DISCLAIMER: So it's the summer of reality television, and we're still ripping off ideas from the Brits. It all started with Trading Spaces and American Idol and Big Brother. Now we've got Ramsay's Kitchen and Dancing With The Stars. Personally I'm waiting for the US version of Regency House Party. Because living in an English manor house and acting like a submissive, emotionally-repressed woman of the late 1800s? I would so win that.

Anyway, on with the story and resolving that pesky cliffhanger…

When she came to, Sara thought it was all over. As in a halos and harps, cherubs and clouds, gates-of-St.-Peter way. She thought it was for a second because she heard a voice from above.

"Well done, Mr. Riley…you bought me just enough time."

Sara coughed hard and struggled to raise up on her elbow, tossed her hair back and looked up; the first thing she saw was Shaun. Slumped backward against a stack of books, he had a healthy pink skin tone returning. His eyes were his own…but filled with fear as he looked from her on the ground to his own hand, the fingernails retracting to normal.

"Sara?…" he asked, his face rife with confusion and horror. Maybe it was a combination of these feelings, or just the sight of his half-demonic hand, but Shaun fainted dead away.

"Shaun, thank God, what did… You." Sara was still struggling to get to her feet when she remembered the voice from above and looked up. Pru had used the time while he was choking her to climb up into the rafters, a leather satchel in one hand.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Cross, I neglected to tell you about the side effect. The antidote speeds up the transformation process very briefly before it begins to reverse it. Ordinarily the victim is to be tied down, but you see…if he hadn't distracted you for a moment, I wouldn't have caught my ride."

A spark of violet light seemed to flash across her eyes and thunder clapped outside; Sara gently laid Shaun on the floor, placed a book under his head and bolted to her feet. The air around her grew still, the sudden silence oppressive. Sara was totally unnerved; it was too calm.

"Don't try to follow me, slayer," Pru warned. "You and your beloved shop boy won't be so lucky next time."

There was a creak, like a tree-branch in the wind…and then…..BOOM!

The roof of the shop exploded upward with deafening noise. More jars and crystals and Wiccan paraphernalia was violently scattered and shattered. A few seconds was all Sara had to drop and cover Shaun, protecting him from falling debris. Something…invisible had punched through the roof of the shop and snatched Pru out of the rafters.

When it was over, Sara lifted her dusty hair and looked around; a faint green vapor trail lingered where the witch had been sucked out into the twilight. Julian sat up in the corner, dazed and groaning with pain, and Shaun hacked and coughed and curled up into her lap.

Stepping gingerly over the debris, Julian made his way over to Sara. He wearily leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. "So…did I miss anything?"

"Well, after I decked you…sorry about that, by the way…"

"I'm getting used to it. Go on…"

"Pru kept her word and cured Shaun, but he went über-demon and tried to throttle me, only then he changed back and then Pru gave her shop a new skylight and now she's AWOL."

"Just another day on the job, huh?"

"Exactly," she remarked, stroking Shaun's hair. "How long shall we say before the police arrive on the scene?"

"Hmm, small town, easily mobilized units—5 minutes?"

"A disturbance call that isn't terribly urgent, plus the distraction of the homicide investigation at the hotel—I'm thinkin' 10."

"Five quid?"

"You're on."

Eight minutes later, several squad cars from the Penrith police had the shop surrounded. Ashford was the first one through the door and she dramatically rolled her eyes when the smiling faces of Sara and Julian were illuminated by her flashlight. Julian insisted that Shaun needed medical attention, so a group of paramedics ushered him back into Pru's office while Sara and Julian joined Ashford outside the shop.

Sara sat resignedly on the stairs as a paramedic tried to patch up her wounds. "Ow! Ease up, Florence Nightingale," she snapped.

"Should I even bother asking?" Ashford sighed.

"You wouldn't like the answer."

"Oh, I'm certain of that. But I haven't had a laugh all day. So why don't you two tell me how Prunella Davies' shop suddenly looks like it was hit by the Blitz?"

Sara and Julian exchanged glances. "Do you want to tell her or should I?" Julian asked.

"Haven't I been through enough today?" Sara whined.

A uniformed officer exited the shop and approached with Sara's messenger bag. "Guv, we found this inside."

"Hey, be careful!" Sara cried. "That's my…uh, that's my collection of…um, rare lithographs."

Detective Ashford started to empty its contents. "Do you have a permit for these weapons, Miss Wellesley?"

Julian interjected, "She's a Council operative, detective. She's licensed to carry many sharp objects."

