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"Newt, is everything OK?" Anathema shouted from the living room, only mildly alarmed. They had been living together for a while now, and she got used to the noises that came from the kitchen whenever her boyfriend was cooking. At least the result was usually good.
"Yes, everything is fine," answered Newt in a voice that suggested that everything was as far away from fine as possible. "I was trying to grind the vegetables for the soup, but the machine made a weird noise and burst into fire. Sorry".
Oh well, another item to add to the growing shopping list. She needed new pots for her herbs anyway, so might as well make a shopping spree out of it. Who knows, she might even be able to buy him some proper clothes.
She leafed through the brochures that were spread on the table for just those occasions. It wasn't the first time a disaster happened, and they had to rely on food deliveries. At least now it was only soup. Fragments of melted chocolate were still stuck to the ceiling, more than a month after Newt decided he wanted to make a particularly complicated cake.
"What do you prefer, sushi or pizza?" When an answer hadn't come, she asked again, and lifted her head from the book in her lap towards the kitchen. The smoke she saw was alarming, but not because she was afraid of fire. Things tended to burst into flames in Newt's vicinity, and they had installed fire extinguishers in strategic points of Jasmine Cottage.
No, the thing that caught her attention was the colour of the smoke – it was red.
Not easily alarmed, Anathema looked around the room, searching for something that can be used as a weapon. Newt had insisted on limiting the whereabouts of bread knives to the kitchen, which seemed to be logical at the time. Now, though, with her usual defence mechanism unavailable, she had to improvise. Luckily, a house of a witch contains other, equally dangerous, items. Energy crystals, for example, can be very effective, especially if hey are in a sock and being swung energetically, and she made a mental note to leave a sock in the living room
An umbrella may not have been her first weapon of choice, but it was better than nothing. She grabbed one from the stand near the entrance and walked slowly towards the kitchen. Newt still hadn't answered her, and while the smoke started to dilute, her concern turned into real worry.
With her umbrella held threateningly in front of her, she crept into the entrance of the kitchen and peered inside. At first, she thought that she was dreaming, or that this was some kind of modern art experiment that got carried away. The walls were covered in an interesting pattern of black and red, but that could have been explained by black beans and tomato.
After the initial shock was over, she noticed that Newt was not alone in the kitchen. With him was someone, or more accurately, something else, and it was very annoyed. It was still smoking, but considerably less now, and by the time she lowered her unnecessary umbrella and approached him, the smoke had stopped all together.
Newt stood frozen, not sure what to do. His social skills were not the best on a good day, and accidentally summoning a demon while trying to make a soup was high on the list of bad days.
Crowley tried to look cool as a cucumber, but the impression was mildly ruined by stains of a liquid on his jacket. On closer inspection, Anathema noticed it was not a jacket. Was the demon wearing… Pyjamas?
"Explain thisss," said Crowley, as he snapped his fingers and vanished the stains. "How did it happen?"
Newt, understandably, panicked. His eyes darted across the room, without a doubt looking for a logical explanation. When Crowley raised his fingers, about to snap again, he managed to squeak "I don't know." A big chunk of something that looked like shredded garlic fell from the wall, accompanied by some tomato seeds. "I was making shapes with the garlic".
"I'm a demon, not a vampire!" snapped Crowley. "How have you summoned me?"
Anathema stepped into the room and laid a protective hand on Newt’s shoulder. Crowley seemed to deflate a bit in her presence and calmed somewhat. "How did it happen?"
Seeing her, Newt relaxed and took a big breath. "I was thinking about…"
"Yes, sugar pie? What were you thinking about?"
"There was someone I was thinking about…"
Crowley lost his temper: "Well, that’s obvious, or I wouldn't be standing here. I was doing some demonic actions," (Anathema smiled, guessing correctly that he was actually doing a rewatch of Golden girls, but he ignored her) "when I felt a pull and found myself here. But how did you manage to make it happen? It is the first time I was summoned without a proper ceremony."
Newt shrugged apologetically. "I played with the garlic while I was thinking about him and must have written something by accident."
