VI.

PAWN SHOP BLUES

You're there living in the afterburn of the '60s

Getting high in the basement pretty

Baby with a heart full of blood and Courtney Love

You've got the pawn shop blues in this bitter city

Crying hard in the basement pretty

Angel quiet down when your dad takes you out

Angel's Song, Arlo Parks

Bright shards of light met blue, their piercing brilliance offset by the frowning face of Dan.

"She lives." He placed a hand on a cheek that felt waterlogged and turned Chloe's head from side to side. "Jesus, Chlo. What happened to you?"

"Long night." She gently moved his hand away and sat up, her knees knocking against the coffee table.

"Rough night from the looks of it." Dan's eyes motioned to a small orange container set on the coffee table with a scrawled note. Don't forget, it said. "Why do you need midazolam?"

"Where's Trix?"

"She's in bed. I'm about to wake her up to get ready for school." He hesitated. "I passed Morningstar and his brother on the way here."

"Yeah. They stayed to make sure I was okay." She pointed to the container. "Cause of the midazolam. They must've stayed for a while after I fell asleep." The last thing she remembered from last night was the hazy image of a dirt-faced Olsen in an oversized jumpsuit clambering into a helicopter.

"Christ. Why didn't you call me?" A look of hurt passed over his face and Chloe felt her stomach drop. "I would've come over, made sure you and Trix were okay."

Chloe leaned back against the couch and placed her hand over her eyes. "I dunno, Dan. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just wanted to get home to Trixie and be with her for a bit. That's all I could think about really."

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Chlo." He leaned forward and licked his lips. "Um, were you in Echo Park last night? Round eight?"

She pulled her hand away and looked at him from the bottoms of her eyes. "What?"

"Your log says you went off-duty at six. But there's CCTV that shows a woman who looks a little bit like you at an office building in Echo Park around 8:10pm."

"What happened in Echo Park?" A hard knot had started to form in her gut.

"It's not my case. Seth from robbery texted me a grainy photo of a blonde woman that had asked the security guard about a modeling agency in the building. Seth jokingly asked if it was you because he said the way the woman kept running her hands over the collar of her shirt reminded him of your nervous habit. I thought to myself, haha, but the closer I looked at that photo…", he bit his lips and shrugged. "Was it you, Chloe?"

She lifted her injured hand and sighed. "Yeah. It was me."

"Jesus, Chloe!" A clenched fist beat against his knee. "What the hell happened and why didn't you call it in?"

"I got a lead. For the Mazikeen Smith case. Found Bruce Polivey and Robbie Bernard having a little get-together with other members of the Bernard family." She leaned forward and met Dan's gaze. "Gio was there."

"The fucking mystery man."

She nodded. "I got…cornered. Knocked around by these two goons."

"Were you alone?"

"No. Lucifer and Michael were there." She turned down her eyes.

"That's why you didn't report it." Dan shook his head. "What're you doing with those guys, Chloe? It's—"

"I know. I can't explain it, Dan. Not yet, not while I'm still trying to understand it too. But we're getting close and…goddamnit, I'm doing everything I can to get this guy."

He stood up and raised his hands in exasperation. "That can't entail breaking and entering or assault or whatever else happened last night. Robbery is already scratching their heads at how fucking weird the crime scene is—Chloe, the security guard said he got up to the sixteenth floor and this crazy-eyed dude was tearing down the hall carrying what looked like a grey mannequin. Except he said it was all…deflated, like a shriveled balloon. What the fuck does that even mean?"

"They fled? Both of them?" She stiffened, hopeful.

"Wha—Chloe, are you even listening to me?" He sat down on the coffee table again and grabbed her good hand. "Hey, I'm the only one at the station that recognized you in that video and that's only because I've been looking at that pretty mug for the last decade, okay? But if you…if you, you know, hurt someone while you were there, you gotta fess up right now. We gotta figure out what to do next."

"Dan." A light squeeze of his hand. "I didn't hurt anyone." Was that actually true though? "I passed out and they—Michael and Lucifer—got me outta there. That's all I know. Are you gonna report me?"

Dan sat still, looking at the small hand in his. "No. I wanna catch this guy just as much as you. But Chloe…I feel like you're…slipping. This isn't the cop I know you to be."

"Ten years I've been doing it by the book and what has it gotten me?" She scoffed. "The boys club has no problem folding a few corners and they get to slap each other's asses in congratulations. Don't give me the lecture, Dan, it's wasted breath especially coming from the person who still has a job after royally fucking up the Palmetto case." He reeled his hand back and she was instantly sorry for having said the words. Paternal bullshit aside, she knew Dan was worried about her. Hell, she was worried about her. Still, her own shifting moral lawfulness wasn't an excuse to cut Dan so deep. She grabbed for his hands but he stumbled up from the table, backpedaling as if she were going to attack him. In some ways, she had. "Dan. I'm-I'm so sorry. That was unfair and cruel of me to say."

