In this chapter, there is mention of witch-burning (and explosions) and demon exorcising.

Chapter Nine

Of Brokenness and Betrayal

"Many claim to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can find?"

-Proverbs 20:6

Fell put down the telephone feeling perplexed, but not yet alarmed. Caudery was not himself. Even over the phone connection, Fell had heard the distress in his voice as clearly as if he'd been standing next to him. Something had definitely happened. Something big.

Fell looked down at his desk. Agnes Nutter's book was lying open, the light from the lamp falling on the pages.

Fell was thinking about the prophesy he'd read. He was thinking about the burning paper, the change in Caudery's face. The phone call.

It was possible that the angel was jumping to unfair conclusions. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for all this, though at the moment, he couldn't come up with one. 1

Fell glanced at the grandfather clock and back to the book on the desk. He would have to wait and hear what Caudery had to say.

In order to understand a bit more about The Nice and Accurate Prophecies, and the significance of this book, we need to know more about the author. About Agnes Nutter herself in fact.

Agnes Nutter was a very interesting person. She was what people call odd if they were being polite. She had also been called strange, unnerving, peculiar, and on the very rare occasion, witch. Agnes often had ideas that were ahead of her time in regards to health and diet, and as a result, they were not often well-received. Running around the village twice a day in an unladylike manner was just the start. She also spoke well of eating more fiber and washing the body more than once a month.

Terrible! the village folk cried.

Agnes studied the use of herbs and plants for healing. She took up the project in earnest after her husband died at the young age of nine and twenty.2 When a bout of influenza swept through the village, Agnes went quickly to work to find a cure. No one died from the flu that year.

Were the people grateful? Did they come knocking on her door in thanks? Knocking they did come, but not in thanks. Agnes was earning herself a reputation indeed and it was not a good one. The word witch was being whispered more frequently and not always in hushed tones.

It was the prophecies that really did it.

Agnes had a gift for prophecy and she had been in possession of this gift since she was a very little girl. She had learned to be discreet about it early on in her life, for predicting the future was very throughly frowned upon. As the good Lord once said, a prophet is not without honour except in his own home town.3 Agnes Nutter was indeed without honour, but not without respect. Perhaps it was not so much respect as it was fear. Fear of the unknown, of what they didn't understand or couldn't explain.

So they called her a witch. Agnes took some amusement from this. If they were going to think her a witch, then so be it. In fact, she encouraged it. The ruse kept all but the most inquisitive at bay. She was able to raise her children in peace and write her book. She saw her daughter marry a young man named Device and her son start in a good career as a solicitor. She finished and published her book of prophecies just before her fifty-sixth birthday.

Then she was burned at the stake. Or rather, exploded. She didn't really have a chance to burn.

Agnes had been fully aware over the last year of her life that the village attitude towards herself had grown steadily darker. Though the chatter ceased when she was present, Agnes knew what they thought. She knew the day and the hour when they would come for her, armed with pitchforks and clubs, all chanting out "witch, witch."

She knew and acted accordingly. She wrapped up her authors copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and wrote a note to her daughter and son-in-law. She also wrote a note to the milkman. Then she waited for the mob. They were almost ten minutes late. When they did arrive, they found Agnes calmly and serenely waiting.

At the head of the mob was the chief witchfinder of the day, Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer. He was a fanatic and also Newton Pulsifer's ancestor.

Newt bore very little resemblance to Witchfinder Sergeant Pulsifer besides blood and surname. Sergeant Shadwell was far more similar to the late Witchfinder Pulsifer. If the two men could have been lined up side by side, there was a fair chance you would think they were brothers. Witchfinder Pulsifer had the same zeal for witch hunting and a distinct dislike of women in general. That of course might have something to do with his name.

The Pulsifer family had been highly religious in the extreme sense and had named all ten of their children after the ten commandments. Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer was not the only one among his siblings who had take it upon himself to search for a great cause.

Thou-Shalt-Not-Have-Any-Other-Gods-Before-Me became a nun and devoted herself most dutifully to the service of the Almighty.

Thou-Shalt-Not-Murder took up a stance against all forms of violence, including debate and all arguments, preferring to live quietly as a hermit and gardener.4

Thou-Shalt-Honour-The-Sabbath-Day-And-Keep-It-Holy worked diligently for six days every week and spent her Sabbaths sitting perfectly motionless with her hands folded and the Book in her lap, not moving until the night had gathered 'round.

And the youngest, Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery, became a passionate witchfinder. Villages either rejoiced or quaked in fear when word came that Witchfinder Pulsifer was on the move.

This little bit of history didn't concern Agnes Nutter. She wasn't even impressed. When he pushed open her door, Agnes merely said, "Adultery Pulsifer. Good people. Thou art tardy. The flames shouldst have been alight ten minutes since."

