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“It was an accident, I swear! I didn’t think they’d take it so seriously, or nearly so far.”
“I understand, Crowley, but the fact remains that it happened, and now we have to find a way to undo it,” Aziraphale paces his bookshop. Even the cramped and cozy bookshelves can’t comfort him the way they usually do, not with a book gone from their midst. “Tell me again exactly how it happened,” he orders.
“What more is there to tell? There was a pair of teenagers outside, saying something about needing a specific book for a project, so I pointed out your shop and told them to have a look in there. I didn’t think they’d actually go . I certainly didn’t think the door would open. I love you, Aziraphale, but your hours look like the works of, well, me! And then when they came in, they asked you where to find the book,” Crowley adds, almost accusatorily. “I tried the usual miracles to convince them not to buy it but they were really determined. You saw them! They didn’t even care that you don’t have a debit machine or any change. They just really wanted that book.”
Aziraphale sighs. “And then they left,” he says sadly. “They bought a book and then they left and they took it with them.”
“That is rather the point of a bookshop,” Crowley points out, entirely unhelpfully. “If you didn’t want anyone to eventually buy a book, you didn’t have to make it a shop.”
Aziraphale’s eyes light up. “Now there’s a thought,” he mutters to himself. “I could just not open it ever. I could even miracle the door into pretending to be a wall, that wouldn’t be very difficult.”
“But you love it when people come in and tell you what a lovely collection you’ve got! I’ve seen you; you get all flustered and start talking about how they’re all first editions and you show them the shelf where you keep the ones with the gilded edges. I would be jealous if they weren’t just your excuse to gush about your books.” Aziraphale makes an indignant noise. “Yes, yes, I know, you don’t need an excuse to gush about your books. You like the excuse, though.”
“Well… I suppose you’re right,” he admits. “Still, that doesn’t solve the issue that someone actually bought one.”
“Oh, don’t worry on that part, Angel. Your book will be returned to you by next Tuesday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests that if the students who bought it aren’t done with it by then, he’ll convince them they’re done with it. Aziraphale’s relief at his words is palpable.
Sure enough, next Tuesday there’s a box at the door of A.Z. Fell and Co. Crowley had had to stay up for days to help the students make sure the project was finished well and on time. He had even scoured the internet and found another copy of the book for them to use. He was exhausted and slightly irritable, but when he saw Aziraphale beam at him over the open box, he couldn’t have been more pleased.