In hindsight, Mazikeen was having a pretty good day (she hooked two escaped convicts, bought a new pair of nunchucks, and met a guy who was into some pretty freaky stuff on Tinder, not necessarily in that order). But then of course, Lucifer had to ruin it by calling her in for some odd job that he weirdly didn't want to discuss (he usually spared no detail, the gorier, the better). After getting the gist of the whole situation from his drunken rambling, though, she was pleasantly surprised to find out that the Devil's little witchling was loose in L.A., and who better to reel her in than hell's best bounty hunter?

(More than the eternal indebtedness to Lucifer, she, herself, was itching to know how the wide-eyed angel child turned out. At sixteen, she was already at a prime age to learn the basics of torturing).

Though Sabrina was more or less what she expected (beautiful like her mother and annoyingly self-assured like her father), there were a few new discoveries that came as a genuine disappointment to the demon. First, the girl did not inherit her dad's glorious pair of angel wings (impromptu trips to the pit were out of the question, then). Second, she was short and skinny and was about as intimidating as folded linen. And third, she seemed to be more human than antichrist, and despite riding in a badass vehicle with two demons at her beck and call, she didn't have an awful lot to share.

"I know I'm not the best at human conversation," Maze began, eyes drifting briefly to the teenager before focusing them back on the road (she was one accident away from being blacklisted by every insurance company in L.A., and she'd rather not ask her former boss for another favor). "But I find it hard to believe that any child of Lucifer could go ten minutes without making a single sound."

Sabrina made no move to turn away from her view of the speeding landscapes, chin resting on her palm as she stared out her side of the door (it wasn't like she could make out much of anything with how fast they were going, but the trademark Starbucks green that lined every street corner was pretty hard to miss, and silently, she made a game out of counting how many of those stood between her motel and the so-called doctor's office). Meanwhile, Salem lay curled on her lap, undisturbed from his nap despite the thumping bass of Maze's party music blasting out the stereo. "Maybe I don't have anything to say," the girl said flatly.

Mazikeen scoffed. "Well, that's bullshit."

Sabrina raised a brow, but remained relatively unfazed. (Inside, she knew it was complete, utter bullshit, indeed. But she wasn't about to admit that out loud.) "Really?" The feigned interest was a ballsy jab at the demon, but Lucifer said that Mazikeen was somewhat harmless, and the teenager was partly curious as to how far said harmlessness went. "How'd you come to that conclusion?"

Maze rolled her eyes and sent a smirk towards the witch, though it went unnoticed as the girl's focus remained out the window (she was currently at Starbucks number 7, but she could see a couple more up ahead). "I know what you're playing at, princess. It isn't gonna work."

"You sure about that?"

(The snark was too damn familiar, and Mazikeen almost wished that pictures could talk, because she was so sure that the photographs Amenadiel had stolen away and brought to hell would have been ten times more amusing with the sound of the little girl pissing off her aunts with the trademark Morningstar snideness).

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her grin from growing any wider. "You've got one demon asleep on your lap, and another chauffeuring you around Los Angeles at the request of your father, who, by the way, also happens to be Satan himself. You could not find a better conversation-starter in the whole universe, no matter how hard you try."

(Of course, Mazikeen was right, and Sabrina knew it. Still, the fact remained that polite chit-chat was the last thing on her mind – it was under a lot of stress at the moment, thank you very much – and all she wanted was to go back to counting her coffee shops in peace even if just to distract herself for a while).

"You know what? Yes, you're right. I do have a lot to say, but unfortunately, the one person worth saying them to isn't here." All at once, whatever amusement the demon had on her face was wiped clean, and Sabrina let out a breath when she realized her thoughts had inevitably circled back to her father without her noticing. As much as she wanted to deny the impact of last night, it was clear that whatever truths she discovered sat heavy on her mind, and it would take much more than silent road trip games and a nosy demonic driver to put her at ease. (Maybe an earnest conversation wouldn't be as bad as she thought).

The witchling brought a hand up to her temple and closed her eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry, that came out of nowhere. I just-I don't understand." She shifted in her seat to face her companion completely. "If he wanted to fix things so bad, why didn't he come get me himself? Why did he have to send someone else?"

"If it helps, I'm not technically a 'someone'. You can't really group demons into people categories."

At the very least, Maze's weak attempt at comfort was able to draw a slight chuckle from Sabrina. (She was obviously no good at it, but to her credit, she tried). "That just makes it worse, I think."

Mazikeen was not cut out for this. Yeah, she was pretty good with giving advice, as long as it came to torture and sex and general human suffering. But feelings? (If they weren't on a strict schedule, she would have pulled over and gagged behind the nearest bush). It was a good thing they were going to Linda, because Maze sure as hell couldn't deal with this chaotic surge of teenage emotions on her own, but for the sake of the miserable-looking girl on the passenger seat, maybe she could stomach just enough of it to get them through the rest of their trip.

She tapped her fingers frantically against the steering wheel as she tried to figure out the right thing to say. "Look, I can't really speak for Lucifer because I have no idea what his plans are. And honestly-speaking, they're probably terrible and weren't given much thought."

