This chapter contains brief mentions of injuries. Not graphic, though.

Chapter Fifteen

Of Hope and Decisions

"Be very careful, then, how you live- not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil."

-Ephesians 5:15

One of the greatest crimes Caudery had committed in his ten thousand years of infernal existence was his driving. He drove the Bentley with little regard to how it might impact the world around him. Speeding was the only method of travel he knew. To have the outside world flash by in a blur of colours, to have the radio high and fly through the gears; this was close to ecstasy, pure joy.

It was not with joy Caudery now drove. It was with feelings as far from joy as the emotional range could go. With the motionless body of Fell in the backseat, Caudery sped from the scene of the engulfed bookshop. The only place to go was back to his flat. No one would look for the angel there. The Bentley roared through the streets from Soho to Mayfair. Caudery was praying under his breath as he went. He knew Fell hated it when he drove fast, but he wasn't conscious to complain about it.

Caudery pulled his car to a screeching halt outside his tenement building. He was pleased to see an ambulance departing. Mrs. Alms was safe anyway, and the building would be empty. 1

Caudery made his way up the trashed stairwell to his flat. It took intense concentration to not drop Fell as Caudery stepped over the mess and avoided the dirt and broken plants. His bedroom was the one room Hastur and Ligur hadn't destroyed. Caudery carefully set Fell on the spare bed, not caring if the angel's clothes got soot on the white blankets. Caudery dug around in the bathroom until he found a clean sponge. He wiped off the dirt from Fell's face the best he could. The angel didn't move at all. Caudery still couldn't sense him, couldn't tell if Fell's body was dead or only just discorporated. His skin was still cold to the touch. Caudery put his head on Fell's chest again, trying not to feel full of despair. Caudery tried everything he could think of to try and revive Fell, from brandy to mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. None of it worked. The angel remained lifeless and unresponsive.

Caudery's sorrow was quickly pushed down by anger. How dare the archangel do this. Caudery's long hands curled into fists. He wanted to break something, but there was nothing in his flat that had been left intact. For the moment, the demon could do nothing more for Fell. He had removed his body from the fire. He could be content with that. Caudery took off his jacket with a sigh.

He left the bedroom door open and wandered into the lounge. The sight of it made his heart ache. His beloved plants, books and music were scattered everywhere. Furniture was upside down and across the large, east-facing windows was a large, ugly crack that had been caused by a flying chair. Caudery went around and slowly gathered up CDs and records. Some were no more than broken pieces of plastic and vinyl. His stereo seemed to be alright, even though Ligur had crashed into it. Caudery plugged it back in and put a record on the turntable. The music choice was a rather sobering one, but if Caudery listened to something cheerful, he feared he would cry.

There's a man goin' 'round takin' names
And he decides who to free and who to blame…

The bookcase was stood upright and slowly refilled. Many of Caudery's books had pages torn out or the covers missing. A copy of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations was almost beyond recognition.

The hairs on your arm will stand up
At the terror in each sip and in each sup…

Caudery sighed. He left the destroyed items in a depressing heap and moved on to the plants.

The poor plants. Leaves scattered all over the floor, branches snapped, flowers crushed and roots mangled. Not one of them had a pot still intact.

Voices callin', voices cryin'
Some are born and some are dyin'
It's Alpha and Omega's Kingdom come…

Caudery found a few containers under the kitchen sink that Ligur had overlooked. The monster of a peace lily was stuffed into the bucket. The smaller one got a cooking pot. The various other houseplants found accommodations in the forms of a tea kettle, a few cardboard boxes and the plastic crisper drawer from the refrigerator.

The whirlwind is in the thorn tree
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks…

When some sort of order had been restored to the rest of his flat, Caudery stopped. He had to, as the wound in his side was beginning to ache terribly. The final words of the song played. 2

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,

And I looked and behold: a pale horse.

And his name, that sat on him, was Death. And Hell followed with him…

He went back to the bedroom. The angel's body still lay on the bed, untouched from when Caudery had laid him there.

Caudery tried mouth-to-mouth once more without any sign of success. The demon sat down on his own bed, staring somberly at Fell's placid face.

"I'm so sorry, angel," Caudery whispered. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

Something in Caudery's chest was hurting. He realized it was his heart. He put a hand to his shirt, feeling the bandages wrapped around his torso through the fabric, the bandages Fell had painstakingly put on him. Caudery's hand clutched at his shirt. He couldn't hold these emotions inside any longer. His eyes stung and his arms turned black where the tears fell. Caudery let the tears run until there were none left to cry, used up like an ink well gone dry. He laid down on his bed, half curling up, ignoring the pain coursing through him.

For hours he remained there, without moving and hardly breathing.

