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CHAPTER 4 – SHADOW PLAY

The Archangel Michael, aside the notoriety of their high-ranking occupation, was known in Heaven to be elegance incarnate. Their soul-white attire never showed a single wrinkle, their straight posture never shifted a tenth of a degree and their chin was always held high. No angel had ever seen a single hair in their head out of line, and their movements were the definition of grace, always slow and deliberate; often compared to a cloud floating in the sky. At least, this is how it usually was; but now something was clearly amiss because, probably for the first time in eternity, the Archangel Michael ran.

They sped past white offices and pristine hallways, desperately trying to reach their own office as soon as possible. Michael still couldn’t understand how this was possible. A day ago, they had been sent to Earth alongside Uriel and Saraquel to free the Daughter of her human family so she could be one with the Almighty; and everything had gone exactly how it should have. According to the Plan, the Child should have come through the gates of Heaven to meet her true self before being placed back on Earth to divulge the word of God; and the three Archangels had been diligently waiting to greet her by the main entrance. For hours. Too many of them, in fact. Something had gone terribly wrong, because the Daughter had never arrived as she was meant to. While Uriel and Saraquel were off searching for the Supreme Archangel, Michael hurried back to their office to meet with The Metatron who, at this point, they feared, would be slightly unhappy.

Finally reaching their destination, Michel threw themselves into the pearly white room where, sure enough, an enormous and furious floating head awaited them.

- WHERE IS SHE! - The Metatron roared, making the Archangel flinch, his powerful voice echoing in the pristine room.

- Your graceness…. - they panted, trying to catch their breath – the Child never came to the gates. We...we don’t know what could have possibly gone wrong -

- YOU LOST HER, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! - the head bellowed, flaming with rage – YOU HAD ONE JOB, ARCHANGEL! -

- And we did that job! - Michael assured – We did our jobs to perfection! Someone else must have interfered! -

The Metatron’s head went silent, taking the Archangel’s words into consideration. He pondered for a few minutes until he came to the realization that there was no other explanation for those events. It took him only another moment to realize that there was only one entity in the entire universe with both the information and the power to have thwarted him in such a way. This truth only deepened his anger.

- Aziraphale! – he spat at Michael – Bring him to me, now! -

- Yes, your diviness – they said, taking a small bow – Uriel and Saraquel went searching for the Supreme Archangel -

- Contact them at once! - The Metatron ordered – I am not waiting another second! -

- Of course, of course – Michel fidgeted nervously with their fingers for a second before clicking them, making the smokey figures of her co-supreme Archangels appear out of thin air. They began talking without hesitation – Uriel, Saraquel, please tell me you found him -

- We haven’t – Uriel quickly responded, glancing sideways at Saraquel – He’s not in Heaven -

- How do you know this? - The Metatron demanded.

- Because Michael is – Saraquel responded, locking eyes with them.

- What are you talking about? - Michael asked, confused.

- We spoke to the Globe guards – Saraquel explained – and they said nobody has travelled in or out through it – she paused, moving her gaze up towards The Metatron’s head – except for Michael, who seems to have gone down to Earth a few hours ago -

- Except they haven’t left our side – Uriel added – so whoever used the Globe had adopted their appearance -

- Metamorphosis? - Michael said, incredulous – Into an Archangel? How is that even possible? -

- Apparently, it is for Aziraphale – The Metatron angrily muttered – How dare he…I should have known he would betray Heaven again! - he slightly tergiversated the truth, making sure he would have the three Archangels' support.

- You mean he’s the reason for the Daughter’s absence? - Saraquel inquired.

- Of course he is! - the head raged – Has he not done this before, by adverting the war which the Antichrist should have started? Has he not constantly proven his desire to thwart the will of God? -

- Why did you make him Supreme Archangel, then? - Michael challenged, still slightly cross that it hadn’t been them to succeed Gabriel.

- I… - The Metatron hesitated, thinking fast – I was lied to – the three Archangels gasped – he promised me on his angelic grace that he had changed, and that he was willing to follow every step of the Almighty’s plan. He begged me to give him the promotion so he could prove his loyalty – he sighed – And I was foolish enough to believe him -

- That is terrible! An angel, lying to the Voice of God! Unforgivable! - Uriel exclaimed, enervated.

- Indeed – he played along – I fear he has had too much demonic influence to be considered an angel any longer. He swore he had no more feelings for that demon, the one who calls himself Crowley. Evidently that is not the case -

- The demon is involved, too? - Saraquel asked again, beginning to get on the floating head’s nerves.