Sabrina made an odd sound from the back of her throat. (She didn't know which part of all that was meant to be reassuring). "That's not very-"

"But," Maze continued, ignoring the young witch's interjection. "Knowing him, however stupid and reckless his plans are, at least where you're involved, they always come from a place of…of…"

The demon had to pause as she struggled to get the despicable word off her tongue. (She was a bounty hunter, goddamit. Lucifer wasn't paying her enough for this).

"A place of love," she finished, trying her best not to cringe. (She didn't get why humans tended to slap on mushy sentiments like cheap band-aids whenever they had metaphorical wounds, but it always seemed to work in the cartoons she and Trixie watched before school, and she wasn't about to question it).

All the while, Sabrina took in her little speech with a relative amount of sympathy. (From the looks of it, those few short words were physically painful to say. And if she was gonna be honest, it was quite painful to watch, as well). Even though it didn't do much in terms of comfort, she was grateful for the gesture all the same. (She was glad she knew some nice people in L.A., even if the so-called people weren't really people at all and had a track record for clawing out of hell). "Thanks, I guess. That was really sweet."

Mazikeen brushed the compliment away with a wave of her hand. "Yeah, yeah, just don't make a habit of it, princess."

Distracted (maybe the demon's methods worked better than she thought), Sabrina raked a hand through Salem's fur as he began to stir in her lap. "Why do you keep calling me that, anyway?"

It was a valid question. There was nothing normal, after all, about the witch meeting a full-fledged demon that a) wasn't sent to kill her, and b) called her by a name that wasn't half-breed or whore. Still, it didn't stop Maze from doing a double-take, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Because that's what your name means," she answered slowly, as if it was a common fact that the girl should have known a long time ago. "Sabrina means princess. Lucifer made that pretty clear when I kept bugging him about his random name choice."

Sabrina's fingers stilled halfway through combing her familiar's fur (Salem made a little meow of protest, though his petty complaints were the last thing on his mistress's mind). She shot Maze an accusatory look. "No, that can't be right. My mother gave me my name."

Mazikeen frowned back. "No, Lucifer did. Diana wanted him to name you, and he asked that you be called Sabrina. Not that you were ever supposed to find out, but he found it fitting for the king of hell's only child."

(Her whole life, she loved her name even if it didn't tie her to the Spellmans – the women in their family always had nice, traditional names that were passed on through generations – because it tied her to her mother, instead. Sabrina was supposed to be her human side, her mortal side, connecting her to Diana. But now, she realized it was all a lie. At the very least, it was a testament to how her father actually cared enough to put some thought to what she was called. Still, much like every new discovery made in this trip, she didn't know what to do with it).

This time around, when Sabrina grew quiet once again, Maze knew better than to get her to talk. (Unfortunately, she was very good at breaking fragile humans apart, but pretty fucking bad at putting them back together).

The demon sighed as they pulled into the parking spot in front of the clinic.

(Maybe it was for the best. Linda could use a new challenge every now and then).

Linda was having a pretty good day, too. She had a spa appointment in the afternoon, the patients she had lined up for the day were relatively tame (and excitingly non-celestial), and the neighbor took his dog with him on vacation, so no incessant barking kept her up the whole night. All in all, it was shaping up to be a refreshingly normal morning.

Except it wasn't.

"Good morning, doctor!" Lucifer greeted a bit too brightly, bursting through the door in his usual disregard for private property. "Apologies for not calling sooner, but I was hoping you could squeeze me in for a quick chat."

The therapist made a mental note that door locks weren't applicable to the devil (still, for the sake of her human patients, they needed to be replaced). She sighed and massaged a hand against her steadily aching temple. "Lucifer, I can't. I'm with another patient right now."

The devil's eyes drifted to the bearded man on the couch who was halfway through his second box of Kleenex. He scrunched his nose in disgust, but to Linda's utter relief, the expected stream of insults never followed. "Right. What's wrong with you?

"M-my wife left me," the patient managed to mumble before erupting in a fresh wave of tears. The doctor closed her eyes in exasperation (Just when they were doing so well. He was about to return the box of tissues before Lucifer came barging in).

"Hardly something to cry about. You should be celebrating, being a bachelor again and everything." The club owner chuckled to himself, but his trademark grin quickly faded when the divorcee didn't seem the least bit amused. With a roll of his eyes, he pulled out a thick wad of cash from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the other man. "Well, if you want a wife so bad, you can go buy yourself a new one. Maybe take a trip to Vegas. That's where I got mine last time."

"Lucifer!" Linda chided, appalled. (He wasn't usually the most well-behaved client, but terrorizing fellow patients was a new low even for him). She levelled him with a stern look before shifting her gaze back to the man on the couch. "Jerry, I'm so sorry-"

The rest of her words went ignored as the divorcee took one long look at the cash, shrugged his shoulders, and swiftly walked out the door. To say that Linda was stunned was a complete understatement as she watched his retreating figure gingerly disappear from her line of sight.

Lucifer lowered himself on the newly-empty sofa with a self-satisfied smirk, crossing his legs as he addressed the doctor. "I take it you're available now?"

