"Those cops must really have it out for me." Polanski sized her up with a vaguely unimpressed look as soon as she entered the room, and the girl raised a brow in retaliation. "And here I thought they were gonna be decent enough to send me counsel that isn't barely out of high school."

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Sabrina knew there was no going back until she'd done what she came here for. Normally, she wouldn't bat an eyelash if men who were even remotely capable of harming young girls were led away in cuffs and locked up for the rest of their miserable existence. Satan knew (or maybe he didn't? She was starting to doubt all that Church of Night doctrine about her father's supposed omniscience) she signed other people's death warrants for way less. Even her mandrake snapped a handful of people's necks just for calling her a whore.

Andrew Polanski was…different, though. He was hiding something. Something that could probably even exonerate him if given the chance, yet he chose to keep it to himself. For what reason exactly, Sabrina didn't know (yet).

Outside, the frantic voices were growing. There was kicking and pounding and shoving (mostly on Detective Espinoza's part, if his loud complaints of shoulder bruising were any indication), and the helpless rattle of keys against an expertly spellbound keyhole. Her little stunt was an…inconvenience, that much she could admit. Half the precinct was practically divided between making very loud plans outside the door ("For the last time, we're not using C-4 to blow it up, Peralta!") and running back and forth in search of more keys ("What do you mean this is all of them? My five-year-old son can beat you with his eyes closed at a fucking scavenger hunt!").

She probably needed to send out a couple dozen apology baskets once all of this was over.

"I'm not your lawyer." The teenager shook her head. Meanwhile, Polanski watched her carefully as she pulled out the seat across from him. "But do exactly as I say, and I can get you out of here."

"I doubt that very much."

She nodded towards the cuffs on his wrists, just the slightest bit looser than when he was being interrogated by Lucifer and Detective Decker. He'd been fiddling with them ever since the two left, not because he wanted to escape, but because they were digging into his skin a little too tightly. That's what Sabrina caught him doing when she tapped a finger against his shoulder and he yelped in surprise. A suspect prying at his handcuffs wouldn't have been the most innocuous sight had it been anyone else who walked through the door.

"Think you can do a better job on your own?"

Sabrina was expecting him to lash out, maybe bang a fist or two against the table (she was kind of hoping for it, really, just so she'd have a reason to try the new defensive magic she'd been reading about), but Polanski exhaled sharply through his nose and said nothing more. The girl hummed in smug satisfaction. "That's right. I didn't think so."

If Ambrose were here, he'd tell her she was treading dangerous ground. He'd tell her to be smarter, sharper, more careful. She had a loose tongue and a tight sense of pride, and one day, it would get her in trouble she couldn't charm her way out of. Funny that he probably told her this a hundred times over, and the one time she actually heard him was when he wasn't there beside her.

It didn't mean she had any plans of actually listening (oh, hell no), but the sentiment was there. Her cousin was smart. He'd know to appreciate it either way.

"So here's how it's gonna go, Andy-"

"My name's not fucking Andy," he bristled.

Sabrina made a tutting sound and leaned back against her chair. It was surprising how touchy people could get with their names. Polanski must've been holding in that little outburst ever since Lucifer decided to throw the word Andrew out the window the moment he entered the room.

"Well, I'm not the one in cuffs." She smiled wryly back at him, and she didn't quite miss the way his lips curled in irritation. "I think I'll call you whatever I want."

"You little-"

The rest of his words were drowned out by the sound of an industrial power drill working through the door's keyhole. Where in the world those officers managed to find one within the precinct was beyond Sabrina, but she had to give them credit for thinking on their feet. (It didn't matter, anyway. Nothing a reinforced barrier spell couldn't handle).

Polanski's brows furrowed at the noise. "What the…" Outside, Detective Dan was shouting, "More power! That thing's obviously not working hard enough!", his voice coming out slightly muffled from the other end. The suspect whipped his head around to stare at her accusingly. "Is this some kind of set-up? What's going on out there?"

"Nothing you should concern yourself with."

The girl raised a hand and everything fell quiet, save for the ticking clock on the wall and their own light breathing. She heard Polanski audibly gulp from where he sat. (Huh. It was easy to forget nowadays that not everyone was used to seeing magic in plain view).