Then something like a gasp came from Fell.

Newt was stuck in traffic. He should have expected this, since the only way to get out of London was to take the M25. Newt was closer to swearing than he had ever been in his short twenty-three years of life.

Newt turned around in his seat and looked behind him. All he saw was an endless queue of cars, stretching back into the distance as far as he could see. The scenario was the same ahead of him.

"Drat," Newt grumbled.

Glancing down at his packed bag, with map and bread knife sticking out, Newt realized he should call Sergeant Shadwell. He should let him know where he was going. Even though he wasn't strictly on on army business. Of course, in order to do this, Newt would have to find a payphone. He didn't have a mobile. 3

Newt studied the stopped traffic. No one was moving. No one had been moving for the past few hours. However, there was just enough room on the left-hand shoulder for a car.

It would have to be a small car.

A car like Dick Turpin.

Newt squinted at the fuel gauge on the dashboard.

He looked back at the cars, all horns blaring. Newt set his jaw. With one hand, he turned on the radio. A little music wouldn't hurt. Then he twisted the steering wheel, taking his little blue car out of queue. It just fit in the narrow gap. Newt grinned to himself and gunned the engine.

Quicker than he would have ever hoped, he was off the M25 and free of traffic. He found a payphone in a nondescript spot just past a small hamlet. Newt pulled over.

It would be tempting luck to hope the phone was still operational. Newt hoped anyway. The phone had a layer of dust on it and the booth had the appearance of being a hotel for spiders, making Newt want to take a bottle of hand sanitizer and dump it over everything. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and picked up the receiver. When he held it to his ear, he heard the dial tone. Newt grinned again and dialed Shadwell's number. Shadwell answered the call himself. 4

"Who be call'n and want do yeh want?"

"It's Newt, sir," Newt said.

"Eh? Where be yeh call'n from, lad? Yeh ain't in London, are yeh?"

"Just outside. I'm going to Tadfield."

"Tadfield?" the sergeant grunted. "Where's that?"

"Past Oxford."

"And what out in this eh Tadfield could be enough to entice yeh to go there? Witches maybe?" Shadwell asked.

Newt took a breath and told the truth. "Anathema is out there, Sergeant Shadwell. My Anathema and she's in trouble."

"Anathema-?"

"Her parents live across the hall from you. She's gone to Tadfield to stop the End of the World and I'm going after her."

"Now see here, lad," Shadwell began. Newt didn't let him finish.

"I know I'm just a private in this silly witchfinder army and I know Anathema is fully capable of taking care of herself, but-" Newt paused. "But I love her and the end of the world is coming, Sergeant Shadwell, and I don't want that to happen."

"Eh? What yeh talking of, private?"

"Mr. Fell and Mr. Caudery have something to do with all this and I'm going to find out what it is."

Newt hung up. His brows were drawn tight over his eyes, which held a kindled fire in their light blue depths. He fingered the lapel of his army jacket to make sure his witchfinder pin was still there.

He could do this. And he would. As if on cue, a bolt of lightening lit up the gloomy sky and was followed by an almighty clap of thunder.

Newt got in his car and aimed Dick Turpin towards the east. The radio began to blare Another One Bites the Dust. It suited Newt's mood perfectly and he cranked the volume. He threw the car into gear and after coughing twice, Dick Turpin took off. For once, Newt actually drove over the speed limit.

Fell hadn't been expecting the archangel Michael to show up in person. Fell was still holding the telephone when there was a flash of lightening. Then ominous thunder.

He swallowed, put the phone back onto the base and turned.

"Michael!" Fell cried with something that could be called a smile. 5

The archangel did not smile or return any manner of greeting. Michael's wings were unfurled and he held a long sword in his hands. He did not look pleased to see Fell.

"Aziraphale," he said. There was harsh judgment in his voice.

Fell swallowed again. The smile faltered. "To what do I-" he started and was cut off.

"You have some explaining to do, Aziraphale," Michael said. "You are in trouble."

"Am I?" Fell slowly edged away from his desk. "W-what did I do now?"

Michael's eyes blazed. "Do not have the impudence to lie to my face. You haven't told the truth about your association with Anthony Caudery. Do not keep lying now."

"I didn't lie," Fell protested. "I just… didn't tell you everything."

"Silence can be exactly the same as telling a lie," Michael stated bluntly.

The celestial eyes rimming the archangel's wings flashed with sudden light.

"You have become a bit of a Fallen angel, Aziraphale. You have been consorting with a demon."

The earth angel opened his mouth to try and explain. Michael again spoke over him.

"Do not attempt to sabotage my intelligence by suggesting you have spent these last three years shadowing this demon Caudery and learning diabolical secrets. The records speak against you."