He faced the wall away from her, a hand over his mouth. "I wish I could be pissed at you, Chloe. But you're right."

"No, Dan. I'm not. I can't keep holding that above your head. I can't become that person." She walked up and stood next to him. "I don't ever want to be that person. Not to you."

"Jesus, Chloe. What are we doing?" His hand started to waver. "How did it all get so messed up?"

"I don't know. We grew up. We grew apart." She rested her palm against his shoulder and turned him towards her. "We're still trying to figure it out. How to do this."

"Yeah." Tears welled in the corners of his eyes but he refused to look her in the face.

"I promise you that everything I told you right now is true and if you want me to go to Seth and make a report, I will. This case is important but it's not worth losing your trust and your respect."

"No. Don't go to Seth. No one knows it was you and the only witness they currently have is the security guard. Nothing stolen. Nothing left behind." He wiped at his face and took a deep breath. "If it's a front, Bernard will want to close up the case and get the cops outta there ASAP."

She nodded. "Right. What about the two that fled?"

"If they found their way back to Bernard, it makes your job a little harder. They'll do some digging and if they've got good sources, they might find out you're LAPD."

"It'll be a hard find. It was dark and one of them (died, she almost said)…only one of them got a good look at my face." She bit her lip. Or maybe he got sucked dry like a raisin if what that security guard said was true. If that was the case, he wasn't going to be pointing out her face anytime soon. "Still, I can send Trix to your mom's place for a few days just to be safe. Or at least until we have Gio in custody."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'll give my mom a call today. Can you pack a bag for Trixie and leave it at my desk? I'll swing it by my mom's later."

"Am I staying with gramma?" Their daughter tottered into the living room, rubbing her eyes.

"Is that something you'd like, monkey?" Chloe sat on the edge of the couch and patted the seat next to her.

"I like being at abuelita's. She lets me watch cable. And I get to teach tricks to Javi."

"No coming back from grandma's begging for a dog." Chloe chided.

"How long will I be there?"

Dan hunkered down across from his daughter and rested his hand on her knee. "At least a few days and we'll still pick you up to take you to school in the mornings."

"Did something happen at work? Is it because of the people who hurt mom last night?" Trixie looked up at her dad.

"We don't know yet, babygirl, but we just want to make sure that you're safe. And that you're okay with being at gramma's house for a little while." Dan withered at the look on his girl's face—the look of an adulthood that was coming on too fast for someone so young. Having a kid was hard. Having a kid while being a cop was cruel.

"I'll have lots of fun at gramma's." Trixie grinned. "She promised me to teach me how to make pancakes the next time I come over."

Chloe wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "I love you, monkey. Now get ready for school while I make you some breakfast."

Trixie bounced off of the couch and hugged her Dad. "Okay. Can I have Wu's for breakfast?" She squealed when Chloe nodded her head.

Dan chuckled. "Wu's for breakfast? I think I'll stick around and have some too."

—

"I should go instead of Lucy." Michael lifted the sleeve of the black tux hanging on a wall peg and scowled. They had all agreed to meet at the penthouse to discuss that evening's plans for the Historical Society's Gala.

"Why's that?" Dan looked up from the tablet he was reading at the end of the bar and raised his eyebrow. He had begrudgingly agreed to help Chloe run surveillance, but the sight of Morningstar's lavish playboy settings had raked his hackles and was peppering his decision with doubts.

"He nearly got the Detective killed in Echo Park last week and now he's being hunted down by some French maniac. Besides, I'm the one that helped Chloe get the lead on Gio."

"Oh, stop sulking, brother. It's unbecoming of you." Lucifer adjusted the hem of his white dress shirt in the full length bedroom mirror.

"Mr. Morningstar is going to make sure he keeps himself in line tonight so he doesn't put Detective Decker at risk." Dan gave him a pointed look. "Right?"

"Yes, Dad." He did a half-turn in the mirror. "Now, do you think I should go Gucci or Canali with this shirt?"

Michael sifted through the rolling rack of his brother's suit jackets. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters. Appearances are everything at these events." He lifted a pair of glimmering button cuffs and made a thoughtful face. "No, I think I'll have to go full Brioni." He wedged the cuffs back into their velvet slot and ran his fingers over the others. "That's Waspy Schmoozing 101 and yet another reason why you would muck it up by impersonating me."

"Michael does have military training." Dan called from the main room. "Could be useful if things go sideways." In case Chloe needs protection, he thought to himself.