The witchfinder couldn't say anything in his surprise. Agnes walked right through the crowd. No one made a move to stop her. They all followed her to the village center where a large pile of wood sat ready and waiting. She strode to the pile without the slightest hesitation and climbed up. Witchfinder Pulsifer also climbed to the top and tied Agnes' hands to the stake.

"This is most irregular, mistress Nutter," he said.

Agnes thought it was rather diverting. "Perhaps," she replied.

Witchfinder Pulsifer stepped down.

"Come closer, good people," Agnes said. "Come near and hearith mine words."

The people slowly drew near to the pile.

"Though untried," Agnes said, "You did prove me guilty. Though I cause nay one harm, yet thee declared I was a witch. If this be just, then witch I shall be and so shall I die. But mark mine own words- one day mine own death will be remember'd. The innocent shalt be vindicat'd and the guilty punished. So mark yeh well the fate of those who meddle in what they doth not understand."

A torch was passed to the dry wood. In alarm, a black snake suddenly slithered out from under the pile, where it had been sleeping. The people were too engrossed by the burning to give the snake anything more than a glance and a kick.

The flames lept towards the hem of Agnes' dress. She smiled sadly.

"I shalt see thee on Judgment Day!" she declared.

Then there was an explosion.

Agnes and the bonfire disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame, killing everyone in the village center. The snake miraculously escaped with only a roofing nail stuck through its tail.

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air for days and soon it came to light that this supernatural event was probably helped by Agnes' petticoats. Roofing nails and gunpowder will create a very lethal explosion when combined with fire. Agnes knew this and did act accordingly.

"If you're going to go, it might as well beest an explosion big enow to hitteth the history books," she said in her note to her daughter.

The one person from the village who had lived to tell about the tale was a frightened young man with a bad limp in his left leg and unnaturally coloured eyes. He was too scared to talk when found hiding in the cellar of the blacksmith's shop by the people from the next village over. The young man refused to tell how he had survived and it was determined he was another witch himself. He was caught and burned at the stake. There was no explosion this time, but later there was found to be no bones in the ashes of the fire, only the remains of the ropes. This greatly frightened the villagers.

It was the last witch-burning in England.

A badly charred snake lit out for the north.

Caudery had been deathly afraid of fire ever since.

Five minutes was an exaggeration on Caudery's part.

He made it from Mayfair to Soho in under a minute and a half flat.

He'd also been hitting a speed of over 99 mph on the speedometer. He could have easily walked, but it hadn't even entered his brain. He always used the Bentley.

The Bentley came to a braking halt outside the bookshop. Caudery had parked on double white lines and didn't notice. And if he had, he wouldn't have cared. Far more important matters were on his troubled mind than no-parking zones.

Caudery banged on the locked doors until Fell appeared.

"There's no need to bash them down," Fell said, opening the door. "I can hear perfectly well. One knock would have been sufficient-"

Caudery brushed past him into the shop, not listening to a word the angel said.

Fell looked at him. "Caudery?"

"Shut the door."

Fell did so, watching Caudery with a rising sense of alarm.

Something was very wrong.

Caudery was breathing irregularly, and glancing around uneasily at the windows. His movements were like a snake warily watching for the attack of a hawk. Caudery's suit bore the look of having been put on in a great hurry. It wasn't neat as was customary. And even with the distance between them, Fell picked up the odour of strong drink and cigarette smoke. 5

"Whatever is the matter?" the angel asked with concern.

Caudery shook his head. His voice was raspy as he said, "I did something bad, Fell. Something very bad."

Fell thought back to the very first mystery novel he had read, when Caudery had told him about prison.

"You didn't… kill someone, did you?" the angel asked.

A fleeting thought of helping Caudery bury the body went through Fell's brain.

"What?! No, no, no, that's not it!" Caudery looked utterly horrified. "I didn't kill anyone. We've been over this, Fell. I'm not a murderer. Look, if I was, why would you still be alive? You'd have joined the other corpses long ago. This isn't about homicide. Besides, all that blood would ruin the interior of the Bentley. No, no, it's worse, much worse. It- it's happened. The End."

"What's happened?"

"The Antichrist, that's what! It's here, on earth. I did it!"

Fell stared at him. "Caudery, just how much alcohol have you been drinking? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Caudery moaned and flung himself into an armchair. A moment later, he sprang up again and yanked down all the window shades.

Fell was very alarmed now. "Caudery, are you being followed?"

"Who knows-s-s?" Caudery hissed, throwing his hands to the sky and not bothering to check himself. "Someone could always be following, making s-s-sure I do my job right."

Fell gave him a blank look. "Why would your editor need to make sure? You're a journalist, for heavens' sake, not a soldier."

"You can bloody well keep the Heavens out of this." Caudery glared at him as though he'd just told him to go jump off a bridge.

"Excuse me?"

