The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 192: Time is a Monster that Can't be Reasoned With

Chapter 192: Time is a Monster that Can't be Reasoned With

So, to recap:

We have a demon taking a nap, an angel doing magic tricks with a coin, a fairy consulting her notary, one dozen families of questionable species figuratively waiting in a holding pattern, and a witch cooking.

Was that mentioned? The witch? Well, she was. Cooking. She got tired of fiddling with burnt parchment, and couldn't make coffee forever.

Besides, the others had commitments.

"Well, this was fun," the good doctor yawned, sliding her notes into her satchel, which had a tiny lock dangling from it, and slinging the whole mess over her shoulder," but I have to skedaddle. I've got paperwork to look to in the morning."

"How are they? The families?" Tracy asked, rising with her.

"Pft! Antsy," Pamala quipped," Wouldn't you be—what are you doing?" Rattling from the kitchen brought her through. "Did I say something you didn't like?"

Anathema slammed some pots and pans on the stovetop and looked over her shoulder." Spinning my wheels." They had been gathering things up in exasperation when that had come through earlier:

"Aren't we all?" the doctor assured. "And Gary is helping me wrangle the kids. We told you we had it."

"Hmmm, yes, of course you do," the little witch smiled back distractively.

Tracy wandered in, pulling up her shawl," You'll be fine. It's all coming together now, dearie. Patience."

"I've been waiting a long time for this," Anathema bit, then drew back, opening cabinets to yank out random things. "My kit's been packed for days."

"Little pieces of paper got you down?" the doctor asked.

"I just wish Olivia had some input," the witch retorted, turning her attention to Tracy. "She didn't tell you anything else?"

"Lovey, she texted what she saw," Tracy reminded her, recounting the message sent about the angel's portents. "It doesn't shed any more light on their future."

"Except to confirm their fate." A few dried herbs were yanked from the ceiling. "She couldn't come down here? Or me there?"

"Not tonight," the adapt shook her head, her tone growing subdued.

"Why?"

"Private matter."

"We'd know more."

"I don't think so," Pamala yawned again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, then patting the witch on the shoulder. "Be happy. You're been railing to put a stake through this things heart, Crowley said this afternoon, didn't he?" She opened the door and looked out.

"Yeah, again no precise time," the witch grumbled, jerking open the fridge door and sticking her head in. "Where's the butter? Newt always goes through the butter."

"Um, you can stop spinning your wheels now,"

Anathema's head popped up.

Pamala smiled at her as she walked through the door," Your uber is here."

When Crowley arrived, the little witch refused to look out the door. Instead, she leaned against the wall and listened as the other women made their greetings with the demon, then went on their way. When their car pulled away, she took a deep breath and moved into the doorframe, throwing her shoulders back and chin up.

The demon lounged his lithe body against the car door. As she purposely stepped out, his head rolled on his shoulders and he brandished his fangs. "Your carriage awaits, my lady."

He bounded off to flourish a ridiculous bow and pulled open the door.

"Surprised you weren't laying on the hood," she huffed, gathering her shirts into the seat.

He frowned, "One does not lay on the bonnet of a car like this."

"But the side's ok?"

He looked dismissively away," Side has to be touched. Go to the bonnet and the car gets nervous."

She glared at him. "Why?" she asked slowly.

"Woll, usually only time you open is it is when sopin' wrong." He leaned in and showed his teeth. "Ever say the word 'vet' near a dog?"

Her only response was the glare. Anathema was fantastic at glares. They stayed nailed to the air after she moved.

She grabbed the door away from him and slammed it shut.

As they drove away, he could feel the glare at his ear. "You have something to share?"

"You overthink things, you know."

"So? Keeps me ahead of'em."

"Crowley, what's happening? In your head I mean?"

"Nothin' to worry about," he muttered softly.

"You know I can see your aura," the witch explained. "You know I can sense things. You've turned into a whirlwind inside a bottle."

"And those little pieces of papers you girls were poking at before I came in, "he suddenly revealed in the same soft voice," Does that...color.... you analysis?"

That glare was making his ear itch. "How did you know about that?"

"A quick peep in the window."

"You were spying on me!"

"I am a demon. Gotta keep my hand it some sort of mischief, or I get," he sniffed, "rusty."

"Hmmm. Worried you're getting off your game?"

His earlobe was burning now. "If those little burnt bits are any indicator of your own sourness, I'd say I'm on the right track."

Now he turned into the full exposure of the glare. Her brow was set hard, those dark sullen eyes crinkling.

"I told you I was a doomed creature," he reminded her in that same soft voice.

"I don't trust things at face value, Crowley. You and the angel? Fated on you paths? The whole prediction is too on the nose to be trusted."

"More about denial than trust, don't ya think?" Odd how his voice could quickly switch from a hopeless whisper into an aggravated snarl as he hit the gas and threw her back in her seat. "In cases like this, you have to get slapped in the face with the truth before it can get thru that."