"Yes. Yes I do." Michael pushed the rack away in annoyance, sending the suit jackets swinging in a chorus of wool, and sat on the edge of the bed. "You would see that it's the safer choice if you could just put your vanity aside."

"And let you traipse about with the Detective, falling all over yourself in blind stupor? I think not." Lucifer shrugged through the mirror at Michael's reddening face. "C'mon now, I'm not blind."

Dan cleared his throat loudly. "Right, well, we wouldn't want that."

"Dan, is that jealousy I hear? You've had your chance, no need to get all green-eyed."

"Now listen here, Lucifer—" Dan jumped up from the stool and slammed the tablet onto the bartop.

"Oh, the angry ex-husband bit." The reflection of Lucifer smiled. "I was wondering when we'd start that up again."

"I'm only here for Chlo. To help her catch Gio." He sat back down lamely, his face now as red as Michael's.

"And I'm here to do the same exact thing. I just want to look proper while doing it." He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it back on the hanger then grabbed another one that looked almost identical. "When is she due, by the way?"

Dan checked his watch. "She texted a few minutes ago that she's on her way with the gear from surveillance." He pointed to a long red scab on Lucifer's ribs. "Is that from the night at the modeling agency?"

Lucifer snapped his hand towards the mark and covered it, embarrassed. "It's nothing." Looking at it had brought up too many complicated emotions the first time and he had avoided acknowledging it for the past few days. The thin ridge pricked at his skin as he ran a finger over the rough edges.

"Is it though?" Michael looked up from the bed and shook his head. "Cause it looks like you're not as invincible as you'd like to believe. At least, not any more." And that's why I should go instead of you, his eyes read.

"I'll be fine. She'll be fine." He stuck an arm into the new shirt. "You'll be watching us the whole time anyway."

As if on cue, the elevator bell rung and Chloe stepped into the penthouse, her arms loaded with a ragged box. Dan ran over to help her and they exchanged a curt glance. "Thanks." She mumbled.

"What'd they give you?" He rummaged through a tangle of wires and cords set atop lenses and plastic boxes. "Jesus, you'd think those surveillance jerks would be more organized."

"They didn't know what we would need so they threw everything at us." She pointed to a small dime sized disc. "That might be small enough to hide as a piece of jewelry if we glue it onto something."

"Detective," Lucifer called from the bedroom, "I hope you're loosening up those legs for a spin on the floor tonight."

"I'm not going to da—" She quickly averted her eyes. "Lucifer! A little warning next time."

He looked down at his opened dress shirt and boxer briefs. "Pardon? I'm dressed."

Michael threw a pair of slacks at his brother. "At least put on some pants, for your Father's sake."

"Tit for tat, I thought it only fair, Detective." He slid his legs into his pants but kept his shirt open. "I show you mine since, you know, you showed me yours."

"Lucifer!" Chloe scoffed, unable to raise her eyes from the box as she felt Dan's burning gaze on her face. "That's not what happened."

"I gotta give it to you, Dan. You're a lucky lad. All those years and she's still keeping it—" He cinched his hands together and clicked his tongue. A mischievous grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he watched both Dan and his brother redden again. "Oh, c'mon gents, nothing to get all worked up about."

Michael stalked over to the bar and gave Chloe an apologetic shrug. "It's good to see you. Detective Decker." Dan looked from the man then to his ex-wife but pretended to be more interested in the contents of the box. "How're you feeling since…" Another shrug.

"Better." She let go of the edge of the box and placed her hands in her pockets, avoiding the bum finger that was still sleeved in a metal cinch. "Thank you. For staying. And for cleaning up."

"Of course. I—I tried to call you a few times to see if you were—"

"Yea. Yea, I'm sorry." She was intently studying her sneakers. "I got pulled aside by another case and it got really crazy."

"I'm just glad you're back on your feet." He tapped her forearm gently with the tips of his fingers. "I'm glad to see you."

She shuffled nervously. "I just—I didn't want to remember that night, you know? I wasn't ready for it."

"That's okay. A lot happened that night, even before we got to the agency." Michael took a half-step forward and she remembered the ghost of his lips on hers. "You sure you're up for tonight?"

"I mean, aside from having to spend the entire evening with Lucifer," she rolled her eyes, "I need to be back out there."

They heard a contemptuous groan from the bedroom. "Most women, and a lot of men, would be head-over-heels to spend an entire evening with me."

"I can go…instead of Lucifer." He took another half-step. "You know, keep you safe."

Dan pushed a hand between them and grabbed for Chloe's palm. "Okay, love birds. Lets get Morningstar setup so we can get outta here. We've still got a lot to do."