"Fell, you're an angel. An intellectual angel," Caudery said. "You're a Principality- how can someone as intelligent as you are be so stupid as well?!"

Fell didn't get a chance to be offended. Caudery kept talking.

"The signs were all in front of you. I'm not really a journalist. Well, I am, it's just what I do in my spare time to maintain a human s-s-status, like you and your bookshop. It's not really my job!"

Caudery stopped, out of breath. His skin was cold and damp.

Fell was silent.

Caudery held onto the back of an armchair to steady himself.

Still Fell said nothing.

"Please say something, angel," Caudery gasped.

Fell was working his fingers together, but not nervously this time. Caudery couldn't decipher the expression on his face. It wasn't worry or fear, but something else entirely. Fell's silence was worrying Caudery. It was more worrying than anger.

Caudery gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles were white. "Please- just s-s-say something, anything," he pleaded. "I'm actually begging you here. You have no idea how demeaning it is. Just say something."

Fell laced his fingers together and was motionless. He breathed out, seeming to let go of something he'd been holding inside.

"Alight," he said in a low voice. "You're clearly not human any more than I am-"

"We've established that," Caudery said. "Keep going. You're already halfway there."

Fell straightened his posture. "You're not an angel, I imagine?"

Caudery slumped, shaking his head. "I was, once."

"… Once?"

"That was a long time ago. Very long time ago, now."

"Then that means…"

Caudery braced himself for the revelation.

"You're a demon."

Caudery flinched involuntarily, but he tried to be cool, even with his heart racing. "Yeah, 'fraid so."

"No wonder you know so much about the spiritual realm," Fell said. His countenance had taken on a steely appearance."What proof do I have that you are telling me the truth?"

"You need proof?" Caudery was feeling desperate again. His aura wasn't enough? "You can't just take me at my word?"

"If you really are a demon, I need to know for sure."

Caudery thought about removing his sunglasses and changed his mind. Many humans had funny eyes. That wasn't enough evidence, if that's really what Fell wanted. There was only one other thing Caudery could do without discorporating himself. He could unveil his wings.6

"Right, fine," Caudery said. He walked around the furniture into the middle of the shop. He dropped to his knees on the rug as the back of his jacket tore apart.

It has been said that a demon's wings are exactly the same as an angel's, only better groomed. Perhaps this is so, except in the case of Caudery.

Caudery's wings were anything but well groomed. They were battered, torn, missing feathers and if you looked at them from behind, you might come to the conclusion that maybe they had been broken once, which they had. All over the surface of the blackened wings were visible scars. These were thousands of years old scars of burned-out eyes, the eyes that had once been alive when Caudery had been an angel. Now they were only empty reminders of the past, a constant source of pain and discomfort. Caudery's wings hurt him whether he had them in or out. It made no difference. He just bore it. The Fall wasn't the only reason for the old wounds. Many had appeared later in Hell.

Caudery leaned forward on his hands, letting his wings unfold, and wincing as they did. He hadn't opened them since the arrest. Human prison is no place to let your wings out, unless you wanted to get psychoanalyzed and put in solitary confinement. The supernatural can do odd things to people.

Above the demon's head appeared a halo, once silver, but now tarnished to black, surrounded by the ghosts of dead eyes. Right over Caudery's hair was a pair of small devilish horns, also of the same lifeless shade.

Caudery bit his lip and stared intently at the rug. He couldn't look at Fell.

"Well, angel, are you s-s-satisfied? This enough proof for you?"

"Yes," came Fell's voice. "I've never seen such damaged wings on a demon before."

"There are punishments worse than Falling," Caudery said. "May I put them away now?"

"It would be easier if you did."

Fell's voice had taken on that cold tone of an enemy.

Caudery looked up at him.

The angel wore a look of vengeance.

Caudery paled.

Fell was going to exorcise him.

Caudery scrambled to his feet, the wings and halo concealed.

"Fell, wait," he cried, "please listen to me. Don't do this now. You can exorcise me later. Just listen."

"I have listened," Fell replied, walking across the room to a display on the wall, while keeping his eyes on Caudery.

"This is the end of the world I'm talking about!" Caudery pleaded. "The Antichrist has been born!"

"That is merely a myth. We wrote it."

"Yes, yes, I know, but, but it's happening now. In real life. I delivered the baby. Well, not delivered-delivered it, dropped it off. And it's not a baby. Innocent people will die, Fell! Innocent humans! Don't you care?!"

"Of course I care," the angel answered coldly. "That is why I am doing this."

Fell took down part of the wall display. Caudery now saw it was a collection of small daggers, knives and similar weapons, all useful in hunting demons. If crafted correctly, these weapons could pin a demon to the spot and possibly discorporate them, most likely painfully as well. The dagger Fell had chosen was gold, short with a blade that had a deadly glint to it. Fell was holding the dagger with the grip of a seasoned professional. He'd done this before.7

Caudery felt adrenaline begin to rush through him. Fell advanced and Caudery readied himself. He couldn't run. He was going to have to fight the angel.

