The Curious Condition of Being Human

Chapter 4

Many of the items on Anathema's list were easy enough to get. The newly-dubbed ''jelly spell'- the plan to disrupt the mortal magic that held celestial and infernal curses together - required some mundane items to get it started.

Well, mundane by magical standards, at least. It sent Crowley all over London the next day, dodging in and out of occult shops. Some shops were full of tourist bunk and New Age practices that did as much as asking a fire politely to stop burning. Some were legit. Some were bunk, but they stocked some legit items completely by accident.

One item, in particular, might actually be found at Aziraphale's shop. So after he'd gathered most everything else, Crowley pulled up outside the familiar shop. He entered said shop, not entirely sure how he was going to ask for what he needed without raising the angel's very expressive eyebrows.

But maybe a little bit of what-the-fuckery would work as a sliver to help wedge the proverbial slices of bread that made up the spell apart. Crowley had to risk it because if Aziraphale wasn't a source for the needed item, he wasn't quite sure where to look next.

"Cheers, thank you," Aziraphale sing-songed in an overly polite, tongue-biting tone as a woman exited the shop, her arms laden with books.

Crowley pretended for one second to be a gentleman and held the door open for her. Then he stepped inside and watched as the woman hurried by the shop window. "You...actually sold books?"

Aziraphale sighed as he tucked a respectable pile of notes into the till. "Yes. I'm afraid she was rather insistent. And there were only a few in the pile she selected that hurt to part with."

Aziraphale, after all, did not run a bookshop to sell books - but rather to horde them like some manner of very literate dragon.

"Well, have these as a consolation," said Crowley as he produced a beautiful pint of deep red strawberries.

Aziraphale pulled his glasses off his face and eyed the berries, then looked up at Crowley. "All right. What did you do?"

"What did I do? I walked by an organic, free range, hyper-local, ultra vegan luxury greengrocers and saw some ripe lovely strawberries, which I know you're both fond of and very, very fussy about."

Aziraphale swallowed and straightened, then crossed from behind the counter. "Yees. That's all quite true, and these look lovely and perfect. Which is what makes me suspicious."

Crowley froze. "What do you meeeean?" he drawled.

"These are apology berries. You only ever think to look for them when you've got something you're feeling sorry about."

Crowley wanted to blurt out that he was a demon and that demons don't, as a rule, apologize. But he realized that was both true in general, but untrue where Aziraphale was concerned. And now that he thought of it, he really did only buy the angel fresh berries when he had one foot in the dog house.

"So, what is it?" asked Aziraphale expectantly.

Crowley chewed the edge of his lip, and then he thought up a way out of this predicament. "Can they be favour berries instead?"

"You don't give me favour berries!"

"Look, do you want the bloody things or not?" Crowley gestured with the pint.

Aziraphale looked from Crowley to the berries, then daintily took the pint from him. He inspected one on top. "They do look rather lovely. And I know they'll go to waste if you take them home. You're a menace to fresh fruit. All right. What's this favour, then?"

Now free of the berries, Crowley dug his hands as far as they'd go into the pockets of his very tight jeans. "I'm in the market for some...booklice," he mumbled.