The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 116: Do They Even Know It's Christmas Time at All, Sans the Racism?

Chapter 116: Do They Even Know It's Christmas Time at All, Sans the Racism?

And as Shadwell and the angel weren't prepared for what they saw, neither was Newt when he opened the door and 12 feet of black snake was dragged in and hurried up the stairs to the angel's quarters. Once they disappeared, the young man made a hardline decision then and there to accept the inexplicable from now on, but with pointed follow up questions.

                When tea was served and everything explained, the angel tilted his head and asked," What's missing? Something's missing."

                Newt moved to the edge of his seat. "You'll never believe what happened!"

                Shadwell and the angel glared at him. "Can you give me a break for once?"

                "What happened?" Shadwell offered.

                Newt drew in conspiratorial. "It turns out that while you were gone, some shady fly-by-night herbal company illegally procured the empty lot for al la' cart promotions."

                "Animals!" Aziraphale huffed. Shadwell laughed.

                "Yes, well, when the bookshop took up its rightful place, all those people appeared right here. They didn't even question it."

                "It's SoHo," the angel explained tersely. "Tell me they didn't make off with the cash box."

                "No, but it's a bit heavier."

                "You didn't sell my books!"

                Newt, despite his new motto, was taken aback. "Well, yes. It is a bookshop."

                Aziraphale's head went straight to his hands. Shadwell actually squeezed his shoulder. Newt was really trying hard here.

                "Um, you made a killing. All the diet books went."

                When the angel bounced back, he did a 180. He was beaming. "Oh, that's fine. Been trying to get rid of those wretched things for years."

                "And a few books on restoring male potency."

                Shadwell's eyebrow went up."

                "Ye, um. Didn't sell all of them, did ye?"

Arriving back home held a weighty feel for them. A few hours later, and man-shaped, they brought him to the cottage and down to the basement. He wanted the basement. For reasons, he stipulated.

                But as they took him down, the witch came by and suddenly bandaged his eyes. For as soon as he had changed back, his eyes filled with crimson tears that would not stop.

A quick meal was prepared. The angel disappeared without a word, but with a tray, to the basement below. That left Newt to his presentation. He took full advantage, with gusto.

                "Her name," Newt proclaimed, after spreading the documents before him, "is Samantha Anouilh. Or at least that's the name she goes by presently. She has over a dozen aliases. She's thirty-seven, born in Sete, off the southern coast of France. And Crowley confirmed, she's the spitting image of the Tyrant."

                "A distant descendant," Olivia said in her regular soft voice. But for the first time, she looked worried.

                "When I look at this picture," Anathema grimaced, "I feel immense power."