Anathema was sharp as always. "Why do you keep saying 'him'? Crowley is right here."
"Well… Because I'm not talking about Crowley…"
The demon was even more confused than before. "You summoned me by writing with shredded garlic, but hadn't meant to summon me?"
"Yes!" blurted Newt. "I was thinking about my favourite superhero, the one who always saves the world…"
"Well, that's definitely not me, too much work", mumbled Crowley in a low voice, but Newt got carried away with his confession and hadn't heard him.
"I was thinking about Superman, OK? I was writing his symbol, just waiting for the soup to be ready, and next thing I knew the pot was on fire and you popped in the kitchen." His voice got stronger and stronger with every word, and the last part was practically shouted at a (not very, but still) annoyed demon. Said demon raised an eyebrow, and Newt hurried to backtrack. "Sorry, I hadn't meant it like that, you are always welcome in our home. Would you like some garlic bread? I made it from scratch…"
"Let me get it straight. You wanted to summon Superman, but instead got me?" Crowley asked in a distant voice, as if he hadn't believed the words he was saying. "But that still doesn't explain how it happened".
Anathema decided it was time to clear things up and turned towards Newt. "Can you show me what you wrote?"
Speechless, he gestured toward the counter. After examining it closely, she nodded, satisfied that her idea was proven to be right. "Yes, just what I thought."
"Care to share with the rest of the classss" drooled Crowley, who was torn between pride in his prodigy and annoyance that she knew something he didn't.
"Look here, see this pile of garlic?" Newt and Crowley got closer to the object in question, and confirmed they were, in fact, observing garlic.
"And what does it look like?" asked Anathema, trying her best to be patient. It wasn't a lot.
"A pile of garlic. Really, what else could it be, an aardvark?"
Newt seemed to understand what he had done (not how, but that's not the point), and stared at it mortified.
"Well?" demanded Crowley, leaning more and more towards annoyance. Being proud of smart humans was nice and well, but being left without answers was something he was not a fan of.
After a meaningful hand wave towards the pile, and when Anathema realized it was not as meaningful to Crowley as she thought, she started to explain. "Well, you know what the symbol of Superman looks like."
Crowley's eyebrow escaped the sunglasses and reached his hairline. "Yesss."
"And now, look closer at the garlic. Ring any bell?"
Now that he knew what to look for, it was easier to understand what those hand waves meant. "Newt wrote 'S' in the garlic, and that summoned me?"
The proud look on Anathema's face was totally uncalled-for in Crowley's opinion, but he had more important things to focus on right now.
"But how?!"
"It is very simple" said Anathema, though obviously it was not for Crowley. "Newt tried to write Superman's symbol and drew yours instead."
"I don't have a symbol," shouted Crowley in frustration. "That doesn't even make sssense!"
"Of course you have one, your tattoo. What else could it have been?"
"That's not what it is," growled Crowley.
Newt recognized the glint that shone in Anathema's eyes, and almost felt sorry for the demon. In the relatively short time he got to know her, he learned that once she had a question, she would not back down until it was answered. And all the follow-up questions.
"It is not your symbol? Then what is it?"
Crowley looked at her, incredulous. "That is not a matter for humans, bookgirl, it is knowledge meant only for…" His dramatic speech was cut short as a big chunk of tomatoes surrendered to the forces of gravity and fell on his head. "Really?" he called at no one in particular, and snapped his fingers once more. The kitchen was clean again (even more clean than what it usually was, Anathema was grateful to discover), and Crowley's clothes changed into something more appropriate. Only Newt remained stained, but he decided wisely not to remark on that.
"Please, Crowley. I have so many questions, and there is no one who can answer them. Or would you rather I find myself another demon to talk with?" Her face shifted, but not into a pleading look as Crowley half expected, (after all, he had a very long experience of being asked to do things he didn't really want to). Instead, her lips stretched into a thin line, chin lifted in defiance, and eyes sparkling with an obvious challenge.
