Author's Note: I'm sorry, this update took so much longer than I thought it would! The amount of writing I have to do this semester is kicking my ass, and the ass of my poor little muse.

But without any further ado, I give you the second chapter. Please enjoy and comment, and thanks to the people who left reviews last time - you guys rock!

o-o-o

"The most powerful weapon in chess is to have the next move." - David Bronstein

o-o-o

2. In Which Crowley Gets Kicked

Aziraphale was reading the paper and nursing a cup of Earl Grey when Molly stumbled down the stairs the next morning, rubbing her eyes and practically swimming in one of Aziraphale’s old nightshirts.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale greeted with a smile, folding the paper and reaching for another mug. “Would you like some tea?”

“Juice, please,” Molly said through a yawn.

“Coming right up. I assume orange is okay?”

Molly nodded and sat in one of the chairs around Aziraphale’s rickety old table, letting her feet swing. She looked out the window and squinted against the sunlight.

“What time is it?” she asked, accepting a tall glass of juice.

“A little after nine,” Aziraphale said. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Molly sipped her juice, careful not to spill on Aziraphale’s nightshirt. “Where did you sleep last night?”

“I, er, crashed on the couch down here.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like some breakfast?”

Molly’s face brightened at the prospect, and she announced that she would love some eggs, please.

While Aziraphale cooked, Molly scanned the paper, an odd pastime for an eight year-old. Aziraphale seemed to notice this and he joined her at the table while eggs sizzled in the skillet.

“See anything interesting?” he asked.

“No,” Molly said, “it’s all about the economy and stuff.”

“Too dull?”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sound the sizzling of eggs.

“Last night you promised me that you would talk if I let you stay here,” Aziraphale said finally, his pale eyes serious. “I’d like a few explanations, Molly.”

Molly sighed and pushed the paper away, but said nothing. Aziraphale eventually had to get up and flip the eggs so they didn’t burn, and it was at that moment that the little girl spoke.

“I know what those men were,” she said quietly.

Aziraphale froze in the act of flipping the second egg.

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“The men who were chasing me last night. They were demons.”

Aziraphale turned to face her, but she was staring down into her glass of juice. Her legs had stopped swinging, and her little hands were clenched under the table.

“I’ve always been able to see them. They aren’t human, so they must be demons.” She glanced up at Aziraphale, her brown eyes surprisingly fierce for one so young. “You could tell, too, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly.

“How long have you been able to see them?” Molly asked.

“Well, it’s… different for me.”

“How so?”

“I…”

Aziraphale hesitated for only a moment. Then he sighed, plopped the cooked eggs onto a plate and carried them over to the table, taking the seat opposite Molly.

“First of all, can you see anything different about me?” he asked. Molly took a bite of egg, but narrowed her eyes in concentration as she stared at him.

“You gwow,” she said through her mouthful, “but mot wike ‘emons.” She swallowed. “It’s a brighter glow, and more comforting. But I don’t know why.”

Aziraphale smiled and said, “It’s because I’m an angel, Molly.”

Molly gaped, her fork stuck halfway between the plate and her mouth.

“No way,” she said. Aziraphale shrugged. Molly broke into a wide smile. “I knew it!” she said. “You can protect me from those demons!”

“I will do what I can,” Aziraphale said, sounding slightly weary, “but I’m going to need some explanations from you first. So…” He leaned toward her over the table, pale eyes twinkling. “Start talking.”

o-o-o

Crowley was in a slight panic.

He kept edging toward the telephone, then picking it up, staring at it, and putting it down again. It was growing tiresome. He knew he should ring Aziraphale, but at the same time he wasn’t sure whether or not this confrontation would be better off done in person.

Either way, it was rude to come by unannounced, so he picked up the phone.

But when had he started caring about being rude? The phone went down again.

Crowley seethed and came quite close to tearing out his hair.

It was all that bastard Amon’s fault! He just had to come into Crowley’s apartment and tell him things and get him involved. Crowley didn’t quite enjoy being involved, especially when – he shuddered – Raum was in charge.

Raum.

That demon was a problem.

And that problem was apparently intending to force Crowley to get this stupid little girl. From Aziraphale. Using force, if necessary. Crowley couldn’t even remember the last time he had used force against Aziraphale. (Possibly last month, when Crowley had threatened to shove Azirphale into the duck pond if he wouldn’t treat him to lunch, but that had never actually come to pass; Aziraphale had eventually caved.)