"Well, you see-" Fell tried.

"You have been eating, drinking and otherwise corrupting yourself on earth."

"I wouldn't say corrupting, Michael," Fell put in. "In my defense, nothing I have done could be viewed as immoral. Enjoying the earthly pleasures of food and drink in reasonable measures never cost anyone their soul. Only by giving in to the influences."

"Don't preach to me, Aziraphale. It is not of the so-called earthly influences I am speaking of and you know it very well. I am referring to your intimate relationship with a demonic being."

Fell clenched his hands at his sides. "Caudery is not demonic," he said stoutly.

"He is a demon, Aziraphale. You are a Principality. You have certain obligations to fill, one of which I might remind you, is exorcising."

"He's not," Fell began in a squeak of a voice, then stopped, cleared his throat and started again. "He has a spark of goodness in him, Michael. He's not what you think."

The archangel drew closer to Fell, his face a perfect picture of indignation. "Put out your hand," he commanded.

Fell didn't want to obey, but he did. He opened his fist and stretched out his left hand, palm up. Michael touched Fell's palm with a forefinger.

Burning heat shot through Fell's hand. He fought to keep his arm steady. A light appeared from under the skin and formed into a red glowing sigil on the flesh of Fell's palm.

Michael gazed at the mark, then raised his flashing eyes to Fell's face. When he spoke, his voice was like a cold sheet of steel.

"You have lied again, Aziraphale. You have been intimate with a demon. Your very corporation testifies against you."

Fell balled his hand into a fist and drew it protectively to his chest, in spite of the pain from the mark.

"Our relationship is not what you think," Fell said.

The archangel stared down his nose at the somewhat short, somewhat plump Principality in front of him. Fell's self-confidence faded. He knew his words were as good as useless. Nothing he could say would save him. He was going to removed, expelled; cut away like rotten wood. 6

"You condemn yourself," Michael confirmed. "Is there any argument that might possibly change my mind of your blatant guilt now?"

Fell had nothing to say. He felt heat gather on his face.

There was no need for Michael to drew himself up to his full height, nor was there any room. His wings filled the space, brushing the bookcases and the pillars which supported the arched ceiling. He was also standing in such a way as to prevent Fell from making any attempt at escape. He could only go deeper into the bookshop, which wouldn't help him.

"There is no such thing as a demon possessing 'a spark of goodness,' as you call it," the archangel mocked. "You've become soft, Aziraphale; sullied. I hope you have a good explanation prepared for the Almighty as to why you let yourself be influenced by the devil's spawn."

Michael raised the sword. Fell glanced desperately around him and grabbed the nearest object- a book. There was only one thing he thought of to say.

"I will not kill Caudery!"

"Very well," Michael declared, "for I already have. Prepare to meet thy judgment, Aziraphale."

Fell nearly dropped the book. Hot white flames lit up the sword, encasing the blade from hilt to tip. The archangel was swift and moved quicker than Fell had in hundreds of years. Fell didn't even know when the sword touched him. He only knew it had, for he felt a sudden burning surge of unbelievable pain through his being as body and spirit were violently separated.

Then he was drifting in the air, looking down at his motionless body on the rug and the form of Michael standing over him with sword drawn. Seconds later the scene disappeared. Fell sensed smoke and fire, and then he was floating away.

After Newt had rung off, Sergeant Shadwell had been left holding the telephone with a feeling rather like worry. He stood with the dial tone buzzing in his ear for what seemed as long as an hour. Then he cleared his throat, hung up the receiver and shuffled into his flat.

Young Newt had sounded almost hysterical, making wild statements about the end of the world of all things. And he had gone off after a woman, a woman who might well be a witch.

Shadwell shook his head. Newt was in trouble, going off on his own into the clutches of evil. If Mr. Caudery was involved, there was sure to be evil. Shadwell had always thought Caudery was of the villainous sort since he had first met him. It hadn't bothered him until now. Newt was young and innocent. He had no experience. Just a mere babe in the woods. And Shadwell had let him go out into the world without assistance. This shouldn't be. 7

Sergeant Shadwell grumbled under his breath and got to work.

Not since he had broken his ankle had Shadwell donned his witchfinder sergeant coat. Now he pulled it out and filled the pockets with the essentials.

Torch?

Tick.

Lock-pick?

Tick.

Rations?

Tick.

Lighter?

Tick.

Witchfinder pin?

Tick.

Extra cigarettes?

Double tick.

Shadwell shuffled around to various spots in his sitting room, taking items from one pile, then another, stirring up the dust as he went. He opened a large glass case and took out the hat which resided there. This was the hat of witchfinder Thou-Shall-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer. Shadwell took the sleeve of his shirt and dusted the hat off religiously. Then he put it on his head. Shadwell looked at his reflection in his somewhat-clean mirror and almost smiled. He took off the coat and hat and placed them reverently to the side.