The sound of heels echoed off the celestial walls as Seviline walked on the smooth white floors. The heels on her shoes were short and practical, as was the rest of her attire. Simple and pristine, she had no need to dress elegantly just for the sake of being elegant. In her manicured hands she held a file.

She turned and the click-clack of her heels came to a stop in front of Michael's desk. Michael put aside the scroll he was reading.

"Seviline," he said, standing.

She nodded. "Michael. Since our last meeting with Aziraphale, I've been looking through the back files. Earth observation records. I may have found something."

Michael folded his hands and looked expectant. Seviline placed the file on his desk. It was a large envelope, of white parchment. Michael opened the flap and retrieved several photographs. Michael looked at each in turn. The photographs were black and white. As Michael looked at them, he placed each photograph on his desk, neatly and in a straight line.

Though each picture was different, they all showed the same subject: Aziraphale, Earth Principality,8 and a human. This was a dark young man in sunglasses.

Michael lingered on the last photograph. It had been taken in a cafe. Michael tapped a finger on it.

"I recognize this man," he said. "What did he say his name was… Caudery, Anatole Caudery."

"I believe it was Anthony," Seviline said.

"I believe you are right. Aziraphale said he helped him with his books."

"Yes."

There was an unspoken agreement between Michael and Seviline regarding Aziraphale. They agreed to not understand him. They did not understand why the angel was so preoccupied with earthly concerns verses Heavenly ones, mainly with books. It always came down to books.9

Michael folded his arms. "Why?" he said.

Seviline shook her head. Not a curl of red hair escaped from her perfect, sparkling up-do. "I do not know," she said, picking up the empty envelope and a few of the photographs. "Should we equate Gabriel with this information?"

Michael glanced at the row of photographs. "Yes, we should. Under what should we categorize this? Misdemeanor? A step of misconduct?"

Seviline rubbed a finger on her chin. "We don't know if there is anything wrong, as of yet."

"True," Michael agreed. He was reminded of the conversation with Aziraphale in the cafe when this Caudery had shown up. He also thought of the book Aziraphale had been reading, the book that had to do with murder.

Seviline's expression showed her thoughts were running along the same path.

"We should look into it more," Seviline said, "particularly into his background." She took her finger off her chin and touched one of the photographs, right over Caudery's head.

Michael agreed.

"No harm in checking, no harm at all," he said. "It is our duty. And we don't want to falsely accuse anyone without proper evidence, especially not a principality."

He said this as a matter of course. Out of all the angels, Aziraphale would be the one to need investigation. Out of all the warriors and principalities the Almighty had at His disposal, why He should have placed Aziraphale in the position of Guardian of Earth was something the archangels could not understand. But they would not question. They didn't even think of questioning God's ways. It was ineffable.

"I will observe Aziraphale," Michael said, scooping up the rest of the photographs. He handed them to Seviline.

"And I will observe the human," Seviline said, replacing the photos in the envelope.

"Good."

And they left it at that.

Caudery's sunglasses had almost been knocked from his face early on in the struggle, but he hadn't noticed. He was using all of his concentration to hold Fell back. Caudery's eyes, even though they were hidden, had lost all trace of the white, now all one colour with pupils almost gone as he stared at the dagger in Fell's hand. One touch of the blade on Caudery's bare skin was all it would take.

Caudery increased his grip on Fell's hands, trying to keep a safe distance between himself and the dagger. A painful sensation from Fell's touch shot up Caudery's arms. He continued to hold him off, teeth clenched. Caudery could mortally injure Fell very easily, kill him even. He had no desire to harm the angel, but Caudery did want to live. He didn't want to go back to Hell.

If he could just get past the angel, he might be able to make it to the bookshop's doors. The Bentley was just outside. If he could just get out of this corner.

The pillar behind him pressed hard into Caudery's back. He was pinned to the spot. He dug in his heels and continued to resist Fell.

Caudery slowly coiled his hands around Fell's wrist. When he had a strong hold, he gave a sudden pull downwards.

There was a sickening crack.

Fell gasped, the dagger slipped from his hands.

Caudery broke free and caught the knife before it hit the tiles, careful to avoid the blade.

Fell sank to the floor.

Caudery darted around him. He had his eyes on the doors.

Only a few steps.

He looked back at Fell.

The angel's left hand was hanging at an odd angle and by the expression of pain on his face, Caudery knew the wrist was broken. Caudery glanced from the angel to the doors. If he left now, he could still get away. Let the angel fend for himself.

Caudery dithered. Then he gave up his chance.

"Hell," he spat and turned to Fell.

Fell was huddled on the rug, clutching his bruising wrist. Caudery dropped to his knees beside him.

