Chapter Text
There had been more house clearances over the last month than over the past decade combined, Jerry was certainly making business for the pawn brokers and antiques sellers. The boxes dumped in Aziraphale's back room once belonged to an odd couple from the East End, Sgt and Mrs Shadwell; their possessions had been auctioned off following the recent bombings. The lot, listed as an “extensive collection of occult books and paraphernalia”, had been irresistible to Aziraphale.
Outside another bleak grey day was drawing to a close, it was cloudy but the sunset was beautiful. Aziraphale was glad of the weather, not for the aesthetics, but because it made air raids less intense when the night wasn't clear. He pulled down the blinds and lit a small gas lamp before getting to work.
“No time like the present,” he said aloud to the empty room, “oh dear, talking to myself…? The first sign of madness!”
As the night wore on he found he was making slow work of it, he kept on stopping and checking the time on his grandfather clock, conscious he had an appointment to keep at St Dunstan-in-the-East. Just one more box…
The last cardboard box marked “Madam Tracy” peeled away to reveal oddities and curios, incense sticks, a crystal ball, some old cuddly toys, a whip… and at the bottom of the box an old-fashioned brass oil lamp. It was positively filthy, and Aziraphale looked at it with disgust. Grabbing a towel he wiped away the worst of the grime, revealing beautifully decorative designs and perhaps some sort of writing, although he couldn't recognise the script. He scrubbed at the metalwork more thoroughly, curiosity piqued, when suddenly a loud bang and a cloud of mist appeared. Fearing for his life he ducked under the desk, assuming a doodlebug had landed in the vicinity.
Alakazam!
As the mist began to clear and Aziraphale cautiously peeked out, he was relieved to find the ceiling hadn't fallen in and he was still in one piece. However standing in the centre of his bookshop now was the larger than life figure of a man. The stranger's back was turned to Aziraphale, he was dressed all in black, tightly tailored shirt and trousers, his long auburn hair fell over his shoulders in waves. And then he turned to reveal cheekbones that could cut glass, a half a smile that would have kept Aziraphale up all night contemplating how to turn it into a full grin, but most shockingly of all electric yellow eyes, that glowed inhumanly.
“Stay back foul fiend, infernal agent of Hell be gone!” boomed Aziraphale, sounding more confident than he felt, brandishing the nearest weapon to hand -- one of Madam Tracy's teddy bears.
The figure laughed menacingly, “is this your wish? I'm no demon, mortal! I am a jinn, Crowley the great genie of the fucking lamp! You” he gestured at Aziraphale, still standing holding the teddy defensively, “summoned Me!”
“I, I er, I didn't realise, I just…”
“You just rubbed the bloody lamp? Yeah, well now do you realise?”
“But, uh, a genie? Surely not! Have I hit my head and ended up in a tale from The Arabian Nights? Are you going to grant me three wishes? My heart's desire?” Aziraphale sounded incredulous, but maybe hopeful.
“Scheherazade wrote it all down, don't you remember your stories?”
“Um, I mean...” he gestured to the shelves and stacks of books, “I know the story. I just thought that's all it was, a story…” Aziraphale had a million questions, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “Do you even know where you are? My name is Aziraphale Fell, this is my bookshop. It is the year Nineteen hundred and forty one, the Germans are attacking London every night, bombs are dropping from the sky, and your previous owners..? erm, that is, I am very sorry to say Sgt and Mrs Shadwell are dead. I bought their belongings. I own your lamp.”
“You do not own me, human, no one does!” The creature snapped, “I am more powerful in my little finger than the entire Luftwaffe. I could destroy London with a click of my fingers, if I wanted to.”
The very thought of it thrilled and scared Aziraphale in equal measure. “And do you want to?”
The genie laughed, “not in the slightest! Destruction is for humans, I'm far more creative than that…” he pulled up one of the blinds and Aziraphale made to stop him, afraid an ARP warden would catch them, but more afraid of the monster towering over him. Before he could protest, the genie dimmed the room lights and with a wave of his hand parted the clouds overhead. Through the window the galaxies and constellations sparkled. “I made that one,” the genie said quietly, pointing to Orion, “he was supposed to have a brother, but, well I don't always get to do jobs entirely as I would like.”
Fascinating. Aziraphale wasn't sure he could believe his ears. “Were you trapped in the lamp? Are you ever truly free?”
Angrily the genie shouted, “Enough questions, I've said enough!” and at the same time the grandfather clock chimed eight o’clock, and it was as if a spell had been broken. Real life interrupting this crazy fairy tale.
“Oh dear, I have to go, I must rush, oh dear, oh dear, I will be late!” Aziraphale started moving frantically, pulling on his hat and jacket and gathering a tied up bundle of books. “I do hope you don't mind, but I have a very important meeting, you see I've been recruited by MI5!”