"Knives…is this a trident?"

"It's a sai."

"A spiky thing on a chain…"

"Hey, that is a Hanwei Morning Star Flail. It's very rare," Sara pointed out.

"Another knife…"

"That is a flamberge, I'll have you know. It was given to me a shaman in Malaysia after I saved his daughter from a cult that wanted to sacrifice her."

"Regardless, all of these are going into evidence."

"Oh, come on!" Sara protested. "Julian, do something."

Julian sighed and lifted an ice pack back onto his skull. "Detective Ashford, we still have things that need to be dealt with."

"Then you will do so without the illegal weapons," she declared. "And need I remind both of you about my suggestion to leave all this to us?"

"Like I said, we have unfinished business."

"Like assaulting an old lady and destroying her property?"

"Hey, hey! She did this to me!" Sara cried, pointing to her multiple bloody wounds. "Not to mention using my boyf…my partn…my Shaun as a puppet to nearly strangle me so she could go all Forgotten and escape through the roof."

"You expect me to believe that?" Ashford asked.

"Prunella Davies is not the sweet eccentric that you think," Julian stated.

"Well, I haven't run into her at two crime scenes in as many days. I wouldn't be so eager to cast stones, Mr. West."

Sergeant Murphy then approached with the news that Mr. Riley had been stabilized – in fact, he'd improved dramatically. He was being cleaned up in the back office if she wanted to question him. "Just give me a minute, Murphy," she said.

Sara's pleading eyes turned to Julian.

"Alright, alright, I'll go check on him," he consented.

"Wait, we're not done here," Ashford protested.

"Council business, detective. And I'm not gonna' do a runner, I swear I won't leave the building."

"Unless that…thing that gave Pru a lift comes back, then stick your leg out and whistle," Sara remarked, only half-joking as Julian disappeared inside.

"You seem in an unusually chipper mood, considering," Ashford remarked.

"Yeah, well…there's a crazy witch who just did an Agent Smith all over me out there somewhere and I have no idea how to stop her." She winced while holding a towel to a still-bleeding cut on her forehead. "But I'm alive, and Shaun's alive…I'm trying to look at the bright side these days."

"So go on then, I'm all ears. Feel free to spin your little yarn about what happened here," the detective offered, ready with her notebook but doubting that she'd be keeping any record of this conversation.

"Okay, remember big, blue spiky thing back in the chapel?"

"Vaguely."

"It is…was a Velkor demon. Brought into this dimension by Evelyn Fairfax, who was given the means to do so by Prunella Davies. And we're not sure exactly why."

"So you and Mr. West came here to question Mrs. Davies?"

"Yes."

"Does the process of questioning have a different meaning to the Council?"

"Hey, we were perfectly willing to have a civil conversation over a cup of tea, but Pru…she was more interested in tossing axes at me."

"You believe that Pru is connected to the missing women at the Eden River Inn?"

"We know she is. That inn is a chilled bottle of evil, and Pru is only too happy to pop the cork on it."

"Much as I enjoy your metaphors, Miss Wellesley, I hardly think an elderly shopkeeper can be held responsible for these recent events."

"So you plan to go on ignoring this particular problem until it swims up and bites you on the ass?" Sara snapped. "Metaphorically speaking."

"Like I said, it's my job to follow the evidence. And I have no evidence connecting Prunella Davies to the recent homicides. And on a related note, is there any reason why you felt it was necessary to lie to me about your relationship with Mr. Riley earlier?"

Sara peered up at Ashford's prim, discerning face and longed to have her weapons back. "Shaun is very special to me, detective."

"Apparently."

"Ever have someone in your life so dear to you that you'd do anything to protect them?"

"Maybe." Right, Sara thought. That means yes. Typical cagey cop.

"Things ended…abruptly the last time we saw each other. Like, painfully abrupt. And running into him here was this wild, random kind of kismet-y thing. I tried to pretend that it didn't affect me. But his relationship was on the skids and just being around him again…"

"…you were like a moth to a flame."

Sara furrowed her brow. "Cliché, but hey, whatever works for you. Anyway, so there we are alone together and bang – it was incredible." She stared at the pavement below her feet and smiled. "Really, really incredible."

"I'll bet. But that doesn't explain…"

"Ash, you know that Shaun isn't a killer. Well, not of living people….but you wouldn't have believed me if I told you he was with me all night and that he slept on the floor while I slept in the bed, now would you? You would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion because let's face it, you don't have a terribly high opinion of me."

