THE GUARDIAN ANGELS - Good Omens

Chapter The First:

24th December, 2006

Aziraphale's Bookshop, Soho, London.

It was Christmas Eve, and all through the streets of London, the anticipation for Christmas was building in the air. For one rare-bookseller on the corner of a street in Soho, it had been a surprisingly fruitful day of business, (He had successfully sold nothing), and the hour of closing had come and gone. The skies had turned a wonderful peach as the sun descended past the city skyline. What's more, snow had begun to fall from the sky, and didn't show any signs of stopping soon, much to the relief of the children and adults that desired a White Christmas.

Little did most humans know: this was no ordinary snow. Across the world, even in the most unlikely places, the frozen particles - more commonly known as 'snowflakes' - danced down from the clouds. The unusual weather was a sign, declaring that something special had happened.

Back in London, Aziraphale drew the blinds on the windows of his shop, humming a Christmas carol under his breath. Once he had finished, he straightened his bowtie contentedly, turning to prepare himself for a relaxing evening of tea and some seasonal first-edition reading, courtesy of a Mr Charles Dickens.

A bright beam of light suddenly erupted into the room, one he knew was more than just rays of moonlight; it was an indicator that Heaven wished to talk to him. Quickly plastering on his usual cheerful demeanour, he smiled politely and nodded in greeting. "Good evening. How may I be of service?"'

"Angel Aziraphale. You have been chosen for a very special task." A calm and soothing voice spoke, piquing his curiosity.

"I have?"

"Yes. On this day, the Eve of the Birth of Christ, in the year two-thousand-and-six, a child was prophesied to be given to The Goodly Angel. A babe said to wield untold power, who would turn the tide when Armageddon arrives."

"M-Me? Care for a baby?" He spluttered, his voice trembling slightly in poorly hidden surprise. Of all the missions to come from Up High, this was not nearly what he had imagined.

"You must raise Her, love Her, treat Her as your own. The day will come when Heaven and Hell come face to face once and for all, and She holds the key to Our victory."

"I... I shall. Where is the child?" Aziraphale asked, clearing his throat.

"Outside."

"What, on the doorstep?! She'll be positively freezing!" He fretted, retrieving his store key from the folds of his trouser pocket and rushing to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he turned to the light, one more question on the tip of his tongue. He never received a chance to ask it though, as the light had faded, leaving him alone in his bookshop once more.

Shaking his head in resignation, he quietly opened the door and looked down.

True to the voice's word, a baby girl, around the age of mere months, lay swaddled and warm in a large wicker basket. Tufts of honey-blonde hair peeked out from under the small hat that rested on her head. Her cheeks were flushed slightly due to the cold air, but unlike most children her age, who held the unfortunate tendency to wail and cry, she cooed quietly, giggling ever so often when a snowflake dusted her nose. Her green eyes suddenly met Aziraphale's, and any sense of apprehension and doubt disappeared.

They were fascinating, her eyes. The same kind of luscious green you would expect to find in a rainforest, or on a particularly plump apple stem. What's more, they seemed to be glowing ever so slightly! (Though whether that just happened to be a reflection of light, Aziraphale wasn't sure.)

He carefully lifted her from the basket, making sure not to jostle her, for fear of breaking her calm disposition. It was the season to be jolly after all.