The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 102: Good Hunting

Chapter 102: Good Hunting

Aziraphale's hand rested on the curtains long after the Bentley drove out of sight. Slowly his eyes cast into the warm glow of the fireplace, and looked to the mantle, and the antique clock ticking away there. It was nearly 3 am. Christmas Eve Morning.

"Care for some company?" Anathema's head popped into view at the stairs, and then the rest of her followed. She was abnormally huddled into herself. As she moved to the living room, she paused, and leaned against the wall, swaying a little. "I'm sorry, about earlier."

The angel sat down by the fire.

"All of it."

"My friend, sometimes I think you apologize for the wrong things."

She sat across from him, her face quizzical.

"You appear to express regret for your delivery," he sighed, then placed his hands in his lap," When in fact you mean the news."

"Hmm, maybe," she shrugged.

"As if you could change any of those facts, dear."

She nodded. "So, what do you think?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "So puzzling. You can detect the pieces gone, but not the threads that keep them attached."

"I can't confirm there are any threads."

"Can you trust the others to feel them?"

"I wish I could. I want to." Anathema shivered, and pulled a coverlet over her shoulders. "But their absence seems too real, too—"

The angel looked at her.

"Supreme," she stated flatly.

"Well then, maybe it's time for some field work."

And he watched her body language change as he explained their encounter at the pub. The blanket dropped, as did her mouth. She actually bounced a little, her fists hitting her knees. "Ooo, we're getting closer! I can feel it! Where's Newt?"

"Hiding from you."

"Not anymore." Newt wandered in, a stack of papers in his hand, the satchel slung over his side. Unceremoniously he plopped everything down on the coffee table. Shadwell walked in behind, then went upstairs to find Tracy. But Newt grabbed his wife by the shoulders and hauled her up.

"We've got leads. Sound ones. Tomorrow morning—"

"It is tomorrow morning," she said flatly.

"In a few hours we can go find these people."

"Newt," she explained, "It's Christmas Eve. Even if you find them, no one is going to be in a mood to have you blundering in with your investigations."

The angel chuckled, making them look toward him. "That's not what you were saying earlier. You just like to disagree with him."

"So, it's a plan?" Newt smiled excitedly, feeling primed to chase down the secrets of the world.

"Yes, she's right. It won't be easy. And none of us is sleeping tonight, are we?" he directed his glance to the witch.

She shook her head. "No. Holding vigil."

"Mmm, yesss." The angel touched the stack of papers. "You ladies will be busy with my...sword, I and Newt with these papers and...Crowley and his guard.... oh my," his hand went up to his face and he shook his head," I can't bear to think on that part."

"So many heads knocking together," the witch said. "We're bound to come up with something."

"Keep that in mind, dear, when you go upstairs with Tracy. Many heads, many detectives, all different in approach, all capable of sleuthing out a clue or two."

***

On the way back to London, Olivia sat humming to herself, watching the world fly as Crowley raced through the night. In no way did his driving seem to bother her. When they stopped at their first red light, he turned to her and said," When this is all over, I and the angel may be in need of your services once more"

She stopped humming. "I can see that. I've prepared for such an eventuality."

"May be right after, maybe be thirty years after. Hope you start a franchise: you may not live that long."

"You wouldn't use it."

"Perhaps. Depends on who your predecessor is."

She laughed lyrically. "Have you become an inheritance? What a thought."

"One day we'll learn on our own, Olivia. I hope it's soon, so that being an inheritance does not become an eventuality."

"It would not a burden for me, demon. I consider it part of my calling. Otherwise, I'm in the wrong business."

The demon showed his fangs to her, but it wasn't cynical or playful. "How can something as powerful as me and him be so reliant on 'counsel' such as yours?"

"Maybe," she told him, as the light changed and they revved forward, "because you've been forbidden from just being openly together for nearly six thousand years."

***

"This going back and forth to Tadfield is bullocks, if you ask me," Crowley grumbled sourly, entering the pub. As he held the door open for Olivia, she inquired about just making the bookshop reappear. "As if," he hissed, taking her to a booth. Drinks ordered, they looked around, and he added," It doesn't listen to me much, and frankly, it doesn't always listen to him! Likes to settle on once were we reach a place." He took a draw. "Maybe it likes to visit with other buildings. Who knows the secret lives of buildings, anyhow?"

"Well," Olivia offered. "Perhaps it's a smaller version of a city's secret life. I'm sure the two of you know much about that, watching cities grow like people thru the centuries."

"Yeah," he returned, his eyes on the door, his and reaching into his jacket. "And like people they hurt and burn and die in wars. Cities are the worst atrocities of war."

"In what way?"

"Well, they're full of people for one." Hand resting in his jacket, he told her," Sit over there by the window. You'll have a good view of us without her seeing you."

"And I'm closest to the door?"

"The way I like it."

Olivia nodded and wordlessly took up her drink and reseated herself. And when he knew she was safe, and he could make eye contact with her, he pulled out the hand mirror and set it up before him, then gave it a nasty tap.

"Come out, come out where ever you are," he purred, his face grim.

And soon lively, mocking speech emerged from the mirror," Oh, Daddy. Don't be cross with me."

"I've told you a million times, I know you're not my Jinny."

"Would you like me to be?" the vibrant, brittle voice sang. "This might go so much better for you, if you'd just give in."