Good Omens

were only doing our jobs,” muttered Crowley.
    â€œYes. So what? Lots of people in history have only done their jobs and look at the trouble they caused.”
    â€œYou don’t mean we should actually try to stop Him ?”
    â€œWhat have you got to lose?”
    Crowley started to argue, and realized that he hadn’t anything. There was nothing he could lose that he hadn’t lost already. They couldn’t do anything worse to him than he had coming to him already. He felt free at last.
    He also felt under the seat and found a tire iron. It wouldn’t be any good, but then, nothing would. In fact it’d be much more terrible facing the Adversary with anything like a decent weapon. That way you might have a bit of hope, which would make it worse.
    Aziraphale picked up the sword lately dropped by War, and hefted its weight thoughtfully.
    â€œGosh, it’s been years since I used this,” he murmured.
    â€œAbout six thousand,” said Crowley.
    â€œMy word, yes,” said the angel. “What a day that was, and no mistake. Good old days.”
    â€œNot really,” said Crowley. The noise was growing.
    â€œPeople knew the difference between right and wrong in those days,” said Aziraphale dreamily.
    â€œWell, yes . Think about it.”
    â€œAh. Yes. Too much messin’ about?”
    â€œYes.”
    Aziraphale held up the sword. There was a whoomph as it suddenly flamed like a bar of magnesium.
    â€œOnce you’ve learned how to do it, you never forget,” he said.
    He smiled at Crowley.
    â€œI’d just like to say,” he said, “if we don’t get out of this, that … I’ll have known, deep down inside, that there was a spark of goodness in you.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Crowley bitterly. “Make my day.”
    Aziraphale held out his hand.
    â€œNice knowing you,” he said.
    Crowley took it.
    â€œHere’s to the next time,” he said. “And … Aziraphale?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œJust remember I’ll have known that, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking.”
    There was a scuffling noise, and they were pushed aside by the small but dynamic shape of Shadwell, waving the Thundergun purposefully.
    â€œI wouldna’ trust you two Southern nancy boys to kill a lame rat in a barrel,” he said. “Who’re we fightin’ noo?”
    â€œThe Devil,” said Aziraphale, simply.
    Shadwell nodded, as if this hadn’t come as a surprise, threw the gun down, and took off his hat to expose a forehead known and feared wherever street-fighting men were gathered together.
    â€œAh reckoned so,” he said. “In that case, I’m gonna use mah haid .”
    Newt and Anathema watched the three of them walk unsteadily away from the jeep. With Shadwell in the middle, they looked like a stylized W.
    â€œWhat on earth are they going to do?” said Newt. “And what’s happening— what’s happening to them?”
    The coats of Aziraphale and Crowley split along the seams. If you were going to go, you might as well go in your own true shape. Feathers unfolded towards the sky.
    Contrary to popular belief, the wings of demons are the same as the wings of angels, although they’re often better groomed.
    â€œShadwell shouldn’t be going with them!” said Newt, staggering to his feet.
    â€œWhat’s a Shadwell?”
    â€œHe’s my serg—he’s this amazing old man, you’d never believe it … I’ve got to help him!”
    â€œHelp him?” said Anathema.
    â€œI took an oath and everything.” Newt hesitated. “Well, sort of an oath. And he gave me a month’s wages in advance!”
    â€œWho’re those other two, then? Friends of yours—” Anathema began, and stopped. Aziraphale had half turned, and the profile had finally clicked into place.
    â€œI know where I’ve seen him before!” she shouted, pulling herself upright against Newt as the ground bounced up and down. “Come on!”
    â€œBut something dreadful’s going to happen!”
    â€œIf he’s damaged the book, you’re bloody well right!”
    Newt fumbled in his lapel and found his official pin. He didn’t know what they were going up against this time, but a pin was all he had.
    They ran …
    Adam looked around. He looked down.
His face took on an