He pulled her into the bedroom and held up a slim black pod the size of a paperclip between the three of them. "So this is the tracker. We're just using it as a precaution in case the video goes out or we lose the feed." Or in case you get taken. "Pocket is fine, but it can dampen the signal." He turned it over. "If shit gets sticky and you need evac, there's a button on this side but you have to pop off this little casing." He ran his finger over a groove and flipped open a round piece of plastic revealing a little red knob. "It'll link to my computer with a signal and its last known position. Pressing this means, 911." He motioned to Lucifer. "It's not a toy."

"All right Detective Douche, I'm not a child." He grabbed the tracker and clicked the little lid back over the red button. "Is that all? Can I get back to what I was doing?"

"Hey, this might be a joke to you, asshole, but you're unfortunately Chloe's partner for the night and I take her welfare pretty seriously." A long finger poked into Lucifer's chest. "Last time didn't end so well for her or for you, so my suggestion is to take this with a little more thoughtfulness."

Lucifer bristled but didn't reply. As tiresome as Dan Espinoza was, he wasn't wrong. Lucifer Morningstar didn't have such a stellar track record when it came to the Detective's safety. As much as he didn't want to be responsible for the overall welfare a human being, it seemed an inevitable part of being tangled in their lives. "I assure you I'm taking this with much gravity."

"Dan, it's okay. It'll be a room full of people. A room full of eyes. We'll be fine." A firm hand clamped over his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

"Yeah? A room full of people, half of whom could be linked to Joel Bernard and whoever this Gio fella is. Doesn't sit right with me, Chlo." He placed a small metal disc into her hand and walked back out to the bar, loudly rummaging through the tattered box, taking his frustrations out on its contents.

Sighing, she pocketed the micro-camera and gave Lucifer a once-over. "Also, it's nearly four hours until the Gala kicks off, why are you already getting dressed?"

He balked. "Good things take time, Detective. And first impressions are everything with this crowd." A hand pressed on the sharp creases on his shirt. "Which is all the more surprising that Holloway didn't take one look at you two and laugh you out of his office."

His words stung Chloe because she remembered the feeling of superiority that Jacob Bono Holloway had held over her as he took stock of her clothes and hair that evening in his office. How they had oozed his disdain for her cheap boots and lack of polish. His gaze had said everything his lips didn't need to: she wasn't good enough. Not for men like Lucifer and Holloway. Not for the Historical Society. Not for the exclusive echelon of LA's richest and well-connected.

"We made do just fine without you, Lucifer." She picked a fuzzy black string off the front of his shirt. "We'll do just fine tonight."

He held up two nearly identical cufflink. "As the future Mrs. Morningstar, which ones strike your fancy?"

"Seriously, they're different?" She waved to the one in his left hand.

"Bvlgari, good choice. I got these in Milan last year." The stark black onyx stone caught a glint of afternoon sunshine and winked at Lucifer. They had been custom-made—matte rose gold embossed with his last name—and still one of his favorites.

The Detective sighed. "We live in two different worlds, Lucifer."

"That's an understatement."

She checked her watch. "I'll meet you out in front of the The Greystone at six o'clock then?"

"Shouldn't we arrive together? You don't think that'll raise a few eyebrows?" Lucifer turned back to the mirror and shrugged off his shirt, laying it over the back of a chair.

"I have to finish up some work at the precinct and I won't have time to swing back to Lux."

"Back to work?" He turned around with a horrified expression. "No time? Detective…what exactly…are you planning to wear to this Gala?"

"A dress." She lowered her eyes, trying not to stare at his bare chest.

He took a step forward. "A dress?"

"A really nice dress." A nervous hand rubbed the back of her neck.

"And proper shoes?"

"Yeah." She blushed, furious at the tone of his voice. "I'm not completely devoid of femininity, Lucifer."

"Course not." He took another step towards her, taking delight in her discomfort. "I'd say you're being pretty aware of your femininity right about now."

A coil of heat pulsed in Chloe's belly, its fingers spreading up to her chest and down her thighs. She felt unable to move her legs, afraid that they would betray her, laying her prone at Lucifer's feet as an offering. Instead, she brought a hand up to her throat and placidly turned her head away from the approaching figure.

"Is everything all right, Detective Decker?"

The radiant warmth from his body glowered onto her skin, bathing it in its intensity. It was like sitting too close to a fireplace; comforting but eventually a sickly shallow sweat would break out across her brow. It would burn her face in its hungry vapors if she stayed. His bare skin was close enough for her to smell the dark scent of sandalwood and citrus. Close enough to reach out and brush with the tips of her fingers.

