The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 87:The Risks of Hunting in Secret

Chapter 87: The Risks of Hunting in Secret

8 PM, and a few drinks later.

"She lied about so much, angel," Crowley explained. Aziraphale was pacing the bookshop, listening. "Can't tell you how hard it's been to sift for the truth. Whatever happened, woll, it was before this," he pulled out his silver chain and the stone hanging from it, "but you shifted there. And it fueled part of the problem."

This made the angel take a seat. He lowered himself demurely into his comfy chair and folded his hands into his lap, and stared into the mid distance. "I think you're right." Then, his brows furrowed. "But am I shifting back and forth, or is my memory playing tricks on me?"

"You're shifting, you're not cracking. I can tell." Crowley tapped himself indicating the mark on his chest. "I feel so much of you here, do you know that? This does something to a person, to actually feel another there like a thing all its own. Gives a power like you wouldn't believe."

In kind Aziraphale touched his vest, and winced.

"I know angel. I know."

"Do you feel the things I feel?"

"No. I sense your well-being alone. Otherwise," he sipped his scotch, "there would be fewer blow ups. Am I wrong?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "And how unfortunate." He made a face.

"Whot?"

Aziraphale breathed hard, and looked hard into him.

"Ah," Crowley straightened. "My turn. Time for the hard questions."

The angel cleared his throat, and finally asked:

"Do you meet with her often?"

"No, but I've been watching her."

"Learning?"

"Yes," Crowley splayed his legs and leaned forward. "And...taking things."

The angel rounded on him. "Taking things!"

"Her arsenal."

"Crowley! I..."

"Whot?"

The angel relaxed. "I don't know how I feel about that. I will," he looked up, "I will shelve it for now until I do."

"Extremely fair."

"Tell me of your talks."

"We barter. For things, her things, for information. The timeline of her visitation on you."

"But she lies."

"And schemes. I've given her nothing to work with."

The angel muttered. The side of Crowley's lip raised.

"Go ahead and say it," he said flatly.

"That I think you're taking an extreme risk?"

"That I've risked her discovering us."

The angel smiled. "Not as simple as that, is it?" He sipped again, then threw back, letting the ice jangle in the tumbler. Then he planted the glass squarely on the table, and looked back at his love.

"How does passing blame help us?" he explained. "You took every precaution, I trust."

"Angel..."

"I trust you, Crowley. You took every precaution. How are you going to find anything out if you don't succumb to your wily nature?"

"I've brought them into the shop, Aziraphale, her things."

The angel stared at him, and gripped the arms of the chair. Crowley winced.

"Here, to the shop?"

"I carry it all with me. Seven items. Warded, sealed, unknowable and unreachable to any but me and you. But they are here."

"In your jacket?"

"Yes, would you like to see them?"

The angel nodded, as if in a daze.

Crowley reached into his coat, then laid out the items in front of the angel.

Aziraphale counted six things. "And these are from 'Jinny.'" He kept his voice flat. "Where's the seventh?"

"In the safe at my flat."

"When?"

"Yesterday," Crowley's tone was equally void of emotion. Aziraphale started to straighten his tie and collar.

"I see." He made a show of inspecting the items, half glass shards, half sundries. "What was it?"

"Frozen holy water."

The angel didn't move. But after a few little ticks reanimated his face, he continued his inspection of the items. "I feel as if some are these are disguised. The glass."

"Yes."

"How did the others change?"

"They went through 'Jinny's' hands. Presto, no shard."

"No shard."

"Nada."

"Did you directly touch the water?"

"It was encased it in a cold little box. I sensed no danger from the package. But it now lays in a concrete block inside the safe."

"But not before."

"No."

"Any idea what 'Jinny's' motives with the water?"

"Obviously as a weapon."

"But she gave it away."

"Could still be a weapon," Crowley offered, knowingly.

The air was heavy laden with all the questions they were raging to ask each other. Aziraphale was so furious his ears reddened; his eyes danced. Only by putting his readers on was he able to still, and hide, them. Crowley walked a slow circuit around the shop, stopping to pose at striking angles at each pause in the conversation. Each pose was one was an echo of fight or flight. The angel could practically taste the lactic acid building up in the demon's tensed muscles.

But, they stayed, the two of them. They fought for the calm. Fought for the future of their lives together.