Out of another glass case Shadwell took a large and very strange looking piece of weaponry. It may have started life as a very ordinary rifle, but over time had been so upgraded and modified with various dials, pipes, scopes, wires and what might have been a gold funnel, that it was nor longer recognizable as such. This object had once belonged to a well-known witchfinder8 and held the title of Hag Blaster Rifle or the Thunder Gun, depending on who told the story. Now whether it had actually blasted any hags off the face of the earth or only frightened the gullible is all up for speculation.

Shadwell took up the rifle with a sense of firm foreboding. It was not a gun you take on a camping trip to ward off bears. It was for hunting down evil.

A light tap at the door pulled Shadwell rudely from his visions of past heroics. He gave his routine grumble as Madame Tracy popped into his flat. She had come for the week's dishes. 9

"Where are you off to, Mr. S?" she asked after taking a good long look at his witchfinder gear.

"Tadfield," the sergeant growled.

"I think not," Madame Tracy said firmly, shaking her head.

Shadwell stared at her, not excepting this reply. "Eh?"

"Your ankle is not yet fully recovered, love," the lady pointed out. "You can't go traipsing across the country."

"Private Pulsifer needs me," Shadwell insisted. "He's out there all alone in the wiles of the enemy!"

"Oh?" Madame Tracy was not taking him seriously.

Shadwell pointed shakily at the map on the wall. It showed all of the British isles. Important witch-related locations were marked with pins. Not fancy witchfinder pins, but ordinary pins with coloured plastic tops. The sergeant had stuck a pin over Tadfield. The pin was now smoking.

Madame Tracy looked at the pin thoughtfully. "That's not something you see every day," she said.

"It's the powers of evil!" Shadwell cried. "The forces of hell are converg'n over Tadfield an' young Newt's gone to meet 'em alone. He's only a lad, 'e can't handle it by himself."

Madame Tracy saw the sergeant was determined to go, bad ankle or no ankle. Madame Tracy put the dishes down and crossed her arms over her silk robe.

"How will you get there, Mr. S?"

Shadwell had put on his coat and hat. He slung the hag rifle over his shoulder and after pulling his wallet out of the depths of his coat, began thumbing through the contents.

"Train is out of the question," he muttered in disappointment. "Is too far ta go on the army petition."

Madame Tracy reached in the pocket of her robe. From a nice little roll of notes, she peeled off several. "If you must go, this should get you there and back," she said, pressing the notes into Shadwell's hand. "And this extra for a coffee."

It took Shadwell a moment to recover his voice. "I'll take nay earnings of spirit raisin' and witchcraft from yeh, woman!"

"Well, then," Madame Tracy plucked the notes from his hand. "If not me, how about your sponsors? Mr. Fell and Mr. Caudery?"

"Nay, nay, they be involved in this demonic plot. Might be of the very devil himself. Demons."

Madame Tracy was now throughly convinced that Sergeant Shadwell was losing his mind. It sounded to her like he was in the need of some hot tea and a good lie-down, but the man wasn't going to be persuaded to do anything he didn't wish to do. The sergeant was cantankerous at best and Madame Tracy was well acquainted with his temper.

That left only one option.

"Right," she said, gathering up the dishes again. "I am going with you."

Shadwell stared at her in undisguised horror, unsure if he had heard her correctly. "This ain't a trip fit for the likes of you, Jezebel!"

"Nonsense, Mr. S. I'll be your assistant. You just wait and I'll put something else on. Won't be a moment."

Out the door she went, leaving Shadwell clutching his hag rifle and standing with mouth open, lost for an answer. He thought of sneaking out of the building, but Madame Tracy would hear him. He had just made up his mind to climb out of a window when the lady was again on the scene, now attired in boots, large hat and a long cape over her dress. She had her purse over her arm and looked ready for anything. 10

"Come, Mr. S," she said, "it's looking very stormy out. We may have to run to the bus depot."

She took him by the arm and into the wind and rain they went. Shadwell never could say afterwards how they got through the storm, but he quite suddenly found himself seated on the bus with the infamous Madame Tracy, psychic medium, beside him and he, much to his unbelievable shock, found that he didn't mind.

Fell had been in possession of a body for so long that he didn't remember what to do without one. He couldn't just miracle one out of the air. He needed a body. And he needed to prevent Armageddon, even if Caudery was gone. Fell could honour his memory by finishing what they had tried to do, even if he, himself, was now Fallen. 11

But first, he had to find a body. Fell had no idea how to possess a body. It sounded so unpleasant. His own would be preferable if possible.

