The Mourning Star

Welcome to A.Z Fell & Co.

What I feel- I shouldn't show you,

So when you're around I won't;

I know I've no right to feel it-

But it doesn't mean I don't.

A few days later, Crowley finds himself once again stepping through the door of A.Z .[1] Fell & Company. He is not called upon as he has been before; this is a social visit, to be certain, but he also is in the business of finding a copy of Aldo Leopold's A Sand County Almanac . The soft chime of the bell above the entrance announces his arrival, and the bookshop seems to hum with tranquil normalcy- almost too normal, in Crowley's opinion when it comes to Mr. Fell. It is neither the chaotic aftermath of a prophecy nor the quiet intimacy of a private dinner; instead, it is the everyday charm of a bookshop in its normal operating hours[2].

The shelves, adorned with ancient leather-bound tomes and meticulously organized volumes, stretch towards the ceiling, creating a labyrinth of literary treasures. Soft beams of sunlight filter through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden floor. The air permeates with the comforting scent of aged paper and polished mahogany, inviting visitors to lose themselves in the world of literature.[3]

As Crowley ventures deeper into the bookshop, he notes that there is nobody actively perusing the shelves. The occasional creak of floorboards beneath his feet echoes through the quiet space, adding to the serene ambiance. The proprietor of this literary haven sits at his desk[4]. A black feather quill in hand, he bends over a leather-bound journal, the rhythmic scratching of the quill against paper filling the open floor plan.

It takes a few minutes of Crowley staring at Aziraphale's writing before he clears his throat. Aziraphale looks up, his eyes brightening with recognition and a warm smile gracing his features.

"Crowley, my dear! What brings you in today?" he asks as he adjusts the small circular (highly unnecessary) spectacles on the bridge of his nose, setting the quill aside and gesturing to the array of books surrounding him.

"Angel," Crowley greets with a mock bow, a playful smirk gracing his lips. He strolls toward the desk, eyes flickering over the curated chaos of books around him. "I'm on the hunt for Leopold's Sand County Almanac[5]. You wouldn't happen to have a copy lying around, would ya?"

Aziraphale's eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and the satisfaction of a well-stocked collection. "Do I have A Sand County Almanac ? What a question! Indeed, I do, my dear. And, I believe it is an original, signed by Leopold himself. Right this way." He gracefully rises from his desk, leading Crowley through the maze of shelves. Crowley follows closely behind, his gaze fixating on the back of Aziraphale's head. In comparison to, what he supposed, was the constructed memory on Halloween night as he drove away, the man's hair was more blonde and less curly than it is now.

As they reach a section dedicated to nature and conservation, Aziraphale expertly plucks a slightly weathered copy of A Sand County Almanac from its place. The book's spine bears the marks of time, and its pages whisper of countless hands that have turned them in search of knowledge or inspiration, perhaps even hope. A little bit down the way, Crowley spies an original of Silent Spring by Rachel Carson and gingerly takes it from the shelf as well.

"You have original publishings... of both of these?" Crowley asks as he takes Leopold's book from Aziraphale's hands.

"Oh, well of course! Almost all of my books here are originals. Few copies, naturally."

"That's ngk..." He furrows his brows as he looks down at the books again. "Marvelous. Well, thank ya. How, how much?"

Aziraphale chuckles, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Nonsense! 'How much', please. They're yours."[6]