"Now," Sabrina leaned forward and folded her arms on the table. She couldn't exactly blame dear old Andy when he flinched back the tiniest bit.

The witch knew what she looked like. She wasn't completely oblivious. The flinty eyes, the ramrod posture, the self-satisfied grin that said she'd won the game without even playing. It was a page straight out of her father's book, but it felt as though it was written just for her.

Even Andrew knew there was something sinister behind the enticing lilt that snuck into her voice when she finally spoke. "Why don't you tell me a little something more about your friend Stephen Wyatt?"

"Wow. You really meant it when you said you were just gonna sit back and watch, didn't you?"

Lucifer didn't miss the way the detective was eyeing him with complete, unadulterated judgement as soon as she stalked into the observation room, all big strides and clicking boots and hands on her hips that made her look more like a disappointed schoolmarm than anything else. It was all generally unsurprising, to say at the least. He imagined that humans didn't usually take too kindly to the idea of leaving underage offspring with murderous strangers.

"First of all, I'm standing, not sitting, so joke's on you." He pointed out. The eye-roll he promptly received in response was nothing unexpected. "And second, Sabrina's putting on a marvelous show. What kind of father would I be if I didn't appreciate such a stellar performance?"

The detective had to take a second or two to process that concerning train of thought before tilting her head in question. "…You do know this isn't some sort of talent showcase, right?"

"Yes, but if it were, I have no doubt she's going to win. She's fluent in three languages, you know. Four, if you count Lilim."

Chloe didn't have the first clue whatever the hell Lilim was supposed to be, but even if she did, there probably weren't too many talent competitions based on language proficiency, anyway.

"I don't see how that would be relevant."

"Oh, it's not, really." He grinned back at her. "Just thought you should know."

Lucifer had to admit, his parental pride had been sort of…misplaced, as of late. For the longest time, Sabrina was a well-kept secret confined to passing conversations with Maze and those faded yearly photographs stolen by his brother. He couldn't talk about her the way other fathers did. When one of the officers bragged about their sons making the soccer team, or the detective beamed over her tiny urchin's A+ papers at school, it took everything in him to hold his tongue and pretend to be interested.

(What's that? Little Robin set up a lemonade stand for the summer? Lovely. Well, Sabrina learned both Greek and Latin at age five, and necromanced her first dead goldfish at six. Come back when your spawn tries a little harder, Susan).

Now that the truth about his daughter was finally out in the open, however, about sixteen years' worth of bottled-up boasting was bound to spill out into every conversation he had with anyone who was willing to listen (Dr. Linda already drew the short end of the stick when she had to listen to him drone on and on about Sabrina's excellent spellwork the last time he called. If the detective thought this was the worst of it, she had another thing coming).

"How's she holding up in there, anyway?" The detective's voice grew closer, and Lucifer noticed that she'd moved to stand beside him in front of the two-way glass. "Poor thing must be terrified."

"Quite the contrary, actually." The club owner smirked. He saw how Sabrina had Polanski wrapped around her little finger, all calm words and biting wit. It was almost clinical, the way she worked, and it would've worried him how good she was if he were not exceedingly impressed, himself. "I'd say if he wants to walk away from this relatively unscathed, Andy better decide his next move very, very carefully."

The detective raised a brow, clearly skeptical, and she was just about to tell her partner the same thing when the suspect suddenly spoke in hushed whispers from inside the interrogation room. Maybe it was the look of sheer terror on Polanski's face, maybe it was the silent amusement in Sabrina's own, but all at once, Chloe got the sinking feeling that Lucifer might not entirely be wrong.

"Why are you asking me this?" Andrew hissed. His hands were curled into fists, and for a good second or two, Lucifer thought he might actually be stupid enough to swing at the antichrist, but as it turned out, the man wasn't completely suicidal. He kept his meaty arms firmly anchored on the table. "What do you know?"

"Not enough, apparently." The teenager squinted. "For one, I still can't figure out why you're so scared of him."

Sabrina's particular brand of logic was…difficult to follow, her father had to agree. For whatever misconstrued reason known only to her, this Stephen Wyatt fellow was somehow a person of interest now, though for the life of him, Lucifer couldn't see how she could have possibly arrived at that conclusion. Was there something Andy said that he had simply missed? Or did she just have a nose akin to one of hell's sniffer dogs, so very adept at picking up the scent of sin no matter how deeply buried?

