The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 41: A Proper Witch and Demon

Chapter 41: A Proper Witch and Demon

The witch turned out to be a decent enough cook, if a rather brisk host. While the angel delighted in sharing his exploits with the Newt, Anathema ground her teeth, waiting to get to the more important part of the evening. Newt glared at the angel for most of his conversation: he'd never been to most of the places mentioned. He certainly hadn't visited through history, only to revisit them later and recount the changes. That was a new experience for him entirely.

                Tracy had arranged to come by afterwards, and presently sat with the two of them quietly listening along, while Anathema and Crowley hung out in a corner, watching. The witch's fingernails scraped the edge of the notebook. Occasionally she bit the corner.

                Crowley offered her a glass of wine, and she retrieved it without taking her eyes off the company.  When she took a sip, she blanched, and pierced him with an accusing look. He just bared his teeth, and sipped.

                "This is whisky," she glowered.

                "But it looks like wine," he sniffed it," Even smells like wine."

                "I don't need your help to relax."

Crowley shrugged," You have to let him do this, B.G. He needs to visit."

                "And you?"

                "I can wait. I can watch." Crowley regarded his angel, and the witch witnessed the demon's features soften ever so much. Then, the demon regarded the notebook, and touched her wrist. She tightened her grip until the knuckles went white. "Here, no, I'm not going to take it. Just relax your grip, will you? In all things, for now?"

                Anathema let out a heavy sigh, and relaxed. She let her mind dissipate, and touched deep on the trickles of energy exchanged between her and contact with him. Then, she pursed her lips, and twitched. Her calm reclaimed her, and the demon put his hand back in his pocket.

                "What do you fear, B.G.?" he asked, before letting the wine moisten his nubile lips, quinch his long throat.

                The witch imitated him, accepting the tiniest bit of warmth from the miracled wine. "Have you noticed how all the mirrors have been covered in the house?" He nodded. "Guess who did that?"

                "The kid. And how long will that last?"

                "Until you've left, and I've cleared the house of any hint of your presence with sage."

                Crowley leaned on his elbow and grinned to himself. "Taking no chances."

                "Neither are you," she countered. She looked down at his chest. A small, nearly indiscernible shimmer rose up, then vanished. Following her gaze, he said," That was his idea. Looks like it's helping. And I have faith," he snarled a little at his own use of the word," that what you do will work as well."

                "You're not going to like it," she turned away, to the darkness outside  her kitchen window.

                "Sounds like you don't like it, B.G." She shook her head. "Do we need to step outside, you and me? Angel's gotten to the good part. Well, a long part to be more precise. The lions of Venis: good God. Something about those lions."

                "He is particular on Heraldry art?"

                "Peculiar, more like it. And, iconography. Practically knows everything about them. See," the demon pointed with his wine hand," Here, he's gonna explain why lions are a middle finger to Italy. He'll prattle on for five minutes or so, then he'll go into Venis as a city-state for like, twenty more. He likes the idea of city-states, little independent nations." The demon let his head fall to the other side of his shoulders, watching the small group spell-bound by the angel's telling.