Fell, as a spirit, was hovering somewhere between the realms, where the physical and spiritual dimensions met. Time was nonexistent here, everything of the materiel world slipped away. He avoided the Heavens. He wasn't ready to go through judgment just yet. Fell wandered about, popping in various places about the globe and out again. Wherever he went, the former angel was bombarded with signs of the times.

Storms raged across the skies. Rain the colour of blood came down on the streets and jungles alike. Fell didn't see any fish falling from the sky or forests regrown, but the seas were restless and the Kraken was stirring from the deep.

Before, Fell would have said, "It's ineffable, just part of God's plan." But now he thought, "This shouldn't be. It's too early. The End isn't due just yet. The command hasn't yet come. At least, I think it hasn't. I should, I must do something about it. Oh, Lord, I wish I had my body back."

Fell drifted back over England. He felt a twinge in the atmosphere over London, as though something had changed. His body was being moved.

Fell hovered over Soho, then his spirit went to Mayfair. What was his body doing in Mayfair? Fell stopped over a steel and glass building. He wasn't quite sure where he was. The birds-eye view was rather different than what he was used to when he had two feet on the ground. When he had two feet to put on the ground that is.

Fell thought he saw the roof of a large black car at the kurb. Could that be the Bentley?…

Fell could sense that his body was indeed here, it was in the building. Fell plunged downward, through the layers of the roof and the top floor until his spirit reached the level where his physical person was.

He was in a residential building. In a large flat. Fell found himself in what he thought was an entry hall, but he couldn't be sure. It looked more like a war zone. The floor was littered with debris and the door bore the appearance of having been hit with a lorry.

Fell wandered into the next room. If he had been in possession of a heart, it would have stopped at the sight before him. Books, CDs, records and what had been plants lay everywhere. Furniture was overturned and broken. Fell would have shaken his head at the destruction, if he had still had a head to shake. Fell looked at the plant remains a little more closely. Was that one in what appeared to be a plastic bucket a peace lily? And that caladium, Fell was sure he recognized it, though instead of a blue pot it was stuffed into a tea kettle.

Could these be Caudery's houseplants? he wondered. If they were, that would mean this was Caudery's flat. And if this was his flat and Fell's body was here… then that would mean Caudery was alive.

Following his intuition, Fell drifted quickly through a few more rooms, (all in equal states of wreckage), until he reached the last room. This was a bedroom and it appeared to be the only room in the entire flat that had been spared from being destroyed. In it were two beds, a nightstand and not much else.

The nightstand had a book, a pair of dark sunglasses and part of a bottle of brandy.

On one bed lay Fell's body, looking rather battered and dirty, as though it had been in a fire. 12

On the other bed lay Caudery. He was also dirty, bloody and bruised. Black streaked his face and arms, as if he had been crying. Fell couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. The blankets under him were a tangled mess.

Fell wished to tell Caudery how sorry he was, how truly sorry that he had gone through all this, but he had no voice. He had to get back into his body. Fell hovered directly over his physical self and concentrated. A moment later, spirit and flesh were rejoined with a jolt. The former angel felt the nerves in his hands and feet tingle as feeling returned. His skin was cold, his limbs stiff. There was no air in his lungs. Fell opened his eyes as he gasped, breathing in warm air.

"Fell!" He heard Caudery's voice. It was right next to him.

"Angel, can you hear me?"

Fell tested his voice. "Yes," he said.

"Oh, thank God."

There was a warm hand over his. Fell turned his head to see Caudery leaning over him, orange eyes open wide, his hair falling over his scarred, stained face. He looked as though he couldn't decide whether to smile or cry. Fell raised himself to his elbows, groaning as his limbs resisted the effort.

"You shouldn't, your body is very stiff," Caudery said.

"I can manage," Fell replied, getting into a sitting position.

Caudery's hand was still over his. Fell turned his hand over and gripped Caudery's. Fell abruptly remembered his touch hurt Caudery and took his hand away. At least, it would if he was still an angel. The next moment, Caudery shocked him by fully embracing him, arms around him, long legs partly over his as the demon was half on the bed. Warmth spread through Fell as their bodies touched. It was a gesture that felt intimate, yet also very tender. Fell's astonishment was quickly swallowed up by worry for Caudery.

"Caudery, you'll burn!"

"I'm s-s-sorry," Caudery stammered, pulling away. "I thought you were…" a black tear escaped one eye.

"I was discorporated," Fell explained. "I'm sorry I caused you worry."

Caudery tried to laugh, but choked on a sob. He sat back on the other bed, covering his face with his hands. Fell let him sit for a few minutes before speaking again.

"How did my body end up here?" Fell asked.

