Ten
Come Again?
Crowley got out of the car and stretched his aching limbs. Strange how as a demon he could drive nonstop for three weeks before feeling the effects, and now he was stiff as a rake after a day and a night's journey. He didn't like being human all that much.
Gee got out too. 'Oof. I'm getting too old for this.' She stretched her back with a popping sound, and looked around.
The construction workers at the demolition site next to their car had the radio on. Crowley recognised the singer; a prodigy he'd always known would make a great career playing on construction workers' radios in Israelian suburbs. His mind inadvertently snagged on the lyrics. 'That death does wait, there's no debate...'
Crowley swallowed. The singer went on, shouting at full volume: 'Going to Hell and back!'
Crowley swore. He got back in the car and turned on his own radio. Queen blared through the car, blocking out Sabaton. Much better.
A moment later Gee joined him in the car.
'Bet you didn't think you would end up in Nazareth of all places, did you?' Crowley said.
'No, this was my plan all along, of course.' She laughed cacklingly.
Crowley snorted. He peered out the window, but he couldn't see anything. It had been nearly half an hour since Aziraphale and Amina had left; how long could it take to say no?
'I'm going slightly mad, I'm going slightly mad,' sang Freddie Mercury, to what was in itself a slightly maddening tune. Crowley pressed the skip button, and the song was cut off. In its place came a casual country guitar strumming that he didn't recognise.
'This isn't Queen,' he said.
Gee picked up the cd case. 'It's supposed to be... Bach?'
'No, it – ach, never mind,' Crowley said absentmindedly. It certainly wasn't Bach either.
Then the singer began: 'He's coming, yeah, He's coming for sure...' to the most boring country tune in the history of boring country tunes.
'He's coming soon, you can rest assured...'
'Really? You're rhyming sure with assured?' Crowley pressed skip.
The singer went on, entirely undeterred: 'He's coming, yeah, He'll come and reign...'
Crowley pressed skip again. Nothing happened. He pressed the button several times, with increasing violence, but the singer staunchly ignored him. 'He's coming for us, He's Coming Again.'
It was then that it hit Crowley. He looked at Gee with horror.
He leapt out of the car, frantically looking about. The construction workers' radio blared in his ears: 'He's coming, yeah...' One of the workers was trying to switch to a different channel. When he realised it wasn't working, he gave the radio a thump.
Crowley ran to the scaffolding and began to climb it. 'Hey!' one of the construction workers yelled, but Crowley was already at the top. Panting, he looked around him.
Above the city, the skies had broken open. A Heavenly light poured down, focussing like a laser beam on a multistorey car park somewhere to Crowley's north.
'Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. ' Crowley scrambled down the scaffolding.
'Hey, now, sir, you can't just –' the construction worker began, walking up to him.
'Out of my way!' Crowley hissed. He tried to shove the man aside, but found he couldn't move him an inch. For a moment he didn't understand, but then realised that this human body did not have the strength to shove a man twice his weight. So he left it at a glare and stepped nimbly around the construction worker.
'What are you going to do?' Gee asked when he threw himself into the car.
Crowley hit the gas pedal in answer. The Bentley roared forward, back onto the road. The other cars honked furiously; a white van nearly hit him, swerving away just in time. Crowley's heart leapt to his throat, and a visceral fear made the hairs on his neck rise.
He could die here.
No more improbable travel.
Fuck that, Christ is Coming.
'Careful!' Gee shouted when Crowley tried to overtake someone via the emergency lane. 'Crowley! To Hell with your metaphor, you'll kill us both!'
Crowley pressed the gas pedal down deeper, gnashing his teeth. He rejoined the main road, drove through a red light and was met by a massive truck coming right at him.
Gee shrieked. 'Stop! For my sake!'
Crowley managed to squeeze an extra mile per hour out of the Bentley and escaped a collision by a hair's breath. His heart was pounding in his ears. That was a close call.
Too close.
He slowed down.
Breathing raggedly, he joined the traffic again, forcing himself to remain at a normal speed.
He felt a pang in his chest. Here he was, driving below the speed limit like a normal human being, and it felt as though only now he had really lost. It was stupid, really. But, as he'd said to Gee, the speed limit was a metaphor – but wait, hadn't he made her forget about that conversation?
But before he could follow that strand of thought, he rounded a corner and saw the car park appear to his side. Light poured over it from the skies. Crowley turned – forgetting to use the turning signal, which elicited more irritated honks from the other cars – and drove towards the barrier barring the entrance.
The barrier did not open.
