'JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH.'
In which an angel, a demon, and their adoptive daughter decide to stop Armageddon. Except it's days away, they've lost the antichrist, Heaven and Hell are both breathing down their necks, and th...
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Sometimes a highly trained network of human operatives is a synonym for an angry old man who spends his days cutting up newspapers and conning two fools out of their money.
***
"You're full of energy today," Crowley remarked as Freddie slung herself into the passenger seat of the Bentley. When he had pulled up to retrieve her from the park, she'd taken off running right towards him.
"I'm glad to see you, that's what I am," Freddie replied, clipping her seat-belt in and immediately going to fiddle with the radio dials. The CD that Crowley had popped in was one of Aziraphale's, a Tchaikovsky collection. The song that was actually being played, however, was Queen's A Kind Of Magic.
"Care to share with the class?"
Freddie frowned. "Pops didn't call and tell you?"
"I don't think so, but I have been out running errands for most of the morning, so there might be a message waiting on the answering machine. You know how your Pops is with technology, he always forgets that cell phones are even a thing," Crowley said. Freddie let out a sigh of relief, and it made the Demon smile, seeing the tension slip from his daughter's shoulders. "Now, what is it that I need to know?"
"We have a lead on the Antichrist."
"We do?"
"He's in Tadfield and we have his phone number. Maybe his address and name, too - Pops was the one who actually called, so he'll know what we have and what we still need to learn. But even if we just have the phone number, that's still something, right?"
"Definitely. It's a lot better than what we were working with just yesterday," Crowley confirmed. "I'll call Aziraphale here in a bit and get the specifics."
"Grea- wait, are we not just headed back to the apartment? Why can't we call him now?" Freddie questioned.
Crowley replied, "remember what we decided on, yesterday. Human operatives. I've got to meet with mine and give them directions - thanks to you, I can point them towards Tadfield."
Oh, Freddie thought. Right.
"Where are we meeting the old bastard, then?"
"The cafe, you know the one. More discreet than going to his place," Crowley said with a chuckle. Ever since Freddie had met Mister - er, Sergeant - Shadwell, back when she was thirteen, she'd been irritated by him. Crowley had no idea why that was, or if there was a reason at all. Maybe the man had just made a bad impression with his gruff, ill-tempered demeanor.