He had to contact Aziraphale before the official order came through, and warn him that if he was housing the girl he should be rid of her as soon as divinely possible. Otherwise Crowley would be forced to go after her himself, and if he refused, then the job would be passed on to someone with much less sympathy for the angel.

And Crowley couldn’t let that happen.

o-o-o

Adam was lost.

He checked the map again, rather listlessly, and whistled for his little mutt to follow him. The last time he had seen a sign it had said something about Finsbury, so as long as he was there, his destination lay to the… south? West? Whichever. But even if he knew that, how was he supposed to tell directions? And why were there so many streets that weren’t listed on this map?

Adam crumpled up the map and chucked it into a waste bin. He looked up at the street sign above his head, which said Spencer St.

“Take me to Soho,” he ordered the sidewalk, then took a purposeful step forward, turned the corner, and found himself on a small street that housed a bookshop, among other things.

Adam headed straight for this shop, whistling again to make sure Dog was still with him. The little mutt trotted at his feet, tongue lolling and one ear inside out, as always.

The door – despite bearing a CLOSED sign in the front window – was tugged open before Adam could even knock, and a small girl with dark curls and wide brown eyes stared up at him.

“Mr. Fell said you can come in,” she said, “but he isn’t to be disturbed.”

“Er, okay,” Adam said, slightly baffled, as he stepped around the little girl into the shop. Dog slinked in behind him. “And you are…?”

“My name is Molly. I’m helping Mr. Fell around the shop,” the girl pronounced, thrusting her chest out proudly.

“Right.” Adam looked around the dusty old bookshop, searching for any sign of the angel. “Any idea when I’ll be able to talk to him?”

“He’s on a very important phone call. I’m afraid it might be a while. Would you like some tea?”

Adam stared hard at the little girl.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“Eight.”

“And you’re asking me if I would like tea?”

Molly blinked in confusion. “I’m only being polite.”

“Hell,” Adam said, shaking his head. “Aziraphale’s already rubbed off on you, hasn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” Adam hopped onto a tall stool in front of the register and thrust out his hand, which Molly stared at for a moment before realizing she was supposed to shake it. “I’m Adam,” he said. “And this is Dog.”

“Hello.” Molly stooped to shake Dog’s paw, which he proffered obediently. She giggled and scratched him behind the ears, making his little tail thump.

“How long have you been working here?” Adam asked. He had always been under the impression that Aziraphale preferred to work in his shop alone. It gave the angel ample time to read in the back room and to close the shop at random intervals to discourage patrons from entering.

“Mr. Fell saved me last night so I’ve been staying here,” Molly said matter-of-factly, still lavishing attention on Dog. Adam frowned.

“He saved you?”

“Yeah.” Molly looked up at Adam. “From demons.”

“Demons,” Adam said dryly.

“Yep.”

“Huh.”

“And now he’s talking to his boss about something. I don’t know what, though.”

Adam said nothing, just watched Dog roll over and let Molly tickle his belly. Adam knew who Aziraphale’s “boss” was. He wondered vaguely how the conversation was going.

o-o-o

It was not going very well at all. In the next room, Aziraphale was growing frustrated with his superiors. He even thought he could feel a headache coming on, something which hadn’t occurred since before the Apocalypse That Never Was.

“Sorry,” he said. “But why is Molly in danger?”

A well-educated voice replied, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not something you need to know.”

“So… What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Protect her,” the voice said. “But be warned. Demons will come after her in great numbers, and with great power. We will send down a guardian for you if need be, but for now I can sense that you are well-protected.”

Aziraphale frowned, trying to think of what in his life could possibly be thought of as protective.

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “Well. I’ll just keep her here then, shall I?”

“Yes. Someone will come for her in three days’ time. At that point you will be relieved of your duties and possibly rewarded.”

“Ah.”

“Good luck, Aziraphale,” said the voice, and the connection was broken.

Aziraphale watched as one of the candle flames sputtered and nearly went out.

“Bugger,” he said.

He turned, leaving the chalk circle, and stepped over to his telephone, which was blinking at him. He had three messages, apparently all from Crowley. With a sigh, Aziraphale cut off the last of Crowley’s messages just before the bad language started and trudged back toward the front of the shop.

