Good Omens

“We thought you had.”

“May I ask,” said the angel, “to whom have I been speaking?”

The voice said, “We are the Metatron.” [The Voice of God. But not the voice of God. An entity in its own right. Rather like a Presidential spokesman.]

“Oh, yes. Of course. Oh. Well. Thank you very much. Thank you.”

Behind him the letterbox tilted open, revealing a pair of eyes.

“One other thing,” said the voice. “You will of course be joining us, won’t you?”

“Well, er, of course it has been simply ages since I’ve held a flaming sword.. ” Aziraphale began.

“Yes, we recall,” said the voice. “You will have a lot of opportunity to relearn.”

“Ah. Hmm. What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?” said Aziraphale.

“We thought a mufti.. nation nuclear exchange would be a nice start.”

“Oh. Yes. Very imaginative.” Aziraphale’s voice was flat and hopeless.

“Good. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice.

“Ah. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately.

“There hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron.

Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should.. ”

“Yes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”

The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one.

“Hallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?”

There was silence.

Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number.

After four rings it gave a little cough, followed by a pause, and then a voice which sounded so laid back you could put a carpet on it said, “Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. Uh. I.. ”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to hiss and shout at the same time, “Listen! I haven’t got much time! The.. ”

“.. probably not in right now, or asleep, and busy, or something, but –”

“Shutup! Listen! It was in Tadfield! It’s all in that book! You’ve got to stop.. ”

“.. after the tone and I’ll get right back to you. Chow.”

“I want to talk to you now.. ”

BeeeEEeeeEEeee

“Stop making noises! It’s in Tadfield! That was what I was sensing! You must go there and.. ”

He took the phone away from his mouth.

“Bugger!” he said. It was the first time he’d sworn in more than four thousand years.

Hold on. The demon had another line, didn’t he? He was that kind of person. Aziraphale fumbled in the book, nearly dropping it on the floor. They would be getting impatient soon.

He found the other number. He dialed it. It was answered almost immediately, at the same time as the shop’s bell tingled gently.

Crowley’s voice, getting louder as it neared the mouthpiece, said, “.. really mean it. Hallo?”

“Crowley, it’s me!”

“Ngh.” The voice was horribly noncommittal. Even in his present state, Aziraphale sensed trouble.

“Are you alone?” he said cautiously.

“Nuh. Got an old friend here.”

“Listen.. 1”

“Awa’ we ye, ye spawn o’ hell!”

Very slowly, Aziraphale turned around.

* * *

Shadwell was trembling with excitement. He’d seen it all. He’d heard it all. He hadn’t understood any of it, but he knew what people did with circles and candlesticks and incense. He knew that all right. He’d seen The Devil Rides Out fifteen times, sixteen times if you included the time he’d been thrown out of the cinema for shouting his unflattering opinions of amateur witchfinder Christopher Lee.

The buggers were using him. They’d been making fools out o’ the glorious traditions o’ the Army.

“I’ll have ye, ye evil bastard!” he shouted, advancing like a motheaten avenging angel. “I ken what ye be about, cumin’ up here and seducin’ wimmen to do yer evil will!”

“I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll call back later,” he told the receiver, and hung up.

“I could see what yer were about,” snarled Shadwell. There were flecks of foam around his mouth. He was more angry than he could ever remember.

“Er, things are not what they seem.. ” Aziraphale began, aware even as he said it that as conversational gambits went it lacked a certain polish.

“I bet they ain’t!” said Shadwell triumphantly.

“No, I mean.. ”

Without taking his eyes off the angel, Shadwell shuffled backwards and grabbed the shop door, slamming it hard so that the bell jangled.

“Bell,” he said.

He grabbed The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and thumped it down heavily on the table.

“Book, ” he snarled.

He fumbled in his pocket and produced his trusty Ronson.

“Practically candle!” he shouted, and began to advance.

In his path, the circle glowed with a faint blue light.

“Er,” said Aziraphale, “I think it might not be a very good idea to-”

Shadwell wasn’t listening. “By the powers invested in me by virtue o’ my office o’ Witchfinder,” he intoned, “I charge ye to quit from this place.. ”

“You see, the circle.. ”

“.. and return henceforth to the place from which ye came, pausin’ not to.. ”

“.. it would really be unwise for a human to set foot in it without-”

“.. and deliver us frae evil-”

“Keep out of the circle, you stupid man!”

“.. never to come again to vex.. ”

“Yes, yes, but please keep out of.. ”

Aziraphale ran toward Shadwell, waving his hands urgently.

“.. returning NAE MORE!” Shadwell finished. He pointed a vengeful, black.. nailed finger.

Aziraphale looked down at his feet, and swore for the second time in five minutes. He’d stepped into the circle.

“Oh, f**k, ” he said.

There was a melodious twang, and the blue glow vanished. So did Aziraphale.

Thirty seconds went by. Shadwell didn’t move. Then, with a trembling left hand, he reached up and carefully lowered his right hand.

“Hallo?” he said. “Hallo?”

No one answered.

Shadwell shivered. Then, with his hand held out in front of him like a gun that he didn’t dare fire and didn’t know how to unload, he stepped out into the street, letting the door slam behind him.