- He must be – Michael answered for him – Aziraphale could have never made it in time to stop the Child from coming to us. He must have called upon his…partner – the Archangel had to make an effort not to barf at the though of an angel and a demon sharing romantic feelings.

- For all we know, the innocent cherub I entrusted the bookshop to could be involved as well. If Aziraphale has managed to manipulate her as he did me, that is – The Metatron added, faking guilt.

- What should we do, your graceness? - Uriel asked, waiting for orders.

- Find them – he replied, addressing all three Archangels – and destroy them. All three of them. Then, deliver the girl safely to me. I don’t care how you do it, but I want it done fast. This is the last time that blasphemous angel plays with the Almighty’s trust! -

- We shall rid the universe of their filth! - Michael cried, determined – Not an ounce of their soul will be left in any realm! - they turned to Uriel and Saraquel – Inform the other angels, I will join you shortly! -

They nodded, and their images turned into puffs of smoke before vanishing completely, leaving Michael and The Metatron alone once again. The latter smiled to himself, though he never let it show, as he looked into the eyes of the Archangel whom he’d just so easily fooled. As they stared back at him, The Metatron decided to make sure of Michael’s full cooperation, giving them something which he knew they would be unable to resist.

- If the Daughter is brought to me, as I have requested – he said, his voice never even slightly quivering – I will have no choice but to recognize your contribution to the Great Plan and, hence, make you, Michael, the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven -

- Is this true? - their eyes opened like saucers, as if they were a child on Christmas morning.

- You have my word – he merely stated.

- Thank you, your graceness – they bowed – it will be done, you may rest assured -

With that, Michael spun promptly on their heel and, for the second time in history, raced out of their office to find Uriel and Saraquel. The Metatron, now alone in the office, couldn’t help a loud chuckle.

- Idiots – he whispered before dissipating into a cloud of smoke.

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- This is a very bad plan - Crowley snarled, attempting to move his wrists beneath the golden handcuffs.

- It's a great plan - the angel corrected with an optimistic smile sprawled across his face.

- It's a bloody awful plan! - he reiterated, glancing at Aziraphale - Why do you always make the plans? -

- Certainly not for you to complain about them - the angel pointed out, stretching his neck in preparation for the metamorphosis.

- We're going to get caught - Crowley lamented - we are so going to get caught! -

- If you don't stop whining, yes - Aziraphale snapped, his hushed voice resonating on the walls of the small cabin.

- I'll stop whining when you take these damned things off! - he raised his handcuffed hands for the angel to see - Do you have any idea how itchy they are?! -

- An itch is going to be the least of your problems if we don't find that book, Crowley - Aziraphale reminded him.

- Ngk - the demon leaned against the moving elevator's wall, the light becoming dimmer the more they descended.

He glanced sideways at the angel, whose eyes were closed in deep concentration as he pictured the Archangel Michael in his mind. Metamorphosis was not an easy procedure, and it required an overwhelming amount of mental and physical strength and resistance, hence why Aziraphale could only hold the transformation for a short period of time without hurting himself. He took a deep breath, and Crowley couldn't help staring in silence for a few, long moments as the angel's chest went up and down in a peaceful, constant rhythm. The demon's lips began tracing a small smile as Aziraphale's calmness enveloped him, like it had done so many times before, in a warm embrace. When his heartbeat began to accelerate, however, Crowley forced his eyes away from the angel, reminding himself that it had been that feeling which had led him to so much sufferment in the first place. Suddenly, the elevator was occupied in its entirety by a blinding light which surrounded Aziraphale and dissolved a second after. Crowley immediately threw a concerned glance in the angel's direction; but the moment he laid eyes on him he jumped back in shock, the golden chain connecting his handcuffs clicking and clinging. Staring back at him was the unmistakable figure of Archangel Michael.

- Bloody hell! - he said, taken aback.

- How do I look? - said Aziraphale, doing a full spin for the demon to see.

- It's disgustingly accurate - Crowley muttered in disbelief, moving closer to him and inspecting the fake Michael's face - Impressive... -

- Thank you! - he chimed, smiling broadly - I just have to get the voice right... let's see...- he cleared his throat.

- That's very weird - the demon mused.

- What is? - he replied in a fairly good impression of the Archangel's voice.