He had some serious thinking to do.

o-o-o

“Something’s wrong.”

Anathema blinked and looked up from her coffee to see her husband narrowing his eyes at her.

“Huh?” she said intelligently.

“Something’s bothering you. You’ve been in a daze all morning,” Newt said, taking a seat next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel… strange,” Anathema said finally, staring down at her coffee again.

“Strange as in… dizzy?”

“No.”

“Feverish?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Horny?”

“Newt.”

“Well, you’re being vague.”

“Look, it’s no big deal!” Anathema burst, rising to her feet and starting to pace. “It’s just…” She threw a helpless look at Newt. “I feel like I need to read Agnes’ new prophecies.”

Newt tapped his fingers on the table and chewed his lip a bit, but said nothing.

“It started last night,” Anathema hurried to explain. “I feel like something big is happening, and I should know about it. I should be able to do something, you know? Like last time.”

“Last time?”

“Armageddon, Newt.”

“Ah.”

He lapsed into silence again, apparently thinking, and Anathema thought she might explode, but just before she was about to start rambling again, Newt said, “Read them.”

Anathema blinked. “Really?”

“Sure.” Newt half-smiled up at her. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

“But Newt –“

“Just because you read them doesn’t mean you’re going to go back to living your life by them, right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Anathema.” Newt stood and placed his hands on her shoulders with a smile. “Read them.”

Anathema sighed, and mumbled that she would be right back. She left the kitchen calmly enough but broke into a light jog as soon as she was out of Newt’s sight. She knew that he had always disapproved of the idea of her reading the prophecies and living her life solely by what they said, so she had a feeling his support would be short-lived, but as long as she had it she needed to read the prophecies. She had a feeling Agnes wanted her to.

The chest was where it had been for the past eight years, buried under clothes and coats that had fallen off their hangers to land in a sad, forgotten pile on the bottom of the closet. Anathema cleared the clothes away and pulled the chest out, lifting off the lid.

There it was: Further Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Concerning the Worlde that Is To Com: Ye Saga Continuef!

It was a bit dustier than the first time she had seen it, but it looked basically the same. Anathema picked it up reverently and clutched it to her chest before laying it in her lap and opening to the first page.

That was when the first crow slammed into the window, and chaos followed soon after.

o-o-o

Hell was bustling.

Amon marched through the masses of tortured souls, determinedly ignoring their screams with practiced ease. He kept fidgeting with the lapels of his dark suit, a necessity when meeting with his boss, one of the most formal and frightening Earls of Hell. The suit’s material was already clinging to his broad, sweaty shoulders, and the pants were sufficiently wrinkled, but Amon figured it was the thought that counted. How could anyone be expected to look meticulously put together after traipsing across the majority of the Underworld to get to a meeting?

He approached the Earl’s headquarters at a trot – he was a little late – and was unsurprised to see two lower-ranked demons flanking the doors. He grinned fiercely at them, showing off his bright canines.

“Foras, Surgat,” he rumbled. “Does this mean you are still in Raum’s favor?”

The two demons glowered at him. One glance at them was enough to tell anyone that they were clearly not being favored; their faces were covered in cuts and bruises and dried blood, evidence of their punishment for being unable to capture the girl.

“Aw, stuff it,” Surgat – always the more vocal one – spat. “You’re late as it is.”

“I know, I know,” Amon chuckled. He entered headquarters feeling much lighter than he had before. It felt good to know that those two had been punished. Maybe that meant Raum’s love of violence would be temporarily sated and Amon could get off easy…

The doors leading to Raum’s inner sanctuary were tall and black, and intricately carved with designs that resembled feathers. Amon paused outside them, steeling himself.

Amon. Please come in.

Amon froze; the velvety voice seemed to come out of the very walls.

The doors opened of their own accord, and Amon had no choice but to walk through them and into Raum’s sanctuary.

The first thing he noticed was the complete lack of ceiling. Instead, there were levels upon levels of dark wooden rafters, spiraling up into infinity, each acting as a roost for the largest, blackest, quietest crows Amon had ever seen. The only noise they made was the shifting of feathers and talons as they arranged themselves to better stare down at him in a very menacing manner.

“Amon,” a voice breathed – the same voice from the hallway, only this time it had a visible origin in the form of a tall, slim shadow across the room. Amon bowed to the shadow.

