Good Omens

doing it themselves. It’s what they really want to do. I just assisted them. Think of it as a microcosm of the universe. Free will for everyone. Ineffable, right?”
    Aziraphale glared.
    â€œOh, all right,” said Crowley wretchedly. “No one’s actually going to get killed. They’re all going to have miraculous escapes. It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”
    Aziraphale relaxed. “You know, Crowley,” he said, beaming, “I’ve always said that, deep down inside, you’ ï¼»re really quite a—”
    â€œAll right, all right,” Crowley snapped. “Tell the whole blessed world, why don’t you?”
    AFTER A WHILE, loose alliances began to emerge. Most of the financial departments found they had interests in common, settled their differences, and ganged up on Forward Planning.
    When the first police car arrived, sixteen bullets from a variety of directions had hit it in the radiator before it had got halfway up the drive. Two more took out its radio antenna, but they were too late, too late.
    MARY HODGES WAS just putting down the phone when Crowley opened her office door.
    â€œIt must be terrorists,” she snapped. “Or poachers.” She peered at the pair of them. “You are the police, aren’t you?” she said.
    Crowley saw her eyes begin to widen.
    Like all demons, he had a good memory for faces, even after eleven years, the loss of a wimple, and the addition of some rather severe makeup. He snapped his fingers. She settled back in her chair, her face becoming a blank and amiable mask.
    â€œThere was no need for that,” said Aziraphale.
    â€œGood”—Crowley glanced at his watch—“morning, ma’am,” he said, in a sing-song voice. “We’re just a couple of supernatural entities and we were just wondering if you might help us with the whereabouts of the notorious Son of Satan.” He smiled coldly at the angel. “I’ll wake her up again, shall I? And you can say it.”
    â€œWell. Since you put it like that … ” said the angel slowly.
    â€œSometimes the old ways are best,” said Crowley. He turned to the impassive woman.
    â€œWere you a nun here eleven years ago?” he said.
    â€œYes,” said Mary.
    â€œThere!” said Crowley to Aziraphale. “See? I knew I wasn’t wrong.”
    â€œLuck of the devil,” muttered the angel.
    â€œYour name then was Sister Talkative. Or something.”
    â€œLoquacious,” said Mary Hodges in a hollow voice.
    â€œAnd do you recall an incident involving the switching of newborn babies?” said Crowley.
    Mary Hodges hesitated. When she did speak, it was as though memories that had been scabbed over were being disturbed for the first time in years.
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œIs there any possibility that the switch could have gone wrong in some way?”
    â€œI do not know.”
    Crowley thought for a bit. “You must have had records,” he said. “There are always records. Everyone has records these days.” He glanced proudly at Aziraphale. “It was one of my better ideas.”
    â€œOh, yes,” said Mary Hodges.
    â€œAnd where are they?” said Aziraphale sweetly.
    â€œThere was a fire just after the birth.”
    Crowley groaned and threw his hands in the air. “That was Hastur, probably,” he said. “It’s his style. Can you believe those guys? I bet he thought he was being really clever.”
    â€œDo you recall any details about the other child?” said Aziraphale.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œPlease tell me.”
    â€œHe had lovely little toesie-wosies.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œAnd he was very sweet,” said Mary Hodges wistfully.
    There was the sound of a siren outside, abruptly broken off as a bullet hit it. Aziraphale nudged Crowley.
    â€œGet a move on,” he said. “We’re going to be knee-deep in police at any moment and I will of course be morally obliged to assist them in their enquiries.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps she can remember if there were any other women giving birth that night, and—”
    There was the sound of running feet downstairs.
    â€œStop them,” said Crowley. “We need more time!”
    â€œAny more miracles and we’ll really start getting noticed by Up There,” said Aziraphale. “If you really want Gabriel or someone wondering why