"That's not true, you're a lovely girl. He's a very lucky fellow," Ashford replied. "I'd just like it if he swept you off your feet and carried you all the way back to London is all."

Sara stood and dusted herself off, shooing the paramedic away. "Not a chance. I know Shaun told you everything, alright, so what difference does it make why I lied?"

"Because if you insist on staying, it would make things a lot easier if I felt like I could trust you," the detective stated, stepping toward Sara and leaning forward intently. Sara held out one hand and pushed her back a few inches.

"Lemme try and lay it out, Guv," she mocked. "We're not all that different, really, you and me. We both fight criminals. We both face adversity every hour of every day, wondering whether the next door we kick in or the next corner we turn is going to bring us face to face with certain death. The big difference is that your perps operate entirely on this earthly plain. There are rules. There is logic."

"Most of the time."

"OK, believe that if you want. My brand of law enforcement, on the other hand…there are no rules. An innate suspicion of everyone and everything is crucial to my job. I could get myself killed if I didn't operate with just a teeny bit of distrust in everything I do. It's how I survive."

"And yet you trust Shaun," Ashford rebuffed.

"Like I said," Sara smirked, "there are no rules."

Julian, meanwhile, had quickly darted through the hunched-over cops and Wicca wreckage to the office. Shaun was lain back on a small settee while a medic packed up his kit. His eyelids fluttered as he glanced up. "Sara?"

"Sara?" Sergeant Murphy asked quizzically, as he stood in the doorway taking notes.

"Uh, yeah…pet name for me," Julian covered. "Might I have a quick word with him while Detective Ashford is otherwise engaged?"

"Alright, five minutes," he granted, stepping away.

"Where's Sara?" Shaun demanded.

"She's fine. Having a chat with the local police, trying to give them some sort of reasonable explanation for the, uh…mess." Julian inquired, "Do you remember anything about what happened, Shaun?"

"I was outside, chanting the spell. You came out to join me, and…things get fuzzy after that."

"The spike from the Velkor," Julian explained. "It began to change you. And we were forced to seek Pru's help in healing you."

"Ooh…that can't have gone well."

"Nope. Well, you're fine, but…no."

"Gone?"

"Like the wind."

"Right, so where do we find her, then?"

Julian crossed his arms and tried to project authority, fully aware that Shaun wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I'm not sure if that's your province, Mr. Riley. In case you've forgotten, you're no longer a Council operative."

"Just…" Shaun winced, frustrated. "Fine, no, I'm not. Go ask Simmonds why I'm not, if you like, and let me know while you're at it because I never got a straight fucking answer. But if this witch had something to do with Emma's death, I want to nail her just as much as you do. I'm involved now, Jules, and frankly it seems like you could use the help."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Julian leaned against the desk in Pru's office and fixed his gaze on Shaun. "We're in a crisis, and Sara's no longer looking to me for guidance."

"What do you mean?"

"She trusts you, she has complete faith in you."

Shaun shook his head. "I don't think that's true."

"Trust me, Shaun. Every disparaging remark I've made about you has been met with a swift right hook to my face. She doesn't defend just anyone so passionately."

"But she didn't even want me to come along…." Shaun rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head. "Look, most days out of the year, I'm just a guy who works in an appliance store. I'm an unremarkable man who's seen some remarkable things. And yes, there are times when she looks at me, or she smiles at me…and I actually believe that everything is right with the world and nothing's ever gonna' change that. But I'm kidding myself. I mean, look what happened today. I mucked up four little Mesopotamian words."

"Babylonian. And you're both still here, aren't you?" Julian countered. "Shaun, when I met Sara, it was only a few months after Will Collins was killed. She was lost, unmotivated, going through the motions only because she felt obligated to do so. But since she's been reunited with you, she's alive. Still reckless, and I'm doing my best to suffer that …but she's driven, she wants to win. So as long as you're willing to accept the risks, I'm granting you provisional operative status until we've dealt with this matter."

Shaun did a double take. That was…unexpected. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Say you accept, and then we can get back to saving the world."

"I accept, yeah. Yeah, heh…" He nodded and stood, shaking Julian's hand. "And listen, Westie, I swear I will do my best to protect Sara. I know how important she is, to you and me."

"Alright, two points: Don't ever call me 'Westie' again."

"Okaaay. And the second point?"

"Aside from our mission objectives, Sara's well-being is my paramount concern here. I have no doubt that she would lay down her life to save yours, but I am counting on you to make sure that doesn't happen. And if you get her killed, I know of some very nasty hell dimensions that I could have you shipped to. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Sara peeked her head through the beaded curtain. "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

Shaun and Julian exchanged glances. "Nope."

