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Left to his own devices there was no particular reason for Warlock Dowling to be in any way supernaturally remarkable. Genetically he came from the Youngs, a perfectly innocuous lineage, and he had been raised as the only child of the US ambassador and his philanthropic wife, which might have predisposed him to be an entitled little shit, but still didn’t convey any inherent magical power.1 The problem was that Warlock had very much not been left to his own devices. No, Warlock had been primarily raised by two supernaturally remarkable beings who had expected him to possess the power to bend reality to his every whim, and, as has been amply demonstrated elsewhere, the expectations of such beings has a power of its own.
Warlock Dowling was not the antichrist. But he had grown up soaked in angelic and demonic power and to put it plainly, some of it had stuck. And that was how at the age of eleven years old Warlock was fully capable of walking straight past the two secret service agents who were supposedly guarding him, his bickering parents who were supposed to notice him, and the new au pair that was supposed to be taking care of him, hailing a cab to Dulles International airport, flashing the black Amex card he’d borrowed from his father2 getting on a flight to London Heathrow, and spending the next eight hours sitting in first class, playing Fortnite and being brought glasses of Coke by flight attendants who kept forgetting to ask if he was an unaccompanied minor.
Having established the ‘how’ of this situation, let’s take a step back and consider the ‘why’. Warlock had been having a very weird couple of months, even by his own admittedly broad standards. Having been born in the UK and lived all his life there he had, shortly after his birthday party, been dragged by his parents first to some boring ruins where a man with weird eyes (properly weird-weird, not just cool-weird like his Nanny’s) had taken an uncomfortable interest in him and the dog he didn’t have, and then to Washington DC, because his father didn’t have a job anymore…or maybe did, but no-one knew what it was? It was all very confusing. None of the adults seemed to know what was going on anymore than he did, and Mom and Dad were shouting at each other a lot, and these were the sort of times when Nanny Ash would take him outside to the orchard and let him yell at the trees, and make him that hot chocolate that had little glowing stars bubbled through it, and just listen to him, but he didn’t have a nanny anymore. When he’d asked Mom what had happened to her she’d just looked at him blankly and then a couple of days later he’d had an au pair named Sherry. And Sherry was nice enough, but she didn’t know how to make hot chocolate properly, and she’d screamed when he tried to introduce her to the garden snails.
He wanted to go home. Back where his friends were. Back where Nanny Ash was and Brother Francis the gardener. They’d always been there, as long as he could remember. His first memory was of Nanny Ash giving him an ice lolly on a hot day. He’d eaten it too slowly, trying to save it, and the last little bit had fallen off the stick and onto the ground, and he’d been about to cry when suddenly the lolly had been whole again, like he’d never even given it a lick, and he’d looked up into Nanny Ash’s warm golden eyes and she’d given him a slow wink.3 Nanny had been the one to take him to and from his first day of school, and she’d been the one who’d calmed everything down after he’d thrown a tantrum at his kindergarten teacher for labelling the picture he’d drawn of himself holding hands with a tall, thin dark blob and a smaller, rounder white blob as ‘Mummy and Daddy’. She and Brother Francis had been the ones to teach him how to ride a bike, she’d been the one who’d nursed him through the chicken pox while Brother Francis fretted and brought horrible soup. When he’d been playing at Spiderman and he’d fallen off the roof of the house it had been Nanny Ash who had caught him, despite having been at the other end of the garden at the time. That had also been one of the only times she’d raised her voice at him. It had certainly been the only time he’d seen her shaking like that.
He knew what being home felt like, and he was quite happy to follow that feeling all the way across the Atlantic and onto a bus driven by a man who had previously been going to Oxford but who was now following a satnav that was confused to find itself giving directions to a vague and mobile point in a stern Scottish voice.
In that way Warlock found his way to Tadfield, only a couple of miles from the place he’d been born.
This was also the point where he first started considering what he was doing. So far this had all been an excellent adventure but now, fourteen hours and around forty unanswered calls later, he had to admit to himself he wasn’t quite sure how this was going to end. He’d wanted to Get Away and to Go Home, but now he was in a place he’d never been before, he was tired and fed up, he had no idea where he was going to sleep tonight, and Mom was going to be furious when he finally got around to answering his phone.
He stared at the tiny house across the street. Jasmine Cottage, it said. It looked like the sort of place his nanny wouldn’t be caught dead in. But the Feeling he was following was all he had to go on, so he walked through the gate and stopped as he heard voices and shrieks coming from around the back. Not sure what to expect, he sneaked around the side of the house – he was good at sneaking, he could get past the secret service, after all – and peeked around the corner into the back yard.