"You know she will keep asking," Newt intervened. He had hoped for a quiet, gentle, and romantic dinner, but those plans flew out of the window after the accidental summon. "Do you really want her to search other demons for answers?"
Crowley made a series of noises that were not words in any known language, but finally deflated. “Fine, bookgirl, I’ll tell you… part of it. But I do need to make a phone call first, so if you don’t mind…” Without waiting for an answer he walked to the other room, and the couple could hear him talking with someone. After a few moments he returned to them, returned a mobile phone to a pocket (Anathema noticed that both the mobile and pocket weren’t there before the conversation, but she had more pressing matters on her mind), and slouched on the couch. “Pour me some of that wine you are hiding on the second shelf, bookgirl, and I’ll answer your question.”
Anathema hadn’t stopped to ask how he knew about that, and instead walked wordlessly to the kitchen to bring the bottle and three glasses. This was going to be a long night, and her and Newt needed all the liquid help they could get.
After that matter was sorted out, and all three of them sat, Anathema couldn’t hold back any longer and burst with questions. “Why do you have a tattoo? Why a snake? Do other demons have tattoos? Do angels have tattoos? You probably don’t know, been a while since you have seen angels. But you have seen Azirpahale, I’m sure you would have noticed if he had a giant tattoo somewhere…”
Crowley lowered his sunglasses; he hadn’t bothered to remove till then, but not seemed like a good time. It was enough to silence Anathema, and she even had the decency to look a bit embarrassed.
“Souvenir, it’s my form, no, and kinda.” Crowley finished drinking his cup and started standing up, clearly satisfied with himself.
“That’s not a real answer, Crowley. I think that after all that’s happened, Anathema deserves better than that.” The demon looked surprised at Newt, almost forgetting he was in the room with them. Even Anathema seemed surprised that Newt had spoken, as he usually let her handle conversations with other people, let alone with other demons.
“Well… I guess you are right. Fill my glass, and you will get the detailed explanation.”
Anathema rushed to do as he asked (the first time, Newt thought a bit bitterly, that she complied with some else’s requests), and returned to her seat.
Crowley stretched on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position on the old couch, and finally gave up. A quick snap of his fingers and the couch transformed into something ridiculously luxurious, with a padded low back and pillows embroidered with a black and red snake. He tried a few more options, all the while the humans stared at him fascinated, and finally found the perfect configuration.
“I have promised to answer your questions, but I’m a demon, I lie.” He saw Anathema’s crestfallen face, and laughed at his own joke. “I will answer two of your questions.” She began to open her mouth, forming something that looked very close to “thank you”, when he cut her abruptly. “Don’t. That’s the last thing I need, being praised by a witch. Aziraphale wouldn't let me live it down till the end of days.”
Obediently, she said something else: “More wine?”
“To that, bookgirl, I will never say no. Now, where were we?”
“She asked you if angels also have tattoos”, Newt hurried to refresh Crowley’s memory.
The demon shot him a disapproving look. “I know that, it was a rhetorical question. But you do get a point for courage, that’s not something I see every day in my line of work.”
Newt beamed with the unexpected praise, while Anathema had other things in mind. “What is it exactly that you do?”
“That’s a third question, don’t push your luck.” Despite the harsh words his tone didn’t have a real bite, and Anathema smiled in response. It wasn’t every day that someone defied her, and she enjoyed the challenge. “Anyway, let’s start with the shorter answer - angels don’t have tattoos, at least not in the way you think of them. On Earth they don’t have any physical markings, but while in Heaven they show their marks from the War.”
Anathema frowned. “What war? I thought all angels did was play music and walk in the heavenly fields.”
“A war that happened a long time ago. The war that made me a demon.”
The temperature in the room suddenly dropped a few degrees. Newt draped his arm over Anathema’s back, and she smiled at him with gratitude. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the person who was slouched on the ridiculous couch and drinking wine, was an actual demon from Hell.
Crowley emptied his cup, and Newt filled it. After a few more times of this routine, the room returned to its normal temperature, and the demon smiled with too sharp teeth. “So, where were we?”
