Since Jim's arrival, I have been trying to care for him, as is my sworn duty, but when, in his current state, he told me that he loved me, I was surprised to learn that I could not return the sentiment. I suddenly realized the awful truth. I have never told any human or Angel that I love them. For an Angel, I fear, that must be a sin.
I left to go to Edenborough on my own, mostly to get away from Jim and solve this mystery, but I needed time to think, and on the road back home, I had a revelation. Well, two, really. One: I realized why I have never said those singularly important words to anyone. It's because I have never told them to the person, I love best in the world, My dearest Crowley.
This brings us to my second revelation: I've decided how to tell him. I am going to throw a marvelous ball and use it as a catalyst to finally tell Crowley what he means to me. As a demon, he may not want to return my feelings, at least not in the same way (but I pray he does). Therefore, I must stop being afraid and tell him! My singular purpose this evening will be to finally say, I love you to Crowley. "
Crowley stopped reading. Aziraphale had been planning to tell him that he loved him...and on the same day that he had left him alone in the street and got on an upward elevator with the glowering Voice of the Almighty.
But the Angel did love him. He had written it down for no one to ever read. No one hid things unless they were serious about them. Crowley's mind began to run at a rapid pace. Aziraphale giving away a book was unheard of. Yet, he had given away a book to ensure people attended the 'I am going to finally tell my best friend that I love him' party!
Crowley had the dawning realization that Azaraphael writing down that he loved him was the most natural thing ever to have happened to him. He knew it was true. As far as Crowley was concerned, there had never been anything more true in life. But why, then, did he leave? Had someone miracled his Angel into going? Was it something the Metatron said? Had the coffee been spiked with some Heavenly obedience draught? What?
A gentle hand reached out and clasped his own. "Mr. Crowley, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you to be so upset." Crowley looked up and saw this funny little Angel staring at him. She had genuine concern in her eyes, and he smiled at her. She was comforting a demon. What a funny old world, indeed. Things were upside down. Nothing was acting as it should, and Crowley needed answers. He cleared his throat and righted himself. "Upset. Who said anything about being upset? Right now, I need to think, and what helps us think, Muriel?"
"What?" she asked, brightening up. "Alcohol, Muriel. If I am going to figure out how to rescue a wayward Angel from Heaven, we will need several bottles of the best wine this bookshop's cellar has to offer.
Heaven Present Day:
Heaven had never been such a pleasant place to work. The Cherubs and the lower classes of angels were buzzing around, chatting with one another, delighted with this sudden new regime change. The newly installed Supreme Arch Angel had been dropping by and listening to them and asking them questions like "How are you today?" and "Oh, my, that looks heavy. Would you like a hand?" No one knew what to make of it all, but everyone was really pleased about it, that is, almost everyone.
Uriel and Michael were miserable. They did all they could to avoid Aziraphale. He had not yet changed their positions, which was a constant worry in their minds. Michael was still the Duty Officer, and Uriel was the ruler over her own angelic domain. Still, they had noticed a very peculiar and unsettling wave of cheerfulness and general camaraderie that had been occurring with their subordinates, which was most unheaven-like. They were quietly conversing with one another about this dilemma when Saraqael came gliding in, smiling a forced, fake, cheerful smile. "Isn't everything going splendidly?" she said. "It's alright," Uriel dryly responded, "I have a miracle over the room. No one can hear us." Well, thank Heaven! I don't know how much more of this I can take. Have you heard what he did to the cleaning roster? Just chucked it out the window. Now we're taking volunteers. What the Hell even is that?" "That's the least of our worries," answered Uriel. "The Metatron seems pleased with everything, and Michael and I can't find a chink in his chubby, food-eating armor."
They were interrupted by a cheerful messenger coming in unannounced to drop off a note from the Supreme Arch Angel. "Hello, Ladies, I have an invitation here from Aziraphael." Michael stood up, infuriated at the intrusion and the lack of etiquette. "Who gave you the authority to casually walk in here unannounced and call the Supreme Arch Angel by his name?" she demanded. "Um, he did, Ma'am." stammered the Messenger. Suddenly, the air in the room felt hot, and he could feel the eyes of all three of his superiors boring into his skull. "I...I'll just let myself out," He stammered as he walked backward toward the door and disappeared into the bright hallway before they could harass him further.
"See what I mean!" Saraqael angrily exclaimed. "This devil-may-care attitude is nothing more than insubordination and needs to stop!" "But how?" Uriel asked, sighing as though all hope was lost. "It's like they have forgotten how important bureaucracy is."
