The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 96: And Reflect on Them

Chapter 96: ...And Reflect on Them

"This is all well an' good," Shadwell griped, yawning, "but I canna be stayin' here all night. We have meetings."

"You and your meetings," Newt said. "How can you even think about drinking when you have this fantastic puzzle in front of you!" Of all people, the young ex-witchfinder had gotten the most out of fiddling with Crowley's things. To the point where he had nearly forgotten that they had been, in fact, his things.

Or at least, his child's.

Several times Newt had to be reminded, and very soberly, when he grew excited with the wonders as he saw them, that once upon a time a little girl had played with them, and that her father, who could no longer hold her, had someone else holding her things.

Even with that in mind, the brainstorming succeeded once all their varied heads knocked together. Certainly, more ideas came up than Crowley had produced by himself. A few of them were even good.

Newt pushed the hardest. "Out of the highest respect, I am asking your permission to borrow them." Crowley listened to his requests all evening without comment.

But Newt persisted. He spoke of his contacts, and as he did Crowley caught Tracy making strange and furtive expressions. When at last Newt talked himself out of breath the demon pinned him with such a glare he stepped a few feet back.

But Crowley drew Traci politely aside for her take on all these contacts. After that he consulted with Aziraphale, who did his usual facial dances, but nodded affirmation. At last, he told Newt: "Take these, and take the angel." He actually pushed him a bit forward. Aziraphale was knitting his hands again, and his smile had a plastered look to it.

"Um, certainly," Newt mumbled. But Crowley held out a finger.

"First, we package this appropriately," indicating the vial. "Angel, if you would please."

"What do you wish me to do with this?" the angel asked.

"Take a few bits of it, and leave the rest," he said.

"Ah, of course. Very sound reasoning there." With a snap a small golden box materialized. The angel delicately opened it, retrieved an eye dropper and another vial, and took what he needed from the first. Anathema watched with detached interest as he did it.

"How.....?"

"Oh, it's frozen. Well, I just wanted to save some time."

"So, you broke natural laws and sucked up water from a small block of ice?"

The angel shrugged, and finished very carefully filling the new vial and closing the old one. As soon as he placed the vial in the gold box it misted over, and a thin film of frost covered the surface. Once he finished she added," What exactly are the rules your powers work by?"

"Ancient secret."

"Angel, you are very nearly the corniest person, human or otherwise, I have ever met." She side-eyed Newt, who gave her a sneer.

"Wait until you see his magic act," Crowley joked half-heartedly. "He'll quickly race to the top rank."

The demon walked away and leaned against one of the windows. Aziraphale watched him worriedly as all the items were gathered in a small satchel Newt had brought inside.

Into his hands Aziraphale miracled the box with the original vial. The new, gold box lay hidden somewhere on his person now, where no one could find it. And while the others shuffled around and readied to leave, Aziraphale asked him," Are you alright, dear boy?"

Crowley nodded vaguely, but wouldn't turn around.

"Are you coming with us?"

Crowley was silent.

Aziraphale inhaled deeply, then asked," Are you staying here to hunt?"

Crowley finally looked at him. "Dunno," he said honestly.

The angel studied him, his brows heavy. Trying to ignore the hostility rising up that he still couldn't quite understand. "Crowley, does it matter what pub you go to? Can't you come back to Tanfield with us and quaff with the rowdies there?"

Crowley shook his head. "Can't expose you lot to her."

"Me then?"

The demon closed his eyes and bore his fangs, leaning on the window sill. When he rose back up, he thrust his glasses on. "Not yet. We'll get there, but not yet."

But the angel caught his sleeve, persisting. "Then just hold off for one more night. Please? We can come back if you need to work in Soho, truly we can. Let's just meet with these...contacts," he added uncertainly.

"You mean ghosts," Crowley corrected gloomily. "Shit, I'm so fucking tired of ghosts."

The angel merely patted his sleeve. Crowley gave a ragged sigh.

"Ol'right." With a snarl the demon thrust himself upward and spun around, hollering, "Oi! We're headed out, troops!"

No one had time to argue. They were rushed out of the room, Crowley opened the safe, the angel replaced the other box, and out into the night they returned.

And Shadwell left secretly conflicted. Already he could taste the ale, but he kept looking back toward the flat through the gritty rear window of Turpin, reminiscing on that wonderful puzzle of a safe.