The club owner had an inkling that he was being watched before, back when it was him and the detective on the other side of the glass with Polanski. It felt like a faint chill, a low tremor, the same kind that followed Amenadiel whenever he arrived and time seemed to slow in its entirety. Of course, he just brushed it off as the familiar twitch of early drug withdrawal (it's been what…3 days since he'd had a decent hit?), but looking back, he probably should've known it was the witchling's divine presence weighing on him from across the room. As if she couldn't have found a way to escape Dr. Linda if she so wanted.

(Speaking of which, he should probably go check on the doctor soon. Make sure she hasn't been shrunk and trapped in some tiny box or other).

A surge of courage overtook Polanski, and in a twist of inexplicable boldness, he looked Sabrina right in the eye. Whatever he found in them must not have been too pleasant, however, and he quickly averted his gaze. "No…No, I have nothing to say to you." He didn't look up once from the tiled floor. "I want my lawyer."

"You know, I don't think you do." The witchling cradled her chin in her hand. "I think you want to get locked up. You want to be convicted for murder."

Andy shook his head slowly. "No."

"Because he can't touch you here." Sabrina ploughed on. "He can't reach you the way he so easily could out there."

"Stop talking."

The girl tilted her head innocently to the side. "What's the matter, Andy? Think these bars could protect you? What do you think happens when you sleep? When you dream?" Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper and she actually laughed, a mirthless, terrible sound. "When he claws his way into your mind and refuses to leave?"

"I can't-I don't…"

"There's no such thing as escape, Andy. There's only fear." Sabrina spoke with such resignation that it was easy to mistake her for someone older than she was. "And how long you're gonna let yourself live in it."

"That's not true-"

"Then what is the truth?" She snapped. The witch pushed her chair away from the table and stood, the lights suddenly flickering overhead. Lucifer couldn't be too sure, but when the bulbs came back on, he could have sworn his daughter's eyes were flashing a pristine, colorless white. Then she blinked a second time and they went back to his own usual pools of brown. "Because you said that name for a reason, and there was a quiver to your voice when you did, and I just can't figure out why! Why does he terrify you so much?"

"What on earth…" The detective muttered under her breath.

Lucifer didn't see much fear in Andy's eyes when he mentioned his friend the first time around, but that was then and this was now. With Sabrina towering over him like a rogue specter in the night, the man was the picture of petrified, a leaf shaking in the cold. Everything looked so very small, the devil realized, next to his daughter who seemed a force of nature all on her own.

"Oh, for Dad's sake, just answer the bloody question." He sighed. (What big, obvious sign was the blundering fool even waiting for? A broken mirror? Cracked pavement? Sabrina's annoying little black cat crossing the room and staring him down in that vaguely contemptuous way it always seemed to do?)

Polanski took a deep, shuddering breath. "Look, I-I…" He wet his lips. "You're right, I'd rather stay here. At least it-it's safe and I'm out of reach, but…"

"But what?" The witchling prodded.

"But I have to get out!" Andy pounded his fist against the table, and this time, Sabrina didn't jump back. "I-I had a plan, okay? It was supposed to keep both of us safe. Now it's all gone to shit!"

"Wait, wait. Hold on a second. Both of who?"

The man suddenly looked hesitant, withdrawn, like he said something he wasn't supposed to. Lucifer started to worry that his daughter had hit a dead end. Polanski clammed up the same way when they got to talking about his desires a few minutes back.

Sabrina felt around for her chair, eyes never leaving the man's face. "Andy. Andy, look at me." He kept his gaze firmly trained on the wall. "Look at me."

The few seconds it took for Andy to wrestle against his own force of will were tense, strained, no different than a flimsy piece of string being pulled taut from both ends. When the proverbial string finally snapped down the middle, however, there was something begrudging, almost resentful, in the way he stared back at the witchling. (Lucifer couldn't very well blame him. Humans, he found, acted no more than base creatures when their free will was wrenched from their grip. The same way that dogs kept on leashes were more rabid, more likely to fight against their chains and bite).

"Both of who?" Sabrina repeated.

He must have realized that there was no winning now, that the young girl with the piercing eyes across from him would always have the upper hand in ways he could never even begin to understand. Polanski swallowed thickly. "Me. And Emma." He paused. "My daughter."

