Hellfire and Holy Water (A Good Omens Fanfiction)

Chapter Eleven

 "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter?" Aziraphale asked, almost wistfully. "I'm sorry, I can't help you."

The gentleman on the other end of the line scoffed. "Surely you know of Agnes Nutter?"

Aziraphale gave his own answering scoff as he replied, "Well, of course I know who she was. Born 1600, exploded 1656. But there are no copies of her book available."

Oh, if only he had it. He would certainly ensure that such a book never found its way into human hands again, let alone such a greedy fiend as this. No, Agnes Nutter's work had become something of an obsession for the angel once he had realized it was the only piece missing from his fantastic collection of prophetic books. Not only that, but if legends were true, it was the only prophetic book that contained entirely precise predictions. It would truly be the crowning jewel of his entire book collection. But alas: centuries of searching had led him only to dead ends and disappointment. If there ever was a copy out there that had survived the ages, it was a closely-guarded secret.

Meanwhile, the hopeful and also rather rude customer was blathering something about price being no object and all that Aziraphale had heard a thousand times before. Certainly such an impressive book is worth much more than mere money, he thought with disgust as the optimistic customer prattled on.

"No, I can't name my price, I don't have it," Aziraphale insisted in the most polite voice that he could muster. "Nobody has-"

He stopped mid-sentence and gulped hard as he heard a stream of most unfavorable curses cross the phone line.

"Well, there really is no need for that kind of language."

With that, he hung up the phone with a rather unpleasant feeling settling in his gut. At least he had other, more pressing matters to trouble himself over. Actually, that reminded him of why he had initially wanted to use the phone in the first place, before he was most rudely interrupted. He carefully put in the numbers and waited as the phone rang several times.

"Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style."

How silly of him to answer his calls the same way almost every time. Aziraphale ignored it and went ahead with what he needed to say: "No leads yet on my end. Anything at your end? Listen, I have a sort of an idea."

"What?" A brusque voice asked from the other end.

"Ah, hullo. When you did the baby swap 11 years ago, could something have gone wrong?"

"What?" the voice asked again. This time, at least, it sounded more intrigued than angry.

Aziraphale continued, "Well, it may just be a lead of sorts, if we can use this information to find a starting point. The beginning, if we must."

Crowley thought it over for a moment. Retracing his steps tended to work better for ordinary misplaced household items and he had never thought to try the tactic on demonic children. Then again, it could very well be the only lead they were likely to get. And, truth be told, he was eager for a chance to see his friend again.

"Ah, right. I'll be over in a moment."

Aziraphale nodded out of habit, forgetting for the time that Crowley couldn't recognize the movement on the other end. "Right, yes. See you then."

It seemed that all too soon he was back in his usual place in the passenger seat of Crowley's Bentley. Hell on earth seemed a suitable nickname for the seat, in Aziraphale's eyes. He tried to focus on that, or anything really to distract himself as they barreled down the streets of London at a ridiculous pace. He personally had never been fond of horses as transportation in the past, but the invention of automobiles was a terribly grave mistake on the part of humanity. But, sooner or later he had to come back to reality and focus on the task at hand.