The Angel of the Crows

by Katherine Addison

He raised his head sharply, and I got the full force of his stare. “You’re not all right.” I shook my head. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He looked profoundly unconvinced. “What you mean is that there’s nothing to be done.”

“Well. There’s definitely a difference between knowing your flatmate is a hell-hound and actually seeing it. I, um … Doyle, can you understand me?”

He shook his head. “No British angel has Fallen since the Angel of the Great Fire in 1666.

“If…” He broke off. I was halfway down the casualty lists when he blurted, “If you have sexual congress with me, will you stop being mad?” Tea went everywhere. If I’d had a mouthful of toast, I probably would have choked to death. As it was, I wheezed and gasped and finally said, “WHAT?”