He intercepted the hand that hovered its way up, completely out of her control. "Detective." Blue eyes wavered but they still refused to meet his own. The hand fell limp, fully his to do with as he pleased, and the thought sent a river of cold water down his back. Lucifer brought it against his own flesh, relishing in the contact that felt unwarranted and so out of place, too aware that he was walking her back against the desk that sat against the wall. She felt so small, so singular. So pliable. That feeling of control branded itself onto the skin that fell under her light fingertips. He was the one in control so why did he feel so utterly helpless?

"No." She met his eyes and he was surprised to see them full of fear. "Lucifer." Wetness glistened below her eyelids.

He released her hand, taking a step back and allowing the air to rush in-between them, filling the space with its new breath. Unlocking them. Like a tentacle, it unsuckered them with an almost audible thwop. Something familiar had tickled in his mind, a similar feeling to flipping that internal switch that made humans want to verbal vomit their deepest and darkest desires to Lucifer. It hadn't been quite that, but something close. A distant cousin. She had allowed him to reach out. To touch a desire, a small one, but it had been there nonetheless. She hadn't unlocked the door but she had cracked open a window and he had seen a glimpse of the Detective, unfettered and fully herself. He thought maybe a mortal could fall in love with that image.

Chloe mumbled a reminder about their meeting time and stumbled past him, wanting to leave behind the feeling his closeness brought her. Terror wasn't the right word, but unease felt much too mild for what pulsed in her chest. Whichever way, it teetered the floor beneath her in a dizzying carnival ride.

Dan stood up from the stool when he saw Chloe's pallid face but she raised a hand in protest and he sat back down. He knew that face. Understood it from years of having been the recipient. It was the face of fear and defeat: of having something plucked from her heart that she didn't want to share. In the early days, Dan Espinoza had climbed those walls; he had been persistent in his love and affection, hoping to one day see it reflected back. Chloe had pushed hard in the months leading up to their relationship, bobbing and weaving around her feelings, both with herself and with Dan. He had felt like Rocky atop the stairs of the Philly Museum of Art when Chloe had said her first I love yous—six months after Dan had unabashedly professed his own. Seeing that face here in this strange slick place, not meant for him but maybe meant for someone else made him feel as though the chapter titled, Dan and Chloe Espinoza, had officially closed.

—

The afternoon was waning down as Chloe sifted through the crime scene photos from Stephen Delaney and Mazikeen Smith for what felt like the hundredth time that day. If she was asked to sketch them from memory, she felt fairly confident that they would be a near match. Although her hands had busied themselves with pinning markers and taking notes, her mind had disconnected from the work in front of her. The complications of her life had stacked themselves tall and were now a swaying dark tower threatening to topple onto her frayed mind. When she had told Lucifer that this case had felt wrong, she had meant it.

Ella Lopez burst through the door to Room Five, catching Chloe off-guard. "Oh, here you are! Did you hear?" The younger woman came around the table, her smile overtaking her pretty features. "They found someone who was near the docks on the night of Mazikeen Smith's murder."

"Who?" Chloe grabbed under a splay of papers and reached for her notebook. An excited pulse ran under her ear.

"Some fisherman guy. He was out flashlight fishing for salmon, whatever that means, and he was docking his boat for the night. Miller tracked him down earlier today and took a statement." Ella handed her a green folder. "Here, take a look."

They huddled over the report, written in Detective Miller's looping cursive. It was brief but it showed that the night fisherman had seen a male figure leaving the building around ten o'clock that night. He had been too far away and had looked over too briefly to make out any distinguishable features but he had been nearly certain it was a man. Tall, dark clothes, dark hair, looked to be holding something under his arm.

"Okay, it's not much but it's something. It's a starting point for a profile." Chloe wrote the description and the name of the fisherman in her notebook along with the time he observed the figure leaving the abandoned boathouse.

"It also narrows the time of death." Ella laughed in relief. "I mean, it's no smoking gun but in some cases, one witness account is all it takes to roll the snowball down the hill."

"No, this is great." Chloe let out a breath. "Weeks without a break and now we've got the beginnings of a physical profile. I gotta call Dan."

She pulled out her phone and saw that Dan had already sent her a text.

Miller got witness statement from docks a few hours ago! Ella has folder. Read! :)

"Hey, don't you have that party soon?" Ella tapped the corner of the phone that displayed the time. "You still want me to slap some rouge on those lips?"

"Shit. Yeah, if you don't mind." Chloe tidied up the folders and photos into small manageable piles and stuck her notebook back into her jacket pocket. "Fingers crossed I still fit into my cocktail dress from last year." The two women walked out of Room Five and weaved their way back to Chloe's desk. On top of all of her paperwork, sat a large white box.

"Ohhh, maybe a little celebratory treat from Dan?" Ella sing-songed. "I hope it's those cupcakes from Tibby's he keeps going on about cause I'm starving."