"Give it to me," he said, holding out his hand.

Fell jerked his arm away.

"Now." Caudery hissed and glared at the angel from behind his sunglasses.

Fell hesitated. Caudery put the dagger on the rug by his feet and took the angel's hand. Fell grimaced.

Caudery had just enough power left to do one of two things.

He could either escape and cover his trail…

or-

heal the angel.10

He chose the less selfish option.

Caudery ran his fingers over the wrist. As his hand passed over Fell's skin, the bruising vanished and the broken bones healed, leaving not a hint of the fracture behind. Caudery dropped Fell's hand and sat back on his heels.

Fell took his wrist back, staring at it. He opened and closed his hand, wiggling the fingers. It was as good as new.

"Why did you do that?" Fell asked. He spoke in his normal voice, the avenging angel replaced by the meek bookseller.

"Couldn't leave it like that, could I?" Caudery grumbled. "I did break it."

"Because I was going to discorporate you," Fell said, eyeing the knife.

"Yeah," the demon agreed, his urge to fight gone.

He picked up the knife with two fingers and handed it to the angel, blade facing down. Fell took it, if not a little hesitatingly.

"If you're going to do it, do it quick," Caudery said, straightening out his tie. "The Master of Torments will be delighted to see me."

Caudery had a strong suspicion that the said Master of Torments had been planning his ultimate punishment for centuries.

Fell was holding the dagger loosely. He didn't look as though he he intended to use it.

"Well?!" Caudery demanded. "Are you going to exorcise me or not?"

Fell didn't answer him and sat looking at the dagger. His face had drained of all the previous fierce emotion.

"Fell?" Caudery peered at him. "Angel?" He reached out towards him.

Fell moved away from him, holding the knife close to his chest. With his gaze directed downwards, Fell said softly, "I think it would be best if you were to leave now."

Caudery dropped his hand limply. "Fell…"

"Now, please." Fell said.

Caudery suddenly felt very cold and alone.

Fell didn't move as Caudery stood. Even after the shop doors shut and the sound of the Bentley revved and faded into silence, Fell remained seated on the rug, holding the knife with damp hands.

The Bentley practically flew to Mayfair. Caudery for once parked it somewhere it was actually legal to park. He didn't want something to happen to the car, even if he didn't get to drive it again.11

"See you, old girl." He rubbed the steering wheel affectionately in farewell.

Caudery buzzed himself into the building.

Little Mrs. Alms was just coming out of her flat, coat and purse in hand.

"Hello, Anthony," she greeted him.

Caudery couldn't even try to fake a smile for her. He informed her he was going away.

"So soon, dear? Of course I'll water your plants, you don't even have to ask, but how long will you be gone?"

Caudery shook his head, weary from all the feelings of worry and fear.

"For all of the foreseeable future," he said, "if there even is any future at all."

He swept up the stairs with the attitude of a man defeated.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Alms called after him.

He didn't give her an answer.

Everything was wrong.

Caudery picked up the plant mister and began going from room to room spraying leaves absentmindedly.

The Antichrist was on earth. The End was coming. And it was his fault. Caudery doubted Hell would have the patience to wait eleven years. They'd find some way for their little demonic weapon to mature faster. Caudery guessed earth had a few years at most, thirty-six months tops.

He sloshed the water around in the spray bottle, wondering if he should use it on himself. Might be a quick way out, if painful. He put the mister down.

He'd lost Fell. The one friend he'd ever had. That put him out of the picture. He had already tried smoking and drinking to no effect. Praying was of no use now. That left only one thing.

The silent death of sleep.

And Caudery was damn well going to make certain that head office couldn't find him in the meantime.

He unplugged his computer. He left the telephone off the hook and the answering machine set to automatic. All other electronics, including his mobile phone, were shut down and as much as possible, disconnected from power. All his efforts weren't enough to disable the supernatural, but every bit of effort helped. Make it a little harder for the bastards.

Caudery removed his watch and set the alarm, even though time seemed so useless to him at this point. Then he took off his sunglasses, locked the door and began to take off his clothes.

Mr. Fell was not himself.

Newt noticed this when he asked where a book on the history of Greek art should go and Fell didn't reply.

It was Tuesday, rainy and dark. No customers to speak of. And no Caudery. Fell was sitting at his desk, seeming to be lost to everything but a small gold-plated knife he keep turning over and over in his hands.

"Mr. Fell?" Newt asked.

Newt stood by, holding the art book uncertainly. Mr. Fell didn't appear to hear him or even know he was there.

Newt gently poked Mr. Fell's shoulder.

"Sir."

Fell startled, almost dropping the knife.

"Oh, Newt. What is it?" Fell sounded weary.

"Er- Greek art."

Newt held up the book. Fell stared blankly at it.

"Culture," he said finally.

"Great," Newt said, without making a move to shelve the book. "Are… you alright, Mr. Fell?"