- Michael,smiling - he explained - I don't think I've ever seen anything other than contempt on their face -

- Now that you mention it... - Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow.

- How much time did you say you can hold this? - Crowley narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses.

- Um...I...I didn't say... - the angel muttered nervously.

- Well?- the demon insisted.

- Well, so far I've only been able to do about...five to six minutes... - he winced, preparing for his reaction.

- Five to...? - Crowley hissed, furious - You expect us to get in, find the documents, localize the book and get back out in under five minutes? -

- Well, I'm sure I can hold it longer if I put my mind to it... - Aziraphale quickly added.

- Oh, yeah, that's very reassuring! - he sarcastically spat at the angel, impatiently pacing the elevator and tugging at his trapped wrists, his long fiery locks dancing behind him.

- I'm risking my neck too, you know! - the angel squeaked.

- Yeah, well, at least you're not in handcuffs! - Crowley hissed, leaning menacingly towards Aziraphale, hidden behind the mask of Michael - Oh, why do you always have to make the bloody plan?! - he exclaimed, desperate, as he leaned back and continued his pacing.

- It's a good plan! - the angel insisted, his patience quickly running out as the elevator slowed down.

- It's not going to work, Angel! - Crowley snarled, nearly losing his footing as the lift's speed decreased.

- It will - Aziraphale straightened Michael's attire - If you just stop moaning and play your part! -

- Ngk - the demon fell silent as the elevator came to a complete halt, standing in front of Aziraphale and letting him grab one of his arms as if he was detained.

- Now, there's a good prisoner - Aziraphale teasingly whispered into his ear.

- Go to hell - Crowley whispered back.

A loud ding announced the lift's arrival in the underground floor, and the doors promptly slid open to show a damp and darkened hallway which stunk of sulphur, moss and rotting flesh. Aziraphale slightly recoiled in disgust, his nose twitching when it was met with the foul stench. Nonetheless, he forcefully shoved his prisoner out of the lift and, playing the part of Michael to the T, shot disdainful glances at the curious demons who lurked past. Aziraphale couldn't resist stopping for a moment and looking around, curiosity nagging at him. Hell, he had always thought, was a curious place. It was gloomy and silent; and its untidiness and filth-lined floors created a sharp contrast with Heaven. Demons of all shapes and sizes hurried past, some frenetically carrying stacks of paperwork from office to office and others simply wandering aimlessly through the long corridor. As an angel, Aziraphale had been taught that Hell was full of evil and hate; a dark place which had lost its light to envy and thirst for power. The cherub, however, had begun to see it in a different way. He pictured Hell as nothing more than a shadow, cast over those to whom God had turned his back. Heaven and Hell, he had come to realize over the years, were exactly the same. It was nothing but a game of light and shadows.

The metallic sound of Crowley's shackles snapped Aziraphale back into the real world. Resuming his act as Archangel Michael, he gave the demon a small shove.

- Walk - he demanded in their bossy, self-concited attitude.

- I'm not about to be ordered around by the likes of you, Archangel - he hissed, his coolness and nonchalance unwavering.

- Very well then, let us find someone of your... - he looked him up and down - ...kind...to deal with this matter. Dagon!- Aziraphale exclaimed into the depths of Hell

A puff of green smoke appeared before them, and the Master of Files appeared within it, her gaze locking onto Michael's for a long moment.

- Michael - she finally greeted them, clearly annoyed - to what do I owe the displeasure? - she sarcastically added.

Aziraphale began breathing again, relieved that Dagon had fallen for his disguise. Her eyes flickered down to the prisoner he had brought, and her face immediately retorted into disgust.

- Crowley, the deserter - she spat at him, then addressed Michael again – Why the hell is he here? -

- May I request that we discuss this in a more...- he looked around, spotting demons who had stopped their lurking to eavesdrop on the conversation - private setting? Your office, perhaps? -

She followed the fake Archangel's gaze and rolled her eyes in exasperation when she saw the onlookers. She mumbled something about nobody in Hell being able to mind their own business and clicked her fingers, green smoke enveloping all three of them completely. When the gas dissipated, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves in a completely different place. The corridor had disappeared, substituted by a fairly large square room lined with high, small windows on all four walls and stacked with an endless array of crates and drawers full of disorganized documents which poured out into the floor. Before them was a large wooden desk, and Dagon sat on the chair behind it with her feet propped up in a comfortable position. Aziraphale chuckled to himself, the scene reminding him of Crowley's usual sprawled manner.