Chloe lifted the lid and they both gasped. Swaddled in thick cream-colored paper was the bustline of a dress. She checked the tag but didn't recognize the name.

"Geez, someone looooooves you." Ella skimmed a hand over the fabric. "I bet you a million dollars that this is vintage couture. Look at the label, it's been re-stitched." She nudged the speechless detective. "Pull it out, lets see the legs on this baby."

To call it a dress would have been an injustice. This was a gown, redolent of the bygone era of true Hollywood glam. The fabric hung heavy in Chloe's hands, its deep burgundy shade richly sheened in velvet. It was unadorned and simple in its shape—a deep sweetheart neckline that tumbled down into a flare of pooled ruby. A cream-colored square the same shade as the paper holding the dress fell onto the floor. A really nice dress, it read in neat even handwriting.

"Hey, there's shoes in here too." Ella pulled out a pair of slim strapped heels. "Oh. My. Frack." She held them up to Chloe. "I literally saw these in the window of Bergdorf Goodman last week. They're Zanotti's."

"What's that?" The detective folded the gown back into the box and took the shoes from Ella. She ran her fingers over the gold figure of a snake that stood in for the ankle strap. "People don't actually wear this stuff, do they?"

"Only if they've got money to burn." Ella grabbed the box and linked arms with Chloe. "C'mon, I gotta grab my makeup kit from the lab and we can put you all together. This is gonna blow the sequins off of your cocktail dress."

—

Lucifer checked his watch again. The one time that the usually punctual Detective was running late and it just had to happen during their first public appearance together. So much for first impressions. He palmed his silver cigarette case and pulled out a Gitane. Smoking, much like drinking, wasn't necessarily a need but he was feeling particularly anxious about tonight and the act subbed as a neat coping mechanism. The lighter caught the last rays of California sun, glinting them back into his eyes. He fought the urge to text the Detective a snippy remark, afraid that she would see through his annoyance and mark the nervousness that was currently doing cartwheels in his chest. Besides, their earlier interaction had left something heavy behind. It had consumed his room, bathing it in a sooty grey shadow of doubt and entropy as he had finished getting ready. Michael had chatted incessantly, reminding him of his duties to watch over Chloe, to keep the tracker somewhere handy, to blah blah blah. Lucifer had listened half-heartedly, too distracted to tell his brother to shut his everlasting mouth. It seemed that Michael had a habit of stepping on the backs of Lucifer's shoes, although what it really seemed like he wanted was to step into his shoes. He saw the way that his brother looked at the Detective, like a mewling kitten looking to find solace in her attention. So unlike Michael…or maybe it was exactly like Michael. It had been so long since they had spent any significant time together—and that was during a millennia-long war over free will, no less—that Michael's wants or needs remained a mystery to his twin brother.

A silver Rolls cruised through the cobbled aisle of tall trimmed shrubbery: the car service he had ordered for the Detective. Finally. As the gleaming ride circled the bricked roundabout, he flicked away his unsmoked cigarette and started to come down the marbled stairs. He stopped halfway, suddenly filled with worry. Images of teen movies flashed before him—the ruffled dresses and gaudy tuxes of cheesy proms, awkward dances under tacky mood lighting, the butterfly feelings of firsts—he all at once felt like a sixteen year old kid waiting for his date to get out of the rented limo. Not too far from the truth, hm? He stood, fixed, one leg on the stair below him, the other still on the one above. He stood and watched as the Rolls-Royce came to a stop and the driver ran around to open the back door.

Whatever he had pictured for their first meeting as pseudo-husband and wife, he hadn't expected to be so pleasantly surprised. He stood, transfixed, as a long slender leg slid out of the dark opened door followed by a spill of brilliant burgundy. Flaxen rivers of hair flooded over her bare shoulders, catching the fading sunlight in an orange glow as though everything above her neck was on fire. The buyer at the vintage shop had done a phenomenal job picking out the gown with nothing more than a few basic bits of information, the heavy fabric draping beautifully over the Detective's small frame. She ran a nervous hand over the bustline of the dress before thanking the driver. Dusty blue eyes found his and she gave him an imperceptible shrug of apology followed by a nervous smile.

He returned it as he slowly walked down the remainder of the stairs, biding his time so that he could take it all in. "Detec—Chloe."

"Miranda." She corrected. "Miranda Morningstar. At least for tonight."

"Right. Miranda." He held out his hand. "What good deeds have I done in this life to get so lucky?" Chloe rolled her eyes, a blush creeping across her cheeks. Another smile pulled at her lips—also colored the same deep maroon as her dress. She placed her hand in his but he shook his head. "No, the other one." She raised her eyebrows but switched to her left hand. Lucifer slipped a ring onto the finger. "I now pronounce you, Miranda Morningstar."

