Conned Love

Chapter I. Coin

-A coin for this poor blind man? A coin, for the love of God?

A raggedy beggar sat near the entrance of the tube Alexander Zadkiel Fell took every day. He saw the man, dressed all in black, long red hair and black sunglasses. His sad voice aways crept over him and made him feel miserable for the rest of the day.

Most people just past him by without barely noticing him. Most of that people didn't give a crap and only a fraction of them would slow down their pace to drop a penny or two into his empty coffee cup.

But not him.

A. Z. always gave him a 10 pounds bill or more, depending on how good the business was that day. The beggar thanked him with a "God bless you, good man" and sometimes even adding a "sweet" between good and man.

That particular day, the air was cold enough to make you want to go back to bed and cancel all your plans. It smells like snow, thought A. Z. He closed his bookshop and wrapped himself tighter into his camel coloured winter coat and light tartan scarf.

There he saw the beggar again. The same black clothes, the same spot and the same position. His beggar...? A. Z. shook his head, trying to dismember the thought.

Our sweet blond felt pity for this unknown homeless person and the cruel weather slapping this skin. He came closer to the man sitting on the floor and just stood there. The beggar stopped his slow singing and sat still.

-I know you are there, I can feel you, angel.

A. Z. looked around, but he was the only one at the moment standing near enough to listen and talk to him.

-I am certainly not an angel, sir. You are here every day. Today it's quite cold, and I was wondering if there is something I could do for you?

The redhead oriented his face to Aziraphale and smiled. Terror crept into his guts. This man is bad. He is incredibly bad. But once again, he shook the feeling out of his head and decided to offer some help.

-Listen, I'm on my way to the market to buy groceries for the week. Would you like me to bring you something?

-Oh no, good angel. It is frigid today, and I'm afraid no shelter will wait for me, but it's alright. You don't have to bring me anything.

The man standing fidgeted and looked around concerned. He felt suddenly anxious and didn't know what was the best thing to do. For him maybe the best was to leave the beggar behind and never come back but that wouldn't help him to ease the miserable feeling out of him.

-Please, stay here, Mr... Uhm...

-Crowley, Anthony J. Crowley. And you are...?

-Alexander Z. Fell. Pleased to meet you. My friends call me A. Z. Please, Mr Crowley, stay where you are. I will be back shortly -said Alexander in a hurried murmur as he ran towards the tubes.

Crowley watched him leave while ruminating the name. Alexander. Z. Fell... A. Z. Fell... Zira Fell... Zira

Truth be told, Crowley has never been blind. Actually, he had a 20/20 sight and was very fast with details. Gold rings or watches, pearls, thick wallets and expensive shoes were usually what he desired to watch. But this man somehow managed to make him feel guilty for stealing. He saw him by the first time around a month and a half ago. He moved from Notting Hill to Tottenham Court Road and one morning his light, his aura came in on his peripheral sight. Always in light colours, blond fluffy hair, soft smile and soft hands. This man, A.Z. Fell, gave him all he got.

Crowley once saw this bloke counting the coins so he had enough for his ticket and gave him 24 pounds. That day, he felt not only guilt but thankfulness. Mostly guilt because, come on, Crowley had no need for begging neither for stealing but the adrenaline boost with every pickpocketing act made him feel alive.

An hour ago, the angel was back, carrying what seemed to be heavy reusable bags. They smelled like the organic market.

-I... oof... I am back, please, come with me, Mr Crowley. You won't have to spend your night in the cold, God bless you.

Aziraphale helped him getting up and guided him through the streets of Soho for less than a prayer. Crowley grabbed his shoulder with iron strength but the blond barely seemed to notice. Nervousness was clenching his guts and was making him shake, a thing the other man did feel.

-You have nothing to fear. I will not hurt you, I promise -told him the man in front of him with a soft, tranquil voice. They both believed it because it was true anyway but it made Crowley uneasy.

All his life, Crowley had been alright with the ideas of cheating, stealing and lying. For him, it was a complete win. Coming from a hard -if that he could be called hard- background, he always felt the need to be a conman. His family was rich, well known but all families have a black sheep. Kicked out of his own house, they took all his money and forced him to look for a decent real job. Obviously he tried to outsmart them by being a beggar and the chairman of an underground thief union. He felt rather proud of all the obstacles he managed to dismantle and use to his favour. But this was the first time his "job" was actually making him feel bad.

He let the blond man, Azira, lead him through the half wet, half-frozen streets with ease.

Then they stopped.

-Please, wait here for a moment, I must open my... well, my house.

Crowley looked around barely moving his head, eyes hidden behind the dark sunglasses and barely moving his head. They walked into Soho, straight to the bookshop. It was not a bookshop. It was THE bookshop. The owner opened at erratic hours and he heard the man once turned his open sign to closed while keeping eye contact with a client, who wasn't actually a client but more like a thief working for the Union sent by Crowley himself.

The leader of the Union had heard about a certain bookshop owner who happened to have the rarest book of prophecies. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter was the holy grail of all prophecies books and rumour had who had that book. And he lusted for it.

What were the odds, this own Mecenas, his patron was the very owner of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.

This was his chance to take the book...