Linda's mouth was left hanging open for a few good seconds as she struggled to gather the right words that would capture exactly how she felt. Quite soon, however, she realized that such words simply didn't exist, and settled on the most rational alternative, instead. "What the hell, Lucifer?"

"Pun intended, I hope?" The devil laughed at his own joke (he was getting quite good at this), before realizing that he was the only one who found it funny. Linda was still looking properly pissed. He cleared his throat. "Alright, that was too much. But this is just really very important."

"So important that you practically bribed another patient just to get his spot?" The doctor seethed in disbelief.

"Yes, and you'll know why in just a minute." He broke away from her glare and called his next words out the door. "Maze, you can come in now!"

At that point, Linda already had her head in her hands, so sure that she jinxed herself for planning such a perfect morning (really, she should have known by now that those things didn't exist, at least not for her). "Maze is here? Please don't tell me you tried to kill each other again."

Lucifer waved her away with scoff. "Don't be silly, doctor. This little therapy session isn't for her."

Linda watched as her demonic friend marched into the room, an exhausted look on her face, followed by an icy-haired girl with a cat in her arms (the doctor didn't normally allow animals in her clinic, but her curiosity over the whole scene was enough to let it slide just this once). The teenager was deathly pale by California standards, and the hesitant way she trailed after Mazikeen suggested that she wasn't entirely sure of what was going on. As the demon went ahead and dropped herself on the nearest armchair, there was nowhere else left to sit but the couch, and so the girl carefully perched herself on the edge, making sure to place as much distance as humanly possible between her and Lucifer.

"It's for my daughter, Sabrina," Lucifer finished, beaming at the teenager who promptly looked away in indignation. He didn't seem the least bit fazed about it, though, and continued to smile at the doctor as if the whole thing was perfectly ordinary (News flash: it was not. It was so very not).

A few seconds passed as Linda just sat there, staring at the three with a vaguely unreadable look on her face (Maze saw the same thing happen to a man she stabbed in the neck before. Though, to be fair, her friend's blood supply still seemed to be intact). Eventually, the silence was broken as the doctor's senses apparently returned at full force, eyebrows nearly shooting out of her forehead as the devil's words completely sank in. "I'm sorry, what?"

(Maybe she just misheard. Her hearing has been troublesome lately. He didn't say daughter. He probably said "water" or "otter" or something).

Lucifer closed his eyes as if just remembering something important. "Oh, how rude of me. I didn't introduce you yet." He turned back to the girl who only scooched away further, until she was mere inches from falling off the sofa. "Sabrina, this is Dr. Linda. Trust me, she's amazing. She'll solve all our problems before you even know it. And Dr. Linda, this is my firstborn, Sabrina. She's not always this shy. Probably just first day therapy jitters."

(Huh. So she wasn't going deaf. He actually said daughter).

"Um, hello…Sabrina. It's very nice to meet you." Linda managed to edge out in a calm voice (Though on the inside, she was most definitely not calm. How does one respond, anyway, when meeting the devil's secret children?)

To the doctor's surprise, whatever cold shoulder the girl was planning to give her father didn't extend to the therapist, and she quickly answered back with a tight (albeit uncomfortable-looking) smile. "Hello."

Linda blew out a long breath. She had questions. So many, in fact, that to answer them all, she'd probably have to cancel that afternoon spa appointment (and just when she needed a solid neck rub). But as a therapist (a damn good one, too), no other question seemed to matter more at the moment than the most important one. "So…what brings you here?"

Lucifer, who seemed previously distracted by trying to get his defiant daughter to talk to him (the girl appeared to have a talent at ignoring his attention-seeking habits), immediately perked up at the question and cleared his throat. "I'm glad you asked, doctor. You see, Sabrina got in trouble yesterday for burning a man in hellfire. She may have also inherited a bit of my alcoholism and destroyed the penthouse in the process." At that, Maze made an impressed sound from the back of her throat and Sabrina broke free from her impenetrable layer of passiveness just to glare at her father. "As for me, I may or may not have abandoned her at birth and only introduced myself sixteen years later. So there's that."

The doctor looked back and forth between the pair of them, dumbfounded (Now that she saw it, though, there was a bit of resemblance. The eyes, for sure). When Lucifer introduced his bodyguard/bartender/best friend who was a demon, she was taken aback. When he brought his handsome, soldier-of-God brother, she was all for it. Even when his crazy I'm-shooting-divine-light-out-of-my-stomach mother came marching into the picture, Linda thought, "Sure, might as well happen." But this. This innocent-looking little girl who just met her father and apparently had access to hellfire had to be one for the books.

Linda blinked profusely. "What do you expect me to do about it, then?"

The devil gave her an odd look, as if the answer was obvious. "You help us work through it, of course! Sabrina and I got off on the wrong foot, but I'm sure we'll get everything cleared up once you're done with us."

Internally, Linda made another mental note to cancel her spa appointment. And her dinner plans. And probably her trip to the Bahamas next summer. (It seems she won't be leaving this room for a very, very long time).