The teenager shook her head. "I don't follow. What does this have to do with-"

"He has her, alright?" Andy snapped. His breathing started to come out in short little gusts of air, cuff-bound hands beginning to shake. "He has her, and h-he said he'll kill her if I didn't take the fall. And, oh God, my poor little girl-"

"Andy, calm down. It's gonna be alright."

"So I got myself caught, and I thought if I-I mentioned his name, the police would get curious and bring him in for a few questions. But they didn't even catch on, until you came and-"

Sabrina placed a hand on his forearm. "Please, just take a deep breath. I can't help you if I can't understand-"

"And now she's all alone with him in that house, and I don't even know where her mother's gone this time-"

"Tuum invenies pacis tranquillitas toto corde tuo."

All at once, Polanski's mouth fell closed in a relaxed, wordless stupor. Even all his bones seemed to soften like so much cotton, going slack and limp in sudden tiredness, propped up only by the cold metal of his chair. Lucifer couldn't help the grin that slowly crept on his face. (Oh, just wait till the doctor hears about this. Bloody excellent spellwork, indeed).

He felt the detective tugging on his sleeve.

"I'm not seeing things, am I? She just…" Her nose was wrinkled, eyes squinted in that slightly disbelieving way that said she hoped against all hope that someone was kidding. "Just said something weird and he…stopped?"

(Because that little scene with the questions and the flashing eyes, she could understand. The kid probably picked it up from her dad. But…those words. She's never heard anything quite like them before. In church, maybe, but even that seemed like a stretch. Besides, she was pretty sure Lucifer wasn't one to bring Sabrina to any of those growing up. She only ever went a few times herself, and that was just for Trixie's christening).

"No, nothing weird, detective." Her partner laughed. Chloe let out a little half-chuckle, half-sigh. Okay, good. She probably missed a few hours of sleep last night, that's all. "Just an old Latin calming spell."

"I'm sorry, calming what?"

"Calming spell." Lucifer repeated evenly. "Now if you could keep it down, I'm trying to pay attention-"

Chloe closed her eyes. "Do I even want to know why your daughter is chanting these so-called calming spells?" (God, just saying it out loud felt silly).

"Well, I imagine that's what witches do. Aside from the ritualistic cannibalism, of course, but we already glossed over that during breakfast."

"…Witches." The detective parroted slowly. The whole cannibalism thing probably deserved a separate delusional conversation of its own, too, but she'd have to put it on the back burner for now. There were only so many of her partner's mind-numbing remarks she could unpack at once. "And you're the devil?"

He was smiling a touch too brightly for a man seemingly convinced that his whole family was made up of…different Halloween characters, apparently. Who knows? Maybe next week, Amenadiel will be the Loch Ness monster. "Yes. Now you're getting it, detective!"

"Of course." Chloe sighed. She put a hand up to her forehead. "Of course. That just…sounds about right, doesn't it?"

Back inside, Sabrina was still eyeing Polanski warily. He seemed much better than before – As he should. It would have been a pitiful waste of his witchling's magic if he didn't, Lucifer noted dryly - but it must have left him winded all the same, chest rising and falling in deep breaths and an odd look of confusion on his face.

"Are you okay?" The teenager tapped a finger against his forearm. He blinked up at her, slightly dazed. "Do you think we can keep going?"

"Yes, I-" Andy brought a hand up to his throat as if he couldn't believe it himself. "Sorry. I'm just a little confused. What-" He shook his head. "What just happened?"

Lucifer could practically see the gears turning in Sabrina's head, the way her features flitted from concerned to calculating to deceptively innocent in the space of a few seconds. Interestingly enough, it brought to mind some obscure nature channel documentary that Maze used to put on to fall asleep. Something about certain predators changing colors to better catch their prey.

"Are you sure you're fine?" She chuckled uneasily, shooting him an unconvinced look. "I'm…I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Polanski knitted his brows at nothing in particular. "I could've sworn-"

"We were just talking." Sabrina shrugged innocently. "You were even telling me about this whole plan you had to expose Stephen Wyatt for murder and clear your name."

"I was?"

