He'd called.

Three times, actually, before it occurred to him that, if they planned on going out at all, it might be better not to have Aziraphael buried under an avalanche of books as a result of digging for the phone.

So then he'd dropped by. There hadn't been anyone there, but... well, okay Aziraphael'd said morning, but two in the afternoon wasn't that late.










Eventually, he'd fished a scrap of paper from the glove compartment, scribbled a note on it in the fading light, and hopped briefly out of the Bentley to slip it under the angel's front door.


Aziraphael -

Circumstances descend upon you again? Sorry I'm not here - but staking the place out in a black car and sunglasses probably looked a bit weird; I took the Looks I was getting from residents as my cue to leave. You know where to find me if you need me.

- Crowley