Michael sat down slowly, and a very menacing smile formed on her lips that would have struck fear in lesser Angels and their downstairs counterparts had they seen it. "I might know his Achilles heal," said Michael. "Are you planning on sharing it with the rest of us?" Uriel quipped. "What would happen if we let our leader," At the word leader, her face distorted into general repulsion, "What if we let Aziraphael know that Hell was planning on attacking a certain demon that he still pines after?" "Would that work?" Saraquael asked excitedly.
"Yes and no," replied Michael as the wheels began to turn in her head.
"What does Aziraphael love best?" "I thought we just established that it was the Demon Crowley," Uriel replied, annoyance ringing in her voice. "What else?" snapped Michael. "Food," Saraprael interjected. "Yes, but he has an odd obsession with books, right?" As Michael said the words, the other two angels looked at one another, and a sudden understanding grew behind their eyes. "You aren't thinking of using the Book of Life against him? That could be very dangerous, Michael!" Saraprael exclaimed. "Explain yourself," Uriel demanded." Michael breathed out and centered herself. "Not the actual book of life, but a well-placed copy with certain items highlighted or expanded." "Or entirely made up?" Uriel interrupted, finishing the sentence. "Yes, Maybe we need to show this traitorous do-gooder who he really is, in the Book of Life. and who Crowley is as well," Michael answered. "And what do you think will come of this?" Saraprael asked. "With any luck," Michael smirked. Azaraphael will take a well-placed tumble off the same balcony his demon friend did all those years ago.
London Present Day
Muriel had never had wine, but to ensure she found one she would enjoy, and that would hopefully open up the floodgates of Heavenly gossip for his rogue demonic ears, Crowley had brought up more than a dozen bottles from the cellar. He had explained artfully that this was a standard human practice called wine tasting. She was initially unsure, but Crowley had a way of tempting people and Angels into trying new things. His efforts were not in vain because she liked the first glass and had finished it remarkably fast. "Good job, Muriel!" Crowley said, praising her. "Why you'll have me beat at our wine tasting before the nights over," he said, grinning widely at her as he refilled her goblet. "So, Mr. Crowley, what do people do at wine tastings other than drink wine?" Muriel asked eagerly. "I'm glad you asked," said Crowley with showmanship in his voice. "But we're friends," he said, much to her astonishment. "You can just call me Crowley." "Alright, Crowley, " she giggled in delight. "What do we do now?
"Ah, that's the best part. We get to share interesting information and facts with one another. "Here, I'll start. I think you are doing a splendid job holding down the fort for Azaraphael." "Oh, Do you really think so?" she asked eagerly. "Yes, now it's your turn," Crowley replied. "Well, I doubt I know as much as you do about the world," she said, drinking a large sip from her glass. "But I think you have beautiful houseplants." She giggled again, and Crowley wasted no time topping off her drink. "Now you're getting the hang of it. You don't have to tell me things about Earth, though; you could share new or fun information about, say, Heaven. I haven't lived there for some time and would love to hear about any recent renovations or ideas in the old neighborhood,"
Crowley poured himself a second large glass and sat down, grinning at her. At these words, Muriel was delighted. She knew all sorts of new stuff about Heaven." So much was happening that even the other recording Angels had asked her to help edit some information before it was passed on to their higher-ups. What Crowley did not realize was that he did not need wine to help Miriel tell him about the goings on in Heaven. She was all too happy to share without the wine. But she was very impressed by the taste and happily drank from her glass unaware that she was being plied for information.
"Well, since The new Supreme Arch Angel ascended, there have been a lot of significant changes in Heaven," she said brightly. Crowley looked at her quizzically and tilted his head for a more significant effect. "Like what sort of changes?" he asked casually. "Oh, for one, we have all been assigned a team member now. No more working alone if we don't want to." Really, how interesting, he cooed. "Yes, it is." Muriel finished her third glass and said, "Now, what were we talking about?"
"You were about to tell me if Azaraphael has told you anything about the Metatron or any Celestial plans," Crowley replied and casually lay back in his chair. "He, Oh yes, that's right," she said, and for the very first time, Muriel hiccupped. "What just happened?" "You hiccupped," he said. "It's perfectly normal. What plans?" Muriel was dizzy now, having never had more than a swallow of room-temperature tea in her entire life. The wine was having a peculiar effect, and she could feel a warm, soporific sensation cascading down her body.