"Yeah, I am, but tough." Sara smiled. "So the DCI and me, we had a little girls' talk out there and it…could have gone better."

"Let me guess, we are still repeatedly and maliciously obstructing justice," Julian groaned.

"And here I thought she'd change her mind about us," Sara said.

"She does believe us, Sara," Julian noted. "She just doesn't want to."

Sara looked down at the bloody towel in her hand and shook her head. "Can't say I blame her. I mean, I'm not quite ready to acknowledge the fact that I just got smacked down by a senior citizen."

He stood, placing a hand on her shoulder, and smirked. "She's middle-aged. And she did have a slightly unfair advantage."

"Ya think?" she quipped. She paused to return the dagger that she'd surreptitiously retrieved from the debris to her leg holster. "By the way, in case Ashford asks, you never saw me remove this dagger from the scene."

"I am as blind to your legal transgressions as Tiresias," Julian mused.

"Always with the Greek tragedy. Do you stuff your own shirts, or do you have them sent out?" she quipped, approaching Shaun and sitting down with him. "Hey! Welcome back. How do you feel?"

"Oh, a bit like…I'm in Rivendell now, and he's Gandalf and you're Bilbo…aaand wow, I'm a geek."

That makes two of us, babe, Sara thought. "Actually, you're in Pru Davies' inner sanctum rather than the House of Elrond," she replied, pointing to the closet of concoctions behind them.

Shaun narrowed his eyes at the door, then spied all the scars and bandages on her face and arms. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, this is nothing," she smirked. "You should see the other girl."

Shaun chuckled. "Well, shit, I feel inadequate now. Not a mark on me."

"Yeah right, except for the big nasty one that started all this." Sara raised an eyebrow, then looked down in disbelief as Shaun lifted his shirt to show her…nothing. The wound was gone, not even so much as a scar; Sara lifted her hand and touched his skin, feeling no trace at all.

"And I thought I healed quickly."

"She could've left at least a little scar there," Shaun pouted. "A bruise? Slight contusion?"

"I'm sure there are plenty more opportunities for battle scars before this is over, Shaun," Julian commented.

Sara shot Julian a look. "Yeah, well, next time I see Pru, I'll skip the friendly banter and head straight for the 'knocking her unconscious and binding her with duct tape' part."

"Julian told me she'd escaped," Shaun said.

"Yeah, we lost her," Sara answered, dejectedly. "I played right into her hands. She said she could save you but she knew you'd go blue for a minute first and attack me."

Just then, he noticed the bruising around her neck and looked mortified. "Did…did I do that?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, dismissively.

"Sara, I could have killed you. What do you mean, it doesn't matter?"

"Shaun, you weren't yourself. At the time. Really. I know you'd never hurt me." She tugged at his goatee and coaxed a smile out of him.

"Right then, where do we find Pru?" Shaun asked, his voice growing firm with resolve.

"I have no idea," Julian shrugged. "Sara said she disappeared through the roof, en route to who knows where."

"She said something about trying to right a centuries-old wrong," Sara remembered. "What do you think she meant by that?"

"A centuries-old wrong…a vengeful spirit at the inn…Maggie," he uttered, as the realization dawned on him. "What if this has all been about Maggie? What if Pru is trying to avenge her death?"

"Why?" Sara questioned. "We don't even know if she has a connection to Maggie. And anyway, 150 years is a long time to hold a grudge."

"Ah, but remember that revenge is a dish best served cold. I think our best bet is to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. It's the one solid clue we have in all this madness."

"Then why are we sitting around here?" Shaun prodded, getting to his feet. "We've got work to do."

"Shaun, you should probably try and rest…" Sara suggested.

"I'm fine, just a little knackered. I'm good," he stated, giving her a thumbs up. "You look done over, though."

"Thanks a lot."

"I mean, in a cute way! The bloodstains, they… bring out your eyes," Shaun said, winking.

"Nice save."

"I'm terribly sorry to intrude on this tender reunion," Detective Ashford droned, clearly not giving a shit. "But I've just received a call from my man in charge of keeping watch at the inn."

"And?" Sara, Shaun, and Julian inquired in unison. The detective strolled into the room.

"Rachel Northrop, Alex Wolff and Fran Fairley. Those names mean anything to you?"

"No," Julian replied.

"No idea," Sara added. Shaun simply shook his head.

"They're all guests of the hotel. And they're all dead."