The bookshop owner sighed.

"I suppose I must say yes," Fell replied.

Newt was intuitive enough to know Fell was not alright. Something was troubling him.12

"Is Mr. Caudery coming today?" Newt tried again. "It's Tuesday."

Fell shoved the chair away from the desk uncharacteristically. "I don't think Caudery will be coming. No, I don't think he will."

"Oh?"

Newt followed Fell out into the main part of the shop. Fell went straight to the nearest bookcase and started to rearrange the books alphabetically, even though they were already in alphabetical order.

Newt watched his employer shuffle the books around until he recalled the one he was holding and went off to deal with it. He had another chapter to read on the supernatural before he went to meet Anathema for lunch. He was sure Mr. Fell would be back to his regular self tomorrow.

Fell, however, was not back to himself the next day nor the day after.

He either stayed in his backroom or else wandered around the shop aimlessly, poking at various books without any real enthusiasm. Newt tried to engage him in conversation, but Fell seemed to have completely lost interest in everything. He mostly sat and stared across the room at the telephone.

Once Fell got up and dialed a number. He held the receiver to his ear for so long that Newt was sure the call had gone right to voicemail. Fell had looked ready to say something, but then put the phone down and sighed.

At a later time, he dialed another number with the same result.

Finally, Fell began to talk to himself. This wasn't unusual, he often talked to himself while he worked, though always about books. This wasn't related to the shop.

"I wonder what Caudery's address is?" he said.

"I could tell you," Newt volunteered.

"Really?" Fell seemed to comprehend him for the first time in days.

Newt gave him the Mayfair address.

Fell didn't even ask how he knew it. He had out his little notebook and wrote it down, nodding.

"Thank you, Newt. Yes, thank you very much."

Fell repeated the address to himself. For a moment, he almost seemed himself again, more alert and awake. He shut the book and grabbed his hat and coat.

"Mind the shop, if you please, Newt. I might be gone for a while."

"Of course," Newt said, but Mr. Fell was already gone.

Fell took the bus to Mayfair. He wasn't up to walking that distance on foot.13 He did walk from where the bus dropped him to the tenement building. It was a short, semi-modern building of dark glass and steel, the sort of architecture Fell had never understood.

He fumbled around in his pocket for the notebook to make sure it was the right building. It was.

Fell hurriedly crossed the street during a break in traffic and approached the building. Next to the entrance was the buzzer and list of residences. A. J. Caudery was the fourth down.

Fell took a breath and pushed the button. There was no reply. He tried again with the same result. Fell refused to be discouraged and pressed the button under Caudery's.

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice that answered; an older woman if Fell was any judge.

"Oh, yes, good morning," Fell said, "I was wondering if it would be possible to speak with someone. I- well, I'm just not really sure how."

"Oh! Well, you stay right there, I'll be right down."

The intercom clicked off.

Fell waited for a few minutes, then the door to the lobby opened and a small lady with white hair stepped out. Fell took off his hat. The lady smiled at him, a crinkled old smile.

"Who was it you wanted to see?" she asked.

"Caudery," Fell said. "I've tried the telephone and thought in person would be better, but I don't know how this system works." He pointed at the intercom.

The lady continued to smile, though a little sadly. "Yes, modern technology isn't my strength either. I wish I could help, but I'm sorry to tell you that Anthony isn't in."

"Anthony-? Oh. Do you know when he might be back?"

She shook her head. "No, dear. He didn't say. I got the impression he was to be gone for a long time."

"Oh." Fell felt suddenly very chest fallen. His shoulders sagged and he held his hat limply.

Mrs. Alms studied the man in front of her with the pale blond hair and taupe camel-hair coat. He seemed displaced, left over from another era, much like herself.

"Are you a friend of Anthony's, dear?" she asked.

Fell looked up from his shoes. "No- I mean, yes. Well, I don't know."

"Would you care to leave a message with me? I'll make sure he gets it, Mr-"

"Fell. A. Z. Fell, and no, no thank you. No message."

Fell walked away very discouraged. He wandered through London on foot, winding his way along busy streets and over crowded bridges, eventually finding himself in St. James Park once more.

He took the path beside the river, meandering down it. He came to a vacant bench and sat down with a sigh. He had unconsciously picked the bench he and Caudery had often frequented on the days of fair weather.

The ducks waddled over to request bread. Fell didn't see them. He didn't see the river or the fleeting sunlight on the trees. He was gazing out over the horizon. He was thinking of Caudery.

Caudery, who he had met by chance, Caudery, who he had grown to trust, Caudery, who he had given his confidence to, Caudery who should by nature be his mortal enemy, who had been a friend.

Caudery who had been kind to him.