"Jesus Christ, Lucifer." Her eyes widened at the size of the rock clinging to a narrow gold band. "How am I supposed to carry this behemoth on my hand?"

"Like the proud socialite that I know you are. It's a loan from a friend at Harry Winston so I'm afraid our betrothment will only be for the night. But seeing you in that dress," he eyed her greedily, "well, I'd say it's a fair trade."

"Am I going to have to listen to this all night?" He grinned mischievously in reply. "If you have any more inappropriate observations, I'd say lets wrap them up. You know, get them all out while you still have the chance, Mr. Morningstar."

"There are a few things I would like to get out if the invitation still stands for later."

She swatted him lightly with the back of her hand. "That'll be the last one for the night. Good behavior only from this point onwards."

"That is me on good behavior." His face softened and took on a more thoughtful appearance. "You—You do look lovely. Absolutely radiant." He offered her his arm. "Are you ready to be Mrs. Morningstar for the evening?"

A slender arm linked through his. "It would be my Hell on Earth."

He laughed. "I'll make a note of it."

—

Chloe had seen The Greystone Mansion in countless pictures and movies since its construction in the late 1920s. Her nanny had first pointed it out in a movie they used to rerun on late night television called The Trouble with Angels, a comedy that hadn't made much sense to a young Chloe Decker. She had recognized it again in the late 90s while watching The Bodyguard, a movie that struck her teen heart with romantic ideas of love and being swept off of her feet by Kevin Costner. She had seen it hundreds of times on her drive past The Flats or on family trips to the botanical garden nearby but it existed in a brief, non-committal way. Still, she had never actually gone into the mansion which now belonged to the City of Beverly Hills since the 1960s.

Lucifer had led them through the front courtyard and up a set of carved concrete stairs into a sprawling inner courtyard anchored by a two-tier fountain. Lush greenery clipped to precision laid out across the triangle-shaped yard and here she could see classic Californian shrubbery—wispy chamise, flowering manzanita, alien mountain alder. They dampened the sound around them, cocooning them in a verdant world devoid of the constant clatter of the bustling city outside. A few couples dotted the well-maintained grass, tall glasses of Champagne in hand as they fawned and called greetings to each other in the high-pitched tones of social acceptability politics. Chloe tried to mirror a neutral composure, allowing the corners of her lips to turn up ever so slightly, as the women around her were doing. Looking about at the few others, she was relieved that she hadn't worn the cocktail dress she had hastily grabbed from the back of her closet. It would have stuck out like a cheap sore thumb amidst the diamonds and pearls of high society.

Lucifer handed her a long-stemmed glass. "Quite a bunch, hm?" He motioned to the others standing around in small clumps.

"You might know a little bit more about that than I do. Not really my crowd. I stick to the frozen pizzas and soccer mom circles." She leaned on Lucifer's arm. "Would it be okay if we move inside? These daggers you call heels are sinking into the grass."

He led her around the gardens to another small set of stairs that meandered into the main house. "I figured you'd get a fun laugh out of those. 'A Woman Being Carried Along by the Devil'."

"Is that what the snakes are for? A Garden of Eden throwback?" She shook her head and laughed. "Id've gone with a play on 'Dance with the Devil' but maybe that would have been too on the nose."

"Your skepticism delights me." The glass in his hand sparked prisms of light as he brought it to his lips. "Maybe that's why I never felt the need to convince you."

"There's a quote from New Yorker and fellow skeptic, Robert Moses: 'Here the skeptic finds chaos and the believer further evidence that the hand that made us is divine.'" She also took a big swig from her glass, taking a comforting breath in the sharp acidity that punctured the side of her jaw.

"Is that what you think when you look at me? Chaos?" He stopped on the pathway leading towards the mansion door and turned to her. A spark of amusement lit up his features but she could also see the whispers of worry.

Another mouthful of champagne disappeared from the glass before she handed him the empty flute. "What makes you think I don't see the divine?" Cool blue eyes—ones that always seemed to see too much—studied his face for a moment. "I may be a skeptic but I still believe in the goodness of mankind. I still believe in the goodness of you. Even when you're being a pig." She smirked. "Maybe moreso when you're being a pig."

He waved over a young kid in a black vest carrying a silver service platter and handed him the two empty glasses. The kid offered the fresh flutes on his tray to Chloe and Lucifer. "You're a braver woman than most, Miranda Morningstar." Their glasses rang out a cheerful high note. "Are you ready to enter the belly of the beast?"

She tipped back the entire contents of the flute and made a tense face. "I am now."