Caudery sniffed and put his hands down. "The archangel Michael. He was in the room when you called the last time and he recognized your voice. It took only a moment for him to evaluate the situation. Did he come after you?"

Fell nodded, pulling himself more upright. "He caused my being discorporated," Fell said. He was cautious about how much he should share of Michael's words. His judgment and accusations. Fell curled his left hand into a fist, remembering the mark. It still hurt. He forgot how quick Caudery was. His change of expression told him the demon had already guessed part of the truth.

"He convicted you," Caudery hissed with his tongue, his serpent qualities beginning to show as his anger took over.

"Not exactly," Fell said, trying to defend the archangel. "He just accused me of conduct unfitting to an angel, association with a de- um, well you, and-"

"And discorporated you on the spot," Caudery finished the sentence.

"Yes," the angel sighed. He was thinking of the sigil on his hand.

"Was it an angelic sword?" the demon asked.

Fell confirmed it. He was about to tell Caudery about the mark, but then he noticed Caudery's side. The right half of his suit was soaked, clinging to the skin. A cut in the fabric of his waistcoat ran from his armpit down to his belt. Fell immediately sat up, all pitiful thoughts for himself gone.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing." Caudery attempted to act like it was fine and ended up grimacing.

"Don't give me that," Fell retorted. "You're bleeding."

"Ngk."

"Let me look at it."

"No, don't-"

Fell had already reached over and carefully peeled apart the layers of fabric. Caudery winced. He was severely wounded. The weapon had gone through his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, slicing into his bandaged torso and the skin underneath. From the amount of blood, the wound was deep and probably went right through Caudery's body. The incision had the appearance of having been afflicted by a long blade.

"Caudery, were you struck with a sword? A celestial sword?"

"Eh…"

"You were!" the angel cried. "How in Heaven can you still-"

Be alive, Fell thought.

Caudery should be dead. He should be a smouldering black mess on the floor, not sitting here, breathing and talking. He shouldn't be alive. He must be immune. Or be fighting for his life. Either way, the wound needed to be seen to. Immediately. Otherwise, it would slowly work at killing Caudery, like poison.

Fell was on his feet.

"Bandages!" he demanded, "Do you have any medical supplies handy? Let's go to the bookshop, if you can stand. I have everything there."

"We can't. The bookshop is gone."

Fell stopped. "What?"

"Your bookshop," Caudery said. "There was a fire. I got you out, but the shop is…" he trailed off.

Fell was numb. His bookshop. He sank onto the bed.

"I am so sorry."

Fell looked up.

Caudery's serious face held sadness, his eyes full of unspoken feeling. "I know how much you loved that shop," he said.

"It was only a bookshop," Fell said, endeavouring to be brave without feeling very brave at all inside.

"But it was still your bookshop," Caudery said.

"Yes."

His bookshop. All his books. The work of a thousand lifetimes, gone.

"They might have been able to save it," Caudery said.

Fell shook his head. "The building was over two hundred years old. Once a fire started, I don't think there would have been much chance of saving it. Dammit."

Caudery looked at him in surprise. The angel had just uttered a swear for the first time in his existence and he hadn't even noticed.

Fell stood. "Let's get you patched up," he said.

Caudery pointed out where the bathroom was and moments later Fell had cleared out the medical cabinet and laid everything out on the spare bed. Fell looked at the supplies dubiously. He didn't have much to work with. A wound from an angelic sword required special attention, not just bandages and antibiotic ointment. It needed a miracle. Fell doubted if he could do much good. 13

"Don't bother," Caudery said, following his line of thought. "I'm dying anyway."

"Don't say things like that," Fell implored.

"It's the truth," the demon replied. "Been dying for years. Eaten away from the inside out like maggots eat rotten fruit. Don't waste your powers, Fell."

A stubborn streak came over Fell. "I will do what I see fit and will not be dictated to," he said firmly. Angel or not, he was not going to be argued with.

Caudery stared at him with wide orange eyes. Fell stared back at him. Then Caudery surrendered. He said no more and stripped off his outer clothing down to the bandaged layer. Fell found a knife in the kitchen and began cutting the torn dressing away.

"What about your own wound?" Caudery asked when all the bandages fell away.

Fell dismissed the question.

"Michael used his sword on you, too," Caudery said. "There's a slash down your jumper."

"It doesn't bother me," Fell said. "All the celestial sword did was discorporate me. It didn't kill me. After all, I'm not the one who-" Fell stopped. "Well, that is-"

"The one who is a demon," Caudery said, finishing the thought. "Can't harm an angel, you mean."

"I'm not an angel anymore," Fell confessed. "I think... I am the same as you now; a demon."

"Don't be ridiculous. Just being discorporated does not make you a demon. If you'd been demoted to a demon, you'd have gone straight to Hell, angel. Your body would have burned. You wouldn't have been able to get it back."

