Abigail was expecting a plaster, or a bit of antiseptic cream, or something of the sort. To see Angeline use magic so willingly was a jarring reminder of what company she now kept, where she was, and what she was doing. Arguably, watching the tepid liquid pool in Angie's hands was more of a wake-up call than the bodies themselves - she was on the wrong side of the war here. Her brows furrowed and eyes widened at the sight of the miracle - some vague hindbrain neurons fired off, muttering vague impulses over Jesus and his purifying water - and it rattled the kid enough to stun her into silence without so much as a 'thank you'. She just stared at the back of the seat in front of her as she disentangled the noise in her head back into thoughts.

It was in this state that Abigail registered her new colleague, perhaps the most heathenish witch to walk the earth. Siobhan had darker skin and funny clothes. She was the epitome of the bewilderingly unfamiliar; Abigail could manage, in these circumstances, to tolerate her presence because the alternative was a higher risk of getting shot. She didn't have to like her companion either, nor did she have to listen to her - after all, they were both complete novices in the face of true bloodshed. Abigail didn't have any words for Siobhan and didn't wait for her as the other mages filtered out of the truck, instead mustering up an awkward little nod of acknowledgement before she crept out of the Kombi and into the shed.

It was sheer dumb luck that kept Abigail from danger. She never bothered to check for any signs of occupation. She just opened the door to the shed as if the shooters ceased to exist the moment they were done murdering those two bootleggers, and the shed just so happened to be devoid of any occupants. In fact, it didn't look like the kid even realised what she had done. She instead wandered around the dusty abode with absent minded curiosity. She wasn't sure what she was looking for but the building wasn't any larger than eight feet square, lined with dusty tools, a few empty water butts, pieces of scrap and construction materials alongside an egregious amount of cobwebs and little nooks and crannies where the local wildlife would have undoubtedly crept in. Abigail fidgeted with a five inch scrap of plywood as she scuffed aside a couple of bent and rusty nails against the concrete floor, sighing softly. "What do you think," she asked the heathen. "Looks pretty clear to me."