The Curious Condition of Being Human

Chapter 10

Crowley was not looking forward to returning to the Kingdom of Heaven. He'd been kicked out a long time ago, but did not miss it nor did he yearn to return to the pocket of hypocrisy. So the sight of the glowing elevator behind the sliding doors of the dairy case in Thrones Convenience set a rock right in the pit of his stomach.

He set the receiver of Harold's yellowing phone down, then straightened his shoulders. "Let's do this, then."

Then, the unlikely pair were surging up, off the surface of the earth, and then through the pearly gates - which were rather more glowy than pearly.

Heaven smelled strange - he'd forgotten about that. Crowley remembered how it looked - stark and white and far too clean. He remembered how it felt - the perfect neutral temperature at all times. He remembered the slightly too bright light, and the utterly boring creams and whites of angel garb. But until he and Harold stepped off the glowing lift, Crowley had forgotten the particular odour.

If he had to explain it to a human, Crowley would describe it as a hospital surgery wing someone tried to jazz up with some expensive perfume. But instead of smelling pleasant, the scent of harsh disinfectant filed all the soft edges off the expensive perfume, leaving only pollen-soaked notes that made your nose itch if you weren't used to it.

Crowley very much hoped to never get used to it again. He'd take the damp and fuel-choked air of London any day.

"Right. Where are they keeping the Cherubs penned up?" Crowled rolled his shoulders forward and settled his disgustingly white getup across his weedy shoulders. He knew that the tones he'd draped across his usual black-and-gray attire wasn't Heaven-standard. Things were a bit too shiny, too ugly, too mismatched. But he was fairly certain he was going to get caught. And if he was, he wanted the angelic types to know just what he thought of them.

Harold minced along a few steps behind Crowley. He still looked very much like he did on Earth - just with a bit more of a sheen to his wheels, and the flames burned a bit brighter. The dull tweed in his coat and bowtie had been bleached and threaded through with bits of silver. "It's got to be in the vestibule behind the holy flame. Which, I don't have to tell you, tends to be very well guarded."

"Not losing your nerve, are you, Harry?" asked Crowley, his lip curling upward. He continued to swagger through the glowing halls of Heaven like he owned the place. And so far, it seemed to be working. They'd seen a handful of angels, and they seemed more interested in Harold than Crowley. It wasn't often that an Ophanium mingled with the rank-and-file, and this particular Ophanium didn't come up from Earth very often.

Harold quickened his step to keep up with Crowley's long-legged stride. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Maybe a little."

"Too late now, chum. The quicker we pluck a feather, the quicker we can get out of here. It's just up this way, is it?"

"Em, yes, it's..." Harold pointed.

Then both froze at the sight of movement around the corner.

"We're all set, then?"

That was Michael's voice.

"Yep. This match thing is happening tomorrow night. In their coliseum thing."

And that was Gabriel.

Crowley grabbed hold of the front of Harold's tweed jacket and pulled him behind a convenient pillar.

Gabriel, Michael, and a few of the middle-management angels were stood around a raised platform that showed a glowing model of a stadium.

"I miss the days when humans performed blood sports and sacrifices in these structures. Instead of just kicking a silly ball around," said Michael as they gestured with a frilly-sleeved arm over the model.