Fell was trying to find an answer to all of this. For several weeks now he'd been puzzling, partly hoping to hear from Caudery and partly relieved when he hadn't. As an angel, Fell was well versed in miracles and trusting unquestioningly in the Almighty's Great Plans. He was used to believing without the need for evidence, knowing everything was possible to the One who's will was higher than his own. Now he had encountered the impossible. The unthinkable had occurred and he didn't know what to do. He had been associating with the enemy, spending increasing more and more time with a demon.

A demon who enjoyed life on earth as he did, who liked liquor and drove a vintage sports car and, if Fell's intuition was accurate, also enjoyed his company.

Fell thought back over the months. No harm had been done, he realized. What was it the two of them had actually done? Eaten lunch. Had tea. Drank wine. Wrote a book, a book featuring caricatures of themselves.14

Fell smiled faintly to himself.

It was all so very… human.

The ducks finally gave up and padded back to the river. The angel was clearly not giving them any food today.

Fell took off his hat. He supposed an escort would be along any minute now to take him away. He didn't know if there was a rule about being cordial with demons, but if there was, he'd broken it. The twenty-first verse from 1 Corinthians, chapter 10 came to his mind.

"You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord's table and the table of demons."

Whatever rules he had broken or smudged, Fell was sure the Almighty knew. He knew everything. Fell decided he would just sit on the bench and wait for something to happen. Something was sure to happen. It always did. The air had an almost palatable amount of electricity in it.

Then something did happen. The air changed.

Two pairs of shoes appeared in front of Fell's. Both were shiny and impossibly clean for London.

Fell looked up. Michael and Seviline were standing on the path in front of him, blocking the view of the river.

"Michael, Seviline." Fell greeted them without any false smiles or meanings.

"Aziraphale," Michael said. "Your presence is requested by Gabriel."

"I see," Fell said.

"Come with us, if you please," Seviline said.

"Now?"

"Now, Aziraphale."

"Right."

Fell stood and brushed off his coat. The two other angels teleported first, vanishing in pillars of light. Fell followed, shooting out of St. James park into the white, gleaming halls of the first heavens. He landed with a jolt of supernatural lightening.

The others were waiting. Gabriel looked pensive in his starched suit and well-groomed dark hair. Fell had always wondered why everyone had to stand at these meetings. There were never any chairs in sight. Fell adjusted his bow tie briefly and copied everyone else by holding his hands clasped behind him. He decided against putting his hat back on.

"Gabriel," he said, bowing slightly. "It's an honour."

Gabriel smiled, though his smile held no trace of friendliness to it. "Aziraphale. It's been a while."

"Yes, hasn't it." Fell forced a smile to his own face. "What has it been, over a hundred years, now?"

"I believe so," Gabriel replied.

Fell felt his smile begin to falter. "You summoned me?" he prompted.

"Yes, Aziraphale. It seems there is a situation."

Fell's collar was becoming uncomfortably tight around his neck. "A… situation?"

Gabriel nodded, oblivious to the other angel's state of worry.

"It has come to our attention that Down Below is busy, busy working on something we're not prepared for. We're not quite sure what it is, but I'm convinced, we're convinced it has to do with an Antichrist and the End Times. Of course, the End Times have been going on for over two thousand years now, but this has the feeling of escalating. As a Principality, Aziraphale, you are responsible for reporting activities of the Other Side."

"Of course, Gabriel." Fell was thankful he couldn't sweat, because if he could, he would be standing in a pool of perspiration.15

Gabriel went on. "There reportedly is a demon operating in the same area on earth as yourself. It appears he is responsible in some way for the start of this business. Nothing much will happen for a couple of earth years, until the Antichrist spirit reaches maturity. In the meantime, I need you to keep this particular demon under observation. He's known as Crowley, though it looks like his original Fallen name was Crawly. These are all of his previous corporations. We don't have an image of his current form on file, as he was discorporated quite recently. The top one was the last form he had."

Gabriel produced a small packet from nowhere and handed it to Fell. Fell opened it and pulled out a square photograph.16 The photo was in black and white and showed a young man with medium-long hair combed back from his face wearing a suit with a skinny necktie. He was also wearing sunglasses. Fell's hand wanted to shake. It could only be Caudery.

"Up to this point, we haven't had a reason to keep a watch on this one," Gabriel said. "He's stayed relatively under the radar, to use a common human phrase. I believe he's very low on the totem pole."

Gabriel enjoyed using human words and phrases whenever he could. He was slightly disappointed that Fell didn't respond to his humour.

"So what do you wish me to do?" Fell asked.

"Just observe him, that's all."

"Nothing else?" Fell asked.

Gabriel spread his hands wide.

"You know how it works, Aziraphale. You've been doing this job for quite a while. If you need to, exorcise the creature, but only if necessary. This particular one might prove to be useful."

"Yes, sir," Fell replied, holding the photograph uncertainly with two fingers. He hastily put it back in the packet and went to give it back to Gabriel, who shook his head.