The couple remained silent, until Crowley’s patience expired and he proclaimed, “This time it was not a rhetorical question!”
Anathema hurried to answer, “You explained that angels don’t have tattoos. What about demons?”
“Oh, right, that. Well, yes and no. Every demon has an animal representation, sort of spirit animal if you like. Hastur has a frog, Ligur had a lizard, and so on. Mine is a snake.”
Both humans nodded, trying to wrap their heads around the new concept.
“And all the demons have tattoos like yours?” Anathema tried to clarify the subject.
“No,” answered Crowley. “Just me.” He took a few more swigs from his cup, that knew better than to be empty during a dramatic pause, before he continued. “Unlike other demons, I was stationed on Earth to observe the humans, and had to blend in. Even Satan agreed it was a rather difficult thing to do with an actual snake wrapped around my head at all times, so mercifully, I was not obliged to do that. But, to make sure I wouldn’t forget what I am, I got the tattoo.”
He lowered his head, and even with the sunglasses, Anathema could guess he was staring at the content of his cup. She could not fathom what he was seeing there, which memories this conversation had provoked. “I’m sorry, Crowley. Tha…”
“I told you, don’t thank me!” Crowley snapped his head in a sharp movement, and Anathema was more concerned for his neck than for her own safety. “I’m a demon!”
Newt rose from his seat, much to his own surprise, and came to stand next to Crowley. “Would you mind if I touch it?”
Crowley’s breath hitched. “Why would you? It is ugly, not something to investigate.”
“I think it is rather fascinating. I’m a bit of a snake lover myself,” confessed Newt. “Obviously, mum never allowed me to have any, but I do hope one day to work at a snake rehabilitation centre.”
The laugh that came from Crowley’s throat was closer to a whine, but neither Newt nor Anathema were about to point that out. “A snake lover? You really are not what you seem to be. Fine, why not.”
Crowley took off his sunglasses, allowing Newt easier access to his temple. The human sent a cautious hand forward, torn between the desire to feel the texture and his fear from touching a real demon.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Usually,” said the demon with a grin that showed a mouth full of too many sharp teeth and added a wink. That drew Newt’s attention to his eyes, and the human gasped in surprise. Crowley coiled in his seat, moving away from Newt’s hand.
“They are gorgeous,” whispered Newt in awe.
“What?” said Crowley in puzzlement.
“What?” echoed Anathema, confused even more. The glimpse she saw of Crowley’s eyes was enough to silence her, not something that happened often.
“Your eyes. I have never seen anything like it,” explained Newt.
“Gorgeous? There is nothing pretty about them. Just another souvenir from Hell, to make sure that I won’t be able to blend in with humans. Why do you think I always wear the blasted sunglasses? Thank someone for the person who invented those. Lifesaver, literally.”
Newt still gazed at him with wonder, and Crowley abruptly stood up. “Anyway, that’s enough for now. Bookgirl, you have received your explanation, so no need for you to look for other demons.”
“Enough for now?” asked Anathema in a hesitant voice. “Does that mean you will be back? There is so much more I want to ask you… How does the hierarchy in Hell work? Is it really hot down there? How were you appointed to stay in London? Where do you…”
Crowley raised his hand, silencing her. “Fine, fine, I will come back to answer some more of your questions. But,” he cautioned the couple, “I have two conditions.”
“Anything you want,” Anathema hurried to say, to Newt’s scolding look. Crowley hadn’t missed his not so silent whisper. “He is a demon, careful at what you promise him.”
“The first condition,” he raised one finger as the couple watched him, hanging on every word, “is that you will have an ample supply of good wine.” Anathema hurried to nod, making a mental list of all the local wineries in the area.
“And the second condition is…” he paused for dramatic effect, and continued after he was sure that he got their full attention - “next time, call me.”
Newt blushed, and started to mumble apologies. Crowley smirked, snapped his fingers, and was gone from the living room before Newt managed to finished his sentence.
“Well,” said Anathema, “that was interesting. Shall we order pizza?”