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Crowley sauntered into the Dirty Donkey and saw a frizzy-haired young woman sitting at his favourite table. He raised his hand to miracle a reason for her to leave in a hurry, but just before he could snap his fingers, he noticed a very odd thing indeed. She muttered something he couldn’t hear, waved her hand over her pint glass, and the glass promptly refilled itself with ale.
Whoever she was, she was clearly either a demon or an angel. But which side was she on?
He conducted a quick visual assessment. She didn’t look like any demon he’d ever met over the past six thousand years. On the other hand, her oversized red jumper, faded jeans, scuffed trainers, and thick black cat-eye glasses were far from an angel’s usual white, cream, and grey uniform. But on the first hand, she was also much too clean and tidy for a typical demon. But back to that other hand, if he and Shax both had good taste in fashion, then what was to stop another demon? But on the other hand again, she wasn’t exactly dressed stylishly, just… humanly. Maybe she was an angel who had learned how to blend in with the humans? Or a demon who had learned to blend in?
Which hand was he on, again?
Crowley pulled up a chair and sat himself at her table before his head started spinning. He made a snap judgement, deciding that her red-and-black colour scheme was more demonic than angelic. “Hail Satan.” He cringed; it felt ridiculous to say that these days, but when in Rome… “The flat’s mine, by the way,” he continued. “Shax left it to me.”
The woman (demon? Angel?) furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Anthony J. Crowley.” He gestured to himself. “I’m your predecessor’s predecessor. Or, possibly your hereditary enemy. Er, former hereditary enemy,” he amended himself.
She shook her head in response. “Who?”
“Wha— the— they haven’t briefed you on me yet?” Crowley sputtered. It was one thing for hell to replace him (twice). But to not even mention him, their worst traitor? It was just insulting.
The young woman-demon-angel pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sorry, but who’s meant to have briefed me on you? And what do you mean by my predecessor?” She winced. “You’re not another of Shep’s exes, are you?”
Crowley wondered what a “shep” was and why he would be its X.
“I was the demon assigned to London for most of the last six thousand years!” He hissed in exasperation.
“So you are another demon.” She leaned across the table toward him. “I’m not afraid of you; I’ve defeated one of your kind before. And don’t think you can trick me into making any deals with you.”
Crowley grimaced. “First off, don’t say ‘your kind’; it’s rude. Not all demons are alike. Second, I got out of the business of tricking people into deals after Kit Marlowe went and told everybody about that racket four hundred years ago.” He leaned back in his chair. “So if you’re not one of us, you must be an angel, then? Just so you know, I’m retired now so there’s no need for any animosity between us.”
“I’m neither an angel nor a demon; I’m a normal uni student,” she insisted stubbornly.
“Sure you are.” Crowley winked confidentially, then realized that it may not have had quite the effect he was going for, behind his dark glasses. “If you’re so ‘normal’, then how did your pint glass refill itself?”
The young woman blanched. “You saw that?” she whispered.
Crowley almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Don’t worry about them.” He gestured at the fellow pub-dwellers around them. “I’ve put a cone of silence around us. We can speak freely.”
She narrowed her eyes distrustfully at him. (Honestly? Fair.) “Perhaps I am magic,” she conceded. “What are you going to do about it? What do you want of me?”
“Hey!” Crowley held his hands up defensively. “I’m just here to establish that we’re on the same side. Or that we don’t have to be on opposite sides. We can be on neutral sides. I’ve got no quarrel with you so long as you leave me and my people alone.”
“And by ‘your people’, you mean demons?” she clarified.
“Hell no,” he scoffed. “I’m through with that lot. But I’ve got a small group of trusted associates with whom I share certain priorities.” He tapped on the table with his index finger for emphasis as he pronounced each of the last two words. “Actually, now that I think of it, you probably share some of those priorities.” He shifted his weight, leaning toward her again. “If you’re a human, then you probably don’t want another Apocalypse like the one that happened a few years back, do you?”
“Another Apocalypse?” she asked. “You mean when the Humdrum made all of those dead spots? Because I’m pretty sure we’ve got that well and handled now.”
“What’s a Humdrum?” Crowley asked.
She muttered something that sounded distinctly like “And you call yourself magical.”
Crowley shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what you’re referring to, but I’m talking about the actual Apocalypse. You know, when fish rained from the sky, and the Kraken rose from the bottom of the sea?”
“You’ve got quite the imagination, don’t you?” She scoffed. “Fish, Kraken, you seem a bit obsessed with sea life. What are you, the demon of the ocean?”
“I was the—” Crowley cut himself off with a calming breath. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He rearranged his face into his most intimidating expression. “You’ve got quite a nice planet here. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to it, would you?”
The young woman looked offended. “Clearly not! Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just trying to get you to understand the very real stakes,” Crowley argued. “The folks upstairs are busy plotting the Second Coming as we speak. If we want to save this blasted planet, then we’re going to need as many occult practitioners as possible.”
She pulled her hand down her face. “You actually believe what you’re saying, don’t you?”
“I bloody well ought to,” Crowley exclaimed. “I was at the first Apocalypse! So when the time comes, can I count on you to stand in defense of the Earth?”
She sighed deeply. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this. If the time comes — and I’m not convinced that it will — then yes, I suppose you could say I have a vested interest in protecting the Earth. And I have a few connections who I imagine would stand with me — us .”
Crowley grinned broadly. “You’re making the right decision.”
“I’m not convinced that I am.” She sighed again. “If the apocalypse happens, or starts to happen, how will I find you?”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” he assured her. “Just tell me your name and I’ll be able to find you wherever you are.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “It’s one thing for me to agree to a half-baked plan about stopping an apocalypse that may never happen, but I’m going to need a bit more proof than that before I give my name to a strange man in a pub.”
“That’s where you draw the line?” he asked incredulously.
“I’m just protecting myself,” she explained. “I don’t need to be stalked by some madman who’s convinced himself he’s a demon.”
“So I prove I’m a demon, you give me your name?” Crowley negotiated.
“If you can convince me, yes,” she agreed.
Crowley nodded once, then pointed to the snake in front of his right ear. “You see this? That’s the mark of the devil. I got it when I Fell.”
She scoffed. “That looks like a cheesy tattoo to me.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s actually very cool, but your generation has no sense of style.”
She rolled her eyes.
“All right, you want proof? Look at this!” He held his right hand out in front of himself and conjured a fireball in his hand.
“Easy trick,” she returned. “Any amateur magician can do that with a little flash paper. It doesn’t make them truly magic.”
Crowley couldn’t argue with that. He’d seen one particular amateur magician do the flash paper trick hundreds of times, if not more.
“Fine, then try this on for sizessssss…” Crowley transformed into his snake form, landing coiled up on the chair.
“Where did you go?” The young woman’s head appeared over the edge of the table. She peered down at him. “Is that you?”
“Ssssssssatissssfied?” he asked.
“Can you reverse it?” she countered.
Crowley transformed back into his humanoid form, shaking out his neck and shoulders as he reached full size.
“Now that was cool,” she remarked.
“Was that enough to convince you?” Crowley checked his nails, trying not to show how pleased he was with himself.
“I suppose so.” She held out her hand toward him. “Penelope Bunce. Nice to meet you, Mister…”
“Crowley.” He shook her hand, then flashed a toothy smile at her. “And we have a deal.”
Penelope’s face fell momentarily, then she shook her head ruefully. “Shep is never going to let me live this down.”