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The large iron gate was closed. However, the lock had rusted away ages ago and Aziraphale could just push it open. The city trusted to keep nightly visitors away with a friendly sign, reminding of the lack of safety after dark.
Most people obeyed. Rumours of hauntings, cults gathering at night and even vampires took care of that. While Aziraphale did not believe all that, he’d usually still avoid the creepy graveyard at night.
But 100 pounds were nothing to scoff at. Father still hadn’t found a job and mother’s hardly paid the rent and for Muriel’s medicine. So a round on the lonely, nightly graveyard it was.
Gabriel and his lackeys probably weren’t far. They’d make sure that Aziraphale followed the bet’s rules and wouldn’t try to cheat by taking a shortcut. But behind their bravado, it was clear that the loudmouths were scared of the graveyard, too, and sure wouldn’t come to Aziraphale’s aid if he needed help.
“Better get it over with.”
Aziraphale stepped through the gate. Behind the chapel lay the way he was supposed to go, veiled in darkness. Some gravelights flickered, but if anything, the dancing red dots and the twitching shadows they created made the atmosphere more sinister.
Aziraphale switched on his torch. Slowly, he walked along the graves, his eyes gradually adjusting to the eerie half-light. He passed the final resting places of the poor and, after rounding a corner, of the nameless.
Ironically, between those humble tombstones stood a handful of mausoleums, nobly and magnificent, built centuries ago.
For a moment, curiosity chased away the fear. Aziraphale let his light float over the burial chambers, pausing at the last. While most inscriptions were in Latin, this one was written in a language Aziraphale had never encountered.
Frowning, he approached the mausoleum in question. The moist grass made squelching sounds underneath his feet. It took him a moment to realise that the noise had an echo, an echo it should not have in the open air.
He whirled around. Gasping, he stumbled backwards when he saw a dark figure. Painfully, his back hit a stone angel and he winced, preparing to flee. But… The stranger did not move to attack him.
Confused, Aziraphale shone his light at him. A tall man in an old-fashioned suit and with a hooded cape stood a few steps away from him. His clothes hugged his thin waist tightly, showing his lanky figure.
“Who are you?” Aziraphale asked.
Accompanied by a chivalrous bow, the man answered in a voice, sweet and smooth as honey, “You may call me Crowley, my sweet. Who do I have the pleasure to meet?”
Aziraphale relaxed. What a dramatic act. In hindsight, he should’ve known Gabriel would try to mess with him. The “vampire” was too thin to be Gabriel himself so it was probably one of his friends.
“Aziraphale,” Aziraphale answered, annoyed. “As you full well know. And you know I’ll have to follow the trail to the end. So… goodbye!”
Leaving Crowley behind with a huff, Aziraphale returned to the path. However, he heard feet on the moist grass, following him.
“It’s very dangerous here at night,” Crowley said. “Especially for a lovely morsel like you. Let me accompany you.”
Aziraphale scoffed. He was about to tell Crowley off. But then he realised the bet was to enter the graveyard alone. Being alone all the time wasn’t specified so he might as well accept the company.
“Fine.”
After a few steps, Crowley asked, “What brings you here?”
“Money,” Aziraphale said curtly. “My family hasn’t got much and my sister is ill.”
“I see,” came the thoughtful reply. “You’re quite brave.”
“It’s for the people I love.”
“A good heart comes a long way, they say,” was Crowley’s only comment.
Aziraphale expected Crowley to counter with a scary backstory for the figure he was playing. But Crowley remained silent until the Northgate came into sight.
“I suppose you’ll be fine from here on.”
In the light of the lantern near the gate Aziraphale saw the face framed by the hood for the first time: it was handsome with high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and an elegant nose. Most remarkable were the honey coloured eyes, shining almost golden in the glow of the lamp.
“May we meet again.” Crowley gently took Aziraphale’s hand and… kissed his wrist. Wideeyed, Aziraphale stared at him but Crowley only smirked and walked back into the shadows.
Confused, Aziraphale went home. On the doorstep, he found an envelope with the words “not bad for a bookworm” written on it in Gabriel’s hand and a 100 pound note inside. As he pulled the money out, his eyes fell on his wrist.
And on the two red trails of blood, seeping from two tiny punctures in his skin.