There was a whole group of people there. There were four kids, three boys and a girl, all running around with ice cream cones and water balloons while a small dog barked madly, jumping around at their ankles. And then there were six adults, sitting in deckchairs with wine glasses, talking quietly. He looked them over – there were only two women and neither of them were his nanny, one being too old, and the other too young. But that Feeling was still there…he Looked closer, his brow creased and there were four men, two of whom he ignored immediately, but the other two…one was shiny and soft like Brother Francis was, and the other one….oh, the other one…
As he watched one of the kids stumbled and dropped his ice cream, and in an instant it was in the man-who-was-his-nanny’s hand, and he was handing it back with a smirk and – even though Warlock couldn’t hope to see his eyes behind those sunglasses he was sure – a wink.
Angry tears sprung to his eyes and he pressed his hands over his mouth. Nanny Ash was a man, well, he’d seen Mrs Doubtfire, he could cope with that. But Nanny Ash had abandoned him and found other kids to take care of without even giving him a second thought…he ran.
If Warlock had waited for even a moment longer he would have seen her head snap up and round to look directly at him, before jumping to her feet and snapping her fingers. A moment after that a water balloon burst exactly where her head had just been.
From Warlock's point of view though what happened was that when he ran around the corner Nanny Ash was standing by the front gate. Sort of, anyway. Her hair was long again, pulled up into a severe bun, and she was wearing red lipstick, but she was still wearing the tight trousers and suit jacket she had been before, and she was leaning against the wall in a way that he’d thought she never would.
He stopped and stared. She stared right back.
“Warlock,” she said at last, abandoning her nonchalance to lead down in front of him, her hand gripping his shoulder. “What the blessed hell are you doing here? Where are your parents?”
“Like you care,” he muttered sulkily, pulling away and marching straight past her. His eyes were burning and he had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to get away.
“What…?” He could hear her footsteps clacking just behind him. “Of course I care, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He didn’t want her to see him anymore, and he tried to make himself unnoticed the way he had before, tried to wrap himself in the way his parents' eyes glazed over whenever they were forced to spend some time with him, but Nanny Ash was in front of him again, kneeling down on the pavement, holding her hand out towards him.
“Hey. No. None of that,” she said fiercely. “That’s not going to work, I will always see you.”
“Then why did you leave?” he demanded, his voice cracked. “You weren’t even at my birthday. You just let them take me away, and it sucks and I hate it.”
He was pulled into a familiar, bony hug. “Oh, Warlock,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. Things got very odd after the last time I saw you, and by the time they were sorted you were safe in America with your parents. I thought you’d be better off without me mucking you about.”
“But you didn’t ask,” he said furiously, even as he leaned in against her shoulder. “No one ever asks.”
There was a long pause. She held him tighter. “You’re right. That was stupid of me.”
“And I saw you with those other kids,” he went on, through the lump in his throat. “You were being nice to them. You fixed the ice cream.”
“Oh, Warlock.” She sighed, produced a handkerchief out of nowhere, and dabbed the tears away from his eyes. “I've cared for a lot of children in my life, and none of that changes the way I feel about you.”
He swallowed hard. “Do you….do you not want to be my nanny anymore?”
“Do you even want a nanny anymore?” she asked, pulling back a little to look at him. “You’re getting older, darling child.”
He was. None of his friends had nannies anymore, and he’d taken to calling her ‘Old Ash’ and laughing about it when he was talking to them, but that didn’t mean he wanted her gone. It wasn’t good when she was gone. “You don’t need to be my nanny! You could just be like…a friend. A friend who takes care of me.”
There was another moment of silence and she looked at him , her lips pursed. “Alright then.” She reached up to her glasses and, frightened, he held his hand out to stop her. She froze. “Sorry.”
“There are people around,” he hissed, looking around the street. No-one was looking at them right at that moment, but he knew Nanny didn’t like anyone knowing about her eyes. “They’ll see.”
“Oh.” She smiled at him. “They can’t see us right now. It’s like what you did, only broader.” She reached up again and this time he let her take the glasses off and looked straight into the yellow eyes he’d only ever seen a few times in his life. “Now. Warlock Dowling, I swear to you on my own name that I will always be your friend, and I will always care for you as long as you live and as long as you want me in your life.”
He felt something. A sort of hissing or sizzling in the back of his brain, not unpleasant, but like something was settling in there. “Oh,” he said, echoing her. “Should I swear too?”
“You can say ‘fuck’ if you like,” she told him comfortably. “But no, I don’t need any vow from you and it’s not legally binding on kids anyway.”