"Yeah. We were in the middle of negotiating, actually. A full confession and court testimony in exchange for Witness Protection for you and your daughter. Her mother, too, if you think she needs it."

Andy blinked rapidly in surprise. "You can…you can promise me that?"

"She can't promise him that!" The detective hissed, hand already reaching out to grope for the intercom. "We don't even know if he's telling the truth-"

"Patience, detective."

Her partner caught her by the wrist just when her fingers were about to graze the bright red buttons. Not that Chloe would ever admit it, but it was probably a good thing that he did. What was she even planning to say? Mr. Polanski, please step away from the frighteningly manipulative sixteen-year-old. I don't think you should be making bargains with someone who was literally cuffed to that same chair all of 72 hours ago.

"Give the hellspawn a chance." Lucifer offered lightly, looking very much like he knew something everyone else didn't. The slight quirk to the edge of his lips, for one, was a dead giveaway. He glanced back at Sabrina. "She just might surprise you, that girl."

The detective wasn't really up for anymore surprises at that point. It wasn't even noon and she already saw her partner's teenage daughter rattle off a bunch of Latin to a hyperventilating murder suspect. Throw in the fact that the same girl managed to dodge a station full of police officers who, if her hearing serves her right, were still playing carpenter outside the interrogation room door, and that Maze was currently on her way to Scotland to hunt down said girl's almost-killer, then yeah. Chloe was pretty much done with surprises.

"You have my word, Andy." Sabrina grinned, sharp as glass and smooth as honey all at once. Only a desperate man would trust that voice.

Polanski took a deep breath. Years from now, both Lucifer and the detective would wonder what exactly was running through his head, those few seconds he had before taking the teenager's outstretched hand. Was it regret? Relief? A mixture of both? Strangely enough, Sabrina seemed to be looking straight at her father through the glass when she wrapped her fingers around the man's cuffed hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

And just like that, at 9:17 am inside a magically-sealed room in the LAPD precinct, Andrew Roman Polanski became the first ever mortal to strike a deal with the antichrist.

Partially from the silencing spell but mostly from the ridiculous high of solving her first murder case, Sabrina had all but forgotten that there was still a swarm of police officers pressed to the door and working at the lock. And so when she walked over to the knob and gave it a swift little pull…suffice to say, the boys in blue could now very well commiserate with the occupational hazard of circus clowns who spilled out of their tiny cars by the dozen each night. Detective Dan, especially, who somehow managed to land right on top of the stack of groaning middle-aged men on the floor.

"Oh crap, are you guys okay?" The teenager winced, quickly reaching down to help some of them up. They seemed mostly fine, thank Sat – somebody. Just a little bruised at the ego and somewhat annoyed that the kid they were trying to save didn't look to be in much danger at all. If anything, they were in worse shape than her.

"No, are you okay?" Detective Espinoza shot back, pointing a finger at her.

He had already brushed himself off and pulled himself to his feet, only to stare at the witch with the most disappointed glare she'd seen since Cookiegate 2010 (She had Ambrose help her enchant the girl scout cookies so whoever tasted them could never seem to have enough. She'd won the bright red bike for most sales of the week, of course, but the thrill of that lasted for all of five seconds. When half of Greendale ended up with chickenpox – she slipped in too much eye of frog, apparently – Zelda had relegated them both to doing mortal chores for a month).

"You went behind my back and purposely put yourself in danger, knowing full well that none of us could protect you in there. God, it's like you couldn't even hear us-" Sabrina made an odd choking noise at that, but Dan chose to ignore it. "-and now you walk out here like none of it even happened. I mean, who does that?"

"I'll tell you who, Daniel." Both of them turned their heads at the same time to see Lucifer sauntering over, the most self-satisfied grin known to mankind plastered on his face. The witch had no idea why, but something about Detective Espinoza's growing scowl gave her the impression that he was so close to punching it clean off her father's mouth. "Someone who just closed a whole homicide case single-handedly, that's who. I guess by now it's pretty obvious who the hellspawn takes after."

(Yeah, no. She was having none of that).

Sabrina shook her head fervently. "Nope, still mom. Definitely mom."

"Well, I'll say, darling-"

"Hold on just a second." Detective Dan cut in before Lucifer could finish, earning him a well-deserved glare in the process. The man didn't seem to notice, though. He clearly had bigger things on his plate. "What do you mean she solved the case? How is that even possible?"

