The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 40: You Can't Get Anywhere with Half a Bentley

Chapter 40: You Can't Get Anywhere with Half a Bentley

"Do you think that strange fellow with the dog will notice the sudden addition of a bookstore to the middle of his neighborhood?" Newt asked Anathema as they stood on the sidewalk near the town center. Her attention, however, was not on the street, but rather a list of items she was ticking off on her notepad. She looked up at her husband, and blinked.

"Well, first off, this is the town proper, not the neighborhoods. We're surrounded by businesses. Second, you can ask him yourself, he comes by every 15 minutes to wag a finger at somebody."

"Do we have to worry about him bothering us the night of the ceremony?"

"Good grief, no. This time of year? He'll be guarding his own house from 'miscreants and tomfoolery.' I swear, not even my grandfather spoke like that. Besides, he seems to avoid the cottage these days. The Them feel a lot safer, knowing that."

"What is that you have there?" Newt leaned in to look at her pad, before she hid its contents against her chest. "A list of supplies?"

"No," she explained rather curtly," A summary of the ceremony, and questionnaire."

"You're not going to tell your husband anything?"

She shook her head.

"I'm a little hurt."

"Don't be," she retorted. "I made a promise."

"Er, so this shop," Newt pushed his glasses up with one finger, knowing when he'd been shut down," It just pops up anywhere? Like, they just open the doors, and suddenly they're in Bangladesh?"

The witch smiled at him, but she didn't move the notepad away. "Yes, even takes the Bentley, if it's parked on the curb."

"What happens if it only takes half the Bentley?"

"Crowley might rip off the angel's wings."

"Harsh."

"I'm kidding, Newt. And don't repeat that. Crowley's edgy right now."

"I'm not edgy," a rather snide voice purred behind them," Just, knives out, is all."

Newt swung around and boggled. Both the angel and demon were standing together behind him. The angel beamed at them, his hands behind his back, slightly bouncing back and forth on his toes. The demon held his head at an angle, his sunglasses hiding eyes that gave Newt the willies. The former witchfinder took a step back and to his wife's side, then looked up. There was the bookshop, just as if it had been there nestled in the town business district since it's founding. He pointed, and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Gentlemen," the witch greeted. Crowley bowed with a flourish; the angel side-eyed him.

"Former Miss Device," Aziraphale grinned, "How have you been?"

"Good, thanks."

Newt frowned. "Hang on, you can call her by her married name, you know."

"Oh, I didn't mean to offend," the angel muttered. Crowley just smirked. "My dear, we do thank you for your economy."

"Well, it helps that you've briefed me on current events," she looked the demon up and down, and then the angel, down to his vest. Aziraphale caught her look and blushed. "No judgement, angel. Shall we?"

Newt leaned around them and pointed to the Bentley," Aren't we going to take that?"

"No!" the witch and angel said together. Crowley bent back and barked a laugh. The angel smoothed his vest, twitched, and explained. "Why, we're in walking distance, no? Let us promenade down the boulevard. Give us a chance to catch up."

"Angel," Crowley leaned into his ear," Try to keep the dialogue in the 21st century, will you?"

"Well, I'm nervous!" he complained. The witch rolled her eyes and started walking, just to get everyone else moving.

"So, how was your trip?" she asked. The angel's eyes lit up, and he grasped his hands in the front, avoiding his vest, and began a long recount as they headed down the street. Most of it involved a lot of food and sight-seeing. Meetings with chefs, visits to historical sites, even a little hiking. Anathema listened vaguely, grasping the pad to her body. She noted that Crowley was watching her.

Then the demon stopped the angel in the middle of his story, and asked him," Are you going to tell her about the temples?"

"Oh, in South East Asia?" The angel grunted. "Well, we've been to some temples, of the non-monotheistic variety."

"Cultural exchange," the demon offered. "Angel's curious about heathen worship." Aziraphale gave him a sour look. "Those are your words."

"Back in 1953, perhaps," he grumbled back. "But all that is beside the point. We've discovered something wonderful! Any house of worship not based on an Abrahamic tradition—"

"And not just in Asia," the demon interjected. Aziraphale squinted at him.

"Can I tell this? Yes, anywhere as such, Crowley can go without injury!"

"Injury?" Newt asked.

"Don't burn my feet."

"How often do you burn your feet?"

His wife elbowed him in the ribs. "We're not going there, sweety."

"Ah."

The witch let the angel finish the recounts of his exploits, fully away of the demon's silence and his stare. Then she said," I've got a small dinner prepared. It's just us tonight. Afterwards, Tracy will stop by," she turned to her husband, and he rolled his eyes, "And we'll meet privately."

"And go over that," Crowley uttered quietly. Anathema saw him lower his glasses, and give her a glimpse of his yellow irises.

"Yes, Crowley," she said gently. "As thoroughly as we can."