- Make it quick, Archangel. The less time I have to spend looking at you, the better - she yawned.

- Likewise... - Crowley muttered under his breath, casually glancing at Aziraphale.

- This filthy serpent - he shoved the demon forward, and he shot him an unamused glance in return - was lurking around the gates of Heaven, trying to get in -

- Was he? - she sardonically asked, amused - And why would he ever do that, huh? - she asked the red-haired demon, fully aware of his reasons.

- Oh, you know, taking a stroll - he said with his usual swagger - Michael just happened to be there. Pure coincidence -

- I suspect he was attempting to contact the Supreme Archangel - Michael offered.

- Ah, yes, the angel - she teased, her pointy teeth displayed in a playful grin - Can't see what the big deal is, anyway. It's just another dumb, chubby cherub... -

- Careful... - Crowley muttered, a tone of threat in his voice, the nonchalance quickly dissipating to be replaced by anger and disgust.

- Oh, for hell's sake! - she took her feet off the table, leaning closer to Crowley - Can't you just find yourself another plaything? -

The demon felt a fire burst inside of him and for a mild, rage-filled moment all he could think about was ripping Dagon's head off with his bare hands. He made to charge at her, fuelled by the indomitable rage which had suddenly possessed him, but Aziraphale gripped his arm fiercely, just in the nick of time, making him stop dead. Crowley struggled against the angel's grasp for a few seconds before finally giving in, his breathing heavy with rage as he threw her a despising look. She laughed, showing each and every one of her pointy teeth.

- Aww, does the traitor have abandonment issues? - she mocked.

-I'm beginning to have an issue with you - he breathed, furious.

- And I thought a demon couldn't go any lower - she wheezed - Trying to get into Heaven to see his angel! How pathetic is that?! -

- I don't want him nosing about in my doorstep, Dagon! - the fake Michael pressed the matter forward, discreetly squeezing Crowley's arm for him to calm down.

- And what the hell do you want me to do? - she hissed, propping herself up.

- Can't you just throw him in a pit somewhere? - he suggested - Or plug him into an eternal torture machine? -

- This isn't the Spanish inquisition, Michael - Dagon mocked - But if you really want him out of your hair, I suppose I could summon the Dark Council to get a second opinion... - she sighed.

- Right - said Aziraphale - Off you go, then -

- Now? - she moaned.

- Yes, now! - Michael ordered - I need this sorted out immediately, and my superiors can't afford to waste any more time! - he paused - Unless, of course, you'd rather they pay a visit -

- Fine! - Dagon hissed, rolling her eyes and walking around the desk to stand with them, her eyes flickering with mischief - You can wait for me here, I won't be long. But, Michael? -

- Yes? -

- If I were you, I'd be careful around this one - she rocked her head towards Crowley - You may have to watch his pants. After all - she addressed the demon directly, her tone mocking and provoking - It seems like holy little angels make him go hard between the legs -

The demon reacted instantly, the rage erupting from him making Vesuvius look like a tender caress, grabbing Dagon by whichever fabric he could find and pinning her forcefully against the wall, his skin protesting under the golden shackles. Documents and crates scattered on the ground as a result of the aggression, making a loud noise which resonated in Hell's silence. If one had looked very closely, they could have seen small sparkles of electricity emanating from the demon's fingertips for less than half a second. Crowley knew better than to zap a duke of hell at a moment in which they were attempting not to get noticed, but the temptation was strong. Anger coursed through him, making his blood boil and his heart hammer violently against his gut. He took loud, deep breaths between gritted teeth and his golden eyes, itchy and reddened beneath his sunglasses, never released Dagon's. She laughed madly, clearly amused at the ease with which she'd provoked him. Being the Master of Torments, Dagon enjoyed nothing more than to find an exploit the weak points of those she tortured; and she was good at it, too. After a few, tense moments in which only his heavy breathing and her cold laugh could be heard, Crowley slowly loosened his grip. Though the idea of sweeping the floors with her was appealing, and the pavement could have done with a clean, he knew that Aziraphale wasn't going to be able to hold his transformation forever and that they couldn't afford to waste another one of their precious minutes. When he'd released her completely he took half a step back, his jaw still clenched in anger. Aziraphale had to resist the urge to place a hand on the demon's shoulder to ease his distress.

- You are so easy - she taunted, brushing off her military-like uniform.

- I don't have all eternity, Dagon! - Aziraphale reminded her, earning an eye roll.