Just then, Sabrina heard someone clear their throat very loudly a little way off the side. At the corner of their group was Detective Decker, giving Detective Espinoza some sort of urgent signal with her eyes. "Uh, Dan…a word?"

The officer hesitated a moment. He apparently wasn't done with the questions, and kept glancing skeptically between the club owner and his daughter. After a few good seconds of stalling where he stood, though, he quickly shook his head as if he thought better of it, and went to trail after the other detective. "Yeah, sure. I'm coming."

The pair walked off into one of those board rooms surrounded by glass windows, and the teenager watched them all the while, eyebrows raising just the slightest bit when Chloe whispered something in Dan's ear and he reeled back, surprised.

"What do you think they're talking about?" She wondered aloud, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

Lucifer made a slight humming noise from beside her. "My guess is as good as yours, hellspawn. Though I imagine it's something boring. Paperwork, maybe. Humans here love talking about paperwork."

"No, that's not it." Chloe started pacing around the room, and Sabrina narrowed her eyes as she followed the detective carefully with her gaze. "I don't trust her."

Her father followed her line of sight.

"The detective?" He balked. "Why not?"

"She asks too many questions."

Sabrina thought he would argue, try to tell her she was wrong. It was clear as day that he had an unhealthy attachment to the woman. For what reason exactly, she didn't even want to know. Again, the things he did in his free time (hanging out in precincts and talking to murderers, apparently) wasn't any of her business.

So it just made it all the more surprising when he took one long-suffering sigh and nodded his head. If cigarettes were allowed in here, this was probably the best time for him to pull one out.

He glanced amusedly at his daughter. "Yes. I suppose she does, doesn't she?"

"Wait, wait, wait. Slow down." Dan rubbed a hand down his face. "Are you seriously telling me that a sixteen-year-old girl gaslighted a full confession out of Andrew Polanski? Just like that?"

Chloe frowned. "It's difficult to explain, okay? I…I've never seen anyone do that before, even at the Police Academy. I guess the closest thing I can think of is Lucifer, but even that seems too far-fetched-"

"So? Maybe she picked up a few things from her dad." Her ex-husband shrugged.

"No, it's still different. She's-" Chloe shook her head. "She catches on to these little things, you know? The stuff you normally wouldn't give a second thought. She's good. Scary good."

Dan walked over and dropped himself on to one of the chairs, looking like he'd just aged six months at once. Chloe couldn't blame him. It probably wasn't easy, running around trying to save a snarky kid who, as it turned out, didn't even need any saving in the first place. There was even that thing with the door that she wasn't even gonna try to understand.

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" He sighed, slinging an arm over his eyes. "I mean…Sabrina's fine. Surprisingly. And you can finally close the case on those Brenner girls."

She couldn't argue the logic in that. From the start, Lucifer seemed perfectly convinced that his daughter could handle herself well enough. Of course, she just thought he was the kind of father who couldn't be bothered enough to care (which didn't sound quite right, either; not when she saw for herself just how much he'd worried over Sabrina yesterday). Then all of this happened and she realized that if anything, anything at all, had went awry, he would've been the first one kicking down that door.

There was also the matter of the Brenner case. Oh God, she'd agonized over it for days. It kept her at the precinct for too many early mornings and a few inexcusably late nights, and she just wanted it done. So much, in fact, that she was willing to jump on the first suspect even if all evidence against him just seemed like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that they were trying very hard to force together.

"And to think we were gonna put away the wrong guy." Chloe groaned, burying her face in her hands. It was unspeakable. Polanski was…shady, yes. But he didn't deserve that. No one did.

"You know, I still don't get that part. Why was he willing to take the fall, again?"

The detective ran a hand through her hair. "Apparently, this Stephen Wyatt guy he was trying to mention is his ex's new husband. Threatened to hurt his daughter if he didn't admit to the murders. He was so clever about it, too, stuffing the girls in Polanski's car so he'd be tied to the case no matter what."

"That's sick." Dan muttered in disgust. "Why didn't he just say this dude was blackmailing him?"

"He said he wanted to. Just didn't think anyone would take him for his word. The authorities aren't usually too quick to believe former drug addicts."

"But Sabrina is?" He raised a brow.