“Fuck,” he said, just to see her smile. “You said you swore on your name…is Ashtoreth your name?”
“No…well, sort of, but my real name, the name I chose is Anthony J. Crowley. You can still call me Ash if you like though. Or Nanny. Both are fine.”
“Anthony is a boys name,” he told her, which was sort of close to the question he wanted to ask but couldn’t quite pluck up the nerve.
“No, it’s my name,” she said patiently, and before he could say anything else went on,” Sometimes I’m a man, sometimes I’m a woman, sometimes I’m both, sometimes I’m neither. Sometimes I’m a snake.”
That…was a lot. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel about it. “I always thought you had to be one thing and stick to it.”
She shrugged. “A lot of people think that. It’s not true though. You can always change who you are if you really want to, and if you’re ready to really work at it. It’s part of being alive. Brother Francis would say it’s ineffable.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “And then I’d have to throw something at him.”
He laughed a little. “I saw him in the garden. Does he have another name too?”
“Aziraphale,” she told him, smiling.
“Aziraphale,” he repeated slowly, giving it a couple of tries before he was sure of the pronunciation. “When you’re a snake are you a boy snake or a girl snake?”
She opened her mouth and then frowned. “Do you know, I’m not that sure? I’ve never thought about it before. I’m just sort of a snake. Snakes don’t spend a lot of time thinking about their identities.”
“Can you teach me how to be a snake?” he asked, suppressing a yawn.
“Maybe. We’ll see,” she said, which was as good as a promise, really. “Now, you’ve had a very long day, haven’t you, so why don’t we go back to see Aziraphale and his friends and we’ll get you a snack and something to drink and I’ll phone your mother while you have a nap.”
He pulled a face. “So you’re still going to be a bit my nanny then?”
“You asked me to take care of you,” she said serenely, standing up, putting her sunglasses back on and brushing a hand through his hair. Immediately he felt relaxed and refreshed and he swayed, leaning into her as they walked back towards the house he’d run from. “Oh, you are tired,” she murmured.
He didn’t bother replying and before he knew it they were back in the garden, and the kids were staring at him curiously, and the two men he didn’t know were making confused noises at Nanny…Crowley…Ash.
“Crowley!” Francis – Aziraphale – said, sounding cross. “You can’t just stop time whenever you want to change your hair – although it does look lovely, dear – “
“ – Angel,” Crowley interrupted, her hand firmly on Warlock’s shoulder. “You remember Warlock. He’s just popped over from America to see us. And we’re very pleased to see him, aren’t we?”
Aziraphale blinked at Crowley for a bit and then made that face that grown-ups made when they wanted private time4 and turned his attention to Warlock. “Well,” he beamed. “It is lovely to see you again. Are you, erm, staying long?”
“Dunno,” he said with a shrug.
“I’m going to call his mother and figure some things out,” she said, running a soothing finger across the back of Warlock’s collar. “Could you get Warlock a drink and something to eat?”
“Of course.” Aziraphale held out a hand towards him in the way that Brother Francis always had when he was young. “There’s some lovely strawberry cake left, I think. You don’t mind, do you, Anathema?”
The younger woman spread her hands helplessly. “No, go ahead. I guess I need to get used to surprises. Crowley, has anyone ever told you you’re too tall for those heels?”
Crowley glanced back. “No.”
She nodded. “Good.”
There was indeed strawberry cake. It was indeed lovely. As he was eating it the four kids and the dog came marching up, staring at him like he was a particularly interesting looking snail.
“I’m Adam Young,” the blond curly one said, his head cocked to one side. “I reckon we’ve met before, a long time ago.”
He hesitated for a second, listening to his Feelings. “I’m Warlock Dowling,” he said, holding out his hand. “And yeah, I think we did.”
1Riches and magic are functionally very different although to the disinterested observer the effects appear identical insofar as that their possessor doesn’t appear to be beholden to the same rules as the rest of us.
2He had indeed borrowed the card, rather than stealing it, in that he’d waited until his father was on a call with the president before saying “Dad, can I have this?” and taking the dismissive hand wave and slammed door as a ‘yes’. He had been raised by an angel, so he knew that Stealing Is Wrong. He had also been raised by a demon, so he knew that if people who should be paying attention aren’t paying attention then it’s really their own look out.
3Warlock had read plenty of improving children’s literature recommended by Brother Francis. He was well aware that nanny’s were supposed to be magical. Since that fit in perfectly with his own experience he had never bothered giving it a second thought. There were many things that young Warlock hadn’t bothered giving a second thought. He wasn’t stupid, simply self-involved.
4Warlock thought this meant arguing. The reader may make up their own mind.