BITE

3

The angel was not certain of how long Crowley would be gone, he wasn't even certain of where the demon had went. At first, Aziraphale had simply sat down at the sofa in the living room along with the only familiar thing in the apartment. Agnes Nutter's nice and accurate prophecies, which for the reckord was the only book which had been saved from the fire. The angel hadn't had time to examinate it properly, since his mind had been occupied with other matters. This afternoon, however, he had many hours to spend, and could come up with nothing better than some reading.

Still, even Aziraphale, who was what you could call some sort of a bookworm, got bored of reading after a while. He sighed and closed to book. It was very particular, indeed, and the angel had waited long to be able to finally read the prophecies. Still, he could merely guess what most of them actually meant. There was one prophecy that had caught his eye. Prophecy number 1762 to be precise:

When demon be in drunken peril, thou shall need to find his chariot.

Aziraphale had stared at the sentence for a long while as he frowned in confusion. Of course, he came to think about one demon in particular, but quickly abandoned his suspicions. Instead, he considered going out for a stroll. He had to neglect that idea. He could not by any chance risk walking into Gabriel. The wisest thing he could do was to stay where he was, and wait for Crowley to return.

The angel had to wait longer than he had expected. After he, in lack of other possible activities, had recollected the book and continued to read the pages faintly without actually paying much attention to the squiggly letters. A strong angst had once more infected his body, and the angel found himself being rather agitated. He caught himself eyes fixed on the floor, in a dull stare, instead of the book, for how long he was not certain. He blinked and regained the clearness which was usually seen in his pale eyes, then he put away the book for a second, and final time. Despairingly he slammed his palm against his lap and wondered what the demon was doing that could possibly take so long. They had, of course, been friends for a very long time, still the angel was not entirely comfortable with himself alone in the apartment. It felt, in some sense, as if he was trespassing.

When the darkness came, Aziraphale actually began to experience some concern about his missing friend. He had spent the previous hours watering Crowley's many plants, they had been more frightened of him than he had been of them. Now, Aziraphale was back in the sofa, and had after some time figured out how to turn on the screen. Each time he thought he heard the door open he muted the program, only to, in a second, realize that the demon was not yet home. From time to time, he cast an eye at the entrance of the hallway, but found it just as empty as before. With knitted eyebrows he exhaled and returned his attention to the screen, but was unable to concentrate.

His heart skipped a beat when a loud signal rang, the angel rose quickly and looked around the room in confusion. Only to understand that the sound actually came from his own pocket. With impatient fingers he fished up his phone and it was in a mixture of relief and fright he saw who was calling.

"Where have you been?" he held the phone against his ear as he paced over the room. He believed he had waited long enough for the demon to be allowed to show his irritation. The frustration, however, vanished from his face when he did not hear Crowley's voice from the other line, but somebody else's.

"Um" began a young female voice, with a glimpse of uncertainty. The angel heard how she inhaled. "Am I speaking with Aziraphale?"

"Yes, I'm Aziraphale" the angel nodded. "May I ask who you are, and why you're calling from Crowley's phone?" There was a pause on the other line, and he thought he could hear distantly how somebody was speaking, but so faintly it was impossible for him to hear what they were discussing. The chatter of their voices were jumbled with a low hum.