- Oh, you're no fun - she had already stepped one foot out of her office when she turned to the fake Archangel once again - Don't touch anything! - she hissed.

- I'd be much too disgusted to - he snapped, channelling his inner Michael.

- Good -

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving a fake Archangel and a fuming demon alone behind her. The second he had the chance to, Aziraphale shut the door behind her and immediately turned to Crowley, his concern palpable even from beneath the mask of Michael's face. The demon avoided eye contact, as if though ashamed of something.

- Crowley - the angel said in a hushed tone, clicking his fingers to release him from the shackles, his voice tender but slightly shaky - are you...? -

- 'm okay - he growled, rubbing his wrists, attempting to coolly brush it off - Let's start looking, shall we? - he turned to the stack of papers closest to him, picking the first one up and beginning to read.

- But, are you sure...? - Aziraphale attempted, worried, before being cut off by Crowley.

- I said I'm fine, Angel! - he snapped more crossly than he meant, clearly not fine, making Aziraphale fall silent - Sorry - he mumbled, then turned back to the stack of papers - Blimey, how does Dagon find anything in here? This is worse than your bookshop! -

- Hey! - the angel mused, selecting another stack to inspect - the bookshop is a calculated mess! -

- Ever calculated how much time it takes to find something in there? - he casually asked, all hostility disappearing from his voice - 'cause I reckon the numbers would astonish you -

- I haven't - Aziraphale grinned, suddenly enveloped by the comfortable familiarity of the conversation's tone - but it's certainly less time than what it takes you to choose from a Menu -

Crowley gave a soft snort, which sounded like an ethereal melody in the angel's ears, making him smile.

- Point taken - he spun around, a small grin on his face - Nothing here, let's see those crates over there...-

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The sun had already come out in London, and Whickber Street was slowly beginning to come to life. The first early birds sleepily drove by on their way to work, and a few of the street's shops were already starting to open their doors; including the coffee shop across the street from the bookshop, "Give me Coffee or give me Death", which Nina was prepping for the day ahead, assisted by Maggie, who diligently took chairs off tables and wiped them down. Both of them had come in through the back door; and it was only when Nina opened the blinds covering the front windows that she noticed the sleek, black car parked outside. With an audible gasp, she beckoned Maggie to join her at the window.

- What is it? - she said with a sweet, sleepy voice.

- Look - Nina pointed out the window.

-Wh... - Maggie was about to ask again when she stopped half-yawn, her eyes darting from Nina to the black car - Is that...? -

- Must be - Nina said - I mean, you don't see that sort of car around much -

Right across the street in the cosy, dim-lit bookshop, Muriel and Eleyn patiently waited for Crowley and Aziraphale's return from the depths of Hell. Before they left, they had instructed Muriel to cast a miracle over the bookshop to make sure that no demon, angel or human could go over the threshold of it's door frame before receiving the young cherub's explicit permission to do so. Inside their little oasis of protection, the angel and the young girl had engaged in a friendly conversation, the latter's curiosity only growing with each answered question, as they sipped on cups of warm tea which Muriel had kindly prepared.

- To be honest, I was a little hesitant at first. All I would do was look at it - she graciously lifted her cup to remark the point - But curiosity got the better of me, and I haven't been able to stop drinking it since - she took another sip, closing her eyes in delight - And there are so many types and flavours, too! I just want to try them all! - she cheerfully added.

- Ah, but that's what you get with tea - Eleyn said with a tender smile, then stared pensively down at her own cup - But you don't need food and water though, do you? - she asked after a few moments' silence - Being an angel, I mean -

- Not technically - she shrugged her nose, thinking of a way to explain - You see, when an angel or a demon is first issued a body, it doesn't need any nutrients at all to survive; but if you get it used to being fed, then... -

- It begins to depend on food - she concluded the explanation with an understanding nod - Got it. It's like a little kid, if you think about it. If you get them used to getting everything they want, they become spoiled -

- Something like that - Muriel smiled sweetly, taking another sip of tea.

- So, have you tried any food yet? - Eleyn wondered, eyes ablaze with curiosity.

- Well, just a few things here and there... - she answered - Mostly tea biscuits, to be honest -

- Should’ve seen that coming - the other commented, taking a sip out of her own cup.

- Can I ask you something, Eleyn? - Muriel inquired, her voice slightly shaky.

