Chloe Decker wakes up to both of her legs in plaster casts. Ella Lopez resting due to a concussion and her left arm set in a sling. Dan Espinoza with cracked ribs and supporting a neck brace.

Dan snoring, on Chloe's left. Ella grinding her teeth as she sleeps, at Chloe's right. All three of them ordered to remain in the hospital for overnight observation.

Except Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen Smith. Both miraculously survived the car crash without a single scratch on them. They were discharged half an hour later, after they arrived the hospital.

Something's not right. Mazikeen. She shouldn't be walking around like she just scraped her knees in the crash. Chloe recalls a steel rod. Remembers a hole. Why steel rod? What hole? Chloe rubs her eyes twice, trying to jumpstart her hazy memory.

Steel rod. Impalement. Chest. Mazikeen's impaled in her chest by a steel rod. How Mazikeen was indifferent to her injuries, as if it was mosquito bite. Yes, that's right. Chloe saw it with her eyes. She knows it.

But—she could have been dreaming. Delirious with the pain spreading from her broken legs. They've been in a car crash after all. The car's descent down the grassy slope could have knocked her head hard.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. That's not worth mulling over.

Delilah McCord finally got the justice she deserved.

Michael Gilbert confessed his crime as soon as he could talk. Gilbert had been sexually and emotionally abusing Delilah since she was nine. Obsessed with her, to the point he tried to isolate her away from her friends. It was rather unfortunate Delilah didn't have much friends to begin with. Made it easier for him to control her when she was younger. Then, she entered high school and spent most of her time at LUX. Like that old adage, absence makes the heart go fonder. Gilbert went crazy—drugging Delilah to subdue her to keep her home.

She doesn't get the full story from John Decker. Only bits of the story her dad relayed to her in second hand. His idea of punishment. The broken legs are as good as Chloe being grounded until she's crutch-free. Her dad was even giddy after knowing she would waste her waking moments speculating and guessing to how Gilbert killed Delilah.

There were two tickets. One for Gilbert, the other for Delilah. But Delilah refused to join—he drugged her, to keep her close. But the dosage was fatal. She died. He redressed her in the most innocent-looking clothing he liked and owned; the catholic school uniform. Dumped her in front of the place she spent her time the most.

It's only her speculation. Give her dad a few days, he'll eventually cave in and Chloe will have the truth. And when she's discharged from the ward, she'll write the true story of Delilah McCord. Set the story straight once and for all.


Had they taken care of Gilbert the 'usual' way, they wouldn't spend an hour reassuring the police officers—notably Detective John Decker—that Lucifer and Mazikeen don't need supervision. Mazikeen throws the excuse of their parents uncontactable due the time zones.

[Mazikeen sneers. Lilith isn't one who Mazikeen would call motherly. There isn't a doubt in Mazikeen's bones that Lilith would not even care if any of her grotesque brood perish today, turn ashes tomorrow.]

Mazikeen drives sharp teeth into her thumb. Prickling the skin to draw blood. She thumbs a warding demon sigil on the door. Licking her thumb clean, she turns to Lucifer and asks, "How about your brother?"

"Amenadiel?" Lucifer lifts one brow at her. Shakes his head lightly. Red cherry lips curling into a smirk she's fond of. He replies, "I wouldn't worry too much about him. He isn't terribly bright as angelic brothers go."

She punches in the code and slides her key at the doorknob. The light turns green, she opens the door. Mazikeen pushes the door, sidestepping to allow him to enter. She locks the door, kicks off her muddy shoes and places them at the shoe rack.

The foyer's light comes on automatically, illuminating the dark living room, as Lucifer walks towards the bar. He removes the blazer hanging over his shoulders. Sets it on the countertop.

"Let's see if Constantine has enriched his musical abilities since his last mix-tape." Lucifer positions the CD into the audio system and plays it. The music has remarkably improved—not solely electronic and the discernible spell chanting disguised as rapping.

"At least it's English now," Mazikeen says. "Is he singing about how he loves cigars?"

"Yes," Lucifer reaffirms, grinning. "But it fulfils its purpose to drain all the energy from the demons." He returns to the bar, takes a seat on the barstool.

Mazikeen moves over to the bar. Produces two crystalline glasses from the cabinet, and placing the glasses on the countertop. She traces a finger along the liquor shelves, before stopping short at Glenmorangie signet and Smirnoff. "Whisky or vodka?"

"I'm in the mood for whisky," Lucifer answers, fishing a packet of cigarettes out from his blazer's upper pocket. He clips the cigarette in between two fingers. Tiny flames flickering from his fingertips. Lucifer brings the cigarette's end to the fire. Closing his palm, he puts the fire out and takes a drag.

Mazikeen unscrews the bottle open, pours the whiskey into two glasses, full. She slides Lucifer's glass towards him. Mazikeen props an elbow on the countertop, one hand clutching her glass. "Did you always know it was him?"

He draws of the cigarette, long and slow. Blows the smoke upwards, crowning around his golden-hair like a halo. "I had my suspicions. Her bruises. The non-stop calls before she dated Kevin. Her desire to avoid home."

There's silence between them. Nothing much to say, really. Their business with the Journalism Club's concluded. LUX Club is no longer in danger of being with investigated by that pesky Chloe Decker.

Lucifer stamps the butt at the ashtray. Looks down at his glass for a moment. He raises his glass up, the corner of his mouth twisting half a smile. She does the same.

"To Delilah," Lucifer simply says.

"To Delilah. Her death's avenged," Mazikeen agrees.

They clink their glasses. Sipping their whiskey to Constantine's operatic-pop singing on his cigars in the background, with the spell being recited in the chorus.

"My Lord," she hesitates.

Lucifer empties his glass, glances at her. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, Mazikeen?"

"We need a new tutor. Got mid-terms in two weeks."