[Good Omens] Envy the Subtle Serpent

Chapter 5

Crowley arranged to meet his contact at a cafe around the block from Aziraphale's bookshop. It was a small, boutique little place that changed hands frequently, though the current owners seemed to be doing quite well (undoubtedly due to the fact that Aziraphale enjoyed their unique pastries). Crowley swept in with a gust of cold air and commandeered the only window table, a vantage point that allowed him a good view of the entire cafe as well as the street outside.

As soon as he sat down, Crowley whipped out his mobile and began cashing in favors with the few remaining contacts he had left in Hell. The list was sparse. While the legions of the damned were certainly put out about the failed attempt at a second war, it was the destruction of Ligur that really seemed to have cast him out of their bad graces. The handful of demons and denizens still willing to speak to him did so in a pandering way, as though by doing so they were hoping to avoid a five gallon bucket of holy water to the head the next time Crowley went off the rails.

Crowley hardly cared. He phrased his inquiries carefully, reluctant to reveal too much information lest he attract unwanted attention toward himself. But from what he could gather, no one had heard anything about a new field agent in London. As far as Hell was concerned, following Crowley's little stunt in the bathtub, the entirety of the UK was pretty much a no-go zone, requiring special permission to enter. While this information was reassuring in an off-hand sort of way, it did nothing to answer the questions currently burning in his mind as to who Blackburn was and what he was doing in Aziraphale's life. Crowley sagged in his seat as the hours ticked past, hanging up on dead end after dead end, pausing only to refill his coffee cup and glare impatiently out the window.

The sun was already setting by the time the black cab pulled up outside, idly chugging exhaust into the frigid grey air. Though its occupant was invisible through the dark tinted windows, Crowley was certain this was the cab he'd been waiting for. Abandoning his coffee, Crowley sped out the front door and over to the driver's side window, where he paid the cabbie off with the swipe of a slate grey card.

"Thanks for coming," Crowley said, as the passenger exited the car and stood beside him on treaded winter boots. The cab sped away along the icy road, tires churning muddy slush. He gestured back toward the warmly lit cafe. "Shall we?"

Anathema gave a curt nod, and they entered and sat down opposite one another at the window seat. Crowley quickly reclaimed his abandoned cup of coffee and relished in the warmth running through his fingers. Anathema placed a heavy plaid carpet bag between them on the table and waited for Crowley to speak.

"Can I get you anything?" He asked, for courtesy's sake.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly. "Let's just get started."

Despite the near-permanent knot of anxiety in his stomach, Crowley offered a grim smile. He knew he had made the right call bringing her in on this. Since the events of the failed apocalypse last summer, Anathema Device had proven herself a reliable contact in Crowley's efforts to stay one step ahead of his former employer, in particular when it came to the young antichrist. Though Adam Young may have rejected his power, there was no telling what the boy would be capable of in the future, particularly should Heaven or Hell take it upon themselves to reach out at a later date. Therefore, it had seemed prudent that Crowley continue to keep an indirect eye on him after he'd taken his leave of Tadfield.

Anathema Device was that indirect eye. Living in the same village and already having an established connection with the boy, she had spent the last year funneling information to Crowley via the occasional call or text. Not that there had been much to say; other than a few minor eyebrow-raising incidents (Adam being allowed a second dog, for example), there had been no signs of anything out of the ordinary in the quiet English village.