"Keep it. It'll give you a reference point to start from. He shouldn't be too difficult to find, if his latest corporation isn't too different."

Fell nodded, slipping the packet into his coat pocket.

"Before you go, Gabriel continued, "I believe Michael and Seviline have something they wish to say."

Fell looked to the other two angels.

"Yes?" He didn't bother with any form of smile. Michael and Seviline had none for him.

"Aziraphale," Seviline began, "I took the opportunity of going over the recent Earth files in view of your latest reports, and I particularly looked at the last twelve-month time period. Mainly concerning your activities."

"Oh." Fell had no words or explanations left. They must have found out after all. All this fuss and show to trap him into a confession. Just typical highhanded-angell fashion.

"You could have just asked," Fell said quietly.

"We will now," Michael replied. "Why have you been associating with the being known as A. J. Caudery? The same Caudery Seviline and I met in that little restaurant establishment."

They knew.

"Writing a book," Fell squeaked out. It was the truth, not a lie in any form. He couldn't lie in front of Gabriel. 17

"Might I remind you that spending too much time with any human might be… unwise?" Seviline said.

Fell looked at her, bewildered. "Pardon?"

"The human may begin to suspect what you really are, and with most humans, that can lead to complications."

"Oh, yes, I suppose it could," Fell stammered. "But, Caudery isn't-"

"The Almighty hasn't actually forbidden friendship with humans," Gabriel put in. "I would advice you to use caution, however. Not all humans are the same. Some even use their God-given intelligence."

"Indeed," Fell said.

"Well, then," Gabriel gave an angelic smile. "Happy hunting."

Fell made eye contact and managed something along the lines of a smile in return, though in reality it was more like a grimace.

"Right, yes," Fell said.

Gabriel gave him a nod. He was dismissed.

Fell put on his hat and stepped back. A crack of lightening and he was gone.

Gabriel frowned at the spot where Fell had stood moments prior.

"That was different," he said. "Something felt…. Off."

"Yes," Michael agreed.

Gabriel looked to his associates.

"Where did you find him?"

"He was sitting on a bench in the park," Seviline replied, "Near the pond. He wasn't looking at the natural world. He seemed pensive."

"Hmmm," Gabriel mused.

"Should we continue to keep an eye on him, sir?" Michael asked.

"Perhaps." Gabriel had no cause for worry just yet. He still trusted Fell to do his duty, regardless of mental state. If his next report was less than standard, then would be the time to act.

"Sir?" Michael prompted.

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Do as you see fit, Michael."

"Even using the back-back channels?"

"Yes, even using the back-back channels if necessary. The Earth observation files will be entirely open for your use."

Gabriel left the meeting with the feeling that the heavens were not quite as tranquil and serene as they had been before.

Notes:

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

1 The one explanation he could come up with was too dreadful to think about.

2 Unsaid out loud it may have been, Agnes' distrustful neighbors blamed her for his death. "Always said she was a bad lot, didn't I?" crowed the baker's wife. It wasn't until many years later it was found that Mr. Nutter had died from giardia which he had picked up on a hunting trip. Agnes hadn't been along.

3 From the book of Mark, chapter 6, verse 4.

4 All animals, birds and assorted small critters congregated to his gardens, as Thou-Shalt-Not-Murder didn't so much as harm a snail, even if it slimed its way over his lettuce.

5 With the large quantity of both which he had consumed over the last twenty-four hours, it would have been impossible for Caudery to not smell of either, even when his human body was empty and he had changed his clothes.

6 Angels and demons only revealed their wings when it was absolutely necessary, as when going into battle or to prove their identity.

7 Which the angel had indeed. His job was to protect earth from the enemy and very often that involved the pursuit of demons and other unholy spirits. Fell was efficient, skilled and fervent in his duty. He was very good at it.

8 Who preferred to call himself A. Z. Fell for some unknown reason the other angels did not comprehend.

9 And not just books of a righteous nature; books from Bibles to ones about murders, death and evil.

10 All demons have a certain amount of power. Like the different ranks and positions of angels, there were different ranks of demons. The higher the rank, the more power that being possessed. Often the higher the angel before the Fall, the lower they were as a demon. Caudery's reserve of power was very small. The amount was no problem for tempting and enticing, or killing, but for doing deeds of good, it was limited. The more good he did, the less power he had.

11 He still didn't want the car to get impounded, even if he was dead.

12 More than one thing. Several things.

13 Even though it is easily within a five minute walk at the most. And two minutes by train and bus.

14 Caricatures that were very close to their real selves, an angel and a demon who are almost human.

15 Metaphorically he was. He also felt that he was in hot water.

16 Think of a Polaroid and you'll have a pretty good idea of what these celestial images look like.

17 If this was to be a trial, Fell would face it and tell the truth, even if he was shaking inwardly like a jelly in a high wind.