Crowley was suddenly in front of her, holding her shoulders and questioning Heaven's new plans. "It's nothing to be worried about, Mr. Crowley, I mean Crowley," weaving a bit as she answered him. "Yes, but what are the plans? What does Heaven want to do?" He was very insistent. Muriel sighed and wanted to sleep very badly. She had never done that before. What would sleep be like, she wondered vaguely. But Crowley continued to speak to her about the plans. "Tell me, Muriel. What are the new plans!" "It's just the second coming," she mumbled and passed out against him. Crowley blanched white and pushed her back against the couch. He slumped over himself, drunk with information, and began to think about the myriad of next steps he would have to take. Now that he knew why Aziraphael had left him.
NINEVA 466 BC
"Hello, Aziraphale, what are you doing in Nineva?" Crowley asked as he strolled up to a very nervous angel. "Oh, It's you. Thank goodness. This is all going so poorly that I've been worried all day that they would send Michael or Uriel to check on the situation." "Well, we don't want that now, do we Angel?" Crowley replied sincerely. "No, we certainly do not," Aziraphael declared. "So what's gone wrong, then?" Crowley thought the Angel was overreacting a bit. What could be so bad? All he could see was a bunch of weird humans who worshiped fish for some reason or other. He would never understand humans and their ability to do strange things.
"God has sent a prophet to show them the error of their ways, and he, well, just look for yourself." Crowley looked in the direction that the Angel was pointing. "Isn't that Jonah? What's he doing over by that fishy fountain thing?" asked Crowley. "That's what's wrong. He's declaring to the Ninevites that they must repent of their evil ways and turn toward God."
"Well, I can see his lips moving, but I can't hear any actual words coming out of his mouth," observed Crowley. "Thus the problem," Aziraphael said, wringing his hands in worry. "He's refusing to obey a direct command from God," "Oh, I see," grinned the demon. "He's found a loophole. He is telling them, but they refuse to stop on a crowded city street and listen to his whispers. It's entirely their fault. He's off scott-free."
"Do you hear yourself?" said Aziraphael. "God is not pleased at all." I'm supposed to help guide him, and" Crowley interrupted the Angel, "Your muted prophet appears to be heading toward the ships."
Azaraphael hurriedly followed Jonah, with Crowley walking along beside him. "What are you doing here anyway? Aziraphael asked. "Me, I heard that Nineva was all weird and fish-worshipy, so I decided to take some credit for it downstairs," replied Crowley. "I might wait on that if I were you. If I can convince Jonah to go back and make this right, You wouldn't be doing yourself any favors." the Angel asserted. "Fair enough, let's see where this new adventure leads." said the demon, and they walked toward the seaport.
London Present Day
Crowley had spent the entire night reading Aziraphael's diaries. He wanted to be near him, and these words were acting as a balm to his brokenness. The sun rose, and the first early morning rays found their way through the windows, landing on Crowley and the still-sleeping and inebriated Muriel. For the first time in a very long time, it was going to be a nice day.
Crowley was smiling to himself. He had just read an amusing story about Aziraphael and some camel thieves back in BC, something or other, when a sudden knocking at the shop's door brought him out of his memories. Crowley stood up and sauntered over to see what busy-body was up this early. He opened the door and was met by a smiling blonde, tan, Angelic messenger.
"Hello, I have a package here for the Angel Muriel." he declared. "Well, she is, um, indisposed at the moment. Can I help you?" "Sure!" smiled the Messenger. "Sign for it, here." he handed Crowley a clipboard with a very nice pen. Crowley signed for the package and then casually placed the snazzy new pen in the inside pocket of his jacket. Crowley has a penchant for really nice pens.
"Thanks!" smiled the Messenger. And handed Crowley the parcel. "First time to Earth, Eh?" asked Crowley. "No!" exclaimed the smiling Angel. "It's so different here, now isn't it? I was here about 2000 years ago. They've really done a lot of building since then, haven't they?" "Right, that's humans for you, lots of construction. So what's in the package?" Crowley queried. "Ah, yes! It's The Book of Life sent here by the Supreme Arch Angel himself to be guarded by the Angel Muriel." Replied the happy anglic Messenger. "The what!?" Crowley almost choked. "Can that even leave Heaven?" "Well, it never has before, but Aziraphael said desperate times call for desperate measures. He lets me call him Aziraphael." The Messenger said as he stood at the door and continued to smile.
Crowley was holding the most dangerous book in the universe. A book that, in the wrong hands, could destroy anyone and anything with just the other end of a pencil, and he, a demon, was holding it on a bright, sunny morning in a Soho bookshop. The world just kept getting weirder and weirder, he thought.