The Curious Condition of Being Human

Chapter 12

Aziraphale had the 40-some minute drive from SoHo to Tottenham Hotspurs Stadium to think up a plan. Anathema bugged him at first about details, but then seemed to realize that he was very much winging it.

Instead of questioning her angelic companion, Anathema applied herself to reading the small library of esoteric tomes she'd brought with her,

Aziraphale approved of passing time with books, especially ones that might give them an edge once they reached their destination.

As he drove the Bentley through the streets of London, Aziraphale tried desperately not to panic at the idea of Crowley in Heaven's clutches. It had clearly been the backup plan to send the feather down by itself.

He exhaled rather loudly into the last fifteen minutes of their journey.

Anathema looked at him over the rim of her round glasses. "You've been sighing every two minutes." She flipped a page. "You're worried about him."

"Of course I'm worried about him! He's in the company of..." Aziraphale swallowed, "...cherubs."

Anathema slipped a bookmark into her book and closed it. She shifted forward. "Let me guess. They're not actually cute little babies. They're instead some kind of unknowable terror like Harold."

"That's not really fair to Harold. He's a good chap. Besides, some of them are actually quite cute." Aziraphale slid his hands along the Bentley's wheel and made a gentle turn at the speed limit. "Some of them have the heads of beasts. The earliest artwork got it wrong because they tend to like to climb all over each other. And they can, em, merge to defend themselves. Individually, they're no threat. But together?" He shuddered. "That's where the idea of the great mass of lamb, ox, eagle and human monstrosity comes from."

"I think I like the Valentine's Day version better," said Anathema.

"That's cupid," said Aziraphale rather tetchily. "An entirely different creature."

Anathema rolled her eyes. "Noted." Then, "So are you worried Crowley and Harold can't hold off the cherubs?"

"It's who they report to that has me worried. They'll turn them in. In a heartbeat."

"To who?"

"Mmmmichael." Aziraphale rolled the archangel's name around in his mouth before expelling it like a curse word. "They're little henchbabies, is what they are. Absolute brown-nosers, the lot of them." He huffed. "Unless Crowley and Harold were light on their feet, the cherubs sold them out the second they realized something was up."

Traffic got thicker and Aziraphale, who was not the best driver nor was he used to handling the Bentley's bulk, fell into the flow of traffic of cars, cabs and buses making their way toward the stadium. He felt the car rumble beneath them as the vehicle either felt or shared his concern for Crowley. If he'd been by himself, he would have offered a few words of assurance out loud, but he wasn't in the mood to explain to Anathema why he was talking to a car.

It was quite the feat to park something as big as the Bentley in the underground carpark. But some confluence of demonic and celestial magic and whatever seemed to imbue the car with magical properties made it possible to nestle the beast by a pillar against the wall.

"So," began Anathema as they exited the carpark and proceeded with the flow of the crowd toward the ticketing window. "Was the drive over enough time for you to come up with a plan?"

Aziraphale flicked two of his fingers together and shuffled forward in the queue. "I have an idea. And if I can pull it off, it should stop the game."

Anathema canted her head. "That doesn't really sound like the most solid plan in the world. Just saying."