Even if Crowley had guessed that the phone's static was a signal that something monstrous was near, he'd still have turned it off. He didn't need it to tell him something he so easily picked up on. The demon canted his head at the man – the man-shaped thing – and studied him, the scrutiny almost scientific.
Not a plague. Strange, considering Crowley could almost taste on the air the rottenness of something dangerous inside him. "We'll be current. Pollution's, then?" he hazarded, lazily pulling a cigarette case from his breast pocket. "Or one of the Horsemen's pet projects at all? You've got that look about you, but what are you?"
As if to punctuate exactly how unimpressed he was, he propped the cigarette between his lips, and without a movement of his hands the end glowed orange. "And whose bright idea was it to stick me with you?" This had to be a punishment, he was sure of it. But there was no way this was the worst of it.