- Sure -

- It's just... - she hesitated - I mean, after all you've been through and now all this... - she went silent, trying to find the right words - My point is that you seem to have taken the news of your real identity far too well, and...and nobody has really asked you if you're okay -

- Oh, Muriel - Eleyn said with a small, sad smile, her gaze tender - You're too sweet for this world - she took a deep breath - I can't say I am okay, I'd be lying. In fact, I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than very not okay; but I guess...I hope,that is...I’ll somehow survive -

Muriel smiled tenderly at her in reply, taking the last sip out of her teacup and setting it on the tray she'd placed on the desk.

- What about you ? - the daughter of God suddenly broke the comfortable silence which had settled between them, making the angel glance confusedly at her - Aren't you going against Heaven by hiding me here? Against your own side? I mean, nobody really asked if you wanted to -

- I...I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way - she said in a near whisper, then raised her head – You see, there are not many things I’m absolutely sure about; but what I am certain of is that The Metatron is doing bad. Because he hurt you, because he… - she stopped herself before she could finish the sentence, shaking her head – And by protecting you, and helping Crowley and Aziraphale, I’m only thwarting whatever bad The Metatron wants to do. I'm doing the right thing, which is certainy not what The Metatron says it is. If that is going against Heaven, against what it is to be an angel, then we really do have an institutional problem… - she finished with a heavy sigh.

Eleyn had already opened her mouth to further inquire about Muriel's words when a loud thump echoed through the shop, catching both their attentions. When the sound repeated itself after a few silent seconds, they realized that it was someone knocking on the front door. The angel jumped to her feet and cautiously stepped towards the doors, beckoning Eleyn to stay behind her. A third knock came through, this time accompanied by a voice which Muriel recognized immediately, sighing in relief.

- Hello? - said Nina's voice - Mr. Fell? Mr. Crowley?Are you there? -

- It's us! - added Maggie's voice - We saw the car; we just wanted to say hi! -

- I've brought some Eccles Cakes! - Nina said, cheerful.

Muriel nodded at Eleyn to tell her it was safe and then proceeded to open one of the doors, revealing a smiling Nina and Maggie behind it. A hint of disappointment seemed to flash through both women's faces when they saw who had opened the door.

- That's very sweet of you - the angel chimed - but I'm afraid that right now they're...uh...running an errand...elsewhere - she fell silent for a few seconds, then stepped out of the way - Please, come in -

She felt the bookshop accepting the two visitors inside deep in her gut, proving that the miracle worked perfectly. Nina and Maggie strolled inside, and they weren't slow to spot Eleyn, standing near the small sofa, holding a sceptic gaze on them.

- And who's this? - Nina asked, a half-grin on her face.

- Friend of the family - Eleyn muttered, her eyes never leaving the two visitors.

- Right- the angel walked towards them, pausing just between Eleyn and the other two - Maggie, Nina, this is Eleyn. Eleyn, this is Nina from the café right across the street and Maggie from the record store; they're our friends - she made sure to pronounce that last word, reassuring the young girl that it was completely safe.

- Nice meeting 'ya - Nina nodded at her, then addressed Muriel - Will they be back soon? We haven't seen them in ages! -

- We hope so - the angel smiled, collecting the bag of pastries from Nina and setting them on the tray next to the empty teacups - But I'm afraid it's really not the best time. We have some important business, you see... -

- But we'll be sure to let them know you came! - Eleyn added with a smile.

- When you do – Maggie promptly said, standing on her tiptoes – Please tell Mr. Fell to come by the record shop! There’s a little something I’ve been dying to give him… -

- Will do, as soon as they come back! – the Daughter of God assured her, receiving a warm smile in thanks.

After a few friendly goodbyes, Maggie and Nina exited the shop and Muriel closed up behind them before turning to Eleyn, whose eyes were laced with worry.

- They will come back, those two, right? - she asked.

- I'm certain of it - Muriel stated - They make a surprisingly good team, Crowley and Aziraphale. They'll be back -

- Provided they don't murder each other first, that is - Eleyn sarcastically added, raising an eyebrow.

- Oh, don't worry - the scrivener let out a soft chuckle - they won't -

- They're in love, aren't they? - she sighed.

- Oh, you noticed? - the angel smiled - It's exactly like in the books, word for word -

- It's a little hard not to notice - Eleyn said, she too smiling - I mean, that was a Soap Opera-worthy domestic they had back there -

Muriel had absolutely no clue what a Soap Opera was but, for the sake of the conversation, she decided to agree.