Ineffable Deeds

"I'll have the ratatouille, please."

Crowley spun on his heel. "Angel?" The sight of Aziraphale standing in front of a food truck—even a French gourmet one—on a film studio backlot in Los Angeles was a bolt from the blue.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's face melted into the genial smile he found nigh irresistible. "Won't you join me? The ratatouille is scrumptious." He turned to the food truck attendant. "Make that two orders, if you wouldn't mind."

Five minutes later, as they sat on a bench feasting on what truly was a remarkable dish, Crowley sought to satisfy his curiosity. "Did you decide to take a holiday from the bookshop?"

"No, although October is a delightful month to visit the City of Angels." Aziraphale lowered his voice. "I'm on a mission."

"From ...?" Crowley rotated his index finger, spinning it upward.

He nodded. "It's come to our attention that there are more lingering side effects to that kerfuffle in Tadfield than we initially realized. Adam did his best to restore the world, but he is just a child even if he is the Antichrist." Aziraphale winced. "I believe the Americas may have slipped his mind."

"Understandable. Who wouldn't rather think about Atlantis or Tibet?"

"What brings you here?" Aziraphale asked.

"The usual."

"Ah yes, Faustian bargain. Extended youth?"

"That was last week. On today's agenda is a director who wants to make movies that don't suck. His dilemma reminds me of the quagmire we extricated Will Shakespeare from."

Aziraphale smiled nostalgically. "That was a happy collaboration."

A subtle hint the angel wanted his help once more? It could be entertaining. He'd already secured enough Faustian contracts to keep his side off his back for months.

"Between you and me, the angels are torn," Aziraphale confided. "Most of them believe Armageddon should have proceeded and any fallout should be ignored. A few of us want to rectify the issues." He nodded to the center of the plaza. "You see the young lady sitting by herself next to the fountain?"

The backlot contained a motley assortment of actors and film crew personnel. Halloween was a few days off. It was impossible to judge if the mortals were actors in costume or employees who'd gotten into the spirit of the season. Crowley lowered his sunglasses to get a better view of Aziraphale's target. "The one wearing a jumper decorated with bats, witches, and jack-o'-lanterns?"

He nodded. "That's Ember. She's a production assistant rodent."

"You mean gopher."

"Do I? That does sound more pleasant. She's also quite an aficionado of All Hallows' Eve."

He scrutinized her more closely. Mid-twenties. Her dark eyes peered earnestly at the world from behind orange-framed glasses. The bat earrings with horizontal stripes in shades of orange and pink were a nice touch. "Halloween, more likely."

"Angels frown on that term. It sounds rather pagan."

"You'd prefer thinking her witches and jack-o'-lanterns refer to the Church?"

Aziraphale winced. "Your side somehow manages to insinuate themselves into any festival."

"I prefer to think we add a little spice to your bland offerings. What happened to Ember?"

"She dreams of being a scriptwriter but hasn't sold anything. Her latest project was a pilot for a TV series. She intended to pitch it to a producer until disaster struck. Her laptop was destroyed in a mini-cyclone the day before we met in Tadfield. Her only copy of the script was on that laptop. She now believes the incident was an omen indicating she wasn't meant to write. She's had writer's block ever since."