"I wouldn't have?"

"No."

"But-"

"No buts. Look, if you really were a demon, I wouldn't be flinching each time you touch me."

"Oh." Fell felt foolish. "I'm so sorry."

Caudery shrugged his shoulders, then his face was distorted in pain. Fell made him lie down. The angel used a roll of toilet paper to stop the flow of blood. It was a sizable gash. If there was anything positive about it, the wound only went through Caudery's side, missing all the vital organs that could easily have been pierced. The sword had sliced the snake tattoo on his back, cutting the belly of the inked design in half. Fell wasn't sure if it was the right time to bring it up, but he was feeling bold. 14

"Why the tattoo, if I may ask? You don't seem like the sort who would get one."

"Wasn't my choice," Caudery replied, arms under his chin, his eyes on the wall.

Fell picked up the brandy from the side table and handed it to Caudery. Fell was certain Caudery needed it more than he did at the moment. Caudery took a long drink from the non-sharp edge of the broken bottle. He went on after he'd emptied most of it.

"Got the tattoo Down Below. It wasn't voluntary. It was after my wings were…"

He trailed off. He didn't need to continue. Fell had a pretty good idea of what Caudery meant. When his wings had been torn from him.

Caudery swallowed. "Anyway, all of my corporations have had the tattoo. It's ingrained in my being."

"A brand-mark," Fell said, thinking of the sigil on his own hand.

"Lest I forget I am Fallen," Caudery concurred, drinking the rest of the brandy.

"Are you likely to? It's not the sort of thing one forgets, I don't imagine," Fell said, indicating for Caudery to turn over on his back.

"I have," Caudery said, moving painfully. "Once when I spoke to a rather flustered angel who was worried because he'd gifted his flaming sword to the first humans, then I forgot again when a bookshop owner nearly got himself mugged in St. James Park. I forgot for a long time. He was enough to make me forget what I was, that Aloysius Fell."

Caudery's eyes went to Fell's face.

Fell coloured. "Why me?"

"I don't know, angel. Maybe it's ineffable."

Fell tried to smile.

"Heh," Caudery suddenly laughed without apparent reason.

"What is so amusing?"

"I was just thinking about what Newt could make of this scene. You and me alone in my room and I'm basically naked."

"Really, Caudery," the angel said. "I'm just mending this wound."

"You are aware your assistant is convinced there is something more between us than just friendship, right?"

"What do you mean?" the angel's face was an absolute blank. 15

"That we're an item, Fell."

"Item?" Fell was momentarily baffled. "What kind of item would…?"

"Meaning that you and I are together-"

"Well, we are-"

"No, together, as in a couple. Romantically involved, lovers, that sort of thing."

Fell coloured redder than a Red Delicious apple. "But it's not like that at all!"

"I know, angel. But with humans, everything ends up tainted."

"Well, calling me 'angel' doesn't help, Caudery."

"Not that it really matters," Caudery said with a shrug. "Once a seed of a rumour starts, it doesn't matter if you deny it or ignore it. It just festers, like a weed."

"Where you… an angel of high or low rank?" Fell asked carefully, changing the subject.

Caudery reached up and brushed his hair out of his face. "Eh, higher than I am now. 'The higher they are, the lower they fall' I think is the phrase."

"So relatively high, I would assume," Fell said, working on getting new bandages ready to put on Caudery's torso. "Were you an archangel?"

Caudery almost snorted. "Not one of those guys. There were only three, remember. I'm not Lucifer as far as I know. I did oversee a division, though, before, you know."

Fell brightened. "Oh! Were you a principality, then? Like me?"

Caudery smiled briefly. "Not a principality. Sorry, Fell."

"But you do have a semi-permanent assignment to earth, like myself. Isn't that task usually reserved for higher ranking individuals?"

The demon had to agree. "Yeah. It was sort of a fluke. They just wanted to get me out of the way. So I got stuck with this job. Out of the way, out of mind. Except for when Hastur saw through my reports."

The angel had finished cleaning the wound. Fell drew on his internal power and pulled the energy to his hand. His fingertips began to glow. He was thankful to see he still had power to use. He knew Caudery wasn't going to like what he was going to do next, so he didn't tell him. All he said was "This may hurt" and plunged his hand into the open wound.

Caudery's eyes grew large and round, all the white vanished as he threw his head back on the pillow and screamed. Fell knew he was hurting Caudery extremely, but he had to do it. With the aid of his knee and other hand he held Caudery down.