'Aaargh! Open up!' Crowley hissed.
'It's closed,' Gee said, pointing to a sign hanging above the barrier. It said Closed for repairs.
'Okay, fine.' Crowley got out of the car and ducked under the barrier.
'Wait!' Gee called, opening her own door and creakingly hauling herself out. 'I'm not that fast –'
But Crowley was already running. Round and round and up and up he went, arms flailing and eyes blazing.
'Wait!' Gee called somewhere below him, huffing and puffing, but he didn't stop.
His legs and lungs were burning when he reached the top storey. There, he halted. His near-death experience in the traffic still reverberated under his skin, and he felt a certain trepidation at running into a crowd of angels at full speed.
And there was a crowd of angels on the top storey of the car park. Not only that, but a red Ferrari, and four all-too-familiar demons standing beside it. Crowley grew cold inside.
In their midst stood a dishevelled and teary-eyed angel he recognised. Muriel.
Still worse, they were all looking up to the sky, from where a beam of light shone down to a spot in their midst. Crowley fumbled in his pockets for his sunglasses and squinted up.
A figure descended down the beam, like it was a stairlift, moving slowly but by now close enough for Crowley to see the face. It had been two thousand years, but he recognised Him immediately.
'Shit,' Crowley muttered. He averted his eyes and looked for Aziraphale.
He was standing close by, squinting against the light. His arm was extended protectively in front of Amina, who tried to block out the light with her hands. The beam was fixed on her.
Twenty centimetres above the ground, Christ halted. The light dimmed to bearable candelage.
'Greetings.' His voice was sonorous and warm, the voice of a man who can enthral crowds. The angels certainly were enthralled. They all bowed (Aziraphale excepting), and Uriel said in a reverent voice: 'Greetings, Lord.'
The demons were snickering to each other. Uriel ignored them.
'We have found you a vessel for your Second Coming, Lord,' they said, gesturing towards Amina.
Aziraphale immediately moved in front of her, but Amina was not having it. 'Vessel?' she spat. She stepped away from Aziraphale and glared at Christ. 'Don't you dare come near me.'
Christ looked at her with mild puzzlement on His face. He reached towards her in a blessing gesture. Amina snarled and slapped his hand away. 'I said no, you absolute ibn kalb!'
The angels blanched. Michael stammered something and Uriel stepped forward, but then hesitated. Amina had just insulted either God, or herself, and the angels could not quite figure out which they wanted it to be, or what they should do about it.
But the demons had no such issues. Astaroth sighed and stepped forward. 'Hold her,' he told the others, and they made no protests.
Hastur grabbed Amina's arm. She shrieked: 'Let go of me!', followed by a stream of Arabic curses, then kicked Hastur hard in the shins. He whined and let loose. Furfur now tried to grab her by the shoulders, but received an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. He stumbled back and fell on the ground. Hastur tried again, aided by Dagon this time. Amina writhed, bit into Dagon's hand, and screeched like a ghoul into Hastur's ears, until he took his hands off her to cover his ears. Now free, she turned around to stomp on Furfur's chest, kicking him down once again. Dagon had sunk to the ground and was holding a profusely bleeding hand.
Astaroth now made to move towards Amina, but she whirled on him. 'And don't you come near me either, you perverted little creep. I'm not here for you to remedy your inferiority complex. Go sort yourself out or go fuck yourself, I don't care which.'
Astaroth blinked.
Aziraphale had watched the whole struggle with horror. But Crowley laughed. They had chosen well.
He left his hiding place and went to stand by Aziraphale. 'It is true what they say, then,' he said in his ear. 'Hell really doth have no fury like a woman's scorn.'
Aziraphale whirled around. 'Crowley!' he said, his expression a mix of worry and relief.
'You,' Michael hissed. The angels around her raised their wings, like cats readying for a fight. The demons had stopped trying to get to Amina, and looked over to Crowley, eyes smouldering. He resisted the urge to hide behind Aziraphale's back.
There was a tense silence.
'Well,' Hastur said at length. 'I thought he'd be dead by now.'
'Dead?' Michael hissed. 'He can't die –'
'Shut up,' Saraqael said. 'Can't you see something is different about him?'
Christ had been watching the whole affair with a bemused silence. Now, He came forward again – feet still not touching the ground – and turned to the angels. 'I will not wait any longer. I am going to Come Again.'
Aziraphale took a breath, but he didn't get a chance to speak. From behind them came a breathless voice:
'Jesus Christ! I always have to do everything here!'