"She's a Morningstar." Chloe said pointedly, as if the name alone was reason enough. At Dan's probing look, she rolled her eyes. "You know people can't lie to them."

The other detective scoffed and kicked his feet up the table. If they were at home, Chloe would've swatted his legs away, but they were at the station and he was technically free to do whatever he wanted. What more, he'd moved out a couple years ago and it wasn't even her job to pick up after him anymore. She didn't think unmarital bliss could be this sweet.

"All that money and influence and weird magic mind tricks." Dan mused, stretching out on his seat. "Must be nice to have the Morningstars on your side."

"They are on our side."

"Yeah, but for how long?"

Chloe didn't have an answer for that.

She swatted his feet off the table. "Come on, get up. They're probably waiting for us out there."

Prudence could feel the woman watching them just over her newspaper.

She and Ambrose had arrived in Scotland a little over two hours ago, when Mambo Marie's blood magic had pointed them to this place and they combined their abilities to teleport cross-continent, a taxing feat that no ordinary witch could perform with ease, much less recover from quickly. And so the afternoon found them both sitting at an outdoor café, sipping at large mugs of coffee and hoping to regain some energy.

"Ambrose," she said carefully. The warlock looked up from his tourist's map (The mere thought of Europe excited him, she could tell. He hadn't been home, really home, since his arrest had plucked him and Hilda straight from England and dropped them back at Greendale) and spared her a glance. "Don't turn around, but that woman behind you has been eyeing us for a while now."

The young man merely smirked. "Come now, Prudence. Perhaps she's just enjoying the view."

"I guarantee you, she's not." The witch leaned forward, staring at him sharply. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've been watching her, too. I fear she might have been sent by my father."

Ambrose drew himself up suddenly. "Your father?"

"She has an air to her, I can't quite put it to words. But I know she's not human. Not a witch, either."

"Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves." The warlock put his hands up placatingly. "Do you honestly think Father Blackwood would entrust a woman to do his dirty work for him? To throw us off his scent?"

"Possibly." Prudence tipped her cup at him before taking a long, dainty sip. "Desperate times and all that, right?"

Ambrose blew out a low breath. These days, desperate times seemed like all the time.

"…Right."

The witch huffed and leaned back against her chair. Every day since they left the coven (or what could barely even be called a coven, really) a little over a month ago has been exhausting, to say the least. She and Ambrose had scoured what felt like half the United States in search of her father, all to no avail, of course.

She has had enough of losing.

"I don't know about you, Spellman, but I'm not one to back away from a fight." Her fingers traced over the hilt of the sword at her side. No mortal could see it, enchanted with a glamour to fade into the folds of her skirt. It didn't mean it could kill them any less.

Ambrose was eyeing her weapon warily, but she also knew he had a dagger strapped to his left leg, self-forged wand in the right. He was in the same war as her. Still, she didn't miss the way he glanced back longingly at his tourist's map.

"And here I thought we could actually take a minute and just enjoy some coffee. You know, like normal people."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "We're not normal people."

"Yes, but sometimes, I wish we were." He sighed.

Prudence stood up, fully ready to hex and slash and stab at whatever withered hag her father sent her way this time. (Ambrose could deal with the onlookers. He was always disturbingly good at memory-wiping spells, anyway). When she set her sights on the table, however, the one where the pretty woman with the paper and the black curls kept sending covert glances their way…it was empty. Chair tucked back in, dishes cleared, and no trace that one of Father Blackwood's henchmen (henchwoman?) had ever been there at all.

She staggered back over to her seat.

"Everything alright?" Ambrose frowned. "Where's the woman? I thought-"

The witch held up a hand before he could rattle off any more questions. Her head was already pounding from the power drain their teleporting cost them, let alone the disappearing assassin in head-to-toe leather.

"Nevermind that. Just…order us another pot of coffee. We can afford to be normal for a few more hours, I think."

The warlock leaned over and squeezed her hand. "That might just be the best thing I've heard all week."

With Ambrose inside the shop, waiting by the counter for their next drink, Prudence knew she was alone. Not that she minded the silence much. It was peaceful.

Still, she could've sworn she saw something move in the shadows, there by the corner of her eye.

Her hand remained rested on the hilt of her sword all afternoon.