Against Caudery's wishes, Fell was using his angelic power to heal him, or at least to slow the process of deterioration. And in order to do this, he had to cause more pain before the healing set in. Fell miracled blood vessels together and knit sinew and muscle. The cut on Caudery's back faded into nothing more than a slight scar, the incision vanishing as the skin joined and fussed under Fell's careful operation. He ran his fingers over Caudery's side, all traces of the blade's damage gone.

Then he removed his hands.

Caudery stopped screaming and lay still, panting for air, beads of perspiration glistening on his face. He looked to Fell.

"You shouldn't have done that," he gasped. "You shouldn't drain your power for me. Heaven will… Heaven will notice."

Fell shook his head. "I've already been judged and discorporated. What else could they do to me?"

"You don't want to know," Caudery said, sitting up. He inspected his torso. The skin was smooth, with no signs of a sword ever having touched it. "Well, thanks anyway."

Fell handed him his shirt. "What did you look like before the Fall?"

Fell was thinking back over his heavenly acquaintances. He had known hundreds of angels in his time when he was a cherub. He hadn't worked with all of them, but he did have a very good memory for faces.

Caudery looked at the hole in the shirt. He stood and went to a door which turned out to belong to a large clothes closet.16 He pulled out several articles of clothing, all clean and free of soot and blood.

"Don't know if we met before the Fall," Caudery said, "before that day in the Garden."

He pulled a new tie from a rack over the door. Caudery then threw the lot on the spare bed and began taking off his soiled clothes, seeming to be completely unbothered by the angel's presence.

Fell diverted his eyes. "We might have," he said.

Caudery came over and picked up his chain necklace and belt from the blanket beside Fell. The angel looked up. Caudery had changed into a black shirt, pinstriped waistcoat and black trousers. He wove the belt through the trouser loops and snapped the buckle. Caudery paused before he put the necklace on. He ran his fingers over the silver chain.

"You wouldn't have recognized me, even if we had," he said to Fell. "I was very different then. Very different."

Caudery put the chain around his neck and knotted his deep crimson tie. The damaged clothes were kicked to the closet floor. The demon pulled a new pair of sunglasses off a shelf lined with dozens of pairs, all assorted styles and shapes. He put the glasses in his waistcoat chest pocket.

"Well, I'd offer you tea, but I had to repot a houseplant in the kettle," Caudery said apologetically.

"We could go to mine, oh-" the angel quite abruptly remembered his shop was gone. "Maybe some books were saved," he sighed to himself.

"I got one," Caudery said.

Fell quickly looked up. "What's the book?"

Caudery motioned for the angel to stand, then pulled back the blanket on his bed and handed a slightly charred volume to Fell. Fell sucked in a breath at the sight of the green cover and gold lettering.

It was The Nice and Accurate Prophecies.

Of all the books Caudery could have saved… It was perfect.

Notes:

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

-Credit for The Man Comes Around belongs to John R. Cash

watch?v=k9IfHDi-2EA

1 The tenants of the other flats didn't live there during the week days, anyway. Caudery had never met them. Not that he had ever introduced himself either.

2 Caudery had a vague idea that the same song had been playing the entire time he'd been working, which, strangely, it had. Even though the record had more than four songs per side.

3 The last cell phone Newt had owned was disposed of when it had mysteriously self-combusted.

4 Which he never did, if he could get someone to do it for him. Madame Tracy was probably having a seance or getting ready for one.

5 But really wasn't. It was more along the lines of disguised incivility.

6 "And even now the ax is laid to the root of the trees. Therefore every tree which does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." -Luke 3:9

7 Was this perhaps the first pang of consciousness in Shadwell's musty old witchfinder's brain?

8 Who meet his end by his own gun, though most storytellers prefer to leave that part out, as it is a bit gruesome, there being a lady involved and everything.

9 She was still cooking for Shadwell, twice a day, plus tea on the weekends.

10 At least anything that involved adventure and the need to look smart. Madame Tracy was fully willing to take on the forces of Darkness if she could do so at Sergeant Shadwell's side. The hat was merely for show.

11 It should perhaps now be mentioned that Fell was convinced he had become a demon when he had discorporated.

12 Which it had, as you the reader already know.

13 And if he had indeed become a demon, how could he heal Caudery? A demon couldn't preform miracles, so Fell thought.

14 Realizing he was still an angel might have boosted his confidence a little. What he would have to say to Gabriel, however, was not worth thinking about right now.

15 Fell had no idea what Caudery was on about. Though he was intelligent, at times he was very childlike, which honestly isn't a bad trait to have.

16 Caudery had a tendency to just miracle his clothes out of nothing, as apposed to Fell, who liked to buy them. Fell's wool jumpers were mostly from the 1950s. However, Caudery had gotten in the habit of keeping a supply of real clothes on hand, since he never knew when his powers might vanish. And he did like to collect sunglasses.