Chloe had been prepared to be amazed by the interior of the mansion. Enough movies and shows had been shot there to brace her for what she would experience. What she hadn't counted on was the dazzling splendor of seeing it in person. It was a small entryway, the double staircases leading to the main landing were no more than twenty steps with another fifteen or so leading down into what was known as the card room. Tawny California oak encased the entire room in its amber splendor, carved in stark lines and panels that instantly drew the eye to the heavy ornate banisters, also carved from the same wood. Glistening black-and-white checkered marble flooring sprawled over the entire room and up the double sets of stairs in a striking dizziness of classic art deco. Warmth, light and the intense feeling of intimacy leapt up the stairway and pulled the breath out of Chloe's lungs. A couple that was following behind the detective made a grunt of displeasure before shouldering past the stuck figure.

Another glass, wider at the mouth and filled with a pale yellow liquid, made its way into her hand. She looked down, confused.

"Chenin Blanc. Wine of choice for one Chloe Decker, if I'm not mistaken?" He motioned to the glass with his eyes.

"How'd you know?" She took a tentative sip.

"You have enough of those Trader Joe's bottles hiding in your cupboards to start a terrible wine shop." Lucifer gazed around the room and gave a brief wave to a cluster of well-dressed white-haired men. "There's Darryl Sutherland from the Society, which means Holloway is waddling close-by." He took her free hand and stuck it around his arm, taking care to move down the stairs slowly. The Detective had loosened up a bit but he could still see the nervousness eating away at her confidence. If they wanted to blend in, she would have to let go of her pragmatism to fit in with the turned up noses of high society.

"Where are we going? The main room is that way." The wine sloshed messily in her glass as she pointed behind them.

"I think we need a little pep talk before we get into it." A few people gave them a cursory glance as he led her down the wide hallway and into a small bathroom. The murmur of voices faded as he latched the door behind him and held up both his hands to the Detective. "Okay, so lets not take this the wrong way (Chloe thought that any sentence started with 'lets not take this the wrong way' could only be taken the wrong way) but…you're much too uptight right now."

Indignation flashed across Chloe's face. "Excuse me? Uptight?"

"You're acting like a cop…you're thinking like a cop." He tented his hands together and pressed them against his lips. "What…um, what gets you hyped?"

"Hyped?" She smoothed her hair with an unsure hand. "What do you mean?"

He waved his right hand in an impatient circle. "You know, when you were an actor and you would get ready for a role. What made you feel like a, um…bad bitch."

"Lucifer, I'm not an actor. Not anymore."

"Well, I need you to be one tonight, alright?" He placed his hands on either side of her neck and gently brought her face close to his. "You look fucking gorgeous in this dress, your face is absolute perfection and you blow all these tight-assed buggers out of the water. I need you to take that and become that, okay? I need you to be Mrs. Morningstar tonight."

She nodded as he pulled his hands away and lifted her glass to her lips. "Yeah, I think I can do that." She gulped down half the glass, a cool steeliness overtaking her features. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she willed herself to shirk off the confines of Chloe Decker. To leave that uptight, pragmatic bitch in the bathroom (just for tonight, we still need you babygirl a small voice called out) so that they could move this investigation somewhere in the direction of forward. "I can do that." A deep breath. When she released it, she released the ghost of Chloe Decker.

Lucifer watched in fascination. One minute she was the Detective, the next…to say it was a different person wasn't the exact adage but she was Cold Hard Steel Chloe. She was a Chloe that would annihilate a boardroom full of chaps; one that would bring men and women to their knees. This Chloe didn't drive a beat up champagne rental car, didn't have a sweet loving kid at home. A delirious glee welled up from his stomach. Even if they ended up with nothing to show for tonight, at least they would have a lot of fun doing it.

She took one last long look at her reflection, smoothing the retro Hollywood waves that Ella had spent so long pinning and heating, then drank deeply from the wine glass, allowing its warmth to give her the courage to be someone other than herself. If she had to play a socialite, she would do it with a proper socialite's buzz. She looked at Lucifer through the mirror with sharp eyes that had taken on the haughtiness of someone who rarely got told no. "I'm ready."

A rush of warm, sweet air sprang between them as she whirled suddenly to face him, a dangerous smile curling her lips like a ruby crescent. A long arm snaked around his neck as she laid a dry, quick kiss on his surprised lips before slinking past him and opening the bathroom door. He brought a stupefied hand up to his mouth, trying to piece together what had just happened, when she cleared her throat.

"Are you coming, dear?" She was already in the brightly lit hallway, her hand extended towards him. An invitation he wasn't sure he wanted to take. Another of those dangerous smiles graced her lips. Lucifer adjusted the front of his tuxedo and took a deep breath before taking her hand and joining her in the hallway.