“My lord,” he said.

“You have located the girl.”

It wasn’t a question. Amon nodded and gulped.

“Yes, lord. She is with an angel. In London.”

“And this angel. He is powerful?”

“I do not believe so, lord, but we are being cautious. I have contacted the demon Crawly, who seems to know much of the angel. I have faith that he will help us.”

“Is that so?” Raum’s calm skepticism sent a shiver down Amon’s spine.

“Yes, lord,” Amon whispered.

“… Very well. I will take your word, for now.” Raum paused and Amon had a fleeting hope that he might be dismissed sooner than expected, but then the Earl continued. “You think this Crawly will be useful?”

“I do, lord.”

“Why is this? He is acquainted with the angel. What if he is a traitor?”

“I believe he can be… manipulated.”

Even from across the room, Amon could sense Raum’s interest, could see his slitted red eyes narrow.

“How so?”

Amon had to grin; this was what he had come for. He had a couple ideas, and he knew he would gain the Earl’s favor for them.

“I have had some thoughts, lord. If it pleases, I could tell them to you now.”

Raum did not reply for an entire minute, and Amon started to sweat, but the dark shadow finally inclined its head.

“Tell me.”

o-o-o

Crowley parked the Bentley illegally across the street from Aziraphale’s bookshop and stepped out into the morning sun, sunglasses flashing. He adjusted his dark suit and smoothed back his hair before striding across the street.

The sign in the shop’s window said CLOSED, but that did nothing to deter him. He tried the handle only to find it was locked, and then – figuring Aziraphale would disapprove of him bashing in yet another door (even though the first four times had been completely necessary) – balled his hand into a tight fist and rapped smartly on the window.

Voices came from inside (this in itself being odd, as Aziraphale rarely had visitors, and the most common of these was standing outside the door), followed by some rummaging and the distinct sound of a key being turned in the lock.

The door swung open to reveal the angel, looking rather nervous and wielding a nasty-looking bat.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. It’s you,” Aziraphale said, lowering the bat.

“That’s all the greeting I get?” Crowley asked. “An unenthusiastic ‘oh it’s you’? And put that down. It’s dangerous.”

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard. Can I come in?”

“Not now.”

“Fine, then you come out. I need to talk to you.”

“Crowley, I can’t leave right now.”

“Why not?”

“I have something I need to take care of.”

“Like what?”

“Like –“

“AWAY FROM MY ANGEL, FOUL DEMON!” A swift kick connected heavily with Crowley’s shin.

“- well, that.”

“SON OF A –“ (The next words to flow out of Crowley’s mouth were far too foul for the author to write, and not even of this language.)

“Sorry, Crowley. I was supposed to be watching her,” Adam said, coming up from behind the girl and swinging her easily into his arms.

“Damn it, Adam!” Crowley hissed, rubbing his leg. “That hurt!”

“Don’t yell at me, you old snake,” Adam retorted with a glare. “I didn’t kick you.”

“That’s enough, you two,” Aziraphale said sternly. Adam “hmph”-ed and Crowley muttered something under his breath about pretentious twats, but the argument subsided.

“Wait,” Molly said from Adam’s arms, “you know this demon?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “His name is Crowley. He’s an old acquaintance of mine.”

Said acquaintance glared at the little girl through his dark glasses and demanded, “And who are you?”

“My name is Molly, and I don’t approve of you being here.”

Adam snickered.

“Don’t worry, Molly,” Aziraphale said soothingly, choosing to ignore the teenager. “We can trust Crowley.”

Crowley looked uncomfortable for a moment after this statement. Adam was the only one to catch it; he narrowed his eyes at the demon, but said nothing.

“Aziraphale, I really need to talk to you,” Crowley said quietly.

“If it’s about Molly, then don’t bother,” Aziraphale sighed. “We already know demons are after her.”

“Oh.” Crowley glanced at the little girl, and his insides turned to ice. A part of him had actually been hoping Amon had been wrong, and that the child was somewhere else entirely.

But this was the girl, and Aziraphale was the angel.

And Crowley was going to have to betray them both.

o-o-o

A/N: I know this chapter jumped around a lot, but there are a lot of characters to